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Chapter Text

Luo Mei was fucking pissed. 

The last update of The Immortal Master’s Way was garbage. Piss poor garbage that barely had any right to be called writing. It was, in his illustrious opinion, a stain upon the entirety of China’s vast history of literature. To have the story’s original language be Chinese was a crime against the very characters it was written in.

The most minor of infractions was the story’s various plot holes, so deep and wide that if one gazed into them they would be immediately hit with vertigo and terror. And the ending of the story! This piss poor excuse for a rushed ending of a story! But to fully understand the depths of anger this story wrought in the average reader, a quick recap was needed.

The main character himself had been magnificent. Shen Jiu was the most complex protagonist Luo Mei had ever seen in the xianxia genre. A man who hated the world yet strived to succeed in it, he was not overly strong or brave or even stunningly charismatic. Instead, he was unparalleled in his cleverness and had an iron will forged through sheer spite. A former slave who bitterly clawed his way up a cultivation peak until he reached the position of a peak lord, originally he was both the protagonist and antagonist of the plot. Hundreds of chapters had been dedicated to Jiu’s backstory and the odd inner workings of his mind. Luo Mei had stuck with the story for years now, devouring every update he could get his hands on. 

However, at some points things began to drag. The plot didn’t seem to have any true ending in mind. Character arcs were going nowhere. By all means, Luo Mei should have been fatigued by such a long novel and dropped it.

The only thing that kept Luo Mei going, the tenuously thin thread that kept him linked to this crime against humanity, was a side character. Shen Yuan, known as Shen Shi when he was younger, was Shen Jiu’s twin. They had grown up alongside each other with Yue Qi in loco parentis up until the Qiu household arc, where Yue Qi had fucked off somewhere to become a cultivator. This was the first plot point that was dropped. No one ever figured out where Yue Qi had gone for the years he had cultivated, but he didn't appear again until chapter one hundred, where all of a sudden he was a powerful cultivator with a boatload of guilt to carry. No explanation! None whatsoever!

And then, soon after Qi-ge had left, Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu were also separated. This time it was less by choice. Shen Yuan had been sold for cheap to a group of traveling merchants who needed an extra hand on the road. Apparently his weak constitution and the way the twins constantly had each other’s backs hindered their masters. Years later, Shen Shi miraculously reappeared at the Qiu household with Wu Yanzi in tow. A quick chat with Shen Jiu about escape from servitude eventually turned into a case of arson and mass murder, at which point both twins fled with an enthusiastic new “master." 

Afterward, not a word was passed between the twins about their time as slaves. There was complete radio silence about their pasts as they began to build their relationships anew, seemingly founded on a mutual worry over Yue Qi’s apparent death. After all, he had never come back for them, so obviously he must be six feet under and restrained. Or so they thought. 

Lo and behold, a few months after the twins had managed to free themselves, Yue Qi had arrived to free them! Surprise! And then the two had to save their Qi-ge’s ass by driving a few swords into Wu Yanzi. They were then were whisked off to Cang Qiong peak, where they spent a heartwarming stretch of chapters bickering and cultivating together as disciples until they had been simultaneously named peak lords. Shen Jiu had become Shen Qingqiu and Shen Shi had become Shen Yuan.

Shen Yuan, shizun, sweet, handsome, lazy, snarky, elegant, soft-spoken shizun, was the light of Luo Mei’s life. He followed this side character like it was his job. The man had body pillows stacked up on his closet and bed and posters hung up on the wall with the immortal calmly peeking out from above his fan. Fanfictions were saved on his phone and he regularly skimmed the inhumanly fast updates for any sign of his favorite cultivator. Needless to say, Luo Mei was a die-hard fan.

And then Shen Yuan died. Run through with a sword by some vengeance bent half-demon bastard who wanted to get back at his other master, Shen Jiu. It was some trite dispute dragged back from at least a hundred chapters ago, where Shen Jiu had pushed the little beast into an abyss during the immortal cultivator’s conference. In all honesty, Luo Mei hadn’t been paying much attention at that point. He had been admiring the scene of Shen Yuan glistening with sweat as he twirled in the air, lightly flicking a fan imbued with spiritual energy in a deadly dance that tore through crowds of demons.

In the midst of battle, Shen Yuan had failed to notice Shen Jiu striking at Luo Binghe until it was too late, and so Luo Mei had also failed to pay much attention to the plot point, skimming over the suffering of yet another throw-away character with glazed eyes. Luo Binghe fell, Shen Jiu laughed, Shen Yuan grew adorably angry and scolded his twin brother, and then the scene ended with no apparent reason or satisfying conclusion.

Except apparently, that trash wasn’t a throw-away character. Except apparently, that scum villain which had been a barely-there white lotus for about six chapters was enough to get rid of his beloved shizun. The cultivator that Luo Mei would happily die for any day was just thrown aside like every other side character despite being around consistently since chapter one, serving as a friend and confidante to the protagonist. And his death scene wasn’t even that impressive! It was just a cowardly sword in the back, much to the surprise of both Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu. Then the whole chapter time skipped just so the audience could read all about how much Shen Jiu had mourned the loss of his twin, vowing to hunt Binghe down and kill him like the dog he was. No funeral or any sort of closure for the readers and, more importantly, Luo Mei.

But the story went on and Luo Mei followed it. He felt a strong kinship with Shen Jiu, both of them mourning the death of Shen Yuan throughout the remnants of the novel as it managed to stretch on for another few hundred chapters more. As Shen Jiu sneered at his newly blackened reputation-- courtesy of Luo Binghe and all his past enemies emerging from the woodworks-- Luo Mei stood in solidarity. As Shen Jiu watched the villain suck away everything he loved-- his title, his disciples, the fellow peak lords’ trust, even Yue Qingyuan-- Luo Mei kept reading. He was absolutely sure that someday he’d see an epic revenge played out and he could watch in satisfaction with a bowl of popcorn as Shen Jiu absolutely wrecked the villain and came out on top, victorious. After all, that was Shen Jiu’s trademark and his most attractive feature. His ability to play out revenge fantasies and come out better for it.

And it was clear the author was beginning to fatigue. His updates began slowing down, his writing got sloppier, Shen Jiu’s complex characterization began to crumble, but Luo Mei held on to his faith. He desperately clutched to the idea of a future where he could see his precious Shen Yuan avenged and his twin, Shen Jiu, eventually living a full and peaceful life. That little wisp of flickering hope was held right up to the point where it shattered with Yue Qingyuan’s sword and Shen Jiu’s heart as the immortal cultivator and proud protagonist hung suspended from the ceiling as a human stick. The previously unbeatable protagonist's vision faded as black as the text proclaiming a proud “The End” of The Immortal Master’s Way. That’s it. Closed curtains. No mention of Shen Yuan’s hinted tragic past, nor closure for Luo Binghe’s apparent demonic heritage, nor for thousands of other lost plot points. And the final author’s note?

“Sorry guys, got bored. I’m wrapping this up here, hope you enjoyed the story. It’s not the ending I planned, but it’s good enough.”

Good enough? Good enough???!!! There was nothing good about this! The author could spit out thousands of words to describe the beautiful green eyes of Shen Jiu and every detail of his suffering, but it couldn’t spare a couple of words in order to give anyone a happy ending?

So yeah, Luo Mei was pissed.

And he wanted to let the author, fucking Icicle Shooting Towards Sky, know exactly what he thought. Luo Mei’s fingers flew across his keyboard, almost a blur, a tornado of pure, unadulterated rage. Pages of criticisms, almost enough to give the web novel a satisfying conclusion, were written. Luo Mei didn’t even reread his comment for typos before he slammed the enter key on his board. 

Realizing his anger hadn’t subsided in the slightest, Luo Mei sighed as he dropped his head into his hands. His fingers itched for a cigarette. It was a bad habit he had dropped a while ago, but some whispering voice in the back of his head felt this was the right occasion for a calming smoke. Groaning as he shook out his numb legs, he hoisted himself up and lurched to the end of his apartment hallway and outside. The young university student was so intent on his destination and blinding rage that he barely even glanced down the road before stepping off the curb and down the crosswalk.

Skidding tires that sounded like a hoarse scream pierced Mei’s consciousness before he found himself flung ten feet in the air, barely aware of the sound of crunching both coming below and from him. At the end of his arc, good old gravity took its malicious course. The ground rushed towards him.

Then everything went dark.

~~~

Ah. Mei had read stories like this before. Transmigration wasn’t really his thing. He  never really liked reading stories about modern protagonists in the past. Usually they were fun comedies void of the political intrigue and grand plots he usually liked to read about. Not really his cup of tea.

Yet here he was. Luo Mei lay on the sun-speckled ground, gazing up at the hole-riddled ceiling above him. His whole body ached, and he was at least fifty percent sure he had a broken rib. Not that he could tell by bruising, because apparently his whole body was black and blue at the moment. And swollen. Like an overripe plum. The only mildly soothing thing in the vicinity was a cool hand that lay over his face, but Luo Mei was too sore to turn and look at who it belonged to.

A neon blue pop up screen flashed mere inches from his face and Mei winced, squinting at the sudden bright light. It seemed to be emitting from the jade Guanyin that hung from a thick red cord around his neck.

[Upload complete! This system welcomes you to the world of The Proud Immortal Master’s Way! Binding your role: Luo Binghe, Qing Jing Peak disciple. Weapon: None. Starting B Points: 100. 

 We hope that you can transform this "Piss poor garbage that barely had any right to be called writing, stain upon the entirety of China’s […] etc.” story into a high end, impressive, classic work according to your desire! Fulfill dropped plotlines! Find the hinted “true end”! As the plot progresses, there will be multiple point-giving missions opened. Please make sure total B points do not fall below 0. Otherwise, the system will automatically give punishment~ You can, you up! Best of luck! ｡：ﾟ(｡ﾉω＼｡)ﾟ･｡]

What the fuck.

No, what the actual fuck.

Luo Mei-- no, apparently Luo Binghe now, never asked for this. He had been exaggerating when he said he wanted to be in the story so he could smell shizun’s hair. He had been joking when he said he’d die if he could meet Shen Yuan. Binghe was a fan, yes, but he wasn’t so much of a desperate fan that he’d give up everything to be in this trashy excuse of a web novel. This transmigrator had fought for tooth and nail to become anything close to successful in the modern world without the help of family or close friends. He had worked so hard for so long and he finally had a nice apartment, a university, a scholarship. He had a life!

Which Binghe supposed was the keyword. Had. 

And with that gloomy thought, the hand on his forehead shifted, carding through his knotted hair. Binghe didn’t bother to stifle his groan from the tugging on his scalp. He was already in enough pain as it was, do you really need to add more, dear mysterious benefactor! 

The hand stopped short and a round face suddenly filled up his vision. It was a young girl with eager eyes and a cute face, one which seemed to be unaccustomed to the warped expression of worry it was wearing. Ah, probably Ning Yingying. Luo Binghe would be stupid not to remember the favored disciple of Shen Qingqiu and Shen Yuan alike. Fuck.

“Binghe, are you awake now? Yingying was so worried about you!” She chirped. 

Now, what was meant by the uttered ‘fuck’, one may ask. In truth, Ning Yingying was, by all means, a completely delightful girl. However, she was naive and ignorant throughout the story. She had unintentionally sided against her shifu and shizun by falling in love with Luo Binghe and beginning his eventually ever-expanding harem of women with IQs of approximately fifty. So naive and, frankly, stupid was she in the story that she had served as an unintentional spy in their sect, happily delivering updates on the internal workings to Binghe through letters and secretive romantic tristes between the two. She was one of the core reasons why her Shifu, Shen Qingqiu would eventually have his reputation blackened. 

The scum villain Luo Binghe spread rumors and lies about his lover’s mistreatment at the hands of Shen Jiu, and she merely stood by with a dopey smile and baleful eyes, agreeing with everything the demon said! Ning Yingying was a very good person, but she had not a trace of filial piety in her bones.

“Where am I?” Luo Binghe asked, making sure not to move his face or neck too much. Ning Yingying’s brows furrowed further. 

“Does A-Luo not remember? Was his head hit too hard by Ming Fan and the others? Yingying is really sorry, she shouldn’t have told the other disciples she made Binghe dinner! Are you hurt too badly? Should I get Shizun?”

What? No! Not yet! If he was truly Luo Binghe and this was truly the novel, then Luo Binghe had a few things to think about before new characters were introduced! Much less one of the main side characters who Binghe practically worshipped. ... And the kid had already shot up and hurried out of the shed. 

Well, looks like the choice wasn’t even his to make. With the limited time he had alone, Binghe meditated on his character. He barely remembered Luo Binghe’s time on Qing Jing peak. He knew the boy suddenly reappeared as a villain one day, but before then? He had been sneaky enough to hide a dream demon from his shifu and shizun, that was for sure. Let’s see… The original was gloomy and shy, barely talking to anyone. He had seemed too weak and bad at cultivation that Shen Jiu regretted ever accepting the boy onto his peak. Overall, if it weren’t for the special bullying rights that shifu had allotted to himself and his students, young Luo Binghe would have been entirely forgettable. What was it that had blackened him, again? Something about an abyss, right?

Unbidden, the neon blue screen emitted from the jade pendant once more and script began to scroll across the screen.

“Shen Jiu watched, dispassionate, almost apathetic, as Luo Binghe fell deep into the abyss. He knew that if the young disciple survived the landing, most of the bones in his body would be broken. If he, against all odds, survived from that and healed, he would be faced with hundreds of trials from deadly demons and forgotten gods. Not to mention the poisonous miasma that whirled across the depths of the gorge, the alternating blazing heat and bone-numbing ice that swept across the lower world, and the thousands of other factors that would make it nearly impossible for the boy to survive.’”

[Excerpt from the turning point of Luo Binghe in Proud Immortal Master’s Way.]

Luo Binghe’s face changed into a variety of colors as he skimmed the passage, then went back and read it more thoroughly. He had… fuck, he had completely forgotten this. He remembered the original Binghe being cast down, but he didn’t remember it being this bad. Shen Jiu had never been down into the demon world, so as a reader Luo Mei had never dwelled too long on what it must have been like for the villain Luo Binghe to fight his way through it. But that description painted the transmigrator’s soon to be future like hell!

No way was Luo Mei going down there.

Screw this plot! Screw this system! Binghe didn’t want that kind of future! The forgettable white sheep Binghe had been thrown down there and survived, but he had also come out a poisonous and bitter man, twisted beyond recognition. There was no way that this soft Luo Mei could go through that kind of trauma! He wasn’t a shonen protagonist! System, let him live his life freely, ah!

Luo Binghe needed some ground rules if he was going to survive more than five years in this world. 

First: Leave Qing Jing Peak. If he doesn’t participate in the plot, there’s no chance he would be thrown into the abyss. Simple. 

Second: Avoid Shen Jiu absolutely. If there was one thing that any dedicated reader figured out within three pages of the book, it was that Shen Jiu had no luck whatsoever. If you were to ask Shen Jiu where his golden finger was, he’d scoff. If you asked where his missing protagonist halo was, he’d shout, “I’m not dead yet, ah! Are you stupid? I have no halo!” Simply put, to cling to the thigh of the illustrious Shen Qingqiu would be like clinging to a thigh of black iron, only dragging people down.

Third: Avoid as many mistakes as possible as early as possible. Even if Binghe was supposedly the main scum villain of the book, that doesn’t nullify the fact that apparently there was a better, hidden ending to the story? Implying that so long as Luo Binghe avoids his role as a villain like the plague, the story might just arrive at its appropriate resolution and Binghe might… might what? Win the transmigration game? Maybe live out the rest of his life in peace? Who knows. But it certainly sounded better than his future as a depraved, unfilial villain who killed both his shizun and shifu.

Binghe felt a sharp pain stab into his ribs and he winced, curling up further into himself. 

“Warning: Major OOC actions will result in points deducted. Luo Binghe would not willingly leave the sect under any circumstances, nor would he avoid his venerated teachers.”

There was an OOC function in this world? Wtf? How was this fair? Why bother transmigrating him into this world if he wasn’t even allowed to change things up? Might as well leave the original goods here and let him die freely, instead of dying a death controlled like a puppet to an unknown system! Binghe really wanted to strangle this system.

A thwap sounded in front of Binghe as the door to the shed was thrown open, bright sunlight pouring out onto the ground and straight into Binghe’s eyes. He blinked rapidly at the two outlined figures standing in front of him. One was short and bouncing, her pigtails flouncing along with her frantically waving arms as she explained the situation. The other was a tall, willowy figure of a man. The light caught his profile and Luo Binghe stared, eyes filling with both excitement and dread. His face had a sharp profile, and his hair was tied back up in a half up-half down hairstyle with a crown. This was Binghe’s hated shifu, Shen Qingqiu. This was the peerless main character who would one day throw Binghe down a cliff.

This also wasn’t Shen Yuan, the twin that Ning Yingying had promised to get. Yingying, were you trying to kill him? Everyone knew that Shen Qingqiu despised Binghe, both because he was envious and the child reminded him of his younger self. Not a good combination. Every time Shen Qingqiu looked at the boy it was like triggering a sudden episode of PTSD. And Yingying expected this man to heal him!

The immortal peak master turned from his disciple to the boy, scowling. “Do you think you’re a disciple of Bai Zhan peak? What are you doing, fighting like a mongrel for scraps? It’s distasteful.” He spat.

The legendary sharp tongue of Shen Qingqiu stung. Even this new transmigrator felt bad for Binghe, the poor brat. If he didn’t know Shen Qingqiu so well from his status as a protagonist, Luo Binghe would be feeling extremely attacked right now.

The immortal master walked in, rolling Binghe over from his side onto his back with a quick kick of his heel. Is this what it felt like to be a soccer ball? Just battered around despite the extreme pain it brings?

His shifu barely glanced at his face and wounds for a second before gliding back to Ning Yingying, dropping a bottle of salve in her hands on his way out. 

“This master does not want anyone to spread rumors that Qing Jing peak beats its disciples. Tell Binghe to apply this on his wounds, but do not apply it for him. It’s inappropriate for disciples sisters and brothers to be so close.”

And with those cool parting words, softly spoken, Shen Jiu had passed through the hut. There and gone like a celestial being, bestowing a small boon whenever he felt particularly benevolent. Luo Binghe almost coughed up blood.

This casual child abuse could be overlooked as a reader, but experiencing it first-hand? God, this whole experience was going to be miserable. 

Chapter Text

Peering into the pond, Binghe grudgingly admitted that the healed face of Shen Yuan’s murderer wasn’t all that bad. He was still young, but his face held promise of a future as an extremely handsome young man. That said, at his current age Binghe’s round visage still held a strong aura of innocence that made you want to cuddle him. Internally, he mourned the loss of his beautiful adult body and for the childhood he'd now have to relive. He thought he had just escaped the years of awkward hormones and gangly limbs, but here he was again. 

Splashing some water on his face, he trudged back to the chopping block and stacked another log on top. Raising his hatchet, he chopped it in half. The motions seemed to be muscle memory to this body. Place, raise, chop. Place, raise, chop. Place, raise, cho-

“A-Luo! Yingying brought you lunch again, are you hungry yet? Afterward, do you want to play? Yingying is so bored~”

Oh, sweet merciful divine heavens. Over the week of Binghe muddling through this new world, Yingying had proved herself to be an extremely valuable asset. He barely saw much of any other disciples besides when they sent him off for more errands, and she was the only thing keeping him from starving from death or dying from loneliness in this place. Despite her status as an unaware minor villain in the novel, Binghe couldn’t help but feel extremely affectionate towards the cheerful girl. She had taken over as his new legal guardian, it seemed. 

In fact, it seemed responsible adults were almost completely absent in their world. He had yet to see hide nor hair of the elegant peak masters. It was like they were nonexistent, allowing their disciples to cultivate and learn from their manuals themselves. In the novel, their absence from lessons beyond the occasional lecture made the plot move more quickly. Never had he wondered what happened to the disciples while Shen Jiu was off on missions or directing the story in some new direction. Usually the peak lord descended every once in a while so that readers could see their favorite disciple sisters and feel some vague attachment to the cannon-fodder characters. No more, no less. It was a small plot hole he had never looked at too hard in the story.

Now, Binghe was suffering from it. Soon after he had transmigrated, he had early picked up his cultivation manual in hopes of learning every awesome martial move and spiritual technique. Inwardly, he had vowed to become the greatest and coolest cultivator around, with the minor exceptions of the Shen twins. After all, if he had the potential to become a great demon lord, surely he could become an equally fantastic cultivator. Skimming the texts, though, presented an immediate problem.

His cultivation manual made! No! Sense!

And he couldn’t even raise his hand to ask his masters about it. 

The cultivation manual was written in plain Chinese, that wasn't the issue. The problem was with its contents. How do you inhale while exhaling? How do you develop a core by doing handstands and cartwheels? What does it mean by, “Imagine you’re a cultivator. Then cultivate.” Binghe was almost absolutely sure nothing this manual said was actually meant to be helpful. 

He was brought back to reality by a slight rustle in the bushes, but nothing appeared. There was a sudden eerie feeling of being watched. 

“Let Binghe finish chopping this firewood, then he will eat with you. But afterward, I don’t think I can play. Martial brother instructed me to finish all of today’s firewood, then I have to bathe and cultivate.” Even if his cultivation manual was an utter sham. 

Ning Yingying groaned, flopping back on the limestone slab she was sitting on. She whined as her head hit the rock a little too hard, moaning in a pathetic tone. “The martial brothers are always bossing you around! You never got to rest or eat or play. It’s so boring!” Sitting up quickly, she slammed a fist into her palm. 

“I know! I’ll tell Shizun about this! Then they won’t dare bully you anymore!”

No! Binghe almost roared. Last time Yingying had promised to bring his Shizun, she had brought Shifu instead. Had she never learn the difference between the two? If he was holding a fan and his hair was tied back, he was Shizun. If he was angry and had his hair half up, half down, he was Shifu. Truly, it wasn’t that hard to tell the difference!

Binghe cleaved his rusted ax down the final log before dropping it, satisfied with the little pile he had created. He was slightly less satisfied with the mountain of uncut logs teetering behind him, but that was a problem for a future Binghe.

He hurried over to Yingying, squishing her face between his hands. “Yingying doesn’t need to disturb Shizun (or Shifu). This really isn’t that big of an issue. The martial brothers are motherfu-” 

[Warning: OOC. Binghe would not casually slander seniors. Proceeding will cause points to be deducted]

“-are just giving me more opportunities to practice hard, that’s all!”

System, are you seriously going to target these little things! Sighing, he climbed up on the rock next to Yingying and gratefully took the offered bowl of laughably bland congee. No spices or vegetables, just meat and rice. Binghe almost shed a tear as he took a bite. His inner culinary student was sobbing right now.

As the first bite of congee was choked down, many footsteps could be heard. A boy of about sixteen led the group, his face scrunching up a little when he saw Luo Binghe calmly eating nearby a chattering Yingying. The system cheerfully chimed [Introducing new character: Ming Fan! Head disciple of Qing Jing-] Binghe mentally slammed the mute button.

Who could forget this laughable piece of cannon fodder? In the novel, Shen Jiu had watched, horrified, as Binghe had torn the pathetic soul limb from limb! The fate of this poor boy was far too harsh for merely bullying the main villain when he was younger! 

“Martial sister!” Stoutly ignoring the other disciple, he zeroed in on his crush. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere! You shouldn’t be wandering the back mountains like this, it’s dangerous. I got something new that I want to show you, too.”

Yingying grinned at Ming Fan. “Don’t worry, I have Binghe here to protect me! He’s strong, he’ll make sure I never get hurt.”

Ah, poor Yingying. Why did the poor girl have such a low IQ? Did her nanny drop her on the head as a child? He wilted a little as Ming Fan shot an icy glare at him, knowing the boy would probably stack on another load of firewood for him to chop after this.

Ming Fan shook his head a little before fishing a little necklace out of his pocket, his smile a little more strained now. “I found this cute bunny jade pendant and it reminded me of you,” he said proudly, a little flushed as he thrust his hand out and letting the charm twirl in the air. Ning Yingying glanced at it for a moment before losing interest.

“What an ugly color. A-Luo has a cooler pendant anyways,” She said flippantly.

Dear A-Luo was about ready to shank his martial sister with the nearby wood chips. Quietly sliding down from his rock, he covertly used his bowl of congee to cover part of the bright red cord that hung around his neck as he tried to slink off into the safety of the woods, where he could hopefully be swiftly mauled to death by a spiritual predator. A far more merciful death than whatever these monsters would do to him. 

A hand fisted the back of his shirt and yanked him back. Binghe cried out in surprise, looking forlornly at his dropped lunch. Yet another day of going hungry, but what was really new about that. The hand roughly spun him around, snatching the cord around his neck and bringing the jade Guanyin to focus. 

“This thing? Ahahaha, this thing is just fake jade! It’s not even worth anything,” Ming Fan scoffed. 

Oof, that stung. It wasn’t like Binghe had any real attachment to the necklace. It had belonged to the original goods, and he had never got to know the backstory of this pathetic lowlife. Nevertheless, he had always been reluctant to take it off, and the heavy weight was comforting around his neck. Luo Binghe felt a trace of strange, foreign anger from deep inside his heart, but it was easy to push aside in lieu of more important things. Like the way the cord was cutting into his neck. He reached up to snatch the jade back from the boy’s hands, only for the boy to fluidly slip it off his head and hold it high above him. 

“You want it? Come and get it!” He sneered, just like a playground bully in American movies. This was dumb. Binghe wasn’t going to jump to get a cheap piece of rock back. 

That cheap piece of rock emitted a chime and the google translate voice sang out. The system inside the jade figurine sounded a little harried.

[Warning: System is bound to <<object_jade_guanyin>>. If damaged or separated from customer for too long, the customer’s account will be terminated and the customer will be returned to home. This system recommends the customer retrieve <<object_jade_guanyin>> as soon as possible.]

Binghe’s face changed colors. Throwing aside any shreds of dignity he once had, he stretched up on his toes, cursing his malnourished adolescent body. “Give it back!” He howled. “Give it back, it’s mine!”

“You’re going to have to work harder than that.” Ming Fan laughed, ignoring Yingying’s protests from the sidelines. Binghe stomped harshly on his foot, hoping to get the disciple to bend over just a little bit. He was entirely unsuccessful. The elder disciple spat a muttered curse as he scrunched up his face in pain. Snapping his fingers like the cool guy he tried to be, Ming Fan gestured for the other disciples he had brought to swarm.

Binghe was immediately overwhelmed, although he tried his best to fight them off with low blows and kicks. He threw heated fists and he muddled his way through the crowd, inwardly thanking this character’s high pain tolerance as he endured the battering fists. He slowly pushed and bit his way to the front (apparently playing dirty wasn't OOC). Cranking his hand back, he slammed Ming Fan straight in the nose, feeling nothing but satisfaction at the dull crack he felt. Ming Fan threw the necklace with one hand, the other one cupping his wounds and looking incredulously at the blood pouring out. 

“You- you broke my nose!” He roared in a strangled, nasally voice. Rearing back, he let loose a haymaker that slammed Binghe in the side of his head, staggering him sideways. Dizzy and off-balance, Binghe lashed out towards what he thought was the boy’s chin, stumbling forward when he missed. 

The moment he stumbled into the other boy, Ming Fan shrieked. Blood was pouring from a cut on his forehead.

“He has a knife! The bastard hit me with a knife!” 

Knife? What knife? Who has a knife? Binghe was freaking out by now. He was going to die in like five minutes without that Guanyin, and now someone brought a knife to a fistfight? How was this fair?

Someone reached into the fray and grabbed hold of Binghe’s curly mess of a ponytail, wrenching him backward. Another someone gnawed on his calf like a feral animal. Distantly, he heard Yingying confusedly crying, “Yingying swears, A-Luo didn’t have a knife!” before everyone froze. It was quiet save for the heavy breathing of disciples, tired from the beat down of a single boy.

Binghe barely dared to look up as the leaves crunched, his eyes caught on the green and white hem of the robe before him. Slowly, he craned his neck upwards to peer at the pale hand that reached the jade Guanyin hanging from one boy’s wrist. A dull thump could be heard as a nearby disciple cringed, murmuring fervent apologies. Binghe was gently tugged upwards and he stared dumbly at the face half-covered by a fan as the little necklace was dropped back into his hands. 

[System thanks loyal customer for their cooperation! +150 B points! Please do not let this system out of sight again ☆ ～('▽^人)]

“If this necklace is so important to you, you should do a better job of protecting it.” 

Shen Yuan looked at the remaining disciples, all stuck in comically different positions. Some had their fists wrenched back, ready to punch Binghe. Others had been flinching away from Binghe’s sharp kicks. One kid still had his fist wrapped in Binghe’s hair like he was getting ready to snatch a wig. A barely noticeable child was absently gnawing on Binghe's foot like it was a stick of tanghulu, his eyes tilted upwards and towards his shizun. Shen Yuan sighed almost imperceptibly behind his fan.

“All of you except Yingying. Fifty laps around Qing Jing Peak. When you’re done, I expect twenty copies from each disciple on the sect rules, the Discipline of Cultivation, and The Ancient Warrior Way. You will be given a week in the library to complete it, observed by the senior disciples. You are dismissed.”

No one dare groan at the punishment, mindful though they were that they wouldn’t be able to feel their hands after the week was up. They obediently filed off, only daring to give a soft “Apologies, Shizun” before making their way to the main path. Binghe remained stock still, staring intently at his Shizun’s face. 

So this was Shen Yuan. Binghe didn’t even notice his jaw dropping. He was… frankly, the man was drop-dead gorgeous. His long, dark hair was swept up in a graceful ponytail that exposed his pale nape, a few loose strands of hair left down to frame his face. His thin lips were neutral, but because his whole face was predisposed to softer expressions he didn’t look to overly harsh. It was nothing like the resting bitch face of his brother’s. 

And those devastating dark green eyes, like emerald pools! Binghe didn’t see any revealing emotion in them, but he was sure that there was kindness deep within. That narrow waist, covered by layers upon layers of the traditionally impractical xianxia outfits. The way he moved, like a retired ballerina who had never lost his poise. Binghe was completely sure he could stare at him for hours, days, years, and never get tired of this beautiful visage. 

Shen Yuan cocked his head at him curiously before thumping him on the head with his fan. 

“You think you are exempt from this? Don’t think I didn’t see how you attacked first. Binghe, ten extra laps for you. Go now.”

Couldn’t he just pause and watch his favorite character brought to life for more than five seconds? Couldn’t he just observe Shen Yuan’s painful beauty? Come on, master, spare your biggest fan some leeway.

Another thump. “Twenty extra laps. Hurry up, Binghe.”

That was his cue. Hurriedly slipping the necklace (and the deplorable system) back around his neck, he saluted Shen Yuan.

“This disciple begs master’s pardon. He will be leaving now.” Before sprinting off after the tail of the fleeing group ahead of him. A few steps after he passed, he paused for a moment, bending down to pick something up. As he jogged away, he looked down at the little bamboo leaf sitting in his hand, stained in blood. 

[+100 coolness points for Shen Yuan!]

~~~

Binghe was about ready to slam! His! Head! Into the ground! What bullshit are you spouting, Ming Fan? Not enough horses? I tend to the stables! I’ve seen the horses, we have more than enough!

Opening his mouth to rip Ming Fan a new one, the soft voice chimed in. [Warning: OOC]. Turning his head away from the others, Binghe mockingly mouthed along with the warning. He heard that chime and infuriatingly sweet voice at least once a day. What was so OOC about defending himself? How pitiful had the original Luo Binghe been?

But Binghe clamped his mouth shut as he finished loading the luggage onto the back of the carriage. He refused to say a word or even look at Ming Fan, which only seemed to make the boy more bitter, and then gleeful because he was more bitter. 

“I guess you’ll have to walk then. It’ll be a good chance to practice your foundation, seeing as you lag so far behind the rest of us.” Ming Fan nodded sagely, barely managing to temper the shit-eating grin that was threatening to tear his face in two.

Binghe calmed himself with the knowledge that, canonically, his character would have eventually been able to tear this loser in half with nothing more than his bare hands. Anyways, he was the adult in this situation. He had been through bad foster homes, been through high school and university. This was nothing the great Luo Mei couldn’t handle!

The cannon fodder’s hand rose up and patted his cheek condescendingly. “What, are you unhappy? Are you unsatisfied with these arrangements?” 

Binghe gritted his teeth. “This disciple wouldn’t dare.” 

He couldn’t handle this. One more word from anyone and he was gonna throw hands. 

“What’s the problem? If A-Luo doesn’t have a horse, he can ride with me~”

That’s it. That’s the last straw. Yingying was going to wake up six feet under and Binghe was going to laugh. He didn’t even need a jaguar-rhino-snake-whatever the fuck it was. He was going to unseal his demonic heritage right here, right now, and wipe everybody out. 

Hands tightening and knuckles bleeding into white, Luo Binghe miraculously managed to keep his cool. The peak lords were nearby and doubtlessly watching. His wrists throbbed as a harsh reminder of copying pages upon pages of texts. A little shudder went through him. No, he had to behave.

The disciple mentally readied himself for the long trek downhill to Shuang Hua City. At least this body was sturdy if nothing else. He had no doubt that he could make the trek down. It would just be intensely painful.

The curtains on the carriage nearby flickered as a sonorous voice rang out. “Yingying, it’s unsightly for male and female disciples to mingle so affectionately. Ming Fan, hurry up. We’ve waited long enough.”

Even though Shen Qingqiu and Shen Yuan sounded identical by all means, it was the tone of voice that separated the two. The one speaking had clearly been Qingqiu as he spoke crisply, always with a faint trace of some emotion in his voice. Whether it be impatience, anger, or the myriad of other two emotions the Peak lord ever seemed to show, his demeanor always gave him away.

Ning Yingying protested loudly, her wavering voice carrying heavy grievance in it. It was as if she had taken it upon herself to feel indignance for Binghe, relieving him of his dreadful burdens. Binghe’s neck was sore from the whiplash he was getting between loving and hating this one girl. 

“Shizun, Shifu, look at how your head disciple mistreats other disciples! How can we be a scholarly peak when there are so many unrefined people who go unpunished?” 

‘Yes,’ screamed Binghe’s heart. ‘Yingying, go tell them off!’

“Yingying, please be quiet,” is what he actually said. He didn’t need someone else to fight his battles for him-- well, actually he did, thanks to the obnoxious OOC function that had yet to leave him alone. But it was the sentiment that mattered. 

Frantic whispering and rustles could barely be heard behind the curtain. A muffled thud sounded, and then some more rapid and angry whispering. Eventually, a long-suffering sigh. This time, a hand cloaked in a slightly lighter shade of green peeled back the scarlet curtains. A new voice rang out.

“Luo Binghe, come here.” To Binghe, this voice was like a chorus of angels and the screams of the damned intertwined. This second voice, iconic throughout the original story, belonged to Shen Yuan. Soft, sweet, but devoid of the wide range of emotions that colored his brother’s. While that whole idea had seemed immensely cool as a reader, in reality it was worrying and a little infuriating.

Binghe couldn’t tell if the radiant Shen Yuan was going to show his benevolent side and order him to retrieve a new horse or if he was inviting Binghe over for the smackdown of his lifetime a la stress relief method for his capricious twin. Both were equally plausible, alongside a myriad of other possible scenarios that were rapidly flickering through Binghe’s mind. 

He schooled his expression as he looked at the carriage, carrying himself tall as the curtains drew themselves open. No matter what the beautiful Shen Yuan tossed at him, he would endure. 

From the inside, Shen Qingqiu resolutely stared ahead at the wall and Shen Yuan beckoned with a closed fan. Neither of them said a word. The widely beloved martial sister was the one who broke the silence with a gasp. 

“A-Luo, Shiun and Shifu are letting you ride with them!” It was as if the wind had been knocked out of everybody nearby. Shifu notoriously despised Binghe, and Shizun, though softer, had a strict personal bubble that only allowed the entrance of his twin. Most knew to keep a five-foot radius at all times. To allow Binghe into the carriage was a completely foreign concept.

Binghe hurriedly climbed in before either of the peak lords could rescind the offer, his close proximity with the two making him intensely conscious of how filthy he actually was from a full day of loading supplies and readying horses. The tiny soul curled up as far as he could in one of the corners, trying to avoid sullying the seats. He resolutely made up his mind to not say a single word throughout the journey in an attempt to avoid the ire of the twins. 

And not talking? Not talking gives a person a lot of time to think. After weeks of nothing but running around, frustratedly cultivating, freezing his ass off in rivers, sometimes eating, sleeping, rinse and repeat, he hadn’t had too much time to mull over anything. It was almost inevitable that the gravity of his entire situation would suddenly make itself extremely transparent right now. Maybe it was from the fact that he had a moment of peace, or maybe it was because he was surrounded by potential enemies. Unconsciously, Binghe reached up and grasped his jade Guanyin, taking comfort in its smooth curves. 

Think about it. Binghe was going to be cast down in three years. He was almost certain he would die then. He didn’t have the same driving hatred that the original burned deep inside his heart to drive him forward, and he couldn’t run from the situation. Fix the plot? Find the right ending? How laughable. As far as Binghe knew, he was the plot of half the book. If he died or disappeared, the novel would surely proceed to a happy ending. After all, wasn’t it Binghe who persuaded the enemies of Shen Qingqiu to come out and slander him? Wasn’t it Binghe who would kill Shen Yuan? Wasn’t it Binghe who was destined to destroy the main character and everything he loved?

[Ding~ Courtesy System Hint available: Would customer like to proceed? Y/N. 3 hints remaining.]

Y! Y! Anything to get rid of this overwhelming stress! 

[System hint: Prevent Shen Jiu’s reputation from being blackened. Preventing a blackened reputation will help lead to a fulfilling true ending!]

How was that a hint? Shouldn’t that have just been listed as a goal?? His temples began to throb a little as he furled up tighter and tighter, the world spinning around him. Was the carriage getting smaller? The carriage was definitely getting smaller. This poor transmigrator didn’t have time in his schedule for a panic attack! Couldn’t it have waited until his lunch break?

He froze when a hand rested between his shoulder blades, the fingers beginning a gentle drumming rhythm on his back. Every whirling thought was wiped from his head. Shyly, hesitantly, he looked to the left at his seat companion. The Qing Jing Peak Master Shen Yuan inclined his head slightly before smiling, just a little. 

It was like lightning had struck him straight through the heart. He jolted at the rare expression on Shen Yuan’s face. Hadn’t the book described him as a man silent and distant to others? Wasn’t he supposed to be the proud type who only opened up to his twin brother? Why was Binghe suddenly receiving such intimate treatment! Binghe could feel his face heating up as a beaming smile broke out on his face in response.

Yuan seemed a little surprised at that, but the sound of Shen Jiu clearing his throat broke them both out of their sudden staring contest. The smile dropped of Binghe’s face as he looked back down, his fingers picking at the threads on the seat. Silence reigned for the remainder of the journey.

[Ding! +50 cuteness points! Keep up the good work, Luo_Binghe!]

~~~

Luo Binghe had changed recently, Shen Yuan mused. He never made a habit of speaking with disciples often, especially not the punching bag of Qing Jing peak, but he had often seen the boy around. Typically Binghe was rushing from one place to another, keeping his head down as he angrily muttered to himself, his shoulders hunched up like he wanted to disappear any moment. Shen Yuan never approved of his brother’s bullying, but someone had to take the brunt of his anger most days, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be this twin. Qi-G… Yue Qingyuan would have been a better choice for a target, but that was an entirely impractical arrangement. Shen Yuan just tried to make sure that no one was hurt too badly beyond repair. 

After Binghe had been beaten down by the disciples again, though, (And really, he was going to have to talk to Shen Jiu about that. These children were positively uncivilized) Binghe seemed to have changed. Maybe it was the small gift of salve that Shen Qingqiu had complained about having to fork over to the beast. Maybe, one day, the kid had just decided to suddenly live like he wasn’t two steps away from throwing himself off a cliff every moment of the day.

Whatever it was, the boy was suddenly livelier and louder. He had so much more of a gung-ho attitude towards life, deeming to fight back these days instead of taking beatings like a rag doll. His eyes flared with anger when he was insulted, rather than with mute acceptance. It was almost like the old Luo Binghe had been replaced by a child who actually had a fire in him. It was nice to see the kid so alive and talkative, suddenly hundreds of times more charismatic and exuberant than he once was.

It was nice to see something besides a shadow of Shen Shi when he looked at the child.

Chapter Text

Luo Binghe couldn’t look away from Shen Yuan’s exposed chest. It wasn’t as if he wasn't trying, mind you. Every part of his body was turned as far away from the exposed man as possible. Every part of him but his face. And his eyes, his eyes too. 

Even as his Shizun moaned quietly, blearily shaking his head, Binghe’s eyes were glued onto his bare chest. So much skin! So! Much! Skin! 

As soon as his Shizun’s eyes landed on him, Binghe immediately schooled his features into something more akin to filial piety and concern. 

“Shizun? Shizun, are you okay?” 

As if Shen Yuan could ever be hurt by such a low-grade villain. His peerless Shizun could only be brought down by a demon lord, and even then it was by underhanded means. Binghe had nothing but complete faith in the man, even as he sat powerlessly tied by immortal binding cables. 

Ning Yingying chimed in chorus behind him, and Binghe couldn’t even feel angry at the girl. Yeah, she brought them straight into the Skinner’s lair and was currently the reason their lives were at threat. But she also gave Binghe some eye candy that no fanartist could ever hope to replicate. Binghe decided to be particularly magnanimous and assume a neutral emotion towards her for the rest of today. He might even cook her something after this. 

A cackle reverberated from one side of the room to the other, casting an eerie spell on listeners who were unable to tell where the voice was coming from. 

“Shizun, it’s the skinner!” Panicked Binghe helpfully.

“Yes, Binghe, this master knows. Good job,” was his deadpan reply. 

Binghe preened at the praise, crowing in his heart ‘Of course his Shizun knew! His shizun was an unparalleled genius, a beautiful ice queen with no match!’ 

The voice stopped halfway through the laugh, then coughed a little awkwardly. “The twin sword of Qing Jing Peak has fallen into my clutches! Am I not an unrivaled mastermind? Tell me, o' wise Shen Qingqiu of the mountain, who am I?”

This time Shen Yuan coughed, a little irked. “This master is actually Shen Yuan, Shen Qingqiu’s brother.”

“...”

The moment the skinner stepped into the sunlight, both Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan’s eyes lit up. That fine body, those delicate fingers, the rich clothes, they could only belong to one person! 

“And you are-” Shen Yuan continued.

“You’re Butterfly!” Luo Binghe cried, shocked. What a turn of events! Who would have thought that the concubine of the old man, the teenager who had absolutely no business being bound to such an old man, could have actually been a demon! Definitely not Binghe-- No, that was stupid. This was stupid. This BOSS was a moron.

[...]

[-50 Coolness points from Shen Yuan. System reminder: Should coolness points reach 0, system will implement punishment.]

What did I do? Luo Binghe cried internally, shedding a few tears. He didn’t mean to cut his Shizun’s marvelous discovery off, it was just that this whole situation was just so unbelievably dumb that he couldn’t help himself!

Shen Yuan and the Skinner were both looking at him and Binghe could practically feel their eyes burning through his skin. 

“Impossible! How could you know!” Said one, ripping off her veil to reveal that she was indeed Butterfly. Luo Binghe could feel his brain cells crying for mercy as they slowly shriveled away.

“Good job,” Repeated Shizun, with a little more emphasis on the dead aspect of deadpan.

Butterfly continued on, more than a little discouraged by how her fantastically well thought out and elaborate plan apparently wasn’t that difficult to unravel. And by a mere disciple, nonetheless!

As stupid as this BOSS was, though, she was still the real deal. She had skinned dozens of young women, wearing their skin and then casting their shells aside like trash. Who could endorse this kind of cultivation method? And moreover, this disgusting person had planned to use his dear insipid Ning Yingying for her designs? Unforgivable. Truly, it was unforgivable. 

Looking over at the aforementioned young girl to see how she fared, he blinked. A mild look of panic was spread across her face, but it was a blander sort of panic. He could practically see the bouncing DVD logo in her eyes. So no worries about Yingying and how this situation might scar her, she obviously wasn’t tracking. 

Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan kept prodding and pestering the negative IQ demon, watching as she willingly unraveled her plans and motives in simple layman’s terms for ease of understanding.  She needed to switch skins a lot, she liked the smooth feeling of young girls, she had a hankering for a local immortal’s beautiful skin, yada yada yada. 

Wait. Back up a second. What?

Binghe could almost feel his eyes bulge out of his head as Shen Yuan shrank away from Butterfly’s groping hands that roved across his chest, paying special attention to his defined collarbones. The man was becoming more and more embarrassed by the attention every second that passed, and the delicate image of a cold immortal in his head cracked just a bit.

This man! This man, bound by red cables with his ink-black hair splayed over his shoulders in a struggle to protect his remaining modesty! His face might be unchanging, but his actions were that of a delicate maiden's! In the book, it had seemed like Shen Yuan had locked away the entire concept of emotion the moment he became peak lord, but it turned out he was still human. If anything, Binghe's affection for this shy ice queen immediately skyrocketed.

And suddenly the Skinner was public enemy number one. 

“Hey, Skinner! What are you doing, fawning over that old man’s skin? Think about it, isn’t this young disciple’s so much more tender and tight than that of an adult's?” He shouted, almost choking on those traitorous words.

Binghe apologizes, Shizun! Shizun has fantastic skin! If Binghe were the Skinner, he’d definitely wear Shizun’s skin in a heartbeat!

Wait, that was creepy. 

The skinner sneered laughingly. “You wish so badly for death? You fool! Well, seeing as I have the two of you together, I might as well compare!”

She slowly made her way towards Binghe, thrusting her chest forward in a way that she probably thought would look seductive but actually just made her look like she had lordosis. Swaying her hips far harder than any woman in their right mind would, she opened her mouth as if trying to drag this scenario on for far longer than would be acceptable in any video game cutscene. 

The ceiling beam above Binghe’s head creaked, cracked, then crashed down. Rubble shifted under heavy steps and dust rose, swirling in the air. Shen Qingqiu’s tall, imposing figure stood in the middle of the mess, Xiu Ya unsheathed and gleaming in the pale moonlight. 

His head turned and zeroed in on his twin almost immediately. The shifu of Qing Jing peak hurriedly picked his way across the debris, performing an elegant dance as he nimbly avoided getting his robes dirty. At one point, he used the body of a stunned and fallen Butterfly as a bridge. She made a slight crunching sound when he stepped on her head. 

Shen Qingqiu’s Xiu Ya sword parted the cables in a single silver swing, the slight breeze from the blow tickling Binghe’s cheek.

“And where exactly did Shen Yuan think he was going without telling this master?” He hissed, offering his hand and violently yanking his brother back to his feet. He hurriedly adjusted Shen Yuan's clothes, drawing them closed like an overprotective elder brother adjusting his sister’s clothes before a night out on the town. 

Shen Yuan silently rolled his eyes, reaching over and snatching his brother’s sword out of his hand. Shen Qingqiu gave a choked cry of protest, his fingers twitching out as if to take back his precious spiritual blade. Shen Yuan drove the sword down the center of the prone demon’s back, effectively pinning her to the ground. With a quick sword seal, his sword, Xiu Ying, shot out of its hiding place from in between the floorboards. 

“...”

A moment of silence for the sword's beat-up sheath, scuffed and scratched up after the skinner repeatedly jammed the sword downwards, frantically trying to shove the blade beneath the floor. Shen Yuan bowed his head and murmured an apology to his legendary sword, which had basically been hidden in the same way a young boy stuffs a stack of porn novels beneath the bed.

He unsheathed the blade, one tinged a beautiful pale gold, before arching his sword down and through its neck. Smooth like butter. 

Luo Binghe tried not to dry heave as the stench of blood grew thicker, wafting from the body and around the room. That was nothing like the bad wuxia dramas he watched on tv. That was an actual person being killed in front of him.

Holy fuck, this was real. The body was still twitching. He could see the wide eyes and the smashed nose of the head rolling away from him. Shen Yuan had just killed a leaving, breathing demon. Ah shit, Binghe was in real danger. These two wouldn’t hesitate to kill him the moment they found out about the whole demon thing.

Seeing Binghe’s pale face, Shen Yuan and Qingqiu immediately misconstrued it as him being scared shitless from his first demon encounter. Well, they didn’t entirely misconstrue it. They were half right. He was paralyzed by fear. 

Shen Qingqiu raised his sleeve over his face to protect it from the messily spurting blood, bracing his foot against the monster’s lower back as he jerked his Xiu Ya out of the body like a morbid sword in the stone. The Skinner shuddered one final time before falling completely still.

Shen Yuan was already behind Binghe’s line of sight while taking his sweet time untying Ning Yingying, leaving Binghe in alarmingly close proximity to Shen Qingqiu. He had yet to say a word to the transmigrator. Shizun? Shizun? Binghe is sorry for insulting your looks, don’t leave him with your devil of a brother, ah!

Shen Qingqiu’s eyebrow quirked at Binghe’s drawn, haggard face.

“Was this your first time seeing a demon extermination? And you’re so scared you can barely move?”

What to do but agree? Luo Binghe shakily nodded his head as his Shifu continued. 

“To defend the innocent, you must exterminate the evil. Remember, Binghe. The key is quickly and with extreme prejudice.” Done with his impromptu lecture, he turned his attention to soothing a frightened Yingying alongside his twin. The words bounced around in Binghe’s head. All the Shifu’s rare, misplaced sympathy had done was make this half-demon Luo Binghe even more sure that the moment these two found out, he’d wake up deep in an abyss.

[Ding! System congratulates Luo_Binghe for completing first quest! Completion of beginning checkpoint mission <<Flesh Fashionista>> has earned dear customer +200 B points! OOC function has been unfrozen. Please keep up the good work!]

[Gained high-level equipment: Immortal binding cables. Located in inventory.]

[+100 Coolness points for Shen Jiu]

~~~

Later that night, Shen Yuan and Shen Qingqiu puttered around their shared room in their overnight inn. Shen Qingqiu was arranging his outfit for the next day, carefully smoothing out his robes to make sure there would be no wrinkles to mar his untouchable facade. Shen Yuan had been meandering here and there for the past two hours, reading a book here before dropping it to check a mirror. Taking his hair down from his ponytail and pulling it in a braid, then poking and prodding his face with his hands. Gradually sighing louder in the hopes that his brother would finally take a hint and ask what’s wrong.

Joke’s on him. Shen Qingqiu was a master of tuning his brother out.

Shen Yuan finally clicked his tongue, pushing aside his pride in favor of curiosity and just a little bit of vanity.

“Jiu-Ge, you’d say this master’s skin is good, right? It hasn’t changed much since I first became an immortal? It’s still tight and firm, right?”

“Shen Yuan, are you shameless?” Said Shen Jiu, not even turning to look at his brother. Shen Yuan’s shoulder’s slumped almost imperceptibly as he turned back to study his face’s reflection. 

A pause, and then, “You’re my twin. There’s no way you could look bad. Stop worrying.”

~~~

At the first streak of dawn across the sky, the ten traveling disciples were packed and ready for their journey back. Shen Qingqiu had already shot off on Xiu Ya earlier that morning, citing that he would be off to report the completed mission to Yue Qingyuan. Most disciples felt a frisson of fear from the vicious joy flickering in his eyes. At least this meant that their mornings would be a little more relaxed. Shen Yuan never seemed to mind when they chatted amongst each other so long as they stayed relatively quiet.

Binghe stood behind the horses and carriages, a forlorn expression across his face. He looked like a lost cygnet, his thick hair framing his face and softening its countenance even more. Anyone who looked at him would feel the immense maternal urge to hold him close and tell his big eyes that everything was alright.

Binghe felt like the new kid in a crowded lunchroom. Was he going to walk back today? Ride with a disciple? He didn’t even dare to hope that his shizun would invite him back into the carriage after the stunt he had pulled yesterday. Insulting Shizun? He might as well kill himself where he stood.

So imagine the boy’s surprise when Shen Yuan tapped him on the forehead with his fan, eyes steely.

“Binghe, get in the carriage with this Shizun. We need to discuss some things.”

The transmigrator wished he hadn’t tied back his hair so tightly so that his hair might have been able to fall in a curtain around his face. He did his best impression of the original goods at that moment, hunching his shoulders and scurrying behind his master towards the cart. 

They boarded silently, Binghe taking the seat directly across from his shizun and gazing resolutely at his feet. He should get new boots soon, it looked like these ones were starting to wear out. 

“Binghe, this master feels that he needs to remind you not to throw yourself into danger. What you did with the skinner, while brave, was incredibly dangerous and could have ended in more casualties than necessary. This Shizun can protect himself. That is, unless you don’t trust his judgment?”

Shen Yuan watched in amazement as the little boy who had previously been acting like a puppet with cut strings suddenly perked up. He could practically see the tail wagging agitatedly as ears perked to attention from his curly mop of hair. 

The boy bowed his head quickly, then lurched forward as if he was about to kowtow on the carriage floor. Shen Qingqiu reached out and held his forehead up with the tip of his fan, supporting the boy before he could fall to the floor and beg for mercy.

“Shizun! This disciple apologizes! He has complete faith in your abilities, it was just-” Binghe stopped himself before he could go any further. 

“It was just what, Binghe?” Shizun prompted.

“It was just… It was just that Shizun looked really uncomfortable because of the Skinner. This disciple just wanted to help. If I could give up my life for Shizun, it would be an honor for this disciple.” Binghe’s eyes lit back up like he was suddenly remembering something vitally important.

“And Shizun! This disciple apologizes for insulting your appearance. Shizun is a-” His voice lowered in embarrassment, and Shen Yuan unconsciously leaned forward a bit to catch the rest. “-a verygoodlookingteacher. So please, Shizun, disregard this unworthy disciple’s pleas at the time.”

Shen Yuan’s fan opened with a soft shwick , the painted bamboo forests covering the lower half of his face.

“This master accepts your apologies. I expect to never see a repeat occurrence of such behavior again, though. I have no need for disciples to sacrifice themselves for my sake. This master will assure you- even if something goes wrong, nothing will ever happen to you.”

Shizun! Beautiful, wonderful, kind Shizun! You are celestial being descended!

Shen Yuan’s eyes widened as tears began to fall down his disciple’s face. Fuck, what did he say? Was he too harsh on this fragile disciple? The boy sniffled a little, tucking his head downwards in an attempt to hide his reddening eyes. Shen Yuan felt a sudden urge to hold the boy close and promise him everything was going to be all right. He, of course, restrained himself. 

Things weren’t going much better on Binghe’s side of things. He was frantically fighting back tears, but they wouldn’t go away. Why was he crying so easily? Is this a side effect of inhabiting a pure white lotus character? God, he probably looked so weak in front of his Shizun.

Shen Yuan couldn’t resist. He patted the boy’s shiny hair, and it was truly as soft as it looked. This little sheep was so cute! This feeling was so addicting!

[Congratulations! Congratulation! Congratulations! New weapon unlocked: Devastating White Lotus tears. Currently equipped. Use weapon on command, no cooldown time needed.]

Luo Binghe sniffled and sobbed a little more dramatically, pressing his head upwards and more firmly against the hand. This was shameless, but when had Luo Binghe had any sense of shame to begin with? Let’s spam this new weapon, there's no cooldown time after all!

[...]

~~~

Shen Jiu noticed that Shen Yuan paid more attention to Binghe after the Skinner incident. It wasn’t like Shen Yuan personally taught the boy or anything, but the Shen Jiu often caught Shen Yuan watching the boy’s figure as he sprinted around Qing Jing peak. Sometimes, during their monthly lectures, he looked worriedly towards the slowly progressing Binghe. The boy’s cultivation level had been growing by leaps and bounds since the day he had suddenly changed, but 0 times 10 still equals 0. The boy’s cultivation was still improving far below what both masters knew he could eventually achieve.

Shen Qingqiu couldn’t care less. It was probably the case of a stupid kid who couldn’t figure out how to read a manual correctly. It wasn’t his problem if the kid was struggling due to a low IQ. Plenty of people on Qing Jing peak were morons, yet they still managed to excel as students. If the boy truly had a problem, he could always discuss it with his fellow disciples. That was always what Shen Jiu had done when he was a disciple.

Shen Yuan was less sure. Binghe himself was a smart boy. After paying more attention to the child’s performance inside and outside of class, the way he always seemed to be studying or practicing forms of asking his senior disciples questions, eyes sparkling with overflowing curiosity, Shen Yuan was sure of that. Yet sometimes he would catch Binghe staring with a furrowed brow at the manual before shaking his head in befuddlement and assuming a meditating position. 

He started paying more attention to what, exactly, his disciple was studying. The book itself looked well worn, but the color was slightly off. Usually, the texts were an off white, leaning towards green to better match the aesthetic of their peak. This was a close copy, but Shen Yuan could recognize his manual versus a stranger’s. He had written dozens of them, after all. 

With this in mind, Shen Yuan fished a spare from the pile of cultivation manuals he kept in the corner of the library. The most recent ones were located near the bottom of the unsteady tower, but if he jerked it out quickly enough he was sure the books wouldn’t fall.

Shen Jiu heard a loud crash from their shared personal library with a less loud cry of pain. Putting aside his guqin, the exhausted teacher kneaded his temples before getting up to help out his twin.

~~~

Luo Binghe didn’t even need to spam his new Lotus Tear weapon to start crying out of sheer terror. His Shifu was approaching him quickly, a slight scowl marring his features. He held something large in his hand, something Binghe was automatically assuming was some text he had to copy a thousand times. Dear protagonist, I’ve always cheered for you. Why are you still so cruel to this child? Mentally he screamed apologies for taking a break and cultivating instead of finishing up chopping all the wood. 

Binghe instinctively cringed as the hand passed his face, remembering all too well the paragraphs of abuse the man had given the original goods. This transmigrator had thought that the years of awful foster homes and abusive adults were over! But if he could survive it once, he could theoretically survive it again. If he could just get through this with a thick enough face, he was sure the peak lord would leave him be. After all, Binghe remembered that the thing Shen Jiu had hated most about the original goods was his proclivity towards useless tears and murmured apologies when used as a punching bag. 

His cultivation manual disappeared from next to him. Shifu was quickly rifling through the manual, his face darkening as he went on. He flipped to the first page, then to the center, eyes rapidly roving the pages.

“Is this the manual Ming Fan gave you?” He asked calmly, his voice a strange echo of Shen Yuan’s when it was cold and emotionless. 

Was this a trick question? This poor transmigrator hadn’t been around when the original goods received the manual, so this might be a trick question. Banking on the hope that his master was having a rare moment of sympathy, he nodded mutely.

“You have a tongue, boy, don’t you? Speak up when this master is asking you a question.”

“Yes, Shifu. This is the manual that I received.”

Shen Qingqiu’s fingers twitched with spiritual energy. Before Binghe’s very eyes, the cultivation manual blew up. Little bits of paper rained down around him. 

Holy. Fuck. Oh shit. There’s no way this wasn’t a wordless threat. Binghe had never understood Shen Qingqiu very well, but he had understood enough to know when the man was intentionally being menacing. This was probably the moment right before Shen Qingqiu dramatically kicked him off the mountains. Even if that wasn’t originally canon, Binghe was sure it was going to be soon.

Not that such a thing would really be that bad, he mused for a split second. He’d escape the plot, especially because his OOC function was unfrozen. And he’d escape the wrath of Shen Qingqiu, the slim chance of food and shelter, the sweet tones of Shen Yuan’s voice…

No way was he leaving! Not at this point! Shen Yuan had already patted his head and earned this child’s eternal loyalty!

Shen Qingqiu flicked his sleeve, withdrawing a small cultivation book from it. “Your Shizun has recommended you for a different cultivation manual. According to him, your constitution seems somewhat different from the other students. You can’t cultivate with the regular texts.” Like hell was Shen Jiu going to tell the truth. His face was too thin to admit that either of the peak lords might have messed up and let a strange cultivation manual go unnoticed for an entire year. 

And suddenly Shen Qingqiu could Shen Yuan’s apt comparison of Binghe to an eager puppy. At first, he had thought his twin had finally come around to seeing the child as a flea-ridden mutt, but something in the bottom of his heart clenched when he saw the shining hope in Binghe’s eyes. He could practically see the tail wagging. The master promptly tracked down that little part of him that was cooing towards the disciple’s adorable face and strangled it mercilessly. Healthy, genuine feelings of love and affection? Not on his watch. 

~~~

The little transmigrator beamed. His Shifu was offering him a new manual! Specially made for him! Quickly flipping a few pages, some of the techniques actually made sense this time!

The system’s robotic cheers of [Gained new item: Genuine, real goods cultivation manual. Located in inventory.] only furthered his excitement. 

Throwing himself forward, he thoughtlessly hugged his Shifu. The man froze beneath his arms, noticeably stiffening. 

“This disciple thanks you, Shifu! He’ll be sure to make both you and Shizun proud!”

Quickly letting go and escaping from the man’s incoming fury, he snatched up the brand new cultivation manual in triumph and raced back to the woodshed, eager to finish up chopping the wood so he could finally begin truly cultivating.

Shen Jiu stared after him, an indecipherable emotion crossing his face for a moment. Turning on his heel, he got ready to have a small discussion with a certain unruly child.

In the disciple’s quarters, Ming Fan sneezed.

Chapter Text

“Shen Yuan, I’m entering seclusion in the spirit caves soon. I’m going to break through this goddamn bottleneck if it kills me.” Groused Shen Qingqiu, his hands deftly knotting the sash of his robes with a deadly finality.

“Jiu-Ge, you’re really trying to rub shoulders with Xie Lian right now, aren’t you. What do you think is going to happen if you rush through this with that kind of attitude? A fucking Qi deviation, that’s what. No, you know what? If you’re going, I’m coming with you.” 

“Like hell you will. You think I can cultivate with you constantly nagging me? You dog me about qi deviations worse than Mu-shidi and Yue Qingyuan together. I haven’t had one in years, I’m not going to suddenly have one now.”

“I-” Shen Yuan sighed. He could theoretically waste his breath with further argument, but the look on his twin’s face said it all. There was no way he’d ever win. Shen Jiu was as stubborn as a mule when it really came down to it. “Just be careful, all right? If there’s any sign of trouble, stop and take a break. There’s no rush right now. None of these disciples can even think to take our place. We’re safe, Jiu-Ge.”

~~~

The moment Shizun had announced that his brother was going into secluded cultivation, Binghe had immediately dropped everything he was doing and raced to his woodshed. Pulling the despicable little jade guanyin out from under his robes, he frantically tapped on the figure’s little face. 

“System? System! Tell me this isn’t that one murder mystery arc. Please, please tell me this isn’t the murder arc.”

[Ding! Customer is correct! Good job~ Title of current chapter: Battle at the Spirit Caves. Chapter Summary: “Shen Jiu enters cultivation, only to be attacked by a crazed Liu Qingge who eventually killed himself with his own Chen Luan. Or so the man claims. What is the real truth?? Find out in the newest installment of The Immortal Master’s Way!!”]

This was one of the most famous moments in the book, the moment which turned Shen Qingqiu’s reputation from a righteous cultivator with a sharp tongue into a potential murderer, sly and devious, in the eyes of so many other characters. Binghe knew the truth, it had been the chapter with one of the best fight scenes up to date. The two had danced a deadly tango, Liu Qingge almost foaming at the mouth with blinding rage while Shen Jiu swung back with a frenzy, barely staving off his own qi deviation. The entire battle scene had every painful detail dragged out for thousands of words, assuring that no reader would be unable to imagine the fantastic scenario. Magical. Marvelous. It was truly the work of a master writer.

It was also more work for Binghe. He, a single child cultivator barely brushing 5’3”, had to stop this whole scenario before it got too out of hand. The boy could practically see Jiu’s blackening reputation level rise with each passing second.

His pacing grew more and more rapid as he panicked back and forth across the room, almost hyperventilating. Suddenly, his feet stopped their rapid pacing. They slid a little on the permanently dusty floorboards. 

Shizun. Of course, get Shizun involved and the whole problem would be solved. Shen Yuan could be a witness to the death of Qingge, a supporter of Shen Qingqiu’s story that the entire thing was an accident. Yue Qingyuan couldn’t possibly question both of them, and Shen Yuan’s word was trusted amongst the other peak lords. He was a watertight alibi just waiting to happen.

The black and white blur shot out of the woodshed, clutching the jade guanyin close to his chest as he looked left and right frantically. Where was Shizun? There was no time to waste.

~~~

 Not in the training hall. Not in the library. Not in the lunchroom, not wandering the paths, not next to the cleansing waterfalls, not- Binghe sprinted right into something and ricocheted back, the wind almost knocked clean out of him before he hit the ground. 

Rolling, he leaped back up on his feet to begin his search once more. Cover the training grounds, maybe shizun had been inspecting weapons in the back. Check the library, maybe Shizun was in the archives. Find him before everything went wrong and Binghe ended up shattered at the bottom of an abyss. 

A squeak rose from his throat as a rough hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. Ming Fan’s narrowed eyes pierced his own as Binghe struggled, trying to push the other boy’s hand off as he stared. 

“Not even an apology, Binghe? Where do you think you’re rushing off to so quickly that you can’t even remember basic respect?”

“Ming Fan, let go.”

“Not until I get an apology.” Ming Fan pretended to think for a bit, stalling just to watch Binghe’s face pale further. “And an explanation. I want to know where you think you’re going.”

In an attempt to dodge any possible suspicion of being the man who accidentally killed? Dissipated? Sent away? The original goods and replaced him, Binghe reached back and activated his newly trademarked <<Devastating White Lotus Tears>>. His eyes opened wide, glassy with alarm. “I heard screaming from the Lixuan Caves. It sounds like someone’s really hurt in there, but I couldn’t get in. I think it- I think it might have been Shifu’s voice.” He let out a little extra sob for dramatic effect. 

Ming Fan paled, his sneering visage distorting to mirror Binghe’s own panic. “Why didn’t you- You should have told a senior disciple!” His fisted hand almost ripped Binghe’s robes before he loosened his grip, hastily backing away. 

“I- I’m getting Mu-Shibo. Shizun should be in his bamboo forest.” He began a light jog that built its way into a sprint towards the rainbow bridge. Binghe watched him for a moment before whipping his head around and sprinting the other way, treading the well-worn path towards the bamboo hut and beyond it. He dashed up the rocks, internally thanking his shishu and shizun for sending him to run so many laps. This body had an almost inexhaustible amount of stamina at this point. 

Binghe darted up and around the plants like a mountain goat, scrambling his way off the path in an attempt to skip running around the bamboo hut and instead make a straight shot for the bamboo forest. His foot slipped on a loose spread of pebbles and he slid forward, his arms catching him before he could slam his face onto a nearby boulder. He barely noticed the sting from the shredded skin on his hands, fisting them as he cursed his clumsiness and shot towards the forest once again. 

The moment he reached the shaded greens of the bamboo shoots and saw the distant outline of his shizun standing amongst the spotted drops of sunlight, he almost collapsed. All the panic and fear drained out of him the moment he caught sight of the pale green robes and the fair skin. He slowed down for a moment, eyes darting here and there as shyness consumed him for a moment. 

Shen Yuan paused from his walk and glanced back towards the exhausted disciple, his eyes widening by a fraction at the red smear on the boy’s robes and his overall disheveled appearance.

“What the- Binghe? Binghe, what happened.” His steps were barely audible as he calmly picked his way around the bamboo and closer to the disciple. 

“Shizun, I- this disciple heard screaming from the spirit caves. It sounded like there was something-”

Binghe barely felt the breeze pass him as his Shizun disappeared. The disciple spun on his heel, watching in awe to see that Shen Yuan had already reached one of the mountains outcroppings. He made a sword seal to have the sword hover in place in the air before leaping on it, his balance not wavering on the thin plate of metal in the slightest. Within seconds, Binghe could only track his shizun due to the faint golden sheen of Xiu Ying. It shone distinct from the background, shining beneath the cultivator’s boots like a crackling bolt of lightning. 

~~~

When Shen Yuan reached the caves, he couldn’t hear anything from within. No screams, no cries, not even a whisper. Birds were singing around him, the brook nearby babbled playfully, and Shen Yuan felt a bit leery by how peaceful the scene was. Shouldn’t Shen Jiu be screaming and fighting shadows by now? For Binghe to have heard the scream from the cave, his twin must have been pacing somewhere nearby the entrance. Bracing himself for the worst, Yuan sped towards the cave, shivering a little from the tingles that washed over him as he crossed through the wards at the cave’s maw. 

The series of interconnected caves that stretched before him were all uncomfortably dark, gently lit by glowing gems that didn’t provide nearly enough light. Every once in a while there was a dip in the rough walls, where branching pathways to more secluded rooms were formed. His steps echoed around him. The only other sound was that of his own nearly imperceptible breathing. There were no signs of distress for a good few rooms.

His fingers absently twisted through the ends of his ponytail as he closed his eyes and felt for any shifts in the energy around him, any sign of warped qi. Nothing. There was nothing he could feel from his brother right now. Either Shen Jiu had fought his way through whatever qi deviation he was going through, or the qi deviation had consumed him and he had finally… No. It’s best for Shen Yuan not to think about such things. 

There was a shift in the air, the already cold breeze from deep inside the cave turning colder. His already fast pace quickened. Reaching into his sleeve, he lit a golden talisman. The light bounced off the moist walls and the errant gem deposits of the cave, giving off little eye-catching glitters of light. 

A roar echoed through the cave, guttural and almost inhuman. Shen Yuan’s steps staggered for a second before starting up again, swift and purposeful. Placing a hand over his sword, he raced forward towards the sound. His heart pounded in his ears as he repeated in a loop what meridians he should guide his spiritual energy into, a faint chorus of “fucks” going off in his head. So it was true. Binghe had been right. Why was his brother experiencing a qi deviation this early? Jiu-Ge had only entered the cave a little while ago!

Yuan skidded to a stop, his sword half unsheathed as he passed an occupied room. There he saw his brother leaping up from his meditative position, one hand massaging his temple he angrily muttered to himself. There was nothing obviously wrong at first glance, but qi deviations often manifested themselves in odd forms. 

Direction suddenly changing, he slowed down a bit and approached his brother as one would approach a wild animal. His twin’s head shot up, panicking a little at the foreign presence. Shen Yuan raised his hands like he was trying to steady a wild deer, fearful of its surroundings. At the sight of the familiar face, Shen Qingqiu noticeably relaxed, though he remained alert. Drawing close, Yuan reached out and gently grabbed his brother's wrist, feeling for the spiritual veins, each move measured and slow as molasses. The other peak lord allowed his arm to be taken, looking slightly bemused. When Shen Yuan felt no sign of any damage to his sibling’s spiritual veins, he breathed an audible sigh of relief. 

“And what do you think you’re doing here, A-Yuan?” The victim of Shen Yuan’s inspection drawled. His eyes looked past his brother, towards the source of the sound when yet another scream was let loose, this time with less echo. Whoever it was, whatever it was, was drawing closer. 

“I heard reports of sounds from the cave and I came to check it out. Are you okay? You’re unhurt?” The worry in the voice was completely unaligned with Shen Yuan’s stone mask, unmoving even as he frantically patted Shen Qingqiu down, checking for injuries. 

Shen Qingqiu’s shaking head and calming rebuttal were aborted by the cries coming from the hallways. Grinding, screeching sounds like nails on a chalkboard were beginning to sound off, accelerating as it got closer. Shen Yuan stepped in front of his brother in a protective gesture. The other rolled his eyes and huffed an indignant breath as he stepped out from behind, pushing Shen Yuan’s shoulder a little to stand by his side. 

A sword bashed against the walls, sometimes dragging up against them, wailing in protest against its harsh use. It clumsily flew around like a drunken bat, doing its best to greedily seek the other sources of spiritual energy from within the Lixuan caves. The owner of the sword dragged himself along behind it, his hands barely maintaining their sword seals from the tremors that rattled the calloused hands.

Shen Yuan held his breath for a moment, praying to whatever unlikely deities above that watched their lives to take mercy on him and let the undefeatable war god of Bai Zhan Peak pass without noticing the two of them.

The gods were not smiling upon them that day.

Liu Qingge’s entire body twisted towards them, his head whipping around last. His normally silky, long hair was stringy with sweat and mussed, hanging half out of his normally tight ponytails. The whites of his eyes flashed and his lips thinned as they drew over his teeth in  a wolf’s grin. His bulky frame entirely blocked the only entrance and exit out of their little isolated cave. He raised a finger an pointed towards them, his sword shakily coming to hover in front of him. Bracing himself, he let loose another rattling, low scream.

Without a word to the other, Qingqiu drew his sword and raced past his brother. Shen Yuan yelped in alarm before drawing his own sword, sprinting down the length of the cave and internally thanking his brother for picking such a spacious room for the two of them to be trapped in. 

“Jiu-Ge,” the breathless shout echoed across the cave. “You’re in charge of the meridians!”

“Why me, asshole?!” Shen Qingqiu flung himself to the side to avoid Cheng Luan as it swung to the side, its erratic movements barely missing him.

“You’ve got more experience with this shit? Just do it!” His eyes were darting around for a strategic place to bunker down. He had always been better at more ranged attacks.

“Fuck you!” Nevertheless, he ducked as he slowly weaved his way towards the raging man, readying himself to tackle the man and restrain his frantically moving hands.

“Not now, Jiu-Ge!” Much to Shen Yuan’s alarm, the sword that had initially been hovering in a confused manner after missing its target suddenly shooting back towards its master. “Hey! Dodge!”

Shen Qingqiu abandoned his mission to close the gap between the two of them, Cheng Luan shooting past him blade first. At the last possible second, Liu Qingge seemed to remember in a dazed haze to spin the sword around. The tip of the sword grazed his robes and they split open, blood oozing from the self-inflicted wound. His hands reached up to desperately clutch around the hilt as if it were a lifeline. 

The Xiu Ya sword and its master raced up the cliffside as the two swords clashed, one being held by a grip of iron and another held aloft by spiritual energy. Shen Qingqiu was on the defensive, doing his best to keep Qingge as far away as humanly possible with nothing more than a floating sword. It was times like these when he wished he had picked up his brother’s habit of keeping two weapons on him at all times. 

In another lifetime, without the help of a brother, Sehn Qingqiu was completely sure that someone would have died in this battle. It likely would have been himself. Already, he was beginning to feel fatigue in his arms as he held up the sword seal against the inexorable force of the other’s blade. He curled his fingers into another seal, his sword finally beginning to lever Liu Qingge’s arm aside. 

“A-Yuan! Some help?” He threw over his shoulder, not looking away from his opponent.

On the other side of the cave, Shen Yuan let loose a prayer and a blast of spiritual energy from his fan. Qingge staggered back a few steps before shifting his weight lower, shifting his intentions from the elder peak lord to the younger with a growl.

“Ah, shit.” Yuan breathed when Qingge coiled like a tiger, ready to cover the entire distance of the cave in a single leap. His brow creased as he poured even more spiritual energy into the fan until the fine painted mountains crackled with lightning, the paper almost ready to burst apart in a violent snowstorm. The fan was batted forward once more and Liu Qingge tumbled backward, hands still tight around the sword as he lay sprawled on his back. Shen Yuan himself skidded back a little from the backlash of the fan, his feet scrambling for an anchor.

Seizing the opportunity, the twins rushed the lone cultivator at the same time. Shen Yuan lept from the edge of the towering rocks he had clambered up, pouncing towards prone figure like a hyena on carrion. His twin knelt down beside Liu Qingge, mouth twisted like he had smelled something especially sour. Shen Yuan didn’t even hesitate before he straddled the cultivator’s hips, his own hands reaching forth to pin the bucking man’s arms to the ground. 

“What are you waiting for, Jiu-Ge? Do it!”

Shen Qingqiu reached up to brush aside the other man’s outer robes so he could reach a bare stretch of chest, hesitating a little bit before going all in. He yanked apart the man’s undergarments like a man in a desert looking for water, placing his hands on the man’s rippling pectorals before closing his eyes in concentration. Yuan politely looked everywhere but Qingge’s exposed chest before finally settling on his delicate face. Really, it was a shame that such a pretty man had such a stony temperament.

As the spiritual energy poured into him, Qingge’s eyes cleared up and lucidity seemed to return. His eyes immediately locked on the man holding him down, then to the one healing him. 

“Qingqiu.” He growled, and Shen Jiu jolted a little bit before sending a confused glare towards his brother. Yuan was the first the Bai Zhan mongrel had seen, after all. Why was he, the healer, suddenly a target for ire?

Qingge’s eyes darted between the two of them, then he said again, a little more befuddled. “Qingqiu?”

Shen Jiu shook his head. He hated when people repeat things. “Yes, Qingqiu-shixiong is here. Now quiet, I’m concentrating.”

The mad cultivator’s movements had slowed to a halt by now, and his words were getting even slower. “Why are there two of you?” He barely spit out.

Shen Yuan smiled indulgently. “Liu-Shidi, this master is Shen Yuan, not Qingqiu. You must still be addled from the deviation, but be silent. My brother has already said he is trying to concentrate.” 

It was like a light was sparking on and dusty wheels were rattling overtime in Qingge’s head. He blinked a few long, slow blinks, as if he were a cat, before gazing up at Shen Yuan with something like vitriol and just a hint of wonder. 

“There are two Qing Jing lords?”

~~~

Liu Qingge had never seen the two of them in a single room before. In fact, he had never seen them together, period. As disciples, Shen Yuan and Qingqiu were hardly attached at the hip, awkward after having spent so long apart and then becoming partners in crime under a single villainous cultivator. Relations had been strained for a while. They were never on bad terms, but at the time they were certainly not on good ones. 

By the time the two would amiably leave the peak together, they would always just miss a certain Bai Zhan war god in the making. Sometimes it would be an incident where Shen Qingqiu would speak to someone who was blocked by a tree or shrubbery, or sometimes Shen Yuan would be called away moments before Liu Wingge entered the room. It was an improbable scenario only bolstered by the fact that before becoming a peak lord, Shen Yuan’s reputation was always overshadowed by that of his vicious larger-than-life brother. Not that he ever particularly minded. It was just a fact the two of them had long since gotten used to.

As peak lords, the two had long since put aside their differences and become far closer, working as a cohesive team. That meant they shared duties such as teaching and completing mission. Duties such as meetings. And of course it wasn’t necessary for both of them to go, so they often switched off. Shen Yuan’s lazy temperament and late sleeping habits often meant that Shen Qingqiu went to meetings to fuss and catfight with Qingge. This one would sit nearby Yue Qingyuan and Qi Qingqi, raising his hackles and hissing when anyone else dared to draw close. Qingge would watch from afar with nothing but irritation, never willing to openly admit he was waiting for a lull in the conversation where he could start something. Fights were always the best way to quickly end boring meetings.

Then again, he recollected that every so often “Shen Qingqiu” would be quiet and nice. His hair would be pulled up in a ponytail with a fan daintily fanning away the heat. He’d sit farther away from the sect head, secretively passing notes and paper airplanes with Shang Qinghua from under the table. The two would hold hushed conversations, always guiltily quieting down whenever Zhangmen-shixiong pointedly cleared his throat. Every time Qingge tried to incense this calmer Shen Qingqiu, the man would hardly do more than flick his fan in his direction and frown minutely. 

Qingge had always chalked every persona and detail of the two under a single mask of a capricious Shen Qingqiu, the infamous sect leader of Qing Jing peak. Whenever something happened that was out of character, he figured that the man had taken his wrath out on a disciple right before Qingge saw him. Honestly, was it really his fault that he had never heard of the quieter half of the Twin Xiu Swords? Or realized that maybe Shen Qingqiu’s temperament couldn’t change so suddenly? Or even put together the fact that whenever his persona changed, he seemed to have a wildly different fashion sense, different friends, and even a slightly different way of speaking?

Well, when you put it like that. 

~~~

It took about a twenty-minute chat, one with intermittent shushing sounds from Shen Jiu as he tried to do his fucking job people, to explain everything to a dumbfounded Liu Qingge. To fully inform and detail out that yes, in fact, they were identical twins and yes, in fact, two peak lords at a time were absolutely allowed. Yes, most every peak lord knew about this arrangement (except you, apparently, Shen Qingqiu scathingly added on). 

Twenty more minutes of awkward silence and Shen Jiu dropped Liu Qingge’s head from his lap to the ground with a hasty finality. Shen Yuan winced a bit from the dull thud as his skull cracked against the hard cave floor. Oof, that had to hurt. Shen Jiu had a lot going for him, but bedside manner and basic kindness was not one of them.

Shen Yuan pushed himself up off the man, pulling his brother to his feet before reaching up and fixing his own mussed hair. His brother mirrored his own movements, transforming himself back into a peerless immortal scholar rather than a harried warrior who had just played a game of cat and mouse. 

Any further attempt from Shen Yuan’s mother hen instinct to baby Liu Qingge was met with a sharp rebuke from the two other present parties.

“Leave me alone. Qi deviation is no longer an issue, I can deal with the rest myself.” Grunted an emotionally stunted party.

“Shen Yuan, let’s leave. I can’t continue cultivating under these conditions, it would be a waste of time.” Bemoaned the other emotionally stunted party.

And so the two white and green-clad figures wandered off with purpose, Shen Yuan tossing one last reassuring look over his shoulder while Shen Qingqiu sped up in a haste to get as far away from Qingge as possible. 

When they had reached a point beyond Liu Qingge’s senses, Shen Qingqiu sharply elbowed his brother in the ribs. “I can’t believe you followed me to the caves.” He scowled. “You were camping outside again, weren’t you? I’m serious when I tell you I can handle myself just fine.”

“No I- Wait.” Shen Yuan paused, pensive. “When did you notice that Liu Qingge’s deviation was starting?”

His brother side-eyed him. “Are you trying to trick me? You were practically right next to me when he began to deviate. Weren’t you the one who came in at the first sign of trouble?” He frowned. “But to answer your question, it started soon after I sensed you entering the caves. Why?”

Thinking back to Luo Binghe’s panicked face, Shen Yuan hummed noncommittally. “No reason, just curious. Sorry about hovering, I really do have faith in your abilities.” 

Shen Qingqiu harrumphed as they exited a cave, his hair frizzing up a little from the electricity crackling around the barrier. “Damn right you should. Remind me again, who was it that-”

It was hardly a surprise when Luo Binghe sprinted onto the scene. He seemed to be everywhere these days. Taking in the two of them with barely-veiled glee and satisfaction, he saluted them.

“Respect, shizun, shifu.” His hands were clumsily bandaged and his hair was askew. Frankly, the white lotus was a mess. Then his face darkened. 

“This disciple must inform you that demons have split the rainbow bridge and are currently mounting an attack on the Cang Qiong sect.”

Chapter Text

Not five hours had passed and already another major plot was in development. How did the system expect a single man to keep up with all of its testy demands? This was impossible! He needed a break!

He was a hundred percent sure that the system was playing the novel on a x2.0 playback, and he really didn’t appreciate it. 

Almost immediately after Shen Yuan had left the sect, almost as if they could smell the weakness, demons began their march up Cang Qiong peak. The moment Ming Fan had caught sight of them on his way to collect Mu Qingfang, the disciples had assembled into an admirable defensive line at the gates. A senior disciple sent the local pageboy up to inform the sect leaders of the issue should they emerge from the caves soon. After all, Shen Yuan was only supposed to have visited it for a quick checkup.

That local pageboy was Binghe, of course. Who else would it be.

Up the rainbow bridge he flew, his tired legs collapsing underneath him the moment he saw the looming maw. There was no sign of anyone emerging from the caves. And there he sat for three of the five passing hours, doodling in the dirt and obediently staying like a diligent hound waiting at the door for its master’s return.

So of course when they did return, the barrier shimmering around their silhouettes as they exited, he leaped up and practically skipped to their sides. No broken limbs, no sign of major qi deviation, no blood or tears. A complete success in Binghe’s book.

[Ding! System congratulates Luo_Binghe for completion of mission <<Murder on the Spirit Cave Express>>. Customer has earned +200 B points!]

[New character unlocked! NPC Liu_Qingge now available as a follower.

Shen Qingqiu has earned +50 Coolness Points

Shen Yuan has earned +100 Harem points]

System? System dear, what are harem points?

Well, Binghe was certain that was a matter that could be observed later. After all of Cang Qiong Peak wasn’t under siege.

Upon being informed of the issue in the world below, the two cultivator’s faces blackened. They prepared to mount their swords, and Binghe prepared to run all the way back down the mountain. Ugh.

He began to jog towards the path, feet sore but will iron. Shen Yuan paused, then called out after him. “You ran all the way up the mountain to inform us of this issue, right? Let this master carry you back down.”

Shen Qingqiu rolled his eyes as Binghe fought a grin threatening to stretch from ear to ear. Shen Yuan found it adorable. This boy was so excited to try out a flying sword! He could remember and appreciate being at that age and watching people shoot around with wonder. Well, consider this a favor to his younger self alongside Binghe, then.

Binghe shakily mounted the sword after his Shizun, feet wobbling a little beneath him. This was… significantly harder than it looked. 

“Hold on, it’ll help you to keep your balance.” Advised Shen Yuan. Binghe didn’t even hesitate. 

~~~

Binghe wanted to whoop as he felt his hair being whipped back by the cool breeze, his eyes watering at the speed they were going. Snuggling his face into Shen Yuan’s back and tightening his embrace, he grinned a secretive smile where neither of the twins could see him. 

Flying with Shizun was an exhilarating experience. Getting such a close-up view of the pale nape of his neck and discretely feeling up his broad chest under the guise of getting a better grip would stay in Luo Binghe’s memory for years. He paid no attention to Shen Qingqiu, who flew a little behind them and frowned at the impropriety of it all. Sourpuss.

Binghe would be lying if he said he didn’t shed a single tear upon landing, but he quickly got over his stickiness the moment he saw a disciple almost lose an arm from the cleave of a demon’s blade. They were in a real, live war zone now, it seemed. Bowing, he skittered away from his favorite pair. As a former reader, he was intimately aware that being within a ten-mile radius of Shen Jiu only cause devastation.

From the chaos a dainty woman flung her hand up to the sky, the bells around her wrists chiming in chorus. As if that were the signal, dozens of demons flocked back to her side and behind her like a row of obedient ducklings, simpering and digging their toes into the ground. She bared her fangs in a grin, sashaying to stand a few feet away from the peak masters of Qing Jing.

Sha Hualing, the left hand of the original Luo Binghe. The transmigrator didn’t recall too much about her. She was beautiful, of course, in the crimson colors that so many demons seemed to favor. She was decked out in jewelry, golden chains and rings wrapping around her braids, shining bracelets and bells jingling around her wrists. She could almost be mistaken as a goddess of hedonism.

But more about the plot. Since almost nothing was known of the original Binghe between the time he had fallen into the abyss to when he had arrived to spear Shen Yuan through the heart (a moment of silence), almost nothing was known about how she had fallen into league with him. Hualing had appeared as a one-off villain in the Cang Qiong invasion chapter, then disappeared for hundreds more. Eventually she appeared again, cowed and cowering under Luo Binghe’s thumb and serving as his left-hand man. And then at the end of the story she married the bastard, becoming one of Shen Qingqiu’s chief torturers out of sheer sadism. 

Luckily, that was the story of the original. Because there was no way in hell nor heaven, neither above or below, that Luo Binghe would marry such a heartless demoness. No matter how hot she was.

“Elder Shen Qingqiu, Elder Shen Yuan.” She bowed her head before them but sunk no lower. The moment the two immortals walked onto the scene, she had transformed from a vicious tiger to a demure kitten. Many disciples who sat on the sidelines nursing wounds from her razor-sharp talons and hidden knives cried out in their hearts at the injustice of it all. 

“This Sha Hualing came up the mountain in pursuit of a demonstration of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect’s many talents. My family and I had no intention to fight. We merely wanted to exchange techniques, perhaps learn from one another.”

Shen Yuan waved his fan dismissively, allowing Shen Qingqiu to step up as the voice of their peak. “Well said, girl. This master must say, though, he is curious at your display of manners. You decide to exchange teachings when the teachers are away?  You cut apart the rainbow bridge and block all means of escape? You wound numerous disciples? This master admits he is not highly informed on the customs of demons such as yourself- perhaps such savage customs are your norm. If so, this master will give your people their first lesson from Cang Qiong peak. When calling on humans for a favor, learn the decency to become familiar with the more evolved human law.”

Sha Hualing played with her braid a bit as he spoke, humbly lowering her eyes down to his feet. Knowing the elder Peak Lord’s reputation of being soft on females, she hid her claws and tried to turn up her “naive but sweet little sister” charm.

“Elder Xiu Ya sword.” Turning, she batted her eyelashes at his impassive brother. “Elder Xiu Ying sword. This Ling-er humbly apologizes. She is still young and inexperienced in the human way and has failed to successfully control her subordinates.” Pay no attention to the demons who follow me like a saint, she absently thought. “If she has offended either of you in any way, she prays that the generous masters of the peak be gentle and forgiving.”

Shen Qingqiu was unmoved. “Tell me, then. Can the young mistress give her judgment on the strength and teachings of Cang Qiong peak now?”

Her tongue flicked out and wetted her red lips. “My family may appear weak at the moment, that I admit. However, I feel that this is more due to your peak’s overwhelming number as opposed to our lack of ability. This Ling-er dare not make a judgment at this time.”

Shen Yuan perked up a bit, his fan shuttering closed. Tapping the closed fan against his chin, he gave an inquisitive, “Oh? And what might Xiao-Hualing suggest?”

She Hualing’s nose wrinkled a little at the diminutive, but her eyes sparkled. “Why don’t we choose three representatives each and hold three battles? This way we can properly judge, without worry from tyranny of the majority.”

Shen Yuan’s face was entirely unchanged, by Shen Qingqiu could see the tapping rate of his fan pick up a bit as he agreed to the deal. It was obvious his brother was just excited to fight some demons, the monster freak.

~~~ 

Luo Binghe knew this part from the book, where his magnificent Shizun stood against the Elder Du Bi and defeated him effortlessly. It was all the more beautiful to see it happen before him. Shen Qingqiu stepped aside to allow his brother to fight and stood on the sidelines, leaning down to Sha Hualing’s height occasionally to mutter criticisms about Elder Du Bi’s fighting forms or techniques in her ear. She did nothing but smile gently and nod obediently, though any onlooker would be a fool not to notice how her bells quietly jingled with her trembling fists. 

Binghe had elbowed his small frame to the front of their impromptu and watched with wide eyes as Shen Qingqiu took apart the demon with nothing more than a fan. When the one-armed elder lunged with his blade, Shen Yuan danced to the side and snickered behind his pale framed fan, slicing it in the air to send a blade of Qi the demon’s way. Over and over again it happened as if Shizun planned the one-armed demon’s defeat by a thousand cuts. His almond eyes crinkled with mirth as Elder Du Bi grew more and more frustrated by this game of cat and mouse.

So busy was Luo Binghe in watching the display, he almost didn’t notice the secret sword seal that Shen Yuan was making behind his back until a nearby Ning Yingying excitedly patted his arm, nodding her head meaningfully towards his right hand. The Xiu Ying sword shot out of its scabbard, sunlight catching the golden blade in such a way that it temporarily blinded his demon opponent. Without the aid of sight, his opponent began to panic and wildly waved his blade. Shen Yuan didn’t even have to move from his spot, watching from a distance as sparks flew between his floating sword and the knife. Even blinded, the Elder Du Bi was still fairly adept, listening closely and blocking all attacks as Shen Yuan placed more force on his sword, finally going on the offensive. 

However, as good as the elder demon might be, Shen Yuan was obviously tiring him out and overpowering him. With a seven-step dance, the cultivator waltzed behind the distracted demon and made a wide gesture with his left hand, throwing a crippling blow to his back. The demon staggered forward and fell to his knees, giving a disgruntled cry of defeat.

Cheers lifted from the numerous disciples who stood around the ring, Binghe’s being one of the loudest. He could feel himself swoon under this scholarly warrior’s presence. So strong! 

Shen Qingqiu gave a malicious grin as he announced, “Cang Qiong takes victory for the first trial.”

Binghe was still beaming with the rest of them when he was hit with the warning, neon blue flickering in the air. [New System Mission: <<Eyes on the Prize>>. Luo_Binghe shall take a victory for Qing Jing peak in battle. System rewards include +150 B points and +50 Shen_Yuan A points. Does the user agree to the mission? Y/N]

Binghe held the little jade guanyin in his fist, warming the system up a little in his sweaty palms. ‘System, what are A points?’

[Affection Points]

Binghe immediately pressed Y. So he’s a bit of an attention whore. Fight him.

Sha Hualing tossed her braids back before airily declaring, “My family and I will not learn by merely watching. I’ll be the next contestant.” Away she tossed her young girl persona, cracking her knuckles. The bells on her ankles jangled as she took center stage, hand on her hip.

Shen Qingqiu, now the unspoken referee of the matches, swept his eyes over the crowd. “You all heard her. Who will take the victory for the next battle?”

Binghe shivered a bit as his Shifu zeroed in on him for a moment. In the book, didn’t Binghe fight the third battle? He needs time to prepare his heart!

The crowd beside him pushed outwards, parting like the Red Sea. Shen Qingqiu’s attention was averted from Binghe as he looked towards a Xian Shu Peak disciple slowly traipsing her way to the front. Binghe watched Liu Mingyan pass by in awe, and he felt a little overwhelmed. Yet another beautiful character was passing by, wasn’t there a limit to how many could exist at one time?

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, boldly looking Shen Qingqiu square in the face. “I will fight her.”

The sisters from Xian Shu peak cheered, surging towards her and patting her on the back, singing praises and chorusing in overlapping good lucks. 

Now, let us remember where Liu Mingyan stood in the original novel, The Immortal Master’s Way . She, much like Ning Yingying, was a key piece in blackening Shen Qingqiu’s reputation and leading to his death. Following the footsteps of her martial sister, she placed false charges and accusations against the immortal master. After the death of her brother, she had come to the absolute belief that Shen Qingqiu was a filthy murderer, relentlessly working in pursuit of his imprisonment and eventual execution. 

Mingyan had found kin on her vengeful path in the charismatic black lotus Luo Binghe. The original goods had taken it upon himself to serve as her prosecutor, accusing his former Shifu of murder while the veiled girl had sobbed dramatically in the background, really pushing that “emotionally scarred little sister” narrative. Truly, this girl was as vicious as she was pragmatic and intelligent. They had won the case, obviously, shaking even Yue Qingyuan's unshakeable loyalty.

However, nearing the end of the story, right about where the god-forsaken novel had begun to lose its edge, she was thrown into the Villain’s Harem as his twenty-second… twenty-third? wife and completely forgotten. Yet another fault of the book, wasting a perfectly good female cast member like that.

As much as Luo Binghe had hated the series of unfortunate events which kept painting Shen Qingqiu as the worst person to ever grace the planet, he couldn’t help but appreciate the girl. She, like everyone else, had truly believed her brother had been wronged, and for the longest time she single-handedly pursued justice. She compiled a list of grievances and alleged attempts on her brother’s life in the past, courtesy of Shen Qingqiu. There, Shen Qingqiu’s spiteful hubris had come back to haunt him. Every time he had derisively snorted at Liu Qingge’s accusations and refused to clear the air between them out of petty anger began to snowball into something far greater than he could have ever expected. 

Binghe patted himself on the back for preventing that entire fiasco. 

Liu Mingyan approached Sha Hualing, her hand on the training sword all students were given until they could retrieve their own at fifteen. The two painted a beautiful portrait, Sha Hualing in her sheer crimson cloth and braided hair, golden bells and gaudy bands covering her arms and legs, and Liu Mingyan in her conservative robe, veil concealing half her features and leaving an air of mystery around her. Pulling out her sword and holding it with both hands, she squared off against her demonic opponent. 

Sha Hualing fought with a flowing style, her bare feet barely grazing the ground as she lept around and fought with dozens of hidden knives strapped god-knows-where. While her bells seemed like they’d be a telltale sign of her every movement, telegraphing when and with which limb she’d strike, they were the exact opposite. Somehow she kept them deathly quiet throughout the battle, creating a strange scene. Where before her every movement was prefaced by a cheery chime of bell’s announcing her like heralds trumpet their king’s presence, now she suddenly transformed into a serious warrior with no need for such fanciful accouterments. 

Liu Mingyan fought with more power and less agility than her opponent. Though she was a disciple of the Xuan Shu peak, her movements were reminiscent of Bai Zhan’s merciless strikes. She threw her body into her swings, driving her weight down into unshakeable stances as she fended off Sha Hualing’s advances. Xuan Shu’s teachings eventually showed up later in the battle with her acrobatics. Unable to completely fend off a flying knife, she elected to leap backward, her veil lifting tantalizingly for a single moment. Everyone, male and female alike, leaned forward in anticipation of seeing her legendary visage. Even their immortal peak master’s peered at her veil curiously, wondering what a beauty a young girl such as her could be hiding.

Much to everyone’s disappointment, it was at that very moment that Sha Hualing jumped up and over the girl. Unable to twist away in time, she found herself driven down and pinned by the surprisingly heavy demon. 

Sha Hualing dropped down a little, whispering something into her opponent's ear. Binghe and the rest of the crowd strained to hear what she said, but it was too hushed for even the immortal masters to hear. Under her hands the teenage girl turned red, her eyes wide open.

“Mercy!” She sputtered, and Sha Hualing rolled off her and onto her feet. The demon swayed her hips as she walked away, cooly picking at her nails. A Xuan Shu disciple ran in to help Liu Mingyan off the ground, but she waved away the offered hand and pushed herself up. Staggering exhausted in front of the peak lords, she bowed. 

“This disciple has lost and failed the sect. Please give her punishment.”

Shen Yuan expression softened, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “There’s no need. You have not yet gotten your sword, it could only be expected.”

Beside him, Shen Qingqiu was less lenient. “I am not your Shizun, so I cannot offer punishment. Rest assured, though, I’ll be sure to give a report of the battle to Qi-shidi when I see her.”

Liu Mingyan saluted them, giving her respect and apologies once more before trudging back to the group of swarming disciples, her shoulders slumped. When she came to rest nearby Binghe, away from her own sect, he nudged her a bit and smiled.

“You did well out there. It was impressive!” He chirped. The poor girl, he could practically see her self confidence dropping with every passing second.

Glancing gloomily back at the boy, her eyebrows drew together. “You’re just saying that.” She mumbled, then pinned on a quick,“Thanks though” as an afterthought. 

Binghe shook his head, his small smile widening to a beaming grin. Mingyan was practically blinded by his pure white lotus halo. “No, no, really! You have really strong forms, Sha Hualing couldn’t even make you sway! It was really impressive, I wish I had that kind of ability.”

Looking shyly between her sect and the strange boy next to her, her brow softened a bit and her eyes gained back the slightest glimmer. Leaning in, she whispered, “I can teach you some time if you like. It’s my brother’s technique, though, so it might look a little weird in your sect.”

Binghe’s head bobbed up and down as he nodded enthusiastically. “I’d be happy to hang out sometime and-” He nodded wryly in Sha Hualing’s direction, “exchange techniques, perhaps learn from one another?” He mockingly mimicked, his voice rising up a bit into a falsetto as he tried to match Hualing’s lilting accent.

Liu Mingyan giggled a bit, her hand rising in front of her veil as if to cover her mouth.

Both of them started as Shen Qingqiu rose his voice. “The third battle shall begin soon. Who will fight?”

Binghe began to raise his hand, then dropped it a little in fear. That new guy in the ring was big. Wow, he was really big. And that armor had a lot of spikes.

‘System, what will happen if I fail to complete the mission?’

[System answer: -1000 B points, +0 Shen_Yuan A points]

As if Shen Yuan could hear his plight, he unfolded his arms and pointed his closed fan. The crowd around Binghe parted until he was flanked by only Ning Yingying and Liu Mingyan, both looking apologetically towards him. 

“Binghe, come to the ring.”

Ning Yingying’s eyes watered as she held onto Binghe’s shoulder. “A-Luo, you can’t fight him! You’ll die, you won’t make it back!” Her voice cracked on the last word. When Binghe shrugged off her hand, giving her a scared but resolute glance back, a single tear tracked down her face. Turning on her heel, she sprinted away, her hands raised to muffle her sobs.

Shen Qingqiu seemed to be trying to pull his brother back, murmuring in his ears and making very telltale crushing gestures with his hands while pointing to Binghe. Shen Yuan opened his fan and leaned back to mutter at his brother, his fan covering his lips and their conversation. After a moment, he snapped it shut with finality and tucked it back into his sleeves.

“Binghe, hurry up now.”

His feet felt like lead, dragging on the ground with every step. Okay, so the original had gone through this before. And he had won, right? Yeah, he had won. Eventually.

No, c’mon Binghe, you can do this! Shen Yuan chose you for a reason! He knew he had better cultivation than the original goods by now because of that new manual he had worked relentlessly at. And he had been taking the occasional criticisms from his teachers when he sparred straight to heart, practically burning them into his memory. He was ready! Hopefully.

Sha Hualing’s soft words floated through the air. “Ah, I almost forgot to tell you. My dear Elder Tian Chui’s armor has been dipped in the Without a Cure poison. While it is mostly harmless to us demons, you cultivators might experience… imminent death? Upon touching it.”

Shen Qingqiu surged forward, bickering with Sha Hualing over the validity of such armor against a boy who had nothing but his fists and determination. Shen Yuan nodded towards him. Binghe held his head up high as he entered the ring, feeling dozens of eyes tracking his entrance. His nails were cutting into his recently bandaged palms and new tracks of blood were appearing on the fabric.

Taking a deep breath, Binghe’s foot swept back behind him. His fists lifted as he craned his neck upwards, the giant’s face blocking out the sun. Taking his fighting stance, he waited for what felt like hours but were honestly just seconds before Shen Qingqiu’s resigned voice sounded.

“Let the fight begin.”

