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Chapter Text

Mobei-jun has long mastered the act of refining information from Shang Qinghua’s rambles. It is a necessity, as Shang Qinghua talks a lot.

He obfuscates, distracts, and deflects. He cries when he wants to divert attention. He mumbles under his breath when he’s thinking. He blurts unnecessary information as a way of barraging his enemies. In short, Shang Qinghua uses his words similarly to how a demon might use their powers, as a tool or a weapon, depending on the situation. The times where Shang Qinghua talks the most, however, is when he thinks he’s alone.

When Shang Qinghua is doing paperwork, when he's tucked inside the privacy of his Leisure House, is when Shang Qinghua forgets himself enough that he drops his cowardly veneer. Then the sniveling, grovelling little cultivator is no more—and Shang Qinghua curses everyone and everything under the sun as if no one is listening.

Mobei-jun is always listening.

He doesn’t tell Shang Qinghua this, of course. He does not want to stop Shang Qinghua from being so unguarded with his thoughts, as Shang Qinghua is wont to do when he is aware that his king’s attention is on him. He lets the cadence of Shang Qinghua’s voice lull him into a state of half-restfulness as Shang Qinghua continues working through a pile of paper at his feet.

“—it’s ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous,” Shang Qinghua mutters, while chewing on the top of his brush, in varying shades of volume.  “Ah, how does one go through this many sheets of paper when he doesn’t even teach his students! One would think you’d need students who could actually write when using all these paper but nope! Those Bai Zhan kids just don’t care if their writing looks like chicken scratch as long as their precious gear appear on time—”

Shang Qinghua is very amusing, especially when he thinks this king is asleep.

Mobei-jun had not considered Shang Qinghua worthy at first. A fool, perhaps. A wretched human coward at the worst. The way Shang Qinghua used his words reminded him of his uncle, and that thought only brought disdain and disgust along with the association. But where’s Linguang-jun’s words are thick and sweet to hide his poison, Shang Qinghua’s seem to be the opposite. His words are obnoxiously flattering, thin and does not inspire trust or reliability, but Shang Qinghua has consistently paved a way for Mobei-jun to rise in power. He has risked himself for information, and even under duress, Shang Qinghua has held on to the believe that this lord will become Mobei-jun. So much so, that even this lord himself has adopted his birthright before his father’s passing, an idea almost unheard of in his family.

Many times, Mobei-jun has shown up bleeding and weakened at the An Ding Peak Leisure House, fully accepting the risk of Shang Qinghua finally choosing this moment to capitalise on his chance and end this king’s life. Yet, he always wakes unharmed. There are no chains, daggers, or knives hidden under his sleeves. Instead, Mobei-jun wakes bandaged and stitched, with the afore-mentioned threat to his life hunched over his desk, asleep. The first time it happened, it had sent Mobei-jun’s mind spiralling. Letting one’s enemy live is akin to flaunting one’s strength. It shows that Shang Qinghua does not feel threatened by Mobei-jun or by the threat Mobei-jun will be in the future, but that cannot be true. Shang Qinghua cries, and blubbers, and pleads the second Mobei-jun even thinks about showing his displeasure.

He thought, perhaps, that Shang Qinghua had a personal matter with Cang Qiong Sect, one that would drive him to seek an alliance with a demon. This idea did not satisfy him either. While Shang Qinghua do seem to have a never ending list of petty grievances with the Sect, the grievances do not seem drastic enough to drastic enough for Shang Qinghua to take action, at least. This king has graciously offered to kill the Bai Zhan Peak Lord many times only for Shang Qinghua to decline with a lot of squeaking and shaking.

Then, Mobei-jun briefly considered that this was all a ploy to hoard the North’s power for himself, but the idea was so absurd that he almost laughed. Shang Qinghua’s puny, human body would combust under the weight of his ancestry long before he could use his new-found powers to keep himself warm in the unforgiving Northern Desert. Furthermore, Mobei-jun sees no merit in the idea of Shang Qinghua trying to instil Mobei-jun as a puppet-king when Shang Qinghua already manages all of Mobei-jun’s personal assets and, if Mobei-jun has his way, will be Queen Consort when Mobei-jun ascends the throne.

He does not remember when he started regarding the words coming out of Shang Qinghua’s mouth as important and reliable, but when Shang Qinghua’s actions constantly shows that his allegiance is as solid, as deliberate, and as steadfast as the Mountains in the Northern Desert, Mobei-jun has to concede his own prejudices agaisnt humankind and start seeing Shang Qinghua for the person he is.

And so, Mobei-jun is reminded of those small fluffy birds which feeds itself with the rotting meat that’s stuck in the maws of a White Armoured Frost Leopard. He finds that he does not mind this comparison. When Shang Qinghua starts responding positively to Mobei-jun’s flirtations, then they can begin the proper steps for a courting ritual befitting for a demon of Mobei-jun’s status. Then Shang Qinghua can be the small bird to Mobei-jun’s White Armoured Frost Leopard.

“—not to mention the sheer absolute haze of hormones clouding up that peak. What does he expect would happen when you leave a bunch of teenagers unsupervised? I pity any unfortunate soul who ends up with a spawn from Bai Zhan. They’d sooner get their ribs broken before they get a proper marriage proposal. Ha! Unless they’re into that, which, poor Mu-shidi. That’s going to be a lot of work on his plate—”

Mobei-jun immediately feels himself frown.

Shang Qinghua… does not approve of demonic courting rituals?

Mobei-jun had thought that Shang Qinghua had been biding his time gathering enough strength to bat back at Mobei-jun. After all, Mobei-jun is aware of Shang Qinghua’s physical limitations. Other demons would not have used their restraint before declaring Shang Qinghua unworthy of their affections. But other demons have never been the receiving end of Shang Qinghua’s loyalty. Shang Qinghua’s strength lies in his planning and his words. Mobei-jun has been incrementally increasing his strength as a subtle encouragement, as a way to slowly accustoming Shang Qinghua to the depth and the power of his devotion, and to show Shang Qinghua that he underestimates his own resilience.

But now Shang Qinghua pities the poor unfortunate soul who ends up with some runts from the fighting peak of Cang Qiong Sect… because they will be getting broken ribs before a marriage proposal? What part of that statement does Shang Qinghua does not approve of? So broken ribs should be coming after a marriage proposal? Is that why Shang Qinghua disapproves? Has Mobei-jun committed great offence to Shang Qinghua by not proposing marriage first before initiating their flirtations?

“You do not approve.”

Shang Qinghua shrieks and jumps from his seat.

Mobei-jun rises from Shang Qinghua’s bed, his words ringing back and forth in his head.

“Ah, my king! I didn’t know that you were awake!” Shang Qinghua flails his arms in front of his face. “This humble servant will be quieter for now on, please have mercy on this humble servant, my king—”

“Before,” Mobei-jun stresses, striding until he looms over Shang Qinghua’s cowering form. “In Shang Qinghua’s thoughts—he does not approve?”

