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Chapter Text

“It really is Shizun,” Luo Binghe says, soft as the touch of new-fallen snow, and Shen Qingqiu is going to die. Not imminently—probably not imminently—but slowly. Painfully and in pieces. Luo Binghe’s hand is half-raised—still fine-boned as any maiden’s but broader now, long-fingered and capable. Luo Binghe’s hand is half-raised, and Shen Qingqiu is going to die and this is the hand that will—

“[Notice: In appreciation of your continued use of our services, System 2.0 is offering {Valued Customer} a complimentary Bonus Plotline! Do you accept?]”

Shen Qingqiu just manages not to flinch. Seriously, has the System always been this loud? Also, is now really the time?? He’s kind of busy reuniting with his long-lost protagonist-disciple—you know, the one who’s probably-definitely going to tear him limb from limb? He’s got a lot going on!

Binghe is gazing down at him, lips parted. His eyes are dark. Voracious. Shen Qingqiu has dreamed that colour a hundred times before—black as the place where the earth split, and swallowed his little disciple down and down and—

A dialogue box blinks into existence.

“[Please make your selection!]”

…um, excuse me, System, but there’s only one option!

“[Please make your selection!]”

Okay, but it’s not really a selection is it, when the only choices are “yes” or noth—

“[Please make your selection!]”

Shen Qingqiu stabs the X at the top of the window with a savage mental finger.

“[Selection invalid!]”

Are you malfunctioning?! So typical; first the mandatory operating system update, and now nothing works!

Luo Binghe is still staring. His gaze is fathoms deep and burning. Shen Qingqiu’s mouth is dry as ash.

Has he moved closer while Shen Qingqiu was distracted? He must have. The way he looms—

“What exactly is going on here?” Shen Qingqiu forces out.

An enigmatic smile lifts the corners of Luo Binghe’s lips—and promptly vanishes beneath a deluge of flashing dialogue boxes.

“[Please make your selection!] [Please make your selection!] [Please make your selection!]”

Is it possible to get a migraine from a sound that only exists inside your own head? Can immortal cultivators even get migraines?

“[Please make your—]”

Okay, okay! It’s not like he can wind up deader than he’s already going to be, right?

“[Thank you for your selection! Your complimentary plotline has been added to {user_storyworld} narrative profile. Operation “Two Arrows, One Vulture,” subtype “Brainless and Arbitrary Storytelling,” subtype “Do You Just Pick These Tropes Out of a Hat” initiating.]”

The sea of dialogue boxes vanishes, replaced by a small loading bar, which Shen Qingqiu promptly minimises. Hopefully he hasn’t missed anything too important.

Luo Binghe is before him, smiling his gentle smile, flawless and deadly and far, far too close, and— looks like all of Huan Hua Palace hates him. Yep. Probably should’ve seen that one coming.

Shen Qingqiu makes it through the rest of the confrontation without suffering any serious losses, unless you count whatever percentage of his bodyweight he’s managed to sweat away under cover of his robes. His legs are unsteady as he descends the stairs, Gongyi Xiao trailing him like a slim and shamefaced shadow. He’s just reached the bottom step when—

“[Loading complete!]” the System blares, a full progress bar flashing luridly before his eyes.

Shen Qingqiu trips over the hem of his own robes.

It happens in sequence, unfolding with the kind of meticulous, slapstick deliberation more often found in a second-rate anime. Gongyi Xiao reaches out to steady him. Shen Qingqiu, nerves wound past the breaking point, tries to dodge, lurching sideways on already-stumbling feet. His shoulder hits the wall with bruising force. Overhead, something judders and scrapes.

“Senior Shen!”

Shen Qingqiu pushes away from the wall… just in time to see the shelf above him collapse, its contents—two sealed clay plots—plunging earthwards.

System, couldn’t you have spared me a little face? Shen Qingqiu thinks despairingly, positioning himself in front of Gongyi Xiao, one arm stretched wide, the other pulling out his fan in the vain hope of redirecting the forthcoming blast. Surely there had to be a way to trigger the subplot without making him stagger around like a Zui Xian disciple!

Three things happen in very quick succession: (1) the one-two smash of the pots hitting the floor, followed by (2) a sudden jerk to the back of his robes, propelling him sideways, away from the blast radius just as (3) the world explodes into yellow and white and the unmistakable scent of lilies in bloom.

Shen Qingqiu blinks. Coughs, then waves his fan a few times to disperse that overpowering fragrance. It’s surprisingly persistent, given how little of the powder seems to have ended up contaminating Shen Qingqiu’s person. This is itself surprising, but easily explained by the fact that Shen Qingqiu is now on the opposite end of the room from where the pots shattered.

He looks to his right, and beholds Gongyi Xiao, looking faintly discomfited. “Thanking shixiong for his intervention,” he says with stilted courtesy, looking over Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder.

Shen Qingqiu goes cold.

Slowly, he turns and— Gah! Too close! He tries to step back, only to be pulled up short.

Shen Qingqiu twists around further, incredulous, staring at the place where Luo Binghe is still gripping the back of his robes in one lovely, jade-like hand. The spots of the sower’s infection are livid against his skin. Shen Qingqiu shoves down an absurd impulse to touch them.

The space of a heartbeat passes, then Luo Binghe releases him, bowing.

“Apologies to Shizun for the disrespectful handling; it was due to this disciple’s incapacity.”

Shen Qingqiu steps back, discreetly twitching his robes into place, mind whirring. Luo Binghe rescued him? But why? Could it be that he was saving him for future torment—preserving the satisfaction of Shen Qingqiu’s undoing all for his own twisted pleasure?