~~~

To be honest, Binghe wasn’t sure how many blows he had taken from that awful sledgehammer. He gave a rattling cough as he pushed himself off the ground again, hoping he imagined the little flecks of red that came out and stained the ground. Almost as soon as he stood, swaying and resuming his fighting stance, he was pushed back again. The sledgehammer caught him straight in the sternum and he flew back, the wind knocked out of him. He lay on the ground, gasping for breath. Only adrenaline-fueled reflexes allowed him to roll away from the next blow, the lumbering opponent’s movements slow and toying. 

His arms were shaking with exhaustion. Back he swept his foot, up came his left fist, crossing over his right. Duck, then weave. Find a chink in the giant’s armor. None on the left side.

Spin, duck, flip. His aching legs almost gave out under him as he lept upwards, arcing over the sledgehammer that flew towards his side. Weave, duck, no chinks in his leg armor. 

The sledgehammer grazed his left shoulder. His arm went numb.

Duck, weave, sway, fall to the ground, get back up again. The crowd around him had long since gone silent, the disciples watching him with pitying eyes. Even a few demons watched sadly, knowing that the end was soon to come for this small pup. Demon’s had so few children that it was hard to see one, even a human one, die. 

Only Shen Yuan stood with watchful eyes, tracking his disciple’s every move. He recognized some of those twists as amateur mimicries of his own techniques, done by a child who had never had proper training but practiced alone in a darkened woodshed. Shen Qingqiu leaned towards him.

“I know you said you’d take responsibility, A-Yuan, but I think you should pull him out. It will leave a stain on our reputation if you let a disciple die like this. This is a sure loss, there’s no competition here.” His brow knit together, watching Binghe’s struggles against the greater opponent with an unfamiliar agitation barely making its way to the surface. It wasn’t worry for the child, he assured himself. Merely watching out for his own back.

Elder Tian Chui gave a hearty laugh, smacking Binghe with the back of his hand and grinning widely when he flew like a rag doll, the dull thump of his body on the ground pathetic. “Elder Shen Qingqiu is correct, Xiu Ying sword. Have your disciple admit defeat soon, he might still escape with his life.”

Shen Yuan’s smile had long since gone missing, but he was determined to see this battle through. “He will win.” He said, quiet voice carrying across the silent arena.

Hearing this from the center of the arena where Binghe remained sprawled, his heart gave a little jolt. Even if this praise had come from Shen Qingqiu or Liu Mingyan or a mere stranger, he still would have been excited. After all, it had been so long since anyone had ever believed in him, be it this life or the last. In both worlds, from when he was the passed around foster child Luo Mei who dreamt of attending university to when he was the ragtag orphan and resident punching bag of Qing Jing, none had ever given him a kind pat on the back and reassuring words. 

Shen Yuan’s words fueled him forward. He fought his way upwards, holding back a sob of pain. That was probably a shattered right cheekbone, he couldn’t work his jaw without feeling blazing pain run down his face. He was filled with a renewed vigor. Clenching his fists, his leg swept back behind him. His fists rose up to guard his face and chest, and this time he thought back to his cultivation. Taking a deep breath, he imagined the qi running through his spiritual veins and tracing its way into his fists. If Shifu could blow up a cultivation manual by running spiritual energy through it, surely Binghe could do that to the tough skin of the armor. 

The crowd watched in awe as Binghe’s right fist gave off a golden glow, abundant spiritual energy rising off of it.

There was a loud beeping sound, like the dial tone on a phone. The world seemed to move in slow motion. Incredibly slow motion. Everything around him went fuzzy, and Binghe panicked. He couldn’t move.

[Initial conditions have been met. Battle has begun. Would the host like to spend 500 B points on the tutorial battle mode?] Chimed that little Guanyin, smiling smugly as it sat on his chest. The world around him had faded to black and white, the loud neon blue of the flashing notification being the only color left in the world.

[Would the host like to spend 500 B points on the tutorial battle mode? Y/N] shrieked the little devil.

Binghe’s fingers slowly flicked up and down as he counted out loud to himself. If he spent 500 points right now, he’d have 50 left over.

But if he didn’t spend 500 points, he might not make it out. After all, he may have finally figured out how to use spiritual energy to his advantage, but he only had one working arm and more broken bones than whole.

Biting his lip, he whispered a quiet “Yes.”

With a sound like a long record scratch, the world zoomed back to life. Binghe’s body felt like puppet strings had attached themselves to every part of his body, including his expression. Binghe himself felt like he was watching his body from miles away. There was that foreign feeling again, of indignance and anger. A nasty smile played upon his body's lips as the sledgehammer came whistling down again. He jumped to the side and rolled behind the monster, leaping up so that his fist could meet with the giant’s exposed tree trunk of a neck. 

[Hey kid, welcome to The Tutorial. Need to know how to use spiritual energy? I’m your man.] said the Guanyin, the cadence of its voice off. It still had that annoying google translate voice, but the words flowed together more smoothly. 

The giant staggered forward, his large size quickly becoming a disadvantage against this little mosquito. By the time he had turned to strike the other, Binghe had already bent down and grabbed a fistful of sand. He swung his hand in front of him, imbuing spiritual energy into the grains so that the flew like tiny bullets towards his face.

[This here, I kinda took inspiration from Shen Qingqiu for it. Hope the bastard didn’t patent it, it’s a cool trick]

The small frame moved like it had experienced no injury, leaping here and there like a little squirrel. Binghe watched the strategies play out like a video game cutscene, little notes popping up at the corner of his vision. The google translate voice kept up its smooth narrative, cheerful cadence completely disconnected from the gory scene he was watching.

[You can pool energy between your fingers is you hold them like this] His hands spread and golden energy wound through them. Thrusting his hand forward, the ball that had formed hurtled straight towards the demons face, crumpling his nose. 

[I call this move “Pouring tea”] Golden light poured over the demon’s head, leaving burning red marks where it landed. The demon roared.

[Wow, how is his right leg still working? Ahem, okay. Folks where I come from say this might be a little inhumane, but I find it to be a completely human strategy] The voice said as Binghe was forced to grab, twist, and tear with unfamiliar strength.

[Ooh, this one! This one’s my favorite, the “human stick”] Binghe had to look away for this one.

[C’mon Xiao-Mei, you keeping up? This is going to come in handy soon. It breaks bones without leaving bruises.]

[Ah, nothing like a good battle to get your heart pumping! Smell that sweet smell of vengeance]

Slowly the goliath was brought to his knees, exhausted under the foot of a triumphant fourteen-year-old. The boy’s mouth had twisted into a snarl as he pressed down on the demon’s neck further, the tutorial master apparently frustrated that his light bodyweight couldn’t crush his thick neck.

Though the demon refused to voice it, Shen Qingqiu and the crowd knew the impossible to be true. Only Shen Yuan’s face remained as unchanged as it had been from the beginning.

“Victory for the Cang Qiong sect.” Said Shen Qingqiu, a little unbelieving. All of the spectators agreed with the sentiment.

The boy’s arm pumped up towards the sky in victory, his eyes roving the crowd. Catching Liu Mingyan’s eye, he gave a cheeky wink that she rolled her eyes at.

When he looked towards Shen Yuan and Qingqiu, both felt a little alarmed. His eyes seemed to blaze red with hatred for a split second.

[And that, boy, is how you win a fight. Now, please don’t call on me again. I’m having enough trouble over here, I hate to have to keep checking on your progress.] 

The system paused, pondering for a moment. Its voice deepened and softened for a split second, almost sounding human. [And leave flowers at her grave for me, okay?]

With those parting words, Binghe was back in his body. His face immediately softened towards his masters, making them wonder if they had imagined the laser glare. He tried to smile at them, then flinched when it pulled at his bruised and broken cheek.

Taking his foot off the demon, he moved a few steps towards Shen Yuan. His Shizun met him halfway, hurriedly cupping the worst of the boy’s facial injuries and sending a bit of healing qi into them. He may not be a medic, but he knew the basics of tending to wounds. 

The moment the bit of warmth and numbness wriggled its way into Binghe’s body, he was immediately aware of how bone-tired and aching every part of his body was. He relaxed until his Shizun’s touch until his knees turned to jelly and his master had to use both arms to hold him up as he sank against him.

“Did this disciple do well, Shizun?” He mumbled slowly, barely hanging on to consciousness.

“Binghe did well.” Shizun murmured, petting the boy’s soft hair. He could afford to put aside petty aloof appearances for a moment.

Sha Hualing turned to QIngqiu, face grim. “Ling-er truly admires the humans from the central plains. You are all talented, as expected. She humbly thanks you for this lesson.”

Qingqiu didn’t even smile. “Well said. Now, this Shifu will teach you your second lesson on human culture. Since you have gotten what you came uninvited for, Cang Qiong Mountain sect implores its guests not to overstay their visit. We currently have more pressing matters to attend to.” His hand waved vaguely in the direction of his brother and the clinging disciple.

Sha Hualing’s cheeks turned almost as red as her clothes. The bells on her anklet jangled as she stalked towards the prone giant who kneeled in the arena, nursing his wounds. Grabbing him by the ear, she sharply yanked him upwards.

“To lose to a disciple far younger than you is unforgivable! To continue to beat him while he was down was graceless! You’ve sullied the face of demons across the land!”

Unable to stand up against a demon saint, as diminutive as the girl was, Elder Tian Chui could only grovel. “Begging Saint to punish this one for his incompetence!”

She spun on her heel, smiling towards Shen Qingqiu even as she spat cold words towards the demon behind her. “Elder Tian Chui can take care of his own punishment.”

The demon froze in his position, blood running out of his face. Take care of himself? He would be a fool not to understand what that means. 

Well, if he was to die, he might as well take the puny fucking brat with him. Who was the kid, to grin like he was so much better than this demon? Who was he, to put on a losing front for so long only to surge up after he had made Tian Chu look bad, like some pathetic underdog? His malicious intent was aimed straight for Luo Binghe, and if the sect leader also happened to be a casualty, so be it. 

Elder Tian Chu flew forward almost as soon as his eyes lit up with the plan. Binghe couldn’t say a word as he peered around the chest he clung to and watched his approach. He could only watch in horror as the demon surged like a tidal wave, ready to wash everything he loved away.

Shen Qingqiu scoffed derisively, interrupting his conversation with the demon saint to step behind the charging bull and chopping him in the backs of his legs. Immediately afterward, he fell to the ground, skidding a little with the remnants of his momentum. Shen Qingqiu picked up the fallen hammer, easily the size of cultivator himself, and chucked it aside as if it were no more than a mere stick.

“Filthy.” He spat. “You’ve lost, yet you still won’t accept defeat. How shameless are you, beast?” As he gave the dead demon a little kick, he scowled at Sha Hualing.

“Take your subordinates and leave this mountain. I suggest you get better control of them in the very near future.”

He stepped away from the fallen demon, taking it upon himself to begin gathering and ordering the demons off the bridge in a single file. His aloof and authoritative demeanor was so close to that of a high-tier demon that many felt they had no choice but to hang their heads in shame and clamber down the mountain.

Shen Yuan gently led the boy to the shade of a nearby tree, kneeling down to allow the boy to sit held up by only the trunk. He turned to a few of the crowding disciples.

“Ming Fan, go get Mu-shidi! Tell him that we have many disciples that need attending to.”

Ming Fan mutely nodded, tearing his eyes away from the beaten body of his martial brother. Liu Mingyan stood amongst the crowd, her eyes shining with newfound respect. 

Everyone was taken by surprise when the dead Tian Chui shifted, suddenly pushing himself up and making a mad dash for the tree Binghe was sat under. His arms were open wide for a deadly embrace, the poison on his armor shining in the sun.

Shen Yuan acted quickly, standing up in alarm and thrusting Xiu Ying forth. He pierced the elder in the chest, a fatal blow, but the body kept falling forward even as the heart drew to a halt. He jerked his hand away from the body, but not quickly enough. The giant tilted and fell like a giant tree, scratching Shen Yuan’s forearm with one of his spikes on the way down. He was dead before he hit the ground, Xiu Ying’s hilt being driven upwards and through him.

Luo Binghe watched the whole thing with dilated pupils, the world going into slow motion once more. However, this time there was no way to spend points and change the future.

[Elder Tian Chui was successfully defeated: +150 B points! 

Choosing to use a tutorial during mission: -500 B points!

+50 Shen Yuan A points! Additional +50 Shen Yuan A points added! Total: 100 A points

Shen Yuan: +200 Coolness points, +50 Tragedy Points

Shen Qingqiu: +50 Coolness points]

[Optional Mission Unlocked! <<Papapa until healthy again>>]

Binghe promptly fainted.

Chapter Text

Luo Binghe woke up in the student dormitory.

He only knew it was the student dormitory because he regularly cleaned these floors. Not because he had, you know, ever got his own room to live in like a normal child. Actually, fun fact, he had been sleeping in a woodshed for the last few months!

Not that he was bitter or anything. 

Binghe tried to push his hair back from his eyes, maybe find a hair tie to trap his curly mane from overwhelming his entire face. Progress was getting nowhere fast. He tugged his hand back once, twice, but nothing seemed to move. He pushed himself up slightly with his elbows and scanned the room.

A sleeping Ning Yinying clutched his fingers between her hands, her face drawn and pale from worry. A washbasin wobbled precariously on her knees, the dripping washcloth threatening to tip the whole thing over at any moment. Across from her kneeled Liu Mingyang, her head dropped on her chest and her veil threatening to reveal her face. The moment Binghe shifted, she jerked awake and looked around in confusion.

“Liu-Shijie?” Binghe tried. She galnced down and her eyes widened. Reaching across from herself, she frantically patting Ning Yingying on the cheek. 

“Hey, Yingying! Wake up, Luo Binghe’s alive!”

Binghe felt a little overwhelmed as the two girls loomed over him, their faces the picture of relief. He closed his eyes tightly, then opened them again. 

“Does A-Luo feel okay?”

“Mu-shibo and his disciples patched you up pretty well.” Liu Mingyan's eyes were soft.

“You kinda look like a mummy!” Yingying giggled a little.

Gently pushing back Binghe’s draping hair, Liu Mingyan lay her delicate hand on his face for a long second.

“Good, no fever. Mu-Shibo’s senior disciple, Zhao Lu, said that so long as you didn’t develop a fever when you woke up you should be fine.” She sat back up, crossing her arms and looking sternly at him. “Just make sure you don’t try to move around or stress yourself out right now.”

Luo Binghe’s limbs were remarkably pain-free. Yes, they were a bit aching and sore, but it was no worse than sleeping in the woodshed during the winter. He stretched a bit, trying to pinpoint any major painful areas.

“Did we win?” He asked, voice scratchy from whatever tinctures they poured down his throat while he was sleeping. Ning Yingying beamed.

“Yeah! A-Luo, you won the last battle! But then Shifu got mad about the whole thing and started to beat up all the demons and then-”

“-And then Liu-Ge came out of cultivation and struck down many a demon. He and Shen-shibo cut down roughly equal amounts in number. They killed or wounded a large majority of the demons, causing Sha Hualing and her lackeys to flee.” Liu Mingyan added with great pride.

“Yingying and a bunch of other disciples helped drive back a couple of demons too! A-Liu got at least three, including this one really creepy spider-looking one! A-Luo, you shoulda seen it! We worked together to bring down this one monkey-snake-jaguar demon and-” On she chattered to Luo Binghe, enthusiastically regaling the events of the battle. Liu Mingyan chimed in every once in awhile, primmer but eyes shining with equal excitement. Liu Binghe quietly listened, nodding every once in a while as he thought back. He was forgetting something. He was forgetting something really important right now. What was important again? Who was?

Binghe's hands twisted in his green robes, face blank. Green robes? That was right, there had been green robes involved. Silver spikes tipped with poison. Blood. Papapa.

“-So then A-Liu shoved her sword straight through his chest! Straight through! You have such beautiful technique, by the way~ Anyways, then she was all like-”

Binghe popped up from his inclined state. “Shizun. What happened to Shizun.”

Ning Yingying stopped, her hands frozen in midair from where they were frenetically gesturing. Mingyan closed her eyes for a long moment before looking to her. 

“Do you need me to…?”

“No, he’s our shizun. I should be the one to say it.”

Ah, they sounded so grim right now. What for? Shen Yuan couldn’t be in that bad of shape now, could he? He was the protagonist's brother, undefeatable until chapter 450. Shen Yuan should be perfectly fine, right? Binghe could feel sweat pricking on his face.

“Shizun was scratched with without-a-cure. He collapsed soon after. None of us disciples have seen him or shifu for the last three days. He’s alive, but we know nothing else.” She alowly said, pain obvious in her every word.

She lifted her solemn head slowly, ready to comfort the undoubtedly weeping boy, and cried out in shock when Luo Binghe leaped from his bed, racing towards the door. 

“A-Luo? Binghe! Binghe, get back here! You’re not healthy yet!”

“Luo Binghe, you get back here right now or so help me god!”

The two girls raced towards him, bent on tackling him to the ground and dragging him kicking and screaming to his bed. They each launched themselves at Binghe's limbs, arms outstretched. At the last possible moment, Binghe spun around and dropped low, his arms crossed and close to his chest. It was too late to change their directions so they could only watch in horror as Luo Binghe sprung towards a nearby open window, diving out of it and rolling as he landed, bouncing up again to begin running.

The two of them flew towards the window, about to jump and follow him. Liu Mingyan skid to a stop, her arm shooting out to stop Yingying. 

“What are you doing, A-Liu?”

“Holy fuck, how did he make it down there?” She peered down the two-story jump, face as pale as her veil. “We’ve got to take the stairs, hurry!”

Binghe frowned to himself as he looked left and right, scurrying through every room with murmured apologies to their occupants. At around the fourteenth room, he vaguely thought 'Maybe I should attach a GPS tracker to Shen Yuan. Or like a little cat collar with a bell.' That last thought would have been really cute to see.

Binghe only stopped at the foot of the mountain path up to the bamboo house. He marched up the trail, slowing down only once to rub a throbbing rib. At one point he leaned down to pick a particularly pretty flower, then shook his head and moved on. Shizun’s beauty far surpassed any flower on this mountain, there was no need for that.

He kept his mind off the trek by focusing on pace, looking at the beautiful scenery unfolding around him, trying to tie up his hair again and cursing when he found he had left his ribbon back at the dorms. 

He did not think about how Shizun had gotten injured for him.

He did not think about how the original Shizun had died because of Luo Binghe.

He did not think about Shen Qingqiu’s heartbroken, terrified face as he raced towards his brother.

He did not think about that.

He was so good at not thinking that he barely recognized the bamboo hut when he came across it. It was a charming combination of rustic and elegant, the porch stretching outwards and surrounded by a fence of crisscrossing strips. The pillars and shutters were carved with painstaking designs and two comfortable looking chairs sat on the porch. Cute. Like something out of a storybook.

His feet unconsciously carried him forward until he was at the door, lightly knocking. There was no answer.

Well, he couldn’t exactly go in unannounced, could he? Binghe thought about it for a moment. 

Actually, he could.

The door creaked a little as he crept inside. Looking around cautiously for any signs of life, he whipped around and gave the door an angry glare. Turning back, he marveled at the home. So this was what the bamboo house looked like! The novel had described it a few times, but never in painstaking detail. Looking around, he grinned at the little nicknacks and furniture he saw.

Like that red pillow, clumsily embroidered by Ning Yingying when she was young and gifted to her Shifu. It sat on a chair with all its ugly pride. 

And the row of perfumes on the shelf, jokingly given to Shen Qingqiu by the girls from the brothel so that he could ‘finally smell like a white lotus.’ He had done a very good job of keeping a straight face and fighting down his blush as he accepted the gift with grace. 

From one wall hung a beautiful painting of the cultivator, bold and brilliant in its colors. Shen Yuan had been gifted it after exorcising a particularly malicious spirit from a famous artist’s home. Shen Qingqiu had scoffed something about vanity at the portrait of Shen Yuan, sitting peacefully on a rock as he gazed out on a mountain scene. Shen Yuan had laughed and rebuked that his brother was jealous his younger sibling served as a muse for such a master painter.

Luo Binghe saddened a little at the portrait of his Shizun, lively yet mysterious. He resumed his search.

In the next room was the kitchen, dried herbs hanging from the ceiling. Binghe’s hands itched to grab some ingredients and start cooking. He missed the heat of a stove, the clanging and clamors of the kitchen. Culinary school really had been fun while it lasted.

Onto the next room, which was actually a hallway. It too was lined with items, from paintings to fans to a little cloth board filled to the brim with notes, pinned there and held up by nails and ire.

‘Clean the dishes while I’m out’ Said one.

‘No u.’ Said another.

‘If you keep sleep talking I will smother you.’

‘Stop hogging the bathroom’

‘I h8 your guts. JK :)’

‘I “h8” your guts too. What does :) mean.’

‘:) is a smiley face, dumbass.’

‘I swear to god, Shen Shi. Wash the goddamn dishes.’

‘I will. Don’t call me Shen Shi.’

‘...Sorry’

From the end of the hall, voices sounded through the walls. Luo Binghe leaned his ear in close, cupping his hands in an attempt to hear things better. He couldn’t make out clear words, just worried tones and scratchy coughs. A wry, deadpan voice said something before trailing off. A thump could be heard, then more loud worried tones, then a third calming voice, like a running river. 

Binghe wanted to cry. Leaning over, he peeked through the gap between the sliding door and the wall. Shen Qingqiu leaned over a prone Shen Yuan, his hair spilling across a pure white robe. Shen Yuan’s eyes were shut but his brow was furrowed. At his side sat Mu Qinfang and a strange man with light blue robes and a high black ponytail. Blue-robes was silent as he watched the other three, fists tightly clenched on his robes. Binghe shifted a little.

Blue-robe guy’s steely gray eyes snapped towards the crack in the door. He placed a hand on the ground, readying himself to attack if necessary.

Binghe had fled from the cottage before Liu Qingge could even stand, his heart in his mouth. Was that Liu Qingge? That was Liu Qingge! Liu Qingge was supposed to be six feet under, his grave reading “here lies a cannon-fodder plot device!” Why was he still alive! Vaguely, he could remember Liu Mingyang mentioning something about her brother while he had been lost in thought. Shit, he should have been paying more attention.

He darted down the mountain, arms wheeling as he almost lost his balance several times. At the foot of the mountain, he met two irate mother hens who seized him and steered him towards the student dorms, clucking at him the entire time. Liu Mingyan forcefully rewrapped some of his reopened wounds and Ning Yingying even more forcefully tucked him back into bed. 

“Now stay there and think about what you’ve done, Binghe.”

“A-Luo, if cause trouble like this again, I will tell Shifu.”

Binghe paled a bit at that last threat.

The three sat together, amiably chattering together for a few more hours. Ming Fan popped in at some point, awkwardly joining in the conversation for about half an hour before leaving. Luo Binghe would give him some points for trying to mend some relationships, were it not for the fact that he hated this kid’s guts. He tried his best to give “fuck off” vibes during their entire strained conversation. It was nice of the kid, though. Maybe Binghe would be magnanimous and give him a second chance later.

When the sun began to set, the two girls got up and left for their dorms. Liu Mingyan informed Binghe that she was leaving for her own peak the next day, but he was welcome to use Ning Yingying as a messenger whenever he wanted to talk to her. Yingying gave a little indignant “hey!” at that last part.

As soon as he was all alone, Binghe felt a tug on his consciousness. While he blacked out again, he was thinking “This is happening way too often.”

Binghe woke up in a sea of darkness and chaos. No matter where he walked, no matter how fast he sprinted, everything looked the same. He was sure he had run at least a hundred miles, yet everything looked as black and oppressive as it had when he had begun. He was scared. He wanted someone, anyone. He wanted- God, he wanted the fucking system to respond. Yet the Guanyin was strangely silent, refusing to even give a flicker of blue light. Maybe it was out of battery. Binghe kept walking.

When Shen Yuan appeared in front of him, it was without fanfare. He wasn’t there one second, and everything was black. Then he was there, and suddenly everything was… still black. Nothing about their surroundings changed. But Shizun was there!

Binghe jolted into action, sprinting up to and seizing Shen Yuan as tightly as possible. If this was a dream, so be it. Let him have his fun! He snuggled his face further into his chest, smashing the <<Devastating White Lotus Tears>> action. Ah, he’s always wanted to touch this firm chest freely!

“Shizun! Shizun, this lowly disciple is so sorry for letting you get hurt! Shizun, I’d have rather died than let you get pierced like that!”

Binghe was a little startled when something in his heart resounded with his casually said words. Ah, so that was actually true? Would Binghe really die for this trashy novel's character? Apparently yes. He could now call himself an ultra-hardcore diehard fan.

If Shen Yuan had a system at that moment, it would be blaring [Luo_Binghe will now die for you! He was just trying to butter you up when he said it with the skinner, but now he really means it. Congratulations!]

Shen Yuan smiled gently as he grabbed the little sheep’s shoulders and pried the boy’s body from his own. “Binghe, be calm. What kind of Shizun would I be if I let a disciple be killed like that? I will surely survive, but a child like you would not.”

He gently patted the boys head, on cloud nine as he ran his hands through those fluffy curls. Every time he saw this boy he felt the urge to squish his cheeks and ruffle his hair, but if this was a dream than he really could do it without shame! One hand slid down from the top of his head to his soft cheek, where it tugged and kneaded it like dough. Binghe squawked in protest, chubby hands trying to tug away from his indefatigable advances. 

Binghe started as a little ding~ sounded from his guanyin.

[System is back online! Thank you for your cooperation. New Mission start: <<Binghe gets a tutor!>> This is the dream realm of the Elder Dream Demon. You have been allowed to bring one (1) other NPC into the realm with you. You have selected <<Shen Yuan>> as your follower for this journey.

Please ensure that during this plot branch you gain victory over the Dream Demon’s illusion and bring Shen Yuan home safely. Otherwise, you will be deducted 1000 Coolness points.]

Ha ha. This was the real Shizun. Haha. And this was the point where he got the little hitchhiker of a dream demon to teach him his demonic ways. Ha ha holy fuck he was so fucking screwed after this.

Binghe stiffened and stopped fighting his shizun, leaving the man free to squish his face here and there however he wanted. Shizun didn’t notice the change for a few minutes, or maybe he just shrugged it off. But the more his shizun looked around, the more confused he seemed to be. Dropping his arms, he stretched out his senses for spiritual energy. The demonic miasma seemed almost painfully obvious when he looked for it, coiling around his legs and blowing through his hair. 

“We’re in the dream realm right now, aren’t we?” He said to himself quietly. Something had seemed off the moment Binghe started struggling. The kid never fought when he patted him on the head in his dreams. Not that he dreamed of petting Binghe's hair often, of course, just ever one in a while. Like business days.

Binghe feigned ignorance. “Dream realm? This disciple knows we’re in a dream, yes.”

Shizun flicked his fan, futilely trying to blow away the waves of demonic miasma that surrounded the two. “No, I recognize this plane. This is the realm of the elder dream demon.”

Luo Binghe politely gasped at the revelation. “Why would he invade my dreams? Demons are truly poisonous creatures.” He ignored the little screams of ‘hypocrisy! Liar!’ from the back of his head. 

“Binghe, this dream realm is incredibly dangerous. Were this an ordinary nightmare, a simple change in perspective would be enough to break through and wake up from this realm. However, the dream realm is an infinitely complex creation. Instead of just pinching yourself or taking control of the dream, you must find the source of the enchantment and break through it.”

Luo Binghe silently nodded, remorseful that he had brought his Shizun into yet another incredibly dangerous situation. And Shen Yuan was being so nice about it. If it were Binghe in his position, he’d have long since given up on such a young and troublemaking disciple.

As if the world around them could hear their conversations and internal thoughts, it shimmered like air over hot roads. The world around them shifted and brightened until they were at a town entrance. The sign was split and faded, named something Binghe couldn’t recognize. Looking up at his shizun, he resisted the urge to take his hand.

The town was silent. Faceless figures bumbled around them, walking with purpose before disappearing around corners. He followed one only to find that as soon as it left his line of vision, it disappeared. The town around them was eerily silent for the hundreds that wandered around. Children would patter soundlessly after rolling balls, flocks of women would throw their hands up in silent conversations, men would barter and argue with wild gestures and no words. It was an eerie sight, as if a vibrant world had been put on mute. 

The moment Binghe heard a sound, he jumped. Breaking bottles and jeers drifted out from the end of an alleyway. The men who yelled curses of “half breed” and “whore’s son” had half-made faces, as if seen through a blurry lens. Their words, however, were crystal clear. Binghe glanced confusedly at Shizun, who explained. “The only faces and sounds that appear here are those from memories. You must not recall the faces here very well, but the words…” He trailed off awkwardly, obviously unsure how to follow up the explanation. How do you tell a kid that he must remember his abuse very well, good job for having such a stellar memory?

Binghe watched the small figure being beaten below them, spat and stomped on. He tried to grab a figure’s arm to intervene once just because the figure of the broken child hurt his heart, but his hand passed right through.

It wasn’t as if he felt any overwhelming pain from this. These were the original Binghe’s memories, not his own. Of course he felt pity for the boy, but it was tempered by the knowledge that the bastard had killed and tortured every character Luo Mei loved. Shen Jiu had had an awful childhood after all, and he hadn’t ended up massacring dozens of people in a crazed journey for vengeance.

...

Okay, scratch that. Maybe their character arcs were more similar than Luo Mei would like to think about. It was a moot point anyway. He wasn’t suddenly going to become sympathetic to the demon lord Luo Binghe just because of a bad childhood. 

Neither Shizun nor the god of their realm could see much reaction from the boy beside a vague sadness, like an outsider watching someone else be hurt. Just vague human empathy, not years of repressed trauma. 

Shizun thought, ‘disassociation.’ 

The god of their realm thought, ‘Let’s try something else.’

The scene before them twisted until the wounds on the original Luo Binghe's face had been healed and he kneeled beside a dying woman’s bed, tears collecting at his cheeks as he stroked her hand. 

She gave him a shaky smile, patting his jade guanyin with the last bit of strength in her body. “This will keep you safe, A-Luo.” She rasped, the fear in her voice only meant for her adopted son. “The goddess watches over you, I’m sure.”

Wracking sobs shook the original Binghe’s body, but the boy beside Shizun was unshaken. Tearing up a bit at the dramatic show before him, of course. Even Shen Yuan was on the verge of tears. But no grief showed up on his face. 

Shen Yuan thought, ‘Everyone handles grief differently.’

The Elder Dream demon smiled. ‘Ah, I get it now.’

As if an invisible hand had flicked a light switch or pulled a plug, everything went dark. Shizun was shoved close by next to Binghe, the world around them compressing. Clothes hung from racks above them, higher up than they normally should be. The room smelled of mothballs and decay.

There was a third body in the closet, huddled and small. Had it not been for the child’s shuddering breaths, neither Shen Yuan nor Binghe would have noticed him at all. When their eyes adjusted, they could see the kid, barely above the age of a toddler, sitting deathly still save for a heaving chest. The Binghe next to him started trembling imperceptibly.

He was in a small space, familiarly small. The walls were too close. Luo Binghe knew this place. No- Luo Mei knew this place.

As if on cue, loud banging at the base of the door started up. The door shook and creaked on the force of what sounded like kicks slamming against the door. 

“You learned your lesson now, huh? Think you’re going to snitch again, huh? You should feel lucky that I took you in, you should be trash on the street! I pay for your food, your bills, your clothing, and this is the fucking thanks I get?”

Shen Yuan had to grab and hold Binghe close to stop him from rushing the door and slamming his shoulder into it in an attempt to get to the woman outside. He stroked the boy’s head, lightly chiding him. “Remember Binghe, if you hurt anything inside this world it only hurts yourself. Your mind is a fragile thing. Don’t damage it.”

The door flew open and the world around them melted away. The woman who should have been there was replaced by a man in foreign clothes. A thin, sleeveless shirt rode up over his potbelly and his sweatpants hung on his bony frame. Instantly the scene shimmered a bit. The potbellied man suddenly wore the cotton robes of a man from xianxia China, their advanced surroundings fading into a more standard hut. In front of him stood a kid in ragged robes, shoulders hunched up next to his ears. Luo Mei immediately recognized the child as the original Binghe’s body being placed directly over his old one. He wasn’t sure who was superimposing the laws of the novel onto his own memories, be it the system or the dream demon, and the whole thing was incredibly disconcerting. It was like someone was actively trying to erase the fact that he was ever Luo Mei.

Shen Yuan looked as if he hadn’t noticed anything odd beyond standard child abuse. Obviously he hadn’t seen the new reality shimmering into existence.

“Sorry, kid. Can’t do it anymore, this whole parenting things ain’t workin’ out for us two. I think you’re an absolute doll, for sure, but the wife thinks you’re more trouble than you’re worth.” The man shrugged apologetically, scratching his balding head. “Don’t worry, we contacted the services about it. Some workers should be droppin’ by real soon to getcha, better pack up quick. I went ahead and got a satchel for ya, no need ta thank me.” He grinned a big, toothless grin. 

This fucking bastard. This spineless, weak, pathetic bastard . Luo Mei’s eyes seemed to glint red, face darkening and eyes flashing with anger. He jerked from Shizun’s loosened grip and sprinted forward, arm wheeling back. He was gonna show this sonovabitch how it feels to be left on a curb by yet another family like a dog who wasn’t cute anymore. You don’t just adopt kids and return them with a receipt just because they’re faulty, that’s not how any of this works. You and your worthless wife. You all deserve to go to hell.

“Don’t!” Shen Yuan shouted, rushing in front of the oblivious middle-aged man. Binghe didn’t notice him at all, completely blinded by rage and despair. He unconsciously mimicking the move he had learned in battle earlier, channeling spiritual energy into his fist. His arms swung out at slammed into Shen Yuan’s diaphragm, knocking the wind out of him. Binghe’s eyes widened as Shen Yuan doubled over from the strength of his blow.

The illusion around them shattered like glass. They were back into the chaotic black and red of the dream realm, twisting and roiling. Luo Binghe was frozen, not processing what just happened. His red face turned white. 

He dropped to his knees and supported his Shizun. “Shizun, this disciple is so sorry, he- You! Why didn’t you hit back!”

Shen Yuan chuckled weakly, wailing on the inside in pain. “That would… destroy the whole point of this, wouldn’t it?” He huffed. “If you get hurt, this would have been for nothing.”

Luo Binghe fiercely wished he had brought Shen Qingqiu into this realm too just for this very moment, just so he could have his shifu drag him through the mud and beat feer at him hundreds of times over. Time and time again he has been the reason that his shizun has been hurt- truly, he deserved to die!

[Ding~ +50 Coolness points for Shen Yuan!]

Why was he even here? Within a few months he had caused more harm than the original managed during his years at the peak. Why was he so bad at this?!

Shizun continued, saying “Don’t worry. This master has a strong cultivational base, he can take more than a few hits from a disciple like yourself.”

Struck through the heart! Binghe was almost weeping with grief! Shizun, if you keep talking this disciple will surely go off and offer his life in atonement to the suffering he has caused you! Fighting back tears, he held on to Shen Yuan's shoulders.

“I understand.” He stared straight at Shen Yuan’s face, trying to make sure the man really understood how deeply he felt about this. “I won’t ever let anything like this happen again.” Binghe would make sure his shizun would never suffer because of his character and his villain's halo again.

Shen Yuan was surprised and a little bit touched. Ah, this little sheep thought he was going to protect his shizun? If the man could breathe, he would definitely coo at how hard the child was trying. It was such a funny idea, a little sheep trying to protect a big wolf. “Mm.” He acknowledged. He slowly made his way back to standing, letting his qi circulate in an attempt to circumvent and eliminate his wounds.

“Ah” a distant voice whispered. It sounded as if someone was speaking into a tin can from a mile away, faint and vapid. “No wonder the early scenes weren’t working. You’re different, aren’t you?”

Shizun pulled the disciple closer to his body, ready to throw up a protective barrier at any given moment. “Show yourself, demon.” He said, his voice low and authoritative. Luo Binghe shivered.

A white puddle seeped up from the ground around them, defying gravity as it spiraled upwards and expanded. A white-faced woman, hair tied in a high knot with a red hanfu dropping across her shoulders. The figure’s faceless cheeks stretched as if an invisible grin was plastered onto the face. It was disconcerting to see it so obviously smug.

“Night night, Shen Shi.” The dream demon crooned. Shen Yuan’s eyes widened as he silently crumbled to the ground. Binghe was pulled down by the weight of the fainting man, and he lay on the ground half covered by dead weight. He wriggled out from beneath the body of his shizun, looking at it with horror. Had he- had he just killed Shizun? No way. No fucking way. Ohhhhh shit ohhh shit.

He pushed himself up and glared the faceless figure in where its eyes should be, hoping that the dream demon could feel the sheer magnitude of his rage by proxy.

“What did you do to Shizun, demon?” He roared, hands trembling.

The face leered. “What did you do to your shizun, demon?”

It felt like cold fingers had grabbed at Luo Binghe’s throat and were pressing on the sides, slowing the blood flow to his brain. 

“What?” He choked.

“Boy, I can see what you know. You’re very clever, keeping Luo Binghe’s memories at the forefront of your mind. You really had me fooled.” The bone-white finger tapped on his forehead lightly. “But you’re not him, are you? You know this world. You know what’s to come.”

The figure’s shoulders shook as it chuckled mirthlessly. “Ah, but I can only see a little from here. It’s very blurry. Let’s try… this.” The finger lightly tapping his head shoved forward, piercing his skin and bone. Binghe cried out in pain. It felt like a hot rod was poking around his brain, like some worm had wriggled in and could see all his deepest secrets.

The world around him was hot. Too hot. It was oppressively humid to the left, bone dry to the right. And so hot.

He opened his eyes to fire. To small mice with too many teeth scurrying around crunching through bones, to fierce corpses dragging their useless limbs forward with unseeing eyes, to a horrifying beast that seemed to be an amalgamation of shredded bodies given life in a mockery of a snake’s form. Every move it made cracked and squelched. It slithered over to him, then through him. Binghe cringed and the faceless figure pierced deeper. 

Binghe lurched forward, found his hands wrapped around a darkened sword he had never seen before. Half of it was glasslike ebony, sucking all the light in from around it. Half of it was sunken into white robes and red stains.

He faintly registered that the hands were scarred, larger. He himself was taller, broader. There was a power roiling under his skin, barely held back from ripping through his body and wreaking havoc on the world around him.

He looked up to view who, exactly, had the unfortunate fate of being cored like an apple. He could see the back of a head, feel a ponytail brush against his face. He could see a horrified Shen Qingqiu past the man’s shoulder, just out of arm’s reach. The body wrapped around his sword gave a shuddering wheeze but no true words before going limp. On the elder peak lord’s face was a wretched mask of fury, fear, despair. Binghe’s arms trembled as they held up the heavy weight of the skewered man, his head lolling forward. Binghe never saw his face. Binghe knew exactly who it was. Moments passed in silence, save for the dripping of blood from his sword. Hours, days passed. Binghe couldn’t move, and quite frankly, he never wanted to move again.

The corpse in front of him shuddered back to life, its drooping head picking back up and turning towards him. And turning. And turning. Bones in its neck crackled, and a faceless face peered straight into his soul. The body shimmered and turned back into the red-robed figure. A mouth appeared, lips lined with a tasteful cherry color. The heart-shaped lips parted. It opened wider and wider, the mouth larger and larger until Binghe could see nothing but the consuming darkness. A snap was heard, and then hundreds of candles lit up. They cast dancing shadows across the cave, cheery and bright.

A hanging man was suspended by four chains, torn robe barely covering his modesty. They hung loose where the man’s limbs should be. Binghe couldn’t speak as the man with the single eye looked up at him, grinned as he convulsed in the chains, and screamed.

Two claps and the scenery was gone. Binghe was in the dark, chaotic world, breathing heavily. Collapsing to his knees, he retched, tried to throw up the heavy stone in the pit of his stomach.

The white figure stretched and squashed like putty, shrinking down into a shriveled old man with a beard that almost touched the ground and a wizened cane. He smiled genially at the boy, crow’s feet around his eyes crinkling.

“Oh, too exciting boy, truly! Your future is truly admirable. A demon lord? A harem master?” He leaned closer, infinitely wrinkled face squishing good-naturedly while he spoke. “A murderer?”

“No.” Binghe choked. “No, I’m not- I’m not him. This isn’t me.”

“Oh, you’re right, I suppose. This isn’t you. It was your- your storybook character, I take it? How nice. Does this still seem like a little storybook to you?”

He covered his ears, blocked out the noise. No, this was fine. He was fine. System? System! System dearest, please answer, please help!

[System answering: What does host need?] Its cheerful monotone voice was a lifesaver. 

‘Get me out of here.’ Binghe thought furiously. ‘Get me the fuck out of here!’

[System regrets to inform the customer that-]

The jade guanyin in his hands disappeared. The dream demon tutted.

“Pay attention when your elders are talking, boy. Now, as I was saying. You’re going to need some help to get out of your little predicament, aren’t you?” The demon leaned his weight on his cane, inspecting his nails.

His head jerked downwards, face alarmed, as he looked down at the body of Shen Yuan. The man had reappeared when the illusion faded and lay on the ground as if he were sleeping beauty. The Elder Dream Demon's brow furrowed and he snapped his fingers again, squinting the unmoving body. Nothing seemed to change, but his tense withered body relaxed again. Meng Mo nonchalantly turned his attention back towards Binghe.

“As I was saying, I need a student to pass on my techniques to. Seeing what I’ve seen, you are a prime candidate for my teachings! So, do we have a deal?” Looking back down, he offered a clawed hand to the trembling child. Binghe looked at it mutely.

“Oh dear, okay. Seems we got off on the wrong foot.” He waved his hand the area around his became significantly brighter. Now they stood in a bamboo forest, birds singing. In the distance, two tall figures laughed as they chatted, absently picking their way through the foliage without any true direction.

“Now then, I hate to ask questions twice. I can make you powerful enough to prevent all disaster. My power can save every one of your precious friends from utter annihilation. Use my techniques as creatively as you want, and you can forge a new plot. You understand?”

Binghe nodded. He tried to speak, then coughed. His voice came out dry and scratchy, as if he had spent days screaming. “If I take the deal- If I learn from you- I refuse to call you Shizun nor Shifu.” He spitefully ground out. 

The Elder sighed a long-suffering sigh, as if Binghe was some petulant child making nonsensical demands. “Then what will you call me, Master Luo.” He punctuated each word with acrimonious force.

Binghe thought for a moment. Remembered Sha Hualing. “Elder. I’ll call you Elder.”

Luo Binghe knew he was in a bind when he was in a bind. He wasn’t stupid, he knew the dream demon created this world and controlled it. He knew that this demon could crunch his tiny little consciousness with just a squish of his fingers. And honestly? Binghe was sick of it.

He was sick of being tossed around like a sack of flour, he was sick of the plot and his peers controlling him, he was sick of being a pushover janitor for the entire peak. But most importantly? He was sick of being so. Fucking. Weak.

Threats seemed to appear at every corner in this new plot that was slowly manifesting. People he cared about were getting hurt. Shen Yuan was taking bullets for this useless villain. He needed to be stronger, even at the risk of his on humanity.

“We have a deal.” He said quietly. The dream demon gave a hearty chuckle.

“I hope we have a great partnership, you and I!”

Binghe jerked awake in his bed. He was sweating buckets as he peeled the too-hot covers off of him. Pale moonlight streamed into the room. It seemed it was still nighttime. Patting himself down, he found the little jade guanyin resting peacefully on his chest. A quick tap to the figure revealed that the system was alive and well.

No one was around as he leaped off the bed and sprinted towards the bamboo hut. He flew in like a gust of wind, tearing through the hallways until he hit what he had assumed to be Shen Yuan’s room. Slowing down significantly, he assumed the demeanor of a respectable disciple and quietly opened the door. The face of a pale Shizun met him, alarmed. There was something akin to terror in his eyes, something Binghe didn’t notice at all. He quickly schooled his face into something far less revealing. 

“Shizun!” Binghe shouted, happy to see his master alive and presumably well. 

At the sight of a healthy Shen Yuan, the System came back to life. [Congratulation! Binghe has been awarded <<ERROR>> B Points for completing the mission! System was not around for part of the mission, so <<ERROR>> points are rewarded!] The little counter at the corner of his eye giving the number of points remained static. 

Fuck your mom, System!! Binghe completed his end of the deal fair and square, it wasn’t his fault that the system was useless!!

He focused back on his master. He would send a complaint to the admin of this account later. “Shizun, are you okay? Did the Elder Dream Demon hurt you anywhere?”

Shizun waved aside any of his help, careful not to touch the boy. Binghe wilted a little but obediently stood at the master’s side. He carefully rearranged his sleeping clothes and tucked any loose strands of hair back into his braid. “This master is fine.” He was crisp and to the point. Looking back up at the disciple, he could see that the little sheep’s shoulders hunching as he tried to sink deeply into the floor. His face softened.

“Binghe, did you experience any troubles with the dream demon?”

Binghe was quick to reply. “No, Shizun, no issues at all. He wasn’t very powerful and I easily escaped the dream.” 

Shen Yuan nodded, thoughtful. Binghe followed up the question with his own. “And Shizun? Did you experience anything?”

He shook his head, sagely saying “There’s nothing a mere dream demon can throw at me that I can’t deal with.” He kept his face carefully neutral, eyes evasive.

Binghe was nervous. How couldn’t he be? Shizun was acting really weirdly right now! Did the dream demon do something weird to him? Show him something weird?

He mentally gasped. Had the dream demon showed his shizun his towers of merch from his old life? Oh fuck, he knew he shouldn’t have bought that removable clothing action figure. Or those curtains. Or that toothbrush.

He flinched in surprise when Shen Yuan took his wrist. The man looked finally looked him square in the face, stern. “Binghe, I need to inspect your spiritual veins. An invasion of the dream realm by a demon is no joke.”

Binghe let out a slow breath, relaxing. Obviously whatever happened wasn’t too bad if Shizun was still willing to worry about him. Shen Yuan’s brows furrowed in concentration as he searched for signs of… something. But he let go of the wrist soon, seemingly satisfied. 

Binghe frowned, thinking. “Shizun, that dream demon was a bad demon, right?” He paused, gauging his teacher’s reaction. The man just cocked his head for the side, gesturing for Binghe to continue.

“Then… are all demons evil? Is there no such thing as a good demon? Must they all be exterminated?” As far as Binghe was concerned, there truly was no such thing as a good demon. Even the original, a half breed, had been an awful man! But this Binghe was a human soul that was accidentally shoved into a demon body, so it shouldn’t count, right?

Shen Yuan thought for a moment. “My brother might disagree, but that’s not always the case. Humans are good and evil, just as demons are. As cultivators, we only really see the demons who have surfaced and pursue humans for their own malicious reasons. That’s not to say that there aren’t good demons who stay away from humans, or humans who hurt innocent demons. The morality shouldn’t be so black and white, it only drives our prejudices deeper.” He calmly folded his hands in the lap, carefully watching his disciple’s reaction. The boy was calm.

The boy was sweating bullets, yes, but Binghe was forcing himself to be calm. To emulate Shen Yuan as best he could.

“So matters relating to demons should not be automatically seen as evil?”

“As long as the demon uses their strength for good intentions and with a righteous heart, they can be seen as allies. Demons are naturally strong creatures with great potential, so this master cannot help but admire them in that account. Not everything related to demons is bad.”

[Shen Yuan has received +100 Coolness points!]

“Is that all you need, Binghe? Then go back to sleep, it is late and we both need our rest.”

Binghe nodded and bowed, giving his respect and murmured thanks before he exited the room. Shen Yuan’s melodious voice flew out of the room after him.

“Binghe? The exit is to your left, not your right.”

The disciple paused before calling back a quick “Yes Shizun, thank you Shizun.”

He did not go left. He continued right, straight for the kitchen. Rolling up his sleeves and tying back his hair tightly, he smiled and headed for the stove. It was really nice to be back in his element.

Chapter Text

Shen Qingqiu woke up to a clamoring of pots and pans. He then promptly took his pillow, curled it over his head, and fell back asleep.

Shen Qingqiu woke up to an excited Shen Yuan who almost tore his door off the hinges. Shen Qingqiu did not fall back asleep.

Despite living in the same cottage, the brothers took rooms at two completely opposite sides of their deceptively spacious home. Just far enough away that both had almost complete privacy in their own respective realms. So seeing Shen Yuan all the way over here was kind of surprising. Especially because he was still supposed to be in bed. Poisoned. On the verge of death. Dying.

He spoke through gritted teeth. “What do you think you’re doing up? Mu-shidi was very specific about how much bed rest you need. I shouldn’t be seeing your face for the next week.” Shen Yuan didn’t even pause.

“I’ve invited Luo Binghe to live with us.” He said calmly, practically jumping up and down with excitement. 

“You did what .” His sleepy twin said equally calmly, not moving an inch with excitement. Any thought or worry for his brother's health was ejected with extreme prejudice from his mind.

Shen Yuan pulled his sweeping hair back into a ponytail as he spoke to his brother, giving him a reason not to look the irritated sibling in the eye while he spoke. “Well, I let him move into the storage room next to our house. We probably need to move a bed in there too.” 

“And what exactly prompted this whole thing? It better not be another pity thing, Shen Yuan. I’ve had enough of your damned woodlife. That thing is going to give us rabies again!”

“No- look, Binghe is not going to give us rabies.” Shen Yuan sighed, a little bit of excitement draining out of him as he massaged his temples. Walking up to his brother, he grabbed his wrist firmly. “I’ll show you why Binghe has to move in. It’s not just a pity case.” His brother pulled him up and out of his room, not giving him time to unbraid his hair or change into something more decent. 

So there he stood in the kitchen in pajamas with messy hair as a fourteen-year-old boy puttered around their kitchen snatching herbs from the ceiling or muttering measurements to himself. Shen Yuan tugged him further to the table, pressing his shoulders down.

“Sit. You’ll see.”

Shen Qingqiu stared out the window, refusing to acknowledge any of the delicious scents wafting through the air. Was that fresh-baked bread?

His brother took his place across from him, face neutral with giddiness. He looked like a small child again. Dead inside, but trying. 

A wooden bowl slid in front of him, filled to the brim with congee. It was topped with beef, carrots, eggs, and a wide variety of leafy greens that made the normal bland rice far more colorful and appetizing looking. Not to mention the heavenly smell! The spicy aroma! Was this congee or was this ambrosia?

Shen Yuan motioned for Binghe to pull up a stool next to him, which the boy hurriedly did. Shen Jiu kept a watchful eye on the boy, noticing the way he perked up any time Shen Yuan even acknowledged his existence. This is why Shen Jiu hated dogs. So baselessly loyal.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Shen Qingqiu grunted, holding his arms under the table to resist diving for the nearest spoon and digging in. 

Luo Binghe looked at him, big shining eyes worried. He looked between Shen Yuan and Shen Qingqiu uncertainly. 

Shen Yuan nodded at Binghe encouragingly. “Umm… Eat it?” Binghe said, voice innocent but eyes screaming “Are you fucking stupid, shifu?”

Or at least that’s what Shen Jiu saw. 

The elder peak lord sneered. “And why would I do that?” One more smart word out of this boy and he was going to poor congee over his head like he did with tea. Or he would pour half the congee. He was definitely going to eat the rest after he drove Binghe away.

Shen Yuan clapped a hand over Binghe’s mouth before he could answer. “Brother, this disciple here is a master chef. Try the food.” He insisted like a man trying to coax a feral cat. Shen Jiu hissed.

Scowling, the man snatched up a spoon and dug into the meal. The first bite was reluctant. The second less so. And he kept eating. Wow this food was good.The meat practically melted in his mouth, the spices and garnish added a pop to the flavor he had never felt before, it was heated to just the right temperature that he wouldn’t burn anything, and it was absolutely perfect. Shen Qingqiu would pay good money for this congee. It was easily the best he’s ever had in his life. Which was not just a feature of being raised on scraps as a child, bland Qing Jing food during adolescence, and his brother’s felony-worthy ‘cooking’ during adulthood. Probably

But he wasn’t about to live with an overgrown rat for it. It was really too bad that Luo Binghe was such an insufferable brat, he almost would have allowed this with any other disciple.

As soon as he was done, Shen Yuan leaned forward eagerly. “Do you get it now? Binghe himself has said he’s more than happy to do our cooking.”

Shen Jiu almost choked himself out of remorse. “Are you shameless, Shen Yuan? Letting a mongrel live so close by just for food? He has a home already, send him back and accept the kitchen’s cooking.”

Binghe watched with wide eyes and a swiveling head as Shen Qingqiu and Yuan fought over his apparent relocation.

“The students drove him out! He was in a woodshed!” Hissed Shizun.

“I will not let this beast dirty our home!”

“Binghe is no more a beast than you or I.”

“All these children are beasts! Everyone is a beast! I’m not letting some strange child live here!”

While they were speaking, Shen Yuan tapped Binghe’s thigh under the table and pointed back towards the icebox. Nodding, he slid off the stool and scurried back, triumphantly fishing out a small plate and trotting back to his Shizun.

Shen Yuan gave a frustrated huff as he snatched a tanghulu from Binghe’s proffered platter, thrusting it into his brother’s mouth. Shen Qingqiu’s face turned red as he choked a little, but then he paused. As he tasted the sweet hawthorn, his anger dissipated to a less disgruntled expression with a hint of nostalgia. 

It was cold and sweet, and just for a moment, he was transported back to simpler times. Back when Shen Yuan and he would race through the stalls, snatching apples off of vendor’s carts and ducking through crowds to lift wallets. He almost smiled fondly as he remembered the time they tried to snatch a bag of coins off a rogue cultivators belt and Shen Jiu almost died. He still had the scar. Ah, to be young again.

Leaning forward, Shen Yuan muttered, “See? His cooking is excellent. We’ve got to keep him nearby, I can’t stand this bland food anymore. Come on Jiu-Ge, do it for me. I’ll die from malnutrition otherwise.”

Shen Jiu tilted his head a bit, pensive. “Just him.” He growled. 

Luo Binghe almost threw his hands up in the air in excitement. Finally! He was out of that damned woodshed and one step closer to Shizun!

You learn a lot about people when you lived with them. That is, when you became their personal maid. For instance, those fans that were tastefully on display around the house? They were a small part of a mountain that Shen Yuan had somehow shoved into a closet, so impossibly crammed full with cheap and expensive fans alike that it had to be a fire hazard.

And Shen Qingqiu had a very extensive skin routine which took him about two hours every night. Binghe knew that because the man would go missing in the bathroom for a long time, then emerge with a face as soft and dewy as the bum of a newborn babe. No one talked about it.

You know what else you can learn about these two? You can learn that cleaning up after the two of them is a fucking nightmare. Dust everywhere! Books placed on shelves upside down and backward! Broken vases swept under cabinets, boots shoved under beds, hidden sweets squirreled away into every available nook and cranny. You’d think that after being house slaves for so much of their childhoods, they might learn a bit of tidiness. But nope! Apparently people have a quota for the amount of tidying they can do per lifetime.

You see, the book had never really mentioned cleanup around the Qing Jing peak bamboo house. Oh yes, it mentioned little knick-knacks around the house. Sometimes it would give little details, like ‘Oh, little Yingying accidentally dropped a plate! Isn’t she so clumsy~’, but it would never talk about cleaning things up. And so this was the result. A home that looked neat at first, but on closer inspection hid secret horrors.

Binghe didn’t really mind, though. He’ll be honest- he’s a bit of a neat freak. A messy house just gave him an excuse to rearrange books until they were color coordinated and alphabetized, snoop through the little details and sigh dreamily over the misadventures they represented, dust everything with such malice that dirt was afraid to come within three meters of him at all times. Shen Yuan and Shen Qingqiu couldn’t help but watch in mirrored awe as this little tornado whirled through their house and transformed it into a spotless cottage worthy of the front cover on a magazine. All the while, they were still served breakfast and dinner on a consistent schedule, even while the child attended classes with newfound diligence. It was like the child had two extra arms and a body double. 

In reality, Binghe was just used to being a busy millennial who had juggled two jobs and classes on the side. Cleaning and cooking with a little bit of cultivation? Easy as pie. It’s called meal prep. The peak masters didn’t know it yet, but they had unwittingly brought into their midsts Luo Mei, multitasker extraordinaire.

It was only a matter of weeks before Binghe was a staple in both their lives, neither of the twins able to imagine life without their diligent little maid. 

Binghe hummed, lightly running the feather duster over a line of statues. He looked at one of them, a wooden carving of a dog, and frowned a little. Pinching its raised tail, he spun it around so that its back faced the other crowd of figurines behind it, looking outwards rather than crookedly to the side. There! Now it looked like a real alpha wolf!

His head bobbed along a little with the music running from the system, a neat little feature he had found while lazily swiping through the available screens. It played like Spotify, various ads for suspicious medicinal cures or various types of character halos popping up from time to time. He never really clicked on the ads though. Their proclamations of “A White Lotus Halo can be yours for three small payments of 1000 B points!” or “Cure-all pills! High spiritual grade! All for the price of one vital plot point!” threw him off a little.

He pulled his makeshift white bandanna from over his bangs, letting them fall down light and fluffy around his face. He tried to rake his hand through his hair out of leftover habits from another world and winced, fingers caught in his tangles and snarls. God, curly hair was hard to handle. What do you ever do with it? Every time he tried to brush it was intensely painful, and it only poofed up in the end. Now he just tossed it back in a messy ponytail and left it, the naturally wild mess of the curls hiding how much of a disaster he had let his hair actually become.

Someone reached behind him, plucking his hand out of his twisted locks and tutting. 

“All this cleaning and you completely disregard your hair? For shame.” Shen Yuan joked lightly, looking closely at the bird’s nest. “Come to this Shizun’s room, let’s see if we can’t get this sorted out.”

[<<Papapa until healthy again!>>] The system reminded him. Binghe slammed the screen shut.

“Shizun, this disciple is capable of taking care of his own hair…” Binghe reluctantly drew out. He was a full-grown man after all, even if he didn’t look it now. It would be shameful to let another fully grown man do his hair like he was still a toddler.

“Evidently not. Look at all these knots and split ends. If I brought this to your Shifu, he would have a field day.” Shen Yuan gently guided Luo Binghe to his room.

Binghe pretended like a part of him wasn’t extremely relieved and excited at the idea of having his hair done by Shen Yuan. Shen Yuan of all people! If Shizun insisted, he had no choice, did he? He had done his best to refuse the other, who was he to deny his favorite person? And if his very best was just one rejection… well, anyone would have a hard time saying no to that gorgeous face. 

So there Binghe was, his back resting stiffly against the bed frame as his teacher picked through his hair, unknotting it the best he could. It wasn’t that Shizun made him uncomfortable or anything! It’s just… whenever he leaned against Shizun’s thigh or felt his hand brush against his skin, his skin seemed to warm up and tingle for a while afterward. It was a strange feeling that left him gleeful and confused. He had never had a problem with Shizun’s touch before- in fact, he had craved it. But it seemed totally different in this changed setting. His could feel butterflies battering around inside his stomach.

Every once in a while Shen Yuan’s hands would reach out to fiddle with his curls, twisting and turning especially round ringlets with delight. Binghe slouched, completely relaxed, and felt a little jolt of happiness every time Shen Yuan absently pulled on a curl and watched it bounce back. If it made Shizun happy and extended his time in this heaven, who was he to complain?

Shizun shifted from behind him, leaning over to his bedstand to grab a wide-toothed comb and some oil. He doused his hands with a healthy amount of the liquid, making Binghe’s heart turn in his chest when the man rubbed it loosely across his fingers and palms. Shen Yuan turned back to Binghe and set his hands in the curls, slowly massaging the oil into him. Reaching out, the disciple quietly turned off the System’s Spotify, which had previously been playing some popular Chinese pop song. Without the distractions, the quiet of the room was suddenly very loud. Cicadas were screaming outside, but inside the room was only the soft crackle of oil and Shen Yuan’s fingers soothingly scratching his scalp.

Unconsciously, the stiffness he had been trying so hard to hold faded. His shoulders relaxed, then his back, until he was leaning against the knee next to him. Hands threaded through his locks, no longer tugging them. It seemed that the worst of the knots were all gone.

Shen Yuan broke the sleepy silence. “Jiu-Ge-- My brother-- used to do this for me when I was young.” He said. Luo Binghe turned a little, then felt his head forced back forwards. 

“Stay still,” Shen Yuan scolded. His voice carried no real weight to it though, more of a suggestion than anything. Binghe began to nod, then stopped.

“Yes Shizun, this disciple apologizes, Shizun.” He offered. A warm hand patted his head before resuming its work. Though Binghe’s hair seemed fairly short for the era, when you really stretched out the curls it turned out that there was actually a lot to go through. It was soothing work for the both of them, thorough and repetitive. After a moment, Shen Yuan continued. 

“My elder brother might seem harsh- I’m not going to lie, often times he is. But he’s not a-” He paused, tilting his head for a second, seeming to look for the right words. “He’s not a bad man, Binghe.”

The boy stayed perfectly still, pretending to mull over this for a moment. Dear Shen Yuan, it’s nice that you’re trying to foster a relationship between us but I already know this! I read his book! I know exactly what his personality is! Vindictive and traumatized, a ball of more spite than man, with just a sprinkle of intense loyalty to wrap it all up in a neat little bow. 

“This disciple understands, but why is Shizun telling him this?”

Shen Yuan’s fingers paused in his hair, fisting it tightly for a quick second before letting it go. “This master just wants to foster good relations between you two while Binghe lives nearby us. Us two masters didn’t have the average childhood, so I fear that Shen Qingqiu might just be a bit,” Emotionally stunted! Doesn’t relate to kids! Doesn’t know how to treat other people! My brother is hell to interact with! Shen Yuan wanted to scream. Instead, he kept his voice level. “A bit poor with children. Maybe spending more time around him will help him with his ...” Shen Yuan trailed off, a bit at a loss for words. 

How do you tell a white lotus to butter up your brother a little so your brother can soften up just a little? Shen Yuan personally got along with his the elder twin fairly well, but he needed to teach Shen Qingqiu that children are more than tiny adults somehow. After meeting and getting to know how sweet of a child Binghe was, he had to put an end to the whole bullying charade that Shen Qingqiu allowed to go on (And he allowed too, by default of not ever seriously protesting it). 

Luo Binghe was practically purring when Shen Yuan ran a wide bristled combs through his hair slowly. Fuck that felt good. The child was putty in Shen Yuan’s lap and he had to use one hand to comb his hair, another to brace the boy’s neck and hold him up. His brain was working at approximately one mile per hour. It was like he was melting into a puddle of delight. Despite that, he got the gist of what his Shizun was trying to say.

“I understand, Shizun. I’ll try to get on Shifu’s good side for you.” He said sleepily, trying to hold back a yawn. It reminded Shen Yuan of a little puppy who had been hyper all day and now needed a nap for an hour or two. Ah, if only he could take this child and wrap him up in a blanket! This sweet boy was far too nice for every little trauma the Elder Dream Demon had shown them!

Finishing up with Binghe’s hair, he twisted it into a braid similar to his own and tied it with one of his many green ribbons. “Thank you Binghe for understanding.” He said primly, ready for the boy to jump up in embarrassment or to hug him tightly, either par for the course at this point. Instead Binghe stayed still on his lap, breathing softly. It seemed the pup had already fallen asleep, then. 

He thought about waking the boy, but was that really fair? The kid ran himself to the bone every day, keeping up with classwork and housework alike. The least his Shizun could do is take care of him in the evening.

Shen Yuan scooted off the bed and crouched beside the boy, pulling him into his arms in a princess carry. He hoped the boy wouldn’t awaken during this, it would be extremely embarrassing for both of them. He stiffly carried the child back down the hallways and towards the outside, garnering an odd look from Shen Qingqiu who sat reading on a couch but nothing more. 

Shen Yuan was a bit surprised at the state of the storage room when he walked in. It was absolutely clean, of course. In fact, it was practically barren. No pictures, no childish collections, no dried flowers or poorly hidden porn novels. It was way more livable than the rooms Shen Yuan and his brother had shared back when they were disciples. 

There was only one fresh robe sitting in the corner, ready to be worn the next day, and a bed filled to the brim with blankets and cushions. They practically overflowed, climbing their way up into the ranks of mountainhood. He looked dubiously at the bed, then the boy. Where the fuck was he supposed to fit this kid? Did he even sleep in this bed? Was he trying to find out if he was a princess or something? Walking over, he found a divet in the center of it all. 

It seemed Binghe had made a collection of the softest materials he could have found and placed them together into a gigantic nest. He let Binghe down into the indent and- yep. Perfect fit. Binghe was practically lost from sight deep within the recesses of his bed, curling up into a fetal position the moment his head hit a pillow. Shen Yuan smiled as he reached down and pushed back Binghe’s bangs. This little sheep really was too cute in both appearance and actions! How had he not been struck through the heart earlier!