“I-if this servant has offended my king, then this servant deeply! And heartily! Apologises! This servant had not meant to offend the king with his thoughts in any way—”

He can feel a growl forming in his chest. “Quiet.”

Shang Qinghua’s jaw closes with an audible click. He gives a tiny ‘eep’ before curling himself into a small ball at the edge of his seat. It’s so pathetic that it makes Mobei-jun wants to shove him a bit more. Poke and prod the softness at his sides until the answers come out. Funny how this strange sensation always seems to bubble up whenever Shang Qinghua is near. But in light of his new, although uncertain, possible revelation, Mobei-jun holds himself back, curling his hands into a tight fist.

“My…my king?” Shang Qinghua swallows and his eyes flicker down to Mobei-jun’s hands. “You… ah, you’re bleeding, my king!”

“Shang Qinghua, explain yourself.”

Shang Qinghua opens his mouth, and he can hear it now, all the inane apologies Shang Qinghua is about to spout off the top of his messily drawn up bun when he wants to deflect. As much as Mobei-jun likes noting how shrill Shang Qinghua’s voice can get under duress, Mobei-jun needs answers. He grasps Shang Qinghua’s shoulders with both hands, ignores his flinch, and gently squeezes, waiting for the constant buzzing under Shang Qinghua’s skin to settle down. He hopes the intensity of his regard impresses the immense importance of this topic onto Shang Qinghua. Any time Shang Qinghua starts back up with his grovelling, Mobei-jun narrows his eyes and Shang Qinghua immediately squeaks himself into silence. Eventually, his cowardly façade disappears and Shang Qinghua settles for staring with his mouth open.

Mobei-jun stares back.

Silence fills the Leisure House of An Ding Peak.

He is willing to wait as long as it takes for Shang Qinghua to understand which of his ramblings needed clarification. It is both demonstrative of Mobei-jun’s self and their future; patience, as Mobei-jun understands it, is a much venerated trait in both a king and a husband. It is a trait he had much practice in comparison to when he was a hot-headed youth.

“My…my king?”

Slowly, Mobei-jun blinks in acknowledgement. He waits.

More silence in the Leisure House of An Ding Peak.

Shang Qinghua gulps, and wiggles under Mobei-jun’s attention. Mobei-jun can hear his thoughts as if it was a small bird huffing and puffing as it readies for flight.

“I…” Shang Qinghua says. “I-I’m not quite sure what you want me to explain, my king?”

Mobei-jun closes his eyes. He can feel another growl growing in his chest as frustration rises, but he swallows it down. Patience, he repeats to himself. This king is patient and he will demonstrate as much.

“What Shang Qinghua said,” Mobei-jun says, with much effort, “about the fighting peak. Why? Shang Qinghua does not approve? Should there be no flirtations until marriage then? This Mobei-jun does not understand.”

Shang Qinghua sputters, before turning as red as a cloth. He flails in a way which would have bowled him onto the floor if Mobei-jun had not moved his hold on to Shang Qinghua’s waist.

“F-flirtations? Marriage? I don’t approve of—what? What, my king? Just—what! When did I ever say anything about flirting and marriage, my king…?”

“Before.”

“Huh…?”

“With the fighting peak and their marriage proposals,” Mobei-jun insists.

“Bai Zhan Peak? What does marriage have anything to do with Bai Zhan peak, unless…” Shang Qinghua trails off, then he starts muttering under his breath. If Mobei-jun presses his ear against Shang Qinghua’s head, he could probably hear the buzzing start up again.

It is simply how Shang Qinghua works, shuffling through his thoughts with a speed that would make a wind demon envious. Sometimes, he would slip into one of his special languages—one of the ones Mobei-jun has never heard of before, despite Mobei-jun’s own royal teachings and his years of espionage work for his father. He has had this habit for as long as Mobei-jun has known him. Will he share his knowledge with Mobei-jun one day? Mobei-jun sure hopes so. The thought of having something of which only he and Shang Qinghua would share is… pleasing. He sets the thought aside for the future, as there are more pressing matters at hand currently.

“…but surely, not… what does that have to do with marriage and—oh, fuck. I did write that, didn’t I? But even so, why would my king care about such things? He detests human culture. He detests humans in general. Did something change all of a sudden? Aah, the system is going to skin my ass—”

“Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-jun says lowly.

“Ah… yes, my king?”

“Explain. Now.”

“Right! Yes!” Shang Qinghua nods furiously. “Yes, my king! Whatever my king wants! …It’s just that… humans are very different, my king. With the exception of Bai Zhan Peak, of course. Hitting one another isn’t how you flirt… it’s how you make enemies! It’s how you punish someone—by hurting them. I don't know why anyone would want to be with someone who hurts them all the time! Especially when you are trying to build a life with them like—” Shang Qinghua’s face turns red “—marriage.”

If Mobei-jun was any way a lesser demon, he would have physically reeled back from the shock.

Hitting one another isn’t how you flirt… it’s how you make enemies!

All this time… all these years, Mobei-jun had thought that Shang Qinghua was biding his time in returning his favours… but has Shang Qinghua thought that Mobei-jun had been punishing him? Has Shang Qinghua thought that Mobei-jun wanted to make an enemy out of him? Is that why Shang Qinghua has not responded back?

The revelation staggers him.

The demonic way of showing affection seems to be the antithesis of a human’s way of showing favour. Surely, Shang Qinghua would be more familiar with demonic courting rituals to understand what this king was trying to convey? He has been mired in demonic culture and been given reign of Mobei-jun’s private estate long enough that surely he realises that Mobei-jun has showing him immense favour and attention. Why else would Shang Qinghua tolerate actions he perceives as a threat for so long? It can’t only be from servitude. Surely Shang Qinghua would know…

For someone who undoubtedly smart, Shang Qinghua could be denser than the ice walls of the Northern Palace. Once again, Mobei-jun is faced with Shang Qinghua’s actions of inexplicable yet unflinching loyalty.

Mobei-jun suddenly remembers a time where he was a child, and one of Linguang-jun’s failed attempt of assassination had Mobei-jun vaulted off a cliff before he could properly teleport himself to safety. The drop in pressure made his ears pop, and the nausea that accompanied the ringing inside his head stayed with him for nights after.

He feels like he’s lost his footing. Everything he thought he knew about humans and Shang Qinghua… he feels like he’s been led astray, and he has no one to blame but himself.

And so, grasping for more explanation, Mobei-jun spits out, “Why?”

Shang Qinghua gapes.