“Luo-shixiong is too good!” someone sighs from the upper floor. “Throwing himself into harm’s way, and all to protect that horrible teacher of his!”

Ah, so there it is. Luo Binghe is playing the long game, of course. How much more weight will his word hold when it comes time to denounce his disreputable master if he has been seen by multiple witnesses to put himself in danger for that master’s sake? Not a soul will be able to accuse him of ulterior motives then!

“And without even so much as a thank you!” a second voice adds.

Shen Qingqiu coughs, embarrassed. “No need for— Ah, that is to say, I…” He trails off, gazing at a patch of wall slightly to the right of Luo Binghe’s shoulder.

“Then this disciple can only be grateful for Shizun’s understanding and forbearance.”

Shen Qingqiu flinches.

“This disciple will examine the broken jars, to make sure the substances contained are not harmful. With Shizun’s permission, of course,” Luo Binghe adds, eyes lowered, the picture of modesty and deference.

The lie of it makes Shen Qingqiu’s skin crawl. Although, of course, that may simply be a side-effect of the powder. It’s probably also the reason for the tightness in his throat, for the itchy heat behind his eyes.

“No need,” he says, having no intention of letting Luo Binghe gather more merits at his expense. “The fault is mine; I will make the examinations myself.”

Besides, he has a strong suspicion he knows what the powders are.

Shen Qingqiu starts a little at the sound of a second voice.

“If Senior Shen needs assistance of any kind, he may call on me,” Gongyi Xiao declares. Shen Qingqiu might have forgotten, just a little, that he was here.

What a good boy! Not that there’s anything he’d be able to do against the might and matchless cunning of the protagonist, but still! It’s sweet of him to offer.

As it turns out, the examination doesn’t require much more than Shen Qingqiu squinting down at some of the larger shards of broken pottery. That one definitely says “mirror” and there, the bottom half of what could easily be the character for “cloud”—the white powder must be ‘Mirror of Passing Clouds’ then, which means, as he suspected from the colour, the scent, and the general trend of the day, the other jar can only be powdered Yellow Moon Flower.

‘Mirror of Passing Clouds’ was a favourite among some of Binghe’s more treacherous wives—the ones who tried to manipulate him for information or political gain before being subdued and brought into line by the power of the protagonist’s massive, throbbing— Anyway. When consumed, it lowers the inhibitions and encourages the subject to speak their thoughts aloud—unless that subject is half Heavenly Demon and immune to such paltry coercions! Yellow Moon Flower on the other hand was mainly used in the negotiating of betrothals, since when mixed with water and placed under moonlight it glows at the touch of a virgin.

But in combination, the two substances catalyse to produce an entirely new effect: anyone who touches the affected party will be able to hear their thoughts, but only if the affected party is a virgin.

Shen Qingqiu remembers this plotline. Wife… 187, was it? or maybe 213? A cold and haughty beauty, seemingly impervious to Luo Binghe’s many charms… until, of course, following a series of highly improbable circumstances, it was revealed that this unplucked snow lotus had an imagination of unparalleled filth! All she thought about was papapa with the protagonist! The situation was resolved in the usual manner, and she quickly faded into obscurity.

What makes no sense is why the System would introduce this of all possible subplots! Between Shen Qingqiu, that notorious lecher, and Luo Binghe, who as a Heavenly Demon would have a natural immunity to such low-level poisons even if he weren’t the furthest thing possible from a virgin, who exactly is this powder meant to affect? Really, of all the brainless and arbitrary—

Shen Qingqiu cuts himself short, but too late.

“[System 2.0 endeavours to provide satisfaction!]” It really should not be possible for an automated voice to sound so smug. “[If {Valued Customer} has enjoyed our services, please consider leaving a five star ra—]”

Shen Qingqiu viciously exes out of the notification window.

“Senior Shen?”

The voice comes from behind him, youthful, filled with courteous deference, and of course! Shen Qingqiu clutches at the revelation like a lifeline: he assumed the Complimentary Plotline would be yet another complication piled on his own head, but who’s to say this plotline was meant for him at all? Isn’t part of the task the System assigned him to add depth to cannon fodder and their one-dimensional ilk? And what more quintessential cannon fodder could there be than Gongyi Xiao, whose only purpose was to be surpassed by the protagonist along every possible axis!

Look at him, a young man in the prime of his life, with his childhood sweetheart lost to Luo Binghe’s inescapable allure. But! Maybe it isn’t too late? Perhaps the Palace Mistress might, upon hearing proof of her ex-beau’s heartfelt and unwavering devotion, be moved to—

Well. It’s not like she’d really choose him over the protagonist—what person would!—but surely she could at least be moved to relieve him of his… unfortunate condition. And it would be more narratively satisfying, wouldn’t it, for Binghe to triumph over a worthy(ish) rival?

So that’s! Reassuring! Shen Qingqiu is still going to die of course, but! One less thing to worry about first.

He gathers the spilled powders into a pouch with a few careful flaps of his fan, then rises, turning a blandly inscrutable face towards his waiting audience.

“Fortunately it seems there is no need for concern; the substances within the jars possess some curious properties, but they’re hardly dangerous.”

“As if we’d take your word for it,” someone hisses. Yes, yes, enough commentary from the peanut gallery, thank you.

“What Shizun says, this disciple would not dare to contradict,” Luo Binghe says, dipping his head, and Shen Qingqiu suppresses a shudder.

“It is my determination that the substances under consideration are ‘Mirror of Passing Clouds’ and Yellow Moon Flower; others are of course welcome to verify my findings,” he says as mildly as he can manage. “I’m sure Luo Binghe knows better than I why such trifles can pose no threat to him.”