When the door behind Shen Yuan closed, Luo Binghe cuddled closer to his pillow and grinned.

~~~

When Liu Qingge arrived at their door, monster head in tow, Binghe was left speechless.

First of all, he had just cleaned that stone garden and raked it with super cool spiral patterns. And Qingge had not only walked on it, but poured monster blood all over it.

Second of all, Binghe was painfully reminded of Shen Yuan’s harem points. The ones he had never actually looked into because frankly? Avoidance is the best solution to many problems. Let’s pretend that Shen Yuan had no possible suitors that could take him away and that he wasn’t fixing to build a harem anytime soon. 

He regretted that idea now, though. Because now he could only assume what exactly harem points meant, and unfortunately Liu Qingge was super hot. Okay, so everyone in this world was beautiful, even the wrinkly old men and the pug-nosed spoiled lords. That wasn’t some observation on inner souls or anything, it was just the hard fact that everyone looked like they walked out of a magazine.

But Liu Qingge looked like a god had chipped his face from marble. His face was far too harsh in comparison to Shen Yuan’s, of course, and Binghe didn’t like that stony expression on his face but… He had to hand it to the man. If he were Shen Yuan and Liu Qingge had brought him the severed head of an ancient, formerly undefeatable beast? That would be really, really sexy. 

Too bad Liu QIngge was an asshole. Binghe didn’t have to think hard to remember every time he had scorned Shen Qingqiu, sparked a fight between them or called the man a pretty-boy son of a lord. God, what a jerkwad. A noble, slightly prettier than average, arrogant fuckface. 

Luo Binghe stood dazed in front of the peak lord, broom held in front of him like a shield. The peak lord was unmoved. 

“Where’s Shen Yuan?” He demanded. Oh fuck that was a nice baritone. And oh fuck he wanted to talk to Shen Yuan. 

The moment he felt vaguely threatened, Luo Binghe snapped out of his surprise and squared up. This was his Shizun, and no man (no matter how stunningly beautiful he was) was going to take his Shizun away from him. He had worked too goddamn hard to live in this place and lick the twin Peak Lords’ boots!

He put on a sneer, looking up at the man like a small emperor. “You plan to bring that,” He pointed to the snarling White Eclipse Panda-Lion’s face, “Into this home?” Stalling. Yes, stalling is good. 

Liu Qingge looked impassively between the strange boy before him and the mane he held tightly in his fist. “No,” he decisively said. Thrusting it into Binghe’s arms, the boy staggered as he was pushed out of the doorway he so faithfully guarded and out onto the path. Holding a giant, severed monster head. The door closed behind him, and now Binghe was out in the open. Blood oozed between his fingers and onto his pure white clothes, staining them a deep crimson that he would never be able to get out. 

Shit, he absolutely had to hide this. This was such a hot gesture, how could Shen Yuan not immediately fall for that kind of manliness?

He shifted his weight, rolling the head in his arms until it wasn’t uncomfortably trying to gaze him right in the eye. The coarse fur prickled at his skin. Looking around from side to side, he spotted a particularly large bamboo stalk, his own room separate from the house, the latrines, and- yes! Hurrying off the path and to the left, Binghe held the monster head up for a second against the sun. Ah, the eyes were kind of a pretty blue-gray color, weren’t they? Kind of like a certain peak lord’s uniform?

He punted the head off a cliff.

By the time Binghe had washed up and returned, the Shen twins sat in the lounge on a couch across from Liu Qingge. He smiled at the Qing Jing Peak lords when he returned, earning a returned smile from Shen Yuan and a distasteful flick of the wrist of Shen Qingqiu. Ah, his dear protagonist acknowledged him, how wonderful!

When the boy passed by the Bai Zhan War God he sideyed him, lip curling like he smelled something rancid. Liu Qingge started, looking to the two other peak lords to see if they had caught the sheer malice in that boy’s eyes. 

Both of them were engaged in a whispered conversation, Shen Yuan occasionally snapping his fingers in Shen Qingqiu’s face while the other man looked increasingly irritated. The elder brother whipped out and snatched the fan from Shen Yuan’s folded hand, wrenching it over in front of his face as he angrily muttered something to his twin. Shen Yuan looked vaguely affronted as he… pouted? Before his face immediately turned back to the serene image it always seemed to have.

The younger twin looked up. “Binghe, could you boil some tea for our guest? Bring out a plate of snacks too, please.”

Before Qingge’s eyes, the boy’s eyes lit up. He could practically see flowers bouncing off of the boy’s general aura. Shen Qingqiu fanned himself, rolling his eyes. 

“Yes, Shizun! Of course, Shizun!” He chirped, almost skipping to the kitchen.

Liu Qingge turned to the peak lords. “Who is that?”

Shen Qingqiu snorted delicately. “ That is Luo Binghe. He-” The man paused and looked over at his brother. “Why am I explaining this? He’s your pet.”

Shen Yuan swatted the elder man on the shoulder. “He’s not an animal, we’ve gone over this.” He smiled politely at Liu Qingge. Without that constant fan covering half his face, it was like armor had been stripped from him. Expression shone through far more clearly. In Liu Qingge’s eyes, the revealed soft smiles suited the man far more. 

“Luo Binghe is our youngest disciple. For various reasons, he tends to stay close by this home and take care of much of the menial tasks.”

As if he were summoned, the boy swept into the room, a platter of teacups and tea in one hand and various types of desserts and snacks lined all up his other arm. He carefully placed the food and drink down, momentarily dreaming of spilling the boiling tea all over Qingge’s lap before pushing the thought aside. Qingge looked suspiciously between the prepared meal and Binghe.

“You disciple also makes the food?” He grunted. Shen Yuan reached down as if to pick up a fan to delicately cover his face and answer, then paused. Ah yes, a dear certain someone had stolen it. He blinked in surprise when a new fan appeared in front of him.

“This disciple took the liberty of getting Shizun a new fan.” Binghee said demurely, eyes respectfully lowered. Shen Yuan smiled as he plucked it from the boy’s proffered hands and fanned it open, falling cherry blossoms and a mountainous landscape rippling to life.

“Thank you, Binghe.” His hand rested on top of Binghe’s head for a moment, lightly ruffling the boy’s hair. The disciple’s eyes closed happily, obviously savoring the moment. Shen Qingqiu cleared his throat.

Shen Yuan dropped his hand from the boy’s hair with obvious reluctance. “You may go now. Remember to practice the forms we went over yesterday.”

Luo Binghe saluted Shen Yuan, then the rest of the peak masters. “This humble disciple will go then. Please call if anything is needed.” His feet were dragging as he left for the back door, moving towards the peak lords’ personal training yard. 

Yuan looked back at his guest. “As I was saying, Binghe is one of our chefs.”

Shen Qingqiu coughed. “You mean our only chef.” He said, hair lightly blowing back from his face with the breeze he was creating.

Liu Qingge picked up a little cookie, flower-shaped and bright yellow. He twirled it around a few times, squinting at it like someone might have stuck a razor blade in it somewhere.

Shen Yuan reached down and took a whole plate of cat-shaped cookies, biting off the tail of one of them. “So what brings Liu-shidi to our humble abode?” He asked.

Shen Qingqiu scoffed. “And what may drive Liu-shidi back to his own?”

Liu Qingge’s hackles raised for a moment and he took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. “I’m here to thank Shen Qingqiu and Shen Yuan for,” He took a deep breath, obviously unfamiliar with such pleasantries, “For aiding me back at the Spirit Caves.” There. Done. Liu Qingge had said it. Are you happy now, Liu Mingyan? 

At that answer, Shen Qingqiu raised an eyebrow. “Is that all, Liu-Shidi?” He purred. “If so, the door is right,” his borrowed fan snapped shut, turned to point directly behind him, “that way. So if you please-”

Honestly, Shen Yuan was proud of Qingqiu right now. This was the most civilized he’s been to a guest in years. On the other hand, Liu Qingge looked so lost and young under that hard mask he kept on. Shen Yuan was sharply reminded that he and his brother were, in fact, the man’s seniors.

“No, stay.” He said graciously. Leaning forward, he pushed the hand the held the yellow cookie towards his mouth. “Try it, they’re the best cookies around. I promise Binghe’s a fantastic baker.”

Liu Qingge glanced at where Shen Yuan’s hand touched his own, feeling the back of his neck begin to get hot. The other man was oblivious to his distress, and frankly Shen Qingqiu could care less. Shen Yuan seemed to have that general effect on every man around him. 

Ning Yingying sat to his left, Ming Fan sat to his right, and both of them alongside every other disciple in their general radius were trying to snatch food from his boxed lunch. Luo Binghe had long since covered it protectively with one hand, eyes shifting this and there suspiciously as he shoveled as much food into his mouth as quickly as he could. Curse this body’s humongous appetite! He had to pack so much to tide himself over for dinner!

“Bingheeee” Ning Yingying whined, poking his martial brother on the cheek. “Come on Binghe, at least give me one of those octopus-looking ones! Please~”

Luo Binghe pulled his box away from the girl, turning away from her. He looked over his shoulder, throwing an unusually aggressive “no way” at her. Ming Fan took that moment to triumphantly snatch a sausage octopus from his lunch box.

He held the brown, cut slab of meat in the air as if it were the holy grail itself. “Got one!” He shouted triumphantly, beaming towards the heavens. Luo Binghe snarled, stuffing the last octopus into his mouth. He wouldn’t jump after stolen goods like a child, he was above that.

Ning Yingying whined, eyes wide. “Ming Fan, please can I eat it? Pretty please?” Her eyes opened wide, a single white lotus tear threatening to spill out. Binghe was mildly impressed and prodded the system for a moment to confirm that she wasn’t a transmigrator too. Spoiler alert, she was marked just as NPC as the rest of these suckers.

The elder martial brother looked down at her, then up at the octopus, then down at her. His shoulders slumped a bit as he began to lower his chopsticks. The girl’s eyes shone.

“Yay~ A-Ming is the best martial brother ever, A-Ming is so great~” She sang, clapping her hands excitedly. Ming Fan looked between her and the sausage, then popped it in his mouth.

Ning Yinying’s heart shattered. Ming Fan looked like he was on cloud nine.

Later Ning Yingying climbed up a peach tree, enthusiastically gesturing for the other two boys to follow. She perched herself on a bough above the two boys, swinging her feet as she nabbed a fruit from above her. Her face puckered from the sourness of the unripe peach but she kept going at it, determined until the very end. 

Ming fan leaned against the tree, a leg tossed over each side of the branch. Binghe sat further down the wood, arms held out as he nimbly hopped here and there between branches, never losing his balance.

Ming Fan folded his arms back behind his head, looking up towards the sky peeking between the leaves. He hummed for a second in thought before speaking.

“So what’s it like, living with your crush?” He asked nonchalantly. A shout could be heard from Binghe, arms wheeling as he tried to regain his balance. The fifteen-year-old boy squatted down, eyes wide. A blush climbed its way up from his neck to the top of his head.

“My- my what?” He squeaked.

“You know, Shizun? Shen Yuan? The younger peak lord of Qing Jing?” Ning Yinying called helpfully from above.

Luo Binghe forced out a laugh, waving his hand in the air as if to banish the idea from existence. “Shizun? I admire Shizun, of course, but that’s all. Nothing more, I swear!” 

Ning Yingying threw aside her peach, twirling around on the branch and hooking her legs around it as she fell backward. Binghe was met with an upside-down Yingying who was very close to his face. She looked him into the eyes, squinting, than to Ming Fan.

“He’s lying.” She announced. 

“Yeah, I know.” Ming Fan sighed. Binghe sputtered.

“I’m not lying! I never lie, I’m telling the truth right now. I greatly admire Shizun and Shifu, and living alongside them has allowed me to learn many things about cultivation.” 

Neither of them believed him. It was really obvious. Ming Fan looked tired, and Ning Yingying frowned at him like he was a particularly difficult piece of literature. Under the pressure of four watchful eyes and two judging people, Binghe snapped.

“You know what? It’s fantastic. Shizun brushes my hair for me even though I’m too old for it, he trusts me to draw his baths and pick out the oils that go in, I’ve learned every one of his favorite dishes, and he makes the cutest! Faces! Whenever he buys a new fan from the market, even though he already has six hundred twenty-five of them sitting in a closet that I have to reorganize and re-color code each time he buys one with a tassel. Everywhere in the house smells like him! And he smells like the oils that I get to pick out for his baths~” Binghe kept going, light-headed by the time he paused to take a break. He hadn’t even dented the list of pros that came with living with Shizun. 

Ming Fan and Ning Yingying looked wide-eyed at each other, then him. 

“Wow, he’s in deep.” Said Ming Fan. Ning Yingying nodded in agreement.

She swung herself back up to her branch and crossed her legs, ponytails swinging behind her as she twirled around again so she could look down at Binghe. “What about Shifu?” She asked cautiously.

Binghe looked up at her, confused. “What about him?” His mind caught up quickly though, and he seemed to think about it.

“Um, Shifu’s been getting nicer while I’m there? Well, at least whenever I have tanghulu with me. And he calls me by my name now, which is cool. That started happening about a week ago, I think.” He paused for a second. “He’s good at teaching musical instruments. Apparently he heard me trying to play the guqin and got really mad because now I have to take mandatory music lessons from him every night." The blush that once stained his face was quickly disappearing. "Shifu is a great cultivator, even if he's a little hard to live with. I feel nothing but respect for him." Binghe finished.

The girl above him seemed to let out a huge sigh of relief, pushing herself on the branch to stand between Ming Fan and Binghe. She pulled Ming Fan further up along the branch and tossed an arm over bother of their shoulders. “Well, I’m glad to see that you three are getting along up th-”

Crack .

Binghe felt the bough give way, thin branches whipping at his back as the branch beneath him gave way, an odd sense of deja vu taking over as he hurtled to the ground. 

‘Yeah, this is happening way too often.’ He thought.

Then everything went black.

Shen Qingqiu watched from the window, slurping on his cup of tea, as Binghe fell into his brother. Again. And Shen Yuan may be stupid enough to fall for the act, but Shen Qingqiu certainly wasn’t. After all, whenever he made Binghe conduct the drills the boy had perfect posture and stance. A bit of stronger footing and stances than the light-footed and agile sequences he preferred to teach, but overall there was nothing to really critique. 

When he did the same exact drill in front of Shen Yuan, it was like someone had replaced him with a sack of snakes in a trenchcoat. He wobbled here and there as if he didn’t regularly dance on tightropes and the tips of swords, cheekily tempting fate. This kid was one of the most nimble and well-balanced disciples he had ever taught, and he had the audacity to throw his talent aside like this? God, Qingqiu hated children.

Binghe finished off his movement by giving a roundhouse kick, stumbling hard as he landed. Tripping over his own feet, he fell into Shizun’s chest.

Shen Yuan rapped him on the head with his fan. “Once more.”

Binghe did it again. He fell again. Shen Yuan sighed. “Once more.”

The man watching from the windows inhaled through his nose, slowly counting to ten, then exhaled. He’d been working on his temper lately after seeing Binghe flinch whenever he moved too sharply. The boy's shrinking reactions reminded him a little too vividly of his time at the Qiu- nope. No, Shen Qingqiu, repress it. Just keep neatly shoving those emotions and memories in their neat little boxes. Keep repressing them further and further in the darkest pits of his mind where they’ll stay forever. And then he’ll die. Good plan, team.

Now then. The point was, he was trying. And Binghe seemed to feel the need to test his newfound resolution at every possible corner.

Massaging his temples, he looked up to see how Shen Yuan was faring. And paused.

Binghe fell into his brother’s arms again, but Shen Qingqiu wasn’t paying attention to that. He was paying attention to the soft set of Shen Yuan’s lips as he fought a smile, trying his best to stay a stern Shizun. Even as he rapped the boy’s head with his fan, the boy chuckled, embracing his teacher. Shen Yuan finally gave up, the wide grin fighting its way past his permanent facade up to the top layer of his face. Bending down less than he used to because Binghe seemed to be growing like a beanpole these days, he wrapped the boy up in a tight hug and beamed. A-Yuan was radiant.

Shen Qingqiu rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue, carrying his teacup to the wash pan and rinsing it. If that kid made his idiot brother happy, then so be it. Who was this peak lord to get in the way of his whims?

Chapter Text

Today was operation: Prevent the Pedophile Accusations!

Otherwise known as [Ding~ System would like to remind customer of an upcoming plot point and mission! Please complete new mission <<Megan’s Law>> to prevent Shen_Jiu’s blackened reputation! Failure to do so will result in -500 B points and subsequent return to original world.] 

You see, there had been a major plot point in the original novel. One where Shen Qingqiu was declared a pervert, a depraved sex offender who used his power over disciples to molest young female disciples.

At least, that’s what the original Luo Binghe coached Ning Yingying say, or at least imply with shrinking actions and scared, furtive looks. It was certain that Yingying never quite understood why Binghe told her to do all these things, but she threw all her acting expertise into her role as an abused girl.

The claims were corroborated by the reported night years before when Shen Qingqiu went swiftly into the girl’s room and stayed for a few hours, leaving only in the early morning when few were awake. That morning Ning Yingying wandered like a ghost, dark circles rimming her red eyes.

Furthermore, rumors already zoomed around of the many nights he spent at brothels, of the way he seemed sp much slicker and more comfortable around women then men. Obviously a pervert! How could such a scholarly peak lord be such a lecherous man!

So what conclusion were onlookers supposed to come to besides the idea that the unspeakable had occurred? 

The reality was far less horrifying. Shen Yuan had noticed stray and uncontrolled Qi energy was creeping its way around the peak and had sent Shen Qingqiu down to check it out. Yuan would have gone, but he was busy pulling an all-nighter to edit some god-forsaken novel for a friend. As Shen Yuan explained, calm voice wavering every so slightly, he had put it off for the last few weeks and a certain few peak lords were getting impatient waiting for the newest hit from the author-editor duo.

No matter what the era, porn novels sell.

Which is how Shen Qingqiu found Ning Yingying in the throes of a night terror, one that had sent her into a Qi deviation. It wasn’t a major deviation but it needed a delicate touch. Qingqiu sat by her bed for hours gently guiding spiritual energy into her veins. It had been such a touching scene in the novel, where everyone’s favorite ice princess showed his softer side and the favorite little sister made yet another appearance. It had mainly just been pandering, fluffy fanservice.

But Icicle has to ruin everything good, doesn’t he? People can’t just be happy?

Which is why Binghe was currently stuttering like a man on the verge of a breakdown in front of Shizun.

“And I- This humble disciple would appreci- appreciate it if you would allow Ning Yingying to stay the night? Nearby the cottage? Because I like her and we have fun together and I’ve ever had a sleepover before? If Shizun feels uncomfortable or doesn’t want it to happen then this discip-”

Shen Yuan covered the kid's mouth before the boy could keep going. Honestly, what horrible things this poor child had gone through. He couldn’t even ask for something nice without being scared out of his wits. His heart went out to this little white sheep and he couldn't bear the thought of refusing such a small request from his favorite disciple.

Binghe spontaneously combusted the moment a fingertip met his lips. Holy fuck, is this what true love’s kiss felt like? 

“This master gives you permission to have a ‘sleepover.’ I expect no impropriety on either of your parts. You will be spending the night inside this home, in separate bedrooms, and we will be around as chaperones the entire time.” Aah, young love. Who was Shen Yuan to get in between of romance? Those two disciples were so cute, they would make the most adorable couple.

The boy leaped towards his master, hugging him tightly and savoring the moment. “Thank you Shizun! Thank you so much! This disciple will not disappoint!”

Shizun gently wrapped his arms around the boy, patting him on the back. He momentarily wished that Binghe could stay this small forever. It was a shame this little sheep would have to grow out of his loveable round face someday. Shen Yuan was already starting to see signs of sharp cheekbones under the baby fat that was quickly melting away.

And that’s how Binghe ended up crossdressing.

“Open your mouth wide, A-Luo. It’s time to apply the lip rouge.”

Binghe unthinkingly complied, still ruminating over the slew of quests he's had to do lately. In truth, this had been a misunderstanding on the part of everyone else. It always was with Shen Qingqiu, wasn’t it? Dearest protagonist, please have less of a fox’s face please! Everyone expects the worst of you, and you never defend yourself. You always leave this poor disciple to do the hard work for you!

So now Binghe was here to prove Shen Qingqiu’s innocence before it was too late in the game and everyone already suspected the worst. He was going to stay the night-- the horror! A boy in a girl’s bedroom!-- and keep tabs on Shen Qingqiu’s interactions with her. A witness is always a good thing to have.

“Turn your head a little, Binghe. And hold this braid.” Yingying mumbled around the bobby pins stuffed between her teeth. She pulled his hair into a tight bun on the side, wrapping the braid tightly around it. “And voila! Introducing--” She spun around to grab a mirror off the table, calling back a “Drumroll please!”

Binghe rolled his eyes but complied, patting his hands rhythmically on his thighsy. He couldn’t say he wasn't excited.

“Luo-Shijie! Ahh, you look so beautiful!” She crooned, thrusting a round hand mirror into his face. Binghe gaped.

Apparently the beautiful face of a white lotus who had yet to properly hit puberty looked a lot like a delicate woman’s if you dress them in the right clothes. White face, red cheeks, a little red marking on his forehead and so much eyeshadow. She had practically reworked his entire face.

He looked as if he had just walked out of the red light district. 

He could only stare in shock at the mirror. Yingying beamed.

“I knew Binghe would like it! It makes him look so mature and pretty~” She sang.

Shen Qingqiu lounged on a comfortable chair nearby, flipping his way through a novel. He looked up for a moment in curiosity and paused when his eyes met Binghe’s. Ning Yingying was still scampering around, throwing bits and bobs into his hair until he felt like someone had just stacked a dumbell on it.

The moment the transmigration and protagonist’s eyes met, Qingqiu grimaced. The corner of his lips twitched. 

Ning Yingying and Binghe both had the pleasure of watching their peerless immortal master completely fall apart that day, wheezing from how much he was laughing. At some point it began to sound painful. Covering his mouth with his sleeve, the man muffled and eventually subdued his laughter. The moment he was finished, his face transformed back into a mask of tranquility. It was almost unnerving how all emotion seemed to slide off his face. 

“Yingying, where exactly did you learn these makeup techniques.” He questioned, eyes gleaming with savage mirth. Yingying smiled, her head tilted like a pretty sparrow’s. 

“Yingying learned by observing the pretty women in town! It’s not a mainstream look but I think that the red really brings out Binghe’s eyes and--” She fell into her usual ramble obviously pleased that her teacher was taking an interest in her hobbies. Binghe rose his sleeve to start scrubbing away at the paint on his face but found his wrist in an iron grip. Yingying continued chattering away, her fingers warningly tightening at every attempt Binghe made to destroy her masterpiece. 

Shen Jiu was remarkably curious in the topic, enough so that he rose from his relaxed position and bent over to give Binghe a closer look. He thoughtfully twisted Binghe’s face side from side, careful not to smudge the makeup. Much to both the disciples’ surprise, their teacher took down his hair and swept it back into a bun, as impeccably flawless as the rest of his appearance. He picked up Ning Yingying’s palette and brush, dipping it into a deep scarlet color.

“Your technique is not bad, Yingying, especially since you’ve never properly learned these techniques. However,” He took the time to bend down at about eye level to Binghe and started lining his lips. Underneath the thick layer of white on his cheeks, Binghe could feel himself heating up. Even if Shen Qingqiu was Shen Qingqiu, he still looked far too similar to his brother for this poor teenager to emerge entirely unscathed.

“If you line the lips like so, the lines look far more crisp and delicate. Think of it like lining a painting before adding color.” Yingying nodded, absolutely rapt and hanging off her shifu’s every word like they were gospel. Binghe’s neck was starting to hurt. "And here-- smudging the makeup will make it fade and seem much more natural up around the cheekbones, especially with colors like--"

This went on for a few hours.

When the qi deviation occurred that night, it was dealt with swiftly and quietly. Yingying’s dark bags and red-rimmed eyes were easily explained away by excuses of talking and partying too long and too late at night with Binghe. Another mission complete! Well done!

And if Yingying started rounding up her friends to assault Binghe and use him as a makeup mannequin after the entire incident, well… At least Binghe felt pretty afterward. 

“Binghe!” Shen Yuan called from across the house. The boy moved the steaming pot he was holding over a lower flame, letting it simmer. Dusting his hands off and unlooping his apron, he followed the voice.

“Shizun?” He asked politely, metaphorical tail wagging at a hundred miles per hour. 

“This master will be inviting a guest over tonight. Prepare enough food for a third peak lord.”

Well, he wished he had known about this a little sooner, dearest. Nonetheless, any whim of Shizun’s was his command. “And who will this disciple be serving?” He smiled.

Shen Yuan’s face dropped from its carefully neutral pose, his brow twitching down a litte. “Zhangmen-Shixiong.” he said, voice a little colder than usual.

“Binghe!” Called Shen Qingqiu from all the way across the house. Again. 

The disciple bowed to his Shizun. “Will that be all?”

“All for now. As always, Shizun thanks Binghe.”

Binghe hurried to the other side of the cottage, slowing down to meet Shen Qingqiu. He was at the door, hurriedly pulling on a robe.

“Tell my brother that I will be going out for the day, and he need not come and find me. No,” He paused and looked Binghe very firmly in the eye. “Tell Shen Yuan not to go looking at all. Ever.”

Binghe gaped like a dying fish. That was a lot of suppressed rage not being directed at him for once, and it felt like cool freshwater was being poured over his head. Refreshing.

“What are you standing there for, Binghe? Get moving.” There it was. That’s the raw anger Binghe was missing.

“Shen Yu- Shizun told me earlier that the sect leader will be visiting the peak today.”

“Yes, I know.” The response was so cold that it almost began to snow.

Oof, Binghe shoulda expected that. The one-sided bad blood between the Shen twins and Yue Qingyuan was infamous. Even people who had never read the novel knew about the icy tundra that was their relationship. Shit, was this something he had to fix too? It wasn’t exactly a blackened reputation, just kind of… sad. 

Mr Author Icicle had never breathed a word on where Qingyuan had disappeared to for years, and the fandom was divided. Some stood on the side of Shen Jiu, waving flags that read “Down with Qi-Ge! Qi-Ge abandoned them all! Yue Qingyuan deserves no forgiveness!” Luo Binghe was firmly on the opposite side, agreeing with the thousands that insisted, “It’s just a misunderstanding! Qingyuan’s so nice, he helps the Shen twins so often! He’s trying his best, he’s just bad at communication!”

He was also secretly on one of the quieter, older sides that insisted “Qingjiu invented love!”, but he wasn’t about to say that out loud. They were the true OTP of the book, not that boring “Shen Jiu x Qiu Haitang” shit everyone was spouting.

Oh fuck, Qiu Haitang. He forgot about her.

Shen Yuan had gone out against Shen Qingqiu’s orders and tracked the man down. He had then pulled the man back to the cottage by his ear like an irate mother, fuming the entire way back.

 “You think I want to have dinner with Zhangmen-shixiong either? You know how I feel about him, and I know how you feel about him. So there’s no way you’re ditching me to eat dinner with Zhangmen-Shixiong alone .”

Shen Qingqiu frowned. “Binghe would be there.” He grumbled, not much unlike a petulant child.

“Binghe will be there.” Shen Yuan parrotted back, voice a mocking mimicry of Shen Qingqiu’s. “Like that would even fucking matter, he’s sixteen years old, Jiu-Ge.”

Shen Qingqiu’s feet were dragging as they got closer to the door and Shen Yuan grabbed his wrist, pulling him more firmly along. 

“Now get dressed in something nicer than those travel clothes. Throw on a coat or something, I don’t care. Just look decent.” He huffed. The younger brother shoved Qingqiu towards the hallways that led to his room and his elder brother stumbled forward a bit, giving his brother a nasty glare and a moue of distaste before primly dusting himself off. He folded his arms into his sleeves as if changing his clothes were always his intention, tossing his hair in a way that it slapped Shen Yuan in the face.

His younger brother stuck his tongue out at the image of his brother sashaying away and stepped back, fully intending to return to his own room. He stopped short at the sight of Binghe standing not too far behind him, scuffing his shoe on the ground as he looked everywhere but at his teacher.

“Is everything okay, Shizun?” Binghe asked. Shen Yuan reached up to pat his head, then paused. When had he started needing to reach up to pat the boy’s head? Dropping his hand back down, he gave a wan almost-smile. 

“There’s no problem here, we’re both just a little stressed.” Passing by Binghe, he beckoned with a finger for the boy to follow. As he walked, he took his hair down from its ponytail. It fell like an oil slick waterfall down to his waist, swaying a bit with his every step. His disciple followed, absolutely mesmerized by the sight. 

Yuan looked over his shoulder unintentionally coquettishly, waves of hair slipping over his shoulder. “Here, can you do my hair like my brother’s? Half-up, half-down, the like?” He moved to his room and sat down at a chair, plucking a green and white crown from his collection and handing it back to Binghe. He lazily glanced into the mirror that sat on his desk, tucking a slip of hair behind his ear before turning his face one way and then the other. Pursing his lips, he nodded.

The boy behind him paused, crown and pin in hand. “What’s this about, Shizun?” He asked softly. As if he didn’t know exactly what was going to happen. Something in the back of his head urged him to stop this before it was too late, but then Shen Yuan craned his neck to look back up at him, canines gleaming as he grinned. “It’s just a little inside joke between us peak lords.” He cooed. 

Binghe felt a shiver go down his back. Shizun was so iridescent with that murderous red glow in his eye. Qingyuan was on his own.

After a disciple- Luo Binghe, was that his name? Opened the door and escorted him in, he had been guided to a dining room table filled to the brim with food. Both peak lords of Qing Jing peak sat on the far end of the table right next to each other, forcing Yue Qingyuan to either pick a sit all the way across the table or one at their sides.

The little disciple who brought him in gave him a sympathetic look and a pat on the shoulder before exiting the room. Normally Qingyuan would be annoyed by the lack of proper decorum the disciple displayed in the face of a sect leader, but the moment the door had closed behind him he missed the child with a ferocity. The room seemed to drop ten degrees by the second.

In a split-second decision, he chose the seat on the right-hand side of the head of the table so that he could sit closer to the two peak lords. Judging by the sneers on both their faces, he picked wrong.

They both looked identical right now, their crowns and outfits coordinated, their hair done up the same way. Shen Yuan- because one of them had to be Shen Yuan- had adopted his brother’s resting expression of cold distaste easily. He hated it when they did that. They knew it was impossible to hold a conversation when both of them looked as unapproachable as Shen Qingqiu, that it made him deeply uncomfortable. 

What used to be a fun game when they were children had quickly turned into one of his waking nightmares.

“Xiao-Jiu--” He tried. Maybe he could soften them up with nostalgia? 

Based on the fierce glares from both of them, he had gone for the completely wrong move. He didn’t even dare to try the same tactic on Xiao-Shi-- last time he had called the man that, there had been a hand-shaped bruise on his cheek for a week. 

The farther Qingqiu finally broke the silence, voice sharp and cold as ice. “Zhangmen-Shixiong, it’s nice to have you over.” 

The closer Qingqiu gave him a flinty glare that made him want to melt into a puddle. He tried again, if for nothing more than to save him an hour’s worth of awkward silence. 

“The dinner spread looks wonderful. Who was it that prepared the meal?” 

They both replied, voices a haunting harmony. “Luo Binghe, Qing Jing Peak’s youngest disciple.”

“Zhangmen-shixiong would know if he visited more often.” Said one.

“Not that he should.” Muttered the other. 

“Not that Zhangmen-Shixiong should.” One clarified. For a moment that one’s mouth twisted into a frown, but it nearly immediately drew back into the tight set it had previously held. The other started tapping his fingers on the table in a rhythm that Qingyuan didn’t recognize. The first one to speak snickered behind a long sleeve, obviously in on the reference. Neither of them explained what was so funny.

Qingyuan was slowly putting back on the fragile pieces that were chipped off with every word they said. This was a show, he knew. It happened every time he called ahead to visit, every time he came to discuss the peak and its dealings. The peak lords seemed determined to whittle down his visits from what had previously been once a month to only once every few years, if that. Surprise visits were, surprisingly enough, more welcoming, because at least then both the peak lords had a power source of seething spite to drive them through terse conversations. He much preferred Shen Jiu's seething anger and Shen Yuan's prickly silent treatment over their eerie politeness as they tried to make him lose his nerve.

Dinner was a silent affair.

Binghe arrived home from classes absolutely exhausted. Today, Shen Qingqiu had suddenly decided, was the perfect day for the entire class to work on their endurance. Sprints. Pacer tests. Laps. Push ups until you dropped, handstands until you fell, squats and horse stances until you were entirely sure your legs weren’t there anymore. Ning Yingying had supported Ming Fan on the way back to the dorms, slinging his arms around her shoulders. Well, she sort of supported him. They both rode piggyback on Luo Binghe as he walked back to the student dorms, apparently the only disciple not dead on their feet. 

Ning Yingying had run her hands up and down Binghe’s arms as they made their way back, prodding Ming Fan to gain his attention and then gesturing to his biceps. So alongside giving both his friends- well, one who was a true friend, one who insisted he was only an acquaintance- a piggyback ride to his dorm, he had to suffer the indignance of them feeling him up and whispering “holy shit” and “thick” to each other. Binghe tried not to notice. 

But now he was back, and he as soon as he finished up with dinner he could die in peace. Shen Qingqiu had mentioned something about going down to the villages, something which Binghe knew was the protagonists way of hiding that he was going to hang out at the red light district for a night, so the only one who really needed to eat still was Shen Yuan.

He peeled off his shoes and folded his filthy outer robe by the door before padding his way towards the kitchen. He passed by the guest lounge. He heard hiccups and laughter from the guest lounge. He backtracked. 

There on the ground was Shen Yuan, arm stretched upwards as he balanced a cup of small cup of alcohol on his index finger. Kneeling behind him at a table was another man, presumably a sect leader, who was rapidly writing something down. There was an ink mustache drawn on his forehead. 

The moment Luo Binghe spotted the wine and the papers splayed all over the ground, ink splattered everywhere, he knew exactly who this was. 

Shang Qinghua of the Immortal Master’s Way, peak lord of An Ding, would have been an entirely forgettable character if not for two things.

First, he was the best friend of Shen Yuan. And Luo Binghe did not take any character who was so close to Shen Yuan lightly. Luckily, he and a group of other equally intense fans (Mostly female, but who was he to judge) had gone through every chapter that they showed up in together with a fine-toothed comb. Was their relationship purely platonic, or was it something more? They were obviously familiar with and intensely comfortable with each other, that the immutable Shen Yuan was willing to let his hair down both figuratively and literally, just to relax with the man.

It had taken weeks of analyzing and reanalyzing along with hundreds of emails before their author and god finally spoke up. Apparently if you spam the same question thousands of times, he’ll take notice.

Peerless Eggplant : Are Shang Qinghua and Shen Yuan in a romantic relationship? 

Peerless Eggplant : Author, are Shang Qinghua and Shen Yuan in a romantic relationship?

Peerless Eggplant : Dearest god of this novel's world, are Shang Qinghua and Shen Yuan in a romantic relationship?

Peerless Eggplant : Please, your favorite disciples are begging for you to respond! Are Shang Qinghua and Shen Yuan in a romantic relationship?

Icicle Shooting Towards Sky : No. Leave me alone.

Second, he was the spy. Shang Qinghua was a spy for Mobei-Jun and, by extent, a spy for Luo Binghe. He was nothing more than a filthy traitor, a coward who had led the scum villain and demon lord straight to Shen Yuan’s location! He’s the prime reason why the original Binghe was able to teleport in, stab his Shizun in the back, and teleport back out immediately!

Not that it really mattered in this dimension, since Luo Binghe didn’t exactly have plans to kill his Shizun. But it was the principle that counts.

Shang Qinghua closed one eye and aimed, throwing a paintbrush that knocked the cup from Shen Yuan’s hand. Binghe dove to stop the cup from hitting and cracking against the ground. Every mess made here was more work for him later.

Shen Yuan pulled Binghe towards him the moment he saw the boy, taking advantage of the child’s prone figure. He curled around him, one hand reaching up to card through Binghe’s hair. Looking back, he called, “Hey, Airplane- airplane- bro! This is him! This is that disciple I was talking about!”

Binghe winced. Shizun was being far too loud right now. The hands that pulled him over snaked around his waist, pulling him into a tight embrace. Shen Yuan giggled, one finger gleefully prodding at Binghe’s arm. Is this what heaven felt like? Because the disciple never wanted to leave.

Shang Qinghua moved his documents out of the way and planted his hands down, sitting up to try and see the disciple. Losing his balance, he fell forward onto the table with a thud.

“Ow.” He groaned. His partner in crime laughed hysterically.

“It’s probably the table teaching you a lesson for what you did to poor mistress Sha Bingbing.” He slurred, hand slapping the ground.

Shang Qinghua looked up indignantly. “Y’know what, A-Yuan? You know what? I think you’re just- you’re just jealous that Sha-er gets laid every night by twenty hot men and you get-”

The Qing Jing Peak Lord shot up like he had never tasted a drop of alcohol, racing towards the other lord and practically shoving his fist down the man’s throat. 

“Hush, Airplane. There are children here.” He hissed, one eyebrow twitching. Luo Binghe sat up, watching the display with interest. Shen Qingqiu always avoided these gatherings, so Luo Binghe never got to read about them. He was starting to understand why.

The transmigrator shuffled to the table, plopping himself down across from the two peak lords. “Shizun, who might this be?” Be polite Binghe, even if you know he’s a filthy traitor.

Shen Yuan perked up. “This asshole is the infamous author Paper Airplanes .” He growled the pen name with menace. “Or as you may call him, Bitch-shishu.” He guffawed as Shang Qinghua batted weakly at him, fan falling from his hands as he doubled over.

“A-Yuan! Bro!” Qinghua complained. “This is a disciple! Have some loyalty, introduce a fellow peak lord properly.” He turned to Binghe and almost tipped over. “This humble cultivator is the peak lord of An Ding, Shang Qinghua. A-Yuan speaks of you often.” He chuckled. 

Binghe nodded absently, ignoring the cannon fodder in favor of zeroing in on the chicken scratch that covered a nearby paper. What did that say?

“Sha Bingbingh moaned as [unreadable text]... Her luscious breasts, shiny and soft as freshly baked glazed doughnuts, bounced with enthusiasm when he [smeared text]... Panting, she rubbed against his body like a cat trying to scratch its flea-ridden coat. Her moans grew more loud, more explosive, more exciting as she reached her peak and-”

Shen Yuan whipped the paper out from under Binghe’s gaze. His eyes danced across the paper as he skimmed it with lightning speed, then went at it with red ink and vengeance. His brushwork and notes in the margins were all written in impeccable handwriting, a shocking dissonance from his friend’s work. Binghe strained his eyes to read a few of the notes.

Why must every character be a whore?

Is that physically possible? It makes me want to vomit.

Last chapter she gave her magical undergarments to Bai Jiang, but now Xu Ying gets it? PLOT HOLE.

Stop writing every man as dark and brooding. We get it. You’re lonely.

While he wrote Shang Qinghua nervously shifted in his seat, chewing on the tip of his brush. Every time Shen Yuan looked up to shoot him a frosty stink eye, the man withered away a little more. 

With a sideways glance towards the occupied Shen Yuan, he gestured for Binghe to lean closer. The boy complied, moving as close as possible for this secretive little conversation.

“You like my books, right? There are people on Qing Jing who appreciate good literature, right?” He shouted in the boy’s ear. Binghe recoiled. Ow, his ears were ringing. 

He turned and gave a death glare at the peak lord, which had about the same general effect as a fluffy little pomeranian trying the same thing. Qinghua moaned a little at the lack of an answer, melodramatically sniffing. 

“No one I know reads and appreciates my work! Not my disciples, not my king, not your best disciple, not even your brother!” He sobbed, ineffectively throwing himself across the table to tackle Shen Yuan. Binghe grabbed him by the back of his robes before he could get far, causing nothing more than some spilled ink.

“Binghe suggests Shang-shidi should… rest.” The boy said delicately, resting him back on his haunches and righting an empty bottle of spirits. He poured another cup of wine for the man, not that he needed it, in the hopes that enough alcohol would knock this fucker out. Sneaking his way back around the table, he boldly thrust his head under Shen Yuan’s arm and straight into his lap. 

The man didn’t stop from his vigorous editing, neatly tearing them apart with criticism (Both verbal and written) before stacking them in a pile next to him. Controlled chaos. In the midst of it all, his non-occupied hand occasionally reached down to pat Binghe on the head or in the general direction of his face. 

Shen Yuan leaned forward, his outer hanfu billowing downwards to give Binghe a rare glimpse into the man’s underrobes. They were light green and embroidered, and Binghe busied himself with the thread count while listening in on their conversation.

“Airplane, you can’t just keep sticking together men and sex pollen and expecting plot to occur! They need to stop having sex for at least a day to do anything important!”

“Untrue, Cucumber. You know about all those times papapa has led to opening a magical door or healing people or-”

“But why is that always the answer? That’s not plot, that’s just pathetic. It’s not even the power of true love or dual cultivation, it’s just fucking!”

Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five- Oh! Was that an embroidered bamboo leaf? Ah, where was Binghe. Bingbing’s fourth husband, was that what he had been thinking about earlier? Or was it the three different way a dick had been compared to an overly eager ferret? No wait, Shen Yuan’s under robes. That was it.

When morning came, Shen Yuan found himself with a splitting headache and a blanket draped over him. Light streamed through the windows and he groaned, shuffling deeper into the safe darkness of his blankets. 

Shang Qinghua slept on the hard ground with a dick drawn on his forehead. Right above the mustache.

Binghe flounced in front Ning Yingying and Liu Mingyan, hands busily straightening his robes while walking backward. He ran his fingers through his hair in a last ditch attempt to calm his unruly curls, an entirely fruitless endeavor. Throwing his arms out wide, he shot them his now trademark cocky wink.

“Well, what do you think? Am I all clean and pretty yet?” He grinned. Yingying matched his expression, licking her thumb and cleaning away a smudge of dirt across his cheek.

“A-Luo looks as handsome as always.” She nudged Liu Mingyan, who took the time to stop Binghe from jumping around so she could look at him closely. She firmly grasped his shoulders and manually spun him around once, reaching down here and there to smooth out a wrinkle or tuck away a particularly errant curl.

“I agree with Ning-Shijie. You are the image of a model disciple.” Spinning him around one last time, she pointed him towards the peak lords’ home. “Go get him, tiger.” She laughed, slapping him on the back. 

He staggered forward a little from the power of her blow but beamed at them nonetheless, tossing back a “Thanks, guys!” before racing back up to the bamboo cottage he had lived in for the past three years. He didn’t break a sweat as he flew up the stairs, slowing to a light jog and then trot as he neared his home. 

Shen Qingqiu was already out front, taking advantage of the beautiful day to kneel on a cushion and tune his guqin. He would occasionally pluck a string before tilting his head, tightening it, and then plucking it again. He raised his head when he heard the patter of footsteps, calmly placing his instrument aside before standing up. Binghe changed his course of direction from the cottage door to the elder Peak Lord, speeding up a little just in case the man decided to dodge him as he occasionally did.

Can’t escape from me today, Shen Qingqiu! Don’t even try! Binghe internally cried as he flung himself forward into a full-on tackle. Shen Qingqiu was unswayed, had braced himself for this. 

This kid wasn’t a small boy anymore, he was a young man! Did he really think he was so light that he could still get away with throwing himself at people? It was like a large dog had kept the behavior of a puppy and still jumped on people when they opened the door.

Binghe tossed his arms over the stiff man’s shoulders. He knew at this point that his Shifu only tensed up to keep up his image as an aloof peak lord, not because he was uncomfortable anymore. To prove his point, Shen Qingqiu gave a long-suffering sigh before raising his own arms to casually embrace the boy back.

“Beast, what do you think you’re doing back here so early?” He said, words harsh and voice harsher. But there was a softer undertone beneath it, heavily covered by the spiteful tones he slathered over it. Binghe broke the embrace to put push Shen Qingqiu back by the shoulders, looking him straight in the eye. 

“This disciple finished up his mission early to visit his favorite shifu, of course!” He cooed. Shen Qingqiu harrumphed and looked aside, unable to keep eye contact with such a pure white lotus for too long. The gall of this teenage boy was too much! Impudent!

“Shameless!” He muttered, kicking towards the boy’s shins. 

Binghe danced away right before the shoe could make contact. “Ah, I know Shifu missed me too~” He dodged Shen Qingqiu as he spun on his toe, heel whipping out towards Binghe’s side. When he was about an arm’s length away his Shifu rescinded his attacks, adapting a relaxed-yet-elegant-posture as if he hadn’t been trying to beat Qing Jing’s best disciple just moments before. He rolled his eyes and hid his hands in his sleeves, pointing his chin towards the door. 

“You should go see A-Yuan. He’s been moping perpetually while you were away.” 

Binghe lit up with those words. He moved forward as if to give his shifu another hug, but the sheath of Xiu Ya stopped him. Shen Qngqiu glared him down.

“Don’t get any funny ideas though, boy. He’s still your shizun and more importantly, my brother.” 

The disciple ducked under the sheath, reaching into his satchel around his shoulder to place a box into the crook of the man’s other arm. “Thank you Shifu! Here, I got you a little something on while I was down in town.” He saluted Shen Qingqiu while backing away, pirouetting on his toe once he was near the door and opening it with a flourish. Qingqiu rolled his eyes and looked down at the box, putting away his sheath to crack the lid open. It was filled to the brim with children’s sweets, cookies and dragon whiskers and a little white cat charm in the corner. He surveyed the area for a second before plopping back down on his cushion and pulling out a stick of rock candy. It disappeared in a matter of seconds and he put the box aside, going back to tuning his guqin. Every so often he popped a ball of sugary candy in his mouth.

Shen Yuan was roused from the letter when he heard the door open. Not even looking back, he tossed a short, “Oh, so you’ve finished up, Ge? If so, can you come and look at this list I’ve compiled?”

He started when he heard a voice full of overdone dramatics reply. “Aiya Shizun, you wound me! Not even a moment of rest on the peak before you put me back to work!” The chair Shen Yuan was leaning back on almost tipped fully back as he jolted, leaping to his feet to see who had just entered the room.

At seventeen, Luo Binghe stood at the same height as Shen Yuan himself. He was clothed in white and jade clothes, not a wrinkle to be seen. His eyes sparkled and a hint of a smile played at the corner of his lips. Across his back were a well-worn satchel and his Zheng Yang sword, hilt still polished until gleaming. 

Binghe didn’t even have to take a step before Shizun hurried towards him, pinching his jaw between his fingers and checking his face for any bruises or scratches. Binghe pouted and pawed at the hands, obviously irritated that his cool heroic entrance had been ruined. “Shizun!” He moaned, dragging out the last syllable far longer than strictly necessary. 

Shen Yuan laughed good-naturedly. “Binghe is almost an adult, let his master baby him for a little while longer.” He pinched a cheek lightly, saddened to see that the round cheeks had disappeared and all that was left was chiseled cheekbones. Luo Binghe stopped fighting and let his arms fall limply by his side, suffocating under Shen Yuan’s affections. 

Content with all he had seen, Shen Yuan stepped back and stretched his arms out wide. Binghe’s eyes lit up as he tightly hugged his shizun, nuzzling his face into the other man’s neck. 

“What brought you back so quickly, then?” Shen Yuan hauled his disciple towards the table, pulling out a seat for the boy much to Binghe’s flailing protests.

The disciple sat down in the offending chair with a small pout that was quickly smoothed away as he regaled his many exploits down the mountain to his shizun. 

“... But in the end it wasn’t that big of an issue! I met Ning-Shijie and Liu-Shijie down in the village, which made the whole thing a lot easier to handle!” He poured another cup of tea for Shen Yuan, pushing it back towards the man. “As soon as I was done we all immediately came back to Qing Jing peak. I missed Shizun too much and couldn’t stand another moment without his guidance.”

Oh, what smooth words! Struck through the heart! Dearest A-Luo, you will have absolutely no problem winning the hearts of women all across the world one day! Shen Yuan thought. He patted Binghe on the head warmly, gently tugging on a curl as he suddenly remembered something important. He reached over to the letter he had been reading earlier. 

“Binghe, about the matter I was speaking of earlier. The Immortal Alliance conference is coming up soon, and I’d like for you to look over some of the paperwork for it. Here’s the list of disciples set to attend from Cang Qiong peak.” He passed the note he had been reading over to the boy. Over the years he had moved up from status of maid to that of a secretary, incredibly diligent and shockingly competent when it came to making decisions and doing paperwork. What a reliable young man!

He skimmed the paper and froze. Binghe grew white as a sheet when he read the list, hands tightening incrementally as he went over the only attendees from Qing Jing Peak. No Ming Fan. No Ning Yingying. The characters for ‘Luo Binghe’ sat apathetically in front of him, mocking in how the life-changing sweeps of a brush were written so simply.

The Elder Dream Demon stirred from the back of his mind by the intense turmoil going on his young student’s head. Looking down at the paper, he gave a throaty chuckle.

“Oh poor Young Master Luo. What is it that they say in that old world of yours? Ah, yes. That’s rough, buddy.”

Chapter Text

In the weeks leading up to the venerated Immortal Alliance Conference, Binghe withdrew.

Disciples who were used to his eager answers to every question in class, used to rolling their eyes as the teacher’s pet cuddled up to Shizun and Shifu, were alarmed to see him so quiet. He sat at the back of the room now, avoiding his small group of friends and larger group of chattering acquaintances. When he was called upon to answer a question (for he never volunteered answers anymore), he jerked and started as if awakening from a daze. He still had the right answer to every question, always does, but the answers were quietly spoken. People had to strain to hear a single word from the top disciple of their peak.

Drills weren’t going much better, much to the mounting worry of Shen Yuan. Binghe was obviously out of it. His muscle memory was honed enough that he still fought and defeated most of his competitors in sparring, but every once in a while he’d slip up. A fist would come for his side and he’d stand there, gazing off into the distance. A sword would jab at his stomach and Ming Fan had to manually intervene to make sure Binghe wouldn’t get skewered, old practice sword or not. What was a mistake in the arena could be fatal at a conference.

Their house was falling back into disarray. Without Binghe following behind their every step like a shadow, instead retreating to the depths of his room until he slunk out to make their meals, the Peak Lords quickly re-discovered that they were messy as all fuck. Yuan had to actually learn Binghe’s incredibly complex organization system for documents, which seemed to be based on some obscure alphabetical system he couldn’t even begin to decipher. Shen Qingqiu could no longer rely on Binghe as his agenda and meeting planner. Instead he had to manually mark down important dates and write letters himself, relying on his own memory instead of Binghe’s cheery, “Shifu! You have a meeting today at 3:00 with the [insert peak lord] Peak Lord over [insert meeting-worthy topic]!” It was disconcerting, as if they had a phantom limb where Binghe once was.

Shen Yuan and Qingqiu tolerated it in the beginning, to an extent. Binghe still attended lessons, even if he was suddenly a pile of steaming shit at them. They still saw him around, still were able to hold him for short conversations before Binghe found an excuse to scurry back into the dark recesses of his room.

Yuan chalked it up to nerves from the upcoming conference. Qingqiu chalked it up to the teenage rebellion Binghe never seemed to have had.

“Jiu-Ge, do you think I should withdraw Binghe from the conference? He hasn’t looked so well since I informed him of it. I thought he’d be more excited, but maybe it’s too much weight to put on a boy his age?” 

Up Xiu Ying went, parrying a blow. Shen Jiu narrowed his eyes, testing his strength against his brother’s. Evenly matched, as always. 

“A-Yuan, you and I both know we attended the conference separately at earlier ages than him. I’m telling you, he’s just trying to prove some adolescent point. It’s about time the kid grew a spine. Rebellious phases build character.” Qingqiu spoke as he leaped back and lunged forward, driving his sword mercilessly to the heart. 

“But he’s so quiet these days! He won’t even talk to his friends! Binghe looks just like a walking corpse now. I’m worried about him.” Yuan spun and used his shuttered fan to push away the sword.

“He’s a teenager, they all look like walking corpses. It’s fine. So long as he keeps bathing we shouldn’t have an issue.”

Shen Yuan blew a strand of hair out of his face and arched back, narrowly avoiding Xiu Ya’s flashing blade. He feinted left, slinging low and changing his arc at the very last second, twisting on his feet and driving upward toward his brother’s right shoulder. Shen Qingqiu’s eyes widened by a fraction before he ducked, blade coming up and stopping Shen Yuan in his tracks. Low to the ground, Qingqiu grabbed a handful of sand and flung it at Yuan’s face. 

Unable to dodge, he could only drop his sword for a second to scrub at his eyes and curse the day his brother was born. Despite his sword being down in the universal ‘time out’ position, Shen Qingqiu still surged forward. His blade stopped between a pair of Yuan’s ribs, pushing inexorably at a pressure point. 

The younger peak lord hissed, backing up as he scrubbed the last bit of filth out of his face.

“Why do you always insist on playing dirty?” He scowled, rubbing his chest miserably.

Shen Qingqiu cackled, sheathing his sword. “Everyone plays dirty, A-Yuan. You of all people should know that by now. The enemy won’t wait until you’re ready to fight an honorable battle.” He stepped forward, dusting stray pieces of sand out of Yuan’s hair. “Anyways, you should be lucky that I didn’t add spiritual energy like your disciple did. He’s the real menace you need to watch out for, mark my words.”

Binghe watched from the kitchen window, miserably mixing rice flour and water in a wooden bowl. The word menace bounced around in his head, multiplying every second.

Menace? Menace?? Shen Jiu, you’re the real menace! Pushing disciples down abysses without a care in the world, laughing afterward like a demon. 

Binghe had read and reread the passage before the original was pushed down, and he knew every single pushing force behind it. Shen Qingqiu had been overwhelmed by the surge of demonic qi in the air, a stifling force which emanates from a newly born demon whose powers are not yet under their control. The force of Binghe’s aura was destructive, disruptive, it threatened to rip the world around it to shreds. So while Shen Qingqiu was practically crippled by this backbreaking amount of demonic qi pushing down on his spiritual energy, he juggled fending off a Moonlight Black Python Rhinoceros. With his shaky foundation and tendency to rush cultivation, it was hardly a surprise that extreme situations like this would cause Shen Jiu to fall into a qi deviation. Lord knows he was three steps and a bad day away from one at all times. The deviation placed him into a conveniently altered state of being, giving him the ability to enter an extremely fragile state where his power hummed under his skin, begging to be let out at the cost of their vessel.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t do that. He held the crackling energy under his skin and defeated the Moonlight Black Python Rhino, skewering it with his sword and launching it back into the hole from which it had emerged.

His attention was caught by a moaning boy coated in red light, curled up in a fetal position as he sobbed in pain. 

Now, the original Shen Qingqiu didn’t think of his student as entirely human even at the best of times. To him, Binghe was a quiet little doll he could project himself on and take out his anger upon. After all, the boy had the exact same beginnings and, indeed, some extremely similar fundamental personality traits. Every time Shen Qingqiu looked at Binghe’s small, hunger-panged form and saw those once innocent eyes that had slowly dulled into something more greedy and vicious, he could only feel a pang of satisfaction. Each time he beat the boy he saw his own scrawny teenage self cowering and could only sneer at his former weakness.

Combine that with a qi deviation and you have nothing but trouble.

Shen Qingqiu had seen his pitiful former self shadowing the cowering boy, coming in and out of focus as the two cried in unison. One screamed, begging for his Shifu’s help. One moaned, crying for his Qi-Ge to return.

Pathetic. Awful. Shen Qingqiu had wanted the boy out of his sight as soon as possible.

So he just kind of… pushed the boy. A nudge from the heel and a swift quick was enough to completely get rid of all sight of him. The sight of young Shen Jiu falling into a pit, consumed by flames, was the funniest thing he had seen in decades. He laughed that day, doubling over as his wheezing snickers broke down into breathless sobs as his brother shushed him, sending soothing qi into his veins to stabilize his cultivation.

By that time it was far too late. Binghe was gone, good as dead. And this transmigrator understood that scene! Shen Qingqiu was a harsh person, yes, but not a murderer. Usually. So this Binghe understood and forgave Shen Qingqiu for pushing the other Binghe into the abyss. But that doesn’t change the fact that Shen Jiu pushed! Binghe! In!

In fact, if anything it made it worse. Because no matter you much you snuggle up and get on the good side of someone, every effort is burnt and thrown like ashes into the wind the moment qi deviation sets its grubby little hands on a cultivator’s mind. 

System, set a reminder for me. The moment I see demons emerge at the conference, head for Shen Yuan! Or Liu Qingge! Or literally any other cultivator that enters to the ring and doesn’t intend to lose their mind halfway through!

His knuckles turned white around his spoon and he was jerked out of his reverie when he felt pain all across his palm. He slowly unpeeled his fingers and let go of the handle to find a good chunk of it splintered and embedded deep into his skin. 

“Shizun, this humble disciple is flattered by your decision to select me for the conference, but he does not believe he is ready. He suggests that Ning-shijie or Ming Fan would possibly be better choices to represent Qing Jing peak.” Luo Binghe bowed low, pleading. His eyes burned from holding back tears. 

Shen Yuan sighed, his fan kissing the top of Binghe’s head in the lightest of taps before swinging back up in front of his face. “Binghe, what’s gotten into your head? Do you doubt your masters’ teachings so?” 

His disciple predictably backpedaled, mouth half-open in a muscle-memory rejection of Shen Yuan’s words. Then he paused and thought the unthinkable. If he, say, said something wrong. If he did something wrong. If he just said yes, you masters have not taught this disciple nearly well enough to go to the immortal cultivation conference (one look at his shizun’s face and he immediately knew he couldn’t follow up with that plan), that... that demons would invade! Explain to them exactly what’s gonna happen, the truth of this wo--

[Warning! Warning! Warning! Important things must be said three times! No NPC may know the truth of this world, subtraction of B points will be immediate and additional punishments may be added depending on the severity of the information given.]

How many points will be subtracted if I talk about the Immortal Alliance Conference?

[Calculating… Calculating… -10,000 B points if NPCs are told of future events at this time. Immediate termination of account may occur.]

Any thought of talking his way out of this mess slid from Binghe’s mind. If he slipped up even once right now, he’d die immediately. This was such a fucked up situation. Should he just break his leg then? Go missing for a year? Force himself into a qi deviation?

Shen Yuan’s face was soft, emoting the most sympathy Binghe had ever seen from the man. There was something fiercely protective in his eyes. 

“Binghe, I do not say this lightly. You are one of the best disciples to have ever attended this sect under my time as peak lord. I have no doubt that you will succeed and come out at the top at this conference. This master and even his brother have nothing but complete faith in your ability.” The candid moment seemed to fade as his shizun looked away, tapping his fan against his chin but not quite opening it. He opened his mouth to say something more, eyes looking far away, before he paused and seemed to think better of it. His fan slipped back into his sleeve and he cupped Binghe’s face between his palms. 

Shen Yuan almost had to tilt his head up to look his disciple in the eye, but in his hands, Binghe still felt so young and small. “Didn’t this master say that Binghe would never get hurt, no matter what? This Shizun will always be here to protect you.” He said firmly, brooking no room for dissent. “So Binghe, believe in yourself. You’ll do great out there. And if any trouble arises, I’ll be sure to be there.”

Looking into his eyes, Binghe couldn’t help but believe him. How could he not believe his teacher, his savior, the man who had saved him from insurmountable odds countless times before? Binghe’s heart swelled with emotions of affection and adoration, a strong loyalty topping off the mix and threatening to overflow. He was completely sure that his Shizun would absolutely defend this disciple to his last breath. Binghe looked down at the fine scar on Shen Yuan’s arm, revealed as his draping sleeves slid back. The only visible remnant of the Without a Cure poison which cycled through the master's veins. Strong resolve bloomed from barren lands. 

Binghe had grown stronger than the original, he had better cultivation than the original. This was his story now and he had chosen to defy his fate as the villain of this novel, changing the fate of the protagonist and the plot of this story. Fate? Fate was for the weak, the powerless. Neither Luo Binghe nor Shen Yuan could be swayed by fate. Most importantly, he had the protagonist’s brother by his side. He had Shen Yuan’s loyalty. 

Binghe would make his shizun proud.

Binghe handed the last riceball to Ning Yinying, who gently folded it into a cloth before stacking it into the basket. She looked at him a little strangely, hoisting the box into the open bag next to her.

“A-Luo, are you absolutely sure you need this much food?” Her head cocked to the side as she looked down at the small towers that boasted a variety of colorful snacks and meals. She fitted the slick black lid onto it and drew the strings, watching as the basket disappeared from view.

Binghe swung around her, pulling the bag over his shoulder and heading for the horses. 

“I need to make sure Shizun and Shifu have nothing but the best on our way down. You know I don’t trust the kitchen’s cooking.”

She sighed as she drifted behind him, vapidly tidying things up here and there in his wake. She flung a few spoons into the dirty plates bin, not bothering to look behind her to watch as they all landed in the exact center. “Cultivators at that level don’t even need to eat.” She whinged. 

Binghe laughed good-naturedly. “Even if you didn’t need to eat, you’d still want to, wouldn’t you?” He nudged her with his shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out when we each reach that stage of cultivation too.”

She elbowed him back, looking longingly at the dark bag he held. “That’s true, but it’s us disciples that still need food. Why don’t you leave all those snacks behind and keep us from starving for a little longer.” Her batting eyelashes had absolutely no effect on Binghe. 

“Not a chance, shijie. You already ate half the batter to the cakes anyway, you’ve already had your fill.” Her nose wrinkled and she pouted. They meandered down the path unhurriedly, Binghe wanting to be early to pack up everything before their peak lords made their way down the hill. As the strode through the meadows nearing the horses, she picked a few especially pretty flowers, spider-lillies and poppies, weaving them into a little crown and placing them on Binghe’s head.

“Red looks good on A-Luo~ You should really wear it more.” Yingying sang, dancing around him. Binghe grinned, about to respond before she caught sight of someone on the path ahead. Her arm waved wildly towards the figure, beckoning them over. Ming Fan reluctantly walked towards them, a false look of surprise on his face as if he hadn’t been waiting next to the carriages for them.

“Shimei? What do you want?” He asked, arms crossed. When he got near enough Binghe plucked the flower crown off his head and placed it jauntily upon Ming Fan’s own. The elder boy scowled, batting Binghe’s hand away. He let the crown stay on. 

The girl scoffed at his aloof attitude. “Ming Fan, you should be spending more time with Binghe before he leaves. It’s bad luck to let him leave without giving him your best wishes.” She poked at his chest and Ming Fan caught her hand, entwining his fingers with hers for a quick second before dropping it. A light blush dusted her cheeks but she held her ground. Binghe made a show of gagging.

Ming Fan let out a long breath, looking towards the sky in silence. He nabbed Binghe by the shoulder, looking at him dead seriously.

“Okay. Here-” He said, listing things off his fingers. “Don’t kill anyone, don’t break any rules, don’t try to book a room alone with Shizun again--” 

“It was one time!” 

“My point stands. Keep your hands to yourself, play nice and don’t die. Good luck with that.” He patted Binghe firmly before pushing him away. Ning Yingying rolled her eyes.

“Real nice, A-Ming. Don’t get too emotional now.”

“Hey, I mean it. If nothing else, be safe.”

Binghe preened stepping off his horse, hurrying over to the carriages to help his immortal masters out. Qi Qingqi came out first, giving him an odd look as she stepped out. She seemed to be… sizing him up? Before she took his hand and leaped down, her feet barely leaving an indent in the soil. 

Shifu came next, waving Binghe aside to leap down on his own. “This master is not yet so fragile that he need be manhandled by a mere boy.” He remarked. Binghe just smiled, reaching into his sleeve to pull out a cake thinly wrapped in rice paper. He held it out secretively, his own body positioned to hide most of the movement. Shen Jiu didn’t look down as he plucked it out of Binghe’s hand and slipped it into his own sleeve in a fluid and practiced motion, walking on as if nothing strange had occurred. 

Shen Yuan was the last to come out of this veritable clown car, daintily taking Binghe’s outstretched hand and drifting down the stair. At the last step he looked down at his disciple, taking advantage of this shift in height to ruffle Binghe’s hair. His face was unmoving, yet his eyes glowed with mischief and mirth as Binghe tried to duck out from under his seeking hand. 

“Ah ah, shouldn’t a disciple help this master down the last stair?” Shen Yuan said as an emperor would to a foot servant. Binghe slowly moved back from his defensive position and held his hand back up as if in supplication, playing along, but when Shen Yuan’s arm moved to take it he surged forth and snatched the peak lord by the waist. He lifted the Shen Yuan and twirled him around in the air for half a second before setting him down on the firm ground. Shen Yuan looked a little stunned before a rare wide grin broke his facade. “Binghe!” He scolded, swatting him on the shoulder good-naturedly. 

Qi Qingqi nudged a quietly seething Shen Qingqiu, tilting her head away from the dynamic duo. “Nothing that can be done about it, Shen-shidi. Best not to make a public display for now.” Her level words were lost on a muttering Shen Qingqiu, complaints intoned like a buddhist sutra.

“Can these two not keep their hands to themselves for on goddamn fucking day in public, or even just around me? I don’t need to see it, I don’t want to know, I wish it wasn’t happening, my life is a living hell, I can practically see them cuddling in every room in my house and I’m choking, Qingqi, suffering, I can’t even breathe around them for fear of catching whatever horrible virus they have--”

“Love?” Qingqi coughed into her sleeve. The other peak lord spun around to look at her with nothing but deep betrayal.

“Say that word around me again. I dare you.” He hissed, eyes flashing. She held her tongue, barely managing to stop herself from repeating the forbidden word over and over again like a nagging little sister.

“Well, I think seeing a master and disciple so close is sweet.” She spoke under her breath.

Binghe turned his hand over and over, admiring his golden band and the single white pearl that hung on it. They say it’s for recording monster kill counts, but honestly it was quite fashionable. Simple, delicate. Maybe he should get something like this for Shizun?

After this whole affair was over, he decided. Once he escaped safely from the cultivation conference, then he could worry about buying fine gifts to adorn his favorite teacher. After this whole thing was over, when he had no more fear of being cast away into the demonic realm by a crazed Shen Jiu, maybe… Maybe he could come clean about his demonic heritage? That thought had been weighing on him for a while. Was it really right to keep Shizun in the dark about such an important part of his identity?

Even if Binghe had originally solemnly sworn to shun that side of himself, it really wasn’t practical anymore now that he had a dream demon trailing in his shadow giving him advice for demonic cultivation every passing second. Maybe he could use this new skill set to his advantage, to help him become stronger to protect shizun? After all, Shizun said demons with power who are righteous ought to be admired. How could Binghe turn down an invitation so blatantly obvious as that?

It was decided, then. 

Shizun was fussing with his bags, checking to make sure that everything was all set and tidy inside them. He counted out the fireworks, three in total, then double-checked them. 

“And you’re sure you have enough fire-starting talismans for seven days? You won’t burn through them all in a few days? Tell me all the weak spots of the deer-faced eel, you know they are native to these parts.”

“I have eight total fire talismans, I have more than enough to cook a few meals, and I should strike either between the eyes or at the neck. Do it at a distance to avoid shocking myself. I know, Shizun, I know.” 

Shen Yuan looked up, worrying like a mother hen in these last few minutes before the conference should start. “Are you sure, Binghe? Is there absolutely nothing I need to know or that I need to teach you before this conference starts?” He looked at Binghe’s face, searching for something the young man couldn’t understand. 

He responded solemnly. “Actually, Shizun-- this disciple would like to speak with you after the Immortal Alliance Conference. Either in private or with Shifu, this disciple does not mind. He only ask that you save some time for him in your schedule.”

“This master will always have time for Binghe. Don’t be afraid to talk about whatever’s bothering you, this master will surely understand when the time comes.”

And so he left on this note, mounting his sword and soaring into the air like a celestial being reaching towards the heavens. God, Binghe absolutely adored his Shizun.

He turned and hurried to the teleportation array, fitting his way into the bounds of the circle. The other contestants shuffled aside to make room for him, and conversation seemed to come to a standstill when they saw his face. Binghe ignored the shell-shocked looks of disciples around him who saw his face for the first time. Turning, he gave a small smile to Liu Mingyan. Maybe he should invest in veils like the Liu family?

“Good luck.” He said cheerily, keeping a smile on his face and a hand resting on his sword 

Liu Mingyan scoffed. “Keep it for yourself, A-Luo. You need it more than I do.”

The array around them flashed a bright blue, casting a dancing light for a split second on the scattered leaves and field mice which dared to draw close out of either stupidity or curiosity. When the light died, all the disciples had disappeared.

Each disciple appeared randomly in the forest. Some to the edges of the borders, some closer to the middle, and other disciples popped up everywhere in-between.

Lucky Binghe got to land in the northeast, right where the tip of the abyss would form. He knew because of the handy-dandy map that had been included in the book, expertly drawn and labeled with things like “This is where Binghe dies” and “This is where Yue Qingyuan saves a group of disciples” and such. 

He looked up at the soaring trees that seemed to scrape towards the bright blue sky. He couldn’t even see the tips of them, in part because of their height and in part due to the thick foliage that blocked his view of the skies. Blinking eyes hid amongst the branches and he caught glimpses of feathery tails from between the boughs. He hadn’t brought a bow to this conference, only interested in testing the merit of his sword and ability to escape the inevitable, and he vaguely regretted it. 

Beneath his feet was a thick layer of dying leaves, simultaneously cushioning his footsteps and crackling beneath his weight. He held his breath for a moment and thought back the tracking lessons that Shen Qingqiu had given him on his first night hunt. Walk heel-to-toe with bent knees, sprint on the balls of your feet. Stay silent and swift. 

He pulled out a compass, narrowing his eyes as he turned this way and then the other. When the red arrow aligned north he nodded to himself, promptly heading southwest and as far away from this abyss as possible.

When Luo Binghe had come across the girl fighting for her life against the eel-faced deer-- not to be confused with the deer-faced eel-- he knew it was a lost cause. It seemed she had already twisted her ankle earlier and it was swelling like a melon, worsened by the way she kept trying and failing to shift weight on it in her simultaneous attempts to retreat and continue battling the rearing beast. 

Binghe was going to walk past and pray she didn’t notice him. The girl’s robes clearly distinguished her as a member of Huan Hua Palace, and Binghe had no urge to mingle with those uppity cultivators who turned their nose up at the Cang Qiong Sect. He was a competitor and so was she. If she was having that much trouble she should have lit a firework. It’s not his problem.

But she looked at him so pleadingly, only able to whisper help between her gasping breaths, and he broke down. It took little more than a few stray leaves and the most trace amount of spiritual energy to send his makeshift darts flying towards the deer-adjacent monster, slicing through its fleshy face. When it turned to him, enraged, he only needed to flick his wrist to send out Zhen Yang and stab it straight through the dull rock on its neck. The deer looked at him incredulously, then down at the grey rock nestled deep in its fur, then back up at him. It’s yellow eyes rolled back and it fell to the ground, dissipating into a flurry of green flames as soon as it landed. Another little pearl appeared on Binghe’s bracelet.

He didn’t give a second glance at the girl, making his way towards the far southwest side of the barrier. If he could pass the point where the abyss would open, he would be golden. No worries, Shizun wouldn’t even have to intervene on his behalf. 

“What is your name?” She called out after him. Binghe sighed but put on his trademark boyish grin and wink, tossing his hair over his shoulder. 

“Luo Binghe, martial sister. Now, I must be going. I wish you luck for the rest of this competition.” He gave a brief bow before resumed his direction, setting off at a slightly quicker pace this time. She called out after him.

“My name is Qin Wanyue!”

That’s nice, sister. This martial brother will keep walking now, he has things to do.

“Wait! We can help each other!” Binghe paused, foot hovering a centimeter off the ground. He looked at her curiously. She seemed incentivized by his attention, dropping into what felt like a well-rehearsed speech. How often did these situations happen?

“Martial brother Luo, are two heads not better than one? I am proficient in healing arts and I should be able to fix this ankle in less than a day. I can heal any of your wounds after that time. All I ask is that you help me track and hunt any one monster within the boundaries. It is a personal matter of family pride that I do so.” She said smoothly, words rolling off her lips like a car salesman. Luo Binghe pondered over it for a moment. The demonic attack would be happening sometime within the next few days, best that he had a medic on hand.

He nodded his head curtly. Not like he planned to snag too many monsters before the demon attack. She wasn’t going to slow him down that much.

Her eyes lit up and she pulled out her sword and sheath, clumsily using it as a walking stick to limp up to Binghe’s side. Up close to him her mouth parted slightly and a flush spread across her face.

“Let’s be off, then.” He kept up his dashing hero persona, unwilling to suddenly let the gallant act drop and prove himself a fake. She ran her fingers through her hair, calming down the mess. One arm attempted to slide around and hook with his but he sidestepped it easily, playing it off as if he heard a sound from the distance and was looking to investigate. She let the matter drop.

One follower had multiplied to four, three disciples bounding to Binghe’s side as soon as they caught sight of Qin Wanyue. 

“Qin-shimei!” Exclaimed Binghe’s temporary medic, surprised. She explained to him in short words that the leader of this group of disciples, two girls and a boy who all had to be fifteen at most, was her younger sister, Qin Wanrong. Binghe couldn’t really say he cared, but he feigned interest as they spoke. He expected them to split off after a few “How’s the hunting?” and “There’s a herd of sloth-bears down by the old oak” and that sort of thing. Pleasantries.

They didn’t. When Binghe said goodbye and made a move in one direction, every followed in a conga line. He stopped and looked back at them incredulously. The younger ones giggled like this was some kind of game, blushing as they avoided his eyes. Qin Wanyue shrugged apologetically.

He let out a long breath, continuing forward. Just head southwest, Binghe, just head southwest.

Every time they saw another Huan Hua palace disciple they tagged along in his ever-growing herd of ducklings. Most of them were in the age range from fourteen to sixteen, children with no right to be here. One of his followers had a full beard. At some point he stopped looking back, giving up on his hints that maybe they shouldn’t be stomping so loudly so as to scare off all the prey and maybe-- if they had no choice but to follow this one disciple-- maybe they could shut the fuck up. No one seemed to understand his very thinly veiled threats.

He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of a single monster since Qin Wanyue brought along her freakshow. He looked forlornly at his bead bracelet. It wasn’t as if he came here on the pure intent of hunting, all he wanted to really do was survive a major plot point and maybe get that extra 1000 B point bonus from mission <<Prevent the child-killer accusations!>>, a quest which basically boiled down to “Don’t let Shen Jiu push you down”. But that didn’t mean he intended to come out of here with only one kill beneath his belt! How humiliating would that be for the Qing Jing peak. He had originally expected at least five beasts down by the time the sun drooped below the horizon.

‘A-Luo, A-Luo, my feet hurt!” Wailed some girl behind him. This was the third time she had said those exact words in that exact tone. 

“Wanyue! Big sister! My feet hurt so much!” She moaned. From beside him Qin Wanyue stopped, and so Binghe paused. He mechanically massaged his temples, finding pressure points around his head to relieve the pulsing migraine he was experiencing. It had become a habit at this point, less than a single day into the trip. From his mouth came a long sigh as he dropped his head in defeat.

The girl beside him anxiously lowered her voice, stooping down as to speak in her sister’s ear. “Qin-shimei, can you not keep going? I’ll heal your feet tonight after we make camp. Just bear with it.”

Binghe looked longingly in the distance, catching the barest glimmer of a green flare from the depths of the forest. Someone had caught and killed another monster, huh? Good for them. Looks like his competitors were making progress.

“It’s all icky in this forest and I’ve got rocks in my shoes and my dress is all dirty and I feel filthy and sweaty! I can’t walk anymore, I can’t keep going!”

Then set off your fireworks and give up, disciple! Luo Binghe internally roared. Shifu would have made these disciples pick out their own switches from the bamboo forest with which they were to be whipped with, newly reformed temper and breathing exercises be damned. Shizun would have laughed at the idea of these disciples stepping foot from a radius of a hundred miles around this Jue Di Gorge and burned their submissions in a fire. 

Qin Wanyue gave Binghe a wary sidelong glance, taking his slumped shoulders and fraying temper. She shook her sister urgently by the shoulder. “A-Qin, we’ve already put Senior Martial Brother Luo through so much, can you truly not bear it for another second?”

Apparently the answer was no. When Qin Wanyue asked to go to the river with watery eyes and when Binghe responded only with a smile icy enough to do justice to his name, it was as if this place was suddenly a free-for-all waterpark for children. No one heeded his warnings about the deer-faced eels in the streams and all matters of monsters which hid beneath the rocks and burrowed deep in the sand. 

Qin Wanyue was the only one who stood loyally by his side, apologizing profusely with every splashing kick her sister gave. At one point an over-enthusiastic disciple made a water spout with her hands that somehow managed to reach Binghe’s hair, plastering his bangs to his face. He didn’t even try to sidestep it. The children laughed, proudly flirting with the older boy like nymphs from a lake. No one noticed the dark shadow creeping along below the brook until it was too late. 

The Nu Yuan Chan flew from the depths of the water, the swirling vortex around her burbling. She sucked her prey into a gaping maw with far too many teeth in far too many places, her lips stretched garishly around her unhinging jaw.

Qin Wanrong was the first to go. First she was there, turning away from the monster as she reached for her sword. Then the misshapen woman dove onto her body, mouth open as she swallowed her whole. Qin Wanrong disappeared from the world in a matter of seconds.

And so the chapter of the Abyss begins.

Binghe held Wanyue’s night pearl with one hand, serving as a lamp to guide his fellow disciples. In his other hand he held Zheng Yang, swift and silent as he made his way through the yawning forest. 

Behind him the young disciple’s tried their best to follow his movements, crouching low as he did and softening their steps. They couldn’t quite achieve the absolute silence of their leader, but they were very close. It was probably the best sneaking position they’d ever achieved in their lives. 

Whenever they came across a fallen monster, Binghe swiftly severed its head with a sword and kept moving. Whenever they came across a fallen disciple, Binghe would slow his steps for only the slightest of moments, bowing his head for a quick second before looking around warily. Some of the disciples had clearly died from monsters that lay heavily wounded or dead nearby. Those were deaths that Binghe gave a guilty sigh of relief at, for at least he knew that another beast in the gorge had fallen.

Sometimes there were no monsters around the bodies. Young disciples lay, eyes unseeing, upwards towards the fading pink of the evening sky. Those made Binghe speed up, looking back occasionally and making rough head counts. Sometimes there were fewer followers than he started out with. Often there were more. Flames were overtaking the horizon.

It was at night, when the moon only gave sputtering beams and the talisman scattered across the forest refused to light that Binghe found a clearing. It was not the first clearing they had come upon, but it was dark enough now that it became the first clearing they had decided to rest at. Disciples scattered, picking up brush from the ground and starting a small pyre. Qin Wanyue fussed over wounds, tending to the worst of them, uncaring about her own, either emotional or physical. When she came across younger disciples sobbing into their sleeves, she murmured quietly to them and wiped away their tears with the clean tip of a handkerchief. When she came across elder disciples sobbing, she gave them a swift swat and sent them to tend to the fire. 

There were many people around the fire that night. 

Binghe blinked into the darkness, alert. He had adopted a relaxed position against a tree, but he was always watchful. Sleepless nights were nothing new to the disciples of Cang Qiong Peak, and all had long since adapted their cultivation techniques towards this new lifestyle. The best of the peak’s disciples could match a seasoned cultivator in weeks without sleep.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t tired.

He rolled one shoulder, then the other. Cracked his neck. Flexed his fingers. It was quiet.

A rustle in the bushes awakened everyone. Nothing obvious leaped from the shrubbery. It was quiet.

Eyes followed the singular white finger poking out from beneath the thick brush, extending longer and longer, tapping on the ground before it. Qin Wanyue swept her hand behind her, ushering everyone behind the fire. The finger widened into a hand, furry and thin, and then into a sickly arm with too many joints. It crackled as it flexed, creeping out with a painful slowness. Binghe grimaced and attached one of his few remaining talismans to his chest, activating it with a smear of blood as ink. It flared blue and then faded into dust, leaving his skin buzzing with the feeling of a thin shield. 

He flashed forward and sliced off the arm at its third joint, then leaped back. Whatever was behind the bush whistled like a siren and surged from the bush. Inches away from his face was a gaunt, pale being, eyes deep socketed and flaring a sickly yellow-green, nose smashed against its face like a dog’s, a stretched tight indent where its mouth should be. Stringy hair clung to its body, giving the lanky torso and doglike legs a semblance of furred modesty. Binghe blanched, thrusting his sword forward and only succeeding in stabbing it through of of the many holes in the creature’s ribcage. It cackled, or choked, or maybe screamed.

Binghe kept slashing at it and it kept making those grating noises. One of its long hind legs stretched forward and out past Binghe’s ears, grabbing a disciple’s face with its bird-like clawed feet. He heard a crunch behind him and he screamed, aiming for the head. He pierced the thinly veiled mouth and drove his sword through the back of its head.

The creature’s wails vibrated through his sword. It struck out with its hand, aiming for his torso. He could feel hot breath blowing out of the new hole his sword had created, but no matter how hard he yanked the sword wouldn’t come back out.

A chiming silver bell sounded behind him. The world turned white for the barest second, then back to the blackness of midnight.

The beast in front of him fell, flakes of skin melting away and scattering in the wind like ashes. The light arrow which had been its demise faded from its forehead, leaving a glowing spot where it had once pierced the beast.

Binghe spun around and had never felt such strong love for his master before. Shizun stood behind him, weight resting on his left leg and arms akimbo. His pristine robes shone in the moonlight and his glossy black hair seemed to be favored by the breeze, a small zephyr playfully swinging it back and forth behind him. He walked forward a few steps, disciples in awe of this ethereal spirit of the forest among them, and rested his hand lightly on Binghe’s head.

“Didn’t this master tell Binghe he would always be fine?”

At Binghe’s bidding, they continued southwest. When they found a cave, Binghe was the first to go in and scout it out. The flower that seemed to be a barrier against the monsters held strong even as these horrifying little spider heads huddled around it, leering at the disciples with dead eyes. Binghe tried to offer the flower to his shizun once upon recognizing it as a thousand leaf lotus flower, hoping in the very depths of his heart that--

[Ding! Papapa until healthy again! Side Mission! Only Answer!]

Of course.

When all the disciples heard a crack from the far northeast, like a forgotten titan had risen from his slumber in the gorge, Binghe had actually cheered. Shizun and the disciples watched him strangely as he celebrated the abyss opening far, far away from him with absolutely no Shen Jiu in sight. Success! Hear that system? You can suck my fucking ass, I got away from this goddamn plot!

He was filled with some newfound, reckless sense of bravery. He was the immortal demon lord! No one had ever struck down this Luo Binghe, and nothing could! Not even a destined abyss! Nothing short of the devil could bring Binghe down from this high! He looked towards the barrier, fully intent on taking out his joy on some hapless spider-heads for some extra beads on his bracele.

Binghe’s heart froze. Shang Qinghua was pushing his way through the spiders, flinging his sword here and there with a frantic energy and surprisingly successful critical hit rate. His technique was entirely ungraceful and awkward and more than entirely effective. Racing forward he seized Shen Yuan’s wrist, paying no attention to the disciples behind him.

“Yuan, we’ve got to go. There’s trouble ahead and you absolutely need to leave.” He said firmly with the first bit of authority Binghe had ever seen from the cowering man. He impatiently tugged on Shen Yuan’s wrist, beckoning for the disciples to follow. All the children stayed still and he huffed a sigh.

“It’s only going to get worse from here, whatever barrier you have right now isn’t going to last for long. An abyss opened only a few miles from here, demons are crawling out as we waste time here.” His words were a flurried rush, half slurred with their speed. Binghe shook his head and tugged his Shizun back towards the cave, away from Shang Qinghua.

“Shizun, no! We can handle the night here, we can leave at first light. It’s safer that way!” Nothing can penetrate this flower’s barrier, and I can fight off whatever threatens us! Shizun, let’s just stay until this critical point passes over! One more day and I’ll be out of the range for the abyss plot point!

Shen Yuan looked curiously between the two, his brow furrowing before gently shaking off Binghe’s hand.

“Your Shishu is right, Binghe. Stay here and protect the disciples from potential intruders. Let this master and Shang-Shisu scout the way, and then--”

“No!” Binghe shouted, alarmed. Shen Yuan sighed, seemingly expecting that response. 

“Binghe, have I been too lenient with you in the past? Do you think you can refuse your shizun just like that?” His words were still soft and affectionate, even if they were a bit exhausted. He paused, ashamed, and Shizun slipped away. 

It took all of twenty seconds for Binghe to unstick from his statue-like position and surge after his Shizun, through the lotus’ barrier. The moment his foot found unprotected ground the earth shook. Trees swayed and fell around them, their roots unsafe in the softening earth. A second abyss cracked open in front of them and a dark miasma billowed out from the tears in the forest floor. Squealing animals and roaring monsters had all gone silent.

A tall figure with billowing hair walked out from the smoke, his eyes immediately zeroing in on Shang Qinghua. His hand raised and flicked it in the air. Nestled on a chain around his neck and tucked inside his robes, a pendant shone brightly. The An-Ding Peak Lord gave a squeak of surprise when a vortex emanating from the charm and swallowed him up. Binghe grimaced.

He started backing towards the cave, looking at his shizun pleadingly. The man stood stock-still.

“Mobei-Jun.” Shen Yuan breathed. His grip on his sword and his stance were unshaken, but there was something unnerved in his eyes. Like a wild animal who senses danger was near. He spared a sideways glance at Binghe and his eyes widened at what he saw in the boy’s face. 

Mobei-Jun walked towards them, fiddling with a silver ring around his thumb. The only piece of jewelry he seemed to wear. He barely spared a glance at Shen Yuan, glancing at him as if he were doing a quick headcount of who was present. His laser gaze focused back on Binghe, who wilted like a flower in the sun under his larger-than-life presence.

Mobei-Jun! That was Mobei-Jun! Where was the Black Moon Python Rhinoceros! Why had the abyss followed Binghe all the way here! Wasn’t he supposed to escape this plot point? It isn’t even a side mission or anything, there was no requirement for him saying he had to go down into hell for a quick +100 B points!

And who was Mobei Jun in the original novel? The quickest recap anyone could give is that he was the hot general of the scum villain who appeared once every 50 chapters from a portal, fucked some shit up and froze some walls over, and left. He always acted as a good bit of foreplay to the original Binghe’s orgies of destruction, if you will. Never the main show, but still decently impressive. 

Not that this Binghe felt especially powerful right then. Especially when Mobei-Jun pulled out his sword and stepped in Binghe’s general direction.

Shen Yuan wasn’t even a blur, all at once appearing in front of Binghe with his sword raised, levered towards the chest of the demon. Mobei-Jun’s chiseled face darkened, a single eyebrow twitching upwards for half a second.

“Qing Jing’s Peak Lord, I assume? Stand down.” The black flames of Qi behind him flared, casting shadows across the forest floor. Grass blades around them crackled as they froze solid and exploded, tiny ice shards bouncing off of the shield Binghe cast around himself and his teacher. His shizun didn’t look away from the demon before him.

“A Demon-Realm mediator, I assume? Or would you like a repeat of Sha Hualing’s competition here in the Jue Di Gorge?” 

Mobei-Jun made no move for further talk, fractals of ice shimmering into existence and twisting into an unreasonably elaborate spear. Binghe moved on desperate instinct, leaping in front of his teacher and blocking the spear with unerring precision in just such a way that the ice shattered upon impact. Mobei-Jun hummed at the sight, fiddling with his ring again. He cocked his head as if listening to something beyond Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe’s realm of hearing, and then all movements stilled. His eyebrow twitched again, this time marginally farther upwards. He was thoughtful.

Shen Yuan had already assumed a defensive position when the spear had been cast and was more than capable of blocking the blow at any time. This both Binghe and Shen Yuan knew. But Binghe had seen what, exactly, Mobei-Jun could do to a protagonist. To put it lightly, the original Luo Binghe was creative enough not to slice off every limb of Shen Qingqiu’s. Sometimes he let Mobei-Jun pick.

Behind him, he heard Shizun click his tongue. Shit. Shen Yuan was pissed.

“Binghe, stand down.” His voice was low but calm, as if he were holding a conversation on the bamboo forest’s path. Binghe didn’t dare move, eyes trained on Mobei-Jun. His sword arm moved back into a defensive posture and his leg swept back behind him into a strong, unmoving stance. 

Shen Yuan’s low, calm voice raised into something considerably less calm and more authoritative. It was a voice that had not been used on Binghe for years. “Binghe, who is the master here? Stand down.”

“You are the Qing Jing mountain disciple then?” Mobei-Jun said, his voice sounding more as if it were giving a statement rather than and inquiry. Binghe tilted his head upwards, eyes flickering to the abyss for a quick second before he firmed his resolve. Binghe would protect Shizun in every way he could, after all. He was nothing like that scum original, he would gladly die for his teacher.

And if the worst should come to pass, Shen Yuan had promised this disciple that nothing would ever happen to this disciple. So Binghe responded proudly, looking down his nose at Mobei-Jun as if he were already a demon lord superior. “Cang Qiong Mountain sect’s Qing Jing Peak disciple, Luo Binghe, greeting Your Excellency.”

Mobei-Jun’s mouth crept into a cold grin, as if he had heard a joke. “A cultivator of both realms. Immortal, yet not immortal. Demonic, yet not demonic. Interesting.”

Binghe’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach, and still he stood strong. He did not risk a glance behind him.

“Binghe, leave now. Gather the other immortal masters and bring them here as soon as possible.” 

“Begging his master’s pardon, but this disciple cannot. He will not let either of us leave this area.” He gave a slow breath, steadying his rapid pulse. Internally he chanted sutras to try and mask the screaming loop of ‘Abyss! Right there! Abyss! Look!’ in his head. He would be fine. Shizun would be fine. “The only way out is through battle.” His words were admirably steady, as if he were confident about what he was saying. 

Mobei-Jun watched from in front of them with the mildest form of curiosity possible when Shen Yuan’s face flickered to mild resignation at this statement, completely trusting in his disciple’s words. Despite that, the master still tried to persuade Binghe away with paltry words, to which the disciple gave more noble dribble about how he would dedicate his life to his master and die for his master and all that. Mobei-Jun huffed in disdain.

“Do battle with me? Fine. Let’s see whether the master and disciple’s actions can match their words.”

Mobei-Jun’s demonic qi exploded. 

At the same time, Shen Yuan danced around Luo Binghe’s attempt at defending him, fan at his left and sword at his right. Binghe started as Shen Yuan grabbed him by the scruff of his robes and flung him aside as if he were no more than a mere kitten. He tumbled as he hit the ground, only the deeply ingrained falling methods keeping him from being injured. He rolled back into a crouching position, kneeling low and ready to fling himself back into battle at any moment.

Mobei-Jun had used Shen Yuan’s momentary distraction to his advantage, He slid close the moment the peak lord was even mildly defenseless, making sure that Shen Yuan couldn’t use any of the ranged attacks with the fan he was so famous for. The battle was too close and personal for Binghe to suddenly throw himself into the mix of. 

Shen Yuan kept his face still, fan lashing out with one hand across the face as the sword went the other way, striking across the torso. Total offense. The fan burst into tiny shred of fabric the moment it collided with the immense demonic qi that fluttered around Mobei-Jun, unable to handle the sheer overload of qi from spiritual and demonic energies colliding. On the other hand, the fan distracted Mobei-Jun just long enough that he got a thin cut across his side before he pinched the blade between his fingers and wrenched it aside. 

Shen Yuan flung his torn and tattered fan aside and it bounced as it landed in the grass nearby Binghe. The disciple reached out and patted the ground for the fan, dutifully tucking it into his robes. Even if the painted silk was gone, this was still a fan with a good quality silver frame. He resumed his position, waiting for any critical opening in battle. Shizun! Just give this disciple one good opening, he’ll mow this demon down.

The demon lashed out with a hand, scaled sprouting from the back of his hand as a ball of black Qi formed between his claws. Shen Yuan returned the palm strike with his own, the glowing white and inky black qi colliding in the most fucked up high-five Binghe had ever seen in his life. For a moment the two men grappled, almost evenly matched. Shen Yuan seemed to have the upper hand, pushing back against the demon, his robes flaring outwards from the wind their clashing energies generated. 

Binghe looked at Mobei-Jun’s exposed back and drew Zheng Yang from his scabbard, his tightly coiled body springing forward into the fastest sprint in his life. His knuckles bled white around the hilt, its pale green blade aiming straight for Mobei-Jun’s heart. Get the heart, get the demon. Get away from the abyss. Grab Shizun and Run.

His footfalls were deathly silent in comparison to the crackles of the forest fire around them. He could see the spot where he should hit, he could practically envision it through Mobei-Jun’s robes. With two hands he held the sword and drove it forward with as much--

“Enough.” Said Mobei-Jun, stepping forward and pushing Shen Yuan back one step, then two. Binghe missed his strike and he staggered forward, putting his remaining momentum in his forward leg to spin around and deliver a textbook-perfect side-kick to Mobei-Jun’s head. His left hand blocked it with ease, grabbing Binghe’s leg and flinging him aside like a rag doll.

Mobei-Jun strengthened his strike, forcing Shen Yuan to bend back under the weight of the looming man. His other hand came up, and it was matched by the demon lord. Shadowy qi gathered between their chests, right between where their hands met. Then it expanded, and Shen Yuan was thrown back. He landed hard on his shoulder, skidding a few feet before rolling back onto his feet, then collapsing again. He coughed, blood pouring from his mouth and pooling around him.

“Aptitude is poor. Foundation and techniques are inflexible. Hardly a fight.”

Binghe was one his feet before he could fully understand the situation. White noise ran in his ears and he flung himself at Mobei-Jun, aiming for the man’s heart. Straight for the fucker’s heart. 

Pale fingers plucked the blade from his hand as if they were a mere babe’s, throwing it in the air and catching it by the hilt to observe the sword. Binghe threw blows at him, kicked at him, tried to knee him in the groin more times than either would like to admit. Mobei-Jun simply blocked it with one hand, slinging the sword this way and that with the other. Bored, he experimentally let his demonic qi swell through and around it, then threw it aside. The sword shattered across the forest floor.

He pushed Binghe to the ground savagely, stalking towards Shen Yuan. “First I’ll finish off this master of yours, then I’ll be sure to get back to the disciple. Be patient.” His arm was outstretched before he finished speaking and his fingers flexed. A black ice sword twisted from the qi around it and split. Then its copy split. Then those copies split. Some moved, surrounding Shen Yuan in a circle, then into a sphere around him. In the center of the array lay the man, doubled over as his qi tried frantically to repair his internal injuries.

Binghe had staggered back to his feet when he saw his master’s eyes flutter shut. Mobei-Jun clenched his hand into a fist and the swords descended, hundreds at once. 

It felt like his whole body was simultaneously freezing cold and burning up at the same time. Someone screamed. Maybe it was him. He felt like he was back in the tutorial battle mode again, watching his body from the outside. Black qi roiled from his body, exhaling from his mouth like dragon’s fire, rising from his palms like flames. The hundreds of swords the surrounded the group from every direction shattered and millions of black snowflakes lay suspended, twirling, in the air. He stalked forward towards Mobei-Jun, Mobei-Jun looked away from Shizun and towards him. Was that surprise? Or was that glee?

Whatever it was, he wouldn’t be feeling it for long.

His slow steps moved faster and faster as he got a feel for the new strength that was surging through him, and the world around him blurred as he raced for the demon. Around one fist weaved golden qi, and around the other rose shadowy black. The competitors were on each other immediately.

Their ensuing fight was a total war fought by only two. Mobei-Jun obviously outmatched the boy, but in the way a god might defeat an avenging angel. No mortal and, indeed, few cultivators, could ever hope to join their competition. Deep furrows lay in the ground where their feet strode and trees toppled from the blades of their demonic energy. They would often leap back from each other and race back towards one another, gaining momentum like a meteor toward earth before clashing into a cloud of smoke and sickening cracks. Sounds like claps of thunder and flickers of bright light shone from their homemade fog, diffusing through the cloud to make the whole arena shine with a blinding light towards the heavens. 

Mobei-Jun sidestepped a strike that would have taken a limb off of him. He had finally found a pattern in this boy’s line of unpredictable movements. Truly, fights done in wrath would be the downfall of this disciple, he thought. He reached forward and lightly tapped the center of the boy’s forehead. Bright crimson light emanating from his fingertips.

Binghe couldn’t see the seal that had bloomed on his forehead like a rose and was too lost in the depths of his bloodlust to really care. His attacks became weaker, though, as the seal pulsated through his head and body. Diamond fists weakened to flesh, his flurry of blows slowing. He fell to the ground, clutching his head in agony. The qi which had been raising from his body exploded toward Mobei-Jun, who actually needed to conjure a shield of ice to reflect it aside. He hummed appraisingly under his breath.

“You. You’re a strong demon. The human realm is not your home, you ought to return to the demon realm.”

He glanced back towards Shen Yuan and seemed surprised to see the man still up and moving, staggering to his feet as the demon spoke. He cocked his head pensively and seemed to come to some sort of decision.

Mobei-Jun’s furred black cloak swished outward as he spun. He twisted the ring on his thumb twice. 

“Consider it.” He called back over his shoulder. Then he walked to the edge of the abyss and straight over it. 

Luo Binghe woke up to a mouth full of cotton and the distinct scent of iron and brimstone. Green robes hung over him, though the original color was actually barely discernible thanks to the thick layer of brown which caked it. Above him sat Shen Yuan, cradling his head in his lap. When his eyes fluttered open and looked at his teacher, Shizun gently placed his head on the ground.

“Awake?” He said lightly, face revealing nothing. Binghe tried for a smile, but somewhere along the lines wires crossed and it wavered into a tight grimace. Shen Yuan nodded at this answer and continued. “Good. Let’s chat.”

“You have been demonically cultivating. For how long?”

His voice was cold. It was always cold. Except with Binghe. It was always soft and tender and affectionate or authoritative or, god-forbid, sometimes angry with Binghe. But never cold.

His voice was cold.

Binghe could feel every bit of hope that remained in his body, shrivelled and huddled away in a little shell, turn to dust. His bones felt like lead, his blood like stone. He tried to speak. Coughed. Tried again. Shen Yuan was patient.

“Shizun, this disciple can explain. It was…” How could he explain this? There was actually no possible explanation for all of this. Protect Shizun? Laughable. Protect himself? Hilarious. Protect others…? Maybe. He tried to fight back the expression of alarm that would give everything away, opening his mouth and hoping for the smooth words that always seemed to bring Shizun to his side.

“Silence. You should have told me you were heading down this path. Some things may remain secret, but nothing of this importance. This master may have been able to help you, once.”

Binghe barely breathed.

“But his disciple seems to be beyond this master’s help now, hm?”

Echoes of Shen Qingqiu’s words repeated mockingly. Extreme prejudice. Kill them. All demons.

But this was Shen Yuan. Shizun. There’s no way.

He went to kneel, beg forgiveness, explain, cry, anything. A hand at the back of his robe, the same hand and same place that had tossed him out of the fray earlier, stopped him.

“Up, Binghe. Stand. Don’t kneel.” He said sharply, rising with his words. Binghe followed his commands, eyes trained to the ground. Shizun refused to accept his apologies. Shizun refused to let Binghe be heard. No reason he could possibly give could get him out of this.

“Haven’t you--” His voice faded and he swallowed, continuing onwards. “Hasn’t Shizun said before that so long as a demon uses his-- his powers for righteous work, a demon is not evil?”

Shen Yuan’s hand went for his fan, but there was nothing there, He covered his lower face with his sleeve.

“A heavenly demon is hardly a normal demon, they cannot be judged by the same standards.” He spoke quickly, precisely. Binghe could feel his shoulders drawing towards his ears with every slicing word. 

Binghe’s eyes flickered towards the abyss, and Shen Yuan followed his gaze. The peak lord’s face seemed to firm into some horrible understanding and he gave a small, reaffirming nod to himself. A deep breath, then back at Binghe. He rose Xiu Ying. Binghe’s breath hitched. 

“The demon lord was right.” He said and took a step forward. Binghe took a step back, raising his arms in front of his chest, palms outwards and empty. Defenseless. 

“A heavenly demon does not belong in the human realm.” He took another step. Binghe stepped back. 

“It would be best if Luo Binghe would return from whence he came.” Another step forward. Another step back. Shizun’s eyes were black ice, like the stray snowflakes which still fell from the sky around them, melting when they neared the abyss.

Binghe’s eyes widened as his shizun advanced, falling embers spraying upwards with his every step. Shen Yuan looked grim, knowing. He glanced towards the widening crack, then up at Binghe. The disciple swallowed, licking his lips nervously.

“Shizun,” He trembled, “Shizun, it doesn’t have to be like this.” The flames behind Shen Yuan were crackling, growing larger with every second. The cultivator was given the fiery halo of a vengeful god.

His voice cracked. “No, no, you don’t know what it’s going to be like down there! Shizun, I’ll die!” Shen Yuan’s steps faltered, he looked up, away, and back at his student. Then he resumed his original pace, slow and steady. Binghe begged and pleaded, alarms going off as the system finally caught on to what was going on.

[Warning! Warning! Warning! Customer Luo Mei must not speak to NPC Shen Yuan about future plot points! Warning!]

“I swear I won’t hurt anyone! I’ll suppress it, I’ll become a normal cultivator!”

[Warning! -50 B points!]

“Shizun, haven’t I served you honorably over the past years? Haven’t I been a good disciple?”

[Warning! -50 B points!]

“If you’ve ever loved me Shizun, don’t force me down!”

[Warning! -50 B points!]

Shen Yuan stopped in front of Binghe. His face was frozen in some mixed expression, a thin mask covering over hundreds of emotions he tried to suppress. Was that affection Binghe saw? Was it hatred? Was that despair?

A sound like leaves crackling nearby made his shizun flinch, looking back from whence the noise came. A burning branch crumpled into a pile, crackling. It gave off sharp pops, snapping like firecrackers. Shen Yuan looked back, all expression except determination wiped off it. Momentarily, he let his sword drop.

Shen Yuan stretched out a delicate hand, the folds of his sleeve falling back to expose his wrist and the thin scar that ran up it. He pointed to the abyss. 

“Binghe, fall.”

Luo Binghe was stiff, he couldn’t move. The Elder Dream Demon was cackling from the back of his mind. “So this is the love your Shizun has for you? Ha! What a sham!”

“Shizun…” Binghe said helplessly, tears welling up. Just normal tears, no weapon equipped. They burned as they rolled down his face. Shizun retracted his hand as if Binghe had just slapped it.

The flames glinted off of the golden Xiu Ying, turning it a bright scarlet. He pointed it towards Binghe and pushed forward.

Binghe didn’t really think his Shizun would do it. He loved Shen Yuan, and Shen Yuan loved him. He wouldn’t be struck down, didn’t Shizun want him to live? ‘Even if something goes wrong, nothing will ever happen to you.’ Was their mantra, wasn’t it?

Shen Yuan’s face flickered to mild surprise when his blade pierced Binghe, but the boy didn’t notice. He was too busy watching the scarlet flower bloom around the sword, staining his white uniform. He looked up at his Shizun, eyes wide with terror. The abyss behind him wailed, hundreds of monsters and thousands of damned souls clamoring for the fresh blood that they smelled even leagues under the human realm.

Shen Yuan’s eyes narrowed and he stepped forward. Binghe unthinkingly stepped back, cut his hands as he tried to stop the blade from piercing him further. His mouth opened in a small ‘o’ of surprise. There was nothing behind him.

Shen Yuan didn’t even look him in the eye, glancing past him and downwards into the spiraling darkness.

“Binghe,” He said. The boy’s arm flew up in an attempt to grab his Shizun’s robe but just missed it. He could feel the air rushing up beneath him, felt the inexorable pull of the abyss.

“Fall.”

Chapter Text

Year One

Luo Binghe couldn’t move.

He was lying on red sand, staring upwards at the bright golden flames that flickered in and out of existence like miniature suns, each individually dying in a great burst of light and fading with a sizzle. As soon as one bright light exploded, another one took its place. 

Binghe had been conscious on the way down. He had been conscious for these last three days. He knew because he counted. He’s still counting. 260,000 Mississippi, 260,001 Mississippi. 

Shizun had turned away before he was even out of sight. Just walked away.

Binghe’s bones had shattered when he landed. He knew because he had been conscious. 

It seemed like his bad habit of falling unconscious or being knocked out had finally been broken. He got to feel his spine crack. Luo Binghe couldn’t move.

So he stared at the miniature imploding suns, each replacing one another in an endless cycle. He blinked away the red sand that blew into his face with the hot wind, stung his eyes. The demonic seal on his forehead pulsed in time with the demonic qi in his veins. It seemed that energy was working from the tips of his fingers and toes inwards, working thoroughly at a pace slower than molasses. 

The dream demon kept him updated with his body’s slow healing progress.

“Don’t worry kid, your shoulders and pelvis are done. It’s making its way up to your spine, you’re gonna be fine. I’ve already set up a perimeter, no one should be able to enter without falling into my dream realm. I’m the best of the best, you know that, right?” His gravelly voice kept talking like that. Meng Mo wouldn’t stop talking. Talk, talk, talk. It was irritating.

Luo Binghe blinked upwards at where the crack had once been. It had knitted itself closed when Binghe was about a quarter way down, back when he still had enough voice to scream.

“Just concentrate on yourself, alright? Tell me if that system of yours gives you anything important.”

260,100 Mississippi.

[System Rebooting… Please Wait… Rebooting…

System is back online! Due to the compact features of System H2GB Lite Model, this System will not be powering down despite distance from power source! Congratulations!

Note: Customer gave NPCs unvetted information about the system. Due to its indirect nature, -10,000 B points will not be deducted. Customer’s account will stay online.

Point Calculations:

 -500 B points due to Customer breaking company privacy policy

+1000 B points. Major Quest fulfilled: <<Prevent Child Killer Accusations!>> NPC Shen_Qingqiu was not present nor held accountable for the fall of character Luo_Binghe.

+50 complimentary Coolness Points due to unexpected errors in plot. Object <<Rhino_Moonlight-Python_Black>> failed to appear at critical point. 

System-Applied Punishment: Wounds given by NPC Shen_Yuan are now permanent features of avatar Luo_Binghe’s skin. Scars are available at locations <<Left Pectoral, Left Palm, Right Palm.>> For more information, please check system diagrams.]

Luo Binghe was up and running, his lungs stinging from the air he was sure was poisonous. From behind him, he could hear the squelching of that thing which followed him, had been following him. It had started at a slow crawl, it’s lurching body jiggling, distended stomach unnerving but ignorable. 

Binghe had paid little attention as he passed by, giving it a quick once over and speeding up slightly. His shoes had long since burned away from the hot desert sands, were practically gone by the end of the first week he was here. The soles of his feet were thick and calloused, blackened by layers of soot and ash. 

It began to follow him. Nothing too odd. Everything seemed to follow him for a ways before losing interest, whether because he left their territory or because he would send out a warning flare of energy when they got too close. 

He never seemed to get the edge of its territory. It just kept following, speeding up by a fraction every li . If he sped up and left its sight, it would always find him again. Always a little faster, veins around its stomach bulging more as the skin stretched tight around it. Three of its legs dragged uselessly behind it, as if they had never fully formed. The rest of its limbs dragged it forward with clumsy grace.

At some point, Binghe was pushed to begin sprinting. The Dream Demon encouraged him onward.

“I’ve never seen anything like that, boy, and I’m old. I’m very old. But we sane demons don’t spend long in the abyss without a quick way out, you know? For things like this. Not even the most educated of us knows everything within this place. You sure your book never covered the original’s time here?” Each of his words translated to five beats from Binghe’s feet. He used the one-sided conversation like a metronome, making sure he kept pace and could keep track of where he was.

Another li . Increase the pace to six beats per word. Run.

Binghe gagged, vomiting up the water he had just swallowed down. So this was one of those undrinkable pools. Okay, mark that on the map. That just meant he had to bite down on a stick before he bathed, muffle his screams as the acidic water lapped against his wounds. Less blood all over his clothing attracted less monsters, so bathing had become an unfortunate inevitability. 

Despite the pain this type of lake brings, no beast could live in it for long. Binghe would be safe underwater, ears trained on any ripple or disturbance made in the water around him

He’d sit underwater and concentrate on healing, sending his demonic qi through his veins and regenerating lost skin, piecing together broken bones. He was getting faster. The pools burned but they never harmed him deeper than skin layer or impeded on the process of mending broken limbs. These pools were the closest things he had to total safety in the godforsaken world of the abyss.

“That’s the tibia you just healed. It was fractured, not broken, which is why you can heal it so quickly. Stop cycling your qi through it, boy. See? Done. If you hold on to that feeling, you’ll be able to find that area more quickly and heal it faster next time.” Meng Mo liked to give little lectures during these healing times, it seemed. Binghe nodded along, letting out a small stream of bubbles and concentrating on the rush of cold his cycling demonic qi brought him. The key to spot treatment with demonic healing was to concentrate your qi to a single area. The better you knew the anatomy of the area, the faster you can find out what’s wrong.

When the bone healed about two minutes later, he kicked himself upwards and took a gasping breath of the fresh air above him. Looking down, all traces of blood on his body and uniform had melted away. He slunk out of the body of water, not daring to collapse in the thick reeds surrounding it. A nap was too risky right now. He needed to find high ground.

He repeated the motions of the forms across the cave, forward and back. Binghe leapt in the air, kicked an imaginary opponent, landed crouched on the ground and pounced back up. The sword he salvaged off a monster’s collapsed body flew upwards, slashing across the chest of the beast he imagined himself fighting against. He could almost feel Shizun’s gentle guiding hands on his arms as it perfected the angle of his strikes, tilting his wrist upwards and holding it steady.

Binghe slowed his breathing, finding a rhythm in the movements he had repeated thousands of times before. Strike upwards, twirl to the side, thrust the blade into the opponent’s back. When the opponent whirls away, step forward and keep pushing them back. Lunge, parry, strike at the legs. The opponent will jump. Hold your sword above your head, break their attack on your makeshift shield. Defend, then attack.

The flickering campfire that sat in the cave’s heart cast dancing shadows. His own shade extended across the cave floor, mimicking his movements with cold precision. The only company that followed him around during the day, for Meng Mo often hibernating during the daylight hours and saved his energy, exerting it for nightly lessons.

He ended the form panting, sweat running in rivulets down his brow. Not good enough. The master’s of Qing Jing Peak would never accept such messy form, especially not from one of their head disciples. Again, Binghe. Stronger stances, Binghe. Tilt your arm this way, hold your elbow that way, don’t bow your head Binghe. Look your enemy straight in the eyes when you’re fighting them. 

“Yes, Shizun.” He called, absent-minded. His voice echoed off of the cave walls and back to him, fading fast. Binghe closed his eyes and took a deep breath, backing to the far depths of the cave. When his foot hit the rock wall, he shifted his weight and lowered his stance. Stab, lunge, dodge. Strike upwards, twirl to the side, thrust the blade into the opponent’s back. When the opponent whirls away, step forward and keep pushing them back. Lunge, parry, strike at the legs. The opponent will jump. Hold your sword above your head, break their attack on your makeshift shield. Defend, then attack.

Not good enough, Binghe. This master knows you can do better than that.

Nighttime was one of the few escapes Binghe had from the nightmare of the abyss. On the rare nights where he found safety, whether it be by forming makeshift shelters or creating talismans or simply finding a hidden enough place, his weary body would collapse. Today he had found a dead monster and skinned it for its hide, soft and fluffy. The complete opposite of this hellscape. He never saw what killed the monster, but when he got there most of the meat had already been sucked out of the body.

He laid the hide down on the ground, uncaring about the bits of grit and gore that hung from the interior. Laying on a thin bed of fur had become the height of luxury in this underworld.

When he slept, he slipped into the dream world he had been working on since the moment he entered this abyss.

As Meng Mo had taught him, it was best to practice the fundamentals of manipulating the dreamscape before entering others’ dreams. Enter too early without the right tools and a dream demon is liable to be caught unawares. First comes the ability to build and destroy, to apparate and disappear at will. Then focus on travel, something far easier to learn.

So he focused on his own dreamscape. A recreation of Qing Jing peak, with the brunt of his efforts concentrated on a certain bamboo hut and its surroundings. 

Binghe trotted up the path, bamboo as far as the eyes could see. He fingered a stray branch of bamboo that leaned over the path, pushing it straight with his hand and looking sternly at it. The bamboo stood rigidly, a vector towards the sky. He approached the house eagerly, looking over it. A perfect recreation, down to the grains in the porch and the number of bamboo branches which created the criss-cross patterns for the porch fence. At the door he paused, taking off his boots and leaving them slouched at the side of the door. With a wave of his hand soft white slippers appeared before him, simple in design. He slipped into them and padded on in.

There sat the red pillow, shabbily embroidered by Ning Yingying for her Shifu. His heart ached at the thought of her cheerful laughter, pulling him along from one place to another. He missed confiding in her, hearing both her goofy and serious answers to his questions and concerns. God, he missed the disciples at Qing Jing and the camaraderie they all had, even those who weren’t that close to each other. He missed everyone, everything. There were... there were a lot of emotions that go through your mind when you're violently separated from the closest thing you have to a family. A loud, raucous, huge, pretentious family who all have varying degrees of hatred and grudge towards one another. Home. Binghe didn’t quite tear up, but he looked towards the ceiling and blinked a few times. He loves it fiercely. Loved it fiercely. The past is in the past, Binghe. 

He traced his hand over the perfume bottles left on the shelf, smiled as he twirled the little dog figurine to face straight towards the world. He ignored the large blank spot on the wall where a beautiful scroll once hung.

When he moved past the couch where Liu Qingge used to sit when he insisted on visiting and stubbornly clearing the spiritual veins of Sh-- where he used to sit when he visited the peak lords of Qing Jing peak. He even found himself vaguely missing their arguments.

They were definitely arguments. Even if not a single word was exchanged between Binghe and Qingge. Even if Liu Qingge apparently deemed himself as above getting in fights with this disciple (who could totally take him). Even if Binghe was the one doing the glaring most of the time, or sticking his tongue out at Qingge’s back, or punting yet another monster head off the cliff. There had been an actively visible pile from the peaks of the hills once he was done. The villagers at the foot of the mountain were actually getting scared at around the time he went to compete in the Immortal--

Binghe turned right, heading towards Shen Qingqiu’s room. At the door he bowed deeply, giving an exaggerated “Greetings, Shifu.”

Shen Qingqiu stared at him blankly, moving an empty hand back and forth across the erhu he held. Every five seconds he would look down at the strings, then back upwards. Clockwork. Like a doll on loop. He laughed softly to himself. Ah, the protagonist of Proud Immortal’s Way would hate being controlled like this. He was always such an independent soul, it had been so fun to mess with him and see the day-to-day life of his novel’s most beloved character. Binghe tilted his head, trying to insert a little personality back into Shen Qingqiu. Make him a little less blank, maybe frostier and with more of a glare. The harsh Shifu Binghe knew and loved.

Binghe froze at the dark eyes which stared him down. Cold. Like black snowflakes fluttering from the sky.

No. No no. No no no no no no no no no. NO.

He violently jerked his hand, cutting the imaginary lines which he had been using to manipulate his Shifu’s facial features. The man’s face fell slack, an empty shell once more. Binghe smiled softly at his blank face. “Ah, sorry Shifu.” He said to the silent room.