“Why?” He sputters. “Because humans do not like pain. That’s why! We are weak! And—and pathetic! And we break easily? Well, at least I do, even though I’m technically a cultivator. A spouse is supposed to hold you gently and support you. They’re supposed to hold hands and … indulge in your whims. Maybe some humans like getting hit, but not that hard! And only as a joke! Even when they’re… teasing you, they’re not supposed to do it with their full strength. They should be holding back, because they wouldn’t want to break what’s precious to them and—and I’ve talked too much. Feel free to shut me up any time now, my king. I don’t understand why you’re fixating on this so much…”

Mobei-jun’s mind has been reeling, going through every single interaction they’ve had since the fateful meeting where Mobei-jun woke up in an inn bed with Shang Qinghua drooling on his chest. He does not understand humans. He will never understand humans. But Shang Qinghua is a human, and Mobei-jun wants to understand him.

I did not know, Mobei-jun wants to say, but he stops himself. His weakness should not be Shang Qinghua’s burden to bear. He’s already failed Shang Qinghua enough by failing to understand his cultural customs. He needs to recoup. Refer to the knowledge inside the Royal Library and do his own research.

He will not fail Shang Qinghua any longer.

“Ah, my king?” Shang Qinghua laughs nervously. “You’ve been staring at me for a while… It’s getting a little cold in here and I hope you’re not going to turn the whole Leisure House into a huge popsicle or anything…”

Mobei-jun reigns in his powers and Shang Qinghua stops shivering under his hands. He feels reborn under this new revelation. Like a mountain shaving off it’s excess snow in an avalanche. He may not have clarity of Shang Qinghua’s habits, but he has a path moving forward and he can now rectify the situation. Which brings him to the issue that he’s facing at this moment. Usually, Mobei-jun would part from Shang Qinghua with a particularly doteful shove or a hit. In light of this new information however, Mobei-jun is… unsure on how to proceed.

So he grabs Shang Qinghua’s chin in his hand. It’s very soft and rounded, an apt descriptor for the man himself. Shang Qinghua looks at him with wide-eyes and both his eyebrows raised, and Mobei-jun makes sure that he can see this king’s solemn expression as he gives him a parting nod.

Then, he teleports away.

Shang Qinghua is having a weird day.

This isn’t the first time his big mouth has gotten him into big, big trouble and he doubts that this will be the last when faced with the menacingly handsome and fierce aura of his king. Rarely, however, has his king’s behaviour been so erratic that Shang Qinghua is unable to decipher his moods from it. Since Shang Qinghua’s survival very much depends on deciphering his king’s moods, this whole afternoon has left him confused, wary, and a little exhausted, honestly.

“What…” Shang Qinghua looks at his bed, left half-frozen by his king, and his coat, dotted with demonic blood. “What just happened?”

A loud ‘ding’ startles him in his seat, and Shang Qinghua immediately staggers as the rooms starts spinning.

[Plot divergence has been detected. Please wait while we recalibrate the story!]

Clutching his head, Shang Qinghua moans. “Huh? Plot divergence? What plot divergence? There is no plot right now, Luo Binghe's just a baby. What plot is there to diverge?!"

[Calibration complete! Host B-points will be carried over with the update. Host will need to enter ‘sleep’ mode for 10 min 09 sec to fully benefit from the newest features of this plot divergence.]

"But I didn't even do anything!"

[We wish the Host the best of luck as you navigate the new plot lines of this story! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*✲ﾟ*｡⋆]

Shang Qinghua lets one last, pathetic moan escape before he passes out on the floor.

Chapter Text

The Royal Library’s knowledge in terms of human customs ends up being very lacklustre in comparison to its depository on human history, war weapons, and the addition of human flesh into demon cuisine—Mobei-jun will make sure Shang Qinghua never stumbles into that section of the archives when he eventually inherits the Northern Palace. While there are mentions of humans copulating and their accompanying mating ritual, it is all quite brief and non-descriptive. It does not satisfy this Mobei-jun.

He briefly considers commissioning one of the Royal Archivists to gather the information for him, in case he has overlooked one of the texts, but he quickly sets that aside. Although the Royal Archivists are meant to stay neutral with regards to the ongoings of the Royal Lineage, Mobei-jun is aware that part of the feud between his father and Linguang-jun means a divided court and kingdom.

They have had years of strategically instilling personnel with hidden loyalties in high positions of power. Mobei-jun plans to do this himself when he ascends, offering direct family members of his servants prosperous position within his employment to sow loyalty. At this current time, however, Mobei-jun is unsure which of the Royal Archivist disfavours Linguang-jun enough to be actively working for this king, but he will not risk it. He is not willing to let the information of his intended courtship to stray anywhere near his uncle.

Usually, when he is in need of reliable, trustworthy information, he would get Shang Qinghua to fetch it—in some cases, he would literally throw Shang Qinghua in the direction of said information—and Shang Qinghua, with his numerous and questionable connections, always scuttles back and delivers.

Perhaps Mobei-jun has been a little spoiled by Shang Qinghua in this manner… Mobei-jun strives to spoil Shang Qinghua back, once he learns what is appropriate for a human and what isn’t. It’s becoming more and more clear that if Mobei-jun is to get the answers he needed, he will need to seek out a much more unconventional source of information.

“Prince of the North, welcome!” Madam Meiyin says, clasping her hands to her chest. “It’s not everyday that such an important guest steps into our establishment.”

The succubus maidens crowd behind her, giggling and whispering in hushed tones. Their bare skin, thick perfumes, and soft silks are all typical of a young demoness, but Mobei-jun supposes it would make a heady combination for an unsuspecting human. Would Shang Qinghua fall into the arms of these succubi? He is strangely prudish about these things, turning very red and warm whenever Mobei-jun so much sheds his outer cloak, stuttering madly before fleeing as fast as his feet can take him.

“I am in need of information,” Mobei-jun says, ignoring all the succubi fluttering their demonic aura around Mobei-jun. He does not elaborate.

Madam Meiyin lifts an eyebrow in question. “Information?” she asks coyly. “Only… information?”

“Yes,” he says. Advice, perhaps. Information, first and foremost, and above all, discretion. “I will make it worth your time,” he says gravely.

“Oh?” Madam Meiyin tilts her head. “How so?”

Mobei-jun unveils a bundle of cloth from inside his cloak. There are multiple gasps and coos as he folds it open and reveals the necklace inside. The gems glimmer, even under the soft lighting. These gems, in particular, can only be mined in the Northern Dessert during days where no frost can be found in their location. They are very, very expensive.

Madam Meiyin straightens her posture, and her seductive aura diminishes, dimming until it resembles something more neutral. “A treasure as precious as that could buy you more than just information...”

“It’s important information.” And Mobei-jun can kill everyone in this establishment if anyone even tries of thinking about swindling him.

“This servant sees that.” She regards Mobei-jun with a thoughtful look. “What a shame,” she says, sighing. “Such a pretty face, but much too stern for my tastes. Too harsh. Too serious!”

Mobei-jun crosses his arms. Good.

Madam Meiyin waves a hand, and the succubi around her disperse. “Follow me, Northern Prince. You will have your information.”