Something shifts in Luo Binghe’s face when Shen Qingqiu speaks his name, emotion swimming beneath like deep sea fish darting through still waters. The effect is beautiful, subtle, and, in a word: terrifying! Shen Qingqiu has no desire to see that particular beast break the surface; he’s seen Jaws, he doesn’t need to live it. One horror story at a time, thank you!

Summoning all the courage and dignity remaining to him, he bows towards Luo Binghe and his fan club, and, with a significant glance over his shoulder to Gongyi Xiao, turns his back and exits the building.

Fortunately Gongyi Xiao is a bright enough lad and seems to intuit the subject of Shen Qingqiu’s most pressing concerns; it takes very little prompting, once outside, for him to spill Luo Binghe’s entire history with Huan Hua Palace. It seems the entire timeline has been condensed: Luo Binghe has begun not only building himself a faction in the human realm, but also laying the groundwork for the blackening of his master’s reputation. It’s nothing Shen Qingqiu hasn’t been anticipating—Luo Binghe’s glorious resurgence, the hammer’s fall of his righteous vengeance. It’s just… He wasn’t— It isn’t how the story ought to go.

He thought he’d have more time.

He’ll just have to see if Shang Qinghua can find a way to hurry things along with the Sun-Moon Dew Mushrooms. Assuming he survives long enough to speak to Shang Qinghua, anyway.

But! The situation’s not entirely beyond hope! Gongyi Xiao at least doesn’t seem to believe the worst of the rumours, and with the Bai Zhan War God himself watching his back—

Anyway, speaking of Gongyi Xiao, Shen Qingqiu can repay his good faith right here and now.

“Is Young Master Gongyi familiar with the properties of the substances I mentioned?”

“Ah?” Gongyi Xiao, who has been gazing upon Shen Qingqiu with an expression of desperate sympathy, seems surprised by the question. “The ones from—? Only passingly, but I believe Master Shen said they weren’t dangerous?”

“Not dangerous,” Shen Qingqiu affirms, “but as I said, the properties are somewhat… curious.” He straightens, thoughtlessly falling into the posture he uses to lecture his disciples at Qing Jing Peak. “‘Mirror of Passing Clouds’ encourages the affected to reveal those fleeting impressions which float across the mind. With the addition of Yellow Moon Flower—” Shen Qingqiu finds himself warming to the topic despite himself—he’s always appreciated an attentive audience. “—it is not the effect which is changed but the mechanism by which it operates. Yellow Moon Flower is activated by touch, so if the two are combined…”

“A person reveals their thoughts when they are touched?”

Shen Qingqiu bestows upon him an approving nod. A clever child! Truly deserving of second place! “Correct! Or rather, their thoughts are revealed to the person touching them.”

Gongyi Xiao frowns. “I see. That is… concerning.”

“However—” How best to phrase it? It is, after all, something of a delicate subject. “Just as the Yellow Moon Flower only responds to those, ah… those blossoms which have yet to reach the springtime of their ripening—” Shen Qingqiu grimaces inwardly. That’s almost as dire as the metaphors Airplane liked to trot out. Never mind. He forges manfully onwards. “—so the person who ingests both substances will only feel their effect if that person is equally, ah. Um—”

“I see.” The tips of Gongyi Xiao’s ears have begun to redden.

“Fortunately, there is an easy solution! Just as the Yellow Moon Flower will no longer glow for one who has lost that… special property, so one may nullify the combined effects if one—”

“Yes,” Gongyi Xiao says hastily, “Yes, I understand! Thanking Master Shen for the enlightenment; there is… no need to explain further.”

The poor boy looks like he’s about to combust!

“For a young man to be so devoted to his studies and his duties to his sect that he shuns more, ah, earthly pleasures is certainly no cause for shame,” Shen Qingqiu reassures him. “In fact, such an attitude must be regarded as highly commendable.”

“But I haven’t—” Gongyi Xiao trails away, distraught. “Master Shen gives me more credit than I deserve,” he mumbles.

“Not at all,” Shen Qingqiu says sternly.

Really, this does feel like an overreaction. It’s not that big a deal to be a virgin! Shen Qingqiu died a virgin in his previous life, and he must’ve had at least three years on Young Master Gongyi. And he never had such an unassailable excuse as having his girlfriend nabbed by the ultimate harem master. There’s no shame in getting cucked by the protagonist, bro! It’s inevitable!

“This is, however,” Shen Qingqiu concludes, “the only cure. Were someone to be exposed to the powders and find themselves in a situation where they could not easily… relieve themselves, I would advise that person to take care.”

“I am grateful to Master Shen for his counsel,” Gongyi Xiao says faintly, and bows.

Shen Qingqiu nods. Hopefully that should just about wrap up that plotline—or at the very least, his involvement in it. Next step: track down Liu Qingge and don’t let him out of sight! If there was an Olympic medal in thigh clinging, Shen Qingqiu would be going for gold! Too bad for everyone who doesn't have a nice, loyal attack-shidi to fall back on; couldn't be Shen Qingqiu! 

“And Senior Shen?”

Shen Qingqiu blinks down at his companion.

Gongyi Xiao’s eyes are lowered. His face seems to radiate embarrassment but his shoulders are squared—resolute. “Will Senior Shen be… ah… well?”

Why, of all the cheek! What happened to respecting one’s elders, eh? eh??? This younger generation… Shen Qingqiu despairs.