Binghe twisted his wrist and edited the scene. Shen Qingqiu’s ehru disappeared and he was left sitting awkwardly, hands posed in the air and ready to resume his faux bowing at any time. Not good enough. That was why one of Shifu’s hands had been empty earlier. He couldn’t remember enough of the details of his shifu’s favorite erhu, couldn’t properly recreate it. If it wasn’t perfect, it didn’t belong here.

Binghe’s arm swept and a guqin sprang into existence. This one, he remembered. His own hands itched to play it, to fall back into the easy rhythms of memorized songs, but he let the doll-like Shen Qingqiu lean forward to pick it up. His pale, calloused fingers danced across the zither. A soft melody streamed from it, a nameless song that Shen Qingqiu liked to play after newly tuning the strings. Simple and delicate. In one of his nostalgic moods, he had flippantly said it was a song that used to be sung often to him when he was a child. His shifu left it at that. 

Binghe looked around the room and, satisfied with the recreation, turned to leave. At the very last second before leaving the room, he spun on his heel and turned back. Changed the white jade pin in Shen Qingqiu’s bun to a mahogany pin with carved flowers that bloomed from the tips. There. Better.

He turned and left the room, heading to the far side of the other hut. Onto the hallway. It was lined with items, from paintings to fans to a little cloth board filled to the brim with notes, pinned there and held up by nails and ire.

‘Clean the dishes while I’m out’ Said one.

‘If you keep sleep talking I will smother you.’ 

‘I “h8” your guts too. What does :) mean.’ 

‘I swear to god, ______. Wash the goddamn dishes.’ 

‘...Sorry’

Binghe tore his eyes away from the half-empty board. Nothing wrong here, it was perfectly rendered with as many of the notes that he could remember. Nothing was missing. Everything is fine. The bamboo creaked under his feet at one point, exactly like that one squeaky board Binghe could never fix no matter how many times he replaced and re-enforced it.

He kept walking. He counted his steps. Five more to go, four more, three more.

He stopped at the end of the hallway. His heart was pounding loudly in his ears. Fingers shaking, he reached for the door handle and slid the door open a bit.

He was met with soft, billowing green curtains around a white bed, empty save for a lone figure which sat on its edge. The man who sat there could barely be seen through the layers of gauze. The figure stood, pale wrist flashing as the curtains were pulled open.

He stretched and yawned, running his fingers through his hair and loosening any tangles which had grown during the night. Ink black hair flowed down his back, slipping over his shoulders and swaying around his waist. The man slipped his feet into his morning slippers, lightly embroidered with bamboo flowers. The willowy peak lord had always joked about how his former master was really into the entire bamboo aesthetic and had practically ordered the twins to carry it on in her stead once her successors were appointed as peak lords. They had, much to everyone’s surprise. Apparently even Shen Qingqiu had some modicum of filial piety. Or maybe he too just liked the aesthetic.

The man wandered to his dresser, pulling a white ribbon from the drawer where Binghe had arranged all the hair ties by color. Laughing softly, he shook his head and tied his hair up into a high ponytail. Binghe shivered.

A boy laughed from deep inside the house, the ambient sounds of pots and pans and crackling fires soaring through the home. Shen Yuan spun, a smile lighting up his features. He half-opened his mouth, beginning to call someone’s name. When he saw Binghe standing in the doorway, he stopped. 

Binghe had always had trouble reading his Shizun’s emotions. If Shen Yuan wanted people to stay out of his head, he made damn well sure no one could tell what he was thinking. He was always very secretive, and whether it was on purpose or an innate part of his personality was never made clear. At this moment, Shen Yuan wasn’t trying to hide anything. His lip turned upwards with disgust, eyes narrowing in burning hatred. Even when he pulled the same exact expression his elder twin used all the time, there was something softer about Shen Yuan’s demeanor. It did nothing to cushion the brunt of the blow. Binghe staggered back, hand going over his heart where Xiu Ya had stabbed him. Shen Yuan took a step forward and pointed behind Binghe. 

“Demon. Fall.”

Luo Binghe slammed the door shut and walked very quickly out of the house. The house had fallen back into complete silence, save for the softly strumming tune that emanated from Shen Qingqiu’s room. It was soft, soothing. 

He bowed as he exited, hastily pulling on the boots he left by the doorway and making his slippers disappear. Occasionally he looked back, expecting an abyss to erupt from behind him. Nothing changed. The house was as warm and inviting as ever.

Luo Binghe frantically hummed a quiet song to himself, the tune growing louder by the moment as he tried to block out any invading thoughts, his quick walk turning into a sprint towards the nearby mirror pond. He skidded to a stop in front of it and fell to his knees. Each of the koi moved mechanically around in circles. Some darted from lilypad to lilypad, some tried to catch mosquitoes on the surface of the water, some hung low in the shadows. 

Binghe caught his reflection and stared. He didn’t recognize who looked back at him.

Oh yes, the young man who looked up had the same nose and mouth and face. But those crimson eyes which looked so intense and so weary weren’t his. That permanent crease between brows wasn’t his. The red insignia which sat boldly on a pale forehead, proudly proclaiming his origin as demon certainly weren’t his. Holding his breath, he dunked his face into the lake and scrubbed. 

When he emerged from the lake, the ripples disappeared almost immediately. Note to self-- work on water and general fluid dynamics. They weren’t quite realistic yet. But for now, it was convenient. He checked his reflection.

Dark brown eyes stared back up at him, soft and eager. Rosy cheeks and lightly tanned skin and no sign of crimson stains anywhere across his face. He beamed at his reflection. There we go. He stood quickly, trotting dutifully back towards the house. Pulled off his boots and apparated slippers. 

He didn’t blame Shizun for not recognizing him earlier. Even Binghe wouldn’t when he looked like a demon. Demons. How laughable. He bowed as he entered, calling out a customary “This disciple has returned home!” before walking in.

“Boy. You haven’t tried asking your System about missions in a while. Isn’t that a big part of while you’re still here? Points and all that?” Meng Mo’s voice was gruff and grated like sandpaper in Binghe’s ears. He rolled his eyes, spinning the spit slowly over the fire. He was having demonic chicken for dinner tonight. You know they were demonic because when they clucked their beaks they let out small streams of poisonous saliva. Nothing could be simple down here. There was always that fun little twist to keep things interesting.

“No, Elder, the system doesn’t function like that. If they want to give me a quest, they’ll tell me. I don’t have a choice in the matter.”

Meng Mo sighed. “You plan to spend the rest of your days here in the abyss? A Heavenly Demon like you? There’s so much power at your disposal and practice here in the abyss has definitely awakened some of your abilities, I’ll admit. But it’s been more than a few months, boy. You can’t just keep going like a wild animal.”

Binghe blew on the chicken and tore a bite out of its chest. He gave a noncommittal, “Yeah? Why not?” between chews.

“This place is literally hell. I’ve seen your world. This is what all your religions say hell looks like.”

“So what? Where else am I supposed to go?”

“Shen Yuan suggested the Demon Realm, did he not? I’m sure your master didn’t exactly mean this part of the demon realm.”

Meng Mo kept talking even through Binghe’s newest onslaught of tears. “Drink some water, boy. You’re gonna get dehydrated at this rate. Like I was saying, the whole demon realm isn’t like this. There are some pretty nice places around here, like the Ghost City at the boundaries of this world. Lotsa gambling, lotsa pretty women.” He paused. “Well, as pretty as dead girls can be.”

Binghe looked forlornly at the meat. “Might as well stay here, right? Shizun put me here as his last gift, it must have been for a reason.”

Meng Mo gave a discontented hum. “Boy, I gotta say. I don’t really think your Shizun cared near the end--”

He fell silent at the stifling amount of qi energy that invaded his dream realm, plunging their way into his space. He sent up a thin shield and looked at the raising black thorns warily.

“Got it, don’t say the S word. No problem, I can handle that. I’m just saying, for a boy whose set on being abandoned, you’re pretty stubborn on the fact that your precious master sent you down here with a mission. You can’t have it both ways, kid. And all proof points to only one answer for why.”

Binghe was ignoring him now, feeding green chips into the fire and hanging meat above the smoke. He’d let the strips of monster dehydrate for the next few hours. If nothing got to them first, there should be enough jerky to last him a week.

“I’m just saying, maybe you should start looking for a way out of here.”

He waved aside the suggestion. Shizun didn’t hate him, he must have abandoned him in the abyss for more than just his heritage. Luo Binghe wouldn’t go against Shen Yuan’s wishes. 

And if Shen Yuan did hate him for being a demon, then he was right to do so. Demons should stay in the abyss, where they belong. 

Year Two

[System Hint on escaping Endless Abyss available. Two out of three hints remaining. Would Customer like to use one (1) hint? Y/N]

Binghe habitually flicked his fingers towards the X button, ready to say no for the thousandth time. He paused. He tried to think of why he kept pressing no.

What was it his seventeen-year-old self had said? Shizun put him here for a reason?

Was that what his reasoning had been? Binghe couldn’t remember. Didn’t Shizun just abandon him here? Like everyone else in his past always did. He wasn’t really sure why he had thought Shizun would be any different.

So in this world, Binghe would do what he had done in his last. Make his own path himself, without the help of friends and family. The original Luo Binghe had been weaker than him and yet had created a whole empire dedicated to worshipping him. He had a harem of women at his command, mountains of gold, hundreds of armies. If he imagined it, imagined himself at the height of luxury, he could almost feel the warmth he had been missing for so long.  Maybe a hedonistic life was more fulfilling than it seemed. The original had seemed happy enough, the dozens of wives loyal enough. And even if one were to leave, they were quick to be replaced. Never alone. This Binghe couldn’t fathom marriage to over six hundred, dedicating his life to so many brides, but the thought of constant companionship? That thought definitely appealed to Binghe. Maybe Shen Qingqiu was onto something with his constant visits to brothels. 

Someone from the back of his head was screaming through the fog which had erected in his mind. “No, Shizun had a reason! Shen Yuan loved us too much to simply abandon us, have more faith in Shizun!” “Don’t you remember all the times he saved us? If he wanted us dead he would have never taken us under his wing!” “Shen Yuan was famous for his cold demeanor, yet he softened for you! He brushed your hair, refused to eat any food but your own!”

“Shen Yuan did that for Luo Binghe, disciple and cultivator of Qing Jing peak. He didn’t do it for Luo Binghe, half-demon at the Immortal Alliance Conference.”

The screams stopped abruptly. Binghe basked in the empty quiet of his mind. So rarely was it quiet these days.

His finger drifted towards the glowing green Y. He could practically hear the Elder Dream Demon fist pumping from whatever plane of existence he resided.

[Ding~ Hint selected. One out of three remaining!

Excerpt from Author Notes:

Xin Mo: Heart Eating Sword. Found in Graveyard of the blackened Yuan Gui. Has ability to open portals between realms. Favored weapon of Luo Binghe.

Would customer like to use remaining hint for more information?]

Binghe looked down at the system, dumbfounded. Was the portal ability not just an offshoot of Mobei-Jun’s portal ability? When he read the book he always thought Mobei-Jun was the one opening portals for Luo Binghe. Was that not right?

That sword was actually useful for more than just looking cool? Fuck, another plot hole.

He flashed back for the briefest of moments to a skewered Shen Yuan, a hanging Shen Qingqiu. The original Binghe had done that after getting Xin Mo, hadn’t he? He had destroyed this world, everything it stood for, in his selfish desire for revenge.

Binghe shook his head. The sword was a sword, it had no power over him. The decisions the original made were his and his alone. They were two separate people, Binghe had no interest in following in his footsteps. 

(No matter how much he itched to steal Shizun away and keep him close in a chamber, the same way the original had done to Shen Qingqiu. No matter how much he wanted to drape Shen Yuan in silks and jewels, wanted to tear him apart and scream at him, wanted to beg for forgiveness, wanted to make Shen Yuan beg for forgiveness, wanted to keep him close and safe and simultaneously far enough away that his Shizun could never hurt him again and--).

He looked down at the map that he had been making for over a year now, scrawled across and worn. Binghe had heard rumor of the graveyard. Wasn’t it the resting place for some ancient demon emperor? 

Binghe squatted, spreading his paper out wide across the ground and setting small rocks at the corners of the yellowed page. His finger traced along the river he’d been following for the last month, skimming over the mountains he had scaled half a year ago. West of the kingdom ruins, right? Skirt around The Kiln, apparently they were holding yet another competition. No need to get involved in that. 

Head Northwest from there, follow the River of Lost Souls until he reached the wastelands. That’s where the graveyard was rumored to be.

He pulled out his compass, rusted from the miasma of the abyss, and tapped its glass cover. It spun here and there before settling decidedly towards North. 

“System, repeat weapons in the inventory.”

[At this time, Luo Binghe has in inventory weapons Blood Parasite, Demonic Qi and all subset actions, Serrated Bone Knife, three (3) Salvaged Swords, Homemade Bow and Quiver, Silver Fan Frame, and White Lotus Tears. All weapons are currently ranked at lvl 9 ability. Would customer like to use any in combat?]

Binghe reached out and selected the options for the knife and the blood parasite. He held his breath and cut his palm with the knife, healing the wound after coating the blade in red. He looked around the wall of the ruins he hid in, praying to whatever gods above that this would work. He closed one eye, aimed, and threw the knife, letting a little bit of spiritual energy strengthen his aim.

The sword pierced the back of the three-eyed Tiger’s head, furrowing into its thick hide but failing to pierce bone. The feline chuckled, tongue lolling out of its mouth. It gave a churlish grin to the demon boy.

“Are you there, Child? Do I see you, Child?” Drool dripped down and over its blue lips. Its nails clicked on the marble floor of the ruins.

He shut his eyes tightly, fingers tightening and loosening as he imagined his blood working through the tiger’s veins. Flowing to the heart, then pumping to the head. It had two hearts, so the blood was bound to make it to the brain more quickly. It’ll finish this beast off faster, less messily. 

Its intelligent blue eyes shone up at him, slitted pupils widening until they almost eclipsed its irises in black. 

“Child, do you hear that? Do you hear the gnashing teeth of my children? Do I hear their howls, Child? Why must you stand in the shadows all alone, so? Sweet Child, why not join me and my brood?” Its howling voice sang and crooned, high and sweet.

Binghe imagined his blood decaying its mind, creeping insidiously through its veins. First he severed the cerebellum, then the motor cortex. The Tiger’s jaw dropped in slack surprise, its legs crumpling beneath it. Binghe lightly jogged to its side, wrenching out the knife and popping its eyes out of its sockets while it was still alive. That way they wouldn’t lose their luster. 

They could be traded for hefty sums with those odd pairs of traveling demons who liked to tear through the abyss on horseback, trumpeting smoke and ruin. Those demons adored eyes, would pop them into their empty sockets like gems into pendants. In return, they would bring satchels of freshwater, pouches of dried fruit and jerky. Binghe always sought them out, never allowed them to find him. He didn’t like the way they caressed his face with their gloved hands, tilted his head upwards this way and that. 

He slit the neck of the Tiger next, granting it a merciful death in his mind. Only a few lost eyes before complete numbness? This transmigrator had gone through far worse than that, he was letting this beast off easy.

He ran the knife down its chest and stomach, splitting the body open in a quickly practiced fashion. The skin slid off easily. He bound it with string and tossed it into the sack he had on his back, an infinite storage pack that had cost him the heads of three Hellbeasts. Well worth it in his mind.

Next he tore at the meat, fingers and knife making quick work of the choicest bits. Those would be cooked for later. Halfway through cutting he could feel his claws threatening to grow in, razor-sharp and black. Binghe gritted his teeth and held back. The claws would make this process to messy. He’d leave the rest for the brood the Tiger had been so fond of. Let them feed on its remains. If he offered it to them, he was about half-sure he’d have at least one new pet by the end of the night.

Binghe flicked through his system’s Spotify, selecting a low foreign song to play. He bopped his head to the cheerful jangling ads and mellowed out at the low tunes in a language he didn’t know. It sounded happy. The beat was slow, the melody slower, but there was a sort of ambiance to the singer’s voice and the mingling guitar that made him want to smile. 

He kicked his feet over the ledge of the cliff-face he sat on, threading his hand through the ruff of his new tiger’s fur. It looked up and lapped at his hand, rough tongue drawing blood from his palm. He laughed and healed the wound, playing a little game with the tiger to see if she could drink any of his blood before he could regenerate the skin. It was a fun game.

He hadn’t named the tiger, and if the spiritual beast had a name she never bothered to tell him. He wasn’t even sure if she could speak yet, at her young age. Binghe liked it that way. Less personal. He had found that if he didn’t get attached to things, they couldn’t abandon him. It was kind of funny to learn these sorts of things so late in life, huh? You’d think after the third foster home he’d learn his lesson, but hey. Binghe was a bit of a slut for pain. 

Even this character’s body was left in the icy Luo River for a stranger to find. Ha, seemed like neither Luos were in particularly high demand. Solidarity, other Luo Binghe. Hope you’re having more luck wherever you’ve transmigrated to.

He snickered to himself and rescinded his hand, tossing his head to the sky. He was bored. Wasn’t like there was much to do down here in the abyss but survive. He experimented with the settings of the System, turning the text a bright pink and changing the font to comic sans before getting annoyed and flipping it all back to its original settings. Blue lettering with clean-cut characters, nothing like the flowing calligraphy of this world. 

Binghe flipped back and forth between screens, settling on a game of snake. Rather than an actual snake eating blocks, the system gave a conga line of cultivators slaying demons. Every time a demon was slain, a new cultivator joined on the back of the conga line. Cute. It reminded him of the Barbie party game on the Gameboy.

There at the front was Ning Yingying, ponytails flowing with here bouncy animation. His heart seized a little, warm but tight. Behind her slouched Ming Fan, angrily holding onto her shoulders and following her dance moves with obvious reluctance. So on the list went. Liu Qingge marched behind everyone regally, Shang Qinghua scurried along behind the group, Yue Qingyuan had a constant look of pain with the pixelated Shen Qingqiu gripping his shoulders in clenched fists. Little gremlin-looking monsters danced in place until Ning Yingying stabbed them with her knife-looking sword, then they disappeared into black smoke. Longer and longer the conga line grew.

When Shen Yuan showed up at the end of the line, Binghe froze. The conga line smashed into a wall and everyone fell over like dominos, rubbing their heads and looking around confusedly. 

Something wet trickled down his face. He looked up. Acid rain? In this part of the Endless Abyss? He looked down at the map he always had on his person. Wasn’t acid rain a feature of the rainforest biome? He hadn’t seen it anywhere else, especially not here in the mountainous plateaus. Another wet drop. He reached up and smeared them away, checking his hands for signs of burns. Nothing. Looks like the water was benign.

He looked back down at the dizzy characters, heads swiveling to and fro as they tried to figure out what went wrong. Shen Yuan sat in the back, elegant as ever, fanning himself lightly while kneeling. He was nonplussed. Unbothered by the worries of the world. 

Binghe’s eyes blurred. A sob hitched its way through his throat. 

Fuck.

Binghe’s tiger slid back, lips curling to reveal sharp fangs the size of a man’s hand. Her ears plastered close to her head and she growled, prowling towards the monster Binghe fought.

It was yet another monstrosity Binghe had yet to recognize, amazing considering the wide wealth of monster breed knowledge that Shen Yuan had been more than happy to share with Binghe. Maybe the abyss just came up with new monstrosities to throw at him every day, and that’s why Binghe couldn’t track them all.

He dashed around the slimy tentacle which flung itself towards the ground, almost losing his balance as the world shook below him. Another tentacle flew at his side and he leapt over it, slamming down into it with a palm-full of black demonic qi. The beast rumbled and recoiled, fibrin already stitching along the severed limb. The tiger flew at another limb, grasping it in her large maw and pulling. The limb slowly came off, tearing with a horrible squelching sound. 

The beast oozed and roared, flinging its many arms around faster and faster. Binghe leaped upwards onto the back of the beast, flipping off of its swirling limbs and darting between spikes. Small grasping hands littered its body when he got close to its skin, grabbing and tearing at his clothing. Binghe cut every limb which dared to touch him from the mass of the body, leaving oozing stumps in his wake. Below him, the tiger was shaking its head with the tentacle-like a chew toy. He climbed higher, nimbly avoiding whatever strange maneuvers this monster seemed to come up with on the fly. 

This time he let his claws unsheathe, stabbing deep into the neck. His hand slid in easily like butter, and he grasped the spinal column and pulled. It came out with a snap and crackle, and the body beneath him began melting into a puddle of ooze. If you can’t find the weak point of a monster, just shove your hand in and mess around until something clicked. Either that or sever their head, but that took more time. 

He jumped off as it began to disintegrate, wiping his hands off on his increasingly dirty and ill-fitting robe. The once white robes of Qing Jing peak were stained with blood and guts of monsters, patched and re-patched with torn bits of cloth. They were turning black with filth accumulating over the years. Still, they held sentimental value. Binghe had other clothes that he usually wore, but every once in a while he put them on when he was feeling particularly sentimental.

He reached out to pet the tiger but she recoiled from his filthy hand, flashing him a miffed look. She began cleaning its pelt vigorously, snarling whenever Binghe drew near. Binghe sighed. Guess he couldn’t ride on its back until he took a bath. Back to the acid pools it was.

The tiger, tired, shrank down into a little white cat the size of a kitten. Travel size. She sauntered behind Binghe and clambered her way up his clothing delicately, making sure nothing more than her paw pads touched his dirty robes. Binghe didn’t wince at the sharp bite of her claws against his skin, but he did give a slight warning rumble. The kitten paid no heed, snuggling its way into his satchel and disappearing headfirst, its tail waving from the top. It struggled and twisted until its fluffy white head and a tiny paw popped out from the top. She tugged at Binghe’s curls, batting the swaying ones away with increasing enthusiasm. Binghe sighed. 

Binghe shook the demon’s hand firmly and smiled, looking down at the silver-haired Dao Lao Gui . She grinned up at him, tusks jutting out of her mouth. Her dark, round face was cute. Binghe felt nothing towards her. 

“For defeating this one’s elder sisters, you have this lowly Mei-er’s gratitude.” She curtsied deeply, looking coyly up at him under her thick curtain of eyelashes. Binghe continued the boyish grin that he had so often flashed in childhood, unaware that as a young man it had evolved into something more roguish and feral. Xu Mei shivered under his gaze.

Luo Binghe looked around at her army’s small encampment, quickly taking in how many of their numbers were left and how much supplies remained. The demons were still one hundred strong, the supplies dwindling but enough to last a few days. These demons would survive the next few weeks in the abyss before being teleported back to their homes once the time ran out. He wished he could go with them.

“It was this one’s pleasure to help such a beautiful demon such as yourself through battle. I would gladly serve again, if a war meant meeting one as lovely as Lady Xu.” He said, words rising unbidden to mind. Some things the original Luo Binghe had said, some things from author Paper Airplane’s books. Nothing genuine, even if the demons he temporarily courted lapped them up. Xu Mei felt all her confidence drain out of her under his heated gaze. She slipped behind a shield of hair, letting it drop around her shoulder and curtsying even deeper. 

“If you ever need to call upon the Xu family for aid, we will be happy to assist. For Lord Luo, no request is too large.” She promised, voice squeaking at the end. Her tail thumped on the ground behind her, displaying her prominent nerves. Binghe chuckled but did not correct the title. Lord Luo. It had a nice ring to it.

Year 3

He rode instead of walked now, clinging to the furred ruff of a pure white three-eyed Tiger. Every day he drew closer to the graveyard, every day Binghe could feel his skills grow stronger. He barely had to think for limbs to regrow themselves, barely had to twitch to send his blood rippling through monster and demon bodies alike, tearing them apart from the inside outwards. Dreams were a joke. He could create and destroy items and people alike with uncanny precision in dream realms and the radius of his influence grew nightly. The rush of power he had over his surroundings was delightful. In his time in the abyss, Binghe had somehow grown from a small seventeen-year-old cultivator into an apex predator of the abyss, a twenty-year-old with no sense of danger. 

Monsters shied away from him and the pressure of his powers, hiding in holes and yelping in fear. Demons bowed before him, automatically assuming him to be of higher rank than them despite his ragged, patched clothing and the wild look in his eyes.

The demons who raced on horseback through the abyss were now under his command, offering him information of incoming territories and, occasionally, pretty eyes they had found. He usually let them keep the eyes. 

The silver-haired demon had been a crucial point in expanding his influence. His fame and infamy alike were growing across the demonic realm. He was not quite yet so famous that he was regularly challenged, but it wasn’t uncommon for him to meet and chatter with swooning young demons and demonesses who had heard of the dashing Heavenly Demon rogue who traveled the abyss in search of adventure. Binghe couldn’t count the number of marriage offers he received. He always turned them down.

The tiger paused, its nose lightly snuffling at the air. Binghe carded his gloved hands in the thick ruff of its fur and looked around. The wastelands around him were dry and cold, not quite as chilly as the sub-zero tundras he had traveled through but only marginally warmer. A few stray trees struggled to stay standing, any leaves they once had long since blown away. The world was gray and black and desolate.

When the first wave of skeletons and corpses arose, Binghe wasn’t surprised. He pulled out a staff from his dimensional pouch and flew at them, whirling and using the superior length of his gun to knock them off their feet. The delicate skeletons scattered when they hit the ground, the hopping corpses struggled but were too stiff to stand. Waves upon waves of weak undead came at Binghe, but he kept them all at greater than an arm's length away, never having to leave the back of his stead. 

When the wraiths flew next from the grounds, he slid off the cat and switched weapons to a swirling light bow. Light arrows were rare in areas like the abyss, where demons and monsters alike avoided their pure, radiant energy. Even Binghe was not completely protected from its rays, the fingers which guided the arrows turning red and burning with the heat. He nocked the arrow and held his bow up, back straight and stance perfect. Just like Shizun had always taught him. When he felt his aim to be true, his burning fingers released the bowstring. They healed over quickly as he let the arrow fly into the center of the writhing masses of ghosts, blowing into bright fireworks and blasting them out of existence. When he was done, all that was left of them were black smudges across the dry ground. 

Binghe grinned. Give him a real challenge.

Next came dual hook swords, easily cleaving through vampires which lunged at him and attempted to suck out his qi. The axe for heavily armed undead, the two-handed ji for the sprinting fierce corpses which raced towards him from all side. Another round of light arrows for forgotten gods, no shred of sanity left in their shadowy forms. Binghe was undefeatable, indefatigable. No monster could vanquish him. Adrenaline rushed through his veins as wave after wave of beasts pursued him. It was so obvious now that this was where the Xin Mo sword lie. Otherwise, why would the area be so heavily guarded?

After a particularly violent round with the corpses of ogres, the field was empty. No sword appeared. Binghe boldly walked forward, sending his spiritual senses out to scout the area for more enemies. 

From the end of the field marched an old, shabby suit of armor. What had once been undoubtedly magnificent plating, formerly a gold as radiant as the sun, was dirtied and dark. Vines hung off his armor, the winding entanglements seemingly the only thing holding it together. From its helm two red eyes could be seen, gleaming despite the darkness of the day. 

A black sword was drawn from its scabbard. When its blade was revealed to the world, a shockwave of power surged through the field. The remaining trees bowed and cracked under the force. Binghe leaned into a deep stance and dug his heels into the ground. He brought out his own sword, one a demon had stolen from a cultivator so long ago. Despite its distance from its master, the sword still allowed itself to be used by Binghe. Perhaps the sword had abandoned its master, no longer cared for its original owner. Binghe didn’t know. He didn’t really care, either. 

The suit of armor raced towards him, the clink of its chainmail and the clunk of its heavy feet loud and echoing. Binghe raced forward towards it, meeting it at the center of their battlefield. He swept his foot back and his sword went up.

At the first swing he leaped to the side and rolled, feeling the breeze of the sword as it cut above his head. He darted past the armor and behind it, checking for weak points in the armor. Not on the leg, not on the back. It was a well-made suit, each piece interlocking and making up for others’ weaknesses. He felt the ripple in the air before he saw anything, two hands bringing up his blade to black the power of Xin Mo. He could feel the blade bending in his hands, protesting. He willed it to stay strong. 

It took time for him to overpower the sword, to push the lumbering giant back and get out from underneath him. Luckily, Binghe had nothing but time. He looked at the beady eyes from between the armor, emotionless and empty and a brilliant crimson. The helm had enough space for an empty visor, the only piece of flesh revealed to Binghe. He found his target. 

He dashed low to the ground, twisting out of the way of every whistling cleave that flew by him. Sometimes he was forced to jump back or flip upwards to avoid the sword, but he took advantage of every leap to slam his sword down on the demon with the full force of his weight. Even if it wasn’t a direct strike, he was cracking a few bones.

Binghe dodged sideways, avoiding the horizontal swipe of Xin Mo, but the armor was getting faster and his timing was off. An arm was gone. He didn’t even notice at first until he was off-balance, staggering and missing the weight on his other side. Easy enough to fix. Bones grow out, muscle and sinew fly upwards to coat it, flesh crept over the muscles. While it healed he sprinted around, taking potshots at the face and rushing in and out of the armor’s field of destruction. 

He feinted left and rolled right, surging upwards with a handful of ash that he flung at the giant. Propelled it with a little bit of spiritual power, made sure to aim for the eyes. The armor turned its head away from the makeshift bullets, giving Binghe a chance to get in close. He attempted sliding under the blade of Xin Mo and sidling right up to the armor’s eyes, but it jerkily turned and fended off his advance with admirable precision given that it was not looking anywhere near directly at him. 

Binghe couldn’t let go of the sword, had to hold it with both hands to break the brunt of the armor’s blows. When locked in a particularly ferocious battle of strengths, he lashed out with his foot and tried to channel qi through the tips of his soles instead. It worked, his front kick blasting the armor backward. It lay on the ground, dead to the world, then sprung back up as spry as a new faun. It didn’t seem to get fatigued. Binghe groaned.

The armor spun in a circle, surprisingly nimble, forcing Binghe back from it. Taking advantage of Binghe’s distant position, it raised its arms behind its head and brought the blade back with it. Racing towards him, it readied itself for a heavy blow. Binghe’s eyes widened.

He leaped back and let the blade slam into the ashy ground. As the giant lurched forward following the arc of its blade, he thrust his salvaged blade at the face. The helm took the brunt of the impact, denting under the brute force of his blade. The giant in armor was stunned. He twirled on his toe and let his blade sink deep into the helm, watched the blood pour down the face and out of the helm. Beady red eyes looked up, empty. The armor gave a rattling sigh.

First went the feet, then the legs, then the torso and the head. They all peeled away, evaporating into dust that flew away into the wind. The hands were the last to go, desperately clutching at the sword to the very last second. They reluctantly slipped away, loosening their grip and fading to ash. The ebony sword was left standing alone, partially buried in the dark wasteland. 

Luo Binghe stared at the sword, one which seemed to absorb the light around it. The adrenaline was still rushing through his veins, the black qi still winding between his fingertips. He was here. That was Xin Mo. He had found the sword. He had done it.

He squared his shoulders and walked forward, each step sure. Reaching forward, something hummed in his veins. He gripped the leather-bound hilt of the sword and pulled upwards. It came out of the soil easily. 

He tested it, spinning and slashing the blade upwards, going for forward strikes and jumping maneuvers. Unconsciously, he shifted his weight and lowered his stance. Stab, lunge, dodge. Strike upwards, twirl to the side, thrust the blade into the opponent’s back. When the opponent whirls away, step forward and keep pushing them back. Lunge, parry, strike at the legs. The opponent will jump. Hold your sword above your head, break their attack on your makeshift shield. Defend, then attack. He didn’t pause to adjust the angle of his wrist, it had already been long since perfected. He didn’t stop to think of Shizun correcting him, Shen Yuan never said anything to him these days beside “fall.”

The sword was balanced, actively changing from the far heavier sword he had seen the armor wielding earlier into a lightweight blade, light enough to swing easily but hefty enough that its weight could still bring with it a bone-breaking strike. As broad as Cheng Luan and as delicate as Xiu Ya. The comfort of the hilt in his hand was reminiscent of Zheng Yang, like an old friend come home. 

He looked down at his side, ready to slip the sword into the shabby sheath he carried, and blinked. That was not his sheathe. It had transformed into a thick black leather, entwined in swirling silver designs. Far higher quality than anything he had owned in the last few years. Binghe wasn’t even sure why he was surprised. A magnificent sword like this surely couldn’t go without an equally matched partner. He brought Xin Mo upwards, twisting it this way and that and admiring every aspect of it. Absolutely brilliant. Binghe folded his arms behind his head and sauntered back to the panting tiger. Leaping astride the beast, he grinned and swung the Heart Demon Sword horizontally. A black tear was made in the air. The tiger beneath him whined. Binghe's grin grew wider, teeth flashing. 

Time to meet up with some old friends. 

Chapter Text

To be completely honest, Mobei-Jun (the character) was a self-insert.

To be even more completely honest, this book was supposed to be a short porno on the side of some of his more lucrative works. He prided himself on deeply introspective works of fiction, often dark horrors that preyed on the deepest fears of abandonment, loneliness, loss of love. Works like that sold well and were critically acclaimed, but they were emotionally taxing. The Immortal Master’s Way was stress relief by a grad student named Mo Bei, written anonymously under a pen name, Icicle Shooting Towards the Sky. No one was supposed to take it seriously.

He indulged in his story, gave the protagonist a laughably horrible backstory to make him an underdog everyone would love. After all, who doesn’t sympathize with a beaten slave? Especially in this economy.

Things spiraled a bit out of control when his first book exploded in popularity. This novel, not yet labeled as the porny danmei it was destined to be, only detailed the necessary connections Mo Bei needed to forge for some spicy-hot fucking later on in the series. Basically, the first book was totally vanilla. It was supposed to set the tone for this series.

Push Binghe down into the abyss? That will some spicy hate-fucking when he comes back to the surface, with just a bit of leftover student-teacher dynamics that will elevate this gay stallion novel to a respectable danmei.

Leave Yue Qingyuan to the side, have him watch his former younger brother figure grow up bitter? Plan to sometimes toss him into the fray to watch Shen Jiu have all the fun? Cuckold material to the max.

Liu Qingge and Shen Jiu, with their sparking tension? Rivals to lovers? What can Mo Bei say. He loves a good round of rough sex.

And of course identical twin leaves a lot of options for Shencest. Orgies especially. So many fantastic plans.

But then he started gathering like a really big following. Like a Really Big Following. And that big following started paying him Real Money for what was supposed to be a porn with plot novel. Except they wanted more plot.

And the thing is, when your new porn novel actually ends up raking in more money than your other, far better written novels do? It means you have to slash all the gay shit. He had already allowed for the first part of this webnovel to be printed and sold in bookstores, it was going at unprecedented rates of sale. What was he going to do? Make it the gay stallion novel it was destined to be?

No way. Someone else could break that ground and into that market. It wasn’t going to be Mo Bei who made the genre successful. Especially not in China.

So off with your head, Liu Qingge! Can’t keep that sexual tension around, fans are beginning to wonder. 

Shencest? Ha! Kill him. Kill Shen Yuan as quickly as possible, we need to burn and eviscerate all traces of brotherly affection that could possibly evolve into something more taboo as soon as possible.

Yue Qingyuan? Straight. Straight as can be. He was a fantastic brother figure with a tragic backstory, that deep unresolved rift between Shen Jiu and his Qi-Ge can stay that way.

The entire Cang Qiong sect, home to an intensely concentrated number of gays and lesbians? Wiped off the map.

And Binghe? The most flamboyantly bisexual character in the novel?

Give him an entire harem of women. If you surround yourself with breasts and curves, obviously you’re a completely heterosexual man. No gayness here with Luo Binghe! None whatsoever! Anal sex, what’s that? Binghe won’t even do that with his wives. 

What was originally supposed to be a fantasy escape novel about a spicy twink/twunk who got railed every way to Sunday turned into an unbearably long revenge story that made Mo Bei want to throw himself off the nearest high-rise building. He didn’t even know how to end it. It just kept… fucking… going.

But at least the character Mobei-Jun was still there and interesting. He let the character’s antisocial and awkward ways reflect his own, gave him a tragic backstory in lieu of therapy the author probably needed, made him supremely powerful and gave him ice powers because why not? Mo Bei is getting paid for this anyways. And it’s not like anyone could connect the name of this character with the pen name “ Icicle Shooting Towards Sky .”

Also, Shang Qinghua. Shang Qinghua was in this novel. The perfect man. Not that this Mo Bei, well-known and lauded author, infamous web-novelist, would ever admit it. 

Mo Bei had constructed his ideal man in Shang Qinghua, the unknown lord of An Ding Peak. A sweet, funny guy who could chatter on and full up the awkward silences that Mo Bei so often found himself in. Someone who, even if intimidated by him, could look past the initial impression. His special person needn’t be particularly strong, even in the original world Mo Bei’s resting bitch face and overbearing 6’5” height were enough to scare a lot of people away. A cute person he could cuddle up with in the cold, who wouldn’t object to being held and would probably snuggle closer. Someone clingy enough that he had never had to worry about the man leaving him.

Shang Qinghua was also completely out of this author’s league.

Not that he ever wrote that down in the novel. No, that all stayed right in the notes. But he smiled softly to himself as he wrote the character, his funny little antics with Shen Qingqiu and his frenetic energy that made the man so iconic in Mo Bei’s eyes. 

When the book became popular, he mostly hid the favored character away from readers, casting him aside into the abyss of “extremely-minor minor side-character.” Mo Bei wasn’t entirely sure he would be able to continue writing if he killed off Shang Qinghua. So for the most part after the first book where he had heavily implied he might be a traitor later on, he just let the man be in the back drawers. He made a cameo once every three books, running through Mobei-Jun’s palace with towering piles of paperwork and brushes tucked behind his ear.

Mo Bei refused to flesh the character out more in canon, so there he sat. An unfinished framework with so much potential and husband material behind him.

So imagine Mo Bei’s surprise when whoops! He died! And his beautiful Shang Qinghua was incredibly different from the perfect man he imagined. Oh yes, all the integral parts were there like being talkative and extraverted, but this character had taken it upon himself to establish a life and quirks beyond whatever weird perfectly patient waifu Mo Bei had imagined for himself. 

Mo Bei died and transmigrated into a baby demon lord. However, he hadn’t known he had transmigrated until long after a certain mousy cultivator had saved this demon’s life and dedicated himself to his king. 

It had started like this. After the Linguang-Jun fiasco when he was a baby, he had a healthy dose of extreme, vitriolic hatred towards the human race. Thus no humans were allowed within ten yards of him at all times. Or ten li . Or just in his general plane of existence.

Then for more reasons related to Linguang-Jun (He patiently tolerated the man’s various attempts to usurp the throne), Mobei-Jun was heavily injured and refused to let any humans near. He actually killed a couple of humans at that specific time in the human realm, lashing out towards everyone and everything around him.

But then this whirlwind of a cultivator flew into his life, bandaged him up and pledged his life to him. Mobei-Jun, at the time still in the dark about his former position as god of this world, simply accepted the offer. A spy on the inside? Why not. He didn’t particularly trust Shang Qinghua, but he supposed a little extra information could help him in his minor hobby and side project of crushing humanity.

The great thing about having such a weak human at your service (one who was surprisingly knowledgeable about things? When Mobei-Jun asked, Shang Qinghua simply said he read a lot and had a few friends with some out-there interests when it came to monsters and poisons) was that you don’t have to worry about them trying to hurt you while tending to your wounds. Because any hint of sabotage means immediate and extremely painful death. Mobei-Jun made sure Shang Qinghua knew that by the second time he went to be healed by this tiny man.

Then Shang Qinghua cleaned and bandaged his wounds and a third time, a fourth time, a dozenth time. Mobei-Jun’s doctors hardly ever saw him anymore. Shang Qinghua was becoming bolder with scolding who he had taken to calling his “king,” complaining about the late nights he had to suffer through on Mobei-Jun’s part. Mobei-Jun ignored him just as he ignored the blossoming fluffy feeling in his heart. 

The matter of being a spy was a totally separate and equally as important aspect of his human’s skill set, Mobei-Jun had come to find. Shang Qinghua’s reports were incredible. Did they impart important knowledge to destroying Cang Qiong sect or finding how to ultimately destroy humanity? Not particularly. Not at all, actually. But Shang Qinghua somehow found the juiciest bits of gossip and spun them into grand, epic stories during his reports. Mobei-Jun knew the weekly reports were all bullshit. He let them keep happening anyway. 

Somewhere along the line, he got the urge to beat Shang Qinghua into submission to show off his dominance, to compete with the tiny man and flex his superiority and ability to protect the human. It was a niggling urge that evolved over time, insidious. 

He didn’t, though. Only because a screaming voice in his head told him that humans Didn’t Like That. So he transformed what were supposed to be punches into firm pats on the shoulder and, when Shang Qinghua winced a little at that, into gentler caresses down the back. Like petting a cat. A non-demonic cat.

Mobei-Jun liked petting Shang Qinghua. It made the man turn red and flustered, his usually eloquent and quick words rushing more and stumbling. It was so intriguing how humans could turn so many different shades. He thought they only had the skin color they were born with. 

And inexplicably, the demon began to feel the urge to court Shang Qinghua. How laughable. Courting a mere human. Disgusting.

He found himself leaving monster heads at the foot of Shang Qinghua’s bed the next day. 

Shang Qinghua complained about the bloodstains later on a particularly long rant, apparently unaware that it had been a gift from his king. Mobei-Jun drained the blood out of the next round of heads he sent Shang Qinghua’s way, and this time he made sure the cultivator knew they were from him.

Interestingly enough, he wasn’t getting the swooning effects he had observed in so many humans when given grand romantic gestures and gifts. Strange.

He wasn’t sure what this half-courting thing he was doing was, to be honest. At times it felt entirely demonic and he attempted to follow the customs of his family to the line. He would give the man the head of a formerly unbeatable monster and drape him in jewelry from the treasury-- something distinctly demonic in origin. But then he’d find himself caressing the man’s cheek, tilting his head and listening to every little thing Shang Qinghua said with a laser focus-- something distinctly non-demonic in origin. You weren’t supposed to show your soft side when courting someone. You weren’t supposed to show you cared. You were supposed to be harsh and powerful.

But something about the mixed way he courted Shang Qinghua felt right. Shang Qinghua, he found, returned his affections in his own strange human ways. Accepting the capes that Mobei-Jun offered him in the palace and letting them completely swamp his figure, giving Mobei-Jun those quick smiles that set the demon king’s heart rate off at hundreds of beats per minute, showing off his rough drafts for books he was writing and cracking awful jokes that somehow managed to get Mobei-Jun to laugh. And when Mobei-Jun laughed, Shang Qinghua lit up like somehow the demon had given him the entire world. Mobei-Jun was never frustrated with Shang Qinghua’s odd reactions at his attempts at courtship, his apparent disinterest in pursuing a deeper relationship. Because his human stayed by his side through peacetime and battle, thought thick and thin. Mobei-Jun, against all odds, felt happy and safe with Shang Qinghua.

Then everything went distinctly wrong. 

The silver ring that Shang Qinghua had gifted Mobei-Jun, a simple band that had caught his eye at a human festival--

(“What is it, my king-- I mean, my lord?”

“Oh, this ring? It’s very simple, but I suppose it’s pleasing to the eye. I’m sure it would look good on you, my lord. Everything does. I-- I mean!”

“My lord! You can’t pay using those in the human realm! Here, let this servant take care of it for you.”)

-- was the cursed day he remembered everything. When the silver ring went onto his thumb, the entire world around him froze. The system woke up, bound to the metal band, and Mobei-Jun’s life became a living hell.

[Binding complete. Role: Mobei-Jun . Weapon: Ice? Lots of ice. Beginning memory upload- 1% . Transfer rate: 5 kb/sec . Estimated time left: 10 years . Starting B points: Like 10? Yeah, 10. Sounds about right.

This System welcomes you to the fantastical world of The Proud Immortal Master’s Way !

We hope that you can transform this piece of work into a “High end, impressive, classic work according to your desire! Fulfill dropped plotlines! Find the--” Okay, is she gone? Yeah, okay, cool. Hey… guy. Listen, help me out here. Just do what I tell you when I tell you, easy as that. The complaint button doesn’t work for any of us, don’t even try. “Otherwise the system will automatically give punishment~ You can, you up! Best of luck!” ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ]

Mobei-Jun lived for the next ten years slowly regaining his memories. Some came up in dreams, some suddenly just appeared in his head, and some felt like they had always been there. He amassed a godlike knowledge of this world and its modern equivalent and had absolutely nowhere to apply it.

It all came organically to him, so much so that his human side easily integrated with the new demon form he found himself in. After all, as he said earlier. Mobei-Jun was a self-insert. There honestly wasn’t much to change. Still bad at speaking, just a lot more powerful and a king. Until that scum villain Luo Binghe arrived to dethrone Mobei-Jun and place him in second-in-command.

To be defeated was amongst the worst shames a Northern Ice King could go through. He roared at the very thought, vowing deep in his heart that this demon could never beat him and make him-- Mobei-Jun!-- a mere general. At least, that’s what Mobei-Jun’s demonic side was saying. Mobei-Jun’s more human side was simply sighing in relief that he had never given in to his urges to beat Shang Qinghua. He had dodged a bullet with that particular decision.

The demon king wasn’t quite sure if it was the fact that his human life seemed so long ago or that his demon and human sides had integrated in such a way that their instincts melded, but he had literally no idea how normal human courtships worked anymore. Or… basic normal relationships and communication? To be fair, he hadn’t exactly experienced it in the human world, though. He had created an ideal man for a reason. So thank god some basic urges still remained while others faded. 

The system never rang more than once a week, always with odd tasks like, [Side Mission available: <<Eat That Bun on the Ground. Come on. I Dare You.>> Completion of mission will allow +50 B points to be added to your account.] or [Main Plotline Quest: <<Kill Something. I’m Bored.>> Reward: 100 B points.]

Mobei-Jun went out of his way to spite his system. His system went out of its way to spite him. It was a mutually parasitic relationship.

At first glance he might no have look it, but Mobei-Jun was desperately fighting sleep. And boredom. He faced them head on as he would a Golden Lunar Bull or a Sloth Bear. Without a solid plan but still expecting victory.

So basically he was holding a little origami session for himself while a little demon cowered before his throne and tried to give the latest surveys from the kingdoms. Mobei-Jun didn’t particularly care about how the sewage systems were functioning in the eastern slums of his kingdom, but he was bound to listening to reports lest there be restless rumors of the king turning away the people.

This was a dictatorship. Mobei-Jun should have every right to turn his back on the people and do what he wanted. But Father was still watching how Mobei-Jun ruled… presumably. That’s what the elders told him. Personally, Mobei-Jun hadn’t seen his father since dear daddy took his mother on a honeymoon ten years ago and never came back. Father was still probably enthusiastically making advances towards his mother while the queen sat stone-faced and judged her husband. 

He folded another piece of paper from the stack beside him into a paper airplane. Each piece was bent with precision, using the back of his claw to give it crisp creases. He stacked it in his growing pile of cranes, dragons, fortune tellers, and many, many paper airplanes.

The demon below him, pug-nosed with dark red skin, was whimpering. Mobei-Jun sighed a long stream of frosty breath that misted and swirled around him like dragon smoke.

“Finished,” he asked. Stated. Same difference.

The demon nodded, almost slamming its head down into the ground with how vigorously its head was bobbing. Mobei-Jun waved his hand and went back to folding important brokerage agreements. He really hated paperwork.

He heard him before he saw him. Shang Qinghua was noisy with everything he did, a total mess of a human who never shut up. But Shang Qinghua should never have to shut up. Mobei-Jun liked his voice. 

“Let’s see, if I carry the three and transfer half the payments to the upper west side then… but what if the new lord rejects the law? Well, I suppose I could… yeah, and if that doesn’t work my King can always intervene, so we should be fine there…” Shang Qinghua shuffled through his mess of papers and scribbled some indecipherable note down in the corner of his yellowed log book. He tucked the thin brush back into his bun in lieu of a pin. 

The peak lord slowly made his way up the steps, concentration fully on his own calculations with only a smidgen of consciousness left for outside activities like breathing and walking. When he reached Mobei-Jun’s throne he plopped down on the chair next to it (Mobei-Jun had it built specifically for his human fairly recently), crossing his ankles and settling in with a sigh. He pulled his attention away from his various calculations to glance at his king.

Were those differential equations Mobei-Jun saw in his book? Did Shang Qinghua just do all that calculus in his head? Were those… oh lord, were those statistics? Mobei-Jun was practically purring. Finally his human seemed to be reciprocating his own shows of power. Shang Qinghua must understand what he meant with all those demon heads, then.

Shang Qinghua’s eyes caught on the growing pile of open envelopes and the even higher tower of precariously stacked folded papers.

“My king…”

“Hm.” Mobei-Jun grunted.

“What are those?” Shang Qinghua pointed at Mobei-Jun’s stack of paper airplanes. Mobei-Jun picked one up at aimed at a column. It flew straight and true, burying halfway into the marble pillar. 

“Paper airplanes.” He picked up another airplane and threw it, this time at a painting of his uncle. It buried itself in his eye. 

Shang Qinghua tilted his head, cautiously reaching out and taking one from the top of the pile. He threw it lackadaisically and it fluttered in spirals back down to the ground. Mobei-Jun handed him another one. Shang Qinghua looked a little surprised but took it, unfolding it and looking at what it was made of. He shot up.

“My king, this is a marriage offer!” He walked around Mobei-Jun’s throne and over to the tower of cranes, taking another from the stack. He unfolded it and looked at Mobei-Jun incredulously.

“...Are these all marriage offers? My king, have you been folding up potential connections with kingdoms and turning them into-- what do you call these?”

“Paper airplanes. Some of them are treaties.” On Mobei-Jun’s face was no remorse. “I’m not interested.”

“...”

In Shang Qinghua’s eyes, there were so many things wrong with what Mobei-Jun had just said that he didn’t know how to begin processing it. He looked down at the paper he had unfolded. Folded it back up. 

“Okay.” A pause, and then. “Okay, yeah. This is fine.”

And he placed the crane right back on top of the tower, curled back up with his book, and kept running calculations. Mobei-Jun kept making paper airplanes out of important documents. The room was filled with the sounds of shuffling paper. 

Mobei-Jun stumbled into Shang Qinghua’s bedroom with yet another wound. At this point, he would be lying if he said he maybe wasn’t properly dodging certain blows. He surely avoided the big ones, the ones which would be truly problematic, but sometimes he let himself be just a single beat too slow. Just enough for a nasty gash. And then he’d behead whoever or whatever it was that had the audacity to challenge him (Even during those many instances when he-- in fact-- was the one who instigated the fight). Not that he acknowledged that he did so to either Shang Qinghua or himself.

Sometimes Mobei-Jun just liked his human to fuss over his king. But you didn’t hear that from him.

So he popped out of the portal, into a bedroom, and right in front of a low-lying table with two peak lords working very vigorously on a stack of paperwork. Shang Qinghua looked up at him, took in the red oozing down his side and let out a little, “Oh fuck, my King.”

The other little human, pretty in a sharp, foxlike way, shot to his feet. He brandished his ink brush like a weapon and, after recognizing the man, Mobei-Jun realized it well could be in his hands. Shen Yuan. Who else would be so close to Shang Qinghua.

Mobei-Jun uttered a little thank you to whatever gods sent user Peerless Eggplant his way. The author had answered so many of those endlessly annoying queries and made it so explicitly canon that no, QingYuan was not an item this is a completely straight novel Eggplant where would you even get that idea, that he didn’t feel an inkling of jealousy at seeing the two so close together. He had literally dictated it to be impossible in this world, à la insistence of a certain hyper fan. If anything, he was completely fine with meeting Shang Qinghua’s friends. Not ecstatic but. Fine. 

Shang Qinghua obviously did not feel the same.

“A-Yuan, put down the brush-- no, no, put it down! Put down the sigil! This is him! This is the guy!” Shang Qinghua was simultaneously trying to talk Shen Yuan down while actively grabbing Mobei-Jun’s shoulders and directing him straight towards the nearest closet. Mobei-Jun didn’t move, peering curiously at the man. Slick ponytail, white and green robes with bamboo embroidery (One could never accuse the great writer Mo Bei of underutilizing or being subtle with his motifs), emerald green eyes which seemed to bore into his very soul. Very intimidating.

“What are you two doing,” Mobei-Jun rumbled. 

Shen Yuan ignored him. “This is the man you waxed poetry about? A demon ?” But all the same, he lowered the brush and let the sigil he had hastily painted go up in flames.

“A-Yuan! Martial Bro! Look at him! And my King, truly you must sit down. No no, over here. On my bed, my King. Be careful not to jostle your side to much, here, let me staunch the-- Okay, yes, I hear you dear A-Yuan! Yes, this is Mobei-Jun. And we will continue this discussion after we are done here. ”

Shen Yuan floated around the table, gliding up to Mobei-Jun’s side with his fan obscuring his face. He observed him silently, almost as if trying to analyze him through his features alone. The demon didn’t care. He focused on Shang Qinghua’s hand which held a cloth to his gash, steady and sure despite his flailing attempts at chattering at both Mobei-Jun and Shen Yuan simultaneously. His human was so sweet when he was absolutely freaking the fuck out. Mobei-Jun pet him on the head, disregarding Qinghua’s weak attempts to pull away and his sidelong glances at Shen Yuan, who gazed upon them judgmentally. 

“Where do you even get all these wounds, my king? Is it your uncle again? I was informed that he was out on a diplomatic mission with the eastern rulers…”

“No. Moonlight Eclipse Lion. This Mobei-Jun fought and killed it, but there was a second one nearby.” He sat straight, regally, and decided to show off. Just a little. “Both heads wait for you in the palace, mounted and stuffed.”

Shang Qinghua gave a confused smile, pinching the sides of his gash closed. “Okay, freeze it my King.” He said. Mobei-Jun reached over and lightly touched his side, letting frost knit over the now thin red line of the wound until it was sealed shut. His human began dabbing a thick layer of healing cream over the wound. 

“I-- You know what? Thank you, my King. I’ll be sure to look at and admire the heads soon.”

He preened at his accomplishments. Mobei-Jun glanced at Shen Yuan, ready to see the man absolutely jealous over how Shang Qinghua was lucky enough to get two whole lion heads in a day. 

He didn’t look that impressed. 

Mobei-Jun shrugged it off. He had basically written Shen Yuan as expressionless anyways, what did he care. The man was probably letting it simmer deep inside, just like everything else he refused to express. 

“And so then I’m thinking that instead of making the mysterious figure his long lost sister, what if I make it his long lost lover? It’ll change a few dynamics but I feel like it’ll add so much more tragedy to the story, you know?” Shang Qinghua paced the room, hands wildly gesticulating and trying to abstractly map out his every point. Over his shoulders was slung a thick black cloak, one which he had been wearing when Mobei-Jun arrived. It was far too long for him and dragged across the ground where for him it would skim the ankles of Mobei-Jun’s boots.

He had turned red and tried to shrug it off, but Mobei-Jun insisted he keep it on, off-handedly mentioning that he “liked how it looked on Shang Qinghua.” That seemed to be what sealed the deal. So Shang Qinghua was still wearing it, and even from his perch on the kitchen table. He liked it.

“But on the other hand, I’d hate to have to get rid of Lady Fa Han’s character after working so hard on it… It’s just so hard to fit all my ideas into one book without them all rubbing against it other! It’s so frustrating!”

Mobei-Jun was absolutely enraptured, hanging off of his every word. Any outsider wouldn’t exactly recognize the expression on his face, but he himself would aptly describe it as ‘Shang Qinghua is a brilliant writer with brilliant ideas and I absolutely love the worlds he creates.’

“Make them the same person?” He suggested. A bit risqué, but he had a pretty good grasp on Shang Qinghua’s apparent audience. He was fairly sure they wouldn’t mind. 

Shang Qinghua stopped in his tracks and spun to face Mobei-Jun. The cloak he had been wearing slipped down his shoulders and curled around his lifted forearms, leaving his upper body and lightly layered robes exposed. Mobei-Jun appreciatively raked his eyes down his human's loose hair and thin white inner robes, the cloak coyly leaving his thin waist and legs covered. Was it getting hot in here?

“My king, you were… listening?” He squeaked. His cheeks flushed a pretty, dusty rose, eyes uncertain but simultaneously filled with just a bit of wonder. Mobei-Jun tilted his head and nodded, blinking slowly at his human.

“Always.”

“Always?”

“Mm.”

Shang Qinghua shrugged the cloak back over his shoulders and pulled a corner of the cloak upwards as if to hide his widening grin. Perhaps a habit adopted from Shen Yuan? Mobei-Jun didn’t like it, he wanted to see Shang Qinghua smile. He didn’t say that though. The demon had some modicum of self-control.

“And you think that Lady Fa Han--”

“Can be both the sister and the lover. It’s not very uncommon for certain kinds of demons.”

Shang Qinghua seemed to think about it, letting the fabric drop from his face and tilting his head upwards to look at the ceiling of his home. Mulling over it, an epiphany suddenly washed over him. The march over to Mobei-Jun was short but swift and he reached down to grasp Mobei-Jun’s hand from his lap, pulling it upwards to his chest like it was something precious. 

“My king, you are an absolute genius.” He dropped the hand and twirled away again, racing back to his pacing as if him walking was what kept his stream of thought going. Mobei-Jun brought his hand back to himself and looked at it with a small kind of wonder. 

Ah. It was so warm.

“You’re a genius! That not only doubles the tragedy, but it all ties together that loose narrative I had back in chapter thirty! And the scandal, oh my god! Wait ‘til I tell Cucumber-bro about this, he is going to lose his fucking shit!” The stream of words slowed uncertainly and the vigor in them weakened a little. He bowed his head reluctantly. 

“Ah, my apologies my king. This servant did not mean to be so vulgar in your presence.”

“This Mobei-Jun does not mind. Shang Qinghua should be able to speak freely around me.” It’s not like Mobei-Jun hadn’t heard worse in his lifetime. 

“It’s just… not many people listen to this servant’s when he speaks of his stories. I hadn’t realized that you…”

“Not true. People and demons alike read and enjoy your literature. You have a strong fanbase among the castle maids.”

“And my king?”

“I occasionally read Shang Qinghua’s works. Both early and later.”

“And you didn’t mind the genre switch? From action stories to more-- different kind of action stories?”

“Shang Qinghua does both genres well. You combine both sex and adventure impressively in the narrative. This Mobei-Jun respects your work.”

Were those… were those tears? Was Shang Qinghua crying? Had Mobei-Jun hurt him some way?

He panicked a little, his mouth tightening into a frown. He made a move to stalk forward and grab Shang QInghua, maybe shake him and demand the man to tell him what’s wrong, but Shang Qinghua beat him to the chase. The man rushed forward, paused, and then tentatively hugged Mobei-Jun. When Mobei-Jun didn’t reject him, he tightened his grip. Mobei-Jun ran his hand down his human’s back. Shang Qinghua was sobbing.

“Oh my god I can’t believe… I can’t believe I’ve found a fan! Who’s willing to admit they’re a fan! My king, you’re brilliant! Incredible! Amazing!”

…

Damn right he was.

Today Shang Qinghua was back doing his An Ding Peak Lord thing away from Mobei-Jun’s palace, meaning he was stuck in this extremely awkward situation alone. 

You see, Sha-Hualing’s father had come to visit Linguang-Jun. They were old war buddies who occasionally chat and challenged and violently fought each other. And the demon saint always insisted on bringing his daughter along with him, the same way a pair of moms try to force their kids together and insist that they become friends while the grown-ups talk.

But it was awkward moreso because Linguang-Jun was not-so-subtly suggesting that Sha Hualing ought to poison Mobei-Jun’s food or kill him in his sleep and the like. Stuff uncles typically shouldn’t be saying.

While the “adults” chat, Sha Hualing lounged on a couch and filed her nails. She blew on them occasionally, checking them here and there and testing them against the wood to see how deeply she could score it with her claws. Mobei-Jun was seated on another chair, a book in front of him. Pretty quiet, save for the clashes of blades and roaring demons in the distance. 

“Your uncle’s an asshole, you know that?” Sha Hualing said suddenly. Mobei-Jun glanced up from his book.

“En.”

“I mean, I understand overthrowing relatives and usurping the throne. I get it, I really do. I plan to do it myself one day, I think it’s a pretty noble idea. My own father even encourages it. I’ll place myself upon the throne as king one day, just as my father did and my grandmother did before.”

“Mmhm.”

“But… Your Uncle’s being a major dick about it, right? Like, I just got here and he’s already trying to kill you again. Give a guy a break when guests are over, am I right? Or like, get the balls to approach your rival head-on.”

“Mm.”

Sha Hualing pushed herself upwards and curled up like a cat sitting on its haunches. 

“You’re not really one for talking, are you?”

“Mn.”

Hualing huffed and pulled her braids behind her in a knot, flouncing over to his side. “You’re kinda boring in person, y’know that?” She tipped his book back with a finger, looking over the edge of it and straight into his eyes. “Wanna fight? You wanna just wreck some shit?” She got closer and licked her lips. “You ever get that urge to see things burn ?”

Mobei-Jun jutted an elbow out, pushing her away and pulling his book closer. It was a good book. He wanted to finish it.

She gave a squawk of protest that was quickly smoothed over into a faux moan. 

“Oh my, already moving on to beatings? Aren’t you going a little fast, Mobei-Jun~”

He lashed out with his foot, kicking at her knees while still keeping the majority of his concentration on the story. He was getting to the good part, where Sha Bingbing was about to destroy the crystal skull and rescue her fifth husband. Hualing wasn’t about to distract him.

She nimbly skirted around the kick, dancing between the ice spears Mobei-Jun conjured and chucked at her, tiptoeing and limboing through the barrage of ice arrows. The whole time she laughed in her bell-like voice, constantly chattering about her latest accomplishments on the battlefield or her newest robes or her latest conquest in bed. 

Mobei-Jun finally admitted defeat, having been forced to reread the same exact line twenty-five times.

“What do you want.” He dropped his attacks and glared at her. She flung herself back onto the couch, a light blush covering her cheeks from exertion. Her lips widened into a thoroughly charming smile, her cheeks dimpled.

“I wanted you to pay attention to me.” Her voice was full of frivolous laughter. Mobei-Jun stood up, angry, ready to actually throw down. 

 “Now, now. No need for that, I just got in my morning workout. Let a girl rest before the second round, tiger.” 

“Go away.”

“No way.” She made a show of crossing her legs and stretching, her back arching. “I heard from a little birdie that the great Mobei-Jun picked up a human mate, is that right?”

He stiffened. “What bird.”

“Ah, the ones that flit around your halls. The ones which see you following in his steps like a whipped dog. What’s up with that, Mobei? Can I call you Mobei?”

“No.” 

“I think I will. Like I was saying, it’s curious that a big demon like you would pick a little thing like him. I mean, I’d be the first to admit that cultivators have a certain allure to them, they’re pretty toys. But a mate?” She gasped, hand fluttering. “Scandalous.”

He didn’t like that tone. Mobei-Jun sized her up, vaguely wondering how many hits it would take to kill her. She was a small thing, little more than half his size, but he also knew that she was far more agile and full of venom than he. He could take her, but the wounds afterwards would be nasty. But Mobei-Jun’s first and foremost interest was that protection of Shang Qinghua, and with the gods as he witness, he would not let her lay a jeweled finger on him or his sect. She seemed to sense his train of thought. 

“Oh no, believe me. I don’t want the hamster. It’s just that there’s nothing interesting going on here in the upper echelons. It’s all, ‘oh, he cheated on her’ and ‘oh, she stabbed him’ and, to be frank, you’re by far the most interesting piece of royalty around these parts. So come on, Mobei. I know you’re not in the habit of--,” She vaguely twirled her hand in the air, “--speaking, but do me a favor. As a guest?” 

Hualing fluttered her eyelashes. “I wanna know all the juicy details. Trust me to be the most silent of all confidantes, I’ll be the spider which kills the birds. So c’mon Mobei. Spill. I know you want to.” 

He did want to. But also Sha Hualing was a bitch. And really untrustworthy, she hadn’t really done anything to dissuade that notion. Mobei-Jun glared at her. Sighing, she signed a cross in the air. Where her nail dragged, fire followed. An x floated between them, lit up with bright orange flame. Mobei-Jun recoiled just a little from the heat. She rolled her eyes and clenched her fist, the x disappearing. 

“Cross my heart, hope to die. Nothing you say will leave this room.” 

A binding contract. Great. Mobei-Jun settled back into the couch, a little more relaxed. 

“So you gonna start talking, handsome? There’s gotta be something you need to get off your chest.” 

Actually, there was. 

“Linguang-Jun is a bitch. I want to kill him as soon as possible, but my father stands in my way. I can’t afford to disrespect my uncle while Father’s still in charge.” 

She blinked. “...Wow. Yeah, that works. Keep going. I wanna know everything.” 

It had been a long day. God, had the day been long. He ruffled a hand through his hair in a self-soothing gesture, massaging the back of his neck and glaring at the stack of papers he had left to go through. Unfortunately, these were important enough that he couldn’t turn them into more little origami animals. One hand reached out for an inkstone and crushed it into dust. He added a little water to it and stirred, starting on a new column with his brush. Reviewing mandates, checking off new territories, sending in reinforcements, redirecting supply lines, hundreds of decisions to be made. 

His head felt like cotton. He wanted a nap. He could feel his eyes sliding closed and he slapped himself across the cheek, attempting to wake himself back up. It wasn’t a gentle slap. Jerking awake, he restarted writing with a vengeance. These documents absolutely needed to be done-- he yawned-- done by tomorrow… 

He woke back up a few minutes later. What he presumed to be a few minutes later. 

Goddammit.

Playing with braid, he pulled his whole mass of hair into a low ponytail that he tied off with a black ribbon. Back to the gallows. He wiped away the ink which had been dripping from his unused brush and began anew. Let’s see, this paper, it needed him to read and sign it? Contracts. The bane of Mobei-Jun’s life. He started wading through the jargon, trying to pick up on the loopholes stuck into it to trick him. If he caught more than two, someone’s head was going to be on a pike tomorrow.  

The words were swimming before him. None of it made sense anymore. What time was it? What day was it? He tried to check the date on his system, but all he got was the message [System is currently down between hours 1 am to 5 am, taking a long-deserved rest after nannying your pathetic ass for--] He closed the system. Was coffee a thing in this world? It had to be. He couldn’t remember if he wrote it, but he didn’t remember writing Xanax and Viagra and they definitely existed, if under different names.  

And if caffeine existed in this world, who would know better than Shang Qinghua, all-nighter-extraordinaire? 

Mobei-Jun stumbled out from behind his desk, steadying himself on his large oak chair. He shuffled out into and through the halls like a zombie, finally arriving in front of his human’s doors. He had promoted Shang Qinghua from servant’s quarters to far more spacious and comfortable guest bedrooms around the same time he had presented the first head of a monster. Without knocking, Mobei-Jun walked in.

Shang Qinghua was sprawled across at least five layers of fur hide and three down quilts, lightly snoring. Beautiful. He almost didn’t want to wake him. 

Mobei-Jun roughly shook his shoulder and the man jerked awake, rolling off his bed and freeing his sword from underneath his pillows. One hand sleepily rubbed his eyes while the other held the blade towards his presumed attacker as Shang Qinghua summoned his best imitation of a defensive position. Mobei-Jun watched him, amused. But mostly just tired. 

“Shang Qinghua. Do you have five-hour energy?”

His human slowly began to wake up. “Five-hour… what?” The tip of the sword dropped from Mobei-Jun’s face to the ground. The poor thing was then carelessly kicked under the bed by its owner.

“Caffeine. Things that humans use to stay awake longer. They work for demons too.” Probably.

The cultivator clambered back onto the bed, sitting cross-legged and looking up at his demon. Adorable. Everything this man did made the demon want to swoon. Mobei-Jun swayed on his feet. Qinghua took in the deep bags under his eyes.

“My king, when’s the last time you slept?”

“Demons don’t need sleep. We are not weak like humans.”

“Of course not, my king. Now, when’s the last time you slept?”

“...A week ago?” He wasn’t sure. Shang Qinghua paled.

“A week?”

“Does Qinghua have coffee or not.”

Shang Qinghua slid off the bed and reached up to grab him by the shoulders. He pulled his king gently downward and his king followed his lead. Shang Qinghua smiled sleepily. Mobei-Jun was now sitting on the bed next to his human. 

“Whaddya need to do right now that requires you to be awake?”

“Contracts. Treaties. Documents.”

 Shang Qinghua hummed sympathetically. “Yeah, I understand, my king. They’re a lot to go through, aren’t they?”

 “En.”

 “Well then, why don’t we just leave the documents for tomorrow? I’m sure they’ll still be on your desk then.” His low voice was soothing. Seriously not helping Mobei-Jun shake off his sleepiness. Mobei-Jun tried to shrug off his hand on his shoulder and stand back up, maybe rummage through the servants quarters and nab some of their sugar pills. He wanted these documents done as soon as possible, he was sick of them. 

 His human gently pulled off his heavy cloak, then lifted his demon’s arms and manually tugged off his coat. Mobei-Jun let the cultivator’s slow fingers fumble through untying his multiple layers until he was down to a thin inner robe and pants, casting the rest off the side of the bed. He wasn’t sure why he was letting the human do this. 

 Qinghua pulled him towards the bed more until he was lying down. Mobei-Jun was completely weak to his human’s whims.

 "My king, come on. You can take a break.”

 He shook his head. “Can’t.”

 Shang Qinghua clambered onto his chest, tucking his face into the crook of Mobei-Jun’s neck. “Can. Will.”  He huffed a warm breath against Mobei-Jun’s ear and nosed his shoulder, now half on top of the demon lord. Each hand went out to embrace his broad chest.

 Mobei-Jun gave a slow blink. staring upwards at the canopy. He needed… what did he need again? The constant soft breaths against his neck and the beat of his heart against the demon’s body were distracting. But in a good way, maybe. One of Shang Qinghua’s hands went up, slowly petting him the way that Mobei-Jun so often patted Shang Qinghua. His hand smoothed over the top of his head and through his hair repetitively. Mobei-Jun could feel a purr building in his chest.

 “Sleep, my king.”

 Somewhere in the back of Mobei-Jun’s mind reminded him that humans get cold. Slowly, ever so slowly, he inched an arm out, nabbing the nearest free cover and tugging it over them. Shang Qinghua sighed, arms tightening around his demon. Mobei-Jun responded in kind, placing a broad hand across the cultivator’s lower back, rubbing it lazily. He fell asleep to the soft sighs of the human as he snuggled closer.
The Day Before the Abyss

 Mobei-Jun was irritated, to say the least. How was he supposed to know that the runty Black Moon Rhinocerous Python he had hunted and eaten a few weeks ago was actually an integral plot point to bringing the scum villain down into the abyss?

 A niggling, traitorous voice in the back of his head reminded him that he had literally written the story. The demon lord swatted the voice aside, unwilling to claim any sort of culpability for the plot going astray. 

 Ahem. Let’s try that again. How was he supposed to know? 

 He only became aware of it the moment he had torn a bite off that juicy blue slab of meat. The system had rang in its snooty voice [- B points for removal of vital plot point in <<The Scum Villain’s Descent.>> Reminder: Failure for Luo Binghe to descend into the abyss will result in a loss of 10,000 B points. Complimentary System Input: You done fucked up.]

 Mobei Jun glared at the silver ring from which the voice emitted. He was half tempted to just freeze and shatter it.

 [Reminder: Damage of bound object will result in immediate termination of account and return to the original world. The one where the customer was electrocuted to death because he spilled some ramen. System Input: I embrace death. Do you?]

 One day, this demon lord would track down the programmers of this world and burn them alive.

 And so that’s why he had to do the dirty work himself. He had killed the smallest Black Moon Rhinocerous Python around, and he didn’t want to risk getting anything too big which could kill Shen Qingqiu before Luo Binghe was pushed down into the abyss.

 Well, worst comes to worst, he could always throw the little rat down himself.

 So he gave Shang Qinghua fair warning about the abyss opening at the conference (Not mentioning that he would involve himself in the fiasco), packed up a snack, and opened a portal to the Northwest side of the Jue Di Gorge. He burst out of the void with fanfare, sword out and posed, regally tossing his hair over his shoulder. 

 Luo Binghe wasn’t there. The abyss had opened, but Luo Binghe had failed to appear. 

 Mobei-Jun looked around at his empty surroundings, sending out a bit of demonic energy to see if he could sense anybody. Literally anybody. Nobody was around. The place was empty of all cultivators. He had prepared a fancy entrance for himself, prepared the fury of heaven and hell together because if he was going to be a major plot point, he was going to be a major plot point, and nobody showed up.

 “System.”

 [...Yeah?]

 “Where is the character Luo Binghe.”

 [He’s supposed to be here, big-shot. You tell me.]

 “He is supposed to be here. So where is he.”

 [You really want me to check? Ugghhh…(calculating...calculating...)]

 [...Oh.]

 [Oh fuck. God, she’s here too. Fuck.]

 “What.”

 [Head to Latitude:N 42° 26.0854' Longitude:W 83° 59.0969'. This system will admit a minor error in the system, so a new abyss will be opened at this location. This system thanks the customer for the continued patronage!]

 Mobei-Jun shook his head. He wasn’t ready for the weird mood swings of this worthless piece of hardware. 

 He pulled up the system’s version of google maps, a bonus author-only feature, and entered the coordinates given. Head southeast, then. What a pain. He was going to absolutely wreck the training room when he got home. Maybe he’d invite Sha Hualing over for a quick spar. Maybe he’d just show up directly at her home and challenge her. 

 He tore a quick hole through the fabric of the universe and stepped through, popping up in front of another abyss. 

 Here he was.

 Shang Qinghua was the first thing that caught his eye. He frowned. Hadn’t he warned his human about the abyss opening today? The man should have hidden away in the depths of his peak. No matter. Amongst the many gifts he had given Shang Qinghua, one had been a pendant which would immediately transport him back to the guest bedrooms of his palace. All it needed was a wave of a hand, and Shang QInghua would disappear. Safe and sound once more.

 Now then. He barely spared Shen Qingqiu a glance. Good, the peak lord was there to push Binghe down. Hopefully then Mobei-Jun wouldn’t earn the full wrath of this boy whenever he crawled out of the abyss. Just a little bit of anger for what he was about to do.

 He stared down at the boy, the beast, which had caused him so much trouble. Luo Binghe. His own little monster. 

 Maybe he should be kinder to his wayward son, but… Mobei-Jun was an author, not a father. He wasn’t in charge of a conceptual being. 

 Luo Binghe’s brow had creased and his shoulders hunched up. He was slowly walking backward towards a cave, tugging the peak lord’s sleeve with his thumb and forefinger.

 Shen Qingqiu was unmoved. His face had paled, his mouth had parted ever so slightly. Mobei-Jun’s eyes narrowed. 

 “Mobei-Jun.” The peak lord of Qing Jing breathed.

 Oh. That wasn’t Shen Qingqiu, was it? Mobei-Jun had never met that prodigal son of his. Shen Qingqiu wouldn't know who he was.

It must be Shen Yuan.

 Luo Binghe was freaking out. He was looking to the abyss, to Mobei-Jun, to Shen Yuan, to the abyss. 

 When Mobei-Jun moved to speed up this whole process and unseal Binghe as soon as possible, Shen Yuan blocked him. Annoying. He had no particular affection for the ice princess. He summoned a spear to put Shen Yuan out of commission. Shen Yuan was useless in this situation. Mobei-Jun would have to do this himself, then.

 Luo Binghe jumped in front of Shen Yuan, desperate to protect the man. A sword lashed out and hit the crystal at its tip exactly, fracturing and shattering the ice spear.

 That wasn’t right either. Luo Binghe hadn’t been there when the abyss opened. Luo Binghe shouldn’t be this strong yet. Luo Binghe should hate Shen Yuan almost as much as he hated Shen Qingqiu. Mobei-Jun hummed to himself. There were too many things going wrong right now, things Mobei-Jun was certain he hadn’t caused. And there was an obvious common factor in this situation.

 “System.”

 [Yes, dear valued customer? How can this system help you today?]

 “What was the error.”

 [This System failed to account for the presence of system H2GB lite within the premises, connected to avatar Luo_Binghe. Sincerest apologies, dear customer~]

 Oh, that explained so much.

 In the meantime, Binghe, or at least the man who masqueraded as Binghe, fought with Shen Yuan. Both were arguing over who would get to sacrifice their lives first, it seemed. Shen Yuan's face was fiercely protective, like a tiger protecting her cubs. Binghe looked more like a little puppy yet to grow into a guard dog, yapping at his master. Mobei-Jun interrupted. He wanted to speak directly to this brother transmigrator.

 “You are the Qing Jing Peak disciple then?”

 “Cang Qiong Mountain Sect’s Qing Jing Peak disciple, Luo Binghe, greeting your excellency.”

 The kid didn't miss a beat, as if he was straight out of a textbook xianxia setting. Must be an old transmigrator, probably someone like Mobei-Jun who was forced into this world during his early childhood. Apologies, brother transmigrator. This Mobei-Jun would love to stay and chat, but he places his own health and B points above yours. 

 “A cultivator of both realms. Immortal, yet not immortal. Demonic, yet not demonic. Interesting.”

Binghe braced himself for battle, and so did Shen Yuan. Again the two squabbled. Mobei-Jun zoned out, only catching back up to the conversation at the mention of battle. Quaint. Did this transmigrator not read the books? Didn’t he know Mobei-Jun was far stronger than either Shen Yuan or Luo Binghe at this point?

 “Do battle with me? Fine. Let’s see whether the master and disciple’s actions can match their words.”

 When the transmigrator freaked out at Mobei-Jun trying to kill Shen Yuan, he was surprised. It seemed like the kid had gotten a little too far with his attachments to the characters of this world. Their battle was short but invigorating, the look in Binghe's eyes nothing short of bloodlust and hot fury. At that look, shivers went down his spine. This may be a different man, but he definitely had the makings of a demon overlord.

And later, when he saw that look in Shen Yuan eyes, the way his eyes flickered between the demonic Binghe and the abyss, he knew his work here was done. Shen Yuan was reliable in the end, unexpectedly. He could trust that a former slave like Shen Yuan wouldn’t let a demon remain in Cang Qiong at the risk of his and his brother’s status. He turned on his heel, habitually twisted the ring on his thumb. Then he walked to the edge of the abyss and straight over it. 

Shang Qinghua had refused to speak to him for a month after the abyss quest. Mobei-Jun would be lying if he said he didn’t panic at least a little. When he appeared in Shang Qinghua’s rooms, the man went straight out the door. When he appeared next to a Shang Qinghua working, the man ignored his presence. The palace was quiet in a way it hadn’t been for years. 

Mobei-Jun hated it.

And when they finally did speak, when Shang Qinghua yelled at him for proving Shen Yuan’s guesses and predictions about Binghe right, for forcing the Peak Lord to push his favorite disciple down into the abyss, Mobei-Jun did something he hadn’t done in his entire life. He bowed his head before his human and apologized. He apologized for the mourning period which had swept across Qing Jing Peak, for the rising discourse between Shen Qingqiu and Shen Yuan. For the loss of a beloved student of Cang Qiong, a boy whom even Shang Qinghua had grown somewhat affectionate of. He apologized for hurting Shen Yuan and, by extensions, hurting Shang Qinghua.

Delicately tiptoeing through strung-together sentences as if avoiding a landmine, Mobei-Jun stumblingly explained that he couldn’t tell Shang Qinghua why it had to happen, just that it did. To please, trust this Mobei-Jun. There are powers greater than himself and fates to be fulfilled. Though he is a demon lord, he cannot always promise protection. Shang Qinghua’s face softened, some anger from his face fading. 

His words were tired, as if the weight of the world had finally fallen from his shoulders. “You sound just like A-Yuan right now, you know that? Talking about fate and destiny. Nothing is set in stone, my king.” 

 3 years later

They were in the palace when the ground began to tremble.

Mobei-Jun stopped smothering Shang Qinghua in love and affection for a moment (In his terms. Shang Qinghua would just say that Mobei-Jun was smiling ever-so-slightly at him. But Shang Qinghua would also say this excitedly and with a hint of wonder). He looked up at the doors which led to the throne room, stepping away from his human and reaching for the wall. From the frozen pillars that spiraled upwards, a black spear formed. He broke it off from the wall at its tip, a clean-cut which left the head of the spear as sharp as glass.

The doors slammed open, mist and black qi pouring in from the entrance. Green eyes glinted high in the fog, red eyes glowed below them. Luo Binghe, that scum villain of this novel, strolled in, a small white cat perched upon his shoulder. It growled in a baritone far lower than any normal feline. Luo Binghe grinned, canines sharpening as he spoke. 

“This Luo Binghe greets your Excellency and formally challenges him.” He tossed his wild hair over his shoulder and gracefully unsheathed his sword with a flourish. He was the sort of man to go straight to business, it seemed. Mobei-Jun wasn’t sure if the overwhelming power originated from Binghe, from the sword, or some hellish combination of the two. 

Mobei-Jun nodded succinctly and watched out of the corner of his eye as Shang Qinghua panicked, looking between Mobei-Jun and this extremely powerful heavenly demon and back at his King. Mobei-Jun whipped his fur-lined cloak off his shoulders, tossing it at Shang Qinghua. 

“Put it away.” He ground out. Shang Qinghua seemed to understand and reluctantly fled the room, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Mobei-Jun before he left. The demon king held his spear outwards and in an offensive position. Luo Binghe's gaze trailed after Shang Qinghua and his shoulders were rigid. He and Luo Binghe’s eyes met. The cat, a little ball of white fluff, leaped off his shoulder and sauntered into a corner of the room, curling up for a nap.  

The demon transmigrator in front of him grew into something beastly. His demonic seal glowed, his black claws elongated and sharpened. Binghe snarled and rushed Mobei-Jun. Mobei-Jun twitched a finger and sent hundreds of spiraling black ice spears his way. Binghe blocked them with a wave of qi, shattering them in the air and sending them splintering down. 

Their ensuing battle lasted three days and nights. Nothing in the throne room remained at its end beside Luo Binghe and Mobei-Jun alone.

Chapter Text

Binghe’s sword pinned Mobei-Jun to the ground, the tip levelled at his heart. He pressed it down deeper and observed how Mobei-Jun, worn and panting on the ground, still refused to yield. Binghe’s own sweat-slicked bangs stuck to his forehead, the only thing keeping him standing being adrenaline, raw fury, and just a touch of curiosity.

He leaned down over the Northern King, forcing his blade to sheathe itself deeper into Mobei-Jun’s chest. The demon beneath him gave a muffled groan. Luo Binghe sneered. Pathetic. Beaten in three days. He’d been in battles in the abyss that lasted far longer.

“So, your excellency. Are you happy now? This disciple took your advice and took a dive in the endless abyss for a few years, just like a real demon. I even practiced a bit with my demonic cultivation.” He spoke softly, one side of his mouth quirked upwards. “But you know, that begs the question, doesn’t it? Why would the great Mobei-Jun want a powerful rival? Isn’t that something a king like you with kingdom to protect would want to avoid?” 

Mobei-Jun was silent. 

“So why did you unseal the demon side? I could have led a normal cultivator’s life, been a normal human for the rest of my life.”  His calm, mocking voice gradually raised from its lilting tones to a thundering roar, all that he had suppressed coming out at once. Years of fear, of grief, of love and loss and pure, unadulterated fury emerged, echoing around the vast chamber. “I could have lived and loved . But because you meddled you destroyed any chance I had of a normal life with--,” he stumbled over his words, gasped, “--with Shen Yuan! Shizun! You ruined everything !” 

“...”

Mobei-Jun’s already pale skin had turned ashen. He was shaking.

Not trembling with fear, but with anger.

“Shen Yuan.” He whispered under his breath, incredulous. As if Mobei-Jun couldn’t believe that this Luo Binghe’s grievances could all be sourced back to a single man. His brows furrowed, recalling age old information.

The demon looked him straight in the face, black eyes filling with a certain sort of horror. A deeply-rooted, eldritch horror that spoke of years of suffering. He seemed to age by ten years. 

“You’re Peerless Eggplant.” He asked. Stated. Definitely accused.

With just three words, Binghe’s entire world had been flipped on its head. He hadn’t heard that ID handle in years. It was a sudden, unwelcome reminder of life before the abyss, before Shizun, of years in a culinary school filled with the sweet aromas of spices and caffeine-fueled nightmares over unpaid bills. And all of a sudden this demon NPC was saying the name out loud, in public? It felt like an anvil had been dropped on his head. The anger scuttled back to its restless hiding place, pushed back into its cage and temporarily repressed.

“What?” His grip on his sword lightened and he rescinded it a little, causing a new fountain of blood to ooze out from the wound beneath him.

Mobei-Jun hissed, eyes flashing. “You’re fucking Peerless Eggplant . Get out of my home.”

“Wait, who--”

“User ID Icicle Shooting Towards Sky , name is Mo Bei. Get the fuck out of my house before I get up off the ground and break you.” It was as if Mobei-Jun had caught his second wind. He was struggling under Binghe’s foot, bucking in an attempt to topple his opponent and wrestle him to the ground. Binghe hastily stepped off the demon and sheathed his sword, putting his hands up in a peacemaking gesture. Behind him a chandelier, which had hung precariously from the ceiling crashed to the ground, piling itself onto the mountains of plaster and crumbling marble around them.

“You’re a transmigrator? You’re the author ? What are you--”

“Hundreds of messages! Thousands of criticisms! You’re the one who bought the whole stock of Shen Yuan napkins! I had to turn off notifications because of you, I had to change my story because of people like you, I just wanted to write a fucking danmei and what do I get? Fans like you who think they know better than the author! Get out of my house!” 

“Hold on, Mobei-Jun. We need to talk about this--”

“Get out!” He howled, rolling to his feet. He stumbled a bit and caught himself on a weak staff he summoned from from the icy floor. Mobei-Jun painfully hobbled a step towards him, face dark and eyes black.

Luo Binghe mercilessly kicked the cane out from the ground and Mobei-Jun toppled forward. Awkwardly, he caught the taller demon in his hands and dragged him over to a wall, propping him up against it. He had managed to catch hold of his surprise and quiet the emotions which threatened to make their way onto his face. 

“You listen to me here, all right? We’re going to have a long chat about your choices as a demon, and then we’re going to talk about why, exactly, you did these things. And if I like the answers, I’ll let you live. Deal?”

Mobei-Jun gave a rattling cough, but he grasped Luo Binghe’s outstretched hand with bone-breaking strength. He scowled at the half-breed, the fierce anger yet to abate.

“Deal.”

“And how much, exactly, would  failing the Endless Abyss mission cost you? How much would it have cost you not to ruin my entire life?”

“10,000 B points.”

“I…” Binghe hissed in sympathy. Oof. He felt that. “Yeah. Yeah, that sucks. Do I at least get an apology?”

“Only after you apologize to me.”

“...”

“...”

“...So, Shang Qinghua, huh? That’s an interesting pick.”

“Fuck off. He’s my ideal man, not yours.”

“Yeah but… come on, my dude. Shang Qinghua? Really? Out of every character you could possibly create--”

“He surprised me too. I don’t remember writing him like that.”

“Like what? Nervous? Loud? Feral?”

“I was going to say short.”

“That was gonna be my next guess.”

“Fuck off .”

Luo Mei would be the first to tell you that culinary school does not a demon lord make.

But Luo Binghe would speak of his years on Qing Jing Peak with a certain fondness, citing the peak of generals and scholars for the education which made his usurpation and takeover possible. As the top disciple of Qing Jing peak, he had taken advantage of the libraries afforded to him as early as possible. There was not a book on Qing Jing which had not been at least skimmed by Luo Binghe, if not memorized. The audiobook feature on the System’s Spotify-ripoff feature filled up the holes in areas he had less knowledge in, those of infrastructure and economy. And finally, Shang Qinghua made himself invaluable as a Peak Lord of Logistics. Mobei-Jun loomed behind the two with a watchful eye as Luo Binghe coerced the peak lord into walking him through the complex mathematics of running a peak, of running a kingdom. Of storage, organization, distribution, and the finer details of managing an empire. One could call Luo Binghe many names, and he had been called many , but he could not be accused of being sciolistic.

At the defeat and subsequent taming of the legendary Mobei-Jun, a powerhouse of an ice demon, a fearsome opponent whom had yet to be beaten by anyone but his own father, Luo Binghe shot to the top of the playing field in the demon world. 

Luo Binghe took it upon himself to expand his territories in the northern kingdom into an empire. He aimed for the small tribes first, the ones few would miss. It was an insidious takeover plan, to start at the roots and slowly head inwards towards the tree. The northern ogres and frost spirits took his rule gracefully, battle-born tribes who knew a futile war when they saw one. They were the ones who took a look at his legendary sword and cold bloodlust and fell to their knees in prostration, lords reluctantly forking over their rule for the sake of their people. The one tribe which opposed him, the quiet swan demons of the northeast, saw defeat when their matron fell for his honey-sweet words and moved to reside in his castle. She took up the first bedchamber in the east wing of his palace. Those halls were soon filled with similar stories; queens and kings and lords and ladies, demons who vied for the favor of their aloof suitor. To become a member of the court or, even more so, to become a member of his perceived future harem, was highly sought after. Luo Binghe provided for his courtiers and suitors, met with and charmed them, but none had yet to break the icy bachelor’s demeanor. It was as if he were a widower whose heart was still clutched in the lifeless hands of his wife.

His takeover became more aggressive after Sha Hualing arrived at his castle, head held high and wearing the economy of her people in a wealth of rings and necklaces. She was an experienced warlord who had won more battles than many had ever even fought, a demon who headed hundreds of clashes in the hot plains of the west. Refusing to bow, she offered her services as an advisor. In return, she would have this newly arrived Luo Binghe aid her in her takeover of her throne, to make sure there would be absolutely no question to how capable she and her allies were in overthrowing the previous generation of rule. Luo Binghe agreed and the two carved the contract into their forearms, only to fade when the deal had been completed.

He went to war alongside her atop a three-eyed tiger, a highly intelligent but rarely seen beast of the abyss said to be impossible to tame. Behind him trailed an army of demons on horseback, ardent devotion flickering in their merciless faces. Mobei-Jun came to her aid on his own volition, taking down entire legions with waves of ice and later facing his own uncle on the battlefield, for Linguang-Jun had sided with Sha Hualing’s father. Sha Hualing herself danced through the battlefield clad in extraordinary red silks and dripping golden jewelry, as if she were attending a wedding rather than a war. At the end of the month-long crusade, her chiming bells echoed through the empty battlefield, the sonorous tones weaving between corpses and hellfire and craters. Her father had admitted defeat, had bowed his head before her and offered her his crown. The father-and-daughter pair left the battlefield arm-in-arm, already warmly reminiscing about the war.

She bound herself to Luo Binghe as his advisor the very next day, promising a lifetime of devotion and loyalty. The contract on Binghe’s forearm faded, but the one on hers was permanently inked into her skin, promising a little bit of the eternal dedication Binghe craved.

With Sha Hualing at his left hand, silver tongue coaxing him into a new age of ambition, and Mobei-Jun at his right, cold and calculating and unfalteringly level-headed, Luo Binghe’s influence stretched across their world. The demons who did not fall to their knees and offer everything to him felt the acrid burn of defeat. Those whom he had no interest in taking over, ancient empires existing to the southwest with centuries of rule, tribes to the east whose nomadic ways and lack of formally claimed territories did not interest him, the sprawling Ghost City whose only permanent residents were the dead and their mysterious king, were to the most part left to their own affairs. Most, however, were still bound to him through need for resource and diplomatic favor. If he felt the need, he could sever the string that kept water running through the troublesome Rome of the southwest, halt the trade of the crops the eastern nomads needed. 

The losses that came from the last time he touched the Ghost City were too numerous to count, far more than the land and its people were worth. That was the only place he refused to near, and he left it to its own devices. 

Binghe had become the monster nobles worriedly whispered about, eyes nervously flicking over their shoulders to see if he was approaching, face grim and sword in hand, ready to take up a new territory. The peasantry spoke of him in awe, as if he were a god who had emerged from the ether. A Heavenly Demon hadn’t been seen in decades, not since the death of the Southern Emperor Tianlang-Jun. The few who had seen Tianlang-Jun and trembled in his presence hushedly gossipped that this new rising star might even be the prodigal son of the demon realm’s most powerful king from recent centuries. Others laughed at such assumption, relenting that he may be distantly related, but there was absolutely no way that this frigid Luo Binghe was the son of the infamously maiden-hearted Tianlang-Jun. He was far too serious, far too cruel.

Male demons mimicked his mannerisms, trying for his cold and aloof demeanor, attempting the suave tones he spoke in. Female demons began taking on his fashion, the trend of jade guanyin necklaces spreading like wildfire. Young demons swooned in his presence, falling over themselves to earn the mysterious rogue’s favor.

He was feared for his armies, for the wars and destruction he created in his wake, rather than tyranny-- though tyranny was still more than applicable to him. It seemed the emperor Luo Binghe had no interest in actually changing the laws of the demon realm, for better or for worse. Rulers who willingly (or unwillingly) passed on their crown were appointed officials and allowed to continue ruling their territories onwards in much the same way after being conquered by him. 

And if said rulers had either died in war or continued their dissent and died under mysterious circumstances, they were swiftly replaced with ones far more loyal to Luo Binghe and his cause.

And his cause was simply expansion. Power. No plans for the power, just something he wished to hoard as a child does expensive toys, to put on the shelf and admire.

Binghe did not stop his conquest until his treasuries were full to overflowing, until he had entire legions under his direct command and courtiers whose chatter and overflowing praises filled every hall. His palace thrummed with lively balls that the Lord Luo Binghe (He had repeatedly refused the title Emperor, despite the fact that he had technically built himself an empire. It made him uncomfortable for reasons he refused to observe) rarely graced with his presence.

Then he stepped back, looked upon what he had amassed, and felt... hollow. Empty. He was still cold. Xin Mo still whispered to him, hissing that this wasn’t enough. That he needed more. That he deserved it, desired it, demanded it, hungered for it . For that indescribable missing piece of the jigsaw puzzle, the lost fragment that would make him whole and hale once more. 

So he turned his gaze to the heavens, to their sister mortal world, and struck a rift between them. Perhaps what he was missing was humanity, something that didn’t have horns and claws and venom. Perhaps he missed their soft skin and short lifespans and fleeting but overwhelming highs and lows. Perhaps he missed being human.

Five excruciating years after a young disciple and newly born demon had fallen into an abyss, a tear appeared in the middle of a nondescript forest, deep inside the wilderness. To look anywhere but directly at the tear one would see nothing but a slight shimmer in the air, as if the fabric of the universe was wrinkling. To look directly at it was to look at a rip like a claw had shredded through nothing, and it would leave the unfortunate onlooker with a sense of vertigo. Nothing could be seen within the tear. There was no description for the void, no black or white or any color in between. It was merely an absence of light, sucking in everything around it.

Dark, swirling energy chilled the ground around it. Flowers wilted where the miasma was strongest, birdsong was cut short, small forest creatures and larger monsters alike fled for their dens. The entire forest was eerily silent, devoid of life.

A clawed hand emerged, followed by an ashy cloak artfully lined in shining scarlet threads. It looked as if glistening blood had been dripped across the dark cloth in artful flourishes. A curly mane tumbled over an exposed chest, the single scar on his left breast worn proudly, as if it were yet another adornment.

If some wretched soul stumbled upon the scene and did not immediately cower at the blooming sight of the apex predator, if they were able to muster their courage and gaze up at a face chipped from marble, they would see immensely sorrowful eyes lined with thick lashes. Those eyes, though, in combination with his twisted grin and confident poise, gave the impression of an man mired in a veil of wretched madness. It seemed that Lord Luo Binghe’s time in the demon realm had not been kind. 

[Ding~ System welcomes Luo_Binghe back to the human world! 

While you’ve been gone:

Shen_Qingqiu gained +250 Coolness Points

Shen_Yuan gained +200 Harem Points

New Feature! New Feature! New Feature! Shen_Yuan gained +50 Villain Points

Thank you for your continued service~ ☆⌒(ゝ。∂)]

Luo Binghe wandered through the streets of the town he found himself in, one that had been roughly a dozen miles from the place he had chosen. In the distance, Huan Hua Palace stretched towards the sky, the high walls and higher floor count scraping the clouds. He snorted at the immodest shallowness of it all. Nothing like the dignified Cang Qiong, which had enough self-respect to not try and ascend to godhood by simply being tall .

The tiger curled around his neck in her white kitten form, tail lazily batting itself against his chest. Usually he would leave her in the picture-perfect recreation of the bamboo cottage he kept in his gardens, but Binghe was currently in the midsts of rebuilding it after a courtier had set his filthy feet onto the hallowed grounds, drunkenly stumbling into the forbidden square.

He had to kill the courtier and demolish the cottage, of course; start from scratch. Everything had to be perfect. No demons could set foot in the home, dirty it with their filthy feet. It had to be perfect .

So no, little tiger got to stay with Binghe today.

The wind tugged at the black veil he wore across his face, one which drew some attention. To wear a veil said you were either hiding something or cocky enough to believe the world can’t stand your beauty. Binghe was okay with that. Wearing a veil still drew less attention than not wearing one, and anyways-- the latter statement was completely valid in his case. 

Sha Hualing had stopped him right before he left, tapping on his shoulder and getting him to bow down until he was about her height.

“Lord Luo, you can’t just go into the human realm looking like that.” She had solemnly stated, tone one shade away from outright exasperated. “First of all, you’ve forgotten about the red eyes and the demonic seal. Second of all, you’re far too pretty for those mortals. Knowing how delicate humans are, they’d probably die on the spot when they see you.” She scoffed.

She dragged him to her room and sat him down and, for the first time in a long time, he felt a flicker of deja vu. Some distant memory dusted itself off from the back of his repressed consciousness. Hualing picked up her pallet and hummed to herself as she aligned it to his face, brush dusting each color of foundation against his wrist until she found one that matched him. Her tongue stuck out as she patted on a bit of makeup, enough to hide his demonic seal. Then, bells softly jangling with her movements, she lined the ends of his eyes with a bit of scarlet kohl.

“If we can’t hide my lord’s eye color, then we might as well make it look purposeful, right?”

Luo Binghe was indifferent. “Fine. I’ll be leaving now.”

“Ah ah, my Lord. You forget the most important part!”

From her drawer came a plain black veil, almost completely opaque save for shadowed outlines where light filtered through. She delicately wrapped it around his face, then unwrapped it when she realized how much trouble his hair was going to be.

“My Lord, may I…?” She gestured at his ponytail. Binghe shrugged.

“Whatever needs to be done.”

Hualing had him hold back his hair while she wrapped the veil around him and tied it off, and as a small show of gratitude he let her fingers run appreciatively through his hair a few times. When she asked about the products he used, he easily listed them off his fingers. When she asked him who, exactly, had taught him to make his hair so soft and fluffy, he had mechanically stood up and left the room, tying and pinning his hair back up after emerging from his portal in the forest. 

So he wore a veil and it drew some attention. But not as much as it would be were he to take it off. 

And the cat wound itself around his shoulders, its third eye shut and hidden in its fur, and looked almost completely normal. If no one paid attention to its forked tongue. 

He meandered through the vendors, ignoring the shouts of “Fresh noodles! Right over here, get your steaming hot bowls of soup!” and “Gege! Gege, come have fun with us~” and “Cultivation manuals! 100% real cultivation manuals! Skip the sects, learn the same subjects!” When the cobbled road turned to dirt he delicately picked up his draping black robes so that they didn’t trail against the dusty, weaving and dodging through thick crowds that swarmed around vendor’s stalls. At one small stall he plucked an apple from the frayed woven basket and flipped a gold coin to the little boy who ran it, not giving a second glance to his awe-struck face and a gap-toothed smile. 

At a house that offered both fortune-telling and more clandestine services, his interest was piqued. He stooped into the doorway, pushing aside the heavy curtains and taking in the thick atmosphere. The room was empty of inhabitants but dense with decoration, cluttered with bottles of incense and thick cushions and a table with a heavy glass ball on top. He peered into it and looked at the distorted face which reflected back.

“See anything interesting, Lord Luo?”

“Madame Meiyin? I was unaware that you had business within this town.”

“Lord Luo, I would venture to guess that you didn’t even know this town was here until you were halfway to it. I believe this is the first time I’ve seen you even leave the demon realm.” 

Knowing who his new visitor was, he made himself comfortable on the cushions and stretched his back. He pulled out his new apple and shined it against his robe, offering it up to his tiger. She snatched it from his hand and slunk to a corner of the room, eyes suspiciously watchful of everything around her while taking delicate little bites out of the fruit. When she had gotten rid of the meat of the apple, her jaw clicked, unhinging, and she swallowed the entire apple core down, leaving her corner as clean as it had been when she entered it.

“How’s Meng Mo? Is he getting along with your clan?” Binghe said conversationally.

Meiyin picked up her heavy draping robes, making no move to adjust the part of her robe which was drooping and threatening to let her breasts spill out, and sat across the table from him. Binghe was unbothered. Partial, if not complete, nudity was normal in the demon world. Sha Hualing herself was a great advocate of it, and Binghe was not afraid to say he had picked up a few of their shameless ways. If you have a good body, you might as well flaunt it.

“Meng Mo is an absolute godsend. The girls love him, and I’m sure he loves having so many diligent apprentices. I’ve been told that it’s a fantastic vacation when compared to his time with you .” She gushed, her musical voice hypnotic. 

Binghe nodded respectfully. “Tell the old coot he can go shove a boot up his ass.” 

She snorted. “Watch who you’re calling old, my Lord. I’m not much younger. Now then, let’s talk about what you’re here for. Future conquests, future deals, future romances ?” Meiyin arched a thin painted brow.

He shook his head. “Nothing of the sort. I’ve long since learned that knowing my future does little to help me. I was simply curious about fortune tellers in the human world.” He leaned away from the table, shifting his weight from a kneeling to a cross-legged position. “Anyways, I was fairly sure I recognized this one. This Lord wished to make sure his assumptions were correct.”

Her dignified face broke out into a wide grin and she spun around the table, grasping Binghe by the shoulders and pulling him into a bear hug. He almost decapitated her out of sheer reflex.

“Aw, did Lord Luo miss me?” She cooed. Fuck, he had practically invited this situation, hadn’t he? Save a woman’s entire clan once and-- “Sweetheart, you don’t come around nearly enough! The girls at home miss you, you’re so sweet to them. They all want to hear more of your war stories, you know how they adore them~”

He pushed her away, scowling. “Madame Meiyin, I am the lord of these lands and you will treat me as suc--”

Back he went, smothered in her chest. “Lord Luo, it must be so hard to keep up the tough king act all day long. I knew Tianlang-Jun quite personally (He was the other heavenly demon that ruled a few decades back, you’re much too young to have met him), and I can tell you that he didn’t act nearly so dignified as yourself! It must be absolutely exhausting! Please, stay here and have a few cookies, we can talk about that box of-- what did you call them? Lemon meringues? That you whipped up for the girls a few months ago~”

And thus the lord of the demon realm retired to an inn later that day quite worn, with more lipstick marks across his face than he had come in with and a tin of small cakes.

The next day he jerked awake to the sounds of fighting. 

To be more specific, that of a cracking whip and a yelling crowd. He was on the ground with his sword drawn before even opening his eyes. When he deemed the threat as not immediately lethal, he relaxed.

Binghe took his time stretching, pulling on one boot at a time and leaving the tiger to sleep on the windowsill. Lazily, a hand raked itself through his hair so he could re-fasten his veil, then he cursed as he began to struggle a little bit with putting it back on.

He finally made it downstairs about ten minutes after the fight had begun. At the center of the crowd was a girl in a yellow dress who shouted at another girl, one who looked slightly older than her. The elder girl shouted back some nonsensical insults, and the girl in yellow wildly cracked her whip in the air. A young man behind her seemed to be trying to talk her down from the argument, muttering in her ear even while she snapped her weapon vaguely in the direction of the unfaltering girl across from her. 

How boring. And here he thought he was going to see a real fight. Humans couldn’t even properly duke it out like demons, the weaklings. They just chose to what? Use words? Binghe shook his head. Words and pleas did nothing in the end. It’s only actions that matter.

The little mistress’ eye caught his movement and zeroed in on him as he pushed his way back through the crowd. Her whip went still and she ignored the elder girl’s growing aggravated cries in favor of a new, shinier toy.

Binghe himself had decided to look for a vendor with fresh vegetables and was running through the different meals he would make for the day, absolutely sure that he could talk his way into the inn’s kitchen and to a stove. One piping hot meal of congee (with pickled cucumbers? Or maybe he’d use ginger today?) was just waiting to be created.

He felt a tug on the back of his robes and paused, looking back. No one there. What he saw was the young man seemed to be across the ring giving a stern talking to the older girl, who finally stuck her tongue out at him and marched away. He glanced downwards and there that girl in yellow was. Short and petite but strutting as if she owned the city.

“Martial Brother, what sect do you come from? And are all its members quite as pretty as yourself?” She said quite boldly, voice more straightforward and matter-of-fact than flirtatious, as if she truly wanted to know if there was a swarm of hot men in some distant mountain.

Well, actually, there were. She just had to check Cang Qiong. But still.

He was at first disinterested and began to walk away. She pouted but made no move to go after him. In her mind she angrily cried that if he wished to leave, then he could leave! He didn’t know what he was missing out on.

Binghe passionlessly ran through a few benefits and downsides as he left, the same way it always did whenever he invited a new lord or lady to enter his castle’s east wing. This girl was obviously a member of Huan Hua Palace, and quite high up if the number of petals on her peony’s emblem was any indication. Perhaps a niece of the palace master, or maybe a head disciple? Well, if she were the head disciple than the Huan Hua palace was in more trouble than he had originally thought.

But what about Huan Hua Palace? Rich, influential, not in close contact with Cang Qiong, and-- he looked back over his shoulder and the girl who was trying to unknot her tangled whip, hissing as she somehow kept accidentally tangling it even further-- unbearably stupid. 

That actually sounds like a prime sect for takeover.

He turned back and bowed deeply before her.

“Apologies for walking away, martial sister. This martial brother was simply overwhelmed by your beauty. This servant’s name is…” Think quick, Binghe! “...Shen Mei, and I regretfully have not sect nor cultivation family to speak of. You see, this one is a rogue cultivator.” Shit, that was the worst fake name he had come up with to date, Peerless Eggplant included. Well, too late to take it back now. Sorry Shifu, but this disciple will be borrowing your name during his time here!

The young mistress before him laughed lightly as if she hadn’t been kicking at the dirt with puffed up cheeks moments before. “This lady is called Xiao Gongzhu. I’m the daughter of the palace master at Huan Hua, and if you’re a rogue then you should definitely join! I’ll tell my father to let you in, I’m sure he’ll like you!”

She was sweet. A bit simple, but so was everyone from Huan Hua. Binghe nodded agreeably.

“This servant thanks Xiao Gongzhu for her recommendation and asks her to please take care of him as he meets your father.”

She held her whip tight to her chest, scurried over to the young man she carelessly introduced as Gongyi Xiao, pulled him back over to meet Binghe, and then squealed loudly in excitement. He winced. Why had he missed humans again?

Qin Wanyue didn’t immediately recognize him when he saw her. He could only thank the heavens for that.

Unfortunately, it took her about ten minutes and a long staring contest between them for her to figure it out.

“...Binghe? Luo Binghe? Is that you?”

Ugh. Shit. He looked down at the little mistress who clung to his side jealousy. She stuck her tongue out at the Wanyue. “No, this is Shen Mei, obviously! Haven’t you heard of him, he’s a famous rogue cultivator! I can’t believe the gall you have, the nerve to mistake him!” She looked up at him like a little puppy, metaphorical ears perked in attention. Slowly, he reached his hand out and patted her lightly on the head. It just seemed like the right thing to do. 

He was almost blinded by the raw sunshine she seemed to emanate. 

Qin Wanyue leaned closer, peering at him. “No, Shixiong. I never forget a face. This is Luo Binghe, the disciple who went missing at the Immortal Alliance Conference five years ago.”

She seemed quite pleased with her discovery and began to walk back down to where she was headed, leaning around the mass of scrolls she held. Luo Binghe shrugged his shoulders and looked down at the little palace mistress, who was still growling at Wanyue’s receding figure.

Wanyue froze and dropped all her scrolls.

“Martial Brother Luo?” She said out loud. She slowly turned towards him. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

He shrugged again. “Sorry to disappoint you, martial sister. I’ll try harder next time.”

She speed-walked over to him and rudely lifted his veil as if to confirm that yes, he was supposed to be dead. He stepped back, gently pushing away her hand.

“This Luo Binghe would appreciate it if you could keep this a secret for now. Just call me Shen Mei, if you don’t mind? It’s a long story.” He injected as much charm into his words as possible, making a mental note to slip a few drops of blood into her next cup of tea. Just for security’s sake. He turned his attention back to the little puppy at his side.

“Xiao Gongzhu, you wished for me to speak with the palace master? May we continue?”

“Ah, yes! Qin Wanyue, be on your way. You are absolutely not needed here right now.” She hurriedly grabbed his wrist and tugged him away. He leaned forward as he was pulled along, rolling his eyes at the mental image this picture brought to him. 

She dragged him here and there, through no less than ten different hallways and rooms, all the while calling different variations of “father” and “palace master” and once, daringly, “Lao Gongzhu… sir!” 

The found him in the treasury, muttering to himself as he let a golden necklace twinkle in the dim lights. 

“Father--"

“Use my title, Xiao Gongzhu.”

She stiffened. “Palace master.” 

He turned and smiled softly at her, then curiously looked up to meet the eyes of her looming friend. He froze at the sight of Binghe’s red eyes and curly hair. 

“You--” He hissed, throwing up the necklace he held in protection. His shoulders hunched and he backed up a few steps, at a loss for words. Binghe tilted his head curiously. He was almost completely sure he had never met this palace master. And he was completely sure he had never done anything in the mortal realms to inspire fear. At least not recently.

“Lord Palace Master,” he bowed, “this rogue cultivator calls himself Shen Mei. It is a pleasure to meet you. I met your enchanting daughter at the market today--” The girl beside him tittered. “--and she generously offered me a place in the Huan Hua Palace. With your permission, of course, my lord.”

The palace master unfurled somewhat, pulling himself up to a more dignified position. 

“Pull off the veil first. I will not have someone who hides their identity here in my sect.”

Binghe nodded in acceptance and tapped the girl’s shoulder. She looked at him eagerly, as if merely acknowledging her had given the girl new life. This was too much. He had never met a girl so immediately enamored by his presence. It was flattering. 

“Would the young miss mind untying my veil for me?” Binghe wasn’t about to fumble through his mass of hair. He was dignified and graceful in everything he did. Everything.

Her hands fluttered and she enthusiastically pirouetted behind him, reaching up on her tiptoes to untie the black knot before he had the chance to bend down for her. Her hands were strong and callous, painfully tugging at his hair while undoing the tie. He stood firm. The black veil fluttered of his face.

The palace master was shocked silent, as if he had seen a ghost twice over. He shakily moved up to Binghe, reaching up as if to cup the demon’s face in his wrinkled hands. Binghe politely stepped back before he could be touched.

“Would the Palace Master like to know anything more?”

Surprisingly, Lao Gongzhu didn’t. He welcomed “Shen Mei” into the sect with open arms, affectionately claiming that the man ought to call him “Shizun.”

Luo Binghe politely declined, citing that the titles of Shifu, Shizun, and Elder were already taken up by past teachers of his. The man visibly deflated, but relented in allowing Luo Binghe to call him “Palace Master.”

Binghe later learned that everyone called the man “Palace Master.” He was supposed to have been the sole exception. But that was something he did not mull upon. 

Life in Huan Hua Palace was… peaceful. Fine. Boring. Absolutely dull.

It was a mockery of the Cang Qiong sect. 

Everyone flocked to him here, tried to suck up to him and become the new guy’s best friend. That was normal. No different than his life down in the palace, where everywhere he went he had a trail of at least five beautiful demons vying for his attention. 

That was the problem though, wasn’t it? It was the same as the demon palace. Everyone here was shallow, only interested in themselves and what they could gain from him. The only major difference between the two palaces was that one girl in particular, the little mistress, seemed to reverentially follow his every step like a little yellow duckling.

And the fact that the two realms were identical was fine, Binghe convinced himself. It’s not like he wanted to make friends. It’s not like he wanted a family again, it’s not like he-- for some godforsakenly stupid reason-- thought that perhaps humans would be warm and welcoming instead of oily and self-serving. No, that was a fluke of Cang Qiong, and furthermore that was the byproduct of a soft and weak Luo Binghe. Neither were a part of him now, which means he had fewer attachments. This was fine. He didn’t need friends, anyways. He had subordinates, and if subordinates betray you then you can kill them. Easy. It keeps people in line.

So he tolerated the hundreds of boys and girls who flocked to his side and bent to their cajoling, leading them through martial forms and helping them with their cultivation. He played the part of a peerless immortal martial brother, one who would doubtlessly rise in power and favor to become the next master of Huan Hua Palace. Binghe would peacefully gain an entire army without alerting any nearby cultivational sects of anything gone awry. From there he’d expand, maybe. Take over the neighboring kingdom. Take over a few more neighboring kingdoms. Maybe cross the ocean to that small island in the east, take over that country. Maybe keep heading west, where he had heard of many armed gods and riches beyond the imagination. The world was his oyster.

He’d just have to stay away from Cang Qiong. For the sake of his own health, his own sanity, if nothing else. That was the one place he’d never let himself own. Like the Ghost City, it was far more trouble than it was worth.

He ruminated over these thoughts and absently trailed his finger down the line of characters on the text he was reading. “ If asked how to cope with a great host of the enemy in orderly array and on the point of marching to the attack, I should say: “Begin by seizing something which your opponent holds dear; then he will be amenable to your will.” Rapidity is the essence of war: take advantage of the enemy’s unreadiness, make your way by unexpected routes, and attack unguarded spots.” The scroll was a good, if lengthy, read. He had long since memorized its comments, but review and revision were always necessary.

A boy-- Gongyi Xiao? One of the few disciples who did not grovel in his presence, something he both appreciated and was immensely wary of, but Binghe couldn’t really be bothered to keep track of names-- bowed before him and formally gave a request.

“The palace master has asked to see Shen Mei at his earliest convenience.”

Binghe looked up and set his reading aside. 

“Whatever the palace master wishes. This one will go immediately.”

“Shen Mei will find him in his office.” Gongyi Xiao left, and Luo Binghe navigated the winding halls to his meeting place.

Behind a high desk with a cushioned silk chair sat the Lao Gongzhu, his fingers tapping on his death rhythmically. On hand rested around the waist of his daughter, whose fidgeting stilled at the sight of Binghe.

“Ah, A-Mei. It’s good to see you here so soon!” He called.

“Palace master, I must again ask that you leave off the diminutive.”

“Apologies, apologies, Xiao Mei. I just can’t help but be affectionate towards one of my best disciples!” He laughed heartily, the hand around his daughter’s waist tightening.

Binghe remained silent at that, though it felt like someone was slowly tracing an icy claw down his spine. He was uncomfortable.

“Now, I called you down for two matters today. Firstly--” And his smile dropped from the palace master’s face. He rescinded his arm and templed his fingers together, leaning forward in a business-like manner. “We’ve had word that there have been a series of people going missing over the past few months. Nothing too out of the ordinary, until you understand that they were all individuals of high spiritual aptitudes. Skilled cultivators, promising children, young disciples of sister sects, they have all just--” He flicked his fingers, as if mimicking smoke, “-- disappeared . One by one. This has been occurring in regions close by our own sect, but searches we send out have ended up fruitless. So we sent word to our sister sects asking for aid in this issue. That’s where you come in, my boy.”

“Does the palace master want this one to head the search in a nearby city?”

“I want Xiao Mei to head the search in-- Yes! Very good! You see, that’s exactly why I chose you for this job. You’re so much sharper than the average disciple. My daughter Xiao Gongzhu did such a good job of introducing you!!”