She takes him to a private room, and they both sit on a modest table. Mobei-jun places the necklace on the table, closer to Madam Meiyin’s side, as a show of good faith. He knows it is appreciated when Madam Meiyin hides a wry smile behind her sleeve, in the way that women in court tend to do.

“One would admit, such a generous gift leaves this humble maiden a little flustered,” Madam Meiyin says. “I’m curious myself as to what kind of information warrants such a marvellous treasure. My, oh my, the expectations! I hope to live up to them, or at least provide an experience of equal measure. Shall we start with a drink, perhaps?”

Mobei-jun shakes his head.

“No? Then maybe a little trick to start off this meeting—sweeten your endeavours. I’m not that skilled, but I’ve always been quite accurate in predicting matters of the love. Many have travelled far and wide to have their fortunes told. Would you be willing to try it?”

In all honesty, Mobei-jun’s patience is running a little thin, but diplomacy is not new to him. Mobei-jun has sat in his father’s place in court many times while his father locked himself away in the leisure wing with a band of concubines. And Mobei-jun supposes that this is a matter of love.

The ability of foresight is not unheard of in the demon realm, but a smart demon will know to hide under the label of charlatan, or will know not to dabble in any kind of fortune telling that would put you in sight of the more power hungry factions of the demon realm. Madam Meiyin is smart in this regard. Her and her band of succubus are powerful enough that they could kill any straggler who demanded use of her power as they deem to see fit. If Madam Meiyin’s predictions are as reputable as they are rumoured to be, then this may provide another insight on his future with Shang Qinghua. Heavens knows, Mobei-jun needs all the information he could find.

So, Mobei-jun nods and watches as Madam Meiyin smiles serenely. She turns her wrist, revealing a flower bud in her hands, and raises it at Mobei-jun.

Her wrist looks soft and delicate, her skin pale as moonlight. A sudden thought appears in his head, coming as fast as it goes; that Mobei-jun doesn’t feel the urge to slowly run his teeth agaisnt her wrist the way he would if Shang Qinghua reached out to hand him a scroll of paper. 

Mobei-jun blows lightly at the bud. Within seconds of frost forming at the tips of the buds, petals begin to bloom. Madam Meiyin brings the flower back to her chest and peers into the core of the flower. Her eyebrows shoot up as she rolls the stalk between her fingers.

“I see a strong red line tying you to him, in your past, present and future. Interesting… The red line extends even to a place this servant can’t quite see well.” Madam Meiyin squints. “It’s almost extraordinary. The way your future with your partner branches out like a tree—or perhaps, not quite a tree. A web. Yes, a web. A red line so long that it weaves itself into a web, with many parts looping around the both of you.”

Extraordinary, as fitting for this king and Shang Qinghua.

“Both of your hearts are in-sync, even when your actions are not, but fear is ever prominent in your futures. Your partner fears a lot of things, and despite your strong ties together, your partner does not consider a future where you are both in harmony possible.”

Mobei-jun sits up suddenly. “Why?”

Madam Meiyin squints at the flower once more. “There reasons are vast and… beyond this servant’s sight it seems. This servant apologises. This is… fascinating. I’ve never encountered such difficulty in straightening one’s love matters out before.”

He has considered this, considered that Shang Qinghua may fear him as a consequence of Shang Qinghua mistaking his flirting as punishment, but the confirmation unsettles him. There is a lot of work to be done, Mobei-jun knows this. That is why he’s here. It figures that Shang Qinghua would be so fascinatingly erratic that his future would be as unreadable as his handwriting.

Mobei-jun realises that frost has started climbing the legs of the table, and he reigns his powers back in. Why is it, when Shang Qinghua is involved, his vaulted self-discipline crumbles like unsteady soil.

“Forgive this one if this servant is overstepping,” Madam Meiyin says, placing the flower on the table. “But the information which you seek, this is about your fated partner?”

And here is why Mobei-jun is willing to pay Madam Meiyin with rare treasures from the North, after all, there are only less than ten days a year in which the frost subsides enough for those gems to be mined, even with the intervention of Mobei-jun’s powers.

Mobei-jun catches her eyes. “He is human,” he says. Does Madam Meiyin understand now, how important it is to this Mobei-jun? That he is letting his association with a human known outside of his inner estates? That he thinks to elevate a human onto the same level as an heir from an old and noble line of demons? That he is seeking knowledge on a culture he has historically spurned as weak and pitiful?

“Human?” she asks. A sharp nail taps on her chin. “Yes… this explains some readings from the flower and the severe need for discretion.”

“Yes.”

She sighs. “What luck to see another majestic love story like this unfolding so soon… How may this servant help the Prince of the North?”

Another majestic love story? Even if there are many half-demons existing outside of the Northern Desert, his feelings for Shang Qinghua is not comparable to other lowly demons. It irks this king but Mobei-jun presses on.

“How…” Mobei-jun frowns, considering his words. There are so many thing that confound him, that he’s not sure where to start. “How would one court a human?”

“Courting humans… Depends. What type of human is he?”

“Hmm.” Does she mean to pry out that Shang Qinghua is a cultivator? Or is she inquiring what are characteristics which defines the shape of Shang Qinghua in Mobei-jun’s thoughts? “Soft,” he finally settles on, remembering how even a touch indents on the little human’s skin. “Nervous. Pitiful. Teary.”

“Afraid?” she offers.

As much as Mobei-jun’s distastes in admitting it, yes. “Afraid,” he agrees.

“Humans are quite curious creatures.” Madam Meiyin sips her tea in thought. “They are softer in their approach to romance. Much of their relationship focuses on being pitiful with each other. Providing companionship while indulging on their weaker natures and biology. According to some of my clients, bloodshed between partners have horribly negative connotations. The few exceptions who request it on their own volition are considered abnormal.”

Dread pools inside Mobei-jun’s belly, and suddenly—shame washes over him. Mobei-jun remembers all times he has beaten Shang Qinghua hard enough to draw blood and the regret almost drowns him.

Romance in the demon realm is bold and brutal. Romance is letting the other draw blood as a show of good will. It is inviting their strength, marking the depth of one’s devotions through time and physical prowess. It is printing each other so thoroughly that they will carry each other’s scar as a claim of ownership long after the relationship has withered. If the relationship has withered. Demons do not court lightly.

But isn’t that exactly what he’s done? His hatred of humans has fuelled an ignorance and disdain for their culture, and in turn, it has made light of their courting—if they ever reach that stage. Once again, Mobei-jun has failed Shang Qinghua in all his entirety. A part of him wonders why Shang Qinghua has not left him before, but he already knows the answer. It is the fear which Madam Meiyin foresaw in his predictions. It is the fear which Mobei-jun mistakes for the cold when Shang Qinghua shivers. It is the fear which shackles Shang Qinghua to this king to the point where Shang Qinghua has grown comfortable in his chains.

He is an unsuitable mate for Shang Qinghua.