At least the blackening of his reputation can’t be that far advanced if Gongyi Xiao can ask that kind of question to Qing Jing Peak’s soon-to-be-notorious master, whose face is known in brothels across the human realm! Not that Shen Qingqiu has personally… so it would have been a fair few years since the original goods last… Still. It’s not the sort of reputation one loses in a hurry!

Shen Qingqiu allows a few moments for Gongyi Xiao to feel the full force of shame for asking such an impudent question of his martial elder—and a Peak Lord besides! Then he says, witheringly, “This senior is hardly some callow youth.”

From behind him comes a loud splintering sound. Shen Qingqiu whirls around to find Luo Binghe, a crowd of yellow-clad Huan Hua disciples at his back like a flock of malevolent ducklings, standing next to the remains of an abandoned market stall. The awning seems to have caved in, which probably has something to do with the broken spar of wood Luo Binghe is clutching in one white-knuckled hand.

Which—yikes! Shen Qingqiu has no illusions about how Luo Binghe feels towards him now, but he hadn’t expected such a violent reaction just from seeing him! Not from the infamously two-faced protagonist! Well, if the sight of Shen Qingqiu offends him so much, Shen Qingqiu will simply remove himself from Luo Binghe’s field of vision. He’s done what he can for Gongyi Xiao’s little problem; the rest is up to Gongyi Xiao. Good luck trying to NTR the papapa king himself, bro! Better you than me.

Because this universe is quite literally designed to be the death of him, Without A Cure flares up just as Shen Qingqiu and his shixiongdi are heading out to hunt the sowers.

Mu Qingfang frowns down at him as a grim-faced Liu Qingge takes his pulse. “Shen-shixiong, did you take your medication on time?”

“I haven’t given up on my treatment!!” Shen Qingqiu is really at the end of his rope! It’s not like he asked for this to happen! Of course he’s been keeping up with his medication; what does Mu-shidi take him for? You’d think he was some sort of wayward child who needed to be nagged and watched over, rather than a Peak Lord fully grown and capable of looking after himself!

Liu Qingge snorts loudly, which: 1) rude, and 2) uncalled for! Shen Qingqiu is a model patient, entirely invested in his own wellbeing! Apart from one or two paltry incidents, which hardly bear mentioning.

“You—” Liu Qingge begins, then cuts himself off with another snort. Shen Qingqiu gives him a quizzical look, but Liu Qingge only releases him, saying shortly, “You’ll have to stay behind.”

Shen Qingqiu pops up from his seat like an indignant jack-in-the-box. Absolutely not! Roost here like a good little chicken in a coop, waiting for the fox to come by? No thank you!! “I’m coming with you!”

Liu Qingge folds his arms and glares at him. He can hardly have more than two centimetres on Shen Qingqiu, so it’s really very unreasonable of him to be looking down his nose in that particular fashion. “You’ll only get in the way,” he says, merciless.

Shen Qingqiu draws himself up with icy dignity. “I’m perfectly capable—”

Liu Qingge kicks out a foot, hooking it around Shen Qingqiu’s ankle, and dumps him neatly back into his chair.

“You’re staying,” he says flatly, as Mu Qingfang politely averts his gaze.

Shen Qingqiu finds he has no ready argument for that. Ah, shidi, who could’ve guessed that behind that pretty face would lie such a cold and tyrannical heart!

“You—!” Liu Qingge exclaims suddenly. He takes a hasty step back—or tries to, but unfortunately his foot is still locked around Shen Qingqiu’s ankle, and in the resulting tangle of robes he trips, landing on the floor with a thud.

Shen Qingqiu flicks open his fan to cover his smile. Sometimes karmic justice is swift indeed! Really, this makes him feel much better about the whole tripping-down-the-stairs thing earlier. Where the Bai Zhan War God leads, who could be ashamed to follow?

“Liu-shixiong?” Mu Qingfang inquires, concerned.

“I— I thought—” Liu Qingge’s face is going rosy. Lovely as a maiden—and bashful as one too, it seems!

“If Liu-shidi is unwell,” Shen Qingqiu suggests with honeyed malice, “perhaps he too should remain behind.”

“No!” Liu Qingge shoves himself to his feet, thrusting a trembling finger towards Shen Qingqiu. “You! Stay put!”

And with that, he turns in a hasty swirl of robes and vanishes out the door.

Mu Qingfang and Shen Qingqiu stare after him in mutual perplexity. Then Shen Qingqiu pulls himself together, turning to his remaining sect brother with an ingratiating smile: “Shidi…”

Ha! As if! Talk about tyrants, the Qian Cao Peak Lord in his element is almost enough to rival the Scourge of the Three Realms himself, thrice-crowned emperor Luo Binghe! Shen Qingqiu finds himself nodding through a lecture on managing his condition he must’ve sat through a dozen times before, until finally Mu Qingfang too takes his leave, abandoning his shixiong to a solitary and uncertain fate.

Chapter Text

When Luo Binghe appears, Shen Qingqiu runs.

He doesn't mean to, exactly, it’s just… instinct, isn’t it? When faced with a predator, or a ghost.

And like a hunter—like a thing that won’t stay buried—Luo Binghe follows, chasing him across the rooftops of a dying city, until—

Maybe it was always going to end like this, echoes of a past life, a past death: powerless and alone, with no one to call for help even if he had the breath to do it with.

Yes, maybe it was always going to end like this: with his back to the wall, and Luo Binghe’s hand around his throat.

“Has Shizun no warmth to spare for this disciple?” Luo Binghe’s voice is both sorrowful and light; you’d never be able to guess from his tone that he’s halfway through throttling his Shizun to death. “No fond greeting?”