His face regained its jolly demeanor and he moved from his businesslike ordering position into a more relaxed, casual one. “Which is the second reason I’ve brought you here today.” He inveigled. “You see, my daughter has just turned eighteen-- you recall her birthday celebration, I’m sure. She’s beautiful, young, pure. A veritable white lotus. I’d like to offer her to you as a sign of goodwill, a way of welcoming you to the family. I already think of you as a son, Xiao Mei . What do you say? Will you take Xiao Gongzhu as your bride?”

Ooh, treating people as objects. Abandoning them to new husbands. How delightful. Luo Binghe was mildly disgusted. He was certain that the palace master truly wanted Binghe in his family, though it was more likely to gain an incredibly powerful permanent tie than to have Binghe as a son-in-law. It was a common political maneuver, regardless of realm and race. 

Not that Binghe ever accepted those ties. He needed at least a little emotional investment from the other party, otherwise it was far too easy to invite sabotage. Everyone in the east wing of his palace, though always trying to cajole a few rubies and awarded territories out of him, was entirely enamored by him. He had never needed a matchmaker for the beautiful men and women who floated down his halls, they all begged to lap his boots themselves. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

So this was a definite no.

Xiao Gongzhu shifted away from the wrinkled hand that had pushed her towards Luo Binghe. Her eyes were cast to the ground and she wore her best dress. It was one she had bought when she had excitedly dragged Binghe to the market. He had picked it out for her at the girl’s behest, citing that the light pink color would bring out her rosy cheeks. She had blushed, then excitedly cupped her face and rushed to the mirror to see if what he said really was true.

He couldn’t tell if she was excited.

Either way, he’d let the two of them down gently. As gratitude for taking him in and giving him a straight way to the top. Because he’d have the title of palace master one day, regardless of whether he married the lord’s daughter.

“Palace Master, Xiao Gongzhu. While this one deeply appreciates the offer, he must politely decline the mistress’s hand in marriage. Xiao Gongzhu, if I may. It’s best you seek your own happiness, rather than--”

“Ah, but Xiao Mei! It’s far too soon to have your answer, I’m sure. I’ll let you mull upon it. Maybe I’ll get a better answer after your mission! Good luck, my boy. I hope you find whatever monster lurks in the shadows of our cities.” He stood from his desk and shooed Binghe out, closing the door tightly behind him. Binghe stared at the door, somewhat baffled. 

So this is how he’s treated when he fails to mention his title as Lord and supreme emperor of the Chinese demon realms. Huh. Wild. He’d have to fix that soon. Maybe he’d have a nice, long chat with the palace master after this mission.

Walking away from the door, Binghe scratched his arms, vigorously trying to scrub the sticky feeling of them. He always got that lingering feeling after leaving the elder man’s presence, as if he were some dessert dipped in honey that the elder was salivating to lick all over and thoroughly devour.

That wasn’t true, of course. The palace master had never been anything but respectful and, surprisingly enough, fatherly, towards Luo Binghe. If a bit old fashioned and manipulative, especially after the marriage proposal. But who wasn’t? The kind elderly man had done everything necessary to accommodate for this formerly rogue disciple. And though Binghe may have been far less kind than he was in the past (An improvement, if you asked him), a kindness deserves like kindness in a hundredfold.

It could remain implied that the reverse was also true, that an unkindness deserved an unkindness by the thousandfold. 

Binghe suppressed a shiver, nails biting deep into his skin until the smallest spots of blood began to bloom. He made his way towards his rooms, black inner robes that mingled with a yellow outer robe billowing outwards behind him as he set off at a quick pace. 

He would need to draw a bath immediately.

Bonus:  Three Years After Binghe Fell

Shang Qinghua burst through the door of the bamboo cottage, his bun half undone and a tight look on his face. He skimmed the small cottage, seemingly empty of residents.

“Shen Yuan!” He called. “A-Yuan! Bro! We need to talk. Right now.”

A response from inside the guest room. He walked in and found Shen Qingqiu sitting beside Qi Qingqiu, his stark white mourning robes overlapping and contrasting with her lilac clothing. Before Shang Qinghua had come in, the Qing Jing peak lord had been working on a painting, a half-finished landscape which stretched across the table. The Peak Lord of Xuan Shu had, similarly, been working on her own masterpiece. She painted the last character onto her poem with finality and set her brush aside.

“Shang-Shidi?” Her voice was soft, as if she were afraid of startling him.

“Where’s Shen Yuan? I need to speak with him, this is a matter of utmost urgency.” 

Shen Qingqiu finally looked up from his painting, eyes clear and discerning. “Anything that ought to pertain to this master as well?” He questioned drily. Shang Qinghua shook his head.

“Apologies, Shen-Shixiong. I will leave that for A-Yuan to decide.”

The other man narrowed his eyes, looking as if he were about to begin a heated debate about whether Shen Yuan was of sound enough mind to make such decisions. Qingqi closed her hand over his, looking at him sternly. It was a look that spoke of thousands of conversations and arguments on this very topic. He shook her hand off but complied. 

“He is in the garden. Look to the blade.” His voice was full of harsh derision, with soft undertones of solemnity and a deep ache which had built up during the past three years. “You’ll find my brother there.”

Shang Qinghua bowed to the two and walked out, his frantic pace slowing as he exited to the area behind the home of the Peak Lords.

It didn’t take long to reach the reforged and half-buried Zheng Yang. Before it stooped Shen Yuan, whose white and green robes now clearly distinguished him from his all-white and harsher twin. At the sound of footsteps, he raised from his prostrated position, looking over his shoulder with perfect posture and a face wracked with guilt.

“Shang Qinghua? What are you--”

“A Heavenly Demon invaded my King’s castle and challenged him for the throne. This happened a week ago, and my king has only just healed from the wounds. A-Yuan, I cannot say this for sure, but when he walked into the throne room he introduced himself as--”

“Luo Binghe.” Shen Yuan breathed. His back was rigid with tension and his eyes flickered between desperate hope and a deep, despairing fear. His face was unguarded in this moment, as it increasingly was in the years after Binghe had “fallen.” Shen Yuan turned to the sword and bowed his head once more, a finger tracing the scar left behind by Without a Cure. 

“Binghe’s alive.”

Chapter Text

Luo Binghe and Gongyi Xiao rode their horses ahead of the group, Gongyi Xiao on his preferred dappled grey mount and Binghe on his sweet-tempered brown one. The Huan Hua disciples, ten in number, hung as far behind the two as they dared. Each desperately shared the hope that neither leader would notice and begin to lecture the group.

It was the third day of travel and their self-designated leaders, Gongyi Xiao and “Shen Mei” had yet to stop arguing.

Here’s how it went. Days ago the two had met at the stable, readying their horses for the long trip. They were cordial to each other in the same way coworkers and acquaintances are, politely nodding and making small talk about lessons. Binghe had offhandedly mentioned his preference towards militaristic mindset rather than diplomatic. Gongyi, surprised, said he had the exact opposite approach, that he thought brute strength was far less admirable than the way of the brush. They had laughed and moved on, but Gongyi hadn’t missed Luo’s sharp, red-eyed glare.

One the road, there was the problem of leadership. Someone had to ride at the front of the formation and someone had to take the back.

But here’s the thing. Ever since Gongyi Xiao had entered Huan Hua Palace, he had the general air of a born leader. Students parted when he rode by, naturally allowing him to migrate to the front of the pack like wolves making way for their alpha. He was born to be a general, a commander of battalions.

Binghe had a similar experience. After the Qing Jing Peak Lords had taken a shining to the young disciple, he had always ridden directly beside or behind them in a flagrant example of disrespect for the natural student hierarchy. Then later, as a demon lord in battle, he always led his troops into fire and hell with a rallying battle cry. He hadn’t faced the back end of a line in years.

Neither were the types to defend the back. That’s where the first true argument started.

“This Gongyi Xiao is your senior at Huan Hua Palace and, as such, he is the one who ought to lead.”

“Ah, but Gongyi-Shidi! Surely you know that the palace master chose me instead of you to head this mission and investigation? Would that not imply that he finds this humble servant of lower status to be more worthy than yourself?”

“Shen-Shidi, must I remind you that I too was assigned to this mission? We are all equal in importance.”

“Tell me again, who exactly was personally called to the Palace Master’s office? And, oh my, who was the pageboy for that message? Correct me if I’m wrong, I know I have an awful memory, but was that… was that you? This Shen Mei does believe that a certain senior of his was left to deliver the message?”

Qin Wanyue had bravely taken one for the team and volunteered to take the back. The other disciples at first cheered her on for being the clever one to solve the dispute, and then later began to envy her as the one farthest from earshot of the two opponents who had habitually migrated to the front together.

“And you think that brute-forcing your way through a kingdom will get you to the top? You think that mindless warfare and tyranny is the way to subdue a state?”

“Strategy on the battlefield is an art, Gongyi-Shidi. You can lay all the plans you want beforehand, but in the heat of the moment with only your sword in hand, they all fall apart. There’s a beauty in turning the tides of war while thinking on your feet, something I’m sure a child like you has never experienced.”

“Child? Child! You’re barely older than me! You’re what, twenty? Talking big like that, as if you’re so old and wise! Come and talk to me in a decade, when you’re not just an overgrown brat.”

“... I’ll have you know I’m twenty-two and I’ve seen--”

“What’s that? Is that a squalling baby? Because all I hear right now is crying.”

“I swear to--”

“Oh, listen to that poor baby! Wailing and blowing hot air, can’t you hear him?”

Three days. Three days the disciples had to listen to their petty snipes and bickering, as if they were two cats hissing with hackles raised. Neither made the move towards an outright brawl, and by day two it was obvious that it was because each one was waiting for the other to start throwing hands so they themself could come out of the fight with the higher moral ground. 

The opinions of their leaders, once venerated and adored, were starting to drop. Just a little.

Qin Wanyue, all the way in the back, was having a great time staring at the resident eyes candies’ muscular backs and curly, swaying hair. If she pretended she didn’t hear them stomping to opposite sides of camp when they stopped at night, she could almost believe they were just having a lively intellectual conversation. Thus she was the only one to arrive at the city with both her sanity and full sense of hearing intact and undamaged.

The city Binghe traveled to had high brick walls, ones caked in fresh mud and sticky rice, bonded together with lime and sands. It was a strong wall, sturdy and newly made.

A fragile attempt by mortals to ward away whatever beast lurked the region, snatching babes from cradles and immortal cultivators from their beds. One that obviously wasn’t working, because Binghe and his trailing group of Huan Hua disciples were riding through its gates to solve that very issue.

Binghe directed his mottled brown steed to a nearby inn, tossing a few coins to the stable boy to assure nothing but the utmost care for their group’s horses. At the desk at the inn sat a young man sat, ready to shell out rooms to another group of doomed cultivators. All Binghe had to do was look him up and down appreciatively and brush the young innkeeper’s hand for the innkeeper to flush a deep red and give him and his compatriots an immediate fifty percent discount. Binghe could practically hear Madame Meiyin giggling and murmuring, “There’s a sucker born every minute, my Lord.”

Huan Hua Palace didn’t need the discount, as rich as they were. But a little reminder to himself of the power he wields is always nice.

Now then, on to business. The group shuffled back out, solemn and serious.

The city was quiet. Children stayed indoors, pale faces and black eyes peeping out of windows to watch the parade of cultivators go by. Women stayed with their children and families, men walked up and down the streets on patrol, eyes furtively glancing at every shadow that danced in the alleyways. The only living soul beside the group of Huan Hua disciples were the wild dogs which ran rampant in the streets, enjoying the freedom from sharp kicks and bustling crowds. A few mutts trailed behind the cultivators, but were scared away by a sharp look from Binghe.

A lonely teahouse sat at the end of the street. There they would find other cultivators, and there they would get more information about this mission.

They trailed in a single file line through the sliding doors, Binghe taking the lead as the face of their sect. Gongyi Xiao stood beside him, face smooth of all hostility in the presence of elders. 

“This Shen Mei introduces the disciples of the Huan Hua Palace. We’ve come to aid in the matter of the disappearances.”

A cultivator Tian Yi Overlook sect looked the group of young disciples up and down and clicked his tongue. “Huan Hua’s best, I take it?” He raised a thick black brow, narrow eyes narrowing further.

A Zhao Hua Temple cultivator slapped the Tian Yi cultivator's shoulder with his whisk. “Do not judge by appearance. I recognize a few as outstanding youth, these cultivators may still be of help.”

The Tian Yi cultivator glared at him, batting away the horsehair. “Cannon fodder,” he coughed into his sleeve. 

Gongyi Xiao bowed before them. “Please forgive Huan Hua of whatever offense we might have caused. We wish to learn about the situation and how we might aid you.”

The Tian Yi cultivator grimaced, opening his mouth as if to begin their debriefing, but the Zhao Hua cultivator beat him to it. 

“Six villagers have disappeared, two of them not yet adult, all but one male. All were descendants of or were described as having spiritual aptitudes. Two cultivators who came to aid us in this situation have also disappeared, both from the Tian Yi Overlook sect.”

Binghe nodded. “Is there a pattern?” 

The Tian Yi cultivator cut in this time, glaring at his compatriot. “At night. They all happen at night, under the shadow. We noticed that they’re less often to occur when there is a full moon, and we have heard from across the map that disappearances increase on nights of the new moon. Obviously a nocturnal creature, which is why I’m saying it’s a rabid kumiho which crossed the seas.” He aimed this last remark bitterly at the other cultivator, who scoffed.

“Kumiho stay close to their territory. I have told you this before, you will never see them this far out west. If you keep on with these ridiculous notions, I will--”

“I’ve seen the beasts! They wear the skins of beautiful women and when you least expect it, bam! They rip out your heart and--”

Luo Binghe interrupted. “This humble cultivator thanks the elders for their cooperation. He and his martial siblings will begin their search. If you find anything of use, please do not hesitate to spread the information.”

He led the group out and back to the streets, where they gathered in a semicircle and looked to both him and Gonyi Xiao for a plan.

Gongyi Xiao took in the crowd of ten which followed him and Binghe down the streets and clicked his tongue. Too much in one place. They would never get anything done stumbling all over one another. 

“We should split. I’ll take the left half. Xu Qang, Qin Wanyue, Hua Meimei, Bai Chen, and Sun Fang. You’re with me. Shen-Shidi, take the rest.”

Luo Binghe’s lip twitched upwards into a sneer, hidden by his veil but evident in his voice. “This Shen Mei… agrees with Gongyi Xiao. But he would prefer to work alone in this case.”

Gongyi Xiao looked at him incredulously. “Alone? Shen-Shidi, have you lost your mind? Did you miss what the cultivators had said, how whatever this beast is has captured cultivators alongside mortals?”

Binghe shook his head. The last thing he wanted was another parade of Huan Hua disciples following behind him. Lord knows how it went last time. “If anything goes wrong, this disciple takes full responsibility. I know the risks and I stand by my words.”

Gongyi Xiao scoffed but tilted his head in assent. “Okay then, scratch that. Here’s the new plan.”

In the end, Gongyi Xiao left first, splitting off into a group of four. They head to the nearby forest to scan it for signs of monsters or predators. Qin Wanyue led the next group of five, off to question grieving families. Binghe went off alone to do “his own thing” as Gongyi Xiao so elegantly put it, faster without the others holding him back.

Luo Binghe roamed the streets of the half-abandoned city, slowly familiarizing himself with the area. Though the area was large, it was impossibly winding. There were crossroads at the end of every street, alleys that led to the other side of the city, vendors and shops that mingled with the living quarters. It was an impossibly mess of design that spoke of a small town grown too large for its britches. Shadows stretched far, courtesy of the sinking sun as the evening grew dark.

Binghe’s eye caught on a paper that drifted on the wind. He shot forward and caught it, looking down at the crumpled talisman in his hands. A ward against vengeful spirits. Quaint. He looked back in the direction it had been flying from and stuck it back onto the house, next to the row of maze talismans against the undead and dozens of different defenses against most every monster imaginable. There were hundreds of these types of wards scattered across the city, plastering the walls and strung up over streets. The rich could afford clacking wooden ones, but most simply went with the more temporary paper ones.

Only one of the talismans, he noted, warded against demons. Even then, it was against the more minor demons. To a degree, that made sense. A demon above minor status would need an entire sigil to be trapped, something near impossible with the impossible complexity of the city’s pathways. Furthermore, middle-ranked demons, those unable to disguise their demonic qi, would be sensed far beyond the boundaries of the city unless under the protection of a higher up.

The higher-ups being the royals, descendants and relatives of the heavenly bloodlines, of course. Very few things could capture them, so most cultivators didn’t even attempt to try. Binghe sighed a small puff of relief at that. He wasn’t completely sure if his human blood would mitigate the effects of a trap, but he’d rather not test that and out himself as a demon in his first year back.

Furthermore, as explained earlier by a fellow wandering cultivator, most cultivators never saw a point in warding against the most powerful. Power came with royalty, and even the wildest of monarchs had grown up with the idea of a proper challenge burned into their brains. The tradition of bride-napping was a prime example of this behavior. If a demon were to take a woman without proper warning to the family, the demon was seen as weak and unworthy of their wife. For a royal to attack, to lower themself to stealing, without their proper dues? Few royal bloodlines survived that kind of shame, and those that did were immediate pariahs to the demon world.

Say what you want about these higher-ups, the cultivator had disparaged, but they have some sense of law.

So that ruled out high ranking demons, by rule of social restraint. But that meant that every base had been covered here, didn’t it? Binghe was honestly mildly impressed by what these immortals had whipped up. A mouse with even the slightest of untoward intentions wouldn’t be able to escape the attention of the defenses and cultivators. It was incredible that people were still going missi--

A wail rose from a nearby house. A woman, from the sound of it. Binghe flew towards the small hut, slamming the door open. Crouched over an empty bed was a pretty young lady, tears streaming down pale cheeks as she clutched the blankets before her.

“Xiao Fang, stop hiding right now!” She cried. “Come out! Just come back to momma, stop hiding!” 

She turned her head at the sound of the door and lunged at Binghe, clutching the hems of his robes. She turned her grief-stricken face upwards and, having caught sight of his sword, sobbed, “Master Cultivator! Find him! Find my Xiao Fang, please!”

Binghe noted the tattered covers and her thin clothing. Poor. Likely meaning that the child was a first-generation cultivator, a fluke whose potential had him spirited away. He blocked out the sounds of her sobbing at closed his eyes, sending out a net of spiritual energy to see if he could catch whatever had done this. He couldn’t catch any sign of monsters in the realm, nor spirits or malevolent influences.

Nothing-- wait. Wait, no. Something.

He pulled the distraught mother’s hands away from his robes, moving towards the bed she had been previously curled beside. 

“How long has the child been missing?”

She gasped and coughed, attempting to regain enough poise to speak.

“My son-- he was here not five minutes ago! He was here and then I turned my back and then I looked at his bed again and he was-- he was--” She broke down into shuddering, heaving breaths once more. 

Binghe rolled his eyes, annoyed. He pulled back the covers and found a drop of blood alongside a single scale. It was an enchanting shade of emerald, shimmering iridescently in the flickering candlelight. His eyes narrowed at it and he pocketed it, maybe to bring up to other cultivators at a later date. For now, though, “Madame, this immortal cultivator will do everything possible to bring back your son. For now, you ought to take care of yourself. Here--” He passed her a pouch of coins from inside his robes. “Treat yourself to something, take your mind off things. We’ll take care of this. Hysterics will only hurt you, we ask that you be patient.”

She looked at the pouch in her hands, then up at him, then back at the thick red pouch. Finger clenched tightly around it, making the coins jingle as they scraped against one another. Her eyes narrowed and she flung it back at him with surprising force. Startled, he caught it right before it landed against his chest.

“Money? You think you can pay away my sorrows! Come back with my son, you can’t stop my grief with a few gold taels! Give me back my Xiao Fang!” She roared, her voice hoarse and strained. He looked down at the pouch with wide eyes, then back at her. She staggered to her feet and took him by the shoulders, adrenaline strengthening her tiny frame until she had pushed him out into the road.

“Gold and luxury mean nothing to me without Xiao Fang by my side!” She screamed, slamming the door shut. Binghe was stunned. Usually money worked back at the palace. If a woman started going into hysterics, he only needed to give her a gem or two for her to be back to her usual eager-to-please self. And it wasn’t as if he had told this woman to forget her son, had he? He had only suggested that she use the money to buy herself something nice, to maybe distract her--

Okay, he could see where she was coming from. But only a little bit. He still stood by the idea that he had nothing but the best intention in mind.

He internally shrugged to himself and looked at that little pouch of money which had caused so much pain. Hm. Binghe slid it back into his pocket, next to that little scale, and went back to tracing the roads of the city.

A shadow flickered along the road, into the alleyway. The movement caught Binghe’s eye, and he was on its tail in a flash. The thing shot forward, a cloak covering most of its figure. He caught sight of an ugly, pale yellowish-green skin on the side of its face before it was mired in shadow. He raced after it through winding roads, over rooftops and through alleyways and downstairs and through homes until he was thoroughly lost and had broken a sweat and the thing kept going, faster and faster, almost unable to be seen by the human eye until-- 

Binghe burst out of the crowded city streets, through the high gates of the wall, and onto a verdant green meadow. The river that was the city’s water source wound gently down the valley. The high grasses and dark water revealed nothing, and in the moment Binghe had taken to reorient himself he knew that whatever the beast was had gotten away. 

He gritted his teeth and chugged vinegar, unable to accept that he had been beaten. Nothing had competed with him and won since he had taken his throne; this was unacceptable. No, impossible. He couldn’t be beaten. He was a relentless force, he had the power to topple kingdoms and destroy armies and he couldn’t bear the thought that maybe, sometimes, he wasn’t strong enough.

The river babbled by, its rushing water soothing, untouched by the worries of the world. The sunset skies reflected against it, turning patches of it a brilliant pink and leaving the shadowed areas a pitch black. If one were to look at the water's origin, they would find it winding up a mountain, where thick scars scored its surface. The greenery and forests that densely clustered on the surface seemed to lean away from the wounds, leaving the gashes stark and black against the peaceful background.

The Luo River, Binghe’s mind helpfully supplied. His namesake in this world.

His fast breath began to slow. Binghe drifted toward the riverbank and kneeled, reaching his hands down to cup the dark river water. In his hands, the miniature pool of water was clear. He splashed it on his face, taking care to avoid the thinly covered demonic seal. He used his sleeve to dry his face and took a deep breath, feeling a little better. A little Sha Hualing at the back of his mind poked fun at him for losing his composure so easily. ‘Imagine,’ she laughed, ‘the great demon lord panicking because he lost a game of tag! Oh, how adorable.’

He shook his head, ridding himself of the echoes of jangling bells, and looked up. Far beside him sat a headstone, something he had almost missed. He was curious.

Binghe made his way over and crouched in front of it, finger tracing the sloppily carved character, almost worn away by the elements. “Mama” it read. In the stone itself was a small hole, dug into it naturally far before it was used as a headstone. Perhaps that was why it was chosen. In that hole sat withered flowers and, notably, a little glass rose whose petals had half broken off. Binghe felt a little pang in his heart. It looked like the gravesite hadn’t been visited in a while.

There wasn’t much in his pocket. A few talismans, money, some salves and bandages. In his system inventory was a little more, but they were mainly quest items. Old swords from the abyss, scores of teeth and pelts, a silver fan frame he had never let go of, a couple more weapons and materials. He dug through them all, sifting through all the junk he hoarded in this endless storage space the system offered him. Nothing. No paper money to burn, no flowers or herbs to give. 

A bowl of congee he had prepared sat steaming in his “food items” list. Well, if nothing else, he could give an offering of food to the ancestor. He chose the item and it popped into existence in front of him, right before the headstone. Looking around, he plucked a broad white lily from the banks of the river and stuck it in the little makeshift planter. Binghe bowed his head but said no prayer, unsure of what to do in the case of honoring the dead. It’s not like he’s ever had a reason to in either life.

Then he stood and walked back to the city, significantly calmer. He’d regroup with Gongyi Xiao and the rest of the Huan Hua disciples at the inn, where each would tell of their discoveries.

The inn was bustling with cultivators from all over. A rogue cultivator, the one he had spoken to earlier, was fervently throwing herself in an arm-wrestling contest with a Zhao Hua Temple cultivator who looked bored, picking at his teeth with a toothpick while his other arm was unmoved despite her best efforts. A few of the waitstaff were flirting with Zhao Hua disciples, all of whom were flushing bright red under the advances. A few were wrapping and unwrapping thick, beaded bracelets from around their arms, chanting sutras to themselves. 

Elderly cultivators were enthusiastically participating in or commenting on games of go. They gathered in flocks, humming thoughtfully to themselves or nodding their heads sagely. One notable man was avoiding the bustle by sitting in the shadows, playing a game of mahjong. 

Chatter filled the air, the mouthwatering scent of food weaving between tables. Binghe made his way to the table filled with Huan Hua disciples, Qin Wanyue apparently in the middle of telling an animated story about some childhood prank she had pulled, Gongyi Xiao groaning in growing shame as she started waxing poetry on how scared he had been by her ghost costume. The table burst into roaring laughter, many of the disciples slapping Gongyi Xiao on the back in good humor. One of the disciples shot up and shouted for a waiter, calling for another round of drinks for them all. Binghe followed up her order with his own, asking for a plate of dumplings. He joined the squad at the low table and pulled out a book, flicking through the chapters until he reached the page he had left off on. Binghe didn’t attempt to join the conversation and none of the disciples tried to include him.

Time dragged on and, slowly, the cultivators began to file to their rooms. The waitstaff bussed the tables and refused to continue serving alcohol to the disciples, giving them stern looks whenever one of the Huan Hua pack ordered another round. They eventually settled for water and platters of bread, digging into them with relish. At some point Gongyi Xiao left, stating he was going to meet with another cultivator and talk about the mission. The leftover disciples chorused in “goodbyes” and “goodnights” and “watch out for ghosts!” to which he replied with a casual middle finger. The night went on, uninterrupted. For a time.

A scent drifted down the halls, and though it was incredibly faint it was one Binghe immediately latched on to. It was one of the many things he grudgingly enjoyed about being half-demon, this heightened sense of smell. Like he was some kind of bloodhound.

His attention was grabbed and his mind drifted away from the conversations beside him. He tried to place the scent. Jasmine-scented oils, bamboo flowers, a lingering touch of crisp mountainous breezes. Soothing. Warm. 

He didn’t dare imagine, dream, wish… hope? But the scent was unmistakable.

Shizun?

He shot up from his seat, the chair legs screeching against the dull wood floor. All the disciples around him immediately fell silent, looking up to him in questioning shock. But Binghe was paying attention to the top of the stairs, ones which descended down the side of the wall and down into the main foyer where the three of them had been seated. 

Shen Yuan stood at the top, manually maneuvering himself behind Gongyi Xiao as if that would somehow mask the tall man from view.

His eyes were alert, his hair was shiny, his robes were the same shades of green and white they had always been. He was in perfect condition, top-notch preservation. It was as if Binghe had last seen him only yesterday, rather than five years ago. 

Well, Binghe had seen him yesterday, he supposed. And that night. Shen Yuan, after all, was never far from his dreams.

The fan Shizun held was remarkable in its unremarkableness. A cheaply made fan held by a peerless immortal, a lord of Qing Jing peak. A fake jade bunny hung from a tassel, shaking with Shen Yuan’s hand.

Binghe had bought it once at the market, years ago. He had admired the pretty little scene it painted, thought the bunny looked cute, and shelled out a good sum for the fan, unaware of its cheap make. It had been proudly presented to his Shizun, the same way a cat might parade a dead mouse as a gift. 

Later, Ming Fan had casually commented on how that particular vendor was known for swindling old ladies with fake “genuine, high-quality goods.” At that point, Binghe had rushed back to the hut, begged Shizun to give him back the cheap fan so that he might bury the offending thing from his master’s sight. But Shizun had refused to return the gift to Binghe even with the promise of a better replacement, selfishly slipping it into his sleeve and out of Binghe’s grasping hands. 

Afterward, he had carefully watched as Binghe reluctantly organized the new piece with the rest of Shen Yuan’s closeted fans, the boy shedding bitter tears at the thought of Shizun with such an unworthy fan added to his collection. This had eventually become one of Shen Yuan’s favorite fans to pull out, right up there with a masterful piece that had taken ten years for a commissioned artisan to create. In fact, the cheap fan possibly made it one rank higher, for Shen Yuan was proud to wave the offending thing out in every situation, much to Binghe’s cringing shame.

That was the same fan Shen Yuan held. That cheap cloth fan with a little jade bunny attached to it.

Shen Yuan used it to cover his face, as if by hiding his mouth he could somehow hide the surprise and the dread and the fear, fear which obviously meant he despised what he saw, that flickered across his face.

No apologies? No welcome? Not even a small acknowledgment?

Did Shen Yuan truly hate him that much?

Xin Mo whispered angrily into his mind, agreeing with him, pushing him forward, goading him on. A constant companion which comfortingly curled in a fog around his mind, the only true friend he had left in this world. It purred quiet, bewitching words. 

Your Shizun hates heavenly demons. Your Shizun lied to you. Your Shizun stabbed you, scarred you, abandoned you in hell just like everyone you’ve trusted has done to you before. But he is an especially unforgivable case, isn’t he?

Because you loved him once? Or because you still love him? 

And you deserve more. You deserve everything this world has to give you. You want-- no, need to squeeze this world of every last bit of happiness it has left to give. After all, happiness is a thing that must be taken. Otherwise it will never stay. Isn’t that right, Binghe?

But when his eyes reached back up to meet Shen Yuan’s a second time over, he was electrified.

No. No, not today. Someone took hold of him, smothered Xin Mo’s insidious voice for a moment. Someone with a pure soul, with laughter and affection to spare. Someone who once called himself a disciple of Qing Jing Peak, proudly claimed the title as maid and chef to the twin Xiu swords. A small part of him, that empty, yearning part, felt a flash of warmth.

Binghe was the first to speak, but he choked up before words could come out.

Though he had made up his mind to be cool and strong, unfaltering in the face of adversity, his vocal cords and heart seemed to betray him. What was meant to be a strong denouncement, a show of uncaring recognition, wouldn’t come out at all. He closed his mouth and cleared his throat, blinking away the tears that dared to surface.

“Shizun.” He said respectfully. Bitterly, of course, but with cold dignity.

That was a lie. 

Of course it was. It’s a good thing that Binghe was very good at lying to everyone, including himself. In truth, the title came out soft and adoring and sad, everything Binghe hadn’t shown and hadn’t been in the last five years. When he said Shizun, it was as if every gentle emotion he had repressed since he fell into the abyss washed up with the tide of his voice for everyone to see. Anyone listening would have thought Binghe had found a long lost loved one, one returning from the brink of death. 

And that was a thought which held some truth.

“Elder Shen, what’s wrong?” Gongyi Xiao glanced at Luo Binghe and shot him a nasty glare. “Please don’t bother with the riffraff. Come this way, Elder Liu wished to speak with you.” The boy attempted to hurry Shen Yuan down the stairs and out the door, audaciously tugging at Yuan’s sleeve with obvious urgency. 

Shen Yuan slowly followed the boy down, but his eyes never left Binghe’s face. Luo Binghe couldn’t help but slowly walk forward to the foot of the stair, a moth drawn to the flame, ready to burn up for a moment of warmth.

“It really is Shizun.” His voice, infinitely gentle, had softened to a whisper. Thoughts of revenge, of hatred, of loneliness, were wiped from his mind the closer he got. His words were quiet but clear, floating light as a feather.

Shen Yuan’s eyes widened, softness that Binghe didn’t dare decipher taking over his sharp expression. Nostalgia washed over him in waves. Shizun. Shen Yuan. Master, love, light of his life. Shizun .

But the moment didn’t last for long.

Shen Yuan’s fist trembled, tensing. The fan in his hands snapped in half, the crisp crack echoing through the silent inn hall. His former shizun looked down at the fan in horror, one hand going up as if by putting the two pieces back together, everything would be fixed. The little white tassel fell to the floor, and the dull thump of the fake jade hitting the ground seemed to echo the Binghe’s falling heart.

Oh. So that was how they were going to play things.

His face darkened, his lips curled into a saccharine sweet smile. Down fell the maiden heart, crushed and shredded in his clawed fingers. Up went the mask of a demon lord, confident and poised. He was, after all, dignified and elegant in everything he did. Everything. 

Even heartbreak.

Shen Yuan carefully slipped both pieces of the fan into his wide sleeves, probably to destroy later. It was as if the moment he had seen Binghe, he had realized the fan was from the spawn of a demon . “Luo Binghe? What is going on here?” 

He almost laughed. So mundane. Well, Shizun, this loyal disciple will play along for this hour. 

“This Luo Binghe was sent on behalf of Huan Hua Palace to head the search for the missing cultivators in this area. He trusts that Shizun was sent for a similar reason?”

The group behind him ducked their heads together, murmuring softly to one another. Luo Binghe? Who is Luo Binghe? Isn’t that rogue cultivator Shen Mei? Oh no, haven’t you heard? Luo Binghe was that one disciple who went missing five years ago, the powerful one who beat Gongyi Xiao before disappearing. But wasn’t he supposed to be dead? Yeah, that’s what his Shizun said. You mean… that shizun? Elder Shen? Yes, you’re right, Elder Shen. But if Elder Shen said he died and Luo Binghe is here under a fake name, then… 

Qin Wanyue’s pale silence and the way her eyes glued onto Elder Shen seemed to solidify it for them. She was the only one of them to have met Luo Binghe. She would have known him on sight. She knew him.

It wasn’t that hard to reach a conclusion, even for disciples of Huan Hua Palace.

Gongyi Xiao’s mouth tightened. “Shut up, all of you!” He ordered, but for once the disciples refused to obey. They looked at him with narrowed eyes, hostility evident. There had always been a thick tension between Luo and Gongyi, some feeling that went deeper than mere rivalry. The way he sided with Elder Shen against Luo Binghe only further solidified the point in their minds. 

Shen Yuan looked unsurely between all of them, focusing the brunt of his attention towards Binghe. His face smoothed into the peerless immortal facade he always carried, always a faint echo of Shen Jiu’s cold demeanor. 

“While we both reside in this town, this master asks that the members of Huan Hua and Cang Qiong get along. We are here for a common cause, to aid the people of the city. Any grievances any one of you may have--” He gave Binghe a meaningful look, “Ought to be addressed outside of this mission. We have already lost two fellow cultivators while here, I would hate to lose more due to enmity and lack of communication.”

Binghe bowed low, alert in case his Shizun decided to jump the railing and stab him in the back the moment his eyes left the man’s face. “This lowly servant hears Shizun and obeys.”

Ha. As if.

Binghe went to bed that night and paced up and down the room, unable to remain seated, much less sleep. Shizun was only a couple of rooms away. Only a couple of strides away. If he wanted to, he could go into that room and face him. Speak with him, if he wanted. Threaten him, if he wanted. Kidnap him, maul him, embrace him. A deep-set anxiety shouted down every option he came up with, telling him that it wouldn’t work, Shen Yuan would come out victorious with whatever he approached the man with. The dark night turned into bright day, and when Binghe finally mustered up the (Courage? No. Not courage. It wasn’t like he was afraid, he was angry! Outraged! No, it definitely wasn’t courage he was missing.) willpower to invade Shen Yuan’s rooms, the man had already left. The room was wiped clean of possessions, a maid puttering around and dusting the corners. She informed him that the occupant had moved to a different inn. The look on his face sent her to near tears.

The day passed by in a blur. He at breakfast, he scouted the area for tracks, he ate lunch, he questioned the neighbors of Xiao Fang, he ate dinner, he sat alone in his room. He stared at a wall. He tried to read a book. Failed to read a book. Paced the room, then shook his head and left the inn. 

He asked for a “Shen Yuan” at the next inn over, across the street. The bored woman at the counter shook her head. No, not there. Next inn. No, not there. Next inn. No, not there. Next inn-- he saw a man with cascading hair sweep into it, bright white mourning robes something Luo Binghe had never seen on Shen Qingqiu. Perhaps someone he knew had died recently, maybe a worker at the brothel. That’s the only reason Binghe could think of for why Shen Qingqiu might mourn. But that’s not what mattered.

If Shen Yuan was anywhere, he was at this inn.

Luo Binghe leaped to a balcony, forgoing the usual stairs in exchange for the element of surprise. From there he passed through the balcony door and through the halls, stopping at a fenced area to look at the floor below him. Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu were engaged in a heated debate which looked like it was heading towards a brawl, with the shade Qingge’s face was turning. He pushed aside that excitement and affection he felt at the sight of them and headed for the end of the hall, where the faint scent of jasmine was strongest.

Binghe politely knocked on the door and heard the quietly amused reply of, “Liu Shidi? Done fighting with my brother? Come in.” His fuming anger grew a little at that laugh, creeping in thick vines over the void left where his heart once used to be. Binghe quietly walked in and shut the door behind him, making sure to try and not interrupt his teacher. Shen Yuan stood next to his bed, eyes widening and face pale as he looked at Binghe. “You’re not Qingge.” He said, struck dumb.

Binghe, having foregone his veil this night, gave a mocking smile and a grand bow. “Greetings, Shizun.” He was prepared to throw himself into the rest of his speech, to finally accuse and interrogate his Shizun for the answers of questions that had been gnawing at him for half a decade now. He was prepared for a good bit of catharsis, maybe a crying session interspersed between bouts of rage. He hadn’t expected the depth of Shizun’s hostility.

Shen Yuan looked him up and down and shook his head and muttered a small “Not today.” With movements fast as lightning, he leaped over the bed and hurled himself through the open window, Xiu Ying clutched tightly in his hand.

The fuck? Binghe felt his jaw drop open a bit.

He rushed to the window and followed closely behind, rolling as he landed to break the brunt of his fall. Binghe was back on his feet in a moment and racing through the streets, hot on Shen Yuan’s heels.

Shen Yuan sprinted in a zigzag direction, the way one might attempt to outrun a moose. He weaved in and out of streets, circling back more than once in some attempt to lose Binghe and make it back to the inn, maybe to grab Liu Qingge or Shifu. Luckily for Binghe, unluckily for Shen Yuan, he had acquainted himself with the lay of the town twice the day before. Moreover, he was still limber from his last chase. 

When Shen Yuan looked like he might try and loop back, Luo Binghe shot through alleyways and shortcuts to block his path, causing Shen Yuan to backpedal wildly before shooting the opposite direction. Other times he would catch up and stretch an arm out, so close that his finger almost brushed Shen Yuan’s robes, before the man caught a second wind and burst into a faster sprint. One notable scene had Binghe leaping from a rooftop in a diving elbow drop (Courtesy of the WWE channel on the system) to tackle him. The cultivator had yelped and dodged at the last second, screaming a good few choice words as Binghe landed on all fours like a cat beside him.

It was only a matter of time until Shen Yuan was caught.

His Shizun raced into a road with high walls and only seemed to realize something was wrong when he was inches from the dead end. Shen Yuan looked up and began to crouch, ready to spring upwards towards another roof. Binghe slammed into him from behind, driving him against the smooth mud wall and knocking the wind out of him.

It was sort of a ridiculous position, Binghe thought to himself. Very anticlimactic. With the adrenaline pumping through him and Xin Mo screaming for blood, he had every intention of grabbing Shen Yuan by the throat and throwing him against the wall. Instead, he had Shen Yuan pinned, his shoulder pressed between the other man’s shoulder blades.

As Binghe slowly let up on the pressure, Shen Yuan let out an audible sigh of relief-- though it might also have been a flailing gasp as he tried to reinflate collapsed lungs. Binghe reached for his shoulder and flipped him around, so his back was now pressed against the wall instead and his face was towards his opponent. And then, looking at Shen Yuan’s chilly eyes, he felt angry.

“Shizun.” He said politely. Shen Yuan didn’t answer. Binghe tried again. “Won’t you greet this disciple? You speak to everyone so kindly. You allow Gongyi Xiao to follow like a shadow, you sit and wait for Liu Qingge in your room, Shen Qingqiu shares an inn with you-- and yet, you leave this disciple forgotten?”

Shen Yuan seemed to finally catch his breath, no longer wheezing. He opened his mouth and began to shout, “Liu Qing--,” but Binghe’s hand shot up to cover his lips.
“Shizun, this is a private affair. We don’t need a third wheel right now, do we?”

The look in Shen Yuan’s eyes said he was vehemently disagreeing with Luo Binghe right now, but that was fine. He leaned in closer, speaking quietly in his Shizun’s ear. “Separated for so many years, two stars finally meet under auspicious circumstances and yet… Shizun only calls for others? Not even an acknowledgment for me? This disciple is a little sad.”

Shen Yuan shivered beneath him and Binghe’s lips curled into a Cheshire cat grin. His grip on his Shizun’s shoulder was slowly tightening and his claws were inching out, slowly piercing the skin. Blood was beginning to seep through his robes. Then, easily, he let go. Shen Yuan slumped against the wall, releasing the breath he had been holding all at once. Binghe caught him before he could slide down further and took his hand, helping him back up as if his Shizun was simply getting out of a carriage. 

“Why did you run earlier? Surely you must have been happy to see me whole and hale once more, Shizun?”

Shen Yuan refused to look at him, instead looking past him. “Why are you back in the human realm? Aren’t you afraid everyone will discover your true identity?”

“Is Shizun concerned for this disciple? Or is he worried about him?” Worried about being seen as a demon’s teacher, maybe. With how Shen Yuan hated demons, Binghe wouldn’t be surprised. 

“There is nothing for you here.” Shen Yuan said with finality. Binghe pretended he didn’t flinch at those words. “Do you think I won’t tell others about you?”

“Shizun would have said something by now.” Binghe purred. “You must be hiding something. Is it me, Shizun? Am I the skeleton in your closet?” He tilted his head, softening his voice and pitching it an octave higher. An eerily accurate imitation of how his younger, stupider self used to sound. “Shizun, why won’t you look at me? Has this disciple done something wrong?” He mocked, not noticing the tears that began to glimmer at the corner of Shen Yuan’s eyes.

Shen Yuan refused to say anything for a long moment, but Binghe waited. He waited with a patience he had no choice but to learn, down in the abyss. He waited with the restraint he had built up in his time as demon lord, the restraint which kept him from hurtling like a meteor through the gates of Qing Jing Peak.

Finally, soft words were spoken. “So Binghe is back. What does he plan on doing?”

“I missed Shizun.” Said with open honesty. And then, “I wish to pay him back for all he’s done for me.” For all he’s done to me, Binghe’s mind helpfully supplied.

Shen Yuan seemed to immediately understand, and then he opened his mouth and proved he didn’t understand anything Binghe had said. “You’ve come to kill me? Make me go missing alongside all the other cultivators in this city?”

Binghe froze. Oh, that was definitely an accusation he hadn’t expected. He ground his teeth, a headache forming. Xin Mo was howling and he screamed back for it to shut up, he needed to think right now. It refused to quiet. 

“Shizun truly hates demons.” He sneered, eyes flashing. Then he shook his head and smiled ruefully to himself. Why keep lying?

“No, wouldn’t it be more correct to say that Shizun hates me?” His fists were shaking, anxiously clenching and unclenching. When Shen Yuan looked down he followed his line of sight and realized his former master could see the tremors. He hid his hands in his sleeves. “Does Shizun truly think that because of my heavenly bloodline, I’ll murder and massacre everything around me? Does Shizun truly think me to be a monster?”

When Shen Yuan didn’t try to answer, the dam finally burst. “Why would you say that righteous demons exist? Why would you say that both races can do good? Why would you say that even if something goes wrong, nothing will happen to me! You were supposed to protect me, I trusted you and you just!” He stepped back and jerkily turned his head away, letting his ponytail sweep over his cheek to cover the way tears streamed down. “You’re such a liar,” he spat.

Again and again he missed Shen Yuan’s expression, the way his grief and guilt filled his former Shizun’s face, the way words filled his mouth and he tried to say something and nothing would come out, explanations smothered to death before they could reach the air.

Wiping his eyes, he turned back to Shen Yuan to see him covering his face with that damnable fan. Binghe’s eye twitched. “Nothing to say? You’ve been so quiet, you’d think I pulled out your tongue.” 

Shen Yuan twitched. Binghe shook his head. They weren’t going anywhere like this. Time to call the cavalry. But the moment Binghe shifted, Xiu Ying was out like a bullet. Shen Yuan was high strung, defensively leveling his sword at Binghe’s chest. Its golden blade glinted in contrast to the black qi, a guiding light in a storm of darkness. Ah, memories. Binghe made a mental note to save the implications of that looming anxiety which threatened the edge of his mind for later, when perhaps a deadly weapon wasn’t aiming for his heart. He put a hand up, lazily twisting demonic qi through his fingers.

“Let’s make a bet, Shizun. How long do you think it would take me to break this sword?” He stepped forward and Shen Yuan stepped back, pressed against the wall. One more step and Shen Yuan thrust his sword out a little more and Binghe caught its edge with scarred palms, easily preventing it from reaching his heart. Oh, look at that. His hand was bleeding again. Huh. He stared blankly at his hand, vacantly registering that Shen Yuan had also stopped his movement.

A distant memory drifted to him. He’d once thought that his Shizun needed a cat collar with a bell, hadn’t he? Because Shizun was practically an escape artist, as their encounter today implied. A man as slippery as a snake, always evading Binghe when he was most intent on his search. And what was that? Binghe now had a genetic GPS system waiting to be used? In two swift movements Binghe had released the sword and sucker-punched his Shizun in the stomach.

“What’s done is done. Shizun must reap what he has sown. Shizun ought to properly compensate me for the wounds that he has made.” And with that he wrenched Shen Yuan’s head back and poured the blood on his palm into the other man’s mouth, red running down his lips and cheeks.

When he let go Shen Yuan fell to his knees, retching and vomiting up the blood that had been poured down his throat. Too late, Shizun. The parasites are already in your system.

Pasting back on an empty smile, Binghe reached into his pocket and pulled out his veil, tying it back over his face. “This Luo Binghe will leave you be then, Shizun. Until next time.” Spinning on his heel, he walked back out of the alleyway, leaving Shen Yuan curled on the ground.

When he returned to the inn, he carefully wrote a message to the Huan Hua Palace Master. One that began with, “Dear Palace Master, this lowly disciple is in need of aid. You see, he has been wronged by one Shizun of his.” and ended with “Sincerely, Luo Binghe.” 

If Shen Yuan wanted Luo Binghe to be a villain, then with the gods as his witness, Binghe would be his villain.

With that out of the way, Binghe stripped off his outer robes and carefully leaned Xin Mo against the far wall, a punishment for its misbehaviors today. He splashed cold water from the washbasin onto his face, revealing his red demonic mark, and mechanically marched his way back to his bed.

Then he took a deep breath which came faster and faster until it had broken past the line of breath and into hyperventilation, collapsing on the ground. One clawing hand snatched the covers off the divan, tugging them over his head. His chest began to heave and tighten, his face draining of any blood. The darkness gave him a modicum of comfort, but true safety and warmth were so far beyond his reach. With a shuddering sigh Luo Binghe began to sob, silent and alone.

Chapter Text

The beast was captured during the night.

It was a rogue cultivator who caught it in the end, a young man in white robes with a worn bamboo hat hanging from his neck. He reportedly woke up to see it halfway in his bed, golden eyes staring straight through his soul. The rogue cultivator gave this whole explanation while boldly clinging to the body, one hand with an iron grip on its neck while the other held its knotted tail still. Horrifically bad luck, many murmured. Imagine, a monster like that found in your bed! Few could look straight at the creature, some grisly mutant of a snake with a human’s face. Its mouth dumbly flopped open and closed, strangled sounds coming out as it mimicked vocalizations around it.

The snake-like creature seemed to cringe at sunlight, and no one quite wanted to look at it in the broad light of day. It was cast into an iron cage covered by black silk, and guards were posted around it-- both to prevent the beast from escaping as much as to prevent outside interference. 

The sun rose and the beast was silent, seeing the sun creeping in from below the thick cloth which covered its cage. Luo Binghe himself vouched that the beast was likely the thing which had stolen so many away, citing the chase from a few days ago and the scale he had found. Plans were soon made to use the beast to find the missing few, whether dead or alive. 

With the beast captured and hidden away, the gates to the city opened with a flourish and the outside poured in like a flood.

Lao Gongzhu approached the walls of the city with his head held high, his hands hidden in his golden, draping robes. Behind him followed a small entourage of cultivators. Yue Qingyuan rode astride a white horse, his face solemn and drawn. Others closely followed, all from nearby sects, murmuring to one another.

At the back of the line rode two figures on twin black horses. One was a woman, her face lined with wrinkles that spoke more of stress than age. Her strong, noble features were marred by the permanent frown lines and the way her eyebrows pushed together, habitual expression of anxiety and displeasure. At her side was a tall young man, the sun bouncing off his stark white hair, creating a halo around the thick braid that trailed down his back. His face was blank of all emotion, save for a glint in his eye that spoke of vicious joy. The two wore richly crafted robes, one a deep royal purple and one a gold and white mix.

The Huan Hua Palace master fingered the thick envelope in his pocket, having already memorized its contents to the very swipe of a brushstroke. Nothing had brought him more happiness then the day the letter had been delivered. His dignified facade almost cracked as he thought back to it. Luo Binghe, the beautiful boy, had unwittingly struck two birds with one stone for the sake of the palace master. 

One, a chance to rid Gongzhu of those snakes of Qing Jing, the twin Xiu blades. The two had been a pain in his ass for years. As the generals and military overseers of Cang Qiong, they were a pair whose names held heavy weight. And both seemed to use the pressure of their titles to push Huan Hua around. Any time Lao Gongzhu tried to take an inch of new territory, he would find himself called to a meeting of the sects by order of Yue Qingyuan at the advisory of Shen Yuan. Anytime he spoke of expanding the power of sects into kingdoms, perhaps combining them politically to “expand the influence and thus, protection offered, by each sect,” he would be violently rebuffed by the sharp-tongued Shen Qingqiu, a man who fulfilled every expectation of his larger-than-life reputation. The twin lords of Cang Qiong, the jade brothers, the autumn and winter of the cultivational world, were two of the three men he hated most.

A second bird, so kindly offered by the sweet child, was the chance to rid Binghe of both his Shizun and Shifu once and for all. Oh, the letter only specified one, of course. Surprisingly, Binghe seemed to have some history with the milder Shen Yuan rather than his acerbic brother. But no matter, Lao Gongzhu thought. He might as well wipe the two of them off the board at once and save himself a little time and effort. And in the end, he’d be rewarded with an adoring disciple, one who looked so close to his precious gem, Su Xiyan. 

They could have been siblings, those two beauties, save for Binghe’s wildly curly hair and red eyes. Traits no doubt inherited from the bastard trapped under the mountain. And even those differences were hardly of any matter. He was sure, given time, he could persuade Binghe to use a chemical straightener, something to get those wild locks flowing straight like a waterfall. He daydreamed as he rode through the gates, saliva filling his mouth. Maybe he’d keep Binghe within the walls of the palace to drain that glowing tan from his skin, to get him as deathly pale as Su Xiyan had been during her last months in the water dungeon. Maybe, years from now, he could arrange an accident that would gouge of Binghe’s red eyes, giving the Palace Master an excuse to replace them with glassy black ones. Maybe he could starve the boy until he was thin as a wraith and easy to handle, maybe he could line those plush lips with red and sit the boy on his lap like a little doll. Pierce his entire body and tug on the jewelry until his face was wet with tears, dress him in increasingly scandalous robes, tear at his vocal chords until the boy could only give high pitched whimpers and cries. Oh, the wondrous things he could do with Luo Binghe. And all he had to do was get rid of two men.

Shen Yuan and Qingqiu emerged from their inn to find a crowd. Yue Qingyuan stood at the front and gave them a weak smile. Behind him of Zhao Hua and Tian Yi cultivators parted like the sea, opening a direct pathway to the streets leading to the a tall, grand building. 

“Shen Yuan, Shen Qingqiu,” Qingyuan nodded to both of them. “Huan Hua Palace has called for a meeting at the town hall.”

The town hall was spacious, a long room with high ceilings. Circular windows lined the walls, letting birdsong and sunlight filter through. Cultivators shuffled in, gathering along the edges of the room, some kneeling before tables while others stood and whispered to one another. 

A long table stood at the far end of the room, close to the front wall. Other tables to their left and right, forming a u-shape.

Binghe himself sat at one of the front left tables, massaging his forehead and waiting for a faint headache to go away. From stress, he was sure. He watched apathetically as Shen Yuan slowly walked out to the head of the room, taking his seat before the low table and facing the crowd. He then watched, a little confused, as Shen Qingqiu followed close behind him. From across the room, the palace master grinned at him, but Binghe’s brows drew together in concern. What was Shen Qingqiu doing here? Does he intend to stand alongside his brother while Binghe accuses Shen Yuan of pushing him into the abyss? He had specified his grievances with Shizun and Shizun alone in the letter, that he was sure of. So why--

[Ding~] Binghe started and looked around wildly, then turning his attention to his guanyin. It had been a long time since the system had spoken to him on its own volition. [New mission available! New mission available! Required mission <<Blast from the Past>> has been added to your active quests list. Prevent the blackening of Shen_Jiu’s reputation by an old flame! Failure to complete will cost the user 5,000 B Points.]

What? Here? Now? What could even blacken Shen Qingqiu’s reputation at this point? Hadn’t Binghe found everything and everyone a long time ago?

“Shen Jiu? Shen Jiu, is that you?”

Binghe stiffened, slowly following to where the voice came from. A woman pushed her way through the crowd, her face set in a look of grim and cold fury. Fuck, that was Qiu Haitang. He had forgotten about her again, it seemed. But why the hell was she here?

At the table Shen Qingqiu’s face impossibly softened at the words, that permanent aloof glare shifting to something fond. It seemed even when he knew what the woman was here for, he still had a spot in his heart for her. 

And then another voice rang out. “So that’s where you’ve been hiding, Shen Shi. It’s been a while.” Binghe faltered at this. He didn’t recognize the white-haired man at all, yet it was obvious he and Shizun had history from the way Shen Yuan froze, his face falling into a porcelain mask with no discernible expression.

The Huan Hua palace master wiped the grin from his face and strolled to the center of the crowd, bowing to those who had come to watch the circus. “We at Huan Hua Palace feel that we have ignored the crimes of the twin Xiu Blades for far too long. From today forward we intend to correct this mistake. We ask you learned cultivators who have gathered today to listen to the evidence and judge the guilt of the Qing Jing Peak Lords Shen Yuan and Shen Qingqiu.”

Murmurs of confusion and interest sounded from the room.

What? What was this fanfare? Had Lao Gongzhu brought these strangers here himself? Why the hell--?

His surprise and horror mutated, as it so often did these days, into a cold ire. This wasn’t what he and the palace master had agreed upon. He asked for a quick accusation backed by the evidence of his survival. He asked for a place where Shen Yuan couldn’t escape, where Binghe could finally confront the man without fear of attack or retribution. He wanted to forcibly get Shen Yuan away so they could talk and Binghe could finally answer a few burning questions, give himself a little peace and maybe, finally, put his past to rest.

Binghe crossed his arms, eyes narrowing at the Huan Hua palace master. The elder man was oblivious to his heated glare.

He spoke with the utmost respect in his voice. “Master Song Biming, I invite you to take the floor.”

From the right came the man with white hair, gliding to the front with grace. He stopped and dramatically turned. Binghe wanted to roll his eyes, but at the same time he watched with rapt attention.

The novel, after all, had never once delved into Shen Yuan’s past. 

“Shen Yuan was once known as Shen Shi,” Song Biming started, “and he was once a slave.” From his robe he drew a yellowed paper, black characters meticulously drawn upon it. “For those who doubt my claim, I’ve brought the original document of ownership.” This was passed to Yue Qingyuan, whose face looked a little green at the sight of it. 

“Decades ago, I bought the boy from traveling merchants, who had told me that he originally came from the Qiu Household. That’s as far as I can trace back his history of purchase, because-- as you likely know-- there isn’t much of a Qiu Household left.”

He began to pace the room, his melodic voice reverberating from corner to corner. “I am a descendant of the Song Clan, a long line of cultivators who pride ourselves in our innate spiritual strength. In addition to my work as a cultivator, I subsidized my pay in serving as a middleman to the sale of servants for the home.”

Slaves, Binghe thought wryly. Biming meant he was a slave trader.

“I prided myself on only offering the most refined of servants, teaching them all the necessary skills to become dutiful pillars of the household for decades. Shen Shi, however, lacked a pedigree of any sort. But I am a kind man, and I took this ailing servant into my own household. I taught him as I did the others, fed him, clothed him. And in return, he was silent and dutiful-- all I ask of my personal servants."

However, in spite of our mutually beneficial relationship, this servant had a treacherous heart. He began to meet with a rogue cultivator known as Wu Yanzi in secret. I’m not sure how often or for how long they met. I only know the outcome.”

A pause, likely for dramatic effect.

“On the day of the winter solstice, in the last year of the Chao dynasty, Shen Shi slipped the seeds of the Red Lantern flower in my food, though I didn’t realize it at the time… I can see from your faces that many of you recognize that plant. It blocked my spiritual veins and sent me into a qi deviation, which had me seizing on the ground, defenseless. During my induced qi deviation Shen Shi fled, taking the rest of the slaves in my possession with him. In the end I was missing twelve personal house slaves and fifteen from my stock. But that alone didn’t seem enough. My hair turned white from the shock of the deviation and made me a pariah amongst the superstitious mortals, my spiritual veins and core were all but ruined, and a quarter of my family’s treasury had gone missing.”

“All I had left to my name was the fraction of my core which keeps me young, though I’ve noticed that it only seems to slow the process of aging rather than halt it completely. I am, by all means, left helpless, because of this singular slave. The boy whom I raised and treated kindly-- far more kindly than a slave like him deserves-- betrayed his master and, apparently, climbed his way to the top of a sect.” 

Soft clapping. Song Biming slowly applauded during the silence, though for whom it was unsure. He turned away from the crowd and back towards Shen Yuan, whose face had not changed once during the statement. 

“I am magnanimous in nature, I’d like to think. Understanding that Shen Shi has established a life and livelihood beyond the realms of my household, I hereby relinquish ownership of him and offer him his freedom from his state as a slave, if he should accept it. However, I ask the good cultivators of this room to think on my statement and give him judgement as you see fit.”

The crowd held its breath, unwilling to move after this story. This… was unthinkable. Neither of the Shen twins wilted under their questioning looks and glares, unfaltering even under the burden of such heavy pressure. A sharp flicker of movement from Shen Yuan drew their eyes.

Shen Yuan’s fan slammed against the table, the sharp rap gaining the attention of everyone. “I don’t want whatever freedom you offer.” He bit out. “I’ve been free since the moment I left your household. I burned my past the moment the former master of Qing Jing gave me the name of Shen Yuan. You, Song Biming, cannot bind me, even if you wished to. This Shen Yuan has never been the servant of anyone, and Shen Shi has long since died.”

The sound of tearing paper followed his statement. Yue Qingyuan had neatly folded the papers of ownership in half and in half again, then cleanly ripping the paper into shreds that grew tinier by the second. In the end, he quickly swiped the scattered pieces off the table and into his hand, where he crushed them to dust in his fist. Leaning over, he threw the handful out an open window and into the breeze before settling back into his resting kneeling position.

Song Biming smiled patiently. “I have said my part. It’s been an honor meeting you again, Shen Shi.”

Qiu Haitang was vibrating with anticipation, that much was clear for everyone to see. It was as if she were a child on the day of Christmas, waiting for breakfast to be over so she could go and tear at the wrapping of the presents.  Shen Qingqiu’s lips quirked upwards at the sight of her boldly walking to the center, her face severe. 

“My story is similar to that of Master Song, in some ways, but vitally different in others. I am Qiu Haitang, the last of my lineage. I don’t know this man that you call Shen Qingqiu, but I do recognize my family’s slave, a man named Shen Jiu. He was also, once, my fiance.”

Yue Qingyuan’s brows shot up.

The system sang out, [Warning! Warning! Shen_Jiu’s reputation is approaching blackening! Warning!] 

Binghe gritted his teeth, hissing. “I know, I’ll get to it, all right! Just give me a second for a plan, I can’t just barge in and tackle her!”

“He was assigned as my own personal servant when I was nine and he was eleven. We spent much of our childhood together, and over the years we grew close. He became a part of our family, in a way. He ate meals with us, traveled with us, at one point he even began to take tutoring lessons alongside me. I personally taught him to read and speak formally.”

From the audience, an epiphany hit Liu Qingge. He had once commented on how Shen Qingqiu and Shen Yuan seemed to have slightly different ways of speaking, and this is where it had come from. Qiu Haitang’s songlike-cadence was eerily similar to Qingqiu’s own.

“And for our kind treatment to Shen Jiu, for the way we took him under our wing and rose him up to a status far above a slave, we were punished. Shen Jiu tried to flee with a stranger one night, a hood obscuring the stranger’s face. When they tried to run my brother stopped them. The three of them got into an argument, though I don’t know exactly what was said. All that I know is that when I entered the room, Shen Jiu had driven a sword through my brother's chest.” Her voice was steady and clinical despite the tragedy she described.

“The boy in the hood knocked me out before I could see anything else. I woke up surrounded by the women of our household, the only ones allowed to escape with their lives. My father, brother, uncle, and all the male servants lay dead in our household. I watched as that hooded figure pushed back his hood to reveal a face just like Shen Jiu’s own. I watched as he set our home on fire and left with Shen Jiu.”

Here her eyes lit up with the first bit of emotion. A fiery hope, a newly found conviction. Her steely, accusing gaze turned from Shen Qingqiu to Shen Yuan.

“But-- having heard Master Song Biming’s story-- I’ve begun to realize that I may have been missing a few facts about the tragedy that day. We had never raised a hand to Shen Jiu. Had he wanted his freedom so badly, he would only have had to ask. So why would he instead murder my family and run?"

"I saw his eyes that day. They were unstable. His face was flushed and he was breathing quickly, his balance unsteady. Something I’m sure you all recognize as the beginning signs of qi deviation. And who has instigated a qi deviation for his own gain once before?”

The system, despite being inorganic, seemed to hold its breath just like every one of the cultivators in the room.

“I firmly believe that Shen Shi shares, if not bears the brunt of the guilt for the tragedy that occurred to my family that day. I hereby formally transfer my charges over to Shen Shi.”

System: [...]

[Mission successfully completed? This system awards the user… 200 B points? Despite not directly participating in the mission, by setting up the scenario beforehand, the user has given Qiu_Haitang the ability to shift the blame. Thank you for your cooperation.]

Shen Qingqiu shot upwards, ready to rebuke some if not all of her statements, but Shen Yuan snatched the collar of his robes and dragged him back down. The two had a silent argument, but in the end Shen Qingqiu’s shoulders slumped and his brow creased with worry. Obviously the Xiu Ya blade had lost his side of the battle.

Qiu Haitang took her seat at the side of Lao Gongzhu, peace resting over her face. Lao Gongzhu spoke.

“There are also multiple reports of individuals with descriptions matching the Shen twins collaborating under the cultivator Wu Yanzi, a rogue cultivator whom I’m sure many of you recognize due to his… preceding reputations. Unfortunately, he isn’t quite able to stand here today to personally confirm these claims. Not only did the two cultivate under Wu Yanzi, but they are the ones who seem to have killed him.”

Outraged mutters at that cursed name. Wu Yanzi was a black streak on the good name of cultivators, wreaking havoc wherever he went. He wasn’t even demonic, which infuriated them all the more. He had good cultivational technique, he simply also had a monstrous personality. Lao Gongzhu cleared his throat, silencing the conversations.

“One last piece. I’m sure you have all heard the story of the promising disciple who went missing five years ago at the Immortal Alliance Conference. We were told by Lord Shen Yuan that he had died, that he had been dragged into the abyss by demons. But here Luo Binghe stands, alive and well today.”

Members of Cang Qiong visibly froze. Eyes turned to where Lao Gongzhu gestured, to the man whose face was half-covered by a black shroud, similar to Liu Qingge’s own white one. Binghe slowly peeled off his veil, obviously reluctant.

Shen Yuan was visibly unmoved. Nothing, not even fear, showed up. It was like he was a statue, untouched by the mortal realm. 

Shen Qingqiu was a different story. He had been so wrapped up in his own fears and future that he hadn’t exactly been on a lookout for long-dead disciples. But there Binghe sat, alive and well, save for the dark shadows under his eyes. It’s not often you see ghosts from your past, but in the past few hours he had been bombarded by not one, not two, but the entirety of his traumas in a singular room. Everyone ought to count their lucky stars that he hadn’t chosen to have a qi deviation right then and pull another Qiu Household fiasco with everyone in the room.

But outwardly, there was simply a mild look of pleasant surprise on his face. A quirked up lip and crinkled almond eyes, hands fisted into his white mourning robes. He smiled at Binghe, then thought about things and frowned uncertainly at Shen Yuan.

Luo Binghe didn’t say a word, unwilling to participate in this kangaroo court he had unwittingly summoned but simultaneously unwilling to stop the proceedings. He still had the steadfast goal of keeping Shizun closeby, even if he disliked the methods. Quick and easy, he had said. One accusation and done, he had said. Not whatever this trash fire was. 

His silent gaze seemed to meaning something entirely different to the people around him. Murmurs from the Huan Hua Palace disciples rippled throughout the crowd, ones which told the story of a cold shizun and a loving disciple betrayed. The permanently sorrowful eyes tore at the hearts of even the coldest individuals in the room.

Lao Gongzhu looked like a hyena who had run across carrion, absolute delight across his face. The expression was quickly schooled into a far more solemn one. He crossed his arms across his chest and spoke in a ringing declaration.

“The charges placed against Shen Yuan, peak lord of Qing Jing, are as follows: A fugitive slave, multiple counts of stealing slaves, inciting a qi deviation with probable intent of murder, petty and grand larceny during his time under Wu Yanzi, multiple counts of murder, abuse of disciples and power, and attempted murder.

The charges placed against Shen Qingqiu, peak lord of Qing Jing, are as follows: A fugitive slave, petty and grand larceny for similar reasons to Shen Yuan, and accomplice to murder.”

[Ding~ -200 B points for not completely clearing Shen Qingqiu’s name. However, since these minor crimes could be counted essential to his backstory, further points will not be removed.]

“We here at Huan Hua will claim custody over the two lords until the date of their formal trial--”

Yue Qingyuan unsheathed his sword an inch. The power shocked the room into silence. Binghe’s hair stood on end and he shivered, feeling like he was not two steps away from death. The vibe of Qingyuan’s sword was extremely ominous.

“We at Cang Qiong take care of our own. We have heard your accusations and will keep them in mind. We are willing to hold the Qing Jing Peak lords under house arrest until the trial date.”

Lao Gongzhu fought back the extreme fear which had overtaken his being, sighing a breath of relief after Qingyuan said his part and re-sheathed his blade. 

“How can we be assured that the Shen Lords will not run again? We’ve all seen evidence that it isn’t especially out of character for them. Huan Hua will gladly accommodate them both in our--”

“This is not something that can be argued upon.” Yue Qingyuan cut in.

A meek voice sounded from the audience, a young female cultivator. “I beg your pardon, but I think it is something that can be argued.” She spoke. Another joined in.

“A forced Qi Deviation is unforgivable.”

“I don’t agree with the charges against slavery, but that doesn’t mean I can just ignore murder.”

“Look at that Luo Binghe! He’s living proof of their crimes! Even I’ve heard of the boy and how Cang Qiong mourned his loss!”

“Wu Yanzi was a despicable man who spat on the good Wu name. You think his students would turn out much better?”

“Who could have thought that the peerless masters of Qing Jing had such lurid histories?”

The murmurs and suggestions turned to uproarious shouts, all attempting to drown out one another and voice a newer, better opinion.

“How about a compromise,” Binghe called in the booming voice he had learned to use, one which echoed through the halls of shouting generals and sounded across battlefields. It was the first sound he had made during this whole session, and the room quiet, turning their eyes toward him. He played up the exhausted victim card, not that it was very hard.

Xin Mo sent a little burst of joy through his mind, telling him he was doing well. Binghe absently patted its hilt.

“One master per sect. The one which poses the least threat to societies with Cang Qiong. The one which poses the greatest threat stays with Huan Hua. That way we each can be assured that neither will escape and no further harm will come to the cultivational worlds.”

Yue Qingyuan glowered and looked like he was about to argue over another point. From behind him swept Shen Yuan, Qingqiu left at the table with his arm outstretched towards his brother. Shen Yuan delicately passed an open fan in front of Qingyuan, effectively silencing him before he had begun.

“This master… will take Binghe on his deal. I will go to Huan Hua, and my brother may return to Cang Qiong.

Silence. Complete silence. Luo Binghe fought down that filthy feeling creeping into his soul.

Then, pandemonium.

Binghe had frowned when Shen Yuan was trussed and bustled away, blindfolded before entering the labyrinth leading to the water dungeon. The scene of his Shizun being dragged away like this felt fundamentally wrong. Xin Mo coaxed him gently, coaching him on every reason why Shen Yuan deserved this and more, but Binghe couldn’t shake that gut feeling. In the end he chose to let Xin Mo’s whispered ramblings play unchecked as he walked swiftly through the winding halls of the palace, approaching his rooms. He wasn’t in the mood to see anyone right now, especially Shizun. Not with that trial, and not with his pounding headache. Maybe he’d let the man settle in the water dungeon for a few hours, get used to the life he’d have for the next month until the next trial approached.

And what was Binghe going to do with him during this time?

Well, Binghe considered to himself. They could always talk. Play a game of twenty questions. He, after all, did have a burning few.

Binghe didn’t let his illusions of reconciliation drift for long, shutting his eyes and shaking his head. Unbidden, images began to play in his mind of a Shizun who waited patiently in the bamboo cottage at his demon palace, safe and close in the gardens. Unable to escape Binghe’s love. He reached down and grasped Xin Mo, jiggling it firmly to get it to stop sending him such thoughts. Not now, old friend. He needs a break. 

He shuffled his way back into his room and discarded his outer robe on a chair, falling back onto his bed with a thump. An arm was tossed over his face, covering his eyes. A mewl sounded for the pillows above him and a warm weight pattered up his arm and onto his chest, curling up over his heart. 

A rasping tongue scraped across his neck and he grimaced, blindly reaching out to push the little tiger away. He was met with a dissatisfied rumble, the cat scampering back up to curl at his collarbone and restart its ministrations.

“Not today, sweetheart.” He mumbled, grabbing the kitten by the scruff of her neck and placing her on the ground off of his bed. The angry rumbles grew louder. He massaged his temples, absently wondering if aspirin had been invented in this world yet.

On the ground the little tiger crouched, her tail swishing in the air. She pounced at the bed and slowly wriggled her way back up, triumphant.

The tiger scuttled back onto his chest, curling up in an attempt to restart their old song and dance. Binghe made a move to pick her up and place her back down but, with a puff of displaced air, Binghe was thoroughly smothered under the form of a smug, fully grown, horse-sized tiger. He let out a strangled shout that was muffled by a mouthful of fur. The tiger laying across him simply shifted and settled into a better position, curling around and over Luo Binghe so that he could breathe while simultaneously settling her body across his torso and arms so that he couldn’t move. A purr began to sound, vibrating through the man’s chest. Binghe’s head flopped back and he gave a long sigh. Well then. Guess he’d be forced to rest for longer than he had planned.

The labyrinth that led to the water dungeon was impossibly confusing, even after having memorized the map. Binghe was forced to backtrack more than once after having refused the guidance of one of the guards, insisting he could find his way himself. And this was the price he paid for his hubris. Instead of making it to the dungeon in ten minutes, it had taken him an hour. But he was here, now. 

From beyond the water dungeon’s doors, Binghe could hear infuriated accusations and the cracks of a whip. He impatiently barged in, not sparing a glance for the guards who desperately tried to stop him from simply walking onto the scene.

There was Xiao Gongzhu, whip in hand as she cracked it in the air, every once in a while glancing blows across Shen Yuan’s robes while Shen Yuan danced away like an acrobat despite bound arms, ducking between strikes. Binghe had spent enough time with Xiao Gongzhu, sparred with her enough, to know what her techniques looked like. She had admirable control over her whip always, and this was no exception. Every strike was calculated to cut away at the clothes without striking the man, humiliating him without harming him.

Maybe she was trying to teach him a lesson as painlessly as possible. Maybe she was trying to break down the proud lord of Qing Jing as slowly as possible. Binghe didn’t care.

He had left Xin Mo sheathed in his bedroom until the watchful eyes of his tiger, unwilling to let it distract him while he met with Shizun. Interestingly, the constant headache had abated a little when he set it aside. That was probably something he could check up on later. Right now, he only regretted not having a blade for situations like this. That said, Binghe was sure he could be terrifying in his own right.

He walked swiftly towards her, eyes tracking the trajectory of the whip. On its next strike he leaped in front of Shen Yuan and caught it in his hand. The barbs on the whip burned, piercing through his palm and coiling around his forearm like a snake. The palace mistress froze like a child whose hand had been caught in a cookie jar, guiltily staring at him as her mouth gaped open and closed, frantically trying to find explanations.

He grabbed the leather and yanked the whip from her hand, slowly unfurling it from his arm while trying to unhook the barbs from beneath his skin. 

“Shen Mei-- ah, no, Luo Binghe! Allow this mistress to help you--” The palace mistress came at him with outstretched arms and misty eyes, trying her best to help him in pulling out the hooks embedded in his skin. Binghe jerked away from her.

“You’ve done more than enough today, Gongzhu.”

From the side Shen Yuan watched wordlessly, surveying the wound of Binghe’s arm while catching his breath.

After sliding two barbs out Binghe got tired of doing it patiently and quickly ripped the whole whip off, carelessly tearing at his arm. He flung the whip into the surrounding pool and watched it sink below the bubbling surface. Both Shen Yuan and Xiao Gongzhu let out little cries of dismay at the sight of blood, but Binghe paid them no mind. His head was still buzzing with adrenaline and fury.

“Did I stutter, Gongzhu? You’ve done enough. Leave.”

“But Binghe! I heard about this man, he’s hurt you so much! Why would you still defend him?”

Binghe spoke through gritted teeth. “You lost the right to address me informally like that the moment you disrespected my Shizun. Xiao Gongzhu, leave before I throw you into the water alongside your whip.”

She stumbled back at the threat, trembling at the murderous look that spoke of a hurricane of emotion hidden beneath that mildly annoyed tone. Bowing once, quickly, she picked up her skirts and hurried out, sending a regretful backward glance at the two once she reached the entrance. The doors shut behind her, only to open again if Binghe rapped a pattern on the gate for the guards outside to hear. 

He absently reached his wounded arm up and to his lips and licked off some of the blood, almost like a beast lapping at his scars. With his other arm he absently shuffled through his pockets until he found a roll of bandages. He couldn’t heal this gash immediately-- too suspicious. He might even have to let it scar. If he was going to keep up the long-con and pretend he was abandoned disciple, he couldn’t exactly heal up like he had a fully formed spiritual core, could he? Goddamn mortals and their slow healing rates. 

“Binghe, stop.” Came a soft, firm voice.

Binghe paused mid-wrap, alert. Shen Yuan was looking at him with something akin to sadness. That sadness shook Binghe. Where was the fear Shen Yuan should be feeling right now? Where was the hatred?

“Binghe, just-- here, loosen my binds a bit? Let this master help you.”

Binghe laughed bitterly. “Help? This Luo Binghe thinks Shizun has helped enough.”

Shen Yuan recoiled a bit but persisted. “The doors are shut, Binghe. I can’t escape, and you’ve already proven yourself stronger than me. Loosen my binds. I swear on my life that I won’t try to escape.”

Silver coated words for stupid people, thought Binghe. A classic line said right before someone tries out their own little Shawshank Redemption. But Luo Binghe was curious. He always felt a swirl of conflicting emotions around Shen Yuan, mostly centered around various forms of rage, but right now curiosity had risen to the top of the pile. He cautiously approached Shen Yuan, ready for the man to suddenly lash out and attack him. Nothing happened. Leaning over Shen Yuan’s shoulder and looking at the back of his neck, Binghe allowed himself to be vulnerable for just a moment as he worked at the tight knot binding the ropes together, ones which looped around the back of Shen Yuan’s neck. 

He could feel the warmth emanating from Shen Yuan’s skin, the scent of jasmine oil fading from his hair but the bamboo flowers as strong as ever. With a final delicate tug, the ropes came loose. Shen Yuan shrugged and allowed them to pull at his ankles in a looped mass. Binghe respectfully stepped back. Shen Yuan delicately picked his way over the ropes and approached him. One step forward. One step back. Behind him, the hot waters of the water dungeon burbled. Just beyond the edge of the platform. Binghe could feel his heart rate kick up a notch. 

This had been a mistake. One step forward from Shizun. He stepped back again, defensively rather than out of deference. Shen Yuan stopped.

“Binghe.” He said firmly. The demon lord’s breath stuttered. “This master can’t help you when you keep walking away.”

Shizun had a point. Binghe was being foolish. He was stronger than eight years ago. Even if Shen Yuan tried to pull a fast one, Binghe could trust his own reflexes to keep him safe. 

So he tried to move forward. He really did. It shouldn’t be that hard. Just put one foot in front of the other, then repeat with the opposite foot, and then he’s there. He’s within the reach of Shizun. But there was a weight on his feet, like his boots had sunken into quicksand and sludge. Too thick for him to move. Too thick for him to breathe. His heart thumped in his chest. He didn’t like this, it wasn’t safe to trust him, he’d be hurt, he couldn’t do this, it was impossible to step forward. He was rooted in place.

Shen Yuan’s melancholy eyes grew sadder, but he tried to quirk his lips up into the closest version of a comforting smile he could muster. The poor boy. He was practically quaking, small despite his tall and broad frame. Shen Yuan had done this to Binghe.

“It’s alright, Binghe. Just stand still. Shizun will come to you.”

He approached slowly, as one would a wild animal. Binghe was biting his lip and looking in confusion at his feet, as if he couldn’t understand why he was frozen. He probably couldn’t, Shen Yuan realized. Shang Qinghua had kept him updated on the progress of Luo Binghe in the demon realm, and thus he felt he could understand a little bit of Binghe's thought process. How could an emperor who had led so many suicidal crusades and come out unscarred in war be afraid of a mere cultivator, Binghe must have been wondering. Shen Yuan stopped at an arm’s length from Binghe and reached out to cup Binghe’s hand in his own. He paused and looked up at Binghe.

“Okay?”

Binghe bit his cheek. He was strong now. He had the combined powers of both demonic and spiritual cultivation. There was nothing here to worry about. Nothing at all.

“...Okay.”

Soft, warm hands engulfed his own wounded one. Shen Yuan lifted it upwards towards him, watching Binghe for any signs of pain. Even if there had been severe pain, Binghe didn’t show it. He wasn’t weak, he had been through far worse. If you ripped a limb off him, he would barely make a sound. Something small like this, no matter how badly it stung, didn’t hurt enough to pay any attention to.

Shen Yuan hummed lowly to himself, prodding at the ripped flesh and clotting blood. “Binghe should have been more careful when taking out the whip. You’ve really damaged your arm here.”

Ha, is that what Shizun thought was “really damaged”? The man would have a heart attack if he saw what Binghe regularly put himself through, then. After all, out of the many weapons Binghe was proficient in, the shield wasn’t amongst them.

“This is nothing, Shizun.”

Shen Yuan swatted Binghe on the shoulder. “This is something, Binghe! I can see where it dug into muscle! Nothing, my--” One hand fluttered to his mouth. He looked to where he had hit Binghe with shock. Oh shit, he had just hit a demon lord, hadn’t he? A demon lord with a very volatile temper right now, who was very scared and yet, against all odds, still willing to trust Shen Yuan. Oh shit, he had fucked up.

Binghe himself followed Shen Yuan’s gaze towards his shoulder, and his eyes lit up with recognition. Ah, that’s why Shizun was scared right now. Because he had struck him. But Binghe… hadn’t noticed. Well, he had, of course, but. It hadn't angered him. It had been comforting, nostalgic even. He decided to be charitable this once and let it pass without notice.

“Shizun may continue.” Binghe said, each word measured and calm, the complete opposite of his stuttering heart.

Carefully, hands reached out and took his once more. This time Shen Yuan was silent, turning his arm this way and that, observing the depth of the damage and calculating just how much spiritual energy this would take to fix.

“Thank you, by the way.”

“...?” Binghe cocked his head in confusion. “For what?”

“For stopping the whip. I know the mistress wasn’t trying to truly hit me, but… I don’t exactly like the sound of whips.” 

The idea that there was a world where Binghe wouldn’t take a couple lashings for his Shizun, in any dimension, was a thought that made Binghe want to gag. No matter how much he wanted to see this man suffer in the same way he had suffered (Not really, argued a loud voice. You don’t want Shizun to suffer, you want him to be happy and you want yourself to be happy), he couldn’t stand the thought of Shizun actually being hurt in any manner beyond abstract. 

“...It’s no problem.”

Done with his observations, Shen Yuan sent a testing trickle of energy up Binghe’s arm. It was warm, tingling slightly, a stark contrast from the normal cold and sapping feeling of healing wounds with demonic energy.

Seeing no adverse reactions, Shen Yuan increased the thing trickle of energy into a stream, both of them observing how his wounds slowly knit back together. It was going to take a while, with how deep Binghe’s wounds were. Five minutes, possibly ten.

Binghe broke this second silence a few minutes in. It had taken him a while to muster of the courage to ask this next part. It had been a question years in the making, one that had been tearing a new hole into his soul every day.

The question, packed with so much meaning and with the possibility to crush Binghe beyond repair, was only a mere four words. Four simple words.

“Does Shizun regret it?”

He asked it out of the blue, voice casual, eyes glittering. He didn’t dare look at Shen Yuan in the face for this, just in case he saw something that he never wanted to see. The flow of energy suddenly stopped. There was silence. Neither of them dared to breathe.

Shen Yuan played dumb. “Regret what?”

Binghe frowned a little at the answer, but he was patient. “You know what I mean.”
Silence again. Binghe’s heart pounded faster with each passing second, waiting for the inevitable rejection.

Shen Yuan’s words were soft, fluttering in the air. “...Every day.”

For the first time in forever, Shen Yuan could almost see Binghe’s ear perk up, an imaginary tail that initially hung still between his legs slowly, cautiously, beginning to wag. Like a little puppy, Shen Yuan’s mind helpfully supplied. Even when he was big and scary like this, draped in red and black and with scars scattered across his body and heart, he was still just a little puppy. Excitable and eager to please, only desiring the slightest scrap of love in return for eternal devotion.

Binghe thought, “every day?” He thought, “Shizun regretted it?” He thought, “Shizun… still loves me?” A steady flow of warmth begin to fill that empty void in his chest, elation filling in his mind, the constant headache rescinding. Shizun regretted it! Shizun regretted pushing him in! Shizun!

Binghe’s arm was healed, but Shen Yuan didn’t step away. With one scarred hand held in his own calloused one, Shen Yuan’s other hand raising upwards, Shen Yuan slowly patted Binghe on the head. The thick black hair was just as soft as he remembered. They stayed like that for a few comforting moments, Binghe bowing his head while Shen Yuan carded his fingers through it. It was muscle memory, even after all the years. Binghe didn't relax as he once used to, didn't turn into a puddle of warmth, lounging against his Shizun, but that was okay. Shen Yuan didn't expect complete trust after only one semi-amicable meeting. But for it felt temporarily like the last five years had never happened.

Nevertheless, things couldn’t stay like this forever. 

Shen Yuan stepped back, out of Binghe’s personal space, and turned around to pick the immortal binding cable back up. He planned to hand it to Binghe and prove his trustworthiness before either of their interactions went sour, as they were so wont to do these days. He planned to keep up these good interactions, slowly work his up to longer and longer conversations with Binghe for the next month.

When Shen Yuan turned, Binghe lashed out desperately. He yanked at the back of his Shizun’s robes, trying to get back that warmth the moment it left his grasp.

There was a loud tearing sound. The frayed and cut up clothing Shen Yuan was wearing finally gave their rattling death throes, shredded in Binghe’s tight fist. Shizun spun back around to face him, surprised. Binghe looked at the white scraps of fabric that fluttered to the ground, some of them still between his fingers. He looked up at Shen Yuan’s bewildered face, then down to his bare chest, then back to the ground where the rags were scattered. Then straight back up at Shen Yuan's revealed torso.

Binghe’s ears turned red. 

Ah! Ah ah ah ah ah! Chest! An exposed, pale white chest! Right there! Deceptively muscular pecs with dusky brown nipples, washboard abs that Binghe wanted to run his hands across, sharp, jutting collarbones, right there! Forget about how Binghe walked around every day with the collars of his robes indecently opened in a deep v, forget about how the demonic courtesans of his palace could walk around naked without anyone blinking an eye. This was was Shizun! Bare!

Binghe’s cheeks heated into an inferno, his face turning bright red in embarrassment. Shen Yuan was staring at him, surprised and puzzled and not even trying to cover himself up even a little. Shizun! Shen Yuan! Have some modesty! The last time Binghe saw you like this was over eight years ago, can you not spare him a bit of mercy!

He whirled around and turned his back to the man to preserve whatever modesty Shen Yuan had left, shucking off his thick black outer robe. Binghe clapped a hand over his eyes before turning around, the other hand fumblingly draping the robes over Shen Yuan’s body.

“Take it.” He choked out. Shen Yuan took the robes, a bit puzzled. They were both men, weren’t they? Why was Binghe acting so freaked out? Was it some other anxiety he had gained during his time in the abyss? A fear of naked men?

“What do you want this master to do with--”

“Put it on. Just… cover yourself up, Shizun. I--” Binghe peeked through his fingers when the robe was plucked from his fingers and bit his tongue, stopping his sentence in his tracks. His robe hung over Shizun’s thinner figure, obviously a few sizes to big, the dark colors starkly contrasting with Shen Yuan’s entire “pure, untouched immortal made of snow” aesthetic. Binghe went lightheaded. Ah! Boyfriend shirt! There was no way around it, that was totally an ancient version of the boyfriend shirt! It didn’t seem possible, but Binghe’s face turned a few shades hotter.

Ohh shit, he wasn't going to survive if he stayed here. He was already thinking about throwing himself into the acidic waters around them in mutually bound shame and delight.

“This disciple apologizes! Please have a nice day, Shizun!” He awkwardly shouted, bowing deeply, before sprinting for the exit.

“Binghe, wait! The cables! What about the cables!”

Binghe had practically plastered himself against the door, frantically rapping the password. The doors opened in a rush, guards looking in to see what the problem was, and Binghe flew past them in a mad dash for his room, one hand covering his mouth like a surprised maiden. Shizun had really worn his robes! After all this time, Shizun regretted pushing him in! Shizun patted his head and healed his arm! Shizun~!!!

In the blue tinted light of the dungeon, Shen Yuan looked helplessly at the red cables in his hand. What was Binghe even thinking, rushing out like that? Truly, his disciple his hopeless. Shen Yuan’s heart fluttered a little when he remembered that awed expression on Binghe’s face, as if all the man’s dreams had come true the moment Shen Yuan put on the black robe. What did that even mean? Why had Binghe reacted like that?

He laughed a little to himself and wound the ties over his wrists, binding them together. Shen Yuan was a lot of things, but he kept his word. He would stay here, nice and prim and bound, until Binghe showed back up for another strange conversation. Maybe next time it would go longer, and Shen Yuan would finally muster up the courage to apologize and explain everything. He didn’t think that everything would suddenly become better after he apologized-- he wasn’t stupid. Trauma like what Binghe had gone through took a long time to get over, with the help of many friends and teachers along the way. But maybe he could help Binghe take the first step forward.

Maybe, after a month in captivity, they could resolve their issues and leave this mess-- not friends, exactly, but… as mutually healed people?

He used his teeth to tighten the knot around his wrists and moved back to the center of the platform, sitting in a lotus position. Closing his eyes, he began to meditate. The image of a blushing Binghe flashed through his mind, and he smiled.

The Palace Master's steps were swift and purposeful as he swept through the labyrinth in the early morning, a single goal on his mind.

He stalked through the gates of the entrance, his face darkening when he saw the black robes which sat comfortably over Shen Yuan. So Binghe had come through here already, huh? Seems like the disciple’s loyalty still hadn’t faded, even with the laundry list of crimes his Shizun had committed. Fucking bitch. He’d teach the beautiful slut a lesson someday, destroy him and piece him back together and teach him to never crawl to the comfort of another, so much lower than Lao Gongzhu himself. 

Shen Yuan looked up, alert. At first he had thought it was Binghe who entered and had readied himself to shout a familiar greeting, but he didn’t recognize that heavy spiritual energy which crackled over the water, choking like a poisonous miasma. Lao Gongzhu stalked in front of him and tch-ed at the sight of his wrists, weakly bound. Binghe had even done this?

He grabbed Shen Yuan by the hair and pulled him up, surprising the other man. Shen Yuan stumbled to his knees, rocked out of his formerly peaceful meditative mindset. He didn’t make so much as a whimper, but his mildly curious gaze filled with anger.

“Let go of me!” He said sharply, voice raising above its usual quiet tones. A foot lashed out, aiming to strike at Gongzhu’s kidney. The older man avoided the kick with surprising grace. He was, after all, a seasoned cultivator.

“Shen Yuan, stop this now.” Gongzhu said sharply. Shen Yuan hissed and ran forward, ready to break the man’s ribs with a kick. In between going over his most recent memories of Luo Binghe and smiling fondly at them, he had daydreamed of wrecking this shitty old man and tearing apart everything he had built up. The palace master avoided his attacks and blocked a few of them, eventually catching Shen Yuan’s foot in an iron grip and pushing back. Shen Yuan stumbled and shifted his weight, landing in a low crouch.

Gongzhu’s grimace grew deeper. “Shut up and listen to me, Shen Yuan. I’m giving you a chance right now. You like running so much? Running from your masters, running from your crimes? Well, I’m giving you a chance to stretch your legs.”

Shen Yuan deliberately shifted from his crouch to his normal posture, back straight and shoulders held back. Looking down his nose at the shorter cultivator, he was alarmed by the amount of hatred in those eyes. “What are you saying?”

The Huan Hua Palace master clicked his tongue in annoyance. From his waist he drew Xiu Ying, cutting Shen Yuan’s binds with a single stroke and then throwing him the sword. Shen Yuan caught his trusty blade and looked at it with no small measure of trepidation and confusion. Some small but quickly growing fear was expanding in his chest, pushing on his ribcage.

“I’m saying to do what you do best, boy. Run.”

Gongzhu roughly grabbed his shoulder and swung him around, pushing him towards the entrance, the doors held open by a guard who stood on the weighted pressure plate outside. Shen Yuan took a few unsteady steps to the exit, tugging Binghe’s robes tighter around him. He didn’t want to escape and be accused of another crime, and with Binghe here he didn’t exactly fear of being treated too badly so long as he didn’t try to run. Which was exactly what Gongzhu was trying to get him to do, as if he thought Shen Yuan had some kind of death wish.

A guard shifted his weight, lightly resting his hand on his sword. A warning. More emerged from the darkness, multiple unwelcoming faces glaring at him. Were it just a few, Shen Yuan wouldn't have minded. Were it even a dozen, Shen Yuan was sure he could have fought through. But it looked like a small army stood outside the door, lining the halls. Shen Yuan grew cold. There was murder in their eyes.

Unsteady steps evolved into a fast sprint, a mad dash past the guards and beyond the reach of the palace master. He raced out the gates and into the labyrinth, frantically counting his steps before every turn in an attempt to retrace the path which had brought him here. From behind him, he could hear the sounds of sirens waking and howling towards the skies, dogs snarling as they were let from their cages, hungering for blood.

Shen Yuan would be a fool if he didn’t realize what this meant. Lao Gongzhu had let him escape, but he hadn’t meant for Shen Yuan to survive.

Binghe shot awake at the first alarm, his hand already unsheathing Xin Mo from under his pillow. The little white cat beside him sleepily awoke, pearly white fangs shining in the moonlight as it arched its back and yawned. 

His first thought was Shizun. Something was wrong, and he absolutely needed to make sure that Shizun was safe. The throbbing headache which had been weighing him down these past few weeks, worsening in the last few hours, came back with a vengeance. He winced but concentrated through the pain, sending out feelers and trying to get feedback from the blood parasites. Was Shen Yuan okay? Was he hurt?

The parasites sent back no signals that the spiritual energy of their host was weakening, nor was their blood loss or any major injury. But something was off. The reception from the parasites was low, as if Binghe were trying to receive a phone call with only one bar of service. The reception should be extremely strong if Shen Yuan was just down in the water dungeon. Not only that, but the host was tired. And he was on the move.

Binghe remembered he had never replaced those cables.

Aw, fuck.

His good mood had faded completely, anxiety back with a vengeance. So Shen Yuan was gone, huh? Just left him like that? He, what, patted Binghe on the head once and thought that was enough to repay all his crimes?

“Get up. We’re going out.” Binghe said to the little tiger sharply. The cat hissed at his tone and he growled back. “Not today. I don’t care what you have to say, we’ve got prey to catch.”

He didn’t bother with his veil or re-applying the makeup which normally covered his demon mark. Shizun was fast, shooting towards a nearby city. Binghe needed to get to him before Shen Yuan found someone he knew, before Cang Qiong came to his defense. 

He skidded out his bedroom doors, the white tiger hot on his heels. She slowly overtook him as he sprinted through the halls, and when she reached his side he grabbed her mane and slung himself onto her back, leaning down to whisper directions into her ears. 

Servants sprang out of their way, giving shrieks at the wild tiger and disciple racing through the palace. Most of the seasoned disciples had been let loose after the escaped cultivator, but younger disciples popped their heads out of their bedroom doors to see what the commotion was about and were met with a picture that looked like it was straight out of a storybook. A demon with wild hair and rich, flowing black robes on a snow-white beast the size of a horse, the two of them flying through the halls. 

Though they were on the second floor, Binghe whispered instructions to the tiger. Without hesitation, she switched directions and galloped towards a wide open window, throwing herself through it and soaring over the open training fields. The two of them landed with a thump, Binghe’s hair blown back from the fall, his bright red demonic mark obvious for all to see.

“Keep straight towards Huayue City! I’m going into the dream realm!” Binghe shouted against the wind. He tucked his hands into the thick ruff of the cat’s fur and slumped down, trusting her not to let his body fall off. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate, but that sharp, throbbing pain came back before he could enter the dream realm. He yelped, massaging his forehead. Why now out of all the times to get a migraine?!

“Never mind, just-- keep going. I’ll stay awake for now.” He hissed through the pain. 

The miles flew by, Binghe frantically tracking Shen Yuan who darted between woods, looping back sometimes or going upwards into the treetops, it seemed. At one point he seemed to start flying on a sword (And when had he gotten Xiu Ying? Where had he gotten his blade back?), but then his progress stuttered and he fell back to the forest floor. Binghe felt his heart plummet when Shen Yuan fell, his blood parasites relaying messages that his spiritual veins were blocked right now, but he breathed a gasping breath when Shen Yuan kept running forward. This relief mutated, and Binghe’s lips pulled back into a snarl. Even the dangers of Without a Cure wouldn’t stop Shen Yuan from trying to escape, huh? 

Huayue City was lit up with lanterns for the festival in town, the city alive and dancing in the dark now that the beast which had stolen away so many had been taken into custody. Children and adults alike mingled in the streets, many wearing the masks of demons and beasts. At the city walls the tiger dashed for the shadows, looking back at Binghe curiously. He shook his head and slid off its back, patting his shoulder. 

“It’s too crowded for your form right now. Get on.”

When Binghe walked through the city with red eyes and a demon mark, people simply thought it was another costume. They cooed at the white cat that perched on his shoulders as he rushed through the crowd, tracking the movements of Shen Yuan in his mind. He pushed his way through bustling crowds, set on the location that Shen Yuan seemed to have paused he. He got close, but when he went to turn the corner he saw Shizun dart away, black outer robe mingling with white inner robes.

He dashed after the figure but quickly lost sight of it in the bustling crowds. He slowed to a stalling stop, closing his eyes again to track the man down. He wanted to incapacitate Shen Yuan at this point, use his blood demon arts to bring the man to his knees, but Binghe didn’t know how to do so without causing permanent damage.

“A-Luo? Is that you?”

He turned, shocked.

Ning Yingying stood in front of a teahouse, hand over her heart. Ming Fan stood by her side, dumbstruck and silent. Juxtaposed from the two was the Huan Hua Palace Mistress with a puffy, bruised face and Guangyi Xiao who was dabbing at her wounds with a handkerchief. Everyone’s attention turned towards him.

Ning Yingying tugged on Ming Fan’s sleeve, face still staring straight at Binghe. “It’s him, right, A-Ming? I’m not just imagining it?”

“If you’re dreaming, I’m dreaming too.”

Binghe shook his head. The time to reconnect wasn’t now. Wordlessly he turned back to his mission, running after the shout which echoed across the city. 

“Liu-Qing-ge!!” Shen Yuan bellowed from the east. Behind Binghe, he could hear Ming Fan and Ning Yingying chasing him.

“Wait! A-Luo, stop! Come back!”

“Hey, bastard! Your ass is grass if you don’t get back here!”

Shen Yuan was in the sky, so Binghe jumped to the rooftops. His pursuers lagged behind, unable to keep up with his unending sprint. He leaped from rooftop to rooftop, uncaring of the roof tiles that broke under his feet and slid to the ground. Below shrieks were heard from pedestrians who had the unfortunate luck of walking beneath such houses. 

Binghe caught back up with Shen Yuan, eyes tracking the two people who soared through the sky. He and Xin Mo at his side let out a combined bellow at the sight of Shen Yuan racing away while clinging to Liu Qingge’s waist. You know what? Forget about what Binghe had said about missing the War God. Liu Qingge could go die in a hole.

“Off. Hide” He growled to the cat on his shoulder. It spread its claws and dug them into his robe, using his shoulder as a springboard to scamper into the shadows. Binghe braced himself and took a running start, gaining speed as he went. At the edge of the roof he leaped, an arm outstretched towards Shen Yuan. The couple on the sword swerved out of his reach, shooting down towards the ground. Binghe broke his kneecaps when he landed, the roof of an abandoned house below him crumbling under the force of his weight. He simply ran demonic qi through them while rolling to his feet and he was back to a mad dash to where the falling stars had struck the ground. 

He came to a scene where Liu Qingge had pushed Shen Yuan behind him and was personally fighting off swarms of Huan Hua cultivators. Cheng Luan shone red in the lantern light, fierce and strong in Liu Qingge’s arms. With a single sword technique, Liu Qingge cut down ten disciples, killing two and disarming the other eight. He was a tempest whose peaceful white and slate blue-gray robes contrasted the dark red blood which soaked the ground around him. War god, indeed.

“Fall back!” Luo Binghe ordered, his voice booming in the streets. Liu Qingge automatically went on the defensive, which to the man was simply a stronger offense. His sword strikes became faster and harder. The Huan Hua cultivators, recognizing the voice of one of Lao Gongzhu’s favored disciples and not wanting to be at the mercy of Liu Qingge’s renewed attacks, rushed away from the battle, jumping onto the roofs around them like watchful gargoyles and waiting to be called back into battle at any moment.

“Luo Binghe, wait! Don’t be impulsive!” Shen Yuan hastily called.

Binghe ground out, “Too late, Shizun!” He unsheathed Xin Mo, fighting through the nausea that came back at him with a vengeance. The ebony blade pulsated with swirling black qi, the sure sign of a demon. 

Liu Qingge was the first to strike, rushing him with his blade aimed at his chest. Luo Binghe easily sidestepped the strike, the straightforwardness of Liu Qingge’s movement’s reminding him, just for a moment, of a pale veiled girl he used to spar with. Liu Qingge spun when Binghe did, his sword cutting through Binghe’s sleeve, In turn, Binghe swept his foot low toward’s Qingge’s legs, causing the man to stumble while Binghe struck with Xin Mo. At the last second Cheng Luan blocked Binghe’s strike, rattling under the pressure of his blade. Liu Qingge’s eyes widened at how strong his opponent pushed down, the cultivator’s arms shaking in an attempt to hold back the weight.

Binghe used his blade on Qingge’s like a springboard, pushing down on Cheng Luan in order to propel himself upwards.  He backflipped over the cultivator and landed behind him, wrapping an arm around his throat while digging Xin Mo into his side, throwing him off balance. Liu Qingge struggled but Binghe’s blade stopped him, piercing the skin a few inches deep.

Beyond him, a shing of metal. Shen Yuan did Binghe the courtesy of walking around so Binghe could look his traitorous Shizun in the eye, Xiu Ying leveled at him for the third time in his life.

“Luo Binghe, it’s me you have a quarrel with. Leave Liu Qingge out of this.”

Luo Binghe raised his head and looked at him darkly. In a flash he had rescinded his sword and left Qingge coughing up blood on the ground, appearing in front of Shizun. In the distance there was a cry of “A-Yuan!” and “Xiao Yuan!” and twin shouts of “Binghe!”, but the demon lord paid them no mind. He activated a talisman from his inventory and a kaleidoscope-like shield shimmered around them.

In the silence of their bubble, Binghe growled. “You want to settle things now? When your desperate and your back’s against the wall? At this point, with so much bad blood between us, do you truly think you can settle things anymore? You ran, Shizun. I trusted you in the palace, and you ran.”

Shen Yuan looked at him with tired eyes. “This master… has nothing to say.” And truly he didn’t. At this point, he knew Luo Binghe wouldn’t believe him if he told a story as unbelievable as “Lao Gongzhu let me go.” The hostile glare in Binghe’s eyes said it all. “I’ve used every trick, and yet I still can’t escape. As expected, destiny is destiny.” He smiled knowingly, as if making a grim joke to himself.

Luo Binghe sneered. “Destiny? What’s destiny? Is it allowing a child to be thrown from family to family without a care? Is it letting a mother be forgotten by the riverside?” With every sentence, he took an aggressive step forward.

“Or is it letting a child be repeatedly beaten and starved on Qing Jing? Or is it allowing the person whom I wholeheartedly, genuinely loved and admired to deceive me, abandon me, betray me, and then personally push me down into a living hell?”

His voice quieted, menacing and low. “Do you know how I spent those three years in the abyss? Do you know how many times I had my limbs ripped off, how often I starved, the poisonous air I breathed for weeks on end, with no reprieve from it all? And that whole time, I spent every moment with my life revolving around you. I tried not to, but in the end it all came back to Shizun. Every day I spent thinking about you.”

“Thinking about why Shizun would treat me like this, why you wouldn’t listen to my explanations. Why you wouldn’t give me a shred of mercy. Why you always said that no matter what, no matter what happened, you would protect this disciple. Is this your idea of destiny? If so, then I won’t bow to it! Destiny doesn’t exist at all, or if it does, then it’s something that should be trampled underneath my feet!” Shen Yuan tried to interrupt him then, but he roughly grabbed the man by his collar and pushed him back.

“You can’t just take children in, love and care for them, and just abandon them! That’s not how this works! That’s not how any of this works! If we children must give our masters filial piety, do we not deserve even a modicum of respect and loyalty in return?” He suppressed his shaking shoulders but was unable to stop the catch in his voice. God, he hated how weak he was. He was so fucking useless.

“Why does everyone keep leaving me? What did I do?” He said, starting loud and ending in a small voice. His shaking hand clung to the hilt of Xin Mo for stability, head pulsating.

Shen Yuan looked to Binghe, then to the sky. The scorching sun beat down on them, eviscerating the shadows cast across the ground. He tilted his head one last time, thoughtful expression running across his face. It shifted into peacefulness. Out of every day for this to happen, Shen Yuan certainly hadn’t expected today of all days. And to think, just last night he thought he would be telling Binghe the whole truth. But there were more important matters right now.

Binghe struggled underneath the thick fog which invaded his mind, the headache the worst it had reached yet. It felt like a thousand maggot were wriggling in his brain, like knives were stabbing in and out of his scalp. Xin Mo jiggled in its sheath, crying to be freed. 

Shen Qingqiu said in a soft voice, “Don’t let it win, Binghe.”

He tried to follow his Shizun’s advice. As a good disciple, he had always strove to do so. But he wasn’t strong enough. He was never strong enough, it seemed. Black flames engulfed his figure as Xin Mo finally flung itself out of the sheathe, seeking blood and trying to induce even stronger, tastier emotions from its host. Binghe wanted to collapse and writhe on the ground from the pain which emanated throughout his body as if he were a bundle of shivering nerves being and poked and prodded by thousands of needles, and he was frozen and he couldn’t breathe because of the all-consuming pain and he struggled to endure and-- and someone, a warm and soft someone, gently embraced him.

It felt like a torrential rainstorm of cool energy flooding his veins and clearing them of the fire which crawled up the pathways. He was comfortable, his body felt the best it had in months-- no, years. The migraine disappeared and the energy of the Heart Demon sword was washed away, the blade peacefully returning to its sheathe.

Binghe’s breath evened out, both demonic and spiritual veins flowing normally now. Everything worked as it should have.

But the blood parasites inside Shen Yuan told a different story.

A slowing pulse. Destroyed spiritual veins. Limited, labored breath entering the host body. Dying. Dying.

The shield around them shattered, and in the clearing, gasps were heard from the gathering crowd. Someone gasped.

“Shen Yuan self-destructed!”

Shen Yuan slowly let go of Binghe, staggering backward. His Xiu Ying sword fell from limp fingers, shattering across the dirt road. Blades are representative of their masters, and Xiu Ying didn’t have much of a master left.

Shen Yuan was an ordinary person now, something he hadn’t been in decades. No spiritual energy ran through his veins, and he didn’t even have the faintest sense of it lying dormant as it felt when Without a Cure reared its ugly head. He was common now, as common as a slave. And for once in his life, he made peace with that.

His ever-soft voice came out as a whisper, half blown away by the wind but clear as day to Binghe. It was kind and warm, like rays of the sun peeking through clouds.“This master will repay you today. For everything he has done.”

Binghe blinked blankly at him, even when the body swayed. Unthinkingly, Binghe reached forward and caught the man before he could crumple onto the ground. Shizun felt light as a doll, like this. Eyes closed like he was sleeping, face pale and bloodless. Like those little dolls that closed their eyes when they lie down and opened them when they woke up. It looked like Shen Yuan could wake up any second now.

Binghe was numb, looking in on the situation from outside. What had just happened? What had Shizun done?

The parasites in the host reported back. Dying. Dying.

Dead.

“Shizun?” His voice was small and weak. Binghe gently felt for a pulse, refusing to believe what the parasites were telling him. Nothing. “Shizun?” He murmured, over and over again.

Shen Qingqiu fought his way through the crowd. “Step aside! Get out of my fucking way! That’s my brother, move!”

Yue Qingyuan, similarly, was pushing his way through, voice rough. “What happened? Where’s Shen Yuan?” He called. 

Blood fled from Liu Qingge’s face and he stood like a ghost who had lost its way, sword forgotten on the ground.

“A-Luo? A-Luo, what’s wrong with Shizun?”

Binghe didn’t know how to reply to Yingying. He didn’t know how to reply to any of these questions that were gradually growing louder and louder. He was engulfed in a tidal wave of demands and accusations, and yet he could only dumbly whisper, “Shizun?”

“A-Luo? What have you done?” Yingying said quietly.

“Shizun? Liu-shishu, is Shizun...?” Ming Fan trailed off. Liu Qingge gave a single, curt nod. Sharp inhales from the crowd.

Shen Qingqiu surfaced from the sea of faces, nastily elbowing his way through. He haltingly took in Shen Yuan’s limp body hanging from Binghe’s hands. “A-Yuan? A-Yuan, can you hear me?” His voice was the softest, kindest Binghe had ever heard it. It seemed there was a fifth emotion that Shen Qingqiu could express in his wide range of tones, something beyond anger and annoyance. Sorrow. Gentle, bittersweet sorrow.

There was no reply.

Shen Qingqiu’s face contorted into a wretched mask of fury, fear, despair. His lip curled as he barked a laugh, apparently finding humor in this situation. His normally soft voice was loud and grating, accusatory. “You.”

"You fucking bastard."

Nonsense words. Binghe couldn't understand what any of them were saying. His mind could only replay in a loop around to the limp man in his arms. 

Shen Qingqiu snarled at Binghe's complete lack of response. “You think I don't know why you did this? You think A-Yuan hasn't told me about you! Men!” He spat. “All you men are the same! You think that just because you’re strong you can take and take and take whatever you want, whatever you feel like you deserve! Well, Luo Binghe, what do you think now? You think you deserve Shen Yuan? You think my brother is a prize to be passed around?” His voice cracked on the word brother and everyone around them watched in horror as the spiteful peak lord, the snake of Qing Jing peak, began to tear up. 

His eyes turned red and shiny, but he refused to let a single drop fall. He took a step towards Binghe, hesitated for a moment as he looked down at his twin’s slack face, then kept going. A finger pushed against Binghe’s chest, right above his scar. It felt like a bullet slowly piercing through him.

“Shen Yuan is his own person, do you understand? He is not owned by anyone, he owes you no part of himself. And now he will forever be free from your grasp.” He stepped forward, even closer, and Luo Binghe, the heavenly demon lord and the sovereign of the demon and dream realm-- he stepped back.

“So how does it feel, Luo Binghe? Now that you have everything that you want in your hands.” His shifu snapped, mouth twisted in a mocking grin, his voice thick with despair. “You want him dead? He’s dead. You want him tortured? He suffered so, so much,” He paused for a moment, curling in on himself, hunching to hide the sob that pushed its way past his lips. “He grieved for you. He gave up so much for you, so much to you. He trusted you!” Shen Qingqiu choked, obviously too overwhelmed to go on. Ning Yingying rushed to his side, not even sparing a glance for her former martial brother, but Qingqiu put out a hand and brushed her aside. He tilted his head backs, straightening his back to tower at his full height. A few centimeters shorter than Binghe, now, the younger man noted. But Binghe felt so, so small before him. 

Shen Jiu's once emerald green eyes were black ice. “So how do you feel now that you’ve won, beast?” He spat, voice the clearest it had been since the beginning of his attack. 

Liu Qingge walked up behind him silently, eyes solemn and downcast. His hands hung in the air as if they didn’t know what to do without a sword and a battle to fight. When he looked up at Binghe, his gaze was missing its usual sharp edge, his fighting spirit. It was just… empty. He lightly touched his hand to Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder and the twin whirled around, turning his back to Binghe. At the sight of Qingge, hair wind-tossed and face tired and drawn, something snapped. His knees buckled beneath him. Liu Qingge caught his old enemy against his chest, holding him tight. The elder twin of Qing Jing peak, now its sole lord, began to sob. From the reigning silence around them, mourning wails began to resonate throughout the forest.

Bonus: A few hours after Shen Yuan’s death.

When Shen Qingqiu returned to his bamboo cottage and Qing Jing, he bade goodbye to Ming Fan and Ning Yingying at the door. Walking to his rooms, he shucked off his mourning robes, tossing them into a white pile in a corner. Shen Qingqiu tossed open a wardrobe drawer, then another, hissing at all the stark white robes which faced him. His green ones were in storage. Shen Qingqiu hadn’t planned to pull them back out until he felt he'd properly tortured A-Yuan with guilt for pushing one of Qingqiu’s favorite disciples to his doom. At least, that was the excuse he had told himself for years. The white robes were a bitter reminder to Shen Yuan, he repeated silently. They weren't at all representative of his own pain.

He crossed the silent household to his brother’s room, hesitating for only a moment before flipping the latch on the chest and pushing it open. At the top of it sat a pale green robe, the creases of its folds straight and crisp. Shen Jiu smiled bitterly to himself. Old habits must die hard.

Up the layers of the robe came, the sleeves flowing gracefully over his arms and cut at a perfectly tailored length at his wrists. He channeled heated qi into his hands to smooth out the wrinkles and folds in the clothes. A borrowed belt came next, then arm guards and dark, sturdy boots.

Shen Qingqiu had kept up the facade of mourning for far too long. Five years too long, all for a single boy. Qing Jing needed a peak lord now, not a grieving teacher and certainly not a weeping brother. He looked into a mirror and smoothed his hair, redoing his half-up, half-down hairstyle and arranging it until he was satisfied. A simple pin was stuck in, wooden with flowers blooming at the tips.

And then, with reluctance, he turned to the dresser and slid a broken fan and jade bunny into a spacial storage ring. As much as he hated it, he ought to contact and commission someone to have this repaired. Otherwise, Shen Yuan would be absolutely distraught, losing his fan like this forever. So yes, he thought. He should have this fixed as soon as possible.

After all, it wasn't like Shen Yuan would be gone for long.

Chapter Text

When the members of Cang Qiong had surrounded him, acting as if it was their duty, their right, to take Shizun away from Binghe again, he panicked. He wasn’t proud of it, but that was the truth. He simply panicked, turned tail, and booked it. There were accusations of demon, monster, murderer, but he paid them no heed. His mind only looped around Shizun. Shizun was dead, and Luo Binghe had killed him. He tried his best not to jostle Shen Yuan's broken body in his arms as he sprinted, but there was only so much he could do. It was a pathetic, desperate attempt for escape, but he threw his entire body into it, fleeing from the hoardes which chased him.

It burned at Binghe’s soul to do this, to unravel the sacrifice Shen Yuan had just made, but he tore Xin Mo out of his sheathe, said a prayer, and tore a hole into the fabric of the worlds, spiralling black and spewing dark mist. Hands grasped at his robes, faint shouts came from cultivators, but Binghe slipped through.

He popped out on the other side of his portal in his palace, Shen Yuan in his arms, a disgruntled cat wandering off while vigorously cleaning blood off of its fur, and screamed for Mobei-Jun. Surprisingly, Mobei-Jun popped up almost immediately. He rushed down the halls, face at first impassive, if mildly annoyed, but then he caught sight of Shen Yuan. All the blood drained from his face.

And now they were in this situation.

“Holy fuck.”

“No no no Mobei-Jun you’ve gotta know something that I can do-- this can’t just be the end!”

“Shang Qinghua is going to be devastated. What am I supposed to tell him.” Mobei-Jun rapidly twisted his ring around his finger, face as impassive as ever but body tense.

“That’s not important right now! Shang Qinghua doesn’t have to know if you can just tell me how the hell I can bring! Shizun! Back!” Binghe shifted the weight of Shen Yuan in his arms, losing himself in familiar banter as a form of desperate escapism.

Mobei-Jun nervously placed a hand on his hip, rapidly flicking through the notes on his system. “Necromancy exists in this world, you can try that. Or summoning and transferring souls with him. But that means he inhabits your body and you end up dead. Have you tried playing Inquiry and calling his soul back.” 

“I haven’t tried anything yet. I just got back, and... I killed Shizun. I killed Shizun, holy fuck I fucking killed Shizun. I’m just like Luo Binghe--”

“You are Luo Binghe.”

“No, the original one! The asshole one! The one who everyone wanted to castrate and kill!”

“...Yeah, you. That literally describes your situation right now.”

Binghe looked down at Shizun’s blank face and around and the looming castle walls around him, high and thick with layers of bricks. A fortress. “Oh my god. You’re right.” Binghe turned deathly pale. “I’m literally Luo Binghe right now.”

Oh shit. He’d have to leave that for another day, though, because he had more pressing problems going on right now. Like Shen Yuan. A dead Shizun. Fuck.

Mobei-Jun clapped him on the shoulder, probably a little more heavily than one would deem as friendly. “I’m heading to the libraries. There are thousands of ways to call back the dead. Right now, keep the body safe.”

Binghe nodded once, crisp, and backpedalled a little, ready to sprint to the bamboo cottage and get everything set up before rigor mortis settled in.

He crashed into someone. A warm, soft someone. Someone who apologized with many frantic, loud “Apologies, Lord Luo! This servant should have been looking where he was going, he apologizes deeply for the-- A-Yuan?”

Shang Qinghua looked up between Binghe’s puffy, tear-stained face and the body he was currently holding.

“Shit.” Mobei-Jun whispered.