No, he’s an unacceptable mate for Shang Qinghua.

He feels dizzy from the revelation.

“My lord?”

Madam Meiyin’s voice pierces his thoughts, and he clutches at the little hope her prediction provides. Their hearts are in sync, Mobei-jun recalls, even when their actions are not. There is still a chance for Mobei-jun to make this right. He can still prove his worth as mate and spouse to Shang Qinghua. 

Some would call him a fool for putting too much faith in Madam Meiyin’s readings, but it aligns so accurately with what Shang Qinghua himself said and the way that he has acted that this king would be a fool for overlooking his chance at redeeming himself as a worthy mate.

Mobei-jun breathes in, deep and slow. The teapot unfreezes itself. When he refocuses his attention, he sees that Madam Meiyin has a wry look on her face.

“This lord has treated his intended as if he were a demon,” Mobei-jun says. “With heavy restraint,” he adds, when surprise crosses Madam Meiyin’s features. Possibly at the thought that a human would survive the devotion of a demon from the Mo Clan.

“I see,” she says carefully.

Mobei-jun nods grimly.  “This lord wonders…” he begins. 

If she has ever seen a human and demon partnership flourish. What humans do moving forward when one has undeniably hurt the other. All questions which peel back a layer of skin and leave him raw. It’s damning information. Linguang-jun has killed for less. What this king feels overcompasses the Northern Desert at times. How does he package such breadth into a question that describes his dilemma aptly? This is where Shang Qinghua excels at, not Mobei-jun. 

Seconds tick by with Mobei-jun deep in thought and Madam Meiyin waiting for him to instigate the next line of questions. “If this servant may contribute her humble insight, my lord,” she says, when Mobei-jun can see her patience waning underneath her carefully composed demeanor. “At the very core, human courtship doesn’t differ that greatly to our own. It’s about posturing; showing your partner that you are the ideal companion for them. Humans do this by providing for their partner’s inadequacies. Will this not be easy? My lord only needs to soften his methods.”

Providing for their partner’s inadequacies… Mobei-jun can do that. Mobei-jun is strong where Shang Qinghua is weak, and Shang Qinghua is very, very weak. In return, Shang Qinghua has his hidden bouts of strength where Mobei-jun is weak. Shang Qinghua frequently exceeds this king’s expectation, and Mobei-jun supposes that this is a strength on it’s own.

It occurs to him then, that in all theirs years of knowing each other, Shang Qinghua has never asked for this king to be in his service. Mobei-jun suddenly feels desperate to show that his strength can be in Shang Qinghua’s service, even if it’s only to cater for his whims. Shang Qinghua need only ask.

But Shang Qinghua is not one to ask, if his behaviour with his martial brothers and sisters is any indication. Perhaps this is where this king can provide. It is the natural course for Mobei-jun, to be taking the initiative in place of Shang Qinghua’s timidity.

“He wants to be held,” Mobei-jun recalls from Shang Qinghua’s latest rant. “So this lord will hold him, to show that he can provide for him. Yes?”

Madam Meiyin claps her hand in delight. “Exactly. Take care to remember that humans break easily! This is something that my girls always forget.”

Shang Qinghua said those exact words too. Humans truly are such pathetic creatures.

“When he said that spouses support each other, he means this physically?”

“Humans mean it in the same way that demons do, my lord,”

This confuses Mobei-jun. “He want to rise in power?” Shang Qinghua is not one for ambitions.

“Perhaps I was a bit too vague with my answer. My apologies,” Madam Meiyin says, holding her hand to her chest. “It can mean that, but it can also mean supporting your partner in any of his endeavours. Providing opportunities, chances, greatening the odds of your partner succeeding or finding fulfilment in their chosen activity.”

Inwardly, Mobei-jun perks up. He has sent lower demons in his employ to ensure Shang Qinghua’s safety in his missions during the times where this king could not accompany Shang Qinghua himself. He has done this and he can continue to do this. There are also other endeavours of Shang Qinghua that this kind could support, like his own leisure writings which Shang Qinghua hides away from this king. He can provide Shang Qinghua with quality paper and grounded ink if need be.

There is one more matter which concerns him. “What if he fears this lord’s touch?”

“Simple,” Madam Meiyin says. “Show him that there is nothing to fear.”

“How?” What must this king do to show that there is no reason to fear him?

“I cannot say exactly, as every human is different. In all my experiences, however, it’s not that difficult to… re-condition a human’s response to certain stimulus.” Madam Meiyin softly laughs at her own insight. “Yes… I will leave it to my lord to find out how for himself. The methods might veer into a realm in which my lord will find pleasurable and this humble servant wouldn’t think to spoil the surprise.”

Ah, she must mean sex. He will cross that bridge when he and Shang Qinghua get there.

Mobei-jun stands abruptly. He stares at Madam Meiyin, debating whether he should voice his gratitude enough that it would set him into a word-debt, but decides on bending himself into a shallow bow, much to Madam Meiyin’s surprise. 

She quickly hides it behind her sleeve. “Who knew that the Northern Prince would not only be more generous, but more polite too. It has truly been an honour to have been a host.”

Mobei-jun blinks in curiosity. “More?”

“We were graced with the Heavenly Emperor before his sealing.” Her voice almost seems nostalgic. “Our dear Emperor was charming, and very knowledgeable on the matters of poetry and the heart, but his heart had already settled on his cultivator by then. Such a shame. A pretty face like his only comes once every few decades.”

Mobei-jun thins his lips. The tragedy of the Heavenly Emperor is well known throughout the demon realm. It serves as a cautionary tale about the perils of cultivators. That even the strongest among the demons will inevitably fall if they were dumb enough to trust a cultivator. Mobei-jun does not remember much of the details, but he remembered hearing the occurrence and his father bellowing in laughter at the Heavenly Emperor’s foolishness. He himself sneered at Tianlang-jun’s actions. Oh, how the things has changed since then.

In Mobei-jun’s mind, however, there are fundamentals differences between the situation with the Heavenly Emperor and himself. Tianlang-jun’s human was from Huan Hua Palace, for one thing. Huan Hua Palace are the scum of human cultivators. Tianlang-jun also went for someone bold, ambitious and already at the top of the hierarchy, loyal to the Sect she was set to inherit. Mobei-jun is not making the same mistake. He and Shang Qinghua met when Shang Qinghua was a lowly outer disciple. Shang Qinghua did not take the opportunity of his weakened state to kill him, or to seal him. Shang Qinghua nursed this king back to health.

Besides, Shang Qinghua already bemoans his rise as An Ding Peak Lord. He thinks that Shang Qinghua would cry if he was left with the duty of running the sect. He would make his own suffering everyone else's problem that his martial siblings would be forced to step in. He would whine, wail, and blubber so loudly that his martial siblings would demote him out of pity.

Stupid, Mobei-jun thinks, and there is a warm sensation in his chest which undermines the insult.