Fond greeting? With what airflow?! Where is the System? System!!!

“[Mandatory Stealth Mode engaged. Please enjoy your complimentary Bonus Plotline!]”

Mandatory— What happened to 24-hour customer support, eh? System?? Don’t leave this lowly transmigrator hanging!

“But then, this disciple is only a ‘callow youth’ after all.”

“[Mandatory Stealth Mode engaged. Please enjoy your complimentary Bonus Plotline!]”

What exactly is Shen Qingqiu supposed to be enjoying here, huh? Bonus Plotline— is he really about to die because Gongyi Xiao can’t get it in? Killed by a cannon fodder’s inability to pull??

“Unlike, for example, Liu-shishu. Shizun called his name so sweetly just now; this disciple can’t help but feel a little envious…”

System, please, this is too ignominious a death, even for the scum villain; be reasonable! System!!!!

But if the System responds, Shen Qingqiu can no longer hear it. Even Luo Binghe’s words are indistinguishable now, lost beneath the roaring in Shen Qingqiu’s ears.

Is this really it? All of his plans, everything he did and tried to do… all for, what? to buy himself a swifter death? Better than slow torture maybe, but—ah, stupid!—he doesn’t want to die.

He doesn’t—

Shen Qingqiu stares hazily up at that face, at once so familiar and so strange—the softness of its adolescent beauty polished away to something jade-hard and cold, the once-bright eyes now stoked and burning.

He doesn’t—foolish, pointless wish—want Luo Binghe to kill him.

Luo Binghe’s mouth drops open, something remarkably like shock crossing his face. Shen Qingqiu watches the red light bleed from his eyes, before his vision whites out in a flood of oxygen to the brain: Luo Binghe has released him.

“I didn’t—” he hears distantly. “I never—”

Didn’t what? Shen Qingqiu thinks on a gasp, knees buckling despite his best efforts to stay upright. Is he really supposed to believe Luo Binghe only just realised he was squeezing his master to death?

“It seems this disciple must once again apologise to Shizun for his… uncareful handling,” Luo Binghe says, as if choking the life out of his teacher with his own hands is in any way comparable to hustling him out of the way of falling crockery. Luo Binghe is smiling, the same mask of gentle courtesy—the same lie —he wore in the brothel fixed once more to his face. He reaches down, touching Shen Qingqiu’s wrist briefly through his robes and then taking his hand to help him to his feet. “This disciple has forgotten, in their many months apart, just how… fragile Shizun can be.”

Yes!!! Extremely fragile! Entirely breakable! So please, no more of this rough—

Shen Qingqiu’s back hits the wall a second time as Luo Binghe surges forward, pinning him to the spot with the press of one leanly powerful thigh. He’s gripping Shen Qingqiu’s hand hard enough to crush it; his other hand is at Shen Qingqiu’s throat again, fitting neatly over the aches and bruises it left as if finding its way home. Shen Qingqiu shuts his eyes as the hand tightens, only for it to relax again, sitting snug and heavy but not constricting. Less like a noose. More like a… collar.

Luo Binghe can you please make up your mind! Throttle me or don’t; this indecisiveness is really too nerve-wracking!!!

Luo Binghe lets loose a short, breathy laugh. Shen Qingqiu flushes—no doubt it makes for a comical sight indeed, the famously dignified Qing Jing Peak Master gripped by the neck like a rooster being readied for the supper pot!

He cracks an eye and immediately regrets it. Luo Binghe is staring down at him—once again, too close! Luo Binghe do you have no concept of personal space?!—with a mixture of awe and raw avarice. Is it really so satisfying, to have this old master humiliated and at your mercy?

But of course—that’s why Luo Binghe is here, isn’t it?

Luo Binghe twitches, face blanking. Then he shakes his head and lowers his eyes, lashes fanning darkly over the rise of his cheekbone. “So Shizun really…” he murmurs, and smiles as the sentence hangs uncompleted in midair.

Really what? Really what, Luo Binghe??? This master isn’t a mindreader!!!!

Luo Binghe laughs again, sharp and joyful. For a moment his eyes seem to hold some of their old sparkle—the lustre of starlight rather than flame. He releases Shen Qingqiu’s throat and steps back, finally allowing Shen Qingqiu some breathing room. He doesn’t let go of his hand though. Shen Qingqiu glances pointedly down and then back up again, but Luo Binghe just smiles, lightly swinging their clasped hands.

“Shizun must forgive this disciple for holding him close. But after all it has been so many years since we parted, and we’ve yet to have the chance for a proper reunion.”

Shen Qingqiu could laugh out loud at the effrontery of it, were his throat not so tight—from all the abuse it’s been experiencing, of course. This pretence of affection… But really, what else could he have expected from Luo Binghe except for a smile and a lie and—suppressing a wince as Luo Binghe’s grip on his hand tightens again—a blade to the gut. He should be grateful Luo Binghe has decided to forgo the knife. For now.

(Another side-effect of the choking: the tightness in his chest; the way he can’t, even now, seem entirely to catch his breath.)

“I have been where I always am.” His voice is hoarse, but thankfully steady. “One might imagine that, were Luo Binghe so desirous of a reunion, he would seek it out himself, rather than waiting for a chance encounter on a night hunt.”

But. Now he’s thinking about it—was it chance? Didn’t Gongyi Xiao—another bone-shattering little pulse around his captive hand—say Binghe volunteered because he heard Shen Qingqiu was with the Cang Qiong party? Just what is he planning?