~~~

Surprisingly enough, Qinghua… didn’t actually panic. 

Well, that’s not accurate. He actually freaked the fuck out, but it wasn't through tears and extreme sobbing like Mobei-Jun had expected. It was more like Shang Qinghua's normal freak out, not full-on mourning. He pestered Binghe with questions that the man grudgingly answered, unwilling to keep his Shizun's best friend in the dark. Especially if he was going to see Shang Qinghua on the regular. In return, the questions were more curious than accusatory, gently backing off whenever Binghe couldn't find it within him to answer. Time, place, situation. Easy to answer. What was said, who said what, why? Far more difficult. 

It was a nice change of pace from the screaming anger he had just escaped from.

Which kind of freaked Luo Binghe out, because he’s never seen the man so deliberately calm and considerate. Mobei-Jun was freaking out equally as much, but it showed more in the way that he wrapped Qinghua up in his cloak and tried to manually drag him away from the scene. Shang Qinghua shook him off but kept the cloak tucked around his shoulders.

“Shen Yuan just self-destructed? No warning?”

“To calm Xin Mo, yes.” Binghe absently answered, kicking open the gate to the courtyard. Shang Qinghua trailed behind him without hesitation, but Binghe had to turn back and nod at Mobei-Jun’s at the edge of the border before Mobei-Jun let himself inside. Binghe’s notorious protectiveness of the area had even his allies wary, it seemed.

Shang Qinghua muttered something, though Binghe only caught the word "cucumber", and he glanced back at him. “What was that?”

“Nothing! Nothing, my lord, absolutely nothing.” 

Shrugging internally, Binghe turned his attention back to the cottage.

He had taken weeklong vacations during his time at Huan Hua to check up on the demon realm, finishing up rebuilding the cottage and powering his way through mountains of paperwork that stacked up while he was away. Now the cottage stood just as he distantly remembered it, fake sunlight filtering through the bamboo branches and dappling the ground in washed-out golden rays. It was a nostalgic sight, and some little part of him bitterly whispered that Binghe had finally gotten the last missing piece. Shizun was finally here, whether he liked it or not.

Binghe was gentler about opening the next door, unwilling to hurt even a recreation of the cottage. To him, it was all part of his second childhood. Any damage to it was damage to precious memories, made all the more precious because Shizun had regretted pushing him in.

And Binghe had killed him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuccckkkkkkkkk.

“Lord Luo? Lord Luo, are you okay?”

“Absolutely fine.” Binghe immediately answered. He walked through the halls and headed for Shen Yuan’s bedroom, pulling open the gauzy curtains and laying him gently down on the white bedsheets. Shang Qinghua gaped at his surroundings.

“Lord Luo has put… a lot of details into this cottage.”

“I recreated it as best I could.” Luo Binghe brushed a strand of Shen Yuan’s hair from his face, gently pulling the pin from his hair and letting it flow like a waterfall over his shoulders. He adjusted the black robe over his shoulders, unwilling to take it off even now. It was a bittersweet look, something that still brought Binghe a bit of extremely guilty delight. Shang Qinghua cautiously traveled around the room, leaning down and peering into bookshelves, checking himself out in mirrors and generally ignoring the scene behind him.

“You should repair the body’s spiritual veins. It slows decay.” Mobei-Jun said from behind Binghe, startling him. God, he hated how silent this author was.

“How should I go about that?”

“...I’m a demon. I have no spiritual veins.”

“Yeah, but you wrote--” Luo Binghe and Mobei-Jun both winced at the metallic shriek that filled the air.

[Warning! Warning! Cannot talk about transmigration when NPCs are within earshot! Warning!]

[Warning! Warning! Mobei-Jun, shut up!]

The alarms stopped as soon as they started. Mobei-Jun was currently grinding his teeth while Luo Binghe looked like he had just had a quick PTSD episode. God, Binghe hated those sirens.

Shang Qinghua looked at them curiously, not having heard anything but seeing both demons cringing. “Lord Luo? My King? Is anything wrong?”

“Nothing.” They answered in unison.

Luo Binghe turned back to Mobei-Jun. “So if you’re useless, then what?”

Mobei-Jun flicked his hand flippantly. “I don’t know the specifics of repairing spiritual veins. It can be done, but I’ve never experienced it. I can’t guide you through the process. Shang Qinghua, however…” He seemed a bit reluctant to spit out the last line. 

“Shang-Shishu.” Luo Binghe said. Shang Qinghua looked at Mobei-Jun, the sting of betrayal written across his face, and Mobei-Jun looked sadly back at him. It's not like Mobei-Jun wanted to throw his human into the one-man circus that was Luo Binghe's life. “How exactly would I go about healing spiritual veins?”

Shang Qinghua looked between Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe, pity bright in his eyes. “Are you sure you want to do--”

“This Lord didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“This Mobei-Jun understands that Luo Binghe is grieving, but if you speak like that to Shang Qinghua again I will beat you within an inch of your life.”

“...Yes, Shang-Shishu, I am absolutely sure I’d like to summon your martial brother back from the dead. How would I go about repairing his spiritual veins?”

Shang Qinghua hesitantly swept up beside him. “Lord Luo is familiar with diagrams of spiritual veins?”

“Yes.”

“And you are familiar with healing yourself in concentrated areas?”

“Yes.”

“And you… have had Shen Yuan drink your blood?”

Luo Binghe jerked, opening his mouth as if to ask a question, then clamped his mouth back shut. “Yes.” He answered roughly.

“This servant is only a lord of An Ding peak. I don't have a lot of experience with the medical field, so I ask Lord Luo to take my words with a grain of salt. When handling a qi deviation, you direct qi through the veins to clear and stabilize them. It's... possible... that you can do the same with blood parasites. Find the areas that have been most affected-- if A-Yuan self-destructed, I think you'll find the majority of the issues near his core, but keep in mind that it would have likely affected his internal organs around the area too. Do this all with the aid of spiritual qi, of course. The human body can't handle too much demonic energy."

Binghe leaned forward, hanging off of every word, and Shang Qinghua shivered under his intense attention.

“And, um, okay then. Next…” Qinghua stumbled through the rest of his explanation, his hands increasingly gesturing through the air as he began to get a little more in depth into his explanation atndtheories. At some point Mobei-Jun settled beside him, hand protectively wrapped around the human's waist in a sickeningly sweet gesture. Binghe stood up eventually to get a paper and brush so he could begin taking notes, gesturing for Mobei-Jun to follow so they could discuss some other options away from the local NPC. When they both left the room, heading outside the cottage to converse, Shang Qinghua glanced down at the body of Shen Yuan and frowned.

“You’ve really messed up this time, Cucumber bro.” He muttered, patting the hand fondly.

A Week Later

Sha Hualing was beside herself with stress. Which, first of all, is not a good look. The last thing she ever wanted to become was some stressed-out secretary in an office. Sha Hualing, the demon saint, lived for the fast passions of life. Documents and treaties are not exactly riveting.

And second of all, she shouldn’t even be experiencing this. The paperwork goes first through Lord Luo, then through Mobei, then through the human, and only arrives to her when only completely necessary.

So tell this demon why, exactly, an imp had dropped an entire tower of paperwork in front of her couch.

“Are you sure you have the right person?” She lay sprawled across the couch and pinched a grape from a platter nearby, popping it into her mouth as she propped her head up. The imp before her sniffed self-importantly. Huh. Must be a new guy. He’d learn manner soon enough.

“The Lords are currently disposed.” He announced. “Thus, all paperwork has been channeled to Lady Sha.”

She popped another grape into her mouth and bit down savagely on the sweet, juicy flesh. “You see there, hun, that’s the wrong answer.” She said between bites. “I don’t care that they’re indisposed. I should never have to see a treaty. Ever. We demons of the west are made for war, not this shit. I’ll give you another try,” She drawled. “Where are the Lords, and why has this trash made it in front of me?”

"Lady Sha doesn't yet know?" He snorted. Sha Hualing's eyes narrowed.

Her talons needed another coat of paint, after all. Maybe this demon would do for now.

After a few scratches and severe beatings, she got the story rather quickly. Dissapointingly quickly. The imp was more than happy to squeal that Mobei-Jun had been missing with his human for the past few days, apparently in search of something or other on behalf of the Lord’s demands. And Lord Luo himself?

“He’s in the courtyard. We all saw him go in, but no one has seen him come out yet. Not for food or to give orders or anything. We staff can’t get through the barrier he erected--” Sha Hualing scoffed at that. Low-level demons. Peh. “--and those that can, like the courtiers of the east-wing, don’t dare to enter.”

Hualing groaned, lazily stretching from her new lounging position like a cat. “Got it. You’ve been a real help here. Now get out of my sight. You’re fired.”

The imp looked at her, confused. “...Fired?”

“I’m sacking you. I don’t like your tone, you’re fucking annoying. I can make this firing more literal if that’s what you want.” She spoke cooly, setting her bare feet onto the cold marble ground, her anklets giving a soft jingle in the silence. Not a good sign. He jumped and scurried away at an admirable speed, lowering himself to all fours to gain more ground. Hualing decided not to give chase today, an extremely magnanimous descision on her part. It sounded like Lord Luo was causing trouble for the castle again, and Hualing wouldn’t mind were it not for the fact that he was specifically causing trouble for her. That’s just unforgivable.

She padded through the halls, the jingling bells dragging all eyes towards her and loudly announcing her presence with every step. Whenever she saw a particularly pretty or aloof courtier she jingled extra loudly, swaying her hips a little as she went or exaggeratingly reapplying her lipstick. It’s a shame they all had designs on Binghe-- she could pick out at least two women right now that she could treat far better than the Lord ever would. It was like Luo Binghe had absolutely no libido whatsoever, being surrounded by so many beautiful flowers and never picking a single one.

At the entrance to the courtyard were a few courtiers meandering about, waiting for the lord to come out but too scared to go in after the incident with the last courtier who had been murdered for stepping on those grounds. Hualing didn’t hesitate-- planning ahead wasn’t her strong point, why worry about her future now? She didn’t immediately die when her feet hit soil, which was a plus.

She picked her way to the cottage rumored to be at the center of this bamboo garden, grudgingly admiring the surroundings. The harsh light of the demon realm’s sun was filtered through a dome, artificially softening its bright rays, scattering as it streamed between bamboo stalks and leaves. Birdsong sounded through the air, little sparrows and chickadees flitting from branch to branch. It was quiet here, peaceful. She could almost understand why Lord Luo spent so much time in the gardens.

But an entire week was ridiculous.

At some point she ran across the cottage. It was cute, adorably rustic in an elegant way. Like something out of the fairytales her nanny used to tell her. She carefully opened the door, something inside her cringing at the thought of disturbing such a peaceful place, then decided to fuck that notion over when she slammed the door shut. Then carefully opened it again so that she had a clear exit in case Lord Luo got angry.

“Lord Luo!” She called, hands cupped around her mouth. “Lord Luo, this Ling’er has some important things to talk about!”

No response. She frowned. Walking through the hallways was strange, like an alternate universe of the traditional demon decor. Close, but not quite. Where demons had portraits of heroic battles, here there were scattered landscapes. Where demons hung carved masks and weapons on their walls, here there were fans and-- oh, yep, there were weapons too. It’s nice to see that human taste isn’t too gaudy. A good bow and arrow always liven a household up.

Her eyes flickered curiously at a board half-filled with notes, but she tossed her head and moved on in favor of the door next to it. Not the first she had seen, but the most used, it seemed. The bottom of it was worn from scraping the ground so often.

She slid the door open.

Luo Binghe was slumped on the ground next to a large bed, his hand loosely entwined with another, paler one. His face was pale, circles under his eyes prominent even during sleep. And he was definitely sleeping. Hualing could see the soft rise and fall of his chest underneath the thin black robes he wore now, casual and loose. 

She switched her attention to the man on the bed. A pretty thing, she thought. His robes were impeccably done up to his neck, modest and clean, and he lay on the bed as if he were sleeping. He was not, she noted, actually sleeping. Hualing knew a dead thing when she saw it. That, on the bed, was a corpse.

Hualing didn’t know a lot about Lord Luo. She got her information from snippets of conversation she heard between Mobei-Jun and Lord Luo or pieced it together from stories he told on drunken nights. She had even looser memories of him as a child, back when she had gone on one of her teenage escapades in an attempt to steal the sign off of Cang Qiong. There was no in-between for her, no knowledge of what happened to that weak little brat that turned him into an overbearing demon lord with more complexes than she could count. He seemed to have some kind of sordid past. Maybe some whirlwind love affair that ended badly, from what she understood. It explained a bit about the man’s severe abandonment issues and clinginess.

She didn’t know a lot about Lord Luo, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew a ghost from the past when she saw one. And that ghost looked an awful lot like Lord Shen Yuan.

“Lord Luo?” She said again. Luo Binghe didn’t stir. She crossed the room and gently prodded his shoulder, ready to jerk away the moment he came at her like a coiled viper.

He groaned, shifting against the side of the bed and clinging a little tighter to the hand. She frowned lightly, squatting in front of him. She jingled her wrist next to his ear. No effect. She patted him on the cheek lightly, than harder. No effect.

An idea struck her. Maybe if she shook the lord? But that would jostle the corpse, and with the way Binghe seemed to treat it, that’s probably not a good idea. Gently, she tried to pry the corpse’s hand from Binghe’s grip.

Binghe jerked awake, chest heaving. “What?” He asked, confused. He moved his gaze over to Sha Hualing, then to the way she was trying to separate him and the corpse’s hand.

“What are you doing?” He growled. She pulled her arms back casually, showing them palms outward.

“This Ling’er was simply trying to wake the lord. You seem to have abandoned your duties again-- even moreso than when you entered the human world. She was worried about her lord’s well-being.”

Lord Luo tightened his grip around the hand, then looked at it and immediately loosened it, scared. Scared?

“My Lord, what happened to the Xiu Ying sword? Why is he here?” Curiosity killed the cat, but as she said. She wasn’t very interested in knowing the consequences of her actions, and she wanted to know.

Binghe looked at her with big, sad eyes that made her want to squish his face and beat him around a little. God, he was hot. In like a puppydog, golden retriever kind of way, but still. “This Lord has… made a mistake.” He said solemnly. Sha Hualing nodded.

“Lord Luo has definitely made a mistake.” She agreed. Binghe looked surprised, then even sadder, as if something in him had expected the accusation. Who hurt this man? Could she kill them? “You left all the paperwork unfinished. There are lines of people waiting outside the place with complaints and reports. You sent Mobei and the human out to god-knows-where, and functions are starting to slow down. You, my lord, are letting your palace crumble around you.”

He looked seriously between her and Lord Shen Yuan. “Nothing is more important to me than Shizun,” he started to say, but Sha Hualing cut him off.

“And I understand that, my lord. Your loved ones are of value. But you can’t just abandon your duties. I’ve heard reports that you haven’t even left this room in the past week. What have you been doing? Have you been eating? When’s the last time you bathed?”

He glanced down at himself, then up at her. “...Ah.” He said, lost. “But… Shizun?”

She audaciously took his free hand, gripping it tightly in her own. “Lord Luo, Junshang, I understand. I’m not saying abandon your Shizun. I’m just saying-- take care of yourself, and then take care of your subjects. You fought long and hard for what you have. Why let it slip between your fingers?”

"..."

"Lord Luo. You must think of yourself too. I don't know what you're trying to accomplish, but you can't help him in hurting yourself."

“But--”

“No buts. Get up, Lord Luo. I’ll order breakfast from the servants, and we can go and get you washed up. I’ll have someone draw a nice, hot bath for you. And if you’re truly worried, we can have XiaoBai look after Lord Shen while you’re away.” She wound his arm across her shoulder, readying herself to hoist the heavy man up.

“XiaoBai?” He asked, distracted. He began to loosen his grip on Shen Yuan’s hand, slowly and reluctantly.

“Your cat, my lord. The three-eyed tiger?”

“... I never gave her a name.” Hualing was too small to properly support him-- barely up to his chest, actually-- but he leaned on her heavily. 

“Well then, my lord, it’s a good thing I gave her one.”

“XiaoBai,” he muttered questioningly under his breath. She slowly helped him along, out of the house and into the gardens. “You didn’t even put any effort into that name.” He complained.

“This Ling’er put her blood, sweat, and tears into naming your cat. Lord Luo should be grateful.”

“It’s just Little White. What am I supposed to do when she goes into her tiger form?”

“Smallness is all relative. Anyways, she's little at heartr.” She exited the courtyard alongside him. When he straightened up under the scrutiny of the courtiers, she allowed him to let go, but she kept his hand wrapped tightly in her own, smaller one.

“Oi! Blue servant!" she called. "Yeah, you! Tell the kitchens that Lord Luo is in need of a feast immediately!”

Mobei-Jun crouched beside him, both of them staring at the large sigil that they had painted.

“Are you sure this is right?”

“...Is right.”

“That didn’t sound very confident, Icicle.”

“We’ll see.”

Mobei-Jun nodded at Binghe to light the candles, standing a good few yards away the moment the fires ignited. Binghe snorted. Mobei-Jun glared at him.

“Okay then, toss me the script.”

“No chant. Just drop some blood onto the sigil and place your hands on it.”

“...That’s all.”

“Yes. Now do you want Shen Yuan back or what.”

Binghe’s whole body seemed to slump at those words. His face grew serious and he nodded, cracking his knuckles. From a pouch on his sash came a small phial of blood. He tipped it over the circle and let one, two, three drops splash onto the center. Then he crouched low and Mobei-Jun backed up even further.

“Please bring Shen Yuan back.” He whispered quietly and shut his eyes tightly, placing his hands down onto the sigil. He waited for one moment. Two moments. Three. 

Nothing.

No flash, no gasp, no flurry of whispers or dark, ominous vibe. The birdsong in the courtyard continued, uninterrupted. Binghe sighed, disappointed but not surprised. He dusted off his knees and stood up, smudging some of the sigil in half hearted anger. He couldn't even count how many times they had done this by now. It wasn't even a momentous occasion anymore. Just a daily routine of dissapointment to cross off the to-do list.

Mobei-Jun walked up to him, patting him roughly on the back.

“It’ll… be alright?” He said hesitantly. Binghe forced a smile, nudging his second-in-command a bit with his elbow. 

“Hey, Icicle. Don’t strain yourself too much. I know how hard emotions are for you.”

Mobei-Jun scowled. “Fuck off.”

“And yet you stay, second-in-command.” He joked, trying to shrug off the guilt amassing in his chest.

“Only for Qinghua.”

“You wound me," Binghe said, deadpan.  He leaned on Mobei-Jun's shoulder. Mobei-Jun pushed him off.

“I’m going back to consult Qinghua. You should go rest. Tomorrow I’m taking you out on a hunt.”

“Another one? But we just got back from the last trip.”

“Another hunt. We’re looking for the Silverback Sloth Bear this time. Bring a sword.”

“Oh,” Binghe tilted his head back to the entrance. “Speaking of swords, I need you to do me a solid. Here, follow.”

He dragged Mobei-Jun through a few winding hallways, ignoring the calls of flirting courtiers, to a treasury room and shifted through some items, stacking around some heavy boxes and sifting through priceless artifacts like they meant nothing to him. They actually didn't mean much to him. Most were part of yearly tithes, some elaborate gifts presented to him by nobles trying to gain favor. All were tossed into the storerooms.

Xin Mo was at the very back, piled under rubbish as if it weren’t the blade which had caused the rise and downfall of hundreds of empires and emperors.

He had slapped no less than a dozen sealing talismans on the blade, then a few more on the sheathe, then bound it shut with some immortal binding cables for good measure. Now Binghe dropped it into an open chest nearby, throwing out the jade statue it used to hold and replacing it with Xin Mo. He slammed it shut, clicking another lock on it for good measure. Words could not describe how much he hated this sword.

He presented the box to Mobei-Jun, who looked at it warily.

 “My birthday’s not for another five months.” Was Mobei-Jun’s deadpan response.

“... No. No, that’s Xin Mo. I need you to hide it somewhere I can’t get to it, and where no one can ever find it.”

Mobei-Jun looked a little disappointed, if Binghe was reading that expression right. He might have also been hungry, or pining for Shang Qinghua, or thinking about the mountain of paperwork Binghe had spotted on his desk before he had pulled a tired Mobei-Jun away from his work.

Mobei-Jun made a move to leave and stack this hide-and-seek box onto his list of things-to-do, already thinking of at least three places to stick this godforsaken thing. You couldn’t pay Mobei-Jun to touch that blade with a ten-foot pole, which was one hundred percent of the reason Binghe had given it to him.  

Binghe felt a little guilty. Just a little bit.

“Here. While you do that, I’ll get to that meeting you were supposed to attend later today. A good trade-off?”

Mobei-Jun grunted. Binghe took that as a yes.

“Fantastic. See you at the library tonight.”

Luo Binghe was moving on with his life. Sort of. Whenever he spent more than a day cooped up inside the cottage, Sha Hualing came in to collect him personally. He found he didn’t mind her presence in the courtyard. He was beginning to let a lot more people in, actually. Not the courtiers or the servants-- that’s just disgusting. But sometimes he and Hualing would chat on the porch, Shen Yuan left on his bed with XiaoBai-- truly an awful name, but the only one she responded to now-- watching for invaders with all three eyes. Mobei-Jun came in sometimes too, to bring him news of a new ritual or pendant he had found that might summon Shen Yuan’s soul back. Shang Qinghua was in and out so often that Binghe barely registered him.

Luo Binghe spent at least an hour in the cottage every day, slowly knitting spiritual veins together and fending off all signs of rigor mortis and decay. Shen Yuan still looked as if he were merely asleep. Sometimes Luo Binghe would sit by his side and chat about his day as he held the pale wrist, slowly sending in soothing qi, in the vain hope that Shen Yuan could hear him. Could hear how sorry he was. Every session ended with a sincere apology, as if somehow those could bring his Shizun back to life. And sometimes while speaking, when he got excited about something like a new deal with a nearby territory or a cool monster he had just slain, he’d forget that Shizun was dead. His face would light up and he'd grin, explaining with gusto everything that had happened Then he’d look down and it would hit him again like a sack of bricks. Shizun was dead and it was his fault. And then he dared to go off and have fun.

The others helped with that. They always found him before he spiraled to deep, dragging him away and distracting him. To some degree he appreciated it, but to a greater degree he just wished they would leave him alone with Shizun.

XiaoBai slunk up to him as he slowly combed out Shizun’s hair, more to keep dust from collecting than to truly untangle it. Thin layers of dust were the only signs of the passing time when it came to Shizun.

She mewled plaintively.

“What.” He said flatly. She meowed again, louder.

“What .”

She began to scratch at his robes. He carefully put aside the pearl-inlaid brush and stood, forcing her to jump off his lap.

“What do you want. ”

She opened her mouth, but instead of meowing again, she bit him.

“Hey! What the hell, XiaoBai!”

Her tail swished and she scampered out of the room, forcing Luo Binghe to follow her at a swift pace. At the edge of the doorway, he quickly bowed to the remains of Shen Yuan. "I'll be back again soon, Shizun. Please take care." He said in a rush, turning on his heel to chase after XiaoBai.

He refused to run after his cat in the halls, but that didn’t stop him from following her to the ends of the earth at a swift pace.

And the ends of the earth were apparently the kitchen. She sat perched on a counter, tail dangling over the edge. Highly unsanitary. She mewled again, louder, and the head chef-- a raccoon-like woman with an excellent taste for spices-- tossed a dried fish at the cat. The cat looked at the salted dead eyes as if they had personally offended her.

“What? So now you think you’re better than that?” The chef asked, turning around when she didn’t hear XiaoBai scamper after it. 

“You’re lucky you’re Lord Luo’s pet. Otherwise I would’ve kicked you out of the-- Lord Luo! Your Majesty! It’s an honor to see you here today, what can this lowly chef do for you!” 

Luo Binghe waved aside her continued obeisance, the raccoon demon looking like she simultaneously wanted to faint and kick him out of her kitchen. He looked around the room, watching the chefs scurry around from dish to dish and table to table, calling to increase the flame or for someone to toss them the salt or any number of demanding requests. The scent of spices mingled in the air, the area humid and warm despite the room's large size. He had almost forgotten how much he loved the kitchen. It had been years since he last worked in a fully stocked one alongside fellow chefs, rubbing elbows in close quarters and trading sharp opinions on how to properly make this and that.

He felt a pull to do something that he hadn’t in a long time. To make something, something beyond simple congee or small side dishes and snacks for the road. He had occasionally baked with the girls, Madame Meiyin’s clan of succubi, but they were always simple foods, like cookies and loaves of bread. He wasn’t in the abyss anymore, now. He could afford to make something lavish and grand, even if it was just for himself.

Or, he corrected, for himself and for XiaoBai, who was looking up at him expectantly.

And in that moment, encompassed in the warmth of the kitchen and memories, he didn't think of Shen Yuan.

“Clear an area for me. I want to try my hand at cooking.”

The chef looked at him dubiously but bobbed her head in agreement. “Yes, my Lord. Right away, my Lord.”

While the work area was being cleaned and prepared, he took a detour to the pantry, perusing the shelves. They were stocked high with every kind of grain and flour imaginable, many of which he had never even heard of. What was this purple flour? Was it edible? How about these weird potato-looking things, the ones that seemed to have legs? There were hundreds of spices on the rack, so many that he was almost overwhelmed. He pinched a few leaves off a drying herb and tasted them, wrinkling his nose a bit at the bitter, musty flavor. Almost like old mustard, but with more of a tang. Strange.

He turned his attention to the small group of chefs forming behind him, all looking up at him with trepidation and awe. Well, he supposed they had never truly seen his face before. “Where do you stock the tarragon?" He called, tapping his foot expectantly. A chubby mouse man pointed with a trembling paw to the rack at Binghe's left. He looked over and plucked it from the shelf, then turned back to them. "Now then, where do you keep the heavy cream, white wine vinegar, eggs…” He began to list ingredients of his fingers, mind drifting to the bearnaise sauce he had never been able to perfect back in culinary school. Three cooks scurried away for every item he listed, jostling each other to be the first to get the ingredients. Each one he received he placed on a nearby cart, distantly recreating the dish he would make to go along with the sauce.

The raccoon woman pushed her way to the front of the crowd, crossing her arms. “Lord Luo, I understand you’d like to try cooking, but we’ve got the entire east wing throwing another ball. I can’t allow you to take up all my chefs like that.”

Oh. Assertive all of a sudden, huh? He looked at her sternly and she seemed to shrink a little under his gaze, then stood back up with a surge of confidence, as if aware that the eyes of the other cooks were all on her. 

He walked up to her menacingly, looming over her petite figure. “Well then, Master Chef," He began, and she stood strong despite her paling face. A good head chef, he decided. One who probably had an iron fist on the kitchen when he wasn't around. "Feel free to give this Lord a tour of the kitchen. I’m sure I’ll pick things up from there. First up,” he clapped his hands and leaned to his left, plucking a bottle of red shavings off the shelf, “What are these? They look like dried chili peppers, but they smell sweeter.”

The chefs filed back to their workstations, the loud clamor of the kitchen started up again, and Binghe fell back into his element. The head chef was competent-- he would have no less. She guided him through the kitchens and the pantries and fridges and, when she made sure the lord actually knew what he was doing and would not blow up her kitchen, she left him to his own devices. 

Binghe grabbed a medium sized knife and twirled it in the air, catching a few of the cooks’ eyes with his showmanship. He snatched it with skill that went back farther than his time as Luo Binghe, tracing its roots all the way to a chattering Luo Mei whose home was the kitchen. An entire lifetime ago-- literally.

And with his showy start, he began to cook.

Sha Hualing squawked indignantly as Madame Meiyin embraced her tightly, fighting and squirming like an angry cat. 

Madame Meiyin was an important figurehead of the succubi race, an ancient demon centuries old, and thus each of the younger lords owed her a considerable amount of respect. She, however, seemed to think that anyone under four centuries old was still a mere child, no matter how powerful they were. And it showed.

“Get off me, you hag! Let go!” Hualing clawed at the woman’s arms, but it took another five seconds before Madame Meiyin woulda actually let her run away.

“Ah, Ling’er! You look bigger every time I see you, I swear!”

“I stopped growing three years ago.” She hissed.

“Is that right? Ah, forgive an old woman her eyes. It must be your ego that’s inflating.”

“Hey!”

Madame Meiyin turned her attentions to Mobei-Jun, who stood stiffly next to Luo Binghe.

“A-Mo~” She made a move to embrace him too, but Mobei-Jun slipped away from her grasp, a hundred percent aware that Shang Qinghua was standing at the entrance and watching this whole greeting with interest. He’d rather not be embarassed in front of the human he was courting, thank you very much.

“Oh, don’t do that. I’ve known you since you were a babe, and all of a sudden you think you’ve outgrown me?” 

Mobei-Jun remained silent and Madame Meiyin sighed. “Just like your father, I see. It’s a shame to see you all grow up so fast. I swear it wasn’t three decades ago when you were a toddler going through your nude phase! You refused to wear any clothing whatsoever, it was so--” 

Mobei-Jun surged forward and wrapped her in a tight embrace which she happily returned, quieting her little reminiscence. She smiled over his shoulder at Shang Qinghua, who was peering at her from behind a column, and winked.

She released him from her tight embrace and shooed him and Hualing off, approaching Binghe. The two hurried off, Sha Hualing sprinting out on all fours while Mobei-Jun followed at a severe pace, dragging Shang Qinghua with him on the way out. 

Madame Meiying simply nodded at Binghe and tilted her head, walking towards the tea room. He followed behind her, head held high and thanking his lucky stars that he didn’t have to go through the same tortures as his advisors. Perks of being a warlord, it seemed.

“I’ve heard that my Lord wanted to ask me a few questions?” She walked into the room and settled in front of a low table. Binghe nodded, kneeling. 

“Understanding that Madame Meiyin is a respected ancient demon--"

"Not that ancient, mind you. Only a few thousand years. But yes, you may continue."

"--This Lord wishes to know if you’ve… if you’ve ever heard of a way to bring back the dead?” He asked quietly.

Madame Meiyin pursed her lip, pulling a long pipe out of her sleeve and tapping it against her painted red lips. “I’ve heard of quite a few ways, my dear. Possession, for one. Many forms of necromancy, though none of which fully restore the body and mind together.”

“It’s not the body that’s the problem, Madame. It’s just that I’ve… I’ve tried many times to summon a soul, but he refuses to show. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

Madame Meiyin gracefully rose to her feet and Binghe followed her upwards. “Show me the subject.” 

Binghe respectfully put an arm out and she hooked her own around it, clinging comfortably to his shoulder as he led the way to the gardens. She looked around in veiled delight at the beautiful surroundings of the courtyard, becoming more solemn when they reached the cottage as if she could sense the grief held within it.

The cottage itself was dark and chilly. Binghe had put seals on it to force it to remain that way, the best temperature to keep Shen Yuan’s body stable. To keep the body fresh, though he didn’t like to put it in those terms.

At the sight of Shen Yuan, Madame Meiyin’s eyes widened with surprise, but she didn’t comment.

“And you’ve said he can’t be summoned?”

“I’ve tried playing inquiry, summoning parts of scattered souls, summoning entire souls, hundreds of different things. If you want to know the exact methods, I have them all listed in this stack.” Binghe handed her a large stack of notes, each with scribbles and diagrams scrawled across them. She shuffled through a few of them, making humming noises as she paused to read some of them. They were all extremely detailed, meticulously thought out and planned with tangible care. Some pages were torn with rage, then carefully pieced back together. Some were worn and tattered, as if they had been thumbed through over and over again to find what had gone wrong. And some were in perfect condition, save for certain characters smeared by drops-- drops of blood,  drops of tears, blotches of ink as the quill almost tore through the paper with frustration.

She looked down at the notes, then back up to Binghe and watched him with careful eyes.

“Lord Luo,” she said quietly. “Are you sure you want to do this? Sometimes the dead ought to remain that way.”

Binghe said sharply, “He saved my life. Were it not for me, he would still be alive. I owe this to him.”

“But would he want this for you? Pouring days into bringing him back?" Her voice was gentle, but not pitying. Simply curious. "Lord Luo, are you doing this for the sake Xiu Ying blade, or are you doing this for yourself?”

Binghe frowned. “Does it matter? He’s coming back. I just need to know if you know of another method. If not, feel free to leave.”

Madame Meiying shook her head and made her way to a chair that sat next to the desk, spinning it around to face Binghe as she sat down. “Tell me about him,” she gently urged. Binghe looked surprised, glancing down at the still figure beside him.

“Shen Yuan? I’m sure you’ve heard of him. He was-- is-- one of the peak lords of Qing Jing peak, where he taught--”

Madame Meiying put up a hand to stop him. “Lord Luo, you know what I mean. Tell me about him, who he truly was.”

Luo Binghe looked uncertain. “I don’t see how this will help--”

“Spare an old woman a few stories, won’t you?” She pouted prettily, her young face untouched by age. She still looked as if she were only in her late twenties or early thirties, barely affected by the passing years.

Not many people asked about Shen Yuan. Not many people asked Binghe to talk about his past.

A dam between his mind and mouth broke.

He started slowly, softly. “Shen Yuan… He’s a confusing person. I don’t-- He always seems to say one thing and mean another. When I was young I used to think it was because he had a thin face. He always hides behind a painted fan when he feels like he’s showing too much emotion, and sometimes he focuses more on his reputation than on his actions…” He lingered on that last syllable and shook his head, stopping himself. 

“He reads horrible books, did you know that?” Binghe suddenly changed topics, fondly clasping Shen Yuan’s hand in his own. He sent a trickle of spiritual energy into it, reinforcing the strength of the veins. “He’s the editor of those porn-adventure stories by Paper Airplanes, the ones which are really popular right now. And you’d think that editing those huge novel releases would be enough reading for him, but he has a personal library filled with horrible romances from around the world. I’ve read a few of them, you know? Out of curiosity. They’re actually awful. The plots are stale, the characters are cliche and repetitive. Shizun always says he hates them-- he’d rant about them to his brother and me right after finishing them, picking apart the plot with a fine-tooth comb. But he’d always carefully put them back on the shelves afterward. It’s the only area where Shizun is willingly organized.”

Madame Meiyin smiled softly, encouragingly pushing Binghe onwards. “He sounds interesting.”

Binghe didn’t dare look away from Shizun’s face, even as his throat and eyes began to burn. “He is. I’ve never been able to understand what goes on in his head. He always acts like he’s this quiet, scholarly figure, but I’ve heard him and Shang-Shishu get into the most inane arguments over the smallest of things. And god, he’s got a bite to his words. Sometimes even Shen Jiu can’t compare to how harsh Shen Yuan can be. But Shizun has a good sense of humor about things, which lightens a lot of what he says.” He laughed softly to himself even as his cheeks reddened, his voice cracking.

“He always pretends to be above worldly matters, but once you get to know him… he’s very soft.” His breath hitched. Madame Meiyin descended from her chair, sweeping up behind him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He refused to look at her as he fought back tears, closing his eyes tightly and trying to blink them away.

“You must love him very much.” She said softly. Binghe swallowed, trying to find his voice, and Madame Meiying sat there patiently, waiting even after Luo Binghe gave up on words.

“Lord Luo, there's no shame in grief." She stroked his hair, threading her fingers through his hair comfortingly. Her voice was soothing, lulling and kind. Motherly, Binghe distantly thought. If he had ever truly had a mother, this might have been what it was like.

Binghe’s shoulders shuddered and he gave a soundless wail, fingers tightening on the blankets. He dropped his head against the bed, tears staining the white covers. Shizun was gone. Shizun was gone and it was all his fault, no matter what everyone insisted. He was confused by the actions of Shen Yuan and he would never find answers at this rate, but he would give all those questions up just to see Shen Yuan take another breath and live another day. Madame Meiyin sat beside him, rubbing comforting circles on his back. Here, for the first time since Shizun’s death, he stopped searching for an answer and simply mourned. For the loss of his teacher, for the loss of his love, and for the loss of his childhood.

A World Away

Yue Qingyuan stood at the head of the table, Shen Qingqiu at his side. Both scrutinized over the map, Qingyuan tracing a finger lightly down the Luo River. The other peak lords, all present save for Shang Qinghua and Shen Yuan, stood around the rest of the table.

One man, Chen Qiang, was flipping furiously through a book of sigils. He was ranked eigth out of the twelve peak lords, the lord of the peak talismans and sigils. Every once in a while he’d stop on a page and skim through it, then his shoulders would slump and he’d skip to another page, searching.

Liu Qingge was looking sadly at the wall across from him, gently petting the sheathe of Cheng Luan by his side. Other peak lords were in similar states of silence, some whispering and some not.

Qi Qingqi cleared her throat, calling the attention of everyone towards her. Well, everyone but Liu Qingge. Perhaps she should get him a puppy, something else to dote on while Shen Yuan was gone. But first, “Have we come to an agreement then?” She asked.

Yue Qingyuan surveyed the room. “I’ve yet to hear any disagreements. Is it settled then?”

No one said anything. Qingqi spoke. “If that’s the case, let’s review one last time. This is not something we can afford to make mistakes on.”

Shen Qingqiu agreed, speaking up. “We all here agree that Luo Binghe’s demonic mark is identical to the imprisoned Tinalang-Jun’s, correct?” He asked loudly. Yue Qingyuan nodded. 

“When I fought Tianlang-Jun, he had the same demon mark that we saw on Binghe. But more importantly, he and Luo Binghe share certain features-- red eyes, curly hair, the same frame. We can attribute Binghe’s other features, such as a lack of horns, to his human side, I suppose.”

Chen Qiang spoke up, pulling his nose out of his book. “In the past, merely being a heavenly demon has been enough to imprison a demon under a mountain. I don’t know why we continue to have this conversation.” He snorted

Qingqiu answered sharply. “Because we are not Huan Hua, and we do not do things their way. In fact, I’d like to hold a second meeting later on behalf of the Huan Hua Palace Master. Luo Binghe looks similar to Su Xiyan-- moreso than what I am comfortable with. His age also roughly matches the date of her reported death. That alone troubles me-- the fact that we other sects never received word of Su Xiyan’s pregnancy casts a shadow across Lao Gongzhu.” A few peak lords murmured in agreement. The grudge between Qingqiu and Gongzhu was well known, and though many disliked the Xiu Ya blade, he had proven himself to be a trustworthy man. If Shen Qingqiu had a hunch, they would back him.

Yue Qingyuan patted him on his shoulder and Shen Qingqiu roughly pulled away, staying by his side all the same. The look on the sect leader’s face said he was used to this treatment, something Qingqi pities him for.

“We’ve received accusations that Luo Binghe was behind the disappearance of cultivators.” He said carefully.

Mu Qingfang elaborated here, voice tired. "He only brought up the supposed scale of the beast after it was caught. He is the only one to have seen and chased the beast, though he somehow lost it. Not concrete evidence, but suspicious."

"Shen Yuan voluntarily enters Huan Hua, then escapes within two days. He could have stayed with Cang Qiong. I'm certain Zhangmen-Shixiong would have fought for his relocation."

"And he escaped with Luo Binghe in pursuit, the entirety of Huan Hua chasing after him. They wouldn't have been able to channel that much military force at once if it weren't pre-planned."

"But at the same time, you must recall that Huan Hua is a militaristic peak. They might be used to such drills."

“He’s a demon who snuck into our peaks. I don't see why we're continuing this conversation. Demons have been slain for less.”

“Quiet!” Qingqi shouted, stopping the rising clamor of the peak lords. “Now, are we all certain this is a plan of action we are all willing to take.”

Liu Qingge spoke up, the first time that day. “I... will do whatever is necessary to bring justice to our peaks.” He said quietly. Shen Qingqiu looked at him with something akin to pity, a knowing look in his eyes.

"So then the only question is how we're doing this."

Chen Qiang tor a page from his book and slapped it at the center of the table proudly. “This is it!” He announced. “This is the seal Huan Hua used to trap Tianlang Jun!”

All the peak lords stood from their chairs, peering at it with interest.

Qingqiu leaned over, a finger tracing a few of the lines. “It makes sense. Here is the signifier for demons, and this part is written with the goal of trapping powerful spirits… Hm. But we’ll have to make this sigil very large to properly encompass the power.”

“About the size of a mountain?” Qingqi suggested dryly. Qingyuan pointed to the map's mountain at the base of the Luo River.

“Parts of the sigil trapping Tianlang-Jun should still be etched in place. You can see aspects of it carved into the mountainside. If we can just redraw those and correct the ones which have been worn away-- slightly differently, of course, to take into account his human heritage-- we can trap him there without years worth of effort.”

“So the problem is getting him there,” Qingqi replied.

Qingqiu laughed lowly, his eyes glittering with a fierce need for vengeance. This was, after all, Shen Jiu’s specialty. His ability to play out revenge fantasies and come out better for it. All eyes were drawn towards him. “Luo Binghe will come back to Cang Qiong. I guarantee it. Whether to destroy it or not, I don’t know. But give it a few months. He’ll come crawling up the mountainside. All we’ve got to do then is trap him, use a transportation sigil, and send him to the mountains.”

“Like father, like son.” Qingyuan said quietly. Qingqiu snorted. 

“I pity the father. He was a naive man, to fall in love with a human. Luo Binghe, on the other hand. He brought this onto himself. You reap what you sow.”

Chapter Text

Part I: Shen Yuan makes an oopsie

Life had once been kind to the Shens.

Jiu-Ge didn’t recall it, but Shen Yuan had distant memories of warmth. Of a kind mother’s voice with a tight embrace. They were treasured remembrances as a child, wisps of comfort to keep him warm on frosty nights where he and his brothers huddled in shadowy corners to escape the elements.

Jiu-Ge said it was all made up, that A-Yuan had merely stitched together stories he’d heard and families he’d seen in an attempt to feel less abandoned, less alone.

Maybe Jiu-Ge was right. He was often right about these kinds of things. 

Like how if you focus on a rusty piece of metal you can make it harder than diamond. Like how stealing things is good, even if it makes you feel dirty and wrong inside afterward. Like how street dogs will only ever bite, like how there’s no such thing as a kind master. Like how they were better than all these people and they would one day find themselves on top of the world, looking down on all the rich like they were ants. From the heavens they could spit on the slave traders and turn their noses up at the harsh world.

But sometimes Jiu-Ge was wrong, and then Shen Yuan was right. Like how Qi-Ge was never coming back to save Shen Jiu, and Jiu-Ge had to leave the Qiu household now. Before Qiu Haitang’s delicate control over her fiance’s (slave’s) life snapped. Before that lecherous master and monstrous son finally got tired of bending to Haitang’s whims and decided to completely shatter his brother’s fierce spirit.

Shen Yuan had seen a lot in his lifetime. His brother still thought him as small and weak as he was in childhood, when he was plagued by a weak immune system and years of abuse, growth stunted by starvation. But they were separated for years. Just as Shen Yuan missed his brother’s torturous years under the Qiu’s, Shen Jiu missed his brother’s harsh years under Song’s iron fist. But still, when Shen Jiu looked at Shen Yuan, it sometimes seemed as if he saw something different. Someone different. Like there was a shimmering mirage of a small slave child superimposed upon Shen Yuan’s own image. Shen Jiu was wrong to think that. Shen Yuan was no slave child-- not anymore.

And so sometimes Shen Yuan was right. He was right about Qi-Ge never coming back, he was right about Luo Binghe’s inevitable return.

And sometimes Jiu-Ge was right. Like how he called Shen Yuan a monster after Binghe had been pushed down, like how even if Binghe did return he wouldn’t be the same.

So they were both sometimes right, and they were both sometimes wrong. But usually Jiu-Ge was right.

Shen Yuan couldn’t bear to watch Binghe fall.

Wasn’t that ironic?

And he turned to walk away, to resist the l’appel du vide and throw himself in after Binghe.

This was for their own good. For both him and Binghe’s.

And he walked two paces forward and stumbled to his knees as the earth shook and stitched itself together and he didn’t get back up. He sat on his knees and stared at the ground, his back to where the abyss had once been. The fading cries were sealed up. Wails of both the damned souls and Binghe, who had fallen to join their ranks. Not fallen. Was pushed. Which had made him fall. Had fallen.

It was a moot point in the end, wasn’t it? Because Binghe was gone. And it was all Shen Yuan’s fault.

He thought he was kind in being cold. In allowing the disciple to fall without hope, without any desire to return to the human realm. Shen Yuan had seen what happens when abandoned hope is left to fester, what it has done to good men. His own brother was a portrait of that very trait. Give people hope before hell and you’ll only be left with broken pieces when they hit the ground and shatter. Hope unrealized makes men into monsters.

Or maybe he was being selfish. That thought also held weight. Just as he couldn’t bear to watch Binghe fall, he couldn’t bear to see that love and trust in his eyes, bright even as Shen Yuan pierced him with Xiu Ying. Maybe that’s why he ended things swiftly, remorselessly. Maybe he extinguished that hope just so he wouldn’t have to dream of it existing in the abyss, flickering and fading slowly under the harsh sands of time.

That didn’t change the outcome, though. Binghe absolutely had to go down.

If any peak lord walked in on the scene and saw the blood of Tianlang-Jun alive and breathing, things wouldn’t end well for either of them. A heavenly demon cannot escape the borders of Jue Di Gorge unpursued, with life and limb intact. Not after the abyss opened. Not after all the leaders were on high alert.

But maybe Shen Yuan could have defended him. Maybe Shen Yuan could have protected Binghe from the abyss, stood by him and declare himself the boy’s teacher until the end. Binghe may have been a newborn demon, weak with only the barest grasp on his newborn powers, but perhaps Shen Yuan could have fled with him. Saved him.

But Shen Yuan wasn't idealistic. He knew that his own spiritual abilities weren't limitless. He wasn't a god. He may be a skilled peak lord, but there were scores of other skilled ones lurking. 

The last heavenly demon known to exist had been defeated and sealed under a mountain after large losses from their side. That had simply been a battle with a single, unarmed demon. As a result, the whole of the cultivational world developed a certain degree of hatred for the heavenly demon race in particular. Imagine what would happen if Shen Yuan were revealed to have taken in a close relative of Tianlang-Jun and taught him cultivation? Zhangmen-Shixiong might forgive him. Perhaps even the rest of the Can Qiong sect. But Huan Hua Palace and their sister sects would not have been nearly so kind. If he ran and they didn't kill him on the spot, they would have dug of Shen Yuan’s past, torn him to shreds as a traitor. He would never have been allowed to show his face to the world again.

Then Luo Binghe would have been next. In the human world, he could never live a normal life. He’d be hunted like a dog to the ends of the earth, never knowing a moment of peace. Life in the mortal realm would be hell for Binghe if he stayed. Perhaps even more so than life in the abyss, where he had hope of finding his way out into the demonic realms. Demons, Shen Yuan knew, respected power. And Binghe would definitely become powerful. So where was better? The human world, under the unreliable protection of a single cultivator against the world? Or down in the demon realm, where he would be presumed dead and his identity would never be known by those above?

(This explanation made Shen Yuan out to be far more honorable than he truly was, he knew. His motivations couldn't only be constrained by those ideas. It played an important part in his decision, yes. It played a very important part. But it wasn't all.

Shen Yuan was selfish. He worked far too hard for this life to give it all up in one fell swoop. He had spent the majority of his life scrabbling with the fate he was tossed, fighting tooth and nail to claw to the top of this mountain. Didn't he deserve stability? Didn't he deserve happiness? Didn't he deserve a warm bed and a family to go home to after all he had gone through?

And if Shen Yuan went down, Shen Qingqiu would go down as well. Yue Qingyuan would be close behind them, following like a loyal hound into the hell of Shen Yuan’s own making. Perhaps all of Cang Qiong would fall. If Shen Yuan defended the son of Tianlang-Jun at that moment, in front of all the sects at the conference, it might not only spell out his own doom. It could mean the blood of everything and everyone he loved.)

But all that might have meant nothing in the end. Were it only these facts, Shen Yuan might only have hesitated before throwing it all in the wind to save Binghe. Shen Yuan and Shen Qingqiu had few admirable traits, but loyalty was amongst them. Shen Yuan knew loyalty, knew dedication. It was branded into his heart. He had made a promise with Binghe to keep him safe, and Shen Yuan refused to break his promises. So if Shen Yuan had only known that life would be hard for him and Cang Qiong if he saved Binghe, he still might have saved Binghe.

Or maybe he wouldn't have. Maybe he still would have pushed Binghe down. Shen Yuan, after all, was a selfish person.

(So luckily, Shen Yuan knew one thing that made this whole decision a lot easier.)

He knew that Binghe would survive the fall and the abyss.

He had seen it, after all. And so had Binghe. They both knew he would survive the trials of the abyss. Binghe was guaranteed to survive everything this world threw at him, far into adulthood.

So in the end, wouldn’t it be easier for the both of them if Shen Yuan simply pushed Binghe down?

When they had returned home after the abyss, the shattered pieces of Zhen Yang carefully wrapped in Shen Qingqiu’s outer robe and placed on a table, Qingqiu cornered him. First calmly spoke with him, trying to get the truth out of Shen Yuan. Qingqiu had a sixth sense for when people were lying, and his brother was no exception to the rule.

Qingqiu pressed him for days. Qingqiu knew Shen Yuan wasn’t telling the truth.

And Shen Yuan broke down.

And, just as he expected, Jiu-Ge hated him for it.

Shen Yuan was worse than Qi-Ge, apparently. He was a monster, apparently. He should have thrown himself down into the abyss with Binghe, apparently.

Shen Qingqiu brought out from his closet mourning robes that had sat there for years, untouched. He wore them past the three month standard for mourning. He wore them every day, for years. 

Disciples and peak lords alike murmured about how much Sen Qingqiu must be mourning, how they never knew he loved a disciple so much. And they were right. Shen Qingqiu loved Luo Binghe, despite how he refused to say it out loud.

And with his mourning robes, a constant reminder of his grief, he struck Shen Yuan in the heart every day. Every day Shen Yuan was reminded of his sin, the burden he carried. Shen Qingqiu was right. He had pushed Binghe down. He was a monster.

But still, Shen Yuan himself refused the mourning clothes. Because despite Shen Qingqiu’s hisses about the nonsense his brother spoke, Shen Yuan knew Binghe wasn’t dead. Destiny had written a different fate for that disciple, and Shen Yuan, for some godforsaken reason, had elected to follow it.

Luo Binghe was a boy who defied fate. Shen Yuan realized this the day he and Shen Qingqiu saved Liu Qingge from his qi deviation.

Hadn’t it been odd, that Binghe knew that there would be a qi deviation before it happened? That Binghe had come in a desperate rush telling Shen Yuan to head to the spiritual caves, but nothing had been wrong until after he actually entered? It wasn’t a lucky prank, he knew. There had been true fear in Binghe’s voice. 

Wasn’t it odd, the way the boy watched Shen Qingqiu with knowing, pitying eyes, as if he could see into Qingqiu’s very soul? As if every time he looked at his shifu, it was like he was rereading a tragedy? Even when Binghe was at odds with Qingqiu, before Shen Yuan had welcomed him into their cottage, the boy had looked at Qingqiu with some odd sort of understanding. A constant state of forgiveness for Shen Qingqiu’s every action. As if he knew and understood.

Wasn’t it odd, the way Binghe was able to fight off the demon when Sha Hualing invaded? He had put up a pitiful act for a long while, so long that Shen Yuan almost believed that maybe Binghe didn’t have some extraordinary gift, that maybe the oddness of Luo Binghe could be written off. That maybe Shen Yuan should reach in and save the boy from the ring. 

But then Luo Binghe did something extraordinary. His entire self changed. He straightened from his beaten down self and looked, for a moment, like a battle-weary warrior. Then he attacked the demon with techniques far more advanced than he had any right to know, especially for a child with such low cultivation, and with far more savagery than any fourteen year old should have in their bones.

He was an eldritch enigma that Shen Yuan couldn’t possibly begin to understand.

And then the night after the battle, Shen Yuan had been dragged into Luo Binghe’s dream realm. Into his mind.

At first it had been normal. Shen Yuan pitied the boy for his past, saw a bit of both himself and his brother in the child. Abandoned, beaten, abused, all for so long. At that exact point Shen Yuan had vowed to himself to bring this child up better than either he or his brother’s childhood had ever treated them.

The dream demon spoke in that realm, voice tinny. “Ah.” The demon said. “No wonder the early scenes weren’t working. You’re different, aren’t you?”

The first sign that Shen Yuan was right, that Luo Binghe wasn’t normal. Then Meng Mo cooed “Night night, Shen Shi,” and Shen Yuan crumpled.

But that wasn’t right. What kind of cultivator, what kind of peak lord of Qing Jing, could simply be knocked out like that? Shen Yuan wasn’t a master of bestiaries, knowledgeable on the extensive history of demonic and spiritual beast powers alike, for nothing. He had a few tricks up his sleeve and more than a few years of grueling training under his own Shizun.

It took him a while. A few seconds that felt like days. But Shen Yuan fought back to the surface of waking, desperately gasping as he trod the murky waters of unconsciousness. He was awake again.

He didn’t understand when Meng Mo spoke, at first. His head was thick with cotton. He couldn’t move. But slowly, his hearing came back to him. And then his sight.

“You know this world. You know what’s to come.” The demon said.

Then the demon said, “Ah, but I can only see a little from here. It’s very blurry. Let’s try… this.” Shen Yuan was behind Binghe. He couldn’t see what was happening, what Meng Mo was doing to Binghe. But Binghe cried out in pain.

And then the world around him was hot. Too hot. It was oppressively humid to the left, bone dry to the right. And so hot.

And Shen Yuan could see a bedraggled Binghe in the center of it all, cringing away from the monsters of whatever hell they were in.

And then the scenery around him changed. Shen Yuan watched as Binghe seemed to mutate, shifting and growing into a tall, broad figure, hands unwillingly thrusting out to grab hold of a blade. Shen Yuan saw Jiu-Ge across from him, horrified, in despair.

He saw the back of himself impaled on Binghe’s blade. Shen Yuan heard his own death rattle. He saw himself go limp.

Shen Yuan watched himself die by Binghe’s hand.

The world went dark. Shen Yuan blinked upwards, letting his eyes adjust. Slowly, the world came into view. A prison? The water surrounding the platform was dark and murky, walls of water falling from the skies. Dimly, Shen Yuan realized that this might just be the Huan Hua water prison. It fit the description, after all.

Someone behind him snapped. Binghe wasn’t in front of him, so that must be him behind Shen Yuan.

Candles lit up the room and Shen Yuan wished he had never opened his eyes to this nightmare.

Shen Jiu was suspended, limbless, from the center of the room. His brother’s single eye looked up, drawing past Shen Yuan as if he were nothing, looking straight up at his captor. Shen Jiu screamed, mouth wide, bloody stump where his tongue had been torn out. He laughed. It was pure madness. It was unadulterated agony.

Two claps and the scenery was gone. 

Shen Yuan wanted to cry.

He had told Binghe when they came here that the Dream Demon was restricted by reality. Meng Mo couldn’t craft things, faces, that didn’t already exist-- that weren’t already memories.

Which means Binghe had seen these things. Binghe knew what was to come.

Binghe knew he would kill Shen Yuan and Shen Qingqiu. And now Shen Yuan knew too.

Meng Mo spoke and confirmed it to be true. “Oh, too exciting boy, truly! Your future is truly admirable. A demon lord? A harem master?” He leaned closer to Binghe. Shen Yuan watched from the corner of his eyes as the demon’s infinitely wrinkled face squishing good-naturedly while he spoke. “A murderer?”

“No.” Binghe choked. “No, I’m not- I’m not him. This isn’t me.”

This Shen Yuan distantly categorized. Luo Binghe didn’t want this either. It gave him a flicker of hope.

“Oh, you’re right, I suppose. This isn’t you. It was your- your storybook character, I take it? How nice. Does this still seem like a little storybook to you?”

That part was another thing to add to the list of things that didn’t make sense right now. Storybook? What storybook?

“Pay attention when your elders are talking, boy. Now, as I was saying. You’re going to need some help to get out of your little predicament, aren’t you?” The demon leaned his weight on his cane, inspecting his nails.

Then his head jerked downwards, face alarmed, as he looked down at the body of Shen Yuan. Shen Yuan shut his eyes, but he knew it was too late. Meng Mo snapped and sent Shen Yuan into a deeper enchantment and into a long, dreamless sleep.

Seers were not unheard of. Shen Yuan knew of a few humans with the ability to see the future, though rarely did it happen so clearly.

But with that explanation, things were a little less odd.

Luo Binghe knew things because he had seen them. He had seen Liu Qingge’s deviation would occur and stopped it. He had seen Shen Qingqiu’s future and pitied him. He had seen his future self as a warrior and utilized his future skills during the fight. Luo Binghe could see the future and had changed it, maybe.

Meaning Luo Binghe didn’t want this cruel future to occur, and neither did Shen Yuan.

Shen Yuan waited for the day that Luo Binghe would tell him about being a seer. He didn’t expect Luo Binghe to come out completely and tell him he would murder Shen Yuan-- the master of Qing Jing didn’t actually think his disciple was stupid.

But he waited and hinted numerous times at it, welcoming Luo Binghe to tell this master whatever the boy needed to get off his mind. And so he got a lot of therapy sessions out of the boy, but not a single mention of Binghe’s ability to see the future.

That was fine. It seemed like Binghe was actively working against the future anyways. And just in case, Shen Yuan made sure to cozy up to the boy and cling to his obviously golden thighs. This man was going to become a demon lord! He was going to become a harem master! By the looks of it, Binghe was actually going to one day achieve godhood!

So Shen Yuan cozied up to the boy and nudged Shen Qingqiu to do the same as well. He’s a good brother, after all. Gotta keep your family safe. 

And sure, he thought about maybe smothering Binghe in his sleep or kicking the boy off of Qing Jing peak every once in a while. Sure, sometimes he looked at the boy and all he could hear was his brother’s screams.

But Binghe wasn’t exactly showing signs of that kind of viciousness yet. The day he did, Shen Yuan would be sure to run away as fast as possible, but for now? Things were looking pretty good. 

And anyway, that anger seen in the future had to come from somewhere. People don't normally just kill and eviscerate their teachers just because it seems like a good way to spend an afternoon. There's usually a motive behind that sort of anger, and Binghe seemingly wanted to avoid whatever would change him.

It seemed that Binghe was trying to get of Shen Yuan’s good side at the same time Shen Yuan was trying to get on his, which boded for good things.

And best of all, after cuddling up to this child and clinging to his thighs… Binghe was actually adorable! He was such a cute white sheep! Shen Yuan absolutely adored this little disciple! Such a kind, handsome (clingy) young man! He was going to win hundreds of maidens' hearts someday, no doubt about it. How could Binghe ever grow up to murder both Shen Yuan and Shen Qingqiu? Impossible!

Or, at least, improbable.

Shen Yuan had pushed Binghe into the abyss. And now he was fucked.

Because when he actually thought back on it, yeah. Yeah, he didn’t exactly think this through when he pushed Binghe.

Because Pushing someone into Hell is a pretty good reason to Kill Them.

Shit. He should have thought about that part when looking at the fire and brimstone, rather than think about how Binghe was a heavenly demon. Rather than seeing how Binghe looked at the abyss with fear and putting together a few puzzle pieces in a split second. Rather than thinking about how pushing him down might save his own hide. Rather than thinking about his own reputation.

Maybe he should have smiled reassuringly at Binghe before he pushed the boy in.

Because when Shen Yuan isn’t hopped up on adrenaline and panic, that actually seemed like it was probably a bit of a Bad Move.

Which means Binghe might come back, and Shen Yuan had accidentally screwed everything up by seeing the future. Maybe Shen Yuan had accidentally unraveled all of Binghe's efforts to prevent this future and walked straight into a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Oops.

So then, backup plan.

Shen Yuan pulled aside Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu and spilled the entire story. Qingqiu was livid once he learned the whole of it. Still at Shen Yuan, by the way. Even after being told he would be killed by Luo Binghe, Jiu-Ge still seemed to think the boy was literally an angel. Qinghua responded with confusion, simple and pure. That’s okay. Shen Yuan was the one who held the brain cells in their friendship, he didn’t expect much out of Qinghua besides bizarre and normally useless information.

“So then, Qinghua, any ideas?” Shen Yuan asked, leaning against the table. Shen Qingqiu beside him still looked like he was mere inches away from beating Shen Yuan to a pulp, but Shen Yuan ignored him for now. This was for their own good.

“...Cucumber bro. Bro. A-Yuan. Bro. That’s actually all super fucked up.”

“For once in my life, I agree with Shang-Shidi. A-Yuan, what the actual fuck is wrong with you.”

Shen Yuan flicked his fan in front of him. “I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time. But also, you’ve got to agree at least a little with my reasoning, right? There’s absolutely no way Luo Binghe could have stayed up here. It would have killed us all.”

“Okay, yeah, I get that, right? But like--”

“You pulled a Qi-Ge, Shen Yuan. You turned around and pulled a Qi-Ge on Luo Binghe, except a hundred times worse. Again, I repeat-- what the actual fuck is wrong with you.”

Shang Qinghua reached out and patted Shen Yuan’s hand. “By the sounds of it, Cucumber bro, Binghe’s still going to kill us all. Well, I mean, he’s still going to kill you two. No offense, Shen-Shixiong.”

Shen Qingqiu leaned a little away from Shang Qinghua. “None taken.”

“And it’s like-- thanks, I guess. You probably saved my reputation a little, in your whole ‘I’m trying to defend Cang Qiong’.”

“You didn’t have much of one to begin with.” Shen Qingqiu muttered.

“Shen-Shixiong, I’m going to ignore that because you’re Cucumber bro’s brother.”

“Can you stop calling him by his porn editor name? That Cucumber Bro thing? It’s weird.”

“...Yeah, okay.”

Shen Yuan leaned forward, slipping his hand out from under Shang Qinghua’s warmer one. “Can we get back to the topic of discussion, please? Mainly, how am I not supposed to die?”

His brother clicked his tongue. “We, A-Yuan. We.”

Shen Yuan distractedly nodded along. “Yes, we.”

Shang Qinghua leaned back, heaving a long sigh. “I hate to say this, but from the sound of it you two are hosed. You’re going to die.”

“Thanks,” Shen Yuan said.

“But.. um, maybe it doesn’t have to be permanent?”

Shen Qingqiu closed his eyes, massaging his temples. “Fantastic. Thanks, Shang-Shidi. I’ll keep that in mind when I’m turned into a human stick.”

“You’re… welcome?”

“He was being sarcastic.”

“...Ahem. Okay guys, just like, hear me out. You guys ever heard of the Sun and Moon flower?”

“No.”

“Never.”

“Um… okay. Yeah, then let’s just… It’s something I read about in my King-- my close acquaintance’s libraries. Basically, there’s a flower that can grow a fully developed host body. It’s sort of like their version of a fruit, which is really clever because it’s this kind of built in traveling system to spread seeds and--”

“Get to the point, Qinghua.”

“Rude. Okay, so long story short, you can grow a new body using it. It’ll just be an empty shell of a human of course, but you’ll get like fully developed spiritual veins and everything. It takes a few… years? For it to grow. A little over five and a half, if I’m remembering correctly. But if you just connect yourself to it--”

“How, exactly?”

“Don’t ask me the specifics, I’m on a roll. If you just connect yourself and your soul to it, you can probably just jump bodies right after dying. And then you wake up, unbury yourself, and ta-da! New person!”

 Qingqiu arched a brow. “...That sounds highly suspect.”

“I literally don’t have any better ideas.”

“And do you have any idea where this Sun and Moon flower is?”

“...A cave, I think. You know what? Just give me couple days. I’ll head back to my acquaintances house and check his libraries again, then we can go and figure this out.”

Five and a half years later.

Shen Yuan woke up, which in and of itself was a miracle. Last thing he remembered was dying, which. He kind of felt bad about it.

Because in the end, maybe Binghe wasn’t actually out for blood.

But also, he really didn’t regret this backup plan, because hell would freeze over before he let Luo Binghe be hurt again. Shen Yuan would repeat his self-immolation all over again if it meant saving Binghe. He had already fucked up once with the whole abyss thing, he wasn't about to do it again. So he didn’t really regret dying and he should probably apologize to Binghe about this whole fiasco.

And a whole lot of other things too, actually. Shen Yuan actually had a long list of things to apologize and beg forgiveness for.

But first things first. Shen Yuan was currently suffocating under the earth. Not a good look.

He gave a muffled shout, clawing at the ground above him. The soft soil gave way under his scratching fingers, slowly shifting, more soil coming down and filling the spaces every time he made it up another layer.

What if he just died again right now? Wouldn’t that be fucked up?

Above him, similar frantic shuffling sounds were heard. The earth above was slowly getting lighter, less soil was pouring back in. A warm hand reached down and grasped his own clammy one, pulling him upwards out of the earth.

Shen Yuan took a gasping breath of fresh air, vowing to never again take for granted the miracle of life and sweet, sweet oxygen.

“Right on time, Cucumber Bro.” Shang Qinghua said cheerfully.

The first thing Shen Yuan did was start brushing off the dirt and mud which covered his naked body. Seriously. This was filthy.

The next thing he did was put out a hand expectantly.

Shang Qinghua studied the outstretched hand. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. I’m naked right now. Give me your clothes.”

Shang Qinghua peeled off his outer robe, dropping it into Shen Yuan’s hand. Shen Yuan reached behind himself to pull back his hair before putting on the new robes, not wanting filthy and matted long hair to be stuck to his skin.

There was no hair.

Okay, no, that was an exaggeration. There was hair on his head. But it was extremely short for this era, barely making it down to his shoulders. He frowned, patting his head. Was this a joke? Where was the long black hair he was so proud of?

“Yeah bro, we’re probably going to need to do something about that. Even from here I can tell it’s way too knotted. We should probably just cut off the worst of it and start from scratch.”

Start… from scratch?

He frantically patted his face and looked down in dismay, taking into mind the other various edits the Sun and Moon flower had decided to make to his body.

Shen Yuan slung the robe around his shoulders and hurried to a nearby pool, dropping to his knees to look down into it.

What the fuck? Who the fuck was that? Why didn’t he look like some peerless immortal anymore? It was like some vengeful god had decided to tweak parts of his face, making him softer and more expressive, melting away years of discipline which-- let me tell you. Shen Yuan did not appreciate.

“Cucumber bro, just. Chill. It’s been like five months since you died, and we need to talk about a couple of things. Okay, like, a lot of things.”

“Why do I look like this! What’s wrong with my face!”

“You don’t even look bad, bro! You’d still probably make the top ten hottest cultivators, no problem! But seriously, chillax. We’ve got major issues back home.”

“... What happened?”

So according to Shang Qinghua, Luo Binghe was mourning Shen Yuan big time, which Shen Yuan didn’t actually expect.

Another thing to add to the list of apologies, then. “Sorry for adding to your traumas, Binghe” or something like that. God, does Shen Yuan ever stop fucking up? He cursed at himself, wanting to punch something but only seeing Shang Qinghua nearby. And… nah, not today. Qinghua was being surprisingly helpful recently.

“And also Cang Qiong might be trying to hunt Binghe down like a dog.” Shang Qinghua casually tagged onto the end of their conversation.

Shen Yuan blinked. “What?”

"Yeah, I, uh... They weren't very happy when you died. Someone's redrawing the seals on Tianlang-Jun's mountain. From what I saw, the new additions aren't pretty. And recently, An Ding has been commissioned for hundreds of new seals and entire tons of spiritual talisman-writing inkstones, so..."

"We've got to stop them."

"Yeah bro, totally. But like, maybe take a few days? You just woke up, maybe you shouldn't push yourself."

The air around Shen Yuan crackled with barely suppressed energy. "You think I fucking died just so they can go ahead and kill Binghe? Think again, pal. I'm gonna--" He shot up to his feet immediately went lightheaded, swaying a little, unfamiliar with his new body. His legs crumpled beneath him. "I'm gonna... take a break for like a day. But I'm going back to Cang Qiong as soon as possible."

Part II: Zhuzhi-lang and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

Zhuzhi-lang was not having a good day.

In fact, he could be described as having a very bad day.

He coiled tighter inside the veritable bird cage he had been placed in, cursing at the cultivator which had caught him. Bad luck for him. Bad luck.

But let’s put that behind him for now.

He should be focusing on escape.

When the sun went down, its burning rays hidden beneath the horizons, Zhuzhi-lang sprung from his cage. He pooled a bit of energy into his body and expanded, the small frame he had originally been traveling in splitting and shedding skin to make way for the monstrous beast.

He grew and the cage around him creaked, groaned, and shattered. Exploded. Cultivators were thrown aside, yelling and cursing at Zhuzhi-lang’s new form, but he didn’t pay them any mind. His head had morphed once more from its human shape to the more bestial snakelike one, and his tongue flickered, scenting the air for any traces of that boy. Binghe, they had called him. Luo Binghe.

He looked a lot like Tianlang-Jun, that Luo Binghe. Those sharp red eyes and that curly, untameable hair. But he also looked a lot like that sly, cursed Su Xiyan. He had the same soft lips, carried himself with the same confident poise as if he expected the world to bow to his whims.

But Luo Binghe wasn’t here right now, so Zhuzhi-lang tossed the man from his mind. That boy could be dealt with later. For now, Tianlang-Jun still waited beneath the mountain.

Tianlang-Jun was broken, barely hanging in. Were it not for Zhuzhi-lang’s presence, maybe Tianlang-Jun would have let go and drifted into the afterlife long ago.

Zhuzhi-lang shrunk back down to his smaller form, the only way he could slip into the cracks on the mountainside, and slithered his way to Tianlang-Jun’s side.

He wished he could switch places with his uncle. If offered the opportunity, he would do so in a heartbeat. But fate was cruel, and it was not Zhuzhi-lang who had fallen for the female cultivator during those fateful days.

So he could only do the best he could with what he had. To ease Tianlang-Jun’s pain as much as possible.

Opposable thumbs would really help with that, but. You know.

Zhuzhi-lang coiled up to where Tianlang Jun hung suspended in the wall, body half-eaten by the mountain’s sheer face. His upper torso, his arms and face, his shins and feet were left exposed to air. Everything else was under a stony coverage. 

His uncle was decaying alive, unable to heal. Every bit of demonic energy Tianlang-Jun created was immediately absorbed by the mountainside, leeched from his life source like a parasite takes from its host. Tianlang-Jun had become some morbid wall-decoration that Zhuzhi-lang could barely reach unless he stretched upwards, always a little out of his grasp.

So he stayed low to the ground, hissing in greeting, not daring to vocalize right now with these ugly, broken vocal cords of his.

From above Tianlang-Jun’s weak chuckle echoed.

“Finally back? What… took you so… long this time?” 

Zhuzhi-lang could only hiss again in response, more loudly this time.

“Ha… Still can’t speak? Ha… ha.” 

If Zhuzhi-lang had working tear ducts, he would be crying right now.

The snake coiled his lower body around a rock, anchoring him so that he could reach upwards. With him, he brought a phial that he had stolen, some medicine from a small apothecary he had wrecked on his way out of the city. He wasn’t sure what it did, but if it relieved his uncle’s pain even a little, it would be more than worth it.

Destroying that apothecary had been so satisfying. Were it not for uncle’s love for humans, Zhuzhi-lang would have long since killed them all.

He held the corked glass between his teeth, straining to reach Tianlang-Jun’s hand. The fingers twitched when the glass bottle brushed against them, grasping. 

Zhuzhi-lang dropped it in his uncle’s hand, unable to uncork or apply the contents of the phial. The hand gripped it tightly, frantically, Tianlang-Jun knowing exactly what it was intended to be used for. Even if Tianlang-Jun didn’t show it, even if he claimed to be numb to it all, the man wanted some of the pain to go away.

Then Tianlang-Jun’s hand spasmed, wracked by another one of his seizures, and the little glass dropped to the ground and shattered. Its contents spilling across the cold ground.

Tianlang-Jun laughed again. He blinked weakly at Zhuzhi-lang’s despairing face and smiled, part of his skin torn open and hanging from his jaw so that flashes of his white canines and gums showed. It must have been so painful to speak.

“Sometimes… I forget how… ugly you are.” 

Zhuzhi-lang wanted to wail, to bash his head against the wall, to wreak havoc on the cruel world for turning his uncle-- once a man renowned and loved by the demon realms-- into this. A shadow of his former self, too weak to even hold a small glass bottle.

But he didn’t. Instead he slunk back down, slapping his tail against a rock twice in his form of goodbye. From above him, Tianlang-Jun spoke again.

“Don’t stay away… too long. It gets… lonely.”

Cultivators and beings with high spiritual aptitude. Those were who huddled in the caves. Zhuzhi-lang had brought them all here himself, rolling a boulder out of the way and pushing them in, then replacing the boulder so no one could escape.

Years ago, four cultivators had crept into the caves where Zhuzhi-lang stayed, a stretch of caverns on the territory of Huan Hua. Four cultivators were too many. Two who looked identical, a shorter one who led the way, a young one in Huan Hua colors who respectfully fell behind. Zhuzhi-lang dared not leave his spot in the darkness, shadowed by mounds of rocks and fungus.

They--the cultivators-- spoke to each other, laughing and chatting about the properties of the Sun and Moon flower that Zhuzhi-lang sought.

One of them had jokingly said that if the Sun and Moon flower didn’t work, his friend’s soul could always come back and possess someone.

That had given Zhuzhi-lang an idea.

A Sun and Moon Flower body would have been a temporary fix for Tianlang-Jun’s issue. Enough to get his uncle out of the mountain, maybe using his power to transform Zhuzhi-lang back into a bipedal form so they could destroy the seals kept on the mountain. Then Tianlang-Jun could take his original body out from the wall and let it heal, simply jumping back into his original body whenever it was ready. Which would have hopefully been before the flower decayed too much from the strength of his demonic energy.

But if he couldn’t get the flower, he might as well skip a step and just get Tianlang-Jun an entirely different body.

So he plucked the easiest-to-get, strongest cultivators from the nearby cities and towns, their ages ranging from eight to ageless immortals with various stages of training behind them. All were bound by immortal binding cables. Most were men, simply because Zhuzhi-lang wanted to give his uncle a male body. A few, though, were women, because why not? Might as well leave his uncle a variety of options.

All that Tianlang-Jun needed to do now was gather enough strength to leave his body. Not kill his body, but simply… leave it for a while. Keep it in a state of near death so that he could drift away and into another body.

Zhuzhi-lang slithered around and over the humans, dragging a basket of food behind him. Berries, salted meats, things he stole from villages and foraged from forests. A few large bowls of water were placed on the ground as well.

All the humans had to drag themselves across the ground like snakes to get to the food and water, debasing themselves as they eagerly lapped up everything their captor had to offer. Worthless pigs.

Words could not describe how much Zhuzhi-lang hated humanity.

Cultivators were swarming the mountain. Zhuzhi-lang could hear them tracing over the seals, stomping and shaking the ceiling.

He wondered if they knew that Tianlang-Jun was still alive.

But no, it seemed. They weren’t after Tianlang-Jun and his general.

They were making a new seal, altering some of the lines which kept Tianlang-Jun trapped. Maybe they were going to trap some new innocent soul under the mountain to keep Tianlang-Jun company. Who would it be this time? Tianlang-Jun’s old friend, the boisterous Mobei-Jun? Mobei-Jun’s young son, the little boy with a permanent frown? Lord Sha of the western plains?

Luo Binghe, son of Su Xiyan and Tianlang-Jun?

And they altered some of the lines that kept Tianlang-Jun trapped here. They altered the sigils.

The cultivators made a grave mistake.

Tianlang-Jun flexed his fingers, dull fingernails sharpening to black talons.

The ragged hole in his cheek slowly stitched together. His demonic seal flashed red.

Zhuzhi-lang felt a fierce heat worm through his body. His skin shed as he writhed, and beneath it lay curled a human-like body. It was imperfect, for now. Scales still pockmarked his skin, up along his shoulders and the backs of his hands. His tongue was still forked, his eyes still had slitted pupils.

Yet at the same time, he felt better than he had in years.

“My Lordssship.” He hissed, bowing low to the ground. Tianlang-Jun grinned, the look of veiled pain lessening on his face.

“Still ugly no matter what form you’re in, huh? But still. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“This Zhuzhi-lang iss honored by your wordssss.”

“Respectful as always." His eyes crinkled from how wide his smile was. Tianlang-Jun always smiled, but today it was more genuine than it had been in the last twenty-two years. 

“So then, nephew. What goes on in the outside world? It’s boring when I have no news. Any good books?”

“Cultivatorsss have changed the ssseals on the mountain to trap another. I believe your sson isss alive. Many sspare bodiesss are located nearby, ready to be posssesssed. I’ve heard word that novelsss by Paper Airplanesss might be to your tasste.” Zhuzhi-lang listed off everything he felt was currently of importance. Twenty-two years is a long time without speech-- he and his uncle had a lot to discuss.

Tianlang-Jun blinked. “Wait. Back up. All of those things you just said? Explain them in detail. Especially the having a son part.”

Bonus Part III: An extra little drabble that takes place during chapter 15. 

Binghe lounged across the couch, XiaoBai purring a mile a minute on his chest. His robes were left indecently wide, enough that any newcomer could get a good glimpse of chest and abs. Binghe sloshed his cup of alcohol in his hand, looking at it as if it held the answers to the universe.

“Hey.” He said eloquently.

Mobei-Jun rested against the couch, an arm curled around Sha Hualing who cuddled up against him. Relaxing after a heated drinking competition against each other, which Mobei-Jun had eventually won by virtue of his larger frame. Shang Qinghua was still sitting next to the table, nursing the same bottle of wine he’d had since the beginning of their impromptu drinking night. Bottle, not cup. He was the only one not completely drunk.

“Hey.” Binghe said, a little more loudly this time.
“What.” Mobei-Jun answered grumpily. Sha Hualing let out a flutey little sigh, shuffling closer to Mobei-Jun.

“My Lord?” She slurred.

“How do you make a man fall in love with you.” Binghe asked, trying his best to put a coherent thought together. That was what he meant to ask, right? Right. When Binghe gets Shizun back to life again, how was he going to get the man to love him again? To… fall in love with him again? Or to just love him again? They’re the same thing, right?

He took another gulp from his bottle, relaxing as the warm tingling feeling made its way down his throat. Good stuff. Glad he cracked open the wine cellar tonight. And by that he meant he raided the kitchens. Binghe raided the kitchen with his advisors and a human in tow, and the raccoon chef didn’t notice. Or maybe she did notice and pretended she didn’t. 

He should probably learn the head chef’s name sometime.

Shang Qinghua propped his head on his hand. “Well I think--”

Mobei-Jun uncharacteristically interrupted, voice slow. “Monster heads.”

Shang Qinghua immediately stopped what he was saying. He studied Mobei-Jun as if he, too, might hold the answers to the world and everything it contained. 

Mobei-Jun elaborated. “Use the defeated heads to show your power and then mount them to show that you care about what the other person thinks about messiness.” 

Binghe’s mind drifted back to Liu Qingge, how he would always bring monster heads to the cottage for Shen Yuan and how Binghe always jealously punted them down a mountain. Wasn’t that super fucking hot? Just, like, showing up at someone’s doorstep with a lion head? Binghe knew he thought it was really hot. 

“Oh shit, you right.” He carefully enunciated each word so that Mobei-Jun could hear the drunken appreciation in his voice. Mobei-Jun was such a good friend. Mobei-Jun was his best friend in the whole wide world. Binghe sloppily slung the arm that wasn’t holding alcohol over his waist, awkwardly patting Mobei-Jun on the head. Then Sha Hualing, just because.

Shang Qinghua looked between the two of them. “What?” He asked. “ What ?”

“Nooo,” Sha Hualing mewled plaintively from below. “Monster heads are out of style these days. That’s like, so old fashioned. You gotta… you gotta look sexy. Like-- like me. You know? Sexy. Revealing clothes and… um… makeup ‘n shit.”

Mobei-Jun nodded. “That too.” He agreed. 

Shang Qinghua glanced down at Mobei-Jun’s exposed chest, his robes open in a way similar to the style Luo Binghe kept them in. And then he thought about the blue paint he sometimes wore at the corner of his eyes, usually meticulously done by Sha Hualing.

Right now, Shang Qinghua was having a revelation. An awakening. His third eye had opened and he saw the truth of the world. It was incredible.

Qinghua decided to throw his own opinion into the mix.

“Sometimes if you look… pathetic? That’ll help.”

Maybe Shang Qinghua wasn’t exactly as sober as he pretended to be, because it was kind of hard to string words together right now.

Luo Binghe glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Mm?”

“It’s like… you can, um, pretend to be afraid sometimes? Like cling to their arms during horror stories? Or… like, pretending to be weaker during battles? Not weak enough to get killed, but like…. let them defeat a few extra enemies so they can feel strong.”

Binghe mulled on this last comment. He was distantly reminded of how Shen Yuan always patted his head when he (purposefully) fell against the man while practicing, or how he always soothed Binghe when the boy was (fake) crying.

Wasn’t that just an extended version of the long con Binghe used to pull back when he was a disciple?

“You’re right too.” He slurred. “Shang-Shishu is smart. It’s no wonder Mobei-Jun… Mobei-Jun…” Binghe drifted off in the middle of his sentence, his fingers slackening. His empty wine goblet thumped to the ground.

Shang Qinghua sat up ramrod straight. “It’s no wonder what, my lord?” He asked urgently. Luo Binghe snored. “My lord?”

Hualing giggled, playing with Mobei-Jun’s braid. “Figure it out, human.” 

Mobei-Jun pushed her away slightly and she batted at him with her hand. “ My human.” He complained.

Hualing pouted. “Figure it out, Mobei’s human.”

Mobei-Jun nodded and allowed her to rest her head against his shoulder again. She grinned, twisting his braid absently around her finger. Then her eyes widened and she reached back to her own hair, pulling one of her own braids forward.

“Ah! Mobei, look, look! I have a braid too! We match!”

Shang Qinghua took his bottle and threw his head back, chugging the rest of the alcohol in it. So. So, that’s a lot to think about. That’s a whole lot to unravel right now. Best not think about it at all.

Chapter Text

The notification bell on his system rang. Binghe closed it.

The notification bell on his system rang again. Binghe closed it again.

The notification bell on his syst-- 

Binghe clicked mute when it was only partly through its musical chime.

Finally. Silence.

…

…..

The system unmuted itself. The notification bell rang.

“God fucking-- What! What do you want?” 

[This System recommends that the customer continues with his main quest! Please return to your main quest as soon as possible! It has been <<168 days>> since the customer last completed a quest!]

“No.”

[...]

[... No?]

“No.”

[May this System ask why the customer will not continue with his transmigration requirements?]

Binghe sighed, massaging his temples. He leaned back in his chair, kicking his feet up onto his desk. “You’ve been here since day one, right? Figure it out. This is bullshit. I have better things to do then your quests.” 

Like fixing Shizun up, for one. Running a kingdom, for another. Living a generally semi-normal, autonomous existence and exercising his rights as an independent being, stuff like that. He had a busy schedule. No room for the main plotline and Shen Qingqiu.

Also, he was pretty sure dear Shifu wants to kill him. Don’t ask him how he knew-- call it a hunch. Maybe from the murderous gleam in his eye last time Binghe saw him, and the fact that he might have accidentally caused Shen Yuan to self destruct right in front of the Shifu-- just days after raking their reputation through the mud. And seeing as the protagonist of this novel (Was it really a novel anymore? More like a world) didn’t want this transmigrator’s help, why would he continue with the missions? Why help someone who doesn’t want it?

“If you want the storyline finished up, tell Mobei-Jun’s system to give him a few more missions. He’s the author, isn’t he? I’m sure he’d be a lot better at it.”

[Loading… loading… gathering outside information… loading…]

[...Not possible.]

“Is it because of--”

[Mobei-Jun’s System is currently under probation and, as such, is not allowed to assign customers any main quests which might directly alter the plotline. To answer your question: Yes, it is because of Mobei-Jun’s system.]

Binghe felt no pity. That’s what you get for killing off the original Shen Yuan in the novel. Shitty author.

Please ignore the fact that Binghe also killed Shen Yuan, if indirectly. Because Binghe’s been trying to push off that guilt too. According to most everyone close to him who was privy to that situation, he wasn’t the one at fault here. He was slowly trying to come to terms with that idea, even if it didn’t ring true. But even if he didn’t kill Shen Yuan, he still wanted to bring his Shizun back.

[Ding! System responding to customer’s needs. System reminder: One out of three hints remaining! Please use it wisely! Y/N]

“Can you just shut it? Where’s the mute button, where’d you--” He swiped through the System’s functions menu and groaned aloud when he realized the mute button was missing now. There was just a blank slot.

Binghe had a flashback to a video game isekai he once watched, where the logout button was deleted and players were trapped in the game forever. The missing mute button had that same exact vibe. Like he was watching a contract for his death being written and signed before his eyes.

[Ding~ Hint available! Please select, Y/Y]

There’s something wrong with this situation, isn’t there?

“What’s this hint for?” He was entirely sure he didn’t want to know. It was like the moment before a jumpscare, where you knew it was coming but didn’t know what it would be. But god, the curiosity.

[The location of NPC_Shen_Yuan!]

What?

[Further elaboration: This System has made an executive decision in sharing important in-story information with the transmigrator! Does the customer accept the hint? Y/Y]

“I--”

[Thank you for your input. Y has been selected. Hint:...]

The screen flashed blue and Binghe jerked. A red line trailed across the center, still at first. But then it began to sputter up and down like a heartbeat, audio pouring out of the system’s speakers.

[“No-- No! Qinghua, I swear to god, I’m heading to Cang Qiong now. Fuck off, I’ve already rested for like a week! I’m fine, I’m-- shit, shit, shit!”

Shen Yuan yelped and there was the rustling sound of bushes. Laughter sounded in the distance.

“Hey! You try riding a sword after a five month dirt nap, huh! Stop laughing you little--”]

The audio cut off. Binghe stood from his relaxed position on the chair and stared at the system, then lightly tapped on the hint button again.

[No more hints available! Thank you for your cooperation!] The System sounded smug. Too smug.

Binghe clicked the hint button a few more times, to no avail.When that didn’t work, he cranked his fist back and punched the hint button. Spidering cracks appeared across the screen, breaking up the glassy facade. The System made a harsh error sound, like dial-up internet. When he took his hand away, the System screen repaired itself slowly.

“Do it again.” He gritted out, eyes narrow. “Try that again. Shizun’s body is still in his room. He hasn’t moved in over five months. So I dare you. Try that again and see what will happen.”

[System assures Luo Binghe that all information is vetted and valid.]

Binghe punched the screen again. This time his fist crashed straight through the screen, a softball-sized hole in its center. “No, try it. Try to take advantage of my feelings again.” His voice was cold, his demonic seal flaring red. Inky black demonic qi gathered around his fist, poised above the screen. “Try it, buddy. I don’t care if you’re the fucking moderators of this world or some twisted gods. I’ve killed gods in the abyss and I can do it again.”

[Exercising System Administration procedures: Overriding modules. Audio restarting. Display mode activated.]

The screen flickered and expanded, curving slightly at the corners. A figure appeared in the air, a weimao covering him from shoulders up. The veil around the hat obscured his face, but his voice was unmistakable. At his side was Shang Qinghua, wearing the simple pin in his hair that Mobei-Jun had recently gifted him.

[“I’m telling you, bro, Qingge’s devastated! I’ve never seen him so emotional before!”

“Nonsense. Liu-Shidi isn’t that attached to me, I’m sure.”

“You say that, but he hasn’t gotten into a fight in months now. And-- get this-- he hasn’t tried to argue with your brother even once. Not once since you died. Shouldn’t that say something?”

“You know, people’s lives don’t just revolve around me. I’m sure something else happened to Liu-shidi, like he broke a sword or something. Believe me-- people don’t care about me that much.”

“I really beg to differ, A-Yuan. Like, you’re seriously wrong.”]

The screen closed again. Binghe growled low in his throat, eyes flashing. He lashed out and the screen disappeared, reappearing behind him.

[Not a trick! Not a trick, I swear! Stop!]

Binghe spun and struck the screen’s position with his foot, aiming to completely kick it out of the ballpark. The screen disappeared again, appearing above him, and he reached for his sword.

[Stop! Just go to Cang Qiong if you don’t believe me! Meet him there!]

Binghe stopped mid-attack and deliberately relaxed, sheathing his sword. Reaching up to his chest, he completely encompassed the little fake jade Guanyin with his hand.

“Swear on your life.”

[Warning! If bound object is destroyed, account may be terminated!]

“Who said anything about destroying you?”

The System whimpered. 

“Lord Luo, are you absolutely sure about this?”

“Hualing, I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life. Even if Cang Qiong attacks me, I’m a heavenly demon, aren’t I? I can take them, no problem.” Binghe confidently said as he pulled on some of his best robes, deceptively simple yet elegant.

Hualing sat on his bed cross-legged, brows furrowed. “It’s not that, my lord. Cultivators are no match for you, I’m sure. It’s just… you’ve been pursuing this Shizun of yours for almost a decade now. Perhaps it’s best to let go. Let him be.”

Binghe clicked his tongue, wrapping a red sash around his waist. “You know I can’t do that. We owe each other too much.”

Hualing sighed, pushing herself off the bed. She swept past him and pushed her way through his closet, flipping through a couple of his outer robes until she found one she liked. Delicately, she plucked it off the shelf and presented it to him. “Find your own happiness, Lord Luo. Don’t base it around a single man. It’s not fair to yourself or to him.”

Binghe pulled his hair back up, wrestling to bind it with a ribbon. “Don’t worry, I know that. I have friends and family here, everything won’t fall apart if he doesn’t arrive. It’s just… I need this at least for closure, all right? Even if he… doesn’t want me, there’s a lot of things I need to know. Just get the spell and open me up a portal nearby Cang Qiong mountain, will you?” 

Ever since he had gotten rid of Xin Mo and Mobei-Jun had hidden it god-knows-where, Binghe had begun to rely on Mobei-Jun as his own personal taxi service. Which gets a little annoying when he’s always in and out of the castle (even if it’s on Binghe’s behalf). But since Mobei-Jun was currently out of town...

“Of course, my lord. I’ll get it set up right away.”

A Few Hours Later:

Mobei-Jun idly walked around the perimeter of the mausoleum, every-so-often testing the barrier for weak points. He vaguely remembered writing in his notes that there was some treasure that could bring back the dead within its confines, which seemed promising. It was written in for some cool scene where Shen Qingqiu was going to necromance this really hot guy back to life for vaguely related plot reasons and more directly related porn reasons, but that was scrapped along with the rest of the danmei narrative, sadly.

The barrier crackled when he tapped it, still strong after thousands of centuries. They probably couldn’t penetrate it with magic alone, then. 