After Mobei-jun bids Madam Meiyin goodbye, he whisks himself to Shang Qinghua’s Leisure House. Shang Qinghua is not currently in, but his presence litter the room. This moment of silence suits Mobei-jun just fine, finally shedding his outer cloak and dropping it on the floor. He has much to think about. His eyes stray to Shang Qinghua’s bookshelf. Perhaps there is something there which would help Mobei-jun with his thoughts.

Shang Qinghua bookshelf is an odd mix of instructional manuals and story books. All of his story books have excessive amounts of flowers on of the covers, and quite abstract titles. Out of curiousity, Mobei-jun opens one, and finds himself surprised. It is a love story. Shang Qinghua is a fan of love stories. Is there something hidden in these writings that could help this king with Shang Qinghua? Mobei-jun reads on.

Over time, Mobei-jun is not sure if he regrets it or not. The love story is between a man and a woman. The man is woeful, and the woman simpering. The woman’s father disapproved of their union, and that drives the man and the woman to initiate their clandestine meetings. There are pages and pages of love declarations. Mobei-jun can’t help to think that they should spend less time wallowing in their situation and spend more time plotting to kill the woman’s father.But even though it is a slight frustrating read, there are sections, however, where they are holding each other in their arms. Where their heads lie on each other’s shoulders. Where the woman runs her hands through the man’s hair. Where the man clasps the woman’s face in his hands and kisses her—

Is this what Shang Qinghua meant when humans hold each other gently? Admittedly, Mobei-jun does not know what ‘holding each other gently’ entails, but he figures that he could find out by trial and practice.

How perplexing. This must be part of what Madam Meiyin means in softening his methods. These are actions which could be found when demons have sex, but there is a lot less biting, a lot less force in their touch, and these humans seem… content in lingering with their touches, never moving forward to their lovemaking.

“My king!”

Suddenly, a blur of yellow, orange and brown, and Shang Qinghua is close, blocking the bookshelf with his body.

“My king, you should have told me you were coming!” Shang Qinghua laughs nervously, his eyes darting to the book in his hands. “Surely my king has better things to do than read such pointless ramblings of a human—”

Mobei-jun raises his eyebrow, although he feels suddenly transfixed by the pink dusting Shang Qinghua’s cheeks.

“—not that this servant would presume that he can tell this king what to do but this is in the best interest of my king. I insist! These books are considered rubbish and I only have them for, uh, research, you see—”

“You may.”

Shang Qinghua pales. “What?”

“Shang Qinghua may ask things of this king,” Mobei-jun says, his mind running the sheer amount of words Shang Qinghua has managed to shove into a few seconds. “Shang Qinghua may presume that he can ‘tell this king what to do’…” Mobei-jun quotes Shang Qinghua, “…within reason.”

Shang Qinghua gapes at him, again. Shang Qinghua has been leaving his mouth open often lately. It is an unbefitting habit for a future Queen Consort, but is a very, very Shang Qinghua habit. Perhaps these things would reconcile with time. When Shang Qinghua becomes Queen Consort, he will need to conduct himself with more decorum with the older demons. Mobei-jun reaches out to lift Shang Qinghua’s chin until his mouth is closed.

Shang Qinghua flinches from Mobei-jun’s touch.

Mobei-jun pauses, and Shang Qinghua grows even paler at his own reaction, before he immediately throws himself at Mobei-jun’s legs. He hugs Mobei-jun’s thighs as his voice immediately became soppy. “My king, please forgive me! I didn’t make to displease you, my king. I was just having a bad day and I drank too much green tea and now I feel so twitchy—”

It brings an unpleasant sensation inside of him, but Mobei-jun severely reigns the unpleasant feelings. This is a consequence of his own ignorance of Shang Qinghua’s customs, and this king needs to be faced with what he’s done, needs to understand the severity of his mistake, if he is to move forward and redeem himself.

He settles his hand Shang Qinghua’s head. Shang Qinghua automatically freezes, before going limp, still plastering himself against Mobei-jun’s thighs. Reminded of the book in his other hand, Mobei-jun mimics how he imagined the woman ran her fingers through the man’s hair, but with Shang Qinghua’s fringe, since the rest of his hair is tied up into a harried bun. The tips of his claw scratch against Shang Qinghua forehead, but only barely. Not hard enough to draw a white line, much less blood, but still sharp enough that it makes Shang Qinghua shiver.

Shang Qinghua look up at him with his big, teary eyes. “…My king?” he asks timidly.

“This king understands.”

Shang Qinghua sniffles. “What?”

“This book is precious to Shang Qinghua.”

“No!” Shang Qinghua shouts, arms flailing and falling over. He quickly scampers himself into a (slightly) more dignified seating position. It puts him at a distance far from this king’s hand, unfortunately. “My king, I would never read such trash…”

Mobei-jun pointedly turns his head to Shang Qinghua’s reading selection.

“… It is definitely for research,” Shang Qinghua adds primly. “For my disciples, you see. They are at an age where they are plagued with matters of the heart, and I’m just doing my due diligence as their Shizun to take the proper measures in researching all the available literature our great Sect and other book stores have to offer.”

Matters of the heart… Interesting. Mobei-jun runs his thumb on the cover of the book, before pocketing the book in his robe, much to Shang Qinghua’s squawking. He eyes up the rest of his bookshelf.

“Ah,” Shang Qinghua says, his eye twitching. “Is there something I can do for you, my king?”

No, not at first, in truth. Mobei-jun had thoughts of napping on Shang Qinghua’s bed while Shang Qinghua went on his Sect business before going back and managing his estate. Shang Qinghua’s presence, however, emboldens him. Something about seeing Shang Qinghua fluster sows a creature of curiosity and fire within him. Fire inside an ice demon… only Shang Qinghua could summon such conflicting and confusing emotions inside of him.

Finally deciding, Mobei-jun says, “Yes. Stand, Shang Qinghua.”

Shang Qinghua stands, and immediately fidgets with the edges of his robes. He closes his eyes again with an ‘eep’ when Mobei-jun reaches out, but does not flinch. Taking good care not to catch on the bun of his hair, Mobei-jun moves closer and buries his fingers in Shang Qinghua’s hair. He guides his face to press on Mobei-jun’s chest and has the unforeseen delight of not just seeing Shang Qinghua goes red, but feeling the heat travelling down Shang Qinghua’s body.

“My king, what…” Shang Qinghua clutches at this king’s robes. He doesn’t push himself away. “What the fuck is actually happening right now?” he whispers in a quiet voice. Well, quiet in volume. It’s still quite shrill and piercing in tone.

"I'm holding you," Mobei-jun helpfully explains. "Gently," he adds. 

“Oh…”

For once, Shang Qinghua seems to be absent of words.