Luo Binghe is taking his sweet time about responding, gaze fixed searchingly on Shen Qingqiu. Shen Qingqiu can’t imagine what he hopes to find there. What's so fascinating about this old man’s face that it should warrant such attention? He arranges his features into their most inscrutable expression, and wishes he’d remembered to bring his fan.

Luo Binghe exhales and ducks his head. “And if I had, Shizun?”

He’s looking at Shen Qingqiu through his lashes, which— surely they haven’t always been that long? Shen Qingqiu is sure he would remember something like that.

For some reason Luo Binghe’s eyes widen. He leans in—ack, personal space, personal space, please respect the bubble!!—asking with renewed intensity: “If I had sought you out? What kind of welcome might I have received then?”

Shen Qingqiu tries to imagine it—Luo Binghe appearing on Qing Jing Peak as he is now, tall and slender as a blade, honed to a deadly perfection.

What would he have done?

Hopped on a sword and booked it for Bai Zhan Peak, probably. He imagines rallying the Peak Lords, attempting to explain that his personal disciple was back from the dead, and no, that wasn’t a good thing actually—

“Ha!” The sound Luo Binghe makes can’t really be called a laugh, mirthless and bitter. It seems Shen Qingqiu’s silence has answered for him. “Of course. This disciple has long since known the answer.” He stares at the ground, smiling without joy. “Shizun must truly despise me.”

Something turns over in Shen Qingqiu’s stomach, like he’s swallowed something rancid. Hang on just a minute, let’s not get things twisted! Luo Binghe is the one who hates Shen Qingqiu, not the other way around! And who could blame him for it: who wouldn’t hate the treacherous master who shoved them into a living hell? Still, no need to go around projecting your feelings onto other people.

Luo Binghe has jerked his head up again. How turbulent his moods have become, since— Well. Something has drained from his face; he looks now almost… lost. Big-eyed and anchorless. He looks—for the first time since they’ve reunited—like Shen Qingqiu’s little sheep of a disciple; in spite of everything, Shen Qingqiu feels the impulse to reach out and pat his head.

He doesn’t, of course. He’s not suicidal. But…

“You do,” Binghe insists, as if Shen Qingqiu has argued. “You must. Or else why— Why would you—”

His voice is urgent; his eyes bore into Shen Qingqiu’s. If Shen Qingqiu’s hand makes it through the night without having been milled to a powder, it’ll be a miracle.

He doesn’t understand what Luo Binghe wants from him. Clearly he’s already made up his own mind about it—which, now Shen Qingqiu thinks about it, kind of rude! Don’t go around deciding people’s feelings for them in your head, please and thank you!

Anyway, what explanation can he give? What’s done is done; Shen Qingqiu did what he had to do.

Luo Binghe makes a strange sound, halfway between a snarl and a sob. He tosses his head back and draws a shuddering breath. When he looks down at Shen Qingqiu again, the mask is back on his face.

“This disciple must admit he’s feeling a little nostalgic tonight. Seeing the way Shizun threw himself in front of that Gongyi Xiao—how many times did Shizun put himself between this disciple and peril over the years? Shizun even troubled himself—so solicitous!—to warn that person about the poison. But it seems this disciple no longer merits such personal attention.”

He sounds, oddly enough, genuinely aggrieved, as if Shen Qingqiu is the sort of person who makes a habit of providing lengthy exposition to people who want to kill him. Scum villain he may be, but that doesn’t mean he has to monologue.

Anyway—

“As I said at the time, those substances pose no threat to Luo Binghe, as Luo Binghe should well know.”

“Of course.” Luo Binghe inclines his head with an ironical air. “It’s true that Heavenly Demon blood grants immunity to most common poisons and intoxicants; despite his distaste for demons, Shizun is as knowledgeable as ever.”

I don’t have a— Will you please stop putting words in my mouth! Anyway, forget the demon thing: the powders only work on virgins! Virgins!! Those in possession of an unpopped cherry! The chaste of mind and unsullied of body! You know! Nerds!!! Why would Luo Binghe of all people need a warning about something like that?

“…what?”

Sure the timeline’s been condensed, but even so Luo Binghe must’ve pushed down at least a dozen little sisters by now, and very likely more! Definitely into double digits, at least. Sure Qin Wanrong was out of the picture—whoops—and Binghe missed out on the chance to collect her sister the first time around, but he’s clearly been making up for lost time, if that little display at the brothel is any indication. And then there’s the Little Palace Mistress—

Absently, he rubs at his aching hand, pressing out all the aches and bruises, too absorbed in his mental accounting to realise that Luo Binghe has finally—finally!—released his grip.

—the succubus twins by the Cave of Twilight Wonders, and that chameleon demon with the disturbingly prehensile tongue—

Binghe reaches for him once again, fingers closing this time around Shen Qingqiu’s wrist, insinuating themselves under the edge of his sleeves.

And then of course there was the Demon Saintess herself. Shen Qingqiu can only hope someone has explained to her the purpose of a nail file since the last time they met; otherwise Binghe’s poor back must be in ribbons!

“Sha Hualing?!”

Shen Qingqiu jumps, then cranes his neck. Binghe sounds horrified—as well he should, if his most infamously unruly wife has shown up while he’s trying to keep his demon heritage under wraps! Shen Qingqiu can’t say he’s looking forward to this particular reunion himself. But where is she? Shen Qingqiu can’t seem to— could she be on the roof?

A sharp tug on his wrist has him stumbling forwards, almost colliding with Luo Binghe’s chest. So much for the peerlessly graceful immortal master! What a humbling day it’s been. Only Luo Binghe’s hand at his waist steadies him.