What if they just busted it down, though? It may be an ancient and heralded site of demonic culture, but who cared? It’s not like demons were much for following rules. He was more than happy to take a wrecking ball to its walls.

... Now that he thought about it, maybe Hualing's influence was rubbing off on him a little more than he would have liked.

Honestly, he was surprised no one had broken into the place before.

Or maybe they had, and they simply hadn’t survived it. Actually, that was probably the case.

Mobei-Jun was already planning the arson and mayhem they'd wreak on this place, tallying up exactly how many of those Black Moon Rhinoceros Pythons Binghe would need in order to bust down these walls. Probably a small herd. It shouldn’t be too hard. From there they could probably just nab all the treasure and go, filling up their coffers with whatever wasn’t the necromancy object Binghe needed. Bound to be a lot of other shit in there, like cursed items and gems and... hundreds of different papapa-related charms.

Ah, maybe not. Maybe they should just get that necromancy thing and go.

Poor kid. He felt bad for Binghe, it seemed like the guy was having a rough time. He didn't feel too bad, though. One, because Shen Yuan was eventually going to be brought back to life, if through sheer willpower alone. Two, because Binghe or, as he used to be called, Peerless Eggplant, was an awful person and karma’s a bitch.

No, Mobei-Jun had not yet gotten over that particular grudge.

[What the fuck?] His system murmured. Mobei-Jun looked down at his ring.

“Speak.”

[What the… why was she running through my data? Why does she have access to my status?]

“That answers nothing.”

[Oh… shit. Shit, that’s not allowed. What the fuck does she think she’s doing? Does she-- oh, fuck!]

“What .”

[H2GB Lite! Luo Binghe’s System! She’s trying to manually push the narrative, what the fuck does she think she’s doing! If this goes wrong, we’re going to lose… aw shit, wait ‘til management hears this. They’re gonna bust my ass.]

“I swear to god above. What’s wrong.”

[Binghe’s System is sending him to Cang Qiong! Shen Qingqiu’s already set up traps for heavenly demons, it’s not going to be pretty if he just arrives out of nowhere!]

Mobei-Jun stepped away from the barrier and immediately tore a portal into the shadows, melting into its icy embrace. 

“I swear to god. If he gets traumatized one more time, I’ll put him out of his misery myself.”

In Maigu Ridge

Tianlang-Jun flexed his new hand, admiring its long, graceful fingers. The skin tone was darker than his original body's, probably because Tianlang-Jun had spent the last two decades without sunlight or movement in a cave.

But enough about that. Let bygones be bygones. Tianlang-Jun was a forgiving person, magnanimously so. He used to have a reputation in the demon realm for being merciful, after all.

The humans around him cowered, shuddering as they shrank away from him and clung to the walls of the cave they were trapped in.

“Zhuzhi-lang! Look! No claws!” He stretched out his new host's hands-- those of the human he was currently possessing. It had been a bit of an arduous process, figuring out how to place himself at the brink of death so that he could properly possess people like a ghost, but he had finally figured it out! Huzzah! New body, and this time without visible scars and revealed bones! No decay!

Zhuzhi-lang smiled alongside him, pointedly ignoring the humans around them. “Humanss tend not to have any clawsss, I’ve found.”

Tianlang-Jun tilted his new body’s head curiously. “Is that right? Huh, it’s been a while. Must have forgotten a few things.” He flexed his hand again and demonic qi forcibly gathered around the tips of his fingers. A sickening crack, and then talons sprouted from the tips.

“Well, it’s easy enough to fix. How have humans lived so long without any natural defenses, I wonder?”

“Trickery, this Zhuzhi-lang believesss.”

Tianlang-Jun sighed. “You’re probably right.” He clapped his hands together, “Now then, onto the plan.”

They walked out of the cave together and Zhuzhi-lang rolled the boulder of the cave closed behind him. The new body Tianlang-Jun wore, a body he had gone and possessed after a few months of gathering his strength, stood taller than Zhuzhi-lang. Tianlang-Jun strolled through the winding caverns, hands boyishly crossed behind his head. 

“So I was thinking-- remember that sword you told me an ice demon had hid in the center of these mountains?”

“Mm. He bore resemblance to Mobei-Jun. Might be his son.”

Tianlang-Jun’s lips curled into a grin. “Ah, so the little icicle’s all grown up now, huh? How time flies. You think he's friends with... what's his name? Binghe?” He shook his head. "Ah, but nevermind that. I'm off-topic. That sword. That sword has been screaming bloody murder since the day it got here. It got annoying so I tried to track it down-- demonic qi, you know? I forgot how useful it was. And when I got close, the power it let off was unmistakable.”

“What do you mean, my lord?”

Tianlang-Jun dramatically struck a pose as he walked, as if wielding a magnificent blade. “The Xin Mo Sword! The Heart Eating Demon Sword! Impossible not to recognize! Once you’ve clashed with it once, you’ll never forget its pull!”

“And you--”

“I tried to win it in a fight with a spirit back in the abyss, once. Didn’t pan out. He cut off my legs three times before I threw in the towel. But! But now it’s just waiting for me! Placed in the very same mountain as me!” He gestured wildly as he spoke. Zhuzhi-lang covered his mouth as he chuckled at the raw, unbridled enthusiasm of his uncle.

“What doess my lord plan to do, then?”

“I’ve had this plan for a while, even before getting jailed in this godforsaken mountain. Humans and demons ought to get along. Exchange cultures, talk to one another-- we’re not really all that different, after all. But humans have proven they need a little push before playing nice.” He spoke casually but his canines elongated, human eyes flickering red. 

“And legend has it Xin Mo can make portals between worlds. A chump change kinda power, but-- if you do things right-- maybe it’s not so lame. There’s no physical limitation to the size of the sword’s portals. So if we just-- oh, I don’t know-- plop the demon plane right inside the human one-- we’ll all have no choice but to learn how to get along. Right?” 

Zhuzhi-lang nodded slowly, catching on. “Of courssse, my lord.”

Tianlang-Jun pumped his fist in the air. "Of course I'm right! I'm always right! Now then, from what I can tell it's a good few miles underground. Luckily, I've got this new body to help me out-- alongside a loyal nephew, of course. So then, Zhuzhi-lang. You up for a little spelunking tonight?"

Back to Binghe

Binghe cursed when he reached the top of the stairs, wiping off a trickle of sweat from his brow. He should have just flown up. The stairs up to the Cang Qiong were incredibly long-- unreasonably so. Literal miles straight up a mountainside. He thought he could either sneak into Cang Qiong inconspicuously and check the bamboo house for Shizun, or if Shizun was at the gates he’d make some grand entrance but. Fuck. Binghe didn’t run hundreds of laps a day anymore. His endurance had gone down a little.

So maybe these days he spent more time in the weight room and sparring arena and less time on a treadmill. Sue him.

He looked up at the grand entrance of Cang Qiong, a high pristine-white wall with the characters for Cang Qiong carved into both sides of the entrance. Just beyond the gate was a long courtyard and, further back, a humble temple. Pass that temple and there are even more bridges and stairs to climb, each one winding its way to a distant peak, often coated in mist and fog from how high up each peak was. The air up here was thinner, harder to breathe.

Binghe relished in it. The mountain breeze, the sheer dizzying drops off cliffs, the way the world seemed so small beneath you-- His fatigue fell away, forgotten, and he let himself take a moment to bask in the cold, calm air. Cang Qiong still welcomed him, it seems. Even if the people inside it don’t. 

He shook his head but couldn’t wipe away the small smile that wormed its way onto his face. He sent out a trickle of energy but couldn’t find any trace of cultivation nearby. Nobody was around-- perfect. The gates of Cang Qiong should still recognize him and let him enter. After all, once a member of Cang Qiong, always a member of Cang Qiong.

Probably a bad move on the parts of the founders, but Binghe liked the idea. If a person was welcomed in once by the barriers of Cang Qiong, they would always be allowed back in. It was cute. Even if it didn’t account for people like himself.

He stepped past the gates and felt only a thin crackle of energy from the barrier. Perfect. A slight breeze played with his hair, the sun shone down brightly upon him, and nostalgia tided across him. He took another step forward.

And then things went wrong.

Red light seeped from the ground around him, like the flickering light from an invisible blaze. Binghe, alarmed, immediately tried to step back out. And failed.

Something was stopping him from exiting the sect. 

From beneath his feet, crimson spirals twined around themselves, forming large, looping characters. Symbols and circles and finally, one large, thick line that bound around the circumference of the trap.

Because that’s what it was. A demon trap. But larger, and for higher ranking demons. Highly ranking demons.

His blood ran cold when he saw the unmistakable symbol for human lining the border.

As far as he knew, Binghe was the only half-demon in existence. This was a new kind of seal, specially tailored for people like him.

The smile fell off his face. His hand immediately went for his sword but hesitated. What if…? But he shook his head and grasped the hilt tight, pulling it out and holding it defensively across himself. He surged for a border and rammed his shoulder against it, then hissed at the shock it sent through him. It was like slamming himself against a brick wall.

He gritted his teeth and charged again, the thud of his shoulder against the barrier audible. Punched it, kicked it. Nothing but shaken bones and darkening bruises. Impenetrable by sheer brute force.

He backed up and dug his sword against the ground, trying to scratch away some of the borders, but he couldn't make a dent. No symbol he struck could be damaged, glowing and untouchable.

Binghe gritted his teeth and thought back to the thick tomes he had pored over in the past months. Hundreds of sigil ran through his mind, memories of their construction and deconstruction flashing. Okay, weave the cultivational qi into his hand and try to brute force his way out. If and when that doesn’t work, try more intricate and detailed methods. For every hundred sigil types, there are thousands of ways to unbind them-- at least one method had to work.

Binghe concentrated his qi into his fist, then gasped. Someone snapped their fingers from outside the circle and it felt like they had just kicked him in the stomach. He wheezed, winded.

In the distance, footsteps. Binghe took a deep breath and forcibly tried to reinflate his lungs, squinting through watering eyes.

Shen Yuan approached the edge of the barrier, his long black hair up in his usual ponytail. He flipped his fan open and closed in front of his face absently, as if practicing the motion. When he got close to Binghe, he flipped the fan closed one last time and slipped it into his sleeve, smiling gently.

“How nice.” He drawled. Binghe blinked. That… didn’t sound like Shizun.

Shen Yuan unpinned his hair from its high ponytail, letting his ink-black hair fall around his shoulders. The pin was then held between his teeth and he reached back, grabbing two loose clumps of hair from the front and gathering them behind his head, twisting and pinning his hair up into an unmistakable half-up, half-down hairstyle.

From there, the changes shimmered across his face. The lips that always seemed to curl into a tiny smile instead tightened and pulled downwards. His brows drew together, his eyes narrowed. Shen Qingqiu appeared before Binghe and Shen Yuan died again, right before his eyes.

Shen Qingqiu looked at Binghe with mixed emotions, so many that he couldn’t even begin to untangle the knotted mystery before him. 

“Here I thought I was going to come down and get you myself, Beast.” He snarled.

The weight of the air around him was heavy, like dozens of weighted blankets stacked upon one another. Binghe crumpled to his knees, arms trembling with the weight of holding himself up. Shen Qingqiu sat in a lotus position across from him, head tilted as he watched Binghe bend beneath the power of the seals.

The peak lords surrounded the circle, a secondary impenetrable wall to back up the barrier. Each channeled qi into the circle, concentrating.

Binghe felt cold eyes burning into him from every direction. It seemed the ire of every peak lord was trying its best to pierce holes into his skin. If looks could kill, Binge would be dead ten times over.

Shang Qinghua and Shen Yuan were conspicuously missing from this scene. If they were ever going to come, that is. Which Binghe was already heavily doubting.

A trap. His System, for whatever reason, had driven him into a trap.

He’d crush it if he could move.

“Luo Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu said quietly, placing a hand on the seal and sending in a stream of qi. Binghe winced as he was pushed down another inch. From the red seals around him, smoky chains snaked upwards, winding closer and closer to him. 

“Shizun...” He gasped. Shen Qingqiu’s face darkened.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you, could you try repeating that again?” He hissed.

“Where’s… Shi...zun?” He had to know. He had to know if Shen Yuan was here and just letting this happen. He had to know if he was being betrayed one more time.

Qingqiu smiled viciously. “By all means he should be in the tombs of Cang Qiong, resting peacefully amongst fellow peak lords. But… hm, this master recalls that Luo Binghe has already made arrangements himself, hasn’t he?”

“No, I…”

“Frankly, I don’t think I care.” Shen Qingqiu said, sending another pulse of qi through the circle. The chains finally reached his wrists, shackling themselves around him. They burned. Binghe bit his tongue to keep himself from crying out. Shit. Shit, this was bad. Binghe closed his eyes and tried to shut out the words of those around him. 

“Son of Tianlang-Jun and Su Xiyan. For how many years have you been a traitor to humans?”

“What?” Binghe choked out, confused. 

“Don’t act stupid with me, beast. Save yourself some pride and answer.”

“I… don’t…” He gasped, lowering down another inch. Chains were beginning to wind their way up and around his ankles, searing his skin. The anger he felt towards the System was slowly building up in his chest, shifting directions from that guanyin to everyone around him. He growled lowly. To try and bind a heavenly demon? To try and bind Luo Binghe himself, scourge of the north and emperor of the demon realms?.

Once upon a time, Binghe was the type of person you could just throw away. Once upon a time, he was a weak boy who blindly trusted his elders.

Not anymore, though. He didn't climb his way to the top by sheer luck. Demons respect power. No mere ink and symbol could bind him.

Shen Qingqiu tutted. “No matter. We’ll be done with you soon enough. You’ve proven yourself a threat to the mortal realm, having aided demons in the capture and detainment of cultivators alongside the murders of multiple cultivators. Reports speak of your spread of power across the demon realm. It’s only a matter of time, I’m sure, Lord Luo, until your plans come to head."

Vaguely, he started to piece together what Qingqiu was saying. Not a lot of it made sense. Son of Tianlang-Jun? Wasn’t that the old emperor of the south that Madame Meiyin spoke so fondly of? Plans? What plans? And captures? What did Shen Qingqiu think him, some mastermind?

And you know what? What did that matter. Binghe didn’t want this to happen, didn't want to be struck down again, so it wasn’t going to happen. Easy as that.

There was a demonic core that Binghe often sourced power from, but never utilized fully. Hadn’t fully harnessed ever since that fight with Mobei-Jun, back when he was still a child, a disciple of Cang Qiong. But he remembered how it felt when it hummed beneath his skin. The way it was like black ice, chilling him down to the bone.

He breathed out, long and slow, and smoke came out. Black qi, misty and coiling, rising high to the sky.

His talons grew out, piercing the ground. Canines elongated, eyes shifted and burned a brighter, glowing red. The cold demonic energy hummed beneath his skin, singing for freedom.

Binghe was human in shape, but... that could always change.

Qingqiu tensed. Something was wrong.

Binghe slowly began to push himself back up, rolling his shoulders. Qingqiu pushed in another wave of energy and Binghe faltered, driven back down. Then he began to heave himself back up again. Inexorable. Unstoppable. Binghe was a force of nature all on his own.

How was this possible? How was he gaining power?

Binghe growled low in his throat, a sound which reverberated through the circle and shook the cultivators who bound him to their cores. A wild animal. He sounded like a wild animal.

Black qi gathered around him, rising like shadowy hellfire that darkened the glowing red of the seals. Binghe hadn’t felt this much anger since he held Xin Mo. It was kind of freeing. It made him crave that power he had given up. He could almost hear its whispers, there in the back of his mind. Goading him on.

He mused, head bowed close to the ground, and he failed to see what was above.

That, however, was not true of those around him. Murmured conversations between cultivators stopped short. Above them, a crack of lightning.

A golden blur, a drop of sunlight, shot through the skies. Lazily following behind was another on a silver blade, seemingly rushing but nearly so recklessly as his partner.

A comet plummeted, a cultivator on a sword who seemed to find thrill in tempting death. He clung to a bamboo hat that shadowed his face, preventing the worn thing from flying away in the breeze. The sword’s sheen of pale gold was striking against the evening sky. Shen Qingqiu’s face paled. That was… that was really fast. Like a straight dive for him. Qingqiu jerked his hand back from the circle and scrambled backward, rolling to his feet.

The cultivators around them drew their swords, each momentarily dividing their concentration between the incoming figure and the trapping and teleportation seal. Binghe breathed a sigh of relief, the tension in his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly as he hauled himself upwards into a kneeling position. The seal weakened ever so slightly. From the borders, immense demonic energy was felt. Worryingly so.

But that worry of the Cang Qiong cultivators quickly shifted when the golden cultivator landed.

That cultivator slammed into the ground and a mushroom cloud of dust sprouted from the shallow crater. Cultivators fanned themselves, trying to blow away the dust. It was the cultivator in the end who did it, snatching a cheap fan that hung from his belt and calling upon a gust of wind to drive it away.

Binghe looked up at the interloper.

Short. That was the first thing Binghe registered. This man was average height for ancient China, but on Cang Qiong sect, where every man was 5’10” or taller, this man was short. 5’8” at best.

The man huffed in annoyance, batting at the veil which covered his face.

The hat the cultivator had desperately clung to on his way down was flung off, hitting the ground at Shen Qingqiu’s feet. The cultivator ran his hand through short, tousled hair, bright green eyes glinting.

“What the fuck,” said Shen Yuan, “do you think you’re doing to my disciple?”

No one spoke. All eyes were on the interloper. Shang Qinghua landed softly, without fanfare, behind them all, and took a seat beneath a tree’s shade to enjoy the show. Rustling through his dimensional pouch, Qinghua pulled out a bag of sunflower seeds.

“I die for what, five, six months? And you masters of Cang Qiong start a witch hunt?”

“Shen Yuan.” Yue Qingyuan breathed, unbelieving. There was a sharp breath from Liu Qingge’s direction. Shen Yuan barely acknowledged the two of them, his eyes on his brother.

“What did you start,” he hissed. Shen Qingqiu dusted off his robes and returned his cold gaze, relaxing into his commanding posture. 

“Only what Binghe deserves.”

Shen Yuan’s face darkened. In his hand was the sword he traveled in on, old and blunted, it seemed. Likely a rental. But Shen Yuan turned his attention from his brother to the peak lords who still channeled qi into the seal, slowly preparing it for the eternal trapping of Luo Binghe. 

An immense wave of qi, a suffocating amount, rolled off him. Most peak lords turned pale under the pressure.

“Since when has Cang Qiong prosecuted the innocent?” He asked lowly, eyes flashing. Qingqiu recognized that tone of voice, hand going for his sword. He half-unsheathed Xiu Ya and shifted his weight, ready for battle at any moment. And then he shook his head and resheathed it. Say what you want about Shen Qingqiu, but he wasn't the sort of man to fight his own brother.

Yue Qingyuan spoke up, trying to lower rising tempers. “Binghe’s a danger to the world, we can’t afford to let him run free.”

Shen Yuan swept his fan in an arc. Cultivators around him had to dig their feet in the ground to keep from being swept away, and even that didn’t work for some. From inside the circle, Binghe’s eyes widened at the amount of spiritual energy was being used with just that one blow. How powerful had Shizun become in the last five months?

“What has Binghe done? Tell me.”

“He forced you to self-destru--” Said a peak lord.

“He forced me to do nothing . I did that of my own will. Try again.”

“Blackening your reputation!” Accused another.

“With things that were entirely true. I didn’t deny it, did I? And I see your face, Qingyuan. I knew fully well I could have gone under house arrest at Cang Qiong had we pushed for it. That was another choice of mine and mine alone. I decided to go to the water palace.”

“But you pushed him! You had to have a good reason to send him into the abyss!”

“You’re right.”

“See!”

“I did have a reason. And it’s none of your fucking business what it was, but let me tell you this. It had nothing to do with Binghe and everything to do with me. One last time. What has Binghe done-- and not to me-- that gives you the right to treat him like this?” He scanned the group with narrow eyes, taking in all of their shell-shocked features.

Yue Qingyuan looked like he might be on the verge of tears. No, wait-- yup, he was actively crying. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. No, no Shen Qingqiu, sit down and shut the fuck up. Same goes for you, Qi Qingqi. I want all of you to take this spell circle apart gently, so gently that Luo Binghe will not have a single seared hair on his head by the time you’re done. Then we can talk.”

Liu Qingge called from the back, his voice rough. “How?” 

Shen Yuan spun around and Binghe finally caught sight of his face. 

Shen Yuan looked different. He looked significantly different. In fact, he only looked 60% like his past self. Bright and young, his hair a normal length for the modern period of Luo Mei's world but far too short for Luo Binghe's xianxia setting. Slim and petite and with a suffocating amount of spiritual energy roiling off of him. Practically a walking battery, charged and crackling with electricity.

“...How are you alive?” Liu Qingge said.

Shen Yuan huffed, reaching for his fan and opening it to cover his face.

“Yes. How. I’ll take it Qingqiu never explained? At least he kept that promise.” Clicking his tongue, he spun back on his heel and tugged Shen Qingqiu up by his ear. Shen Qingqiu yelped in indignance and Yue Qingqyuan moved as if to intervene, but froze under their twin merciless gazes.

“You, Qingqiu, are on explanation duty. Come on, dearest. Tell the peak lords all about the Sun and Moon flower, huh?” He gritted out menacingly, dragging Shen Qingqiu to the center. The elder twin batted him away angrily, grimacing in annoyance. Shen Yuan lightly let go, condescendingly patting him on the cheek. Qingqiu reached out to drag him back, but Shen Yuan had already danced out of his reach. He approached the circle, eyes on Binghe only. 

“This seal won’t bind me, right?” Shen Yuan called to the group scuffing the red mark with his boot. Before anyone answered, he shook his head. “Ah, what do I care. Just more incentive for you to be gentle when undoing it, isn’t it.”

And with that, he stepped into the circle.

Binghe knelt, ankles and wrists bound close to the circle, and gazed wordlessly in awe up at Shen Yuan. The sun behind him made his outline glow, as if he were an angel. Avenging or not, Binghe would soon tell.

“Hey.” Shen Yuan said softly. Binghe blinked. The black qi around him dissipated, though his claws and fangs remained revealed. A bestial reminder on a beautiful man's face.

Shen Yuan waved in an awkward kind of way.

“So… ah…” Shen Yuan slowly picked his way over to Binghe, plopping himself unceremoniously in front of the man. Binghe shrank back a little and Shen Yuan smiled tiredly, as if he had expected that. “Yeah, I… we’ve got a lot of talking to do, huh? This master apologizes for the wait, he was a little indisposed of for a while. At no fault of Binghe’s, he assures you.” He raised his voice at the last sentence, as if trying to drive the point home to everyone around him.

“Shizun?” Binghe said slowly. His heart beat loudly in his chest. Shen Yuan laughed quietly.

“Yes, it’s Shizun. Although Binghe has become a lord, hasn’t he? This master would think you’ve long since earned the privilege of calling this humble one as his equal.”

Binghe’s heart stuttered. “Shiz-- Shen… Yuan?” 

From the distance they could hear Shen Qingqiu groan loudly and pointedly. Shen Yua glared over his shoulder. “Jiu-Ge, I swear to god I will tear your head from your--” 

Binghe reached out and touched his hand slowly, drawing Shen Yuan’s attention back to him.

“Yes, Binghe?” He said pleasantly.

“Shizun--” He said haltingly. Shen Yuan nodded encouragingly. “Ah, how should I phrase this?" Might as well dive in, huh? "...This humble... disciple ... believes he is owed some answers.”

“Of course.” Shen Yuan waved a hand and a barrier stacked around the two of them, kaleidoscoped and opalescent, blocking out the sound of the outside and preventing anyone from seeing or hearing inside. 

“What does Binghe want to know?”

Binghe pondered for a moment. Hundreds of questions. He should have written a list. And yet, his mind was completely blank right now. Shizun sat patiently in front of him, smiling uncertainly.

Ah. Cute.

Too cute! Shizun was beautiful in every form possible!

He shook his head, dislodging the thoughts from his mind. A golden opportunity, he never knew when he would get this chance again. Best not waste it, Binghe.

No hesitation this time. 

“That day-- at the Immortal Alliance Conference-- why?”

Oh. That struck a nerve. Shen Yuan reached for his fan, but Binghe leaned in close and stopped him. Their faces were mere inches apart.

“Without the fan, please.” He huffed.

Shizun’s cheeks turned red. “A-Ah, how should this I explain that? I-- I’m sorry about that, Binghe. I know it isn’t much, but… I’m sorry.”

Binghe nodded, ignoring the tears which threatened to break his calm, patient facade. Not today. He had waited over five years for this moment.

“This master… thought he knew what he was doing. He didn’t think Binghe would be hurt too badly by it. Or-- I knew, but I suppose I just didn’t realize the full extent of it. I-- here. Give me your hand.”

Binghe looked blankly at him but obediently placed his hand on the man’s lap. Shen Yuan turned his direction to the shackle around Binghe’s wrist and began working on shattering it, speaking while his attention was split. And slowly, surely, he began to explain the entire story to Binghe.

Explaining Shen Yuan’s belief that Binghe couldn’t have escaped the conference alive, or if he did, that he would never have been able to live a fulfilling life. Shen Yuan’s own selfishness and fierce protectiveness of Cang Qiong. Shen Yuan’s knowledge that Binghe was a seer, and how he thought that if Binghe already knew the future, he would be safe.

Which-- what?

“What?”

Shen Yuan had taken Binghe’s other hand and began working on that shackle, absently rubbing his own thumb in circles around Binghe’s palm.

“You can see the future, right? I know you never wanted to talk about it, but… I found out when I was brought into your dream realm all those years ago. I was awake when the dream demon went through your memories and showed what you had seen in the future. How you… killed myself and my brother.”

Binghe was silent, his hand slack in Shen Yuan’s hand. Shen Yuan looked at him unsurely.

“Binghe?”

“That’s… not right. I’m not a seer.”

“Then… what did you see? What are you?” Shen Yuan said uncertainly. “You can only see memories in the dream realm. You've seen that future somehow.”

Binghe gaped. Shen Yuan had been super wrong these past years. Almost comically so. He was so far off the mark that Binghe wanted to cry.

You mean to tell Binghe that all of this-- all this suffering-- came because an NPC knew a little about the plot?

He suddenly understood why the System had set up those restrictions.

Then he frowned. Indeed, the System had set up those restrictions. And forced Binghe to strictly adhere to them.

And then it turned around and broke them without warning him?

“Shizun, give me a moment please.” He withdrew his hand and Shen Yuan looked at him worriedly.

“Are you okay, Binghe? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t worry, Shizun. This humble disciple merely needs a moment to clear up a misunderstanding. System? Get out here.” He said. Time immediately froze as soon as he began to say System, the world fading to black and white around him.

[Warning! NPCs may not know about this System! Warning!]

Binghe grabbed hold of the Guanyin and dragged it in front of his face, glaring right into its beady little eyes. 

“You know what I want.”

[NPCs cannot know about the nature of this world! Repeat! NPCs may not know!]

“Ah ah. I’m not the one who broke that rule, am I?”

[...]

“As I recall, you’re the one who went missing during the dream demon mission. You’re the one who failed to stop Meng Mo from seeing my memories.”

[......]

“I’d say that this whole thing is all your fault, isn’t it? In fact, I’d go on to say that the reason I suffered for over five years is actually because of you , isn’t it?” His voice was deadly calm.

If the Guanyin had the ability to flinch and cringe away, it would. Binghe’s fist tightened around it. A slight crack appeared across its face.

[System has disconnected from main server. System is currently offline.] It intoned, mechanical.

Then it spoke with a bit more emotion. Not much, a blink and you'll miss it kind of emotion. Fear.

[As the System was disconnected from the side mission before it could properly carry out its functions and wipe the memories of involved NPC’s and understanding that there may have been some… errors… in this system’s calculations, Luo Mei is currently free to speak as he wishes.

This is just a one time thing, though. Don’t try it again.]

“I’ll need you to show yourself too. I need at least a little proof. Otherwise Shizun might think me insane.”

[That would severely violate the rules.]

“Was I asking?”

The system let out a long, mechanical sigh. Time resumed.

Shen Yuan looked at them blankly. “What just happened?”

Binghe brought up his little jade guanyin, dangling it and letting it twirl in the air. “This.”

“This?”

“Yes, Shizun. I figured it would be best if I could just explain the whole truth with as much added detail as possible. So--” He tapped the Guanyin’s chest and a screen lit up, washing the area with blue light.

Shen Yuan blinked, then reached out to tap the screen. When he tried to touch it, his hand went straight through it.

“What is it?” He managed to say, face filled with curiosity. The soft features of his face made him emote so much more clearly now, and Binghe couldn’t see a trace of anger or disgust anywhere. Just curiosity and, when he looked back up at Binghe, affection.

“This, Shizun, is a thing that calls itself The System. And this disciple is what you might call a transmigrator.”

Mobei-Jun burst out of the portal, guns ablaze and murder on his mind. At his right snarled XiaoBai at full size, and astride her sat Sha Hualing with her talons blared. At his left stood Madame Meiyin, face dark as she muttered a back and forth conversation with Meng Mo, who had hitched a ride when he heard Binghe might be in danger with all of Cang Qiong.

They all froze at the sight before them.

Cang Qiong holding a kumbaya circle around a seal, slowly and grudgingly disintegrating it. Binghe lounging in the center, deep in conversation with a stranger who simultaneously resembled his dead Shizun and looked nothing like him. Shang Qinghua sitting away from it all, cracking sunflower seeds between his teeth as he ate them by the handful from a small burlap sack.

Why are Mobei-Jun’s grand entrances always ruined? Why?

“What happened?” He demanded. The demons behind him were silent, watching and waiting for Mobei-Jun to give a command.

From behind them, a quiet, surprised voice spoke. “Oh… hi, my King.”

All the cultivators look at Shang Qinghua incredulously, who shrank under their attentions and began to anxiously stuff his mouth with more sunflower seeds. 

Mobei-Jun looked between his human and the rest of these cultivators. Binghe reluctantly broke his conversation with the strange Shizun-sort-of-lookalike, shifting his attention to the small entourage.

“Don’t worry! Shizun’s working everything out right now, it’s fine!” He called cheerfully, voice full of more life than any of the demons had heard from him in years.

“That’s a lot of demons.” Qingqi muttered under her breath, hand going to her sword.

Sha Hualing’s eyes followed the movement. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I’d like to play nice until you all set Lord Luo free. Then I’m more than happy to fight.”

“Patience, Hualing. Let the lord speak,” Meiyin reprimanded. 

Binghe pushed himself up from the center of the circle, gently helping his conversational partner up to his feet so they could stroll together up to the edge of the seal.

“Guess who I found!” He crowed. Mobei-Jun squinted. Binghe had literally just called the man Shizun, hadn’t he? So obviously that must be Shen Yuan.

Wait.

Mobei-Jun looked between Shang Qinghua, aggressively eating, to the Shen Yuan who looked nothing like Shen Yuan, to his boss Luo Binghe, who looked an awful lot like a puppy whose master had just returned home from work.

Was Binghe’s insanity just like… contagious? Is that how it works? He just slowly sucks you into his circus until your own life begins to mirror his?

Cultivators grumbled as the last of the seals broke and Binghe walked free, casually meandering out without testing the ground for further traps. Shen Yuan walked delicately by his side, sending glares at anyone who dared come within five feet of the two of them. He was a little stiff, as if uncertain of their relationship, but there was no hint of dislike or avoidance in his frame.

Then Liu Qingge came up to him, face pale, and Shen Yuan tapped Binghe on the shoulder. “Give me a second, alright?”

Binghe hesitated, anxiety crossing his face. Shen Yuan brushed a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “If you’re uncomfortable with that, I understand. Just say the word.”

But Binghe shook his head, forcing a smile back onto his face. “No, it’s fine. Shen Yuan is free to do as he wishes.”

Shen Yuan hesitated in turn, searching Binghe’s face before smiling a little. “Huh. You used my name.”

Binghe's face flared red.

And then Shen Yuan turned and went to Liu Qingge, who looked as if he was trying to speak but simultaneously speechless. Struck dumb by the sight of his living martial brother. Slowly, as if trying to drag out this moment as long as possible, Qingge pulled a fan out of his dimensional pouch and dropped it in Shen Yuan’s hand.

“You left this in the town hall. After the trial.” He said. 

Shen Yuan looked down at that unassuming fan, then back up at Qingge.

“I suppose I did, didn’t I? Thank you for returning it, Liu-Shidi.”

Qingge nodded once, succinctly, and Shen Yuan looked uncertain. For a moment, it seemed like they were going to leave it like that. Like Shen Yuan and him would just part ways, Shen Yuan turning to join Binghe at his side and Qingge fading back into the ranks of angry and confused cultivators listening to Shen Qingqiu's long-winded explanation.

Then Shen Yuan decided to fuck his reservations and make a move. Life’s too short not to say and do what you mean, he had found. Best to clear up misunderstandings before they began. So Shen Yuan surged forward and embraced Qingge tightly, tucking his head beneath Qingge's. And Liu Qingge stood frozen in his grip, utterly surprised. Then, slowly, his own arms returned the embrace. Hesitant arms wrapped gently around him, as if afraid Shen Yuan would simply fade from his arms and back into the ether from which he had emerged. When Qingge's arms found a warm, solid body though-- Qingge's embrace tightened, inches away from a death grip, and Shen Yuan murmured low words to him. Too low for anyone to hear. A quiet sob could be heard from Liu Qingge.

And slowly, Shen Yuan guided Liu Qingge back to the group of cultivators and they began to talk. A long discussion, it looked like. Yue Qingyuan shakily embraced him, and Shen Yuan stood limply and let it happen. Qi Qingqi joined the hug too, then many of the other cultivators, Shen Qingqiu standing on the sidelines until a hand reached out and manually dragged him into the dogpile.

So much for a second, huh?

And Luo Binghe turned his head away from the immortal masters and towards the small demon crowd who stood before him. 

“Hey,” He smiled crookedly, rubbing his raw wrists. He began to channel demonic qi through them and the red started to fade to pink.

Madame Meiyin looked at him carefully. “You know, I could have told you this was going to happen. Reading the future is my business, after all.”

Binghe laughed. “You’re probably right, Madame. I’ll be sure to come to you next time I make a decision.” He reached down to scratch XiaoBai between the ears and she purred, nuzzling against his thigh. Hualing lurched when XiaoBai shrank beneath her, yelping as she suddenly found herself on her feet, and the little white kitten clawed at his robes, clambering her way up Binghe's back. When she reached his shoulder she hung herself around his neck, purring and transforming herself into a vibrating scarf.

Hualing jingled her wrists, trying to bring herself back to her confident facade. She sidled back up to Binghe's side, leaning against him.

“Lord Luo, do us a favor and try not to go to trouble when it doesn’t come to you.” She purred, smoothing the worry which had masked her face. Mobei-Jun leaned in, thumping Binghe on the back good-naturedly. Binghe staggered a little.

“We’re here too. Tell us things.” He grunted. He, too, looked a little haggard. As if he had rushed to get here. It must have taken a bit of a toll, transporting so many demons at once. Binghe grinned widely, throwing an arm over both Sha Hualing and Mobei-Jun's shoulders.

“Aw, you all care~” He laughed. Mobei-Jun grimaced and Sha Hualing hissed, trying to slip out from beneath him. But despite their dramatic attempts to escape, neither of them left his side. Madame Meiyin snickered at their feigned misery and walked forward, leaning in to embrace Luo Binghe around his neck.

“Of course we do, Binghe.” She said softly.

A loud rumbling noise sounded. From the distance, Maigu Ridge-- the mountain that housed Tianlang-Jun’s corpse-- shifted. Storm clouds began to crowd around its peak and waves of demonic energy pulsated from its epicenter.

Mobei-Jun gazed at it curiously, eyes squinting. Then his face slackened in surprise, understanding, and-- alarm. The most expression he had ever sported.

“What?” Binghe asked, worried. “What is it?” His eyes narrowed and his voice dropped an octave. Oh, he recognized guilt when he saw it.

“What did you do.”

“...This Mobei-Jun may have… hidden Xin Mo in the mountain. And someone might have found it.”

Chapter Text

Tianlang-Jun smiled when he tore off that last seal from the blade’s sheath, pulling it out with unnecessary grandeur. In his hands it transformed from a two-handed, broad blade to a lighter, one-handed one. Perfect for the needs of Tianlang-Jun, who tended to dual-wield on the battlefield. Not that he often fought, back in the day. You were far more likely to find him lounging in the libraries or flirting with the human realms in a bad disguise. Veils and masks used to be his go-to costume-- he liked the mystery of it all.

But once in a great while, you’d find him on the battlefield. Rarely leading the war. He left the general and leadership business to Zhuzhi-lang, his trusty nephew whose shy demeanor belied how cruel he could be in matters of war. Rather, he lounged in being the moral support for soldiers and the occasional tank sent out onto the field to mow down hundreds of enemies.

Tianlang-Jun once, when asked, had said he was a lover, not a fighter. He’d rather have a good night of drinking and merriment than a spar in the arena. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t skilled-- extremely so. His father, the former Tianlang-Jun, had ensured that his son’s skills were honed to a razor edge. Even after all these years, the movements were still ingrained in his bones.

Zhuzhi-lang stood to the side and watched as a merciless grin crept over Tianlang-Jun’s face-- or, at least, the face of the body Tianlang-Jun possessed. Down he crouched, arms crossed, one hand loosely fisted as if he held a short sword in it, the other clinging to Xin Mo.

The two blades, one imaginary and one real, sliced out in the shape of an x. From there, Tianlang-Jun moved first slowly. Slow, dancing steps, artfully ducking and dodging imaginary blows, then thrusting upwards with both blades when he reached the imaginary opponent’s body. The swords arched down as if tossing the body skewered onto them away, then slid back into formation. One down across his torso, blocking it. One held upwards across his chest in offense.

Beautiful. Graceful. Seeing the movements once more, the traditional practiced sets the ancient line of heavenly demons had perfected over the past thousands of years, stole Zhuzhi-lang’s breath away. He never thought he would live to see the day when his uncle flew across the room, steps gradually growing faster, twisting and stomping to an unheard beat of war drums as he his old memories of countless training sessions flooded back to him.

Tianlang-Jun smiled and, in his breathless joy of freedom, paid no heed to the blade, forgetting the warnings of his forefathers about the demon heart sword. How it granted power but eventually stole it back.

And lowly, Xin Mo began its crooning song of madness once again.

Shen Yuan could only look incredulously between Shen Qingqiu and Mobei-Jun, who in turn were glaring at each other.

“You changed the seals on Maigu Ridge?” Mobei-Jun arched an eyebrow, nothing but disdain dripping from his lips. 

“You put Xin Mo in the same mountain as a heavenly demon?” Shen Qingqiu snarled back, gaze flinty.

The two generals hissed at each other, tension crackling in the air.

Shen Yuan leaned over to Binghe, tapping his shoulder and gesturing for the man to bend down due to Yuan’s, ah-- diminished , height. Binghe obediently followed the command, mirth dancing in his eyes at Shen Yuan’s disgruntled expression.

Because Shizun was alive. Shizun was alive, and because of that Binghe was thriving. Every time he looked down at Shen Yuan, able to look grumpy because he was alive , sent shivers down Binghe’s spine. Had he any weaker of a will, he would have spirited Shen Yuan away the moment they set foot outside of that seal and brought him back to the demon realm, showering him with gems from the treasury and throwing the most lavish ball the world-- no, all three realms-- had ever seen.

Alas, Binghe was forced to abandon his baser desires for the situation at hand.

Anyway, there was no guarantee that Shen Yuan felt the same way. Binghe counted his lucky stars that Shen Yuan even thought him approachable after all Binghe had done to him-- whose to say that Shizun would be willing to go anywhere with this disciple? Just because they understood each other better, didn’t mean Shen Yuan would abandon his life a second time over for the sake of Binghe.

But that didn’t stop Binghe from soaking in his Shizun’s warmth, practically clinging to his side.

Ignorant to the rushing thoughts playing in Binghe’s mind, Shen Yuan looked at the scene curiously. “Didn’t you say that Mobei-Jun was the author?” He whispered.

“Yes, Shizun,” Binghe dutifully replied.

Shen Yuan looked back at the scene, squinting a little at it. Did that make Mobei-Jun their father, then? Was this a father-son argument?

And then he glanced at Shang Qinghua’s lovestruck expression, dreamily watching Mobei-Jun. No. No, that didn’t work. Because that would either be incest or his best friend would be dating Shen Yuan’s father and--

Yue Qingyuan strode out from the crowd of cultivators he had given commands to. Each one rushed towards their individual peaks, going to gather ten of their most skilled disciples for whatever waited for them at Maigu Ridge. The rest were to stay and defend the sect, were anything to go awry. There was an unknown threat, after all-- they couldn’t afford to leave the world defenseless in case the worst comes to worst.

“Qing Jing, assemble your disciples.” He ordered. Surprisingly, Shen Qingqiu immediately stopped his argument with Mobei-Jun, nodding seriously. Nothing but professional when it came to an actual crisis. Mobei-Jun, too, snapped to attention, turning his attention to Binghe.

Shen Qingqiu mounted his Xiu Ya sword and hovering a few feet in the air, looking over his shoulder impatiently at his brother. “Hurry.” He said flatly.

At the same time, Luo Binghe said to Mobei-Jun, “Feel free to join Shang-Shishu. I know you want to.” The words had barely left his mouth before Shang Qinghua rushed from the sidelines and tugged Mobei-Jun towards his sword, gesturing for the demon to wrap his arms around his waist before shooting off towards the skies. That was fast.

Sha Hualing danced up to his side, expression unusually serious. She had no love for the human world, but for whatever reason it was important to Binghe. “Madame Meiyin and I will take XiaoBai down to the mountains to scout things out. Keep your communication crystal on.” And with that she reached towards Binghe and pulled the kitten off his shoulder, cradling her close and cooing at her as they made their way past the broken seal and to the entrance.

Madame Meiying looked and Binghe and Shen Yuan and winked before following Sha Hualing down.

Binghe turned to Shen Yuan and bowed. “This disciple will make his way towards Maigu Ridge, Shizun. Best of luck until we meet up again.”

Shen Yuan stopped him before he could walk far. “Your sword… is it made for cultivators?” He asked. Binghe looked down at it, a finely crafted demon sword he used frequently. But just that. A hunk of metal, sharpened for war. It would work for now-- nothing in comparison to  a blade from Wang Jian or Xin Mo, but Binghe’s skills made up for what the blade lacked.

“Shizun needn’t worry. This disciple is skilled, regardless of his blade.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I… Think I may have a better sword back at Qing Jing. For you, that is.” Shen Yuan gestured for Binghe to follow him, pulling out his rental blade and leaving it in midair. “If Binghe would join this master.” 

Binghe looked at the blade-- a distinctly non-spiritual blade-- then up at Shizun. “Begging Shizun’s pardon, but this disciple cannot currently fly.” He said slowly. Shen Yuan shook his head and reached for Binghe’s wrist, tugging him forward. 

“I know, Binghe. Get on.” He huffed, hopping onto his rental balde himself. Binghe looked up at Shen Yuan, uncomprehending. 

Get on? Onto that sword? With Shizun?

“We’re burning daylight.” Qingqiu barked, looking distastefully at the two of them. That drove Binghe to action. He staggered forward, slowly mounting the sword behind Shen Yuan.

“Hold onto me. It’ll help.” Shen Yuan offered. Luo Binghe gaped. Deja vu hit him like a truck.

“Of course, Shizun.” He said obediently. His hands hesitated inches from his waist before Binghe took the dive, wrapping his arms around the man’s chest and stepping in close. Qingqiu groaned.

“I’m leaving.” He announced, shooting into the sky.

Shen Yuan looked back over his shoulder at Binghe. “Hold tight.” 

And beneath the hands that held Shen Yuan close, Binghe could feel his heart thumping almost as quickly as Binghe’s own. Perhaps Shizun wasn’t as indifferent about this situation as he seemed, then.

Or, more likely, he was agitated at the thought of battle.

That’s probably it, Binghe thought.

And in front of him, Shen Yuan took a deep breath and tried to will away his red face as they flew toward Qing Jing Peak at a breakneck speed. 

Qing Jing peak was peaceful up until the point when Binghe stepped off the sword behind Shen Yuan.

Ming Fan, Ning Yingying, and a few other disciples that Binghe recognized from his childhood, all stood in a line before Shen Qingqiu, strapping on light armor. When they caught sight of Shen Yuan, they all chimed a teary “Welcome back, Shizun!”

When they caught sight of Binghe…

Well, it was obvious a few of them didn’t even recognize him. They looked blankly at him, mildly alarmed by his demonic features.

The rest, on the other hand, immediately freaked out.

Ming Fan was the first to begin the swarm, walking rapidly up to Binghe with a tight look on his face. Binghe tensed, ready for the verbal beating he was about to get. Shen Yuan looked as if he was about to intervene, but for whatever reason Shen Qingqiu held him back.

Ming Fan roughly punched Binghe in the shoulder. It didn’t have the full force of his strength behind it-- that would have blown Binghe out of the ballpark-- but it still stung. Binghe looked away, unable to make eye contact with his childhood friend.

“That’s for dying at the conference.” Ming Fan growled. Not the accusation Binghe had expected.

“I had one rule. Be safe. I told you to be fucking safe and you what-- fight a demon lord? Unlock your demonic heritage in the middle of a Cultivational Conference ? Who told you that was a good idea, huh?” For all that Ming Fan pretended he was angry, there was some deep relief and fondness in his voice. Even though he had seen the events of Huayue city, even though he had seen Shizun self-destruct because of Binghe… he didn’t hate him?

Shen Yuan interrupted. “If you wish to talk, do it while walking. Binghe, follow me back home. I keep the sword there.” He gestured with his hand and walked off, his dignified and commanding air slightly diminished by the fact that he was shorter than most everyone there, save a couple of the girls. Shen Qingqiu stayed behind, waving Binghe and a few others away as he debriefed the rest of the present disciples and sent them out for supplied.

Binghe followed closely behind Shizun. Ming Fan and Ning Yingying fall in step alongside him.

“I’m not done you, Luo-shidi. You can’t just run away from me,” Ming Fan ground out.

“Be nicer, A-Ming! He just got back and he hasn’t seen us in years, you can’t just expect him to suddenly play nice with strangers.” Yingying’s voice was steadier than it had been in her childhood, infused with calm rather than the bouncing energy that it used to carry.

“Strangers? What strangers? I grew up with this kid and so did you! Where’s the stranger!”

“You… aren’t you angry?” Binghe said slowly, facing straight ahead. Ming Fan scoffed, but Yingying was the one who spoke.

“Why would we be angry?” 

“...Huayue city.” He replied.

She blinked at him. “Why would we be angry?” She repeated. “I mean, I guess I was for a little while, but… not at you, really. We all knew how much you love Shizun-- you wouldn’t hurt him like that.”

Binghe’s shoulders hunched up a little as he thought guiltily back to the little blood parasite incident with Shizun. Not hurt him, indeed.

“What’s with this heavy air, huh? Have you really become so much of a downer over the years?” Ming Fan huffed. “Everyone knows you’d rather die than ever hurt Shizun. Stop looking guilty for what isn’t your fault.”

They neared the bamboo cottage and Yingying and Fan exchanged a knowing look. “Here’s where we take out leave, A-Luo.” Yingying said softly, patting him on the shoulder. “Take care.”

Ming Fan leaned over and cupped his hand around his mouth, speaking lowly enough that Shen Yuan couldn’t hear. “And hey, if you’re still interested, you’re legal now.”

“Legal? what do you mean, legal?” Binghe looked at him, confused.

Ming Fan tilted his head meaningfully towards their Shizun. 

“Y’know, legal.”

Binghe caught on very quickly. The tips of his ears grew red.

The audacity! To think that Binghe… and Shizun would just… Binghe had never done that! In either life! And all of a sudden he--

“A-Ming!” Yingying gasped, delightfully horrified, her hand fluttering in front of her mouth. “He just got back, pay your martial brother a bit of respect!”

Ming Fan settled a hand on Binghe’s shoulder. “You’re buying us drinks after this is all over.” Binghe reached out to grab him and perhaps beat him up for speaking about Shizun like that, but the two of them had already hopped onto their swords and launched themselves down the peak, laughing like hyenas. 

“Should this master know what that was all about?” Shen Yuan lingered in the doorway, watching the exchange with a mildly baffled expression. Binghe shook his head, his expression simultaneously horrified and deeply thoughtful, and followed Shen Yuan inside the home, carefully leaving his boots at the door.

The first thing Shen Yuan did was go to the wall, where a sword hung. He immediately tore the rental blade from his sheathe, taking Xiu Ying down from the wall and immediately replacing it. The golden flash of the blade was unweakened, despite having been reforged.

He then proceeded through the halls and out to the back courtyard. Binghe trailed behind silently, curious about whatever Shizun had to offer him. He stepped down from the opened doorway where Shizun beckoned, slipping on the woven sandals that sat by the door before exiting onto the personal gardens of the Qing Jing Peak lords. From the ground stood a small sword monument, simply a blade whose sheath was half-buried into the ground.

It was familiar. Achingly so.

“Is that…” Binghe started. 

“It’s Zheng Yang.” The words tumbled from his mouth like a waterfall, his eyes carefully averted from both Binghe and the blade. “I had it reforged after the conference. Apparently the sword spirit is still there, in case you’re interested in-- oof!” Shen Yuan’s sentence stopped short when Binghe barrelled into him, embracing him tightly. Before Shen Yuan could even think to return the gesture, Binghe slipped away, going straight for the sword and pulling it from the mound.

“Even after all that-- even after Shizun thought this disciple was going to kill him-- Shizun still reforged Zheng Yang?” He asked, awed. Shizun blinked a few times, unable to keep eye contact with the pure, vibrant light Binghe emanated.

“It should be just as strong as before. Wang Jian themselves repaired it and assured me it should hold up just as well as it once did. I… I couldn’t bear to return it to the cave.” He snuck a glance at Binghe, who was looking at Shen Yuan as if his shizun had just given him the world. Shen Yuan awkwardly coughed into his fist, averting his eyes once more.

It was as if that empty part of him that had been there since the day he was pushed into the abyss never existed at all. Was it possible for Binghe to fall in love all over again? Because he could feel the heady rush of deep affection surging through his veins. After all this heartbreak, even after the fear that the thought of Binghe’s return had wrought-- Shizun still kept his word in their precious garden, carefully polished until shining. Shen Yuan’s pale cheeks turned a ruddy crimson under Binghe’s careful gaze.

“Come. Now that you’ve got your sword, it’s time we head out. I assume you still remember how to fly on it?” Shen Yuan asked.

Binghe was emboldened by his Shizun’s shy looks. Ah! Such a cute ice queen!

And now that Ming Fan mentioned it, Binghe wasn’t seventeen anymore…

Well, when a man is met by a scene like this, even in such a perilous situation-- could Binghe truly be wrong for being a little bit hopeful? And wanting to test that hope?

“And if I can’t? Will I be permitted to ride with Shizun again?” Binghe purred, slowly sheathing Zhen Yang with a flourish of his hand. He let his voice drop, just a little. Like when he charmed the eastern wing of his palace, vapidly flirting with the hundreds of courtesans who sashayed down the halls. But now there was just a tinge of heat in his voice, rather than as if he were just going through the motions to placate the courtesans.

And, if you looked hard enough, you’d find a bit of hesitant shyness, wary undertones, that were never heard when he flirted with his courtesans. What would he do if he was rejected? What would he do if Shizun had decided that Binghe had overstepped his bounds?

Shen Yuan looked at Binghe’s coy smile and wondered where the clumsy, overgrown puppy who had stood before him not five seconds ago had run away to. Who was this confident stallion? Who gave Binghe the right to act like that! He harrumphed and raked his hand through his hair in an attempt to compose himself, turning his back on Binghe.

“This master is certain Binghe can manage to remember,” he called over his shoulder.

Because his back was turned, he didn’t see that flash of hurt that shone in Binghe’s eyes. He didn’t see the way Binghe’s shoulders hunched inwards slightly before Binghe took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. It was okay, Binghe. Just try again. Shame wasn’t a part of his vocabulary, as he was often told. Binghe could be as shameless as he wanted-- it wasn’t as if Shen Yuan had outright said no.

Be persistent. Be vulnerable. Be loveable. His conversations with Shang Qinghua flashed through his mind.

It was at that very moment that Binghe threw the very concept of shame and restraint out the metaphorical window, never to return.

“But Shizun, it’s been so long! And this disciple has had a very tiring day, he needs to regain energy before facing Xin Mo~”

To Shen Yuan, this was preposterous. Who needs to gather energy! Who was tired! Shen Yuan had seen Binghe when he was still tied down by the seal, and the man had an absolute tidal wave of demonic energy coming off of him! 

Binghe swept up behind him, holding his hands respectfully behind his own back-- the picture of filial respect. He leaned down to speak in Shen Yuan’s ear and Shen Yuan felt his warm breath brush his cheek. 

…

Too close! Binghe was too close to Shen Yuan! Every time Shen Yuan saw the man he tried to think of that white little lotus he once used to be, but god damn that was hard. Who had given his precious disciple permission to grow up!

… Well, okay, Shen Yuan would take the blame for that particular complaint. He had done this to himself, in the end.

“Please, Shizun?” Binghe fluttered his lashes, smiling softly. He held his breath and waited for a response.

On Shen Yuan’s side, he couldn’t hear that overwhelming hope in Binghe’s voice, and yet he thought to himself, ‘Ah, what the hell. Let this master indulge Binghe for once. Binghe was right-- he had a rough day. Binghe deserved to have his whims catered to once in a while.’

Shen Yuan huffed but brought out Xiu Ying.

“Just this once.” He groused.

Binghe blinked. That had worked? That had actually worked?

...Shit, this white lotus thing still had a pull on Shizun even after he was an adult? Binghe filed that away in a very shallow cabinet for future reference.

“Ah! Right away, Shizun! This humble disciple thanks Shizun for understanding!”

Shen Yuan sighed. And back comes the puppydog mask.

From the skies, cultivators flew from the peaks in flocks, all heading towards Maigu Ridge. Each one arranged themselves in a v formation, like geese in migration. Yue Qingyuan led the front, Shen Qingqiu at his side to discuss strategy and relay information to the other peak lords. Shen Yuan was also up at the front, in part because he was part of the twin generals of Cang Qiong, and in part because Luo Binghe had scouts sending info from the situation at Maigu Ridge. Yue Qingyuan had looked at their setup with a distinctive twist of unease in his lips, watching Binghe as if he were a wild dog liable to go on a rampage at any moment.

Binghe sneered back at him, not even trying to hide his distaste for anyone but Shizun. He was here for Shizun, not for anyone else, his expression seemed to say.

And so it was with great reluctance that he came to the aid of those who had tried to seal him away without fully listening to his explanations. Not that he would have explained at that point but still-- it was a point of courtesy which Cang Qiong had failed miserably at.

Luo Binghe’s speech crystal crackled and he drew it from his pocket, grudgingly holding it in such a way that the Yue Qingyuan and the Shen twins could also hear the report. From the palm-sized shard came a tinny voice.

“Lord Luo, we’ve got a bit of a situation down here,” Sha Hualing’s reported breathlessly. “There are chasms to the demon realm all around the mountain-- I think most of them might lead to the endless abyss. Cultivators are trying to hold them off, but a lot of them are younger disciples. They may be Huan Hua. I haven’t seen Tianlang-Jun or Xin Mo, but I sense that a lot of the seals on the mountain have been broken. Not all of them, but-- Hey! Hey, goddamit, I’m on your side! Stop fighti-- fuck off! Go away, I don’t wanna kill you right now! Lord Luo, I recommend you come quickly if you don’t want the nearby villages to be overrun.” The transmission cut off with sounds of unholy shrieks of demons and that of clashing metal.

It was a very foreboding message.

Yue Qingyuan looked at the Shen twins, determination blazing in his eyes. The same look reflected in Shen Yuan’s and Shen Qingqiu’s. Binghe looked at them blankly, feeling distinctly like the fourth wheel to their apparent deep bond and secret conversation.

When the cultivators of Cang Qiong landed, their robes like a muted rainbow against the dark background of the mountain, they saw yellow specks fighting their way up the cliffs. Sha Hualing hadn’t been exaggerating. There were holes that speckled the mountain like pores, hundreds of monsters pouring out of them at a time. A few of them Binghe recognized, and they sent shivers down his spine. Three eyed tigers, long-limbed humanoid beasts, dozens of different horrifically mutated species which varied between slithering and crawling down the mountain. Many of the beasts roared, but the ones that were truly to be feared were the ones which uttered no vocalization and made no sound.

Yue Qingyuan turned to face the crowd of cultivators and drew a golden bow off his back, the quiver he held full of varying types of arrows.

“Remember the plan. Qingfang, take your disciples and set up camp for the injured. I want each peak lord to send at least one disciple to defend the med bay. You, I want your team to head out now. Hurry, we don’t have time to lose.” Yue Qingyuan went on to direct each of his own disciples to lead a small squadron of disciples from mixed peaks, sending peak lords to clear the worst of the demons from the path before sending the disciples upwards toward the battle. 

On he went, making sure to cover as much ground as possible with the few hundred disciples they had brought. Once the offensive had left in waves, the strongest packs going first followed by those with more endurance, and then the An Ding runners to bring supplies here and there and drag the injured back from battle, he turned to Mobei-Jun and Liu Qingge. They stood awkwardly next to each other, a few leftover disciples standing at attention for their instruction.

“You two-- Liu-Shidi, take the disciples to defend the back lines. Make sure the demons don’t leave the mountains. You--” He looked uncertainly at Mobei-Jun, who stared at him with piercing blue eyes. It wasn’t as if this demon was his to order.

Binghe stepped up, eyes narrowed calculatingly. “Surround the mountain. You’ll be the final defense-- keep your speech crystal on and your ice sharp. Every demon that escapes will be more paperwork for you, got it?” With that said, he turned to the other three demons who had appeared at his side. 

“Hualing, take the front lines with XiaoBai. Hurry.” He urged. She grinned and gave a mocking salute before the smile dropped from her face and her talons sharpened. She sprinted towards the collapsing lines of yellow, her usually jangling jewelry deathly silent. XiaoBai followed swiftly behind her, tearing down beasts and shaking them in her mouth like a chew toy.

Binghe looked at Madame Meiyin with questioning gaze and she winked. “Don’t worry, dear. I haven’t lived thousands of years just to let a little boy boss me around. I’ll do my part, spread a little mayhem.” She pulled a long pipe from the sleeve of her robe and blew into it, thick smoke drifting from it and obscuring her from sight. When it dissipated, she was gone.

In the meantime, Mobei-Jun looked down at Liu Qingge with an extremely judgmental gaze. Liu Qingge looked up at him with an equally judgemental gaze. The tension was palpable.

Both sides held their breaths. They didn’t expect the two to act on whatever prejudices they may have right at that moment-- both men were professional enough to know that grudges only hinder warriors on the battlefield. But the problem was more cohesiveness than anything else-- it was the way Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge never worked well on the battlefield together, the way Luo Binghe and Gongyi Xiao always unconsciously fought for the lead in partnerships. 

And as the ones most suitable to hold the border of the mountain and command the forces that prevented demons from overrunning the outside world, they needed to be able to communicate. Which didn’t bode well, given either of their reputations.

Liu Qingge unsheathed Cheng Luan with a flick of his wrist, the broad silver blade glowing with power. Mobei-Jun extended a hand outward, summoning a spear that slowly built itself from the center outward with twisting fractals of black ice.

And then they nodded to each other, coming to some unspoken agreement that no one besides them understood. 

“Good enough-- for a human.” Mobei-Jun said.

“Bai Zhan Dueling Arena. Tomorrow at twelve sharp. Be there.” Liu Qingge said.

And Binghe swore he could smell cherry blossoms blooming, pink sakura petals fluttering across the scene. He had just watched the beginnings of a blossoming bromance from two households, both alike in dignity. Beautiful. Were they not on the brink of war, he would have shed a tear.

Qingge and Mobei-Jun shot off in the same direction, veering sharply when they began to near the mountains. Qingge’s group of disciples spread out alongside those from the peak of talismans, beginning the formation of a barrier at its edges. Where Mobei-Jun stepped, ice crackled and spread below his feet, rising towards the heavens in a thick, spiked wall that began to creep in both directions. Now the only issues were the flying monsters and the skies.

Qingyuan nodded to Shen Yuan and, by extension, Binghe, who practically clung to his Shizun’s shoulders. “The remaining disciples and I will take care of the flying beasts. We’ll try to survey the extent of the war while we’re at it-- look hard for Tianlang-Jun or Xin Mo, alright?” He mounted his sword-- noticeably not the one which remained sheathed at his hip and instead one borrowed from Wang Jian-- and knocked his bow with a light arrow. From his right, Qingqiu slid a bow out from his own spatial storage ring and pulled a sash with an attached quiver onto his waist. Qingyuan stared and Qingqiu glared back.

“A second-in-command can’t leave the first alone, can he?” Qingqiu sneered, his expression clearly daring Qingyuan to argue. Qingyuan blinked a few times as if he couldn’t believe the sight, eyes wide. 

Qingqiu’s scowl deepened until Qingyuan said hastily, “No, no! Of course Shen-shidi is welcome to come! Please, you’d be a great help.” He chattered, his sword wavering just a little underneath his feet. The darkening look on Qingqiu’s face faded ever so slightly. Shen Yuan coughed awkwardly into his sleeve, breaking up the moment.

“Well, if Jiu-Ge and Zhangmen-Shixiong are ready--” He gestured to himself and Binghe, then towards the mountain. 

Qingqiu flipped a hand at him, shooing him away. “What are you waiting for? Find the bastard who did this and end it quickly.”

Binghe unsheathed his Zheng Yang and quickly stepped onto it, allowing it to float steadily into the air. Riding swords was like riding a bike-- you never truly forget how to do it, now matter how much Binghe had postured.

Shen Yuan nodded curtly and mounted Xiu Ying once more, looking expectantly towards where Binghe once was. He caught the eye of a Binghe floating steadily on a sword and raised a brow, the look in his eyes sudden extremely judgmental. Binghe looked at him and cracked a guilty grin, shrugging.

Shen Yuan looked around once and, seeing everyone’s attention averted, impatiently gestured for Binghe to join him.

Binghe blinked. Shen Yuan hesitated before doing it once again, beckoning with his hand and pointing in the universal gesture for ‘get your ass over here.’ Shen Yuan could feel his already extremely thin face fluttering away with shame, but the look of raw, unbridled joy he received from Binghe made it worth it. Was the arrangement entirely impractical during war? Yes. Did he enjoy the way that Binghe hugged him with such ardent, tangible affection? Shen Yuan wasn’t going to answer that question.

It was a small matter for Binghe to dismount and quickly join Shen Yuan, wrapping his hands around his waist and sighing in contentment as he settled his chin on his Shizun’s shoulder. Shen Yuan’s face was bright red with embarrassment, as it so often was around Binghe these past few hours, but ignored that shame to aim them skyward.

They flew low, skimming over the towering ice walls before heading back down to the mountains. It had been decided earlier that they would scour the mountain together for Xin Mo. They were, after all, the two most intimately familiar with the song of the sword.

The mountain was mayhem.

To put it shortly, it was a cocktail of every fight Binghe had ever experienced playing themselves out below him like a movie reel of Binghe’s Best Moments. Every version of Binghe getting the ever-living shit beat out of him existed somewhere on this battlefield right alongside Binghe’s greatest victories, with fights that had one cultivator triumphing over the dead bodies of a dozen monsters or more. The iron scent of blood mingled, stretching high as Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe skimmed the trees.

Cultivators had power and unity on their side, but the demon beasts had sheer numbers and some sort of pack mentality, as if something distantly ordered them to move from one place to another. Perhaps the mindless beasts weren’t as mindless as they seemed, or perhaps there was some distant hive mind that puppeteered them around. All that Binghe knew was that something was wrong-- they monsters weren’t acting like the wild beasts he once fought.

There were a few cultivators who were getting their asses handed to them by large beasts-- Shen Yuan and Binghe often swept down together to help those poor cultivators out, where Binghe would go low and end the fight as quickly as possible or Shen Yuan would simply lash out with his (Truly massive, what the hell had this flower done?!) spiritual power. It was usually a quick fix, done in a matter of seconds, and once they had weakened the beast a little the cultivators would descend upon them like vultures to roadkill, mercilessly tearing the beast from the abyss apart.

And yet, what caught Shen Yuan’s eye wasn’t a beast. Shizun descended down to the mountain, his voice whipped away by the wind as he shouted something and gestured to the ground. Binghe simply nodded, withdrawing his blade and readying himself for battle. When both their feet hit the ground, Shen Yuan gestured for silence, practically gliding across the earth. 

It didn’t take long for Binghe to see what had caught Shen Yuan’s attention.

A single man-- demon? Who fought in the center of a carved circle, two blades in his hands. The large circle furrowed into the earth and disrupting its surroundings slowly became marred the more that demon fought. With every strike he hit towards cultivators, another furrow dug into the ground and the circle around him warped.

It looked like that sigil was part of the one which encompassed the mountain.

And, if Binghe recalled correctly-- it looked like the only one still recognizable and undestroyed.

Tianlang-Jun was trapped in this mountain by those sigils, right?

Binghe had a really bad feeling about this.

That bad feeling only magnified when he landed and the demon-- because judging on the scales crawling up his face and down his clawed hands, he was certainly not human-- looked at the two of them with barely disguised revulsion.

No, never mind. This demon wasn’t even trying to hide the burning hatred he seemed to feel for the two of them.

His eyes narrowed and those green scales seemed to climb a little farther up his body, making him all the more monstrous.

Binghe recognized that face, sort of. Like a warped mirror of his own face. It was a barely-there resemblance, but it was still there in the set of those golden phoenix eyes and the slope of his nose. 

From around them, the few remaining cultivators gave a rattling gasp. Binghe didn’t dare take his eyes off the beast in front of him, so he failed to see the pythons that slowly tightened around the bodies behind him. Shen Yuan held his sword out straight, directing it at the demon’s face.

“You seem to have some intelligence. Crawl back to the abyss and you’ll not be hurt.” He said authoritatively. Binghe gave his trademark roguish grin, strolling up to Shen Yuan’s side as if he didn’t have a care in the world. No demon existed who didn’t know his face. A mere glance at his iconic demonic seal and black robes ought to send any demon flying away and desperately praying for their lives.

And yet that demon looked at him as if he were nothing. Just an ant.

Unnerving. Incredibly so. 

“A counteroffer.” The demon spoke suddenly. His voice was soft and gentle, something which directly contrasted the blood dripping from his hands and the destruction around him. “Were you two anyone else, this Zhuzhi-lang would have killed you on sight. However, this Zhuzhi-lang ought to thank the master cultivator for his advice on the resurrection of Tianlang-Jun.” He directed that statement towards Shen Yuan, who looked at him with alternating looks of horror and confusion. 

That demon in front of him was the legendary general Zhuzhi-lang, the one who had taken out hundreds of good cultivators at the battle of Maigu-Ride twenty-two years ago. Tianlang-Jun was confirmed to be alive. Shen Yuan shuffled through his memories, but he couldn’t remember when he had spoken about resurrection with this man. He had never seen this man before.

Zhuzhi-lang turned his attention to Binghe. His tone became much more casual, as though speaking with a friend. “As for you-- for a moment, I almost thought the crimes of your ancestors were enough to kill you. But I’m not one to judge others to be monsters simply because of their heritage-- and more than that, I must respect my uncle.” The faintest ghost of a smile flickered across his lips.

“Leave this mountain now and this Zhuzhi-lang will not cut you down where you stand.”

Binghe blinked, then snickered. Beside him, Shen Yuan had not faltered from his offensive position. The air around him crackled with electricity. 

“You think you can take me down?” Binghe laughed, feigning wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. 

“Just try it.” Despite Shen Yuan’s misgivings about Zhuzhi-lang, he had the emperor of the Demon Realm on his side. And, as Binghe had proven time and time again, he was a man the gods smiled upon. Binghe would overcome and Shen Yuan would be there to back him up.

“Lassst chance.” Zhuzhi-lang drawled, his voice shifting to a hiss as his canines began to elongate. Binghe huffed and shifted his stance, demonic qi stretching out from his palms to curl around Zheng Yang, partially blocking out its soft white glow.

So that’s a hard no, then. That’s okay, Zhuzhi-lang could work with that. It’s not like he truly had any emotional attachment to his cousin.

He’d just have to apologize to Tianlang-Jun later. He knew that the man had been somewhat excited at the concept of having a son.

Zhuzhi-lang lunged forward at lightning speed, aiming for the gap between the two cultivators. He held the two swords close to his chest in an x formation, lashing both of the poison-slicked swords outwards when he reached them. Binghe barely reacted in time, stunned at the speed of Zhuzhi-lang, and Zheng Yang clashed against the blade in a ring of steel. Binghe braced himself and twisted behind Zhuzhi-lang, hoping to catch him unaware as he was distracted by Shen Yuan, who had blocked Zhuzhi-lang's other sword with his fan and was attempting to strike him down with Xiu Ying.

As if he had a sixth sense, Zhuzhi-lang twisted his blade behind his back and blocked Binghe’s sword. He moved back again, blocking the two cultivators once more in yet another standstill. Despite using one sword per hand, his grip and the force he exerted were incredibly strong.

Any move they made was met with this same tactic. It was a permanent standstill of two on one, where Zhuzhi-lang fluidly arched out of the way of every strike as if he had no bones. It almost seemed as if he was toying with them, trying to drag things out. They slashed and he parried, they leaped and he ducked, they lunged and he dodged.

But that didn’t seem correct, given the personality this Zhuzhi-lang displayed. He seemed quite serious, not necessarily the sadistic type who loved to commit death by a thousand cuts.

Could it be that the two of them were simply evenly matched against Zhuzhi-lang, so he was trying to distract them for as long as possible”

They weren’t going to get anywhere like this, with both of them attacking him. Binghe and Shen Yuan’s eyes met and they shared a meaningful look.

Shen Yuan adjusted his grip on Xiu Ying, now held with two hands, and made a small gesture. Almost unnoticeable. A small breeze blew through the trees that slowly grew stronger, into a small tornado. The trees were stripped of leaves.

Luo Binghe saw the way Zhuzhi-lang’s golden eyes caught on the leaves with some alarm. They were razor-sharp, light glinting off of the stiff blades as if they were made of metal. Both of Binghe’s hands were tight on the hilt of Zheng Yang, shaking on his blade with the pressure he exerted to stop the poisoned blade from reaching his body. Then he loosened one and ducked in a split second movement, the blade finishing its arching strike over his head with a blast of air. A drop of poison made its way onto Binghe’s cheek and he bit his lip again the burning pain, as if acid had been splashed on the entire left side of his face.

He gathered demonic qi into his palm and struck upwards towards Zhuzhi-lang’s right arm, the one which held the blade that held Shen Yuan back. The very moment Zhuzhi-lang’s right arm went slack--only for a quarter of a second, stiffening again despite the magnitude of Binghe’s strike, Shen Yuan twisted on his toes and slashed at his back, then pivoted once more and placed his sword onto the edge of Zhuzhi-lang’s neck. It hummed with spiritual energy, the areas where the glowing blade was held closest blistering parts of Zhuzhi-lang’s skin.

Zhuzhi-lang immediately slumped, dropping both swords to the ground.

“What were you saying about Tianlang-Jun?” Shen Yuan said. Or started to say.

Because halfway through his sentence, Zhuzhi-lang transformed.

In a puff of displaced air that had Luo Binghe rolling backward to avoid being crushed leaping to the side, a snake appeared. Humongous and roiling, the entirety of its body perhaps half a mile long when stretched out. Zhuzhi-lang didn’t give them time to move, immediately striking outwards with a maw wide open. 

Shen Yuan leaped right again, rolling when he hit the ground and coming to stand on his two feet. His eyes widened and mouth opened in a half cry of alarm when Binghe stood in place, coiling like a cat ready to pounce. At the last possible second he jumped straight up, holding Zheng Yang above his head to pierce Zhuzhi-lang as he came back down.

Zhuzhi-lang twisted beneath him, too massive to completely dodge the blow but fast enough that it only glanced off his armored scales, leaving a thin white scratch against the green. Binghe slid off his back and launched himself to the right to avoid the snap of Zhuzhi-lang’s fangs. Despite the fact that Zheng Yang was made to cut through most metals as if they were like butter, he barely made a dent against Zhuzhi-lang’s scales.

Zhuzhi-lang roared as his tail unwound, scraping across the bounds of their makeshift arena and burying parts of the seal.

Shen Yuan spoke to Binghe lowly. “Don’t waste too much energy, Binghe. Tianlang-Jun and Xin Mo are still around here.”

Binghe nodded, not looking at his Shizun. “Same to you. Please don’t overexert yourself, Shizun.”

They both stared upwards at this giant monster that rampaged, ravaging the landscape around them.

And yet, he was somehow less threatening in this form. Without the burning hatred that warped his gentle face and the polite words laced with malice, he was just another faceless monster. Something with fewer methods of attack beyond brute force.

It wasn’t as if Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe hadn’t beaten toughly armored beasts before. And anyway, if this form was truly stronger-- why would he have been fighting as a human before?

Those golden eyes were magnified, that mouth had a pink, fleshly inside when he roared, the underbelly of snakes had longer, less layered scales that were notoriously more easy to break on monsters such as this.

In other words, all of a sudden this Zhuzhi-lang was far less of an anomaly. He was big, yes. But that’s all. And he likely didn’t have the time to transform this whole big body into a small package like that skin coat he had been masquerading in earlier.

So then.

Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe met each other’s eyes. Shen Yuan cracked an uncharacteristic grin, looking at the challenge of fighting a monster with excitement sparking across his face even in such a grim situation. Binghe mirrored a smile in response. Not out of a thrill for battle, but simply because Shen Yuan’s rare wide grins were infectious. 

Shen Yuan’s entire aura crackled, unrestrained now that the opponent was so much larger and the brunt of his energy would be able to be targeted on him, rather than oppressing nearby cultivators. Binghe ran his thumb across the side of his blade, coating it in blood parasites.

Zhuzhi-lang lunged and they split up, rolling to both sides and aiming for the head. Eyes unblinking, no eyelids to blink. Zhuzhi-lang shot himself a few meters farther so that the brunt of their strikes bounced off his thick scales. Shen Yuan raced back towards his face but Binghe stayed at his stomach, racing down to the other side of Zhuzhi-lang to get to the thin red area where Shen Yuan’s sword had struck him earlier.

He leaped on, cursing when the back of Zhuzhi-Lang’s tail whacked against him and crushed a few of his ribs, then gritted his teeth and kept climbing up the side of the snake. In a matter of seconds, he scrambled up the side, hands scraped raw by the sharp edges of Zhuzhi-lang’s scales.

He stood posed on Zhuzhi-langs back, ready to drive his sword into the scar alongside his blood parasites. Shen Yuan had a fistful of swirling qi that wound around his neck in thick swaths of golden light like a noose, forcing Zhuzhi-lang's head still lest he burned his eyes and mouth.

Shen Yuan tightened his clawed fingers into a fist, bearing down and condensing the light around the snake. Binghe reared back and struck toward the scar.

The earth beneath them rumbled.

Shen Yuan caught sight of a man upon the hill, sword dug into the ground. The light outlines his figure and obscured his features. Shen Yuan froze.

Binghe didn’t. He dug his sword deep into Zhuzhi-langs back and the snake roared, thrashing beneath him. The blood parasites were already in him though, so--

“Hey, can you stop that?” The man called from up on the hill. He withdrew the sword from the hill and slung it over his shoulders easily, sauntering down the hill. In one hand he held a half-opened book, reading as he walked-- The Misadventures of Sha Bingbing by Paper Airplanes-- and in the other he held a long, ebony black blade.

“Two more steps-- back, not forward, thank you. Here, let me just--” Binghe and Shen Yuan stood poised to action, but the cultivator swept his hand and forced them back with a wave of demonic qi. He smiled genially, placing his hand on Zhuzhi-lang’s flank. A barrier was cast between the two groups.

Beneath his hand, Zhuzhi-lang transformed once more. He curled on the ground, his green scales turning to practical robes. Tianlang-Jun grasped him by the shoulders and hauled him upwards, dusting some dirt off his back and patting his shoulder. Zhuzhi-lang looked down at his feet, ashamed that his uncle had to come and rescue him.

In the stunned silence, the sound of tightening bowstrings gave away the positions of Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan who were drawn by the roars and hovered above. Shen Qingqiu descended from his sword with unmatched grace, Qingyuan gliding behind. 

That gained the cultivator’s attention. He held his book to his face, peeking at them inquisitively over the cover of the book. Binghe could practically pinpoint the moment when he saw Yue Qingyuan, his face darkening and eyes flashing red.

He silently clapped his book shut, sliding it inside the chest of his outer robes. 

“Oh, hey,” he said casually, the boyish tone not fitting either his looks or situation. He lazily twirled Xin Mo in his hand. 

At their blank looks, he pouted. “No? Nothing? Talk about fake friends. Throw an innocent man in prison and leave him to rot and you can’t even remember my name?” He laughed, slowly sheathing Xin Mo and watching as their eyes cautiously followed the blade. Casually, he leaned his weight on Zhuzhi-lang'ss shoulder who stood stock still with crossed arms. Tianlang-Jun’s ruby-red eyes targeted on Yue Qingyuan alone. Qingyuan shifted, his hand tightening on his sword and pulling it out a little, the foreboding edge of its aura lashing out at everyone around him. Shen Qingqiu shifted a little, looking sharply between Qingyuan and the blade as if coming to some kind of realization. Qingyuan caught that look and froze.

The cultivator's voice dropped from its warm, joking tone. For a moment, it was deathly cold. “Tianlang-Jun, former southern emperor of the demon realms, last of the heavenly demons. At your service.” 

The man who claimed to be Tianlang-Jun raked his eyes over the crowd, obviously pleased to have such a large turnout of cultivators. A grin found its way back onto his face.

He cooed to the crowd, paying no mind to the way they drew their swords. “At least you've all come to support me. And to think I saw humans as heartless, merciless monsters! Look at that, you really do--”

When he made eye contact with Luo Binghe, he stopped mid-speech. Binghe glared at him with a furrowed brow, brandishing Zheng Yang. Tianlang-Jun blinked a couple of times, his hand tightening around the hilt of Xin Mo.

“... A-Su?” He breathed. Zhuzhi-lang looked at him worriedly.

“My lord, that’s the boy I told you about. Luo… Binghe...” He slowed down at that last part, watching with trepidation as Tianlang-Jun take a few steps towards him.

Tianlang-Jun inhaled sharply. “You look so much like her.” He whispered. Binghe looked at him blankly.

Like who? 

Tianlang-Jun reached a hand out as if to try and touch Binghe, to cradle his face, but the dull thump of the barrier stopped him. The temporary spell was broken.

His hand rescinded and Tianlang-Jun took a step back. Reaching up, he slapped himself across the face, leaving a red mark on his cheek. Zhuzhi-lang made a sound of alarm, but Tianlang-Jun put up a hand to stop him. He grinned again, though it seemed a little less wide and a little more feral.

“So, what? A-Xiyan raised you as a cultivator? Taught you to oppose your own heritage? Ha! Why should I be surprised? I guess I should be surprised she even kept you.” He said bitterly.

All the cultivators who had once known Su Xiyan suddenly looked intensely uncomfortable. 

It was as if Tianlang-Jun… didn’t know.

“Well, I guess that’s just another reason to go through with this, huh? To teach my son a little more about getting along with demons.” Tianlang-Jun drew Xin Mo out of its elaborate scabbard, inhaling sharply at the jolt of power it sent through him. Raising it high above his head, he drove it into the ground at his feet. From just outside the barrier the ground shook. Tianlang-Jun staggered, grimacing in pain from the backlash of the sword. This human body was never meant to wield Xin Mo.

A crack appeared and the rift widened. An abyss formed, a moat filled with damned souls rather than muddy waters. Binghe paled as it neared, his feet at its edge, and backpedaled away from the cliff.  From below, the wails of the forgotten swelled in a cacophonous symphony. 

Tianlang-Jun barked a laugh, sharp teeth bared. “After all, what are fathers for?” 

The seal was broken. That Binghe registered with clarity. The newly opened abyss cleaved straight through it.

He also knew, very clearly, that a human could not wield Xin Mo. The demon blade simply did not work when the host body was human-- there was some incompatibility that he could taste whenever he hid his demonic power and masqueraded as a human cultivator. Xin Mo never liked that. When he acted more human, the portals he created weren’t as strong, the aura it gave off was weaker, Xin Mo whispered to him less.

But Tianlang-Jun was clearly, on all physical levels, human. And from what Binghe understood when he looked at the cultivators surrounding him-- that wasn’t what Tianlang-Jun looked normally like.

Binghe assumed that his father should normally look more like himself. With curly hair and red eyes.

Binghe looked over to Shen Yuan, who possessed another body that only looked vaguely similar to himself. Maybe that was what had happened? But the body Tianlang-Jun had was hardly plantlike-- the spiritual powers would have been completely incompatible with the demonic energy.

He was struck with a memory from the hundreds of times he had tried to bring Shen Yuan back to life.

Well, given the way he moved as if he weren’t completely comfortable in that body-- it wasn’t that hard to guess. That was Tianlang-Jun, yet not. It was a body possessed.

Which means Xin Mo couldn’t be completely unleashed.

Which meant Tianlang-Jun couldn’t leave this mountain until he got his body back.

Which meant that his human body would eventually reject its demonic soul and Tianlang-Jun needed a backup.

It wasn’t that hard for Binghe to put the pieces together.

“He’s going for his body!” Binghe called, already sprinting after Tianlang-Jun and Zhuzhi-lang. Zhuzhi-lang hissed, throwing a white-faced Tianlang-Jun onto his back and redoubling his efforts. Goddamn, that snake was fast. 

He could hear the sounds of shouting as the peak leaders behind him attempted to subdue this new rift, larger and more volatile than any of the ones they’ve dealt with in the past. The familiar aura of Shen Yuan lingered behind him, growing closer with each passing step. Binghe’s heart ached and he longed to reach back and tug Shen Yuan alongside him, but Zhuzhi-lang was getting farther by the second and Binghe couldn’t afford any hesitation. If Tianlang-Jun got back to his original body, it would all be over.

Binghe’s breath evened out as he sped up, the Qing Jing endurance training slowly coming back to him. Deep, even breaths. Eyes on the rabbit ahead. His whole world spiraled onto that singular point of Tianlang-Jun and Zhuzhi-lang fleeing.

Binghe sprinted on autopilot, vaulting over the rifts that Tianlang-Jun opened behind himself and bounding off of obstacles, cutting down the monsters that tried to block him with singular, precise strikes that cleaved their heads from their shoulders. Blood soaked his dark robes, barely showing on the black and red shades but stark against his face. Some of it burned, but for the most part it only left Binghe surrounded with the lingering scent of iron. It was getting harder to track Zhuzhi-lang with the thick scent of blood on his skin.

He felt enormously lucky when he spotted the crack in the mountain and even luckier when Zhuzhi-lang lashed out, blowing a portion of the mountain away with his strike. From the side was a rushing crackle of lightning and immense spiritual power. Sensing the imminent danger, Tianlang-Jun rolled out of Zhuzhi-lag’s grip-- or perhaps it was more apt to say he was flung aside. When TIanlang-Jun hit the ground running, Zhuzhi-lang was tackled to the side by a streak of white and gold. Shen Yuan straddled Zhuzhi-lang, fist reared back to punch him.

“Binghe! Go!” Shen Yuan shouted before Zhuzhi-lang kicked him off, gentle face emanating raw, unbridled fury. Shen Yuan simply held on tight and forced them to roll, getting in another good punch to the face. A sharp crack could be heard from Zhuzhi-lang’s nose. The two were entwined in Shen Yuan's overwhelming spiritual energy, yet at that point the two generals had been reduced to what looked like an all-out brawl. 

Binghe hesitated for the barest of seconds but started as Tianlang-Jun slipped into the cave. Rocks began to fall around the entrance. Binghe abandoned the heart that screamed at him not to leave Shizun behind, diving into the cave just as the last boulder behind him crashed to the ground, sealing the entrance.

The room was softly lit by glowing luminescent stones, giving a pale light to the cave. 

Tianlang-Jun stood defensively, Xin Mo tight in his fatigued, trembling hands even as he smiled cockily.

“Welcome to your old man’s place, Binghe!” He cheered.

Binghe lunged, a clawed hand outstretched as he went to crush Tianlang-Jun’s neck in his fist. Tianlang-Jun laughed and dodged, swinging Xin Mo out and neatly severing Binghe’s hand from his wrist. Binghe bit his lip, refusing to let out a sign of pain lest it alert Shen Yuan and distract him.

Swooping low, Binghe snatched the severed hand from the cave floor and rolled, realizing the stupidity of that move as he pressed it to his stump of a wrist and let his demonic qi rebind the two in a matter of seconds. He leaped back again when Tianlang-Jun swung in the midst of Binghe healing, this time scraping a thick gash across Binghe’s arm as he shielded his vital organs from the strike. Zheng Yang was quickly withdrawn with a twitch from Binghe’s fingers, at first floating until Binghe realized that the close combat situation of this cave didn’t afford for much cultivational swordplay. He snatched the blade from where it hung suspended in the air and used it to block Tianlang-Jun’s next strike with Xin Mo, then staggered when Tianlang-Jun swung his other fist around in a fist coated with swirling black demonic qi.

Binghe’s fighting style had evolved over the years to encompass the teachings of Qing Jing’s quick and efficient combat combined with the lessons of Bai Zhan’s overbearingly direct style, taught to him between lessons by a friend-turned-temporary-mentor Liu Mingyan. It combined with the lessons taught by the abyss, where as much energy as possible was saved during combat to fuel him through the next day and sleepless night. As a result, Binghe’s fighting style was anything but flashy. It consisted of bone-shattering strikes and solid stances, brooking little room for fancy movements or distraction.

Which made the flowing style of Tianlang-Jun that much more infuriating. He spun and twisted unnecessarily, his smooth movements harshly contrasting with Binghe’s own powerful strikes. And yet every light flutter of Tianlang-Jun’s wrist struck a vicious blow to his defense, either distracting him with feints or twisting between his strikes until he got close or using twirling, smoky demonic energy to form shadows at the corners of Luo Binghe’s eyes and draw his attention. There were hundreds of tricks up his sleeves that he hadn’t used in decades and itched to try out. It was a dance of mischief by a trickster god who had centuries on Binghe’s own paltry years of battle. 

Binghe swung Zheng Yang in a tight arc, changing directions halfway to keep up with Tianlang-Jun’s endlessly rapid movements, and still he was unable to keep up.

Tianlang-Jun slid aside, limboing beneath and between Binghe’s attempts to grab him as fluidly as water. When he danced behind Binghe, he lightly tapped Binghe on the head with the flat side of Xin Mo.

Binghe was immediately brought to his knees. His hands went to his head, a massive headache forming. As he curled up, his hand scrabbled to his sword, unseen by the way his body and billowing outer coat shielded his movements.

Tianlang-Jun laughed, which then broke into a fit of rattling coughs. He looked down at the hand spattered in blood.

“Well, shit,” Tianlang-Jun murmured. He turned his attention to his son, who had collapsed the moment Xin Mo touched him. “Daddy’s got to go to work now, okay? Be a good boy, Binghe.” He cooed raspily, one hand massaging his sore throat.

This body wouldn’t last the strain of Xin Mo much longer. He had to prepare the blood seal for the soul transfer quickly so that he could get back to his old body. It hung suspended above him, the stone shackles which once held it to the mountain slowly thinning as the river of energy the seal once coursed through it started to wane.

Tianlang-Jun nicked his thumb with his tooth and reached upwards, fully set on drawing the blood seal on the sole of his original body’s foot somewhere. This transfer process didn’t have to be impressive-- simply functional.

Binghe shifted behind him and Tianlang-Jun groaned. “Stay down, son.”

“Don’t call me son,” Binghe snarled. He shakily pushed himself back off of the ground, face tight with pain.

“Blood is blood, Binghe. I don’t care what your mother told you-- we demons have familial bonds too.” Tianlang-Jun turned back, his face stern. Above him, his slack body hung limply, like a marionette with strings cut. Tianlang-Jun was so close. So very close. All he had to do was make a quick soul transfer seal and all his powers would be available to him. He could wield Xin Mo however he wanted.

It was just a quick circle with a strike through it. Deceptively simple for such an important spell. There was a rush of nausea, the sensation of floating, and then-- 

And then Tianlang-Jun was back. Demonic qi rushed easily through his body, pulsating from his core outward. The power the mountain once held over him, the power which choked him night and day, was gone.

The body he once possessed crumpled and collapsed on the ground, breathing shallowly as the wisps of the original soul desperately tried to give life back to the broken body.

Tianlang-Jun made quick work of the leftover binds of the mountain, tearing through them as if they were nothing more than butter. Binghe tremblingly pushed himself back upwards, watching as the pale, sleeping face of the garish mantelpiece of the cave twitched. 

Scarlet red eyes met his own. Tianlang-Jun staggered as he dropped heavily to the ground, landing on his hands and knees. On hand immediately stretched out and recaptured Xin Mo in his grasp.

Adrenaline rushed through Binghe at that sight. Through the pulsating pain across his body, he hauled himself back upward, lip curling into a snarl.

 “I wasn’t raised with family.” Binghe spat, his hand tight around the hilt of his blade. “I have no mother.”

Tianlang-Jun hand flexed around Xin Mo upon hearing those bitter words, spoken with total conviction. Here he puzzled over the words, looking as if something very important to his conquest had been said.

Seeing his moment of weakness, Binghe struck out, the tip of Zhen Yang dragging across Tianlang-Jun’s chest.

“No mother. No father. No family.” Binghe said with each swing, twisting a knife deeper into Tianlang-Jun’s soul with every sentence.

“Su Xiyan?” His voice wavered on that name.

“Dead for all I know.”

Tianlang-Jun’s eyes widened. He brought up Xin Mo to block Binghe’s strike in the nick of time, arms steadily holding back the full brunt of the strength of Luo Binghe.

But Binghe noticed that almost imperceptible tremble that was beginning to take hold of Tianlang-Jun.

He gentles his expression from anger to one of sorrow-- fake, but Tianlang-Jun didn’t need to know that. “Father, what do you plan on doing after you combine the worlds?” He asked softly. The title of father burned on his tongue, tasting bitter. The first time he had ever called anyone that, and it was this miserable bastard.

Tianlang-Jun was clearly shaken, though. In his hands, Xin Mo started to bend. 

“I’ll rest,” he said. “I’ll find a faraway land and rest.”

“And leave the new world to its own devices? Be doomed to be hunted for eternity?” Binghe said softly, letting those white lotus tears shine at the corners of his eyes. One dramatically streaked down, a perfect drop down the side of his smooth cheek, clearing a trail of tanned skin through the blood splashed against it.

“Why are you asking me this? What does it matter what I do?” Tianlang-Jun bit out. Binghe stepped forward, relentless. Tianlang-Jun took a step back.

Xin Mo trembled furiously in Tianlang-Jun’s hands. Binghe lightened the weight of his blade against it as it started to heat up, glowing a faint red.

“That’s why.” Binghe said, that faux simper in his voice gone as if it were never there in the first place. When he stepped back, Tianlang-Jun cursed. His knees buckled beneath him suddenly, as if something had started to suck the life source from his body once more. Panic flared in his eyes. They had broken the last seal, so why was he growing weaker by the second?

His palms across the hilt and flat side of the sword blistered with the heat for Xin Mo. Tianlang-Jun instinctively weakened his grip, clearly ready to drop the blade. It was alarmingly simple for Binghe to simply swoop in and capture Xin Mo from his grasp before Tianlang-Jun could re-adjust his hold and brace himself against the pain, using his foot to push the man down fully and planting it across his father's injured chest. 

“What did you do?” Tianlang-Jun snapped, the first true twist of undisguised anger Binghe had seen splashed across his face. Binghe smiled genially.

“Xin Mo doesn’t work with the ambitionless. It would rather shatter than be at the side of someone like you.” He spoke from the memories he had of conversations with the sword during battles, often one-sided as the blade cheered him on towards a newer and brighter glory with his every success.

Binghe could feel the blade bind with him again almost immediately, its ghostly hands clawing for purchase in his heart and mind. It was a comforting veil that dulled most emotions and sharpened those of anger and fear-- he hadn’t realized it earlier with the way it had slowly crept up in his mind, but now that it was desperate for a host he could pinpoint its effects immediately.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of it for now, father.” In his hand Xin Mo shifted, growing weightier and broader, back into a two-handed blade.

Xin Mo screamed at him to kill Tianlang-Jun, to end it all right now and make sure he never threatened the world again. Who needed a filthy father like that anyways, broken and too weak to even reside in his own body. It would be humiliating for word to get out that this weakling was the sire of the great emperor Luo Binghe.

Tianlang-Jun’s eyes widened. The connection between him and the blade hadn’t yet been severed-- he could hear its every word.

He looked at Binghe with dawning horror, the first sense of fear Binghe had seen so far splashing across his normally playful face. Such a stark contrast to the mischief he had demonstrated not ten minutes ago. Xin Mo hovered inches away from his face.

For a moment, Binghe almost did it. It was all too easy for him to fall back into the motions of Xin Mo’s orders and follow them mindlessly, pretending like they were his own thoughts and feelings. It was almost to easy to go back to spreading misery just because he himself felt pain.

His hands trembled as Xin Mo pulled him downwards, willing him to pierce the weakened Tianlang-Jun’s neck.

He remembered the way it looked like Tianlang-Jun’s world had shattered when he informed the man of Su Xiyan’s death. That mixed look of hatred and love and hatred of that love that seemed to mirror Binghe’s own self not too long ago.

Binghe reared his hands back and thrust down the sword heavily. Tianlang-Jun’s eyes tightened.

A tear between worlds opened next to Tialang-Jun.

“Go. Hurry.” Binghe said urgently, sweat beginning to prick at the back of his neck.

At first there was nothing. No movement from Tianlang-Jun, no sound from Xin Mo.

Then a piercing scream, like the shriek of a kettle boiling mixed with a tinny choir of wailing souls. Xin Mo vibrated in his hands furiously. Binghe’s mouth tightened. Reaching down, he hauled Tianlang-Jun upwards by the tattered collar of a once rich robe.

“Did you hear me? Go!” He roared. The cave around them began to shake, pebbles falling free from the ceiling. The pebbles quickly turned to stalactites and chunks of rocks. Binghe roughly pushed Tianlang-Jun towards the portal, forcing him through with a harsh sidekick. Tianlang-Jun fell through without a word, shock still leaving him unmoving. Binghe forcefully willed the vortex to stitch itself shut and twisted on the ball his foot, planting Xin Mo into the ground.

Binghe could feel the way the world trembled beneath his feet, heaving as it tried to keep itself whole and hale still. The warmth of the mortal realm was slowly turning hotter, the temperature slowly rising as more and more of the abyss invaded, demonic qi burning through the spiritual veins of the earth and turning them to ruin. Xin Mo was singlehandedly forging onwards, with or without the consent of its owner, depleting Binghe’s own demonic and spiritual reserves alike as it tried to continue the destruction of both worlds. 

The demon realm wouldn’t be able to withstand the human realm-- the shock of such different environments would destroy the livelihoods of thousands of tribes; the northern demonic realms would rise in the Gobi Desert and their delicate frosted ecosystem would melt; Binghe had memorized the maps of the human and demonic realms alike. Kingdoms would appear inside of empires, empires would bulldoze over villages, humans and demons alike would fight for dominance and hundreds of thousands of both sides would be lost. Binghe felt this keenly. He was raised human, yes, but he had been the ruler of a demon realm for over three years. Despite his claimed impartiality towards their kind, he was half-demon as much as he was half-human. 

Their worlds wouldn’t survive being combined. If he did this wrong, Binghe risked losing both sides of himself at once.

A strained scream ripped from his throat as he forcibly cut off the flow of his energy to the sword, Xin Mo whispering curses at him and tearing at his spiritual veins and demonic core with ragged nails. It felt like he was boiling from the inside out, like his own blood parasites were turning against him and trying to rip him to shreds.

It hurt. God, it hurt.

But he focused through the pain, shutting his eyes and forcing himself into a half-dream realm state so he could physically visualize and piece together the broken world. He ripped a hand away from the sword and gestured for the imagined abyss that had torn near a village to close. The ground beneath him rumbled in response. In the distance he could hear harsh, grating sounds, as if there were an earthquake. Xin Mo retaliated and he felt a rib shatter as if a specter had slammed him from the side. Breath was driven from his lungs, but he couldn’t afford to concentrate any energy toward healing it. 

“They don’t want you. They’re using you.” Xin Mo whispered. Binghe grimaced and his clawed fingers slowly clenched into a fist. In response a legion of monsters was wiped out, forcibly dragged back into the demon realm. He felt a collarbone break.

“Everyone will have no choice but to love you if you’re strong. No one can ever ignore you again. You can have complete control.”

A flick of his wrist and a part of the mountain crumbled, completely destroying the void on its sight where legions continued to pour out. His left leg snapped, the bones shattered.

“Who are you doing this for? Shen Yuan? Your demons? Cang Qiong? With my help, you’ll be too strong for them to ever abandon you again.”

Luo Binghe’s eye twitched and he crumpled to his knees, a hand desperately clinging above his bowed head to the hilt of the sword. Slowly he brought his other hand down so both hands gripped the hilt with a bone-shattering grasp. He pulled himself back upwards, shaky on his feet, and coughed. Something red and wet stained the ground in front of him.

“You know what? This is about me. You can’t hurt me now, but I sure as hell can hurt you.” He said slowly, voice a strained whisper as he slowly began to push the blade into the ground.

He used the sword like an inverse lightning rod, sucking all the demonic energy that coursed through the land back into Xin Mo. He could feel it shaking, growing colder and colder until it began to burn his hands and still he clung to it like it was a lifeline, determined to see this through to the end. His whole body was on fire. Blood was running in rivulets down his face, and with every inch Xin Mo was dug into the ground Binghe coughed up another mouthful of blood. 

He could feel it. The world was trembling less, it was warmer and less oppressive, it wasn’t fighting with itself as sister realms were forcibly merged. They were drawing apart again, the world was stabilizing. 

“You need me! I brought you strength! I got you out of hell!” Xin Mo cried, reverberating through his head. It felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his skull. He groaned.

“Don’t need… things like you.” He whispered, and with the last of his strength he sucked the last lingering traces of demonic energy back into the sword.

Xin Mo shattered, exploded, unable to contain all the power in one place. Pieces of it flew across the room, some of the shard embedding themselves inside of Luo Binghe himself. The ones buried inside of his torso burned and sucked all the warmth from his body, as if trying to take the little bit of life Luo Binghe had left for itself-- a final exchange of power. Whatever desperate sword spirit once sealed inside evaporated, leaving the world as if it had never existed in the first place. No one knew who forged the blade-- there was no burial ground left for its remains. It sat in scattered, glasslike pieces, blending in with the glossy black flint and ore inside the walls.

Without the support of the blade, Binghe couldn’t sit straight. He fell forward, too weak and broken to hold himself up, skinning his knees and palms on rocky ground as he retched another mouthful of bile and blood. His wind was foggy, his vision blurred. His breaths came out wet and labored, each one tasting of copper and iron.

He was dying. He could feel it. The fearsome Luo Binghe, emperor of the Demon Realm, sovereign of the dream realm, and disciple of Cang Qiong, would be entombed in the very same grave his father had once been trapped in for decades.

Ha. A fitting end for a scum villain.

The cave roared around him, boulders falling from the ceiling as the mountain began to crumble, a landslide roaring outside down the cliffs from the multiple consecutive earthquakes that had shaken the world. 

He didn’t want to die like this. Trapped in a dark, small space. Those had always been his biggest fears-- small, confined spaces, where he’d be forced to sit for hours on end until some kind soul finally let him out. To be weak and at the mercy of those you know would never come. He didn’t want to die like this.

His fingers dug into the ground, leaving scraped of blood as they bit into the rock. His muscles screamed at him, broken bones in agony as he pulled himself back towards the little crag in the wall, a small space left between the boulders which covered from where he had entered.

It was smaller now, half covered. But Binghe refused to die in the dark. He pushed himself as close to the light as possible, desperate to have at least a single breath of fresh air away from the damp, stale air of the cave. 

One hand thrust through, scrabbling weakly at the rocks outside of it, dislodging a few until Binghe could see the outside. The hole was too small to fit out of-- for once in his life, Binghe almost wished he was back to his fourteen-year-old, 5’3” frame. Though he doubted he could have fit through that space, even back then. In any case, he was far too large now. 

At least he could get some fresh air.

And inside the cave where Xin Mo lay shattered, Luo Binghe closed his eyes and smiled.