Mobei-jun takes advantage of Shang Qinghua’s absolute bafflement. He nudges the rest of Shang Qinghua’s body closer, until it fully presses against this king’s, akin to how he read it in the book. With Shang Qinghua this close, the natural place to rest his arms seems to be around his waist. So that is what he does, wrapping himself around Shang Qinghua. There is a balance of strength that he uses, firm enough that Shang Qinghua’s squirming doesn’t dislodge himself, but subdued enough that, if Shang Qinghua puts enough qi and uses his cultivator-trained strength, he could break free if he wanted to.

Then, with Shang Qinghua solidly settled in his arms, Mobei-jun rests his head on top of Shang Qinghua’s hair, careful not to butt him too hard with his chin.

Shang Qinghua hair smells like the sun, mixed with his own personal scent. The more Mobei-jun inhales, the more heady it gets, melting inside him like snow on his skin. There’s a sudden need to bury his nose in Shang Qinghua’s hair, but he does not want to shock Shang Qinghua with any sudden movements.

Time pass. Mobei-jun sees why humans are content to only hold each other gently now. Perhaps he has judged human customs too harshly before.

Eventually, Shang Qinghua’s stiffness falls away, and he softens in Mobei-jun’s hold, but this king can practically hear the buzzing inside his head grow.

“I don’t understand,” Shang Qinghua says.

Mobei-jun does not reply, but he runs his thump up and down Shang Qinghua’s back in encouragement. In support of Shang Qinghua’s understanding.

“Why…” Shang Qinghua trails off again, and Mobei-jun waits.

Sometimes, Shang Qinghua would start voicing his conclusions only to realise that it does not satisfy him, so he withdraws back to his thoughts and starts the thinking process again from the beginning. Mobei-jun is used to this, and it’s easy to spot because even when Shang Qinghua is not talking, he is loud. He will be here when Shang Qinghua is ready to express himself.

“My, king,” Shang Qinghua finally says. “Forgive the boldness of this humble servant… but why are you… holding me?”

That’s easy. “Because humans hold each other.”

Shang Qinghua slowly peels his fingers away from this king’s robes and gulps. “Is this about my rant the other day?”

“Yes.”

“My king, I did not mean any offence—”

“This king found no offence,” Mobei-jun cuts in, before Shang Qinghua could spiral into a round of grovelling. “Only clarity,” Mobei-jun assures. “This king has been… remiss in treating Shang Qinghua like a demon.”

It is hard, to admit his own fault. But it’s easier, if it’s to Shang Qinghua.

“Treating me like a demon? What does he mean by treating—oh, my king,” Shang Qinghua asks weakly, “I—I mean—I guess I do prefer this over being hit, but I still don’t understand. Why… you’re holding me, exactly?”

Mobei-jun can feel his eyebrows dropping. “Does Shang Qinghua not like this?”

Shang Qinghua reels back, accidentally knocking Mobei-jun’s chin up. “No! No, I much prefer this over being hit any time of the day, any day of the week. Nuh-uh. No hitting for me! I’m very fragile. Please handle with caution! It’s just that… just…” Shang Qinghua suddenly avoids his gaze, “I just… didn’t think… you know…”

“This king does not know.”

“I just didn’t think you cared,” Shang Qinghua says in a small voice.

Once again, Mobei-jun feels the heavy weight of shame pressing down on his shoulders. Another consequence of his failure and ignorance. It won’t do for Shang Qinghua to think that this Mobei-jun does not regard him highly.

“This Mobei-jun will hold no other but Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-jun announces.

“No other… human?”

“No,” Mobei-jun says. “No other.”

“Oh,” Shang Qinghua says. After a while, he says, “Okay.”

There are no more questions after that, but that is fine with this king, because after some hesitation on Shang Qinghua’s part, Shang Qinghua is the one to rest his cheek on this king’s chest. Mobei-jun places his chin back on Shang Qinghua’s head, and closes his eyes.

They hold each other gently.

Chapter Text

Mobei-jun’s father was a great demon once.

For all that he was a fearsome king, he has now become out of touch with the matters of state and kingdom. Day in and day out, he indulges in his vices, locking himself in his Pleasure House while policies are made and infrastructure are built without him. On the rare occasions he does rule, he sets his eyes on the South; at the Heavenly Emperor’s govern-less land. The North is all but swept away in the quest for his glory. Last month, he sent Mobei-jun to quell the rebellion forming in the outskirts instead of addressing the food shortages which caused the rising sentiments in the first place, or the greed in his court which exacerbated the famine. That is the way of the Northern Desert under his rule.

If nothing else, Shang Qinghua has made Mobei-jun a better king from all his ranting about logistics, acquisitions, policy, and public engagement. Mobei-jun has been more involved with the running of his father’s kingdom than both his father or Linguang-jun. When Mobei-jun ascends, he and Shang Qinghua will do things differently. There will still be bloodshed, as no good demon court can function long without bloodshed, but there will also be contentment, roads, and trade. He will make sure the North prospers before setting his sight on other conquests.

On the very, very rare occasion his father shows up to be updated with the happenings of his kingdom, Mobei-jun knows that many of the advisers will embellish certain topics if the outcome means getting them beheaded. This results in his father summoning Mobei-jun in answering any questions his father might have about current events or anything upcoming of note.

“Hmm,” his father says, idly running one claw against his chin. “And how is my didi in all of this?”

Mobei-jun grunts, half in surprise and half in distaste of his uncle being brought up. “Alive,” he says.

“Unfortunate.”

Mobei-jun agrees. In this aspect, he and his father have common ground. Although why his father still entertains Linguang-jun once and a while, even mockingly so, escapes him. Mobei-jun would doubt his uncle even if Linguang-jun told him that snow was white, and he would not let Linguang-jun have half as much freedom as he does now.

His father regards him with a mildly curious expression. “He noted your meeting with the succubus.”

Mobei-jun goes through all the possible moments someone could have spotted him at Madam Meiyin’s, and wonders why it would be of any interest to Linguang-jun other than the fact that Linguang-jun seeks to destroy anything that Mobei-jun takes a mild interest in.

In the end, he does not feel the need to defend his trip to his father, so he settles with, “Yes.”

“Are you courting one of her succubi?”

His father’s curiosity is unusual. “No,” Mobei-jun replies. “This son visited Madam Meiyin for information.” Personal information, but it would be more natural for his father to assume that he went there to settle some business.

“I see,” his father says. “Any chance of convincing Madam Meiyin to move up North?”

“No,” Mobei-jun says, hiding his immediate distaste of his father’s shamelessness. “Her business is flourishing.”

“A shame.” He waves his hand. “Send your uncle in, I have business with him.”

Mobei-jun will do no such thing. He is aware that his father finds it amusing when he and his uncle are at odds with each other. He will find another demon to summon Linguang-jun.

“As you wish,” Mobei-jun says and bows before leaving. “You,” he says to the nearest servant, once he’s outside. “Find Linguang-jun. The Mobei-jun has need of him.”