“Don’t—” Luo Binghe is saying, urgent. “There’s no one—”

That hand is really— hand. Um. Distracting. Yes, and— and inappropriate! And much too hot—the way he can feel it burning, even through all six layers of his robes. Is this normal for demons? Could Luo Binghe have some kind of fever?

The hand releases his waist, only to rise and cup his jaw, urging Shen Qingqiu’s face up a few centimetres.

“Shizun shouldn’t look for anyone else.” Is it the fever, making Luo Binghe’s voice so hoarse? “Just look at me. Only at me. Doesn’t he owe me that much?”

Absurd. Where else is there to look? With Luo Binghe in the room, who could bear to look away?

Luo Binghe’s face seems to spasm, that strange, helpless expression appearing and then vanishing within the space of a single blink.

“Isn’t Shizun going to ask me?” His voice is pitched low, intimate in a way that sends a shudder up the length of Shen Qingqiu’s spine. “What they were like, those years in the Abyss? Has he never wondered about the sort of place he sent me?”

Shen Qingqiu has never needed to wonder. All of it was laid out in unsparing detail: the barrenness of the land, the way the climate flitted between the extremes of scorching hot and freezing cold. The miasma which lay over all but the highest places, choking the life out of anything not strong enough to withstand it. And, of course, the beasts—twisted, half-mad things, monstrous even by demonic standards.

“Shizun is so well-informed,” Luo Binghe whispers. “Of course he knew— But it’s one thing to read something and another to have lived it. Ask me. Ask me what it was like.”

Just look at me, Luo Binghe said, but Shen Qingqiu can’t— Luo Binghe’s eyes, black as the Abyss itself and seeming to contain all the horrors therein. Shen Qingqiu drops his gaze to one side. His heart is racing. A fear response. Yes.

“Luo Binghe has shown little regard for this master’s wishes so far. If he wants to tell me, he will tell me; what point is there in asking?”

He feels rather than sees Luo Binghe’s flinch. Then:

“They were lonely,” Luo Binghe says.

The words slice through Shen Qingqiu like a blade: the bright shock of entry and thereafter, the flood. Of course, in the Abyss, he would have— But his Binghe was always such a strong, self-sufficient boy, scorning the company of his martial siblings on missions for the sect, standing proud and aloof— And after the Abyss, there would’ve been Mobei-jun and all his other allies—he was so quick at collecting them this time around! Just look at the way the Huan Hua Palace disciples flocked to him in the brothel. Who could be lonely in the midst of such staunch defenders? And then, of course, he'll hardly be lacking in female companionship—

“Stop!” Luo Binghe’s hand is on his shoulder, shaking him. “Why are you—”

Shen Qingqiu isn’t doing anything! Is this protagonist right in the head? Could it be Xin Mo’s influence? But surely it’s too early, even with the timeline condensed—

Luo Binghe’s eyes snap shut. He takes in several long breaths, like he’s settling in for meditation. Despite his apprehension, Shen Qingqiu is struck with a vivid memory of coming across a teenage Binghe in his room, his legs folded into lotus position and all the force of his attention turned inwards. It was so rare, in those days, to be able to observe him unawares. He still furrows his brow in the same way.

The furrow deepens as a tremor passes through Luo Binghe’s body. Then he opens his eyes.

“And Shizun? This disciple thought of him often over the years. Whether he was in good health and remembering to eat. Whether he ever thought of me.”

Oh for— Not this again! As if he doesn’t get enough of this fussing back at Qing Jing Peak! Why is everyone so obsessed with his eating habits?? He’s a Peak Lord—a cultivator of not-inconsiderable renown, in his mid-core formation stage. He doesn’t need to eat—hasn’t needed to in years, as Luo Binghe should well know, so why would he—

Ah. of course. The Abyss. In such a desolate waste, Binghe would’ve suffered greatly from hunger and thirst, with nothing to eat but his own monstrous kills and sometimes not even that—sometimes with nothing but his heavenly demon blood to sustain him. And of course any injury against him must be requited a hundred-fold. Shen Qingqiu supposes he has starvation to look forward to—after his core has been destroyed, naturally—in addition to the other tortures—

“Shut up!” Luo Binghe bursts out suddenly. His eyes are glowing again, a banked fire roaring to life. Luo Binghe, you’re the only one talking!! It must be Xin Mo after all, if he’s hearing voices; clearly he’s even more unstable than Shen Qingqiu realised. “You keep— Why do you keep—”

Shen Qingqiu’s free hand starts to grope its way towards Xiu Ya, but he’s barely managed to wrap his fingers around the hilt before Luo Binghe strikes him on the shoulder, right on the accupoint. Shen Qingqiu’s arm drops to his side, dead of sensation. Is this what it will feel like, when Luo Binghe takes his limbs?

(Human stick, human stick, human—)

“Quiet!” Luo Binghe roars. The sound echoes off the rooftops—maybe if Shen Qingqiu is very lucky—far luckier than he’s been so far—someone will hear. Maybe even Liu Qingge. Maybe he can still escape this in one piece. Maybe— “Stop it! Just stop! I can’t bear—”

He lifts his palm to his mouth. Shen Qingqiu sees a flash of teeth, and then the sudden spill of red, darkened and dulled in the moonlight. The scent of blood floods the air; Shen Qingqiu’s head swims. He pulls against Luo Binghe’s hold, and miraculously, Luo Binghe’s grip loosens.

He turns to flee, only for that very same arm to wrap itself around his midriff, yanking him back against Luo Binghe’s chest. Shen Qingqiu clamps his mouth shut tight just as Binghe raises a bloody palm to his lips.