And then everything went black.

[...]

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There was a feeling of light pressure on his lips, pressing softly against him as breath forced its way into his mouth. Binghe’s foggy mind clung to it, clambered toward it as the thing which kept him tethered in the void he floated in. Alongside it came an overwhelming pulse of spiritual energy that washed through his body, washing away the pounding headache he experienced, but it was gone all too soon.

Too bad. It had felt nice.

A warm drop fell on his face, sliding down his cheek. That was the first thing Binghe felt. The patter of teardrops, almost like rain. His head was cushioned on something-- a lap?

Something warm clung to his hand, softly petting the back of it. Around him the world was getting brighter, the sun beating against his eyelids and turning his vision red. He tried to take a breath but stopped halfway, the pain in his chest constricting him from breathing too deeply.

Another nice, warm hand migrated from where it threaded through his hair to his cheek, cupping it gently. Binghe turned his head towards it, seeking it like a sunflower turning to the sun. He moaned slightly, trying to form a question through his hazy mind, but forgot about it within seconds and let it drift away into darkness. All that really mattered now was the way his body ached and those soft hands.

Slowly, the cottony world around him sharpened to sound. Soft murmurs became louder and louder until Binghe winced, wanting the world to fade back to when it was just him and that comfort he had awoken to. He listened to the words that seemed to come from the person above him, though he didn’t quite comprehend it.

“Binghe? Binghe, can you hear me? Can’t you move quicker! He’s not okay-- shit, there’s so much blood. I shouldn’t have let him go alone!”

“Calm down, Shen-shixiong. I’m working as quickly as possible, but injuries like these are hard to heal. He’s exhausted his demonic and spiritual qi-- I have to do the healing for him.”

“Do you need more spiritual energy? I have more than enough to spare, I can give it--”

“With all due respect, Shixiong, what you’re doing right now is enough. Keep the influences of Xin Mo at bay. We’ll handle the actual medical process.” 

Mm. What was that? Shen-Shixiong? Which one? The mean one or the cute one? Binghe tried to tell from the sound of his voice, but that was too much thinking for him. 

An ingenious idea struck him. A foolproof way to tell them apart.

What if he looked?

It took a mountain's worth of effort, but slowly he blinked, red eyes looking blearily upwards under half-raised lids.

Hm. Green eyes. Check. Pale, unmarked skin. Check. Dark hair. Check. Definitely a Shen.

And judging by the short hair, probably Shen Yuan. Ha! Success! Binghe had found out the identity of the warm hands, way to go team!

His lips curled into a faint, lazy smile. That movement, combined with the way his chest had begun to rumble in a deep purr, seemed to draw Shizun’s attention. Or maybe it was just the purring.

Could Binghe purr? He didn’t know that about himself. He had never felt this comfortable before-- maybe that’s why. Ah, but who cares. The sound was self-soothing, making him want to do it more.

“Binghe?” Shen Yuan looked at him with his brows furrowed, and for the first time the sun caught the tear tracks against his face, making them shine. Well, that wasn’t right. Binghe was supposed to be the one who cried, not Shizun.

His free hand reached up towards Shizun’s face, the back of his knuckles gently wiping away those from one cheek tear tracks. Better. Except now more tears were rolling down his cheeks, messing up the spots Binghe had worked so hard to dry. Come on, Shizun! Have mercy on this disciple, don’t just mess up his hard work like this!

“Binghe’s awake, what am I supposed to do?” Shen Yuan whispered, his voice significantly softer but still filled to the brim with panic.

“Calm down, Shixiong. It’s fine, it looks like he’s still out of it. Just keep him calm.” Binghe finally recognized that voice as Mu Qingfang’s, which made sense. Things were probably bad if the peak lord himself was healing Binghe. 

Well, to be fair, last he remembered he had died.

So that probably made sense. Who knew Qingfang could do necromancy? He should have consulted him back when Binghe was trying to bring Shen Yuan back to life.

"Hey, Binghe? Binghe, can you understand me? Are you in pain?" 

In response, Binghe blinked slowly. Ah, Shen Yuan was so cute. Absolutely his favorite character ever. Best boy. Best husbando material.

Binghe lounged for what felt like hours and at the same time like no time passed at all, listening to Shen Yuan ramble at him about what had happened after his bout with Tianlang-Jun. Binghe looked up with a soft face that radiated nothing but raw affection.

After Binghe had entered the cave and it had sealed shut behind him, Zhuzhi-lang and Shen Yuan continued their bought, fighting up until the world around them rumbled. The cracks around the portals and ravines which had led to a hell-like dimension stitched themselves together one by one. Seeing this, some of the more intelligent monsters fled back into the safety of the abyss. More of them, however, stayed out on the field, continuing their fruitless endeavor for escape. Most were slain within the next few hours, either cut down by a cultivator’s sword or frozen to death the moment they touched the ice barrier of Mobei-Jun. Only a few monsters escaped from the mountains, and those were easily disposed of by the sister sects who had descended to protect the nearby villages.

Zhuzhi-lang had panicked when the abyss began to stitch itself together, all the fight draining out of him immediately. He was the one who broke away from the fight and began digging at the walls of the cave, clawing fingers turning bloody with every rock he moved. Shen Yuan joined him in that desperate act, both of their voices turning raw as they called for their loved ones and received no answer.

Zhuzhi-lang was comforted by the fact that he still had a human form-- that meant that somewhere, some part of Tianlang-Jun must still be alive.

Shen Yuan had no such comfort.

When they finally burst through the caved-in entrance, sunlight trickled in and illuminated its dark, dank features.

In a corner a cultivator nursed his wounds, tearing pieces of cloth from his robes as he wound them around injured arms. He looked at Zhuzhi-lang with fear and Shen Yuan with wonder. It seemed the body Tianlang-Jun had possessed was now free of its parasite, but then-- where was Tianlang-Jun?

While Zhuzhi-lang mused, sending out his spiritual energy to track his missing uncle, Shen Yuan caught sight of a collapsed figure with the shards of a black sword scattered around him, some embedded in him. His figure was broken, twisted in a way that it shouldn’t have been.

When Shen Yuan reached him, Binghe wasn’t breathing.

And Shen Yuan had freaked. The fuck. Out.

His panicked cries were what drew Mu Qingfang to him, apparently. Zhuzhi-lang’s current whereabouts were unknown-- apparently he had fled the moment he saw the bright energy crackling around Shen Yuan’s figure as he staggered and cradled the body to his chest, mourning for the loss of his disciple a second time over.

As he clung to Binghe’s unmoving body, desperately sending spiritual qi through his body in an attempt to restore used reserves and kickstart the healing process of a dead man, he felt it.

The faint thump of a pulse in his wrist. Fluttering-- barely there.

Actually, now that he mentioned it, Binghe could somehow almost remember that moment. Shen Yuan stopped his story at this point, going on to ramble about something or other about the monsters that had appeared and the kill counts of the other peak lords, but Binghe’s brows furrowed.

There had been a moment in the dark void he floated in when someone started pushing uncomfortably in repeated intervals-- doing chest compressions, Binghe began to realize. Shen Yuan had done CPR on him to bring him back to life.

And then soft lips had pressed to his own, no hesitation there as he tried to revive Binghe by forcibly opening his lungs. That’s called mouth-to-mouth. Accompanied by that flow of energy to stabilize him-- enough to have forced Shen Yuan to self-destruct in his original body, but only temporarily weakening this new sun and moon flower one.

If Binghe remembered correctly-- indeed, perhaps his brain had started functioning despite the lack of oxygen for this very moment, willing to die just to experience it-- Shen Yuan had done mouth to mouth on him.

“Shixiong, whatever you’re doing, stop it. Binghe’s heart rate is too high, I need you to-- oh. Oh, never mind. No, keep doing that.” Mu Qingfang said confusedly, observing the sudden surge of demonic and spiritual qi rushing through Binghe’s veins and healing his wounds. He watched with unabashed fascination as the formerly shattered and twisted leg in front of him snapped back into place with a crackle, straightening out until the bruises faded in a matter of seconds.

Those changes traveled from the tips of his limbs inward, rapidly healing his entire body in one go. In mere seconds, Binghe was wide-eyed and bushy-tailed, alert as if he hadn’t been on the brink of death with a severe concussion mere hours ago.

“Shizun kissed me,” Binghe said simply, voice hoarse from the way it had screamed itself raw earlier. Shen Yuan looked at him confusedly for only a moment before his beautiful green eyes sharply contrasted with the dark red color his face had turned.

Even though Binghe said it out loud, it still didn’t click. He let it circle around his head a few times, scrutinizing the words at every angle until they would finally make sense to Binghe.

“This master did no such thing. It must have been a dream.” Shen Yuan said hastily, turning his face away and taking his fan from his belt to cover his thin, shame-faced features.

Mu Qingfang, immediately seeing the transformations rippling across his normally extremely stoic Shixiong and seeing the sheer heat from Binghe’s gaze, decided his work here was done. He had seen that look before. Too many times over, often in his own clinic. He stood and hastily backed away, palms facing forward as he kicked his basket of supplies to Shen Yuan and rounded the entrance of the cave. 

“You two seem to have things handled here. This martial brother will take his leave-- do not overwork your injuries. I will attend to the other wounded.”

“Wait!” Shen Yuan yelped. He made a move to let Binghe go and chase Mu Qingfang down to drag him back, but Binghe was too fast for that. He flipped around in Shen Yuan’s lap and tackled him, hands caging around his Shizun.

Shen Yuan immediately closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable. 

Nothing happened except for warm teardrops splashing against his face, a reversal of their positions from before.

He reopened his eyes and, seeing Binghe’s watery eyes and the tears streaming down them, immediately sat back up and pushed Binghe back onto his haunches until they sat across from one another.

Shen Yuan panicked. Was Binghe really that broken up about a kiss? It was just mouth to mouth, it was supposed to save his life! He didn’t even have to think about it as a kiss if he didn’t want to! Anyways, was the thought of kissing this master so awful?!

… Pretend he didn’t think that last though as petulantly as it sounded.

As Binghe wiped away his overflowing tears of joy, Shen Yuan said slowly. “This master… apologizes to Binghe once more. He didn’t mean to hurt Binghe in any way-- he only meant to aid Binghe in whatever way possible.”

“No!” Binghe immediately cried, eyes wide. He surged forward and clung to Shen Yuan, pulling him close and leaning down so that Shen Yuan’s chest rested on his shoulder.

“No, Shizun, I don’t mind! I really don’t mind! Save my life whenever you want, this humble disciple will always and forever be yours to save!” He cried, voice muffled against Shen Yuan’s robes.

Ah! Shizun had kissed him, Shizun had kissed him , Shizun had-- Shizun-- had kissed him!!!!! To say Binghe’s heart was filled with joy would be an understatement. His whole body vibrated with that excitement, imaginary tail wagging hard enough that it was a blur, shiny red eyes filled to the brim and overflowing with tears of the raw joy he couldn’t keep constrained within himself.

Shen Yuan smiled confusedly, returning the tight embrace and patting Binghe on the back soothingly. “Ah, this master thanks Binghe for his understanding.” This blackened disciple is truly still a white sheep, Shen Yuan thought affectionately. He threaded a hand through Binghe’s hair, untangling the knots and snarls and humming lowly under his breath as Binghe sobbed against him. Too cute, really. Even after how much Binghe had changed, turning into a fine adult and growing into the heartthrob he was always destined to be, he really hadn’t changed at all. Still soft and sweet deep down inside.

Ah, what a cute, maiden-hearted disciple Binghe was! Truly, how had Shen Yuan not been struck through the heart earlier!

Together they staggered from the cave, Binghe clinging to Shen Yuan like a limpet, refusing to move if at least one part of Shen Yuan wasn’t touching him at all times. Before, it had been them hugging. Now, to make things more practical, they held hands as they made their way down the mountain.

One would have to be stupid not to see the absolutely lovestruck, dopey grin across Binghe’s face.

Even Shen Yuan saw it, which kick-started its own Rube Goldberg machine of revelations and awakening in Shen Yuan’s mind.

It was a simple revelation, long overdue. One moment, he thought Luo Binghe was the sweetest, most filial disciple in the world. The next moment he caught Binghe's expression, like a maiden in love, and things clicked into place.

Oh. Binghe loved him.

...

Excuse this master as he internally panics, all the while soothingly rubbing circles on Binghe's hand and letting this man cling to his shoulder. Excuse this master as he screams when this white sheep and black lotus looks at him with twinkling carmine eyes, the most beautiful he's ever seen.

And excuse this master as he carefully folds that entire revelation away and tucks it into his heart, filling him with warmth.

In the distance, on the same wall of the mountain, they could see thin children and cultivators being led from a cave. Madame Meiyin lounged on a boulder, smoking on her long pipe as she gestured for the men and women to move quickly down the mountains. In her lap was a little boy whose chubby hands clutched at the smoke rings she blew, giggling when they dissipated in his fists. Seeing the two escaping, she waved a few fingers at them in goodbye before turning her attention to the malnourished humans escaping, absently pulling a wrapped candy from who knows where and passing it to the child who sat with her.

When they broke through the mountain’s dense forest into the clearing beyond the forest, they were immediately wrapped up into the lively group of cultivators drinking alcohol, nursing wounds, and celebrating the second battle of Maigu Ridge to have occurred in the last three decades.

The ice wall slowly melted with the aid of cultivators and their fire talismans. Mobei-Jun stood twice the safe amount of distance away from the bonfires melting the edge of the icy barriers as he disassembled the jutting spikes and high walls of ice. Liu Qingge stood nearby and seemed to be talking with him as he worked, cleaning the blood off of Cheng Luan and gesturing toward the pile of monster heads they had stacked up. Tents were set up around the edge of the mountain, disciples strewn on mats and stretchers all around them. Monster corpses were piled in high walls, cultivators raking through them to find rare materials from beasts never seen outside of the abyss. The chatter of the crowd’s mingling voices and cries of celebration washed over Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan.

The first to see them was XiaoBao, who padded past Binghe with something in her mouth. Binghe wanted to stop her, but then she turned to him with fierce eyes and a low growl and Binghe finally got a good look at what she held gently between her teeth, like a mother cat holding a kitten. A little, wriggling black puppy with a red mark on its forehead who was trying its best to lick XiaoBai’s jaw even while it was immobile between her teeth. Settling some distance away, she let the energetic puppy escape from her jaws before dragging it back and rasping her tongue over its back, cleaning it while its tail wagged at a thousand miles per hour. With the protective way she held that puppy between the paws that seemed to dwarf the fluffy ball of fur, Binghe decided this wasn’t a situation where he had to intervene.

Ahead of them, Shen Qingqiu had his back turned to Yue Qingyuan, all his protectiveness that he displayed earlier abandoned as he spoke lowly with Qi Qingqi, pointedly ignoring Yue Qingyuan who stood behind him dejectedly. His hand was on his sword and he looked uncomfortably at it, then longingly toward Shen Qingqiu.

When he caught sight of Shen Yuan, he simultaneously shrank back and lit up. With a second glance back at Shen Qingqiu, he left his side and walked rapidly over to where Shen Yuan was. He missed the narrow glare Shen Qingqiu pointedly aimed at his back when he heard Qingyuan walk away, and then the hurt that flashed in his face when he saw who Qingyuan was walking toward. Then, seeing Binghe had caught his expression, his mouth twisted into a tight line of derision and he turned back to Qingqi, entire posture tenser than it was before.

Yue Qingyuan made his way to the couple on the mountain and caught Shen Yuan’s wrist, tugged him towards him. Binghe shadowed his Shizun, afraid to let him disappear from his sight for even a second. Yue Qingyuan looked hesitantly up at Binghe, but his steely gaze told Qingyuan that nothing could persuade Binghe to leave his Shizun’s side.

Yue Qingyuan lowered his eyes, his grip on Shen Yuan’s arm-guard tightening. He licked his lips and took a deep breath, not daring to look up.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. Shen Yuan blinked, surprised and alarmed. 

“Shixiong?” He asked. The sheer amount of devastation, of guilt and sorrow in that voice… Yue Qingyuan had apologized to both Shen Yuan and Shen Qingqiu many times over the years, but never was that apology as sincere as it was now.

“For… leaving you and Xiao Jiu at the Qiu household… I should have--”

“Don’t talk anymore.” Shen Yuan said bluntly, interrupting Qingyuan’s heartfelt confession mid-sentence. Yue Qingyuan visibly shrank under his words, looking incredibly small despite his tall frame. Shen Yuan hastily backed up. He supported Yue Qingyuan when walking, trying to insert warmth into his voice. This situation was unfamiliar to him. He hadn’t been in a position to comfort Yue Qingqyuan-- Qi-Ge-- like this for decades. “This shidi was never abandoned by you.” He said softly. Yue Qingyuan jerked a little at the wording. 

“There was no way to track me after I was sold. The moment I was forced to leave Jiu-Ge, I already knew I would have to rely on myself to escape.” He smiled softly despite the bitter words, but those same words were directed at the world rather than towards Yue Qingyuan. 

“My greatest grievance with Shixiong was that he never returned for my brother. My greatest grievance could easily be summed up as all the pain he has caused for Jiu-Ge. You’re trying to heal the wrong wounds with the wrong person. If you wish to heal over wounds, it is best to directly approach the one he hurt.” Shen Yuan lightly patted him on the back and pushed him back toward his elder brother. "Apologize to me again after you fix things with Jiu-Ge."

Yue Qingyuan tossed a look over his shoulder like a dog who had been kicked. All sympathy had left Shen Yuan's face by then. Luo Binghe loomed over his shoulder, snarling at Yue Qingyuan up until Shen Yuan looked back at him, to which his face immediately transformed back to being sweet and attentive to Shen Yuan.

“I don’t forgive you.” Shen Qingqiu said squarely, mask unbreaking. Yue Qingyuan flinched but looked resigned, as if he expected the blow. Shen Qingqiu sighed, massaging the area between his eyes.

“I don’t make a habit of forgiveness. Personally, I’ve never found it especially appealing.” He looked up meaningfully and frowned a little when Yue Qingyuan’s gaze was directed towards the ground. With the tips of his fingers, he tilted Qingyuan’s chin until the sect master reluctantly looked up.

“But who said I needed to forgive you at all? This stretches back decades, Yue Qingyuan. You let me think that you left me at the Qiu estate to die.”

Yue Qingyuan flinched at his harsh words, spoken with venom laced throughout them. Each one pierced his heart deeply.

But past over Qingyuan’s shoulder, Shen Jiu could see the way Binghe clung to Shen Yuan, the way Shen Yuan laughed as Binghe begged for him to pat him on the head. His memories flashed back to when he learned that Shen Yuan had pushed Binghe into the abyss, and then to when Binghe had brought the entire force of Huan Hua palace upon the twin lords of Qing Jing. And yet those two were still able to find solace, meeting at the center of that seal and speaking beyond where the peak lords could hear.

What was that called?... Emotional vulnerability?

He’d never tried that before. But today was a day of firsts, it seemed.

He sighed. “It’s too much for me to just forgive and forget, Qingyuan. I think you know that. You owe me a debt now.” For the first time in decades, Shen Qingqiu smiled faintly at Qingyuan, hesitation and wariness strongly visible in his features. For all the caution Yue Qingyuan exhibited, Shen Qingqiu felt it twice over, ready for Qingyuan to rescind his apology at any moment. “But the magic of debts is that they may eventually be repaid and put aside.”

Yue Qingyuan looked shell-shocked. He had stopped breathing, Shen Qingqiu vaguely registered. Qingqiu's brows furrowed once more and his gentle face turned to a frown. He turned his back, clicking his tongue.

“And you can start repaying that debt by taking me to dinner and telling me everything you’ve left out of that little explanation of yours.” His voice was harsh again, no sign of the mercy he showed a glimmer of a moment ago.

When he started walking away at a fast clip, Qingyuan tripped over his own feet to try and keep up, following behind him like a loyal hound. Binghe noticed but didn’t exactly care, sending out a small prayer for their relationship before pressing Shen Yuan’s palm to his cheek and audaciously turning to brush his lips against it, causing Shen Yuan to internally start screaming again.

Shen Yuan didn't rescind his hand, though.

Binghe and Mobei-Jun heard that chime at the exact same time. Both stiffened, Luo Binghe looking incredulously at the blue screen who dared to interrupt his time in heaven while Mobei-Jun from across the newly set up camp glared at his ring.

[Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations! The true ending of this novel has been reached! Completion of major mission <<Stupid novel, stupid ending>>! +10,000 B Points! Thank you for your unending support!] Cried Binghe’s system.

[So Binghe finished the game. No thanks to you, by the way. Here’s your mandatory +10,000 B points. I’m gonna go take a nap.] Said Mobei-Jun’s system.

Shen Yuan drummed his fingers lightly across Binghe’s cheek, jerking him back to reality. “What is it? The system again?”

Binghe nodded absently. “It says I’ve finished a major mission, but… I don’t know what I did?”

Shen Yuan peered curiously at his Jade Guanyin. “Maybe it’s because you defeated Tianlang-Jun?” He asked curiously. Binghe tilted his head.

“Maybe.” He answered noncommittally. 

[Ding~ To answer dearest customer’s question, the true ending of the novel has been met through this mission: <<Reconciliation>>. Get Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan to rekindle their destined, fated relationship! Prevent Shen Qingqiu's blackening and bad ending so they can retie their red string of fate! Good job!]

...Wait.

Wait.

The endgame of this mission was just to get Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan together?

This world was literally just a vessel for 79?

You mean to tell Binghe that the system broke god knows how many rules and put Binghe in actual life-and-death danger simply because it was a rabid QiJiu fan?

"..."

[.....]

".....I'm going to kill you."

[No! No, stop, I didn’t choose the ending! Stop trying to hit me, I swear it wasn’t my decision to make--]

The system stopped speaking when Binghe rammed his fist through the screen.

The Huan Hua disciples who had fought at the mountain were gathered in the medical tents, waiting with no little sense of pervading humiliation as the disciples of Cang Qiong tended to their medical needs.

Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe passed by the tents with barely a glance, Binghe chattering to Shizun about different missions and quests he had attended to as a disciple (courtesy of the system, who Shen Yuan was quickly beginning to hate as much as Binghe did) while Shen Yuan listened with rapt attention, cogs whirring in his head as he began to see his entire history with this disciple in a different light.

Hearing the title of Shizun spoken by a familiar voice, one such bedridden disciple of Huan Hua perked up.

From the tent staggered a young lady, heavily wounded with bandages covering her torso. She gripped tightly to her whip, hugging it as if it were her safety blanket. Behind her stumbled an equally injured Gongyi Xiao, whose normal vicious glare at Luo Binghe had faded to something significantly more guilty.

Luo Binghe stopped short, recognizing these faces. After making their way to them, Xiao Gongzhu manually pulled Gongyi Xiao beside her as they both prostrated before Shen Yuan.

Shen Yuan quirked a brow and looked around vaguely uncomfortably, looking to see if this was some prank being pulled on him. Luo Binghe’s grip on his Shizun’s shoulder tightened as he looked at Gongyi Xiao as if he were a cockroach.

“Apologies, Elder Shen!” They both shouted towards the ground. Gongyi Xiao followed up, speaking with his face still low to the ground.

“We at Huan Hua sect have disrespected Elder Shen! Apologies for the actions of Huan Hua’s Palace Master!”

The Huan Hua Palace mistress pushed herself upwards, uncaring about the new grass stains which had appeared on the pants of her uniform. “This lowly disciple didn’t learn of what her father planned until after he chased you out of Huan Hua! We at Huan Hua will never condone the actions of the Palace Master in attempting execution of anyone not yet charged as guilty!” 

Realizing that they were apologizing for when Lao Gongzhu threw Shen Yuan out of the water palace and set dogs and armies after him, Shen Yuan laughed. That had happened over five months ago and yet these disciples still begged for forgiveness on behalf of their master-- truly, Huan Hua Palace was a pitiful sect. Barely worthy of his attention, much less anger.

But beside him, Luo Binghe stiffened. “Shizun,” he said lowly, urgently. “Shizun, what are they talking about?”

Shen Yuan patted Binghe on the shoulder soothingly. “It’s nothing too big. Back at the water palace, the night I escaped the prison, Lao Gongzhu--”

“The palace master forced you to run,” Binghe whispered, brows furrowing. “But why--?”

Actually, did it matter? Truly, it didn’t. Binghe’s face blackened, his hackles raising. From deep in his chest, a deep, echoing growl rumbled. The two kowtowed disciples in front of him shivered at the menacing aura he emanated.

“Binghe. They’re not at fault. Calm yourself.” Shen Yuan scolded gently. He had to pat Binghe on the cheek before Binghe’s growls rescinded back into an adoring look at his Shizun.

Then Binghe looked down at those disciples, gaze hardening and so cold they could feel frost inching its way up their souls. “Tell no one of what you told us. When we retrieve you, you will stand at trial for testimony. We’ll see how sincere your apologies truly are,” he barked.

Xiao Gongzhu nodded while Gongyi Xiao immediately snapped upward, saluting at the duo before snatching the palace mistress’ robes and dragging her back to the safety of the Cang Qiong medical tent. 

Luo Binghe made a note to talk to Shen Qingqiu about this. Perhaps he and his beloved Shifu weren’t on the best of terms at the moment, but seeing how eager Shifu had been to rake Binghe through the mud after the death of Shen Yuan-- well, needless to say, Binghe was excited to see how the snake of Qing Jing would tear the palace master apart.

The village at the foot of Cang Qiong was alight with lanterns and fireworks, alcohol being passed around and flowers being thrown. Dozens of young disciples flocked behind the demons who meandered through the festival, pestering Mobei-Jun with requests for shaved ice and ice sculptures (Shang Qinghua eventually intervened by pulling Mobei-Jun down into a shy kiss, causing all the disciples to groan in disgust and run away when Mobei-Jun panicked and pulled Shang Qinghua closer for a deeper one) or pulling at XiaoBai’s tail as she proudly carried that little black ball of fluff on her head. Madame Meiyin indulged them, looking into the future and reading the fortunes of each disciple in exchange for a few taels and a binding promise that they would never come after her clan of succubi. It was a win-win situation for her-- she spread her business while simultaneously ensuring that the next generation of Cang Qiong wouldn’t disturb her or her girls.

Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu were nowhere to be found, but if one asked Qingqi-- who was currently in the midsts of an arm-wrestling contest with her disciples-- she would secretively answer that they had slipped away before the festivities began. Shen Qingqiu had tugged Yue Qingyuan onto his sword, muttering something about “making sure he doesn’t run away from his responsibilities again” while Yue Qingyuan continued to look at him with that same dumbstruck, awed look. From there Qingqiu had shot from the mountains down towards a nearby village, where Qingqi would vaguely comment housed one of the best (and most expensive) restaurants for miles around.

Continuing onward, Binghe began to catch sight of more people he knew, chattering and not sparing him a second glance as they passed by. With Shizun’s new face, their companionship didn’t attract nearly as much attention as it might have once.

They walked down the street famous for its alcohol, one of the most crowded streets yet. The first familiar face he spotted was Ming Fan, hurling into a bucket as Ning Yingying held back his hair and rubbed soothing circles on his back. She waved cheerfully at Binghe when he walked by and he hesitantly returned that greeting. Ming Fan retched, an empty bottle of alcohol and a makeshift funnel lying on the ground next to him.

They passed by Sha Hualing who stood by a quickly set up vendor's stand for alcohol, vapidly flirting with the red-faced disciple who manned it. Binghe motioned for Shen Yuan to stop, moving to go and talk to his second-in-command, but stopped and decided to sit back for the scene unfolding in front of him.

Liu Mingyan walked with dragging feet, her gait unsteady as she wobbled out of the crowd. In her hand was a presumably empty bottle of some of Cang Qiong’s strongest wine. When she spotted Sha Hualing, her face darkened, anger flashing. Mingyan began to rush toward her, wobbling more the faster she got, until she tripped on a rock and landed flat against Sha Hualing’s chest. Hualing caught her before the poor girl slid down much further.

Sha Hualing laughed in her bell-like voice, cheeks ruddy with all the alcohol she had drunk. “Ha, falling for me, dear miss cultivator?” 

The girl in her arms groaned, throwing her own arms drunkenly around her savior's neck. When she looked up, veil hiding most of her features but leaving her beautiful black eyes uncovered, Sha Hualing’s mouth went dry. 

“You’re the one who fought me. You’re that mean, pretty one.” Liu Mingyan slurred, dropping her head back against Sha Hualing’s chest. “You’re very soft.”

Hualing stuttered, at a loss for smooth words for once in her life. Not a single smooth pickup line appeared in her mind as that beautiful, angelic girl slumped against her.

Panicked, she made eye contact with her boss, mouthing “help” at him. Pretending he had misunderstood, Binghe gave her a thumbs up. Her eyes narrowed and she looked as if she were about to flip him the bird, but then Liu Mingyan shifted in her arms and Sha Hualing’s attention was immediately drawn to the girl who had begun playing with the bells in her braids.

Ah. Young love.

Binghe flipped a coin to another vendor and plucked two rice cakes off the cart, handing one to Shen Yuan. Shen Yuan took it gratefully and bit into the sticky rice, chewing thoughtfully as they walked along in silence. He bumped shoulders with Binghe, drawing his attention.

“The cakes are good, but this master still prefers Binghe’s own cooking.”

It was shameless for Shen Yuan to say, but the way Binghe reacted to his every praise-- Shen Yuan was more than willing to put aside his own reputation for the sake of causing that wide smile to spread across Binghe’s face and the way he lit up.

They walked together quietly, Binghe savoring in this moment before it was gone. The red light of the lanterns illuminated where they walked, Xian Shu dancers giving beautiful impromptu ribbon shows for cheering disciples at every courtyard while vendors lined the winding streets of the village, some set up by Cang Qiong disciples while others were by vendors who had hastily set up the moment the saw the waves of cultivators headed for their town.

It was everything Binghe had ever wanted. A fun night with Shizun, where he could cling to Shen Yuan’s side without being scolded and could walk the streets of humans without jeers being thrown at him. He was filled with wonder, starry-eyed in the moment and determined to let the memories seer themselves into his mind. That of Shen Yuan excitedly pulling him into a store full of fans and Binghe picking one out for Shen Yuan, buying it despite his master's insistence and handing the fan with a little kitten tassel to him just to watch the way his Shizun's face lit up. Tugging Shizun toward a street performer to watch alongside the other enraptured children as the man juggled swords and breaking rocks across his chest. In the back alongside Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan, a man clad in red stood and smiled softly. Then he made eye contact with Luo Binghe and Binghe paled, backing away and dragging Shen Yuan to another vendor's stand that sold pretty ribbons while hastily answering Shen Yuan's questions. What the hell was the ghost king doing here?

Well, nonetheless, they could ignore each other and go along their separate ways. It seemed the ghost king was happy to be left alone, so Binghe would do just that and enjoy his time with Shen Yuan. He tossed the worries from his mind and let himself be wrapped up in the warmth of the festival.

Because come tomorrow, this would all be gone.

Binghe wasn’t delusional. He understood how these things worked. He and Shen Yuan weren’t like Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu-- there wasn’t a system ensuring their happily ever after, some true-ending dictating that the red string of fate bound them together.

Shen Yuan was tolerating him right now. Maybe he even felt some affection for this disciple, Luo Binghe dared to hope. No, he definitely must feel some affection for Binghe. He felt audacious in thinking that but-- seeing his actions this past day-- that must be true. His Shizun must love Binghe somewhere in his heart. He always had, it seemed.

But still…

They neared the edge of the town, the lanterns dimming the farther they got from the thrum of excitement and the pulse of the nightlife.

Still, in the end, at that abyss-- no matter how Shen Yuan apologized for it and assured Binghe that it wasn’t his fault Shen Yuan had pushed him-- he had heard and understood Shen Yuan’s explanation loud and clear. That day, Shen Yuan had chosen himself and Cang Qiong over his disciple.

And how could Binghe blame him? Now, understanding everything that had been at stake that day, how could he blame his Shizun for choosing his own life and livelihood over a single boy’s?

It was okay. Binghe was used to people choosing the better option rather than him. He truly couldn’t fault Shen Yuan for what he did, couldn't realistically and reasonably expect Shen Yuan to throw everything away for someone like him. He was always the second option, always the first of the pack to be kicked from foster homes, always the last to be chosen for a new family outside of the state system. That was just how things went.

He wanted this night to be remembered fondly, for the bright lights and loud music and Shizun’s soft smiles to be burned into his mind’s eye forever.

Feeling that he had begun to overstay his welcome, Binghe reluctantly backed away from Shen Yuan, letting go of the hand that had held him tightly since the moment the exited the cave where Binghe had died. Shen Yuan looked at him confusedly.

“I… ah… This disciple thanks Shizun for his aid today." He stepped back, smiling brightly at Shen Yuan despite the way his voice threatened to choke him. Get this over with. Like ripping off a band-aid. "This disciple meant to ask Shizun to accompany him further but realized it’s unfair to ask Shizun to make a decision between these two realms. Binghe understands that Shizun’s loyalties lie with Cang Qiong. Wishing Shizun the best as we part ways.” He had gotten the closure he agreed upon with Sha Hualing. Shizun might be willing to indulge this disciple, but for how long?

The anxiety he had pushed down earlier came back with a vengeance. He had to leave before he messed things up again. But he didn’t want to leave, things were going so well with Shizun, Shizun was smiling at him and being beautiful because he was alive and happy and… and that’s why Luo Binghe had to leave.

He didn’t want to mess things up again. Best to leave on good terms.

Shen Yuan looked at him incredulously. Binghe lowered his head, saluting Shen Yuan one last time before he left.

A fan thumped against his head, the little cat charm on its end swinging and striking him in the forehead, making him wince. He didn’t dare look up, staying in his bowed position. Shen Yuan reached for the back of his collar and wrenched him up, looking up at him angrily.

“Did Binghe ask this master if that’s what he wanted?” He thumped Binghe again, this time on the side of his arm. Binghe looked away, ashamed. He didn’t have to ask, it was clear that Shizun--

“How am I supposed to be free if you keep making the decisions for this master? Do you think you know what’s best for me?” He scolded. Binghe didn’t react for a while, so Shen Yuan took the lead at that moment. Tightly gripping Binghe’s hand in his own, he turned to the dumbstruck man.

“We’re leaving,” he announced.

“Leaving?” Binghe echoed quietly.

Shen Yuan went to thump him with his fan again, then shook his head and placed it back into his sleeve. “This time, no matter where you go, this master will accompany you.”

Like leading a child, Shen Qingqiu walked away with Binghe stumbling behind him, loosely holding his hand. He didn’t know what had happened, but at some point Binghe clinging to Shen Yuan had changed to Shen Yuan clinging to Binghe. 

He could feel their entwined fingers gradually tightening, gripping more firmly. Luo Binghe held his hand as if it were the last thing keeping him from floating away, the thread which held him to this world. Luo Binghe lifted his head slowly, and the entire river of stars filling the skies glimmered and flickered, reflecting in his obsidian eyes. 

Shen Yuan huffed an indignant breath but smiled, flipping his fan open and covering half of his face as his almond eyes crinkled at the corners.

After experiencing countless hardships and suffering through trials and tribulations in this world and the last, Luo Binghe had finally met someone who would stay by his side. Shen Yuan tugged him closer, dragging him away from the loud fireworks and celebrations overhead. For Binghe, the world had narrowed from the festival to just him and Shen Yuan.

As for the transformations of this unique, spectacular novel: It’s true that the Great God Icicle Shooting Towards the sky had no regrets in how he wrote this novel, and nor could Luo Binghe say now that he disliked how the novel now ended. If Icicle wouldn’t pay the characters their dues and fill plot holes, then this filial disciple would do it himself. In the history of novels, where would you find a reader and die-hard fan like him, who took the lead and dedicated his own life to a single side character? Where else would you find a fan like Luo Mei, who not only collected all the merch of his favorite character but eventually got to stand at his side as the one Shen Yuan loved?

The second he flipped open Proud Immortal Master’s Way, the story officially began; the moment he closed Proud Immortal Master’s Way, the story still remained unfinished.

Or, in other words, the story that circulated in Luo Mei’s past world had already ended. But in this world, the story of Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan has only just begun.

--Finish--

(... Well, except for the epilogue. Almost Finish.)

Chapter Text

For half a second, Tianlang-Jun was almost sure his son had killed him.

He was surrounded by a cold, colorless void that sucked any semblance of safety from him, still reeling from the flurry of realizations that had punched him in the stomach not moments ago.

And then he was on dry, flat land and he was stumbling onto a thick, rich rug surrounded by chatter that began to fade when he fell to his knees, head down to the ground, his arms trembling as he tried to push himself back upward.

“Lord Luo?” A musical voice chimed from his left. He felt a warm hand rest on the small of his back, another touching his shoulder and trying to pull him back upward.

“Lord Luo? Are you okay?”

He finally brought his head up and looked around.

There were a lot of people in that room. The woman currently supporting him looked to be a swan maiden, snowy white downy feathers poking out from her arms and her eyes rimmed in deep black. She was surprised when she saw his face, immediately dropping her arms from him and backing up into the crowd, eyes narrowed with suspicion. Golden lights shone from above, illuminating the dozens of demons from all different breeds wandering around in splendid attire. There was a growing circle around him.

A huli jing from his right spoke up-- one he barely recognized, but recognized nonetheless as the king of the northeastern tribe. His ears pricked up, heavy with the golden jewelry that practically dripped off of them. It seemed the huli jing recognized him as well.

“Tianlang-Jun?” He asked, taking a small step forward despite the danger he so obviously recognized.

“Tianlang-Jun?” The name rippled across the silence that had taken over the room, each demon looking at each other with bright curiosity flashing in their eyes.

“Tianlang-Jun is here?” 

“He’s alive?”

“No way. The cultivators killed him decades ago, didn’t you hear?”

“He does look like Tianlang-Jun, doesn’t he? And he’s a heavenly demon too!”

“I’m telling you, you’re wrong.”

“Oh, but look how much he looks like Lord Luo! I’m already swooning, catch me!”

“I told you they’re related! I told you!”

The chatter swelled into a cacophony and Tianlang-Jun cringed under it all, for the first time wishing for the silence of his cave. This was too much, too quickly. He normally thrived on attention, but all he wanted to do right now was find a dark corner to curl up into and be left alone with his thoughts. He curled in on himself, loose black hair swaying to cover his face from the curious crowd.

“La! He’s injured! Darling, quick, go get the palace medics! No, if he’s Lord Luo’s father he must have been sent here for a reason! And you, go get the fainting couch!” A thick cape covered him, deft hands clasping it around him and surrounding him in warmth. He hadn’t even realized he was shivering from the cold-- from all the energy that Xin Mo had sucked out of him.

“Respect, Lord Luo’s father. This courtier must humbly ask you forgive her for her presumptuousness, but--” The world disappeared from under him, leaving him for a second time unable to feel the earth beneath his feet. He was swept up into a princess carry that would be incredibly embarrassing for a more shameless man than himself. He was then promptly dropped on a velvet daybed that had not been there moments ago.

Curious faces peeked at him from around the couch now, held at a five foot bubble around him a la insistence of the fox courtier who had swept him off the ground and currently sat protectively at the foot of the couch.

Tianlang-Jun covered his face with the cape, wanting to simply disappear. Ah, to have his trusty Zhuzhi-lang with him to scare all the demons around him into silence. How he missed his nephew already.

Well, if his fate was to be surrounded by beautiful demons with no means of escape, so be it. No use in showing weakness to a bunch of demons immediately after his return from the dead-- he may not have been in contact with the demon realm for a few decades, but he hadn’t forgotten the way they fed on the helpless and frail. 

He untucked his head and cracked a weak smile at them all, showing the barest flicker of what was once the most powerful demon in the realms. To his left, someone gasped and dropped in a dead faint.

“So, ah-- who might you all be, exactly?”

The crowd answered in unison, as if their entire identity was one and the same. “The eastern wing of the palace, Lord Luo Binghe’s future harem!”

…

Wow. Wow. Everyone in this room? Everyone ?

Well, at least he knew that his son was apparently more well-acquainted with the demon realm than he had originally thought. And more importantly, judging by the beauty and number of the harem, a worthy successor to the heavenly demon line. 

Truly, he was proud to call Luo Binghe his son.

Nothing was more annoying to Luo Binghe at that moment than his self-proclaimed cousin, who hung miserably in a net and glared at him with haunting golden eyes. The snake was pouting.

“I’m not offering you any mercy.” Binghe said coldly, lounging with a leg kicked over a tree branch as he kept watch on the net twisting and dangling in the air. Zhuzhi-lang hissed at him.

“It’s my Shizun who had to leave to get Mobei-Jun, not yours.” 

No pity nor guilt could be seen in Zhuzhi-lang’s face. Binghe’s scowl deepened. To be left behind by the beautiful Shen Yuan was no trivial matter-- Zhuzhi-lang ought to have been attempting to kowtow and beg apology. And yet here Binghe was, getting absolutely no remorse from his apparent relative.

Bastard.

He kicked his leg out and nudged the net with his toe, pushing it into a back and forth sway out of both boredom and malice. The net bounced against his foot like a paddleball as he let off some steam. 

Blood relatives? Familial bonds? What are those? Can you eat them? Are they tasty?

Zhuzhi-lang blanched after the tenth swing, looking a little sick. Binghe sneered. “It’s only by Shizun’s mercy that this lord lets you live. You better remember that.”

“This Zhuzhi-lang recognizes that. He is in Elder Shen Yuan’s debt.” Zhuzhi-lang spoke softly, every word measured and with an accent far more elegant than anything Binghe could hope to achieve.

Binghe side-eyed Zhuzhi-lang, whose lamp-like eyes shone unnervingly in the moonlight. 

[Ding~ +100 Harem points for Shen_Yuan! Keep up the good work!]

Binghe’s mouth tightened, eyes flaring a murderous red. His next kick was more vicious. Zhuzhi-lang hissed a little in pain as he swung further away-- farther than he had before, Binghe crossed arms angrily and turning his head away from the offending relative, slouching against the tree and grumbled miserably under his breath. He failed to see or realize the effect of kicking Zhuzhi-lang’s net so harshly until both the golden net and its occupant came slamming back toward and into him, gravity taking its malicious course.

Shen Yuan and Mobei-Jun found Luo Binghe on the ground with his curly hair full of twigs, cursing upward at a battered but smug Zhuzhi-lang hanging above him.

“There. Welcome to house arrest at Casa de Binghe. ” Binghe said dryly, throwing the net filled with a certain Zhuzhi-lang into the room. Zhuzhi-lang landed with a thump, squirming as he tried to break free of the demonic binding cables. Shen Yuan lightly slapped him with his fan as if to remind Binghe to be a bit more careful with his cousin. Binghe murmured back a quiet, clearly insincere apology.

Tianlang-Jun froze, the towering stack of books in his arms wobbling dangerously. Around him, courtesans relaxed in the former lounge, now turned makeshift personal library for Tianlang-Jun. What had once been tables stacked to overflow with rich foods and splendid decor were now swarmed with novels-- some of which Binghe unfortunately recognized as the same types of trashy romances as the ones from Shen Yuan’s shelves. When Binghe walked in, the courtiers each snapped to attention, visibly trembling at his presence with restless energy. A few began to beckon him, singing their low siren songs in an attempt to lure him into their clutches.

In the months between the battle at Maigu Ridge and the present day, Binghe had dropped in once a fortnight to do paperwork and make sure his father hadn’t completely destroyed his castle. Surprisingly enough, Tianlang-Jun had become incredibly popular with the courtesans through some combination of his apparently charming personality and good looks. To be honest, Binghe didn’t understand it, but it definitely made the courtesans less rowdy.

“Binghe! You’ve returned!” Tianlang-Jun smiled brightly, no sign of the animosity he had shown mere months ago. He turned and dropped his books into a nearby courtier’s arms, uncaring at how they yelped and stumbled under the sudden weight. Tianlang-Jun picked his way over scattered pages and sprawling scrolls marked with ink and doodles, ignoring the demons who clung to his legs and begged him not to go. His sweeping black robes which had wiped out a good half of a treasury room billowed out behind him as he walked, painting what would have been an impressive scene in a more formal situation. Binghe sneered.

“Filial sons ought to visit their fathers more! You just left your old man alone in this castle, suffering and alone!” Tianlang-Jun struck a pose like a lonely maiden, slumping against a table forlornly. His pout and shining eyes really brought the entire picture together. Binghe ignored how Shen Yuan was laughing quietly beside him, fan fluttering to hide his face as Tianlang-Jun continued with his dramatics against an entirely cold Binghe.

“I’m not your son.”

Tianlang-Jun made a small sound of disagreement as he knelt before the black netting that covered Zhuzhi-lang, and he immediately stopped struggling, lying limply in his net in a convincing imitation of a rag doll. It took a mere pull of the right string for Tianlang-Jun to make the net fall completely open. 

He beamed and grabbed Zhuzhi-lang by the shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug. Zhuzhi-lang, less prone to facial expressions than his uncle, merely smiled slightly, but arguably returned the embrace with an even fiercer one. There were no words exchanged, but there was a general feeling of great relief from the both of them. Even if Tianlang-Jun hadn’t shown it, he had been deeply worried about his nephew’s wellbeing. 

Tianlang-Jun pushed himself back from the hug, holding Zhuzhi-lang back firmly and obviously checking him over for any obvious wounds. Any bruises and scratches had been treated by Shen Yuan’s gentle hand as Binghe chugged vinegar nearby, only soothed by the knowledge that Shen Yuan had beat up Zhuzhi-lang multiple times before. Nonetheless, Zhuzhi-Lang quietly preened under the affections.

Binghe harrumphed and viciously stomped on any fuzzy feelings he might have at that sight. Those two were bastards and he did not feel happy for them. Not at all.

“One more thing.” Binghe reached into his robes to draw out a creamy envelope that was cold to the touch despite the warmth of the room and a roughly scrawled note that simply said, ‘Welcome back.’ He tossed them both to Tianlang-Jun, who caught them easily in the air. As Tianlang-Jun stood he pulled Zhuzhi-lang up with him, letting Zhuzhi-lang stare curiously at the notes over his shoulder.

“Is that…?” Zhuzhi-lang began to ask, before being interrupted by a whoop of excitement from his uncle who tore the envelope open, eagerly pulling out a long letter-- multiple pages long, in fact. Courtiers eagerly pushed the couch behind him just in time for Tianlang-Jun to feign a faint, seemingly used to this behavior.

“Sha Hualing informed her father of your return. I’m unsure of how Mobei-Jun the elder received notice, but Mobei-Jun-- my Mobei-Jun, not yours-- received a letter from his father the other day.” Binghe lazily informed, but his words fell on deaf ears.

“I can’t believe it, they’re still alive? I thought they would have gotten themselves killed without me by now, but Mobei and A-Sha are still kicking! Ha!”

“The honorable senior Mobei-Jun, father of the younger Mobei-Jun you know, and the Venerable Lord Sha,” Zhuzhi-lang explained politely to a very confused Shen Yuan. Binghe glared at Zhuzhi-lang. Zhuzhi-lang glared back.

“Mobei, A-Sha, and I were were the three calamities of the demon realm! You know, back when I was your age--”

“Did I ask?” Binghe deadpanned. Tianlang-Jun waved his hand at him placatingly as if brushing aside Binghe’s commentary.

“--we three used to go around breaking hearts like there was no tomorrow! Sure, maybe it was usually us that had our feelings hurt, but still! You know, before Mobei-Jun got married and had that kid of his-- Little Icicle, I used to call him, because Mobei was the only Big Icicle around here if you know what I mean --”

Binghe turned to go. He’d done his job and removed two heavenly demons-- well, one and a half heavenly demons-- from the human realm and safely relocated them in indefinite house arrest. He was done here.

“Wait!” Tianlang-Jun called after him, voice suddenly losing all of its overdramatics and overwhelming enthusiasm. Binghe almost kept going, but he was stopped short by Shen Yuan’s firm hand on his shoulder. He looked back, mildly betrayed, but Shen Yuan looked at him meaningfully, inclining his head back toward Tianlang-Jun as if to say ‘give him a chance, okay?’

Binghe sighed but grinned ruefully at Shen Yuan before turning his attention one last time to Tianlang-Jun, who had pushed himself off the fainting couch. Zhuzhi-lang sat cross-legged on the couch, being cooed over by at least five different courtesans as he steadily blushed a dark shade of green.

“You don’t have to go so soon, do you? Zhuzhi-lang’s been found, so you can afford to stick around for a bit now, right?” Tianlang-Jun tossed his hair over his shoulder and grinned a winning smile, the slight tinge of sadness in his voice the only thing that warned Binghe that he was being anything other than obnoxious.

Ah, fuck. Binghe recognized that look. The problem with having someone who looked so much like you was that, even unintentionally, you can see a lot of yourself reflected in the other person. Shen Yuan seemed to be of like mind, his icy exterior melting for the man who had the same puppy dog eyes as Binghe.

“Binghe...” Shen Yuan reprimanded. Binghe groaned.

“I suppose I should remain on the premises for another few days or so. I can arrange a few dinners.” 

“A ball?” The Huli Jing perked up from where he sat on the edge of the couch, braiding Zhuzhi-lang’s hair. 

“Oh, a party! We haven’t had a party in so long!” crowed a demon with pale blue eyes, her wings fluttering behind her. The breeze she stirred caused pages to flutter, much to the chagrin of rowdy courtesans who all seemed to be reading books from Tianlang-Jun’s collection.

“ Not a ball.” Binghe called, watching with no little satisfaction as they all immediately wilted.

“Actually, I like the idea of a ball. C’mon, throw a party for the homecoming of family, why don’t you?” Tianlang-Jun beamed. Binghe sighed, massaging his temples and already regretting the decision.

Shen Yuan stared in wide-eyed fascination at the servants and courtiers who alternately rushed or gracefully swept through the arching hallways, brightly painted with murals that extended down their entire length. Most were courtesy of the artists and architects Binghe had hired, but many were also down by bored courtesans who wanted to put their four arts to good work.

Evident by the brushes left in ink wells by a young man-- a bushy-tailed courtesan-- who lay sprawled on another courtesans lap, his face smeared with ink. The rabbit courtesan he lounged on tilted her head with a smile toward Binghe, gesturing silently at the… ferret? demon-- to say that she would bow to him if she could currently move.

Binghe tilted his head in assent and swept aside them, moving onward. Shen Yuan paused and peered closely at the sketch on the wall-- a light drawing done by charcoal that outlined two figures walking side-by-side. The characters for “The Resentment of Chunshan” sat proudly above the wall, already inked in elegant calligraphy.

He looked at it curiously, then down at the courtesans. The rabbit demon gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up and a wink.

“Shizun?”

“Binghe, we’ve talked about this. It’s not Shizun anymore.” He turned his attention to the young lord ahead, leaving with a last glance at the demons happily curled up against the wall.

“Shizun will always be Shizun to this disciple! Furthermore, calling Shizun Shen Yuan feels too informal.” Binghe pouted.

Shen Yuan glided silently along the wooden floor until he stood at Binghe’s side, pulling out his fan and flicking it in front of his face.

“Binghe didn’t have a problem with it at Cang Qiong a few months ago.”

“Shizun!” Binghe whimpered. Shen Yuan couldn’t stand those big puppy dog eyes and sighed, the upward quirk of his lips giving away his good humor at the situation. Ah, he adored teasing Binghe like this.

“If it truly makes you uncomfortable, Binghe, I won’t force--”

“Shen er-Gege?” Binghe wondered aloud.

Shen Yuan froze. His cheeks dusted red.

Binghe’s attention was drawn by the fan that was currently fanning Shen Yuan so hard that it created a small gust of wind. His lips twitched toward a grin, but he forced himself to school his features into one of innocence.

“Shen er-Gege, are you okay? This disciple simply thought that, as you are the elder, he ought to pay you proper respects.” He asked sweetly. Shen Yuan made a strangled sound in his throat, then grasped Binghe’s sleeve tightly. His fan settled tight against his face, blocking everything but his eyes, which were currently and very adamantly not looking at Binghe.

“Shizun is fine, Binghe. Continue using Shizun.” He spoke into his fan, muffling his words slightly.

“Are you sure, Shen er--”

A shuttered fan quickly went against his lips, revealing Shen Yuan’s bright red face in all its glory. His cheeks were deeply flushed.

“This master is absolutely sure, Binghe. Shizun is fine. Shizun is absolutely fine, please disregard my past words.”

Binghe had to bit his tongue to keep from laughing and destroying what was left of Shen Yuan’s very thin face. “Yes, Shizun. Of course, Shizun.”

They strode in comfortable silence past the east wing, turning down a path that Binghe knew like the back of his hand. The end led to a sliding door, backlit by the outside. From just beyond the doors, you could hear birdsong.

Here, Binghe hesitated, his good mood draining out of him. Ah.

He knew that he had to talk to Shen Yuan about this. Indeed, beyond tossing Zhuzhi-lang into his castle to babysit his uncle, Binghe and Shen Yuan had come here for another reason.

But still. Any reminder of the five months without Shizun was still a raw, aching wound for Binghe. Even as Shen Yuan fell in step beside him, casually bumping shoulders with him as he walked, Binghe couldn’t shake off that growing feeling of despair.

Habit demanded that Binghe make a fresh bowl of congee for Shizun just in case the body inside the courtyard suddenly woke up. Binghe ignored it.

When Binghe opened the door to the courtyard, Shen Yuan stopped short. Binghe had told him about this area, but he truly hadn’t expected this .

A perfect recreation of a Qing Jing peak that once was, the ground dusted with autumn leaves as bamboo stalks arced high over their heads. The glass ceiling that stood in a dome over the room could barely be seen underneath the foliage, allowing diluted sunlight to stream in naturally, as if it were early morning.

A heavily trodden pathway guided the two of them to the cottage. With every stride that drew them closer to the house, Binghe edged a little farther from Shen Yuan, walking a little faster.

Each time Binghe made a movement to avoid Shen Yuan, Shen Yuan aggressively counterracted it, either by matching Binghe’s pace or pulling him back to his side. He was determined to keep Binghe on a short leash up until they had whatever conversation Binghe needed to have-- it was a habit Shen Yuan was quickly beginning to learn, the idea that he needed to cajole Binghe into talking about his feelings in order to avoid further miscommunication.

Talking about things was a difficult hurdle Shen Yuan increasingly found himself trying to leap, but he was slowly getting a knack for this strange, alien thing called conversation and healthy communication.

He was trying to instill that same habit into Binghe, but it seemed it was a little harder for his genius disciple to pick up. Well, even polymaths had their weak subjects. For Binghe it seemed to be music, relationships of every kind, and alchemy. Shen Yuan could work with that.

On the pathway to the cottage, they passed broken summoning seals and scraps of burnt talismans, scattered between the bushes filled with blooming flowers and the animals which scampered around them. Shen Yuan gave them a lingering glance, but decided not to say anything. Yet.

Nor did he comment on how closely the bamboo cottage resembled his own, and from the way Binghe got that distant look in his eye, that was probably for the best. Each board was painstakingly hewn, the placement of the decorations was precise and exact. A work of love, some would say, but to Shen Yuan it looked like a work of determined desperation. 

He slipped a hand into Binghe’s limp, clammy one, squeezing it firmly with what he thought was a reassuring smile. Binghe smiled back.

It didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Binghe opened the door to Shen Yuan’s bedroom with a solemnity unusual to his Shizun-- it seemed that Binghe and Shen Yuan always elicited deep emotions from each other, so for Binghe to be so calm, his face frozen in a mask that allowed no emotion to seep out, was uncanny.

When Shen Yuan walked in, he knew immediately why.

On the bed lay his former body, arms at his side, face pale and unmoving. Binghe looked as if he had seen a ghost, his grasp on Shen Yuan’s hand tightening  with every moment as he looked carefully between him and the body, looking for something that Shen Yuan was unsure of. Comfort? Reassurance? For what? Shen Yuan-- the living and breathing Shen Yuan-- was right by his side.

It was silent for a long, drawn out minute. Luo Binghe swept up to the body, kneeling gracefully as he took the white hand in his own and, with a backward glance at Shen Yuan, began to cycle spiritual energy through the body. The liver spots faded, the rigor mortis rescinding from the muscle and leaving the body looking asleep rather than an uncanny wax figurine.

Shen Yuan still didn’t speak, looming over his former body with some unspecified feeling rising up in him. It was a mix between longing and sorrow, though there was no regret in the mix. He wished that the five months of death had never occurred, that he and Luo Binghe could have taken the time to talk things out earlier, before everyone had their hearts broken. But he couldn’t find it within himself to regret dying for Binghe’s sake, to regret that burning moment of fiery pain as he destroyed his own spiritual veins to save his disciple.

Shen Yuan settled beside Binghe, leaning slightly so that their arms pressed against each other and Shen Yuan’s head to rest against Binghe’s shoulder.

“This master would do it again, you know.” Shen Yuan said softly, his eyes tracing a pale scar on his former body’s forearm. “Binghe deserves to live, especially after all this master has done to you.”

Binghe shook his head vehemently, a twist in his lips that spoke of displeasure. “Shizun, don’t say that. This disciple doesn’t think he could live if you left again.”

“Don’t worry, Binghe. I don’t plan to. This master will accompany you to the end of the world, if that’s what it takes.”

“...Furthermore, this disciple has hurt you far beyond forgiveness.” Binghe murmured those last words quietly, almost too low to be heard were it not for how closely Shen Yuan sat to him.

“And this Shizun hasn’t? Binghe, we’ve both done things we regret--”

“But I hurt you! That day, at the city and when I saw you at the hotel that night, I hurt you! I forced you to drink blood, I tried to ruin your reputation, I trapped you in a dungeon--”

“And I pushed you into an abyss. I kept running away from you. I didn’t trust you. I let my fears blind me. Binghe, we’ve both made mistakes. You’ve forgiven me and I’ve long since forgiven you-- isn’t it time you forgive yourself, Binghe?”

“... Does Shizun forgive himself?” Luo Binghe’s question wasn’t menacing or bitter, simply genuine and said carefully, trying to convey nothing more than curiosity.

“... I don’t think I…” He sighed deeply, looking away from Binghe as he lowered his gaze to the ground. “This master is working on it. Binghe should too.”

Their world resumed to a silence, less suffocating and more gentle. In one of Luo Binghe’s hands was the loose fingers of a dead man. In his other hand was entwined that of a man whose warm breath fluttered across his skin, sending goosebumps running down his neck. Shen Yuan shifted gently, so that he could card a hand through Binghe’s hair as the man worked.

“Does Shizun ever miss this body?” 

“... Mm. Sometimes. It was far more elegant than the one I have now-- more suited for the image of an immortal. I’ll admit that the cultivation of this plant body is… not bad, and at least the hair needs less maintenance than before--” Shen Yuan smiled ruefully at that, tousling his short hair with a mix of amusement and barely suppressed anger at it, “but I do miss it. I know that people often got us mixed up, but I truly don’t mind looking like Jiu-Ge… or perhaps Jiu-Ge looks like me, I’m not quite sure. Twins, you know?”

Binghe hummed thoughtfully at that last part. “Then why do you call Shifu Gege?”

“Habit. When we were young, we had never met other twins. We thought there always had to be an elder and younger sibling, so Jiu-Ge decided he was older. He really just wanted to be called Gege, I think, so he came up with whatever excuse he could. It just kind of… stuck, after that.”  

On Binghe’s face flickered a hesitant smile. They had never explained that in the novel. By the time the story opened up, their roles had already been decided and no one questioned it. Ha, another little factoid that proved this world was alive far beyond whatever great god Icicle had written.

“Shizun?”

“Yes, Binghe?”

“Would you like this body back? I believe that there’s an artifact in the holy mausoleum that can summon a soul back to it…”

“No, not particularly.”

“Hm?”

“I’ve… gotten used to what I have now. It’s like a new beginning. As much as I miss the look of my old body, I quite like the strength of this one. After all, what’s the point of having cultivation if it’s not strong enough to protect those around me?”

“...Shizun…” Binghe’s eyes started tearing up, the glossy, sorrowful gaze from before being replaced by shining eyes and fat drops rolling down his cheeks. He respectfully placed the hand of Shen Yuan’s body back on the bed, then turned his entire, suffocating attention on Shen Yuan himself. “Shizun!” he sobbed, wrapping around his Shizun like a koala. Shen Yuan sighed affectionately, exasperated, rubbing circles on Binghe’s back.

“Yes, yes, Binghe. Shizun’s here.”

Su Xiyan swung her feet, letting her toes drag through the river and send ripples with every splash. She thrilled in the way her incorporeal form had gathered enough strength to easily disturb the mortal world. It had taken two decades of gathering power, of relearning patience when she once thought she knew it well. Two decades of sorrow rising and falling with the tides, growing stronger with each passing day. 

Behind her, a scholar strummed his guqin, calling out in Inquiry. She gave a measured answer to each question, quiet but firm.

Cloaked in ethereal white mourning clothes, not a splash of yellow across her figure, she had been waiting for closure for a long time. Far before when she had died. Perhaps she had been waiting since the moment Lao Gongzhu threw her into this prison, young and scared and newly pregnant. Perhaps she had been waiting since then.

Or maybe it was the day she was forced to drink poison in a desperate plea to see Tianlang-Jun. Maybe that was the day that desire that kept her going past death was truly born. The boy that should have been born disappeared when she wasn’t able to fully hold back the brunt of the poison.

That day she had felt the soul of her child leave, replaced with another, slightly different one. The baby she had was still alive, but no longer her own. Her voice had broke when she wailed, mourning the loss of a child that was still alive but not truly so. She had lost her child that day-- physically, he was still alive, but he was strangely different.

Yet when she escaped the water prison and clawed to the banks of Luo River, she still swaddled the baby in her outer robes and let it float down the river in a basket abandoned by the reeds. The boy she gave birth to might not have been the soul that she had originally nurtured, but he was a sweet, innocent child nonetheless. She took one look at that ugly red face, scrunched up and squalling silently, and immediately fell in love.

She heard the baying of hounds behind her, snuffling as they caught her scent, but it was too late. Su Xiyan was beyond that bastard’s reach. She may not have been able to see her husband one last time, but their son was safe. Or, at least, their son and the boy who possessed it. 

Lying on the cold shoreline, her vision spotted by the white lillies that swayed in and out of her line of sight, she refused to spare her last thoughts on this earth for the despicable palace master or her pitying her own end. Instead, she ran through names. If she and Tianlang-Jun were to name their son, what would they have called him? Su Xiang? She quite liked the sound of that name. 

But maybe Tianlang-Jun would have argued back, declaring that they ought to call him Tian Xiao-Ping… No, that was an ugly name. Already she could hear him cackling as he said it. Or, god forbid, what if he wanted to name their son after his nephew? Oh, the horror. Two Zhuzhi-langs, a big one who glared at her with his hackles constantly raised and her own son, which would look at her with adoring eyes. Her voice broke from a weak laugh into a hacking cough, her cultivation sealed off by the poison absorbed into her body.

With blood-spattered lips she smiled alone, covered by a blanket of cool grass, and her last breath went to the sky that stretched above her, deep blue and freeing.

And she never went to sleep.

Her soul was restless, those days afterward. She followed closely behind Luo Binghe as he was picked up by that kind washerwoman who she immediately sent hundreds of prayers to the heavens for, anointing this nameless soul as a saint far before Su Xiyan had any power to. Endless blessings rain upon this kind woman! May food always fill her stomach, may her eyes always be clear, may the wind be kind against the walls of her hut! 

She loved that boy, with his curly hair and chubby cheeks that she wanted to squeeze and stuff with candies. Even her ever-dignified facade faltered before this tiny god who held her heart tight between small hands. With incorporeal hands she tried her best to raise him, as if she had never died.

It was only with the greatest of trepidation and fear that she left his side one night when he turned five, her curiosity and longing too strong to keep her away much longer. She wanted to see how Tianlang-Jun fared after her death. Was he okay? Did he mourn? With a peck on Luo Binghe’s cheek, too weak for him to even sense, she left his side. Only for a moment, she swore.

But she couldn’t find Tianlang-Jun anywhere. Couldn’t even sense him. Not in this world, nor in the demon realms, nor in the heavens above or hell below. She tried to shake the answer out of one of the weaker nine judges of the underworld, his lapel tight in her grasp as she demanded answers, but he silently shook his head and looked at her with quiet sadness. She begged for answers from the citizens of the ghost city, but no one knew anyone who fit the description of curly-haired and ridiculous and too mischevious for his own health.

Seven years later, though she didn’t realize it at the time-- all too late did she realize that the flow of time changes between the veil of living and dead-- she returned to Luo Binghe’s home and found nothing but an empty house and grave, painstakingly carved with what looked like nothing more than a sharp rock, the writing childishly done by a boy barely literate.

Three people missing. First her son’s soul, then her husband, then whatever remained of Luo Binghe.

It took her two years to sneak through Cang Qiong’s anti-spirit talismans, only let through by the skin of her teeth simply because she was not outwardly malevolent. Su Xiyan rushed in and up Qing Jing peak just in time to see Luo Binghe, shivering alone with fever in a woodshack, die. Just like that. Simple. She saw his spirit leave, winking out of existence with a puff of glowing blue cubes and a [Ding~] sound, as if it had disappeared into an unseen portal.

And then another soul popped up. Not there one moment, then appearing with a neon blue flash. It felt extremely familiar, though for the longest moment she could not place it-- and the, there it was. The memory. That was the original soul-- the one she had lost when she drank the poison and failed to counteract it quickly enough. Her son was back again, this time whole, though not entirely hale.

And faintly, across the thin fabrics between worlds, she could feel her other’s son’s-- for that’s what she thought of the soul which had possessed her son’s body for so long, just  another of her own-- shift and slide into a new body. It seemed he was safe as well.

Su Xiyan knew her Luo Binghe was in good hands when Shen Yuan smiled down at him during that carriage ride. So it was at that point, a few months after returning, that she had left.

Her son may be safe, but her husband was still missing.

Eight years later, she found him. Or would it be more accurate to say her son found him? Luo Binghe found Tianlang-Jun and spared him and gave Su Xiyan the final closure she needed to move on. She almost did. She whispered her final words to Tianlng-Jun with a peck on the cheek, tugging on a curl with a faint whisper of the breeze. She finally smushed Luo Binghe’s cheek while he slumped over his desk asleep, laughing at the way his nose wrinkled and he sleepily tried to bat away her specter. She even lingered over Shen Yuan as he frustratedly edited some manuscript, humbly asking him to take care of her son in her absence.

She almost left. Every moment a weak, grudgeless ghost like her stays in the mortal realm, the closer she gets to corruption and possible exorcism. She had gotten the closure she needed-- she was ready to move on.

Then the lingering notes of Inquiry played, calling her away. Someone was calling out to her. Someone beside that bastard in the palace, who played inquiry ceaselessly through the night. So she appeared. And now she sat on the side of the Luo River and listened to the song in her white mourning clothes.

At the edge of the Luo River bank sat the twin of the one Luo Binghe loved. Shen Qingqiu, she recalled. His eyes were closed, his brows furrowed in concentration, as he called out through his guqin. Any spirit could have responded to that call, but the base of Su Xiyan’s soul was still tethered to Luo River, so she was the first to hear the Inquiry.

“Su Xiyan?” The guqin sang.

“Yes.” She called back.

“Why are you still here?”

“Closure.”

“Have you found it?”

She tilted her head. Had she? She thought she had, but now that he asked... 

“Almost.” She answered.

“Who did this to you?”

“In the simplest of terms, a little bitch.”

The fingers on the guqin froze. The scholar’s brow unfurrowed, and she could see the way he struggled to stay solemn despite the way his shoulders shook with silent laughter.

“Care to elaborate?”

“Of course. Huan Hua. The filthy palace master. The little pedophilic bastard. I want to ram all his teeth down his throat and make him choke.”

“...Thank you. Care to say this to cultivators during trial?”

Su Xiyan grinned and this time placed her hands on Shen Qingqiu’s guqin, her fingers falling habitually over the strings as she sang back with loud, resonating notes. “I would fucking love to. I’ll burn him to the ground.”

Lao Gongzhu followed an unusually silent Xiao Gongzhu down the maze-like halls of Huan Hua palace. She had arrived with the solemn request that he meet with a few sect leaders in the entrance chambers. He agreed genially. Her mouth twitched into a tight frown.

She was wearing her pink gown-- the one picked out for her by Luo Binghe. No sign of her normal Huan Hua robes with the peony embroidered across the front. Odd-- usually she only wore that dress for special occasions.

He turned the corner and stopped short. There was a small gathering-- no, scratch that. There may have only been a few leaders there, they were some of the most powerful sect leaders in the world. All in one place. Not good.

Yue Qingyuan smiled quietly with unusual malice, multiple sister sect leaders standing behind him. At his side stood Shen Qingqiu, his hand resting eagerly upon Xiu Ya, fingers tight against it as if ready to draw it at the slightest notice.

Yue Qingyuan spoke respectfully as ever, the smile never leaving his face. “Huan Hua Palace Master Lao Gongzhu. You are under arrest for multiple charges of murder, attempted murder, blackmail, and many more allegations-- too many to name. You will be held in Cang Qiong prison until your trial.”

Shen Qingqiu sat at the center of the room, his fingers alight on the guqin as he played a constant song of Inquiry and received an immediate stream of response. It was a haunting melody that told an entirely horrific story, one that turned righteous cultivators faces white with fury. A man stood at the podium-- the leader of a sect only distantly affiliated with Huan Hua, never being on the good nor bad side of Lao Gongzhu. He was a rare find of a rather reserved sect and he stood as judge.

A young woman next to him translated Qingqiu’s inquiries and the answers given by Su Xiyan for the cultivators not well-versed in musical cultivation, her voice cold and dripping with distaste the farther they got into the trial.

Shen Yuan himself was seen sitting nearby Yue Qingyuan, fan just barely covering the unabashedly smug look on his face. Su Xiyan approved of that vicious, merciless glare-- if she couldn't gaze at the Palace Master with that look of heated vitriol, she was glad Shen Yuan could do it for her.

Tianlang-Jun sat disguised next to Binghe-- a ridiculous disguise, too, almost as bad as the ones he used to wear when they had first met-- and they both watched the trial from the back of the room. When Su Xiyan saw them approach the trial, Binghe seemingly coming out of hatred for Lao Gongzhu and Tianlang-Jun coming out of sheer curiosity-- she almost screamed in irritation. Really, the both of them come to the human world at the same time? Barely even bothering to cover their demonic seals? Were they truly trying to tempt fate all over again, sitting in a room densely filled with cultivators from all around the region? Ah, truly Binghe was the son of Tianlang-Jun, wasn't he? Too reckless to have that trait from herself.

But she had quickly forgotten her scoldings when the first chord sounded. She drifted in her white robes to Shen Qingqiu and called reply in front of dozens of cultivators, all paying rapt attention to the story she weaved through Qingqiu’s song.

A talented young cultivator groomed and preyed upon by her own teacher. A teacher who was so obsessed with this one girl that he killed any and all suitors who approached her. So much so that he would weave a tale of treachery about a demon she loved, one which led to a war between said demon and the cultivational realm, killing hundreds of promising young cultivators. The entrapment of one innocent demon and the strengthening of tensions between human and demon realms, the capture and imprisonment of said young cultivator, the poison she was forced to drink and the baby she was forced to abandon.

Not to mention the numerous accounts of bribery, blackmail, embezzlement of money from villages under their sect’s protection, the additional account of attempted murder of one Shen Yuan,  the endangerment of lives of young disciples not yet properly trained for the missions they were sent on, and the dozens of other counts of mysterious disappearances now linked to the old man who stood bound by black immortal binding cables.

To say that he had become the black sheep of the cultivational world would be an understatement.

To say that cultivators were ready to leap from their chairs and stain their pristine robes with blood would be far more accurate.

He was sentenced to death. Simple as that. Xiao Gongzhu, who stood testimony next to Gongyi Xiao, didn’t even bat an eyelid at the sentencing. She simply nodded her head, as if it were nothing less than what she expected.

Lao Gonzghu was dragged from the room, flailing and screaming curses at the cultivators in the stands-- specifically targeting Shen Qingqiu, many noticed. Which, in many people’s eyes, only elevated the scholar’s standing-- for one to be so hated by a villain, he must truly be an honorable man.

His last words as he left the room was that there was no way Su Xiyan had answered Shen Qingqiu’s call when she had refused to show herself before him for years when he called out to her. That whoever played was a fake, that his beautiful Su Xiyan wasn’t there. Then that Su Xiyan was a bitch, a slut, a whore who would rather bed a demon than stay loyal to her own kind, to her own master.

That truly only confirmed his guilt in the peoples' minds. That twisted outrage and the obsession that saturated his voice. Many turned away, faces green, sickened. Some spat at his feet, some at his face. One cultivator-- a prestigious Lan from a distant clan-- cast a silencing spell so that the former palace master’s words were silenced. There his eyes bulged, hands tearing at his throat as he tried to howl last insults at the spirit of his murdered disciple.

Luo Binghe had to physically restrain his father from leaping over the stands and attacking Lao Gongzhu himself. The look on Tianlang-Jun’s face could only be described as righteous anger in its purest form. Binghe’s vice grip on Tianlang-Jun’s shoulder tightened every time Tianlang-Jun tried to jerk out of his grasp, to the point where Binghe was beginning to forcefully drag his father from the room, angrily whispering to him the whole time while gesturing to the cultivators around him.

It hurt Su Xiyan’s heart, to see him like this. To see her handsome husband so distraught, to see him spending so much effort over revenge against a man who didn’t deserve even a modicum of his time. Life was too precious to waste on these vendettas-- Su Xiyan was glad she had waited until long into death to pursue her own vengeance.

She drifted close to Shen Qingqiu, kneeling beside him and leaning in front of his guqin. There were few ways she knew how to quiet the heart, but there had always been one thing that Tianlang-Jun never failed to request from her every time they met. He’d pull out his pipa and she her guqin, and they would come up with spontaneous melodies on the hillside, smiling together and enjoying the day with a carefree attitude.

From behind the father-son duo, a chord hung in the air. Her delicate fingers strummed across the guqin. Binghe and Tianlang-Jun both froze.

“I love you.” She sang through the chords. Binghe looked over at Shen Qingqiu with wide eyes, to which Shen Qingqiu looked at him incredulously and moved back from his guqin, hands held up as if to show he had no control over the guqin’s song.

“I love you."

“Be happy.” 

“Be safe.” 

“Live well.”

“I’m always with you.” 

Each note resonated through the room, causing many cultivators to stop and stare in wonder at the guqin that played itself, increasing in volume with every strum. Binghe leaned over as if to whisper translations for the song to Tianlang-Jun’s, but Tianlang-Jun waved him off, eyes looking past the guqin and at the place where Su Xiyan sat, posture impeccable. She stared right back.

“I love you.” She sang loudly, one last time to the both of them. Luo Binghe and Tianlang-Jun felt a soft breeze caress their skin as she dissipated into the air, the last notes of the guqin fading.

Su Xiyan had found closure.

The months after the trial were organized chaos for the sects as they adjusted to life without the looming influence of Lao Gongzhu. For many, it was a breath of fresh air when they had never realized they were being trapped in this constricting cage of Huan Hua. Xiao Gongzhu, though passed on the title of Huan Hua Palace Master, gave it away to Gongyi Xiao after the first few weeks and disappeared from the cultivation realm with final well wishes to her neighboring sects and a final act of added security to the dungeon her father was kept in. No one knew where she had disappeared to, and gossip grew in her absence-- but she was too far removed from the highly political world of the sects to ever hear them. Perhaps that was for the best for the young palace mistress.

It was in this chaotic time that Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan entered a town nearby the Huan Hua palace. A meeting was coming within a few weeks amongst sects, the first to take place after the imprisonment of Lao Gongzhu, and Shen Yuan had agreed to join despite his formal period of leave from his position of lord of Qing Jing Peak.

Luo Binghe walked alone down the dusty streets, having agreed to make reservations for an inn while Shen Yuan and Shang Qinghua gossipped like old ladies about the newest trashy romances that had come out. Something which, while Binghe absolutely adored Shizun and respected every one of his interests, was a discussion he did not want to partake in.

When Gongyi Xiao and Binghe’s eyes met, both their lips twisted into mirroring looks of disgust. Binghe raked his eyes over Gongyi Xiao’s new robes, taking in the new crown he wore and the more elaborate golden robes. To Binghe, he looked even more like a pompous asshole than he did the last time they had met. Gongyi Xiao did the same, rolling his eyes as the deep-cut v in Binghe's robes that showed off far more than Gongyi Xiao cared to see, his bright green Guanyin only bringing attention to his chest.

“Palace Master,” Binghe sneered, bowing with mocking politeness.

“Demon Lord,” Gongyi Xiao snarled back, eyes narrow with clear distaste.

Their hackles bristled, two wolves circling each other and looking for a weak spot to strike.

“So, stole the position from under Xiao Gongzhu’s feet?”

“She willingly gave it up to further her cultivation-- you’ll find she’s meditating in seclusion. How about you, huh? How many lords have you toppled, hypocrite?”

“I’ve told you before-- speak to me when you have half my experience.”

“Oh, so I suppose might makes right then, huh?”

“Name me any successful dynasty that founded itself on niceties. No, do it. I’ll wait.” Binghe tapped his foot and tossed his hair over his shoulder, folding his arms in an intimidating way that he knew made his muscles flex.

The moment of intimidation was ruined by a pale hand that grasped his shoulder, tugging him back. Binghe would have thought it was Shizun’s, were it not for the red painted nails and insufferable jingling that followed the every movement.

Gongyi Xiao, in turn, fell silent, looking at the two figures that loomed behind Binghe with not a small amount of trepidation.

“Ah ah, is the lord bullying humans? Again? Why didn’t you say something, we would have joined in!”

“Don’t speak for me, Sha Hualing. Luo Binghe, Gongyi Xiao-- you’re causing a scene. Stop.”

Gongyi Xiao’s face twisted between expressions-- some annoyance at Sha Hualing, some grudging respect for Mobei-Jun. “It’s good to see some demons with sense exist.”

“If you want to fight, do it with actions rather than words,” Mobei-Jun continued.

“...” Gongyi Xiao’s respect for demonkind rescinded once more.

“Ah, Binghe! There you are! Oh, and… hm, Mobei-Jun, Liu Qingge was looking for you earlier-- he said there were some weapons he wanted you to look at. As for you, Lady Sha, Liu Mingyan... also has some weapons she wants you to look at. They’re at the same store.” Shen Yuam strolled at an easy, measured pace, his fan lazily stirring the air.

To say Sha Hualing leapt to action would be no exaggeration-- the speed at which she pounced onto a roof, prowling in search of her beloved with bells ringing like a one-man festival, was a show of shamelessness which even Binghe admired. 

Mobei-Jun took it much more casually, leaning on Binghe’s shoulder as he spoke. Binghe was still stiff, wavering between showing off his weak puppy face to Shizun and begging for attention versus being tough and manly to Gongyi Xiao, just as he always was.

“Shang Qinghua?” Mobei-Jun said stiffly.

“... You’ll find him at the adult bookstore next to the weapons shop. He said for me to tell you he... missed you. He also said he needs to borrow some money.”

The speed at which Mobei-Jun went, too, was admirable. He slashed a portal into the middle of the town square, garnering attention when mere moments before he had criticized Binghe for being too loud, and stepped in with an unnecessary twirl of his cape, the show-off. Binghe rolled his eyes.

“Now then, Binghe, Gongyi Xiao, what is this all about?”

Any thought Binghe had remaining about being stone-cold and cool was immediately tossed from the window. Who gave a fuck what Gongyi Xiao thought about him when Shen Yuan was here?

Binghe obediently trotted to his side, patiently adapting Shen Yuan’s pace in a silent bid for welcoming head pats.

Unfortunately, Shen Yuan didn’t give him any. He instead gave Binghe an expecting look, as if he truly wanted to know what Binghe and Gongyi Xiao had been discussing.

“Elder Shen! It’s wonderful to see you healthy once more. It is my honor to inform you that I have taken over Xiao Gongzhu’s position as palace master and that I have personally made sure that Lao Gongzhu remains imprisoned in the water dungeon for his crimes against you… and against the general cultivation realm, of course!” Gongyi Xiao informed this to him easily, crowing like a rooster.

Luo Binghe truly didn’t like the sparkle in those eyes. He slung an easy hand around Shen Yuan’s waist and Shen Yuan adjusted himself to lean against Binghe as if this were a normal display of filial piety. Gongyi Xiao’s smile froze. Binghe’s lips curled into a cold grin. When Shen Yuan looked up at him, his face was harmless and adoring once more. He inclined his head. Shen Yuan patted him. Luo Binghe Victory: 53. Gongyi Xiao Victory: 0.

“That’s wonderful to hear, Gongyi Xiao-- or should this master call you Huan Hua palace master now?” Shen Yuan said lightly, his voice warm with congratulations and lilting a little with a teasing edge. 

“Elder Shen will always be my superior-- truly, continue to call this lowly one Gongyi Xiao, he could not think to match your status.”

“Mn, Gongyi Xiao is too humble. To achieve the status of sect leader is truly impressive. You are truly suited to the job, though. I look forward to seeing you at your first meeting of the sects within the next few months.” 

Luo Binghe’s smile fell back into a snarl again. Xiao Gongzhu looked at Shizun admiringly, the perfect image of a glowing golden boy, not even sparing a smug glance up at Binghe.

“Ah, and I’m sure Binghe will look forward to seeing you, too! Seeing as we sects are trying to create closer bonds between the demon and human realms, we’re welcoming demonic leaders to the next meeting to begin building bridges between us-- I'm sure you've heard. And as you and Binghe are close to the same age and got along so well at the Huan Hua palace, this master is certain you two will show both realms that friendship between demonic lord and human lord may exist!” 

Both Luo Binghe and Gongyi Xiao looked down at Shen Yuan’s excited, proud face with horror, then at each other with even more horror. Friends? These two?

“Binghe, as I was going to tell you, I’m off to tea with my brother. Why don’t you and Gongyi Xiao continue your chat, this master would hate to continue interrupting your reunion. Martial brothers, even those of different sects, ought to be close.”

“...Yes, Shizun. Of course, Shizun.” Binghe mumbled, unable and unwilling to shatter that proud, dense look on Shizun’s face as he remained ignorant to the palpable tension in the air.

“Thank you for your kind words, Elder Shen.” Gongyi Xiao bowed so that the look of raw, unadulterated despair was hidden.

Shen Yuan struggled to keep his face calm in the tea room. He didn’t want to ruin whatever delicate balance existed in the moment between the three of them.

He never expected to see the day when Qi-Ge would be allowed to sit next to Jiu-Ge once more, picking the choicest sweets from the platters and piling them high on Shen Qingqiu’s plate. Jiu-Ge acted as if this were completely normal, enough so to be easily ignored, but Shen Yuan didn’t miss the way his cheeks seemed a tinge pinker than usual.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Zhangmen-Shixiong. I’m happy to see you’re working things out with Jiu-Ge.” Shen Yuan said pleasantly. His tone was still cool, yet to regain the warmth of childhood, but it was still far more welcoming than Yue Qingyuan was used to. He sent a sunny smile to Shen Yuan, moving as if to stack some sweets onto Shen Yuan’s plate too.

“Ah, thank you, Shen-shidi. I’ve never had the chance to truly thank you for--” Qingyuan stopped himself when he noticed that the platter he was aiming for had moved. He looked down. A hand pulled the stack of cookies toward himself, shielding it from both Qingyuan and A-Yuan’s reach. Shen Qingqiu nonchalantly moved it away from them both and claimed the unreasonably large amount of sweets, and entire sampling platter Qingyuan had ordered, for himself.

“Mm? Is there a problem?” Shen Qingqiu purred. It was immediately obvious how Yue Qingyuan perked to attention, sending Shen Yuan a vaguely apologetic look before turning away from him entirely.

“No, of course not. We seem to be out of sweets. This shixiong will have to go and order more. Any requests?”

“...Those yellow ones looked pretty good.” Shen Yuan said pointedly, glaring as Shen Qingqiu picked one off the top and popped it into his mouth. Shen Qingqiu raised a brow at him, though the aloof effect was slightly ruined by the sheer number of flowery pastel desserts he had towering around him.

“Of course, Shen-shidi. I’ll be sure to get them for you. Anything for you, dearest?” This last question he pointed toward Shen Qingqiu, who made a face. 

“Not tht one, either?” Qingyuan asked.

“Definitely not. That one might be the worst I’ve heard yet.” 

“How about Baobei?”

“Reminds me too much of Taxian-Jun and his consort.”

“Of course. This shixiong will keep looking.” Yue Qingyuan turned and left the room, sliding the door shut quietly and muffling the sound of music that drifted through the tea room halls.

“...Dearest? Baobei?”

“Zhangmen-Shixiong seems to have an… aversion, to calling me Shen Qingqiu. And I’ve already told him that calling me Xiao-Jiu makes me uncomfortable. He’s working on another name.” Shen Qingqiu spoke as if Qingyuan had just called him a strange nickname, rather than pet names made for obviously lovesick couples. 

Were Shen Yuan a less kind sibling, he would have mercilessly roasted Shen Qingqiu for this. However, he was unerringly kind and ever gracious, so he decided to let that comment slip past him. For today. He'd just have to keep it in his arsenal, once Yue Qingyuan and Jiu-Ge's relationship was less fragile and new.

But that didn't mean he was going to entirely let his brother off.

“So,” Shen Yuan said, sitting primly at the table as he lightly fanned himself.

“So,” Shen Jiu repeated back, glaring at Shen Yuan.

“So… rumor has it that you and Zhangmen-Shixiong have been inseparable this last year.” Shen Yuan grinned as he said this, lowering his fan so that his brother could see the full extent of malicious joy. His tone lilted upward, teasing. 

Shen Jiu rolled his eyes and turned his head as if to watch the window, badly hiding the way his ears tinged red. “Rumor has it that you and the beast have been gallivanting across the world, wreaking havoc everywhere you go.” 

“And if those rumors are true? What of it?”

“Rumor also has it that you never said a word to me before you left.”

Shen Yuan stopped short, pinned down by his brother’s especially icy glare. 

“...I--”

“Ah-ah, Shen Yuan. Big brother is talking now.” Shen Jiu smiled that same grin he wore whenever he had a particularly good time verbally lambasting some poor soul until they broke down into tears. Shen Yuan’s fight or flight instinct was going haywire as Shen Jiu poured him a cup of tea and sat it down in front of him with a thud, the tea sloshing ominously in its cup.

“Imagine this. Imagine that I watch my brother commit suicide in front of me, but I don’t know why. Last I checked, you were supposed to die after being run through by a sword, but instead you go and self destruct in front of me and god only knows what that does to the golden core which, may I remind you, is vitally connected in many ways to the soul. Imagine I don’t see this brother for half a year as I place all my hope on this godforsaken idea you can come back to life using a plant body that is literally the equivalent of a fruit . And then imagine that I see my brother-- the brother whom I’ve cared for for most of my life-- come back to life only to run away with some flea-bitten mongrel of a rogue disciple--”

“His name is Luo Binghe--”

“Who no one tells me is actually innocent of forcing you to suicide up until you come back and yell that at me, as if I were somehow supposed to just know .” Shen Qingqiu gasped a heaving breath as he finished his torrent of words, his voice still low and seething.

Shen Yuan busied himself with his cup of tea, tracing the rim of it with his finger.

“... Sorry .” He mumbled.

Shen Qingqiu cupped his hand around his ear, leaning forward. “What? What was that? I know you’re all young and spry with the plant body of yours, but you’ve got to speak up for us poor, feeble immortals.”

Shen Yuan’s brow twitched downward. He took a deep breath. “I apologize, dearest brother.” He said again.

“Repeat that? Louder this time, and preferably in writing.”

“I fucking said I’m sorry, okay!”

“Mm. Nope. No, I distinctly remember a certain policy that I have and that I certainly hope you haven’t forgotten. No apologies, remember?” Shen Qingqiu said pleasantly.

Shen Yuan scowled but reached into his dimensional ring, pulling out a brush and paper. On it he vindictively wrote in messy scrawl, ‘I.O.U. one (1) debt.’ 

“It’s for not telling you stuff.” Shen Yuan said simply. “I don’t regret sacrificing myself for Binghe.”

“Expect my revenge to be swift and merciless.”

“I’d expect nothing less. Hit me with your best shot.”

Soft music drifted in, mingling between the thick, palpable tension between the twins. Yue Qingyuan stood awkwardly at the door, looking between the two of them with a slightly hopeless look.

“This shixiong brought cookies.” He said weakly.

Shen Yuan walked into the inn room he and Luo Binghe shared drained, his fan sluggishly stirring the hot air around him with every dragging step.

Luo Binghe was already inside, curled on one of the two beds with a book in his hand, scribbling notes onto a second journal between flipping pages. His outer robe was neatly folded and placed on a chair, but he had forgone the rest of his usual routine as his hair was still tied tightly back and the red liner he had around his eyes had yet to be washed off. Shen Yuan tutted quietly, shedding layers as he walked and leaving them casually tossed onto the desk. He pulled a brush from next to where his clothes piled, making sure it was the one with the wide-set teeth.

At the sound of soft steps approaching him, Binghe clapped his book shut and set it aside, moving as if to push himself off the bed and greet his Shizun. Shen Yuan stopped him with a mere touch to the shoulder, gently pushing him back down onto the bed until he simply sat upright.

“Even after all these years, Binghe still waits for this master to take care of him?” Shen Yuan cooed quietly. Binghe cocked his head at him, confused until he caught sight of the brush in Shen Yuan’s hand alongside the towel he had picked up, wetting it in the nearby hand-washing bowl.

“Shizun needn’t take care of this disciple like that, this Binghe can surely-- mmf--” His words were smothered by Shen Yuan, who covered his mouth and looked carefully at his face. His cheeks flushed red.

“Close your eyes, Binghe.” Shen Yuan started wiping away the makeup, taking the time to also admire how nice of an addition it was to his face. Binghe was beautiful with and without the liner, but Shen Yuan still definitely appreciated it, in the end. When he knew Binghe would stay still, he took his hand away from his mouth and continued to gently dab at the eyes until the only hint of red on his face was the blush. Shen Yuan may have also been blushing, but he tried not to make a big deal of it. They were taking things slow, for now.

Shen Yuan would be hard-pressed to admit that he enjoyed taking care of his Binghe, but there were fewer things better than carding his hands through the thick hair and watching the tension slowly drain from Binghe’s body. On extremely rare occasions Binghe would tense up and they’d have to back away and have a chat about why he had reacted like that, but for the most part is was vaguely reminiscent of a relationship that had began almost a decade ago. 

Binghe leaned back a little further with every brush, turning his head to rest his cheek against the hand that sometimes hovered nearby his face, to shy to actually caress it. Shen Yuan found that the sweet spot at the nape of his neck still existed, never failing to make him go boneless and rest against his chest. Not that Shen Yuan wanted that to happen, haha. It was just funny and sweet and he couldn’t resist doing it every time and-- ah, who was he kidding. He absolutely adored how vulnerable Luo Binghe let himself be in these moments.

“Did Shizun’s tea with Shifu go well?” Luo Binghe asked slowly, softly. He fiddled with the air in front of him, a sure sign he was looking at something on the invisible System screen that Shen Yuan only barely understood. Shen Yuan nodded and, realizing Binghe couldn’t see him, gave a tired sigh.

“This master… supposes so. I’m glad he agreed to meet in person this time.”

“Hm. This Binghe is happy to see you two getting along better these days. Anything interesting?” Binghe murmured. He whined a little when Shen Yuan made a motion to move away from him and reach for the scented oils they had on their bedside table, so Shen Yuan hummed a low affirmation back before going back to finger-combing his hair. 

“Zhangmen-Shixion and A-Jiu are much closer than the last time we left them. As much as I dislike your System’s methods for getting them together… I can’t exactly say I dislike the outcome.”

“Shizun is too kind. Don’t compliment the System-- it gives the thing funny ideas.” Here he tapped the air with the back of his fist, and Shen Yuan could hear a distinct thump from where he hit the invisible thing. Slight sparks fizzled in the air.

He laughed slightly. “Binghe is bullying the System again?”

“This filial disciple only gives punishment when deserved.”

Shen Yuan gathered Binghe’s hair in three thick bundles, struggling to braid it before night but unwilling to wake up in the morning with a mouthful of hair. Binghe obediently reached back and held onto the strands that his Shizun offered to him. “Well, don’t be too harsh on it, Binghe. It brought you into this world, after all, didn’t it? That alone deserves a few praises to its name.” He tied off the tip of the braid with a green ribbon and moved back to start his own preparations for bed. Binghe moaned mournfully and fell back across the bed, clinging to Shen Yuan’s waist so that he couldn’t leave his side.

Shen Yuan clicked his tongue at the action, rolling his eyes, but that only made Binghe moan even more pitifully, looking upward with shining eyes and the white lotus tears that always brought Shen Yuan to his knees. With a final sigh, out of defeat this time rather than faux annoyance, he abandoned himself to giving Binghe his daily quota of skinship and cuddle time before Shen Yuan could move on to his normal night routine.

“Ah, Binghe, such a sticky man.” He laughed. rearranging himself so that he and Binghe curled around each other. Binghe shuffled so that his head rested against Shen Yuan’s shoulder, the crisp scent of eternal mountain breezes and jasmine surrounding him.

“But Shizun likes it,” he said plaintively, the words muffled in the robes. Shen Yuan laughed, eyes sparkling with mirth. One delicate hand reached up and tilted Binghe’s head away from his shoulder so that Shen Yuan could see his scarlet eyes and the flame-like demon mark on his forehead. Ignoring the little voices that whispered of shamelessness, growing quiter by the day, he lowered his head and brushed his lips right against the scarlet demon mark, watching with quiet delight as Binghe’s face slowly turned red. Binghe burried his face against Shen Yuan’s shoulder again, this time out of rare embarrassment rather than stickiness.

“Binghe is right. This Shizun does like you.” 

Extra Extra Bit: Greetings and Welcome to the Twenty-First Century

Luo Binghe blinked blearily at the ceiling.

It felt like someone had just run him over with a carriage. 

And judging by the way bandages were wrapped tightly around his torso, bruises peeking out between them (Shoddily applied. Which of his wives had done this? It was a really bad job), maybe he had been.

The light in the area was weird. An off blue, too bright to be anything natural.

“You’re awake,” said someone in a deep, cool voice.

Binghe immediately closed his eyes again and pretended he wasn’t.

“Don’t pull that with me. You’re smarter than that, Luo Mei. You can’t just run from your debt.”

…

“I think you have the wrong person.” Binghe said slowly, not yet opening his eyes. 

“Then who, exactly, do you think you are.” Not a question, a statement. Funny. It reminded Binghe of someone he knew, though he couldn’t quite pinpoint it. Liu Mingyan? Qiu Haitang? No, not his wives...

He turned on his side, nuzzling his face into the couch cushions and willing his demon blood to go ahead and start the healing process. Any moment now. Just… give it a second. In the meantime, why not knock the guy down a few pegs? “Luo Binghe, sovereign of the combined demon and human realms. Feel free to tremble. I’ll wait.” He said cockily, voice slightly muffled by the pillows.

No, in case you were wondering. No, Binghe was not worried about being attacked. No one had ever brought him down-- nothing had ever defeated him, even at his lowest point. He was practically a living god, with an iron fist over his realms and subjects. Who could think to defeat a deity like himself? Binghe was simply waiting for the day his heavenly trials would approach, where he would undergo hundreds of lightning strikes and thousands of monsters to ascend to the heavens and achieve true immortality.

Hell, thousands already worshipped him. The heavens might as well go ahead and open their pearly gates, skipping the whole challenge part of the process.

That was his exact train of thought before someone grabbed him by the shoulders and roughly pushed him off the couch.

“...Ow.” Binghe said, feeling distinctly betrayed. By who or what, he didn’t know. But he still felt that sting of betrayal stabbing him in the back.

“ You’re Luo Binghe.” Said that intensely annoying man. This time Binghe opened his eyes and looked at the guy looming over him.

Hm. Weird clothes. Tightly fitting black pants, what looked like a… black suit coat? And a dark blue collared shirt? Binghe had seen those styles before, imported from the distant west. They looked distinctly uncomfortable, with all those buttons and without extra room to breathe.

Those ice blue eyes were what truly caught his attention, though. Angry. Suffocatingly serious and very, very angry.

Huh. Guess he didn’t remind Binghe of one of his wives, then. In fact, now that Binghe thought about it…

“Mobei-Jun? What the hell are you doing here?” He smiled, reaching up a hand and waiting for his loyal second-in-command to pull him up.

Mobei-Jun didn’t help him. He just stared. Then he lifted his foot, as if getting ready to curb-stomp somebody. Binghe’s eyes widened and he rolled away, springing to his feet despite the awful ache over this entire fucking body that just wouldn’t heal .

“Stop.” He commanded, eyes narrowing. Mobei-Jun hesitated for barely a split second before lunging, catching Binghe with an uppercut to the jaw. Binghe staggered, his knees hitting the back of a chair and forcing him to sit heavily.

“That’s for getting me killed.” Mobei-Jun said, snarling.

Binghe rubbed his jaw mournfully, looking up with the best pout he could make with a quickly swelling cheek. “...But you’re not dead.”

Sure, Mobei-Jun looked different. Short hair, a little taller, a little less impressively muscled-- though still built like a brick wall, what the fuck -- and, now that Binghe thought to look--

Distinctly human. No demon seal. No blue scales or frost. No pointy ears.

“I died when you decided to make Yingying angry and form a coup with the harem! I died when Liu Mingyan stabbed me in the throat while the rest of the harem held me down! Don’t tell me I didn’t die!” Mobei-Jun practically shouted, advancing closer with every sentence.

Binghe blinked. “Yingying did what? I don’t… I don’t remember--”

Faint visions of blood and fading darkness came to him. Of screams and roars and sobs.

Huh. Is that why he was so injured? A coup?

“Then how are you alive? And why are you like… that?” Binghe gestured lazily at Mobei-Jun’s entire frame. Mobei-Jun looked down, then up.

“I came back to life twenty-five years ago like this. Reincarnated in another world. You’re one to talk, though. Look at yourself.” He said flatly. Binghe frowned.

“Whaddya mean?”

And on Mobei-Jun’s face creeped a grin, the most malicious Binghe had ever seen from him.

“Oh, you really don’t know.” He said gleefully. Gleefully?

Mobei-Jun has emotions?

Binghe’s blood ran cold. Mobei-Jun reached into his pocket and pulled out a slim, shiny device, pressing a button on it. Then he turned it towards Binghe, and the little device reflected everything around it like a mirror.

Including that sweet, puppy dog looking face. Soft curling bangs, big brown eyes, soft lips that seemed to instinctively curl into a smile. Symmetrical, Binghe noted. Very nice. Except.

What the fuck had happened to Binghe.

Why was he so… average now? What happened to his face! His beautiful scarlet eyes, his sharp jawline, his perfect features! He was once the beauty who scourged the three realms, breaking hearts and destroying lives everywhere he went! And now look at him! He looked like some common, soft, baby faced plebeian! 

Mobei-Jun grinned wider at Binghe’s visible horror.

“Greetings, Luo Mei. You currently owe the Triad ¥150,000. Pay up.”

Luo Binghe-- no, Luo Mei now, what the fuck -- looked up at Mobei-Jun with nothing short of pure fear. Mobei-Jun tilted his head upward and glared at the former demon lord now turned culinary student, revealing sharp canines as his grin twisted into a snarl. From his pocket he drew a metal device that clicked ominously when he pulled back a trigger on the top. Mobei-Jun casually tucked a hand into his suit jacket pocket and placed the cold muzzle against Luo Mei’s forehead, holding himself casually as Mei stared cross-eyed at the metal placed lightly against where his demonic seal used to be.

“Welcome to twenty-first century China, bitch.”

[Binding complete. Role: Luo Mei, Culinary Student. Age: 22 . Weapon: Extraordinary cooking abilities . Starting B (Bank Account) Points: -3 .

Hello, dearest customer, and welcome to your new modern experience! We here at REDACTED Systems incorporated strive to give our loyal customers a second chance at a happy ending! 

Current Objective: Get out of the crippling debt left by your host body 

Optional Objective: Not dying due to a particularly vicious loan shark

Optional Optional Objective: Not dying in general

It’s very nice to meet you, Great Lord Luo Binghe! (o^ ^o)/ I’ve heard a lot about you! I’m actually a really big fan of your work! *Blushes* Oh, but I’m being rude right now. Let me introduce myself! 

I am your system administrator and guide, <<aDMIn_H3AB_2.0>>! But that’s a bit of a mouthful, isn’t it? ┌(;￣▽￣)┘Haha! I know, how about a nickname!

You can call me G̶̹͖̦͚̚ô̵̯̠̪̋̽͝d̷̦͓̻̜̤͑́͂̉̍]