“Shizun is. Always. Trying to leave me behind. I’m afraid I really can’t bear it. Not anymore.”

Shen Qingqiu is penned in on all sides: Luo Binghe’s breath in his ear, the panting fracture of his voice, the wet smear of his palm, the furnace-like press of his body, the immovable bar of his arm. He’s even in the air Shen Qingqiu breathes, a blanket of copper and meat, smotheringly thick.

“From now on, wherever Shizun goes, this disciple will be able to find him.”

Luo Binghe’s clever fingers pry at Shen Qingqiu’s lips, forcing their way inside, rubbing against his gums. Shen Qingqiu keeps his teeth clamped stubbornly shut, until the sudden, vicious press of a thumb at the hinge of his jaw forces his mouth open.

Luo Binghe’s blood is sweeter than he’d imagined. He thought the taste would make him gag, but instead it rolls down his tongue like wine. Like something his body would welcome.

“That’s right, Shizun,” Luo Binghe croons. “Just let me in.”

In spite of everything, Shen Qingqiu’s ears are burning. What kind of scene is this, one man hugging another man around the waist while sticking his fingers in his mouth and urging him to “let me in?” Luo Binghe, do you understand how this looks???

He feels the rumble of a laugh against his back. “It’s Shizun who doesn’t understand; who has never understood. But that’s all right. I’ll just have to make him. I’ve gotten good at making people do things, you know.”

Shen Qingqiu knows.

Apparently satisfied, Luo Binghe withdraws his hand from Shen Qingqiu’s mouth, dropping down to take his hand again. Finally, Shen Qingqiu’s body seems to catch up with his brain and he retches into the cold, untainted air.

“I know,” Luo Binghe says sympathetically. “I know it’s dirty. But Shizun will get used to it.”

He puts his cheek against the back of Shen Qingqiu’s head, and gives his hand a light squeeze, almost companionable. Blood drips between their entwined fingers.

“How does it feel, Shizun, to have me inside you?”

"Luo Binghe!" Shen Qingqiu is so enraged he could spit blood.

Is it not enough to be chipped and collared like a wayward pet? Must he be humiliated as well? Anyway, where did Luo Binghe learn to talk like that? Certainly not from Shen Qingqiu! Even for a stallion protagonist, this is really too vulgar!

Luo Binghe sighs. "I've missed hearing Shizun call me, even if he doesn't do it as sweetly as he once did." He twists his hand around Shen Qingqiu's, thumb swiping over the pulse point, lingering, as if reluctant to release his prey. But really there's no need for him to worry, not now he's inserted an infallible tracker into Shen Qingqiu's bloodstream. What would be the point of running?

Luo Binghe smiles, and drops his hand. He takes a step back, stroking a finger down the rent in his palm. As Shen Qingqiu watches, the bleeding stops, the skin knitting back together.

It is, little as Shen Qingqiu is in the mood to appreciate it, actually kind of a bamf move. 

Luo Binghe cups a palm over his fist and bows, with the perfect degree of correctness for a student to his master. “This disciple must take his leave. The hunt for the sowers is still on-going, and this disciple has no wish to shame his teacher by underperforming. I’ll see Shizun soon, though. Think of me until then, won’t you?”

And with that, he turns and bounds away into the night.

Shen Qingqiu stands for a moment, swaying, and then gives up and allows himself to collapse against a wall.

What the fuck was all that about? Is Binghe going crazy? All those inexplicable mood swings, the way he seemed to be hearing voices when there was nobody talking… He can’t have had Xin Mo long enough for the effects to be this severe, not if he’s balancing his energies with regular dual cultivation!

Is this Shen Qingqiu’s fault? Did he actually drive his little lotus insane when he booted him off the cliff? (His stomach is roiling. Probably something to do with all the blood he was just forced to drink.) No. It can’t be. Luo Binghe is the protagonist! His mental fortitude is unsurpassed, incalculable! It must be… some kind of mind game. The protagonist of Proud Immortal Demon Way was especially fond of those. Shen Qingqiu just has to stay strong for a little while longer—long enough to get a message to Shang Qinghua.

Also, what was all that about “mandatory stealth mode”??? He did everything he could with Gongyi Xiao; why is he still being punished for it? Stupid System.

“[System 2.0 provides 24-hour customer support.]” Somehow, the computerised voice manages to sound a little bit… reproachful.

Like hell it does! Shen Qingqiu rages. Where was the System when his life was flashing before his eyes, eh? And what happened to that “mandatory stealth mode”?

“[Parameters for Mandatory Stealth Mode not currently met.]”

What ‘parameters’???

“[Would {Valued Customer} like to spend 100 B-points to learn how Stealth Mode works?]”

As if!! Is he really expected to spend B-points just to get the System to explain its own damn features now? This System 2.0 is a total rip-off!

“[System communication backlog: 83 unread messages. Would you like to receive your unread messages now?]”

No. Go away.

“[Messages sending!]” the System chirped, followed by a particularly malicious-sounding notification bing.

“[Protagonist Satisfaction Points +50] [Protagonist Anger Points +10] [Protagonist Anger Points +10] [Protagonist Anger Points +10] [[Protagonist Anger Points -300] [Protagonist Satisfaction Points +150] [Character Suspense Rating -40] [Character Complexity Rating +60] [Protagonist—]”

Grinding the heels of his hands into his temples, Shen Qingqiu groans aloud and forces himself to his feet to begin the arduous journey back to his rooms. It wouldn’t do to have anyone see him like this, after all. Who knows what they might think.

It’s only until he’s sponged away the blood and changed into a fresh pair of robes that he notices the rash of the sower’s infection has gone.