The servant bows to him and scurries out of his way. Mobei-jun cannot even appreciate how much that action reminds him of Shang Qinghua when his father’s unusual behaviour sticks inside him mind like a spider web.

How odd. His father never takes an interest in any of his actions without reason and Mobei-jun doubts that it would be something as simple as his father wanting Madam Meiyin’s services. Mobei-jun cannot help but wonder what his father is planning, or if his father is planning anything at all. In the current game in which his father and Linguang-jun play against each other, his father already wins with Mobei-jun’s ongoing survival. Mobei-jun knows that his father will not act out against him, but he is wary still.

He brushes that thought aside for now. If it comes up again, he will discuss it with Shang Qinghua.

They have improved greatly in holding each other, as expected when the combined might of Shang Qinghua and Mobei-jun is faced with a challenge. And they have been versatile in their progress, holding each other even when sitting or standing.

(“It’s called a hug, my king,” Shang Qinghua tells him one day. “This is what people mean when they are hugging.”)

The first few hugs were a lesson in restraint for Mobei-jun. When he is too brash with his actions, too swift with his movements, it does not give Shang Qinghua enough notice of his intent. At best, Shang Qinghua would screech in surprise, and at worst, he would flinch. This king has learnt to call Shang Qinghua’s name when he arrives, giving him enough time to prepare before manoeuvring Shang Qinghua into his hold.

There is also a fine balance with his hugs. Shang Qinghua likes his hugs tight, but not too constricting, and so, Mobei-jun has memorised the feel of Shang Qinghua’s preferred hugs. It’s useful in knowing—it allows this king to apply that same amount of strength in many of his other actions without hurting Shang Qinghua. (Shang Qinghua does not duck away from his head pats now. Mobei-jun considers this a success.)

On one particular day, after a tiring excursion in the East gathering army intelligence for his father, Mobei-jun teleports himself into the An Ding Peak Leisure House, and it is not a moment later that he falls asleep, surrounded by Shang Qinghua’s scent. When he wakes, Shang Qinghua is reading on his daybed. Mobei-jun had been rubbing circles on his forehead, willing the sleep away from his mind, when Shang Qinghua pipes up from where he sits.

“Uhm…” Shang Qinghua says, closing the book and careful placing it on his lap. “My king… This humble servant wouldn’t want to presume… but you’re, ah, you seem particularly stressed and tired today and perhaps… perhaps this humble servant can… help alleviate whatever is troubling my king with a hug?”

The last sentence is said in a complete blur. As if he’s resigning himself to whatever fate has been decided, Shang Qinghua lifts his arms and shuts his eyes. 

Mobei-jun stares.

He’s… unable to describe the feeling bubbling up inside him. This is the first time Shang Qinghua has initiated any kind of physical contact with him outside of tending his wounds. He thought that Shang Qinghua would still be too afraid of touch from this king… but to have Shang Qinghua offer up a hug himself is momentous. So, yes, this king would like to be acknowledged by Shang Qinghua and be held by him. Yes, Shang Qinghua can definitely help alleviate whatever is troubling this king. Yes, this Mobei-jun most definitely would like a hug.

Shang Qinghua peeks through one eye, and upon finding that his king is still staring, he squeaks and promptly closes it. Before Shang Qinghua could retract his offer or replace it with excuses, Mobei-jun rushes into Shang Qinghua’s arms. He lifts Shang Qinghua up from his daybed and squishes him into his chest.

Timidly, Shang Qinghua closes his arms around Mobei-jun in return.

Nowadays, although Mobei-jun is still the one that initiates it, Shang Qinghua has come to expect a hug whenever this king visits. If he waits long enough, Shang Qinghua will start sending him periodic wistful looks with copious amounts of sighing. It’s quite pathetic, but Mobei-jun enjoys the pitiful expressions Shang Qinghua makes since he has so many of them. He does not let Shang Qinghua go on for too long, however. This king is merciful, and he always lifts his arms for Shang Qinghua to scamper into in the end, particularly when Shang Qinghua starts his dramatic sniffling.

Shang Qinghua has started wrapping his own arms around this Mobei-jun’s waist on his own volition too. When Mobei-jun wears his furs, it brings Shang Qinghua fully tucked under his cloak, with only the fluff of his hair unsheltered. It suits Shang Qinghua well. Their hugs never last too long as Shang Qinghua would start wiggling his way out of the thick fabrics citing paperwork and wandering disciples if time gets the better of them. During those moments, Mobei-jun briefly considers spearing the pile of paper with an ice blade, but Shang Qinghua would make such a fuss about it that Mobei-jun refrains from his instincts.

Shang Qinghua has yet to ask of a favour from this king. Mobei-jun wonders if this is something he should take the initiative on. The little flower book has also not given him answers relative to his current predicament, although it does give him more hugging ideas.

“Ah… my king?”

That is one thing that has changed since their increased hugging. Shang Qinghua has grown more and more bold in inquiring about his king’s thoughts. Mobei-jun flips over a page and hums, showing that Shang Qinghua has his attention.

“Does my king…” Shang Qinghua throws him another look from where he sits on his desk.“Is my king enjoying the book?”

Is he enjoying the book aside from the insights of human culture he is learning? He supposes he is. Although, the main characters can be quite ingratiating. The book is quite amusing. “Yes,” Mobei-jun says. “It is interesting.”

“Interesting,” Shang Qinghua mutters to himself. “Okay, that’s not bad. That’s actually… pretty good, right? I can work with that. Uhm…” Shang Qinghua clears his throat. “My king, what part of the book do you find most interesting?”

Mobei-jun is reminded that Shang Qinghua is a fan of love stories. He must be wanting to discuss the book with this king.

“Many things,” Mobei-jun says.

“Many things like…?”

“Human courting rituals and sentimentality. This king does not understand why the man does not kill the woman’s father in order to proceed with their courtship.”

Mobei-jun overhears Shang Qinghua sighing to himself and saying, “Right, demons." He clears his throat and raises his voice. "My king, that’s a bit extreme, isn’t it? Killing her father will just make Li Yuming upset and angry. You can’t expect to have a relationship like that! Their love will wither that way…”

“She holds affection for her father?” Did Mobei-jun miss that in his reading? “Does her father hold affection for her too?”

“He does—it’s just—he doesn’t think that Chen Bocheng would make a good match for her.”

Mobei-jun got that part, at least. “Then he should fight her father and make sure to draw blood.”

“My king…”

“It shows the resilience of the man’s devotion for his daughter,” Mobei-jun explains. “It shows strength, and a lack of fear. The woman should have challenged her father in the first place, to make it known that any act against her chosen one will not be taken lightly, as well as for the disrespect in undermining her decision. If not challenge, then usurp his position as head of the household. Doubting her choice in a partner without repercussion leaves room for him to doubt all her other choices in the future.”

“…”

“But this king understands that they are human,” Mobei-jun assures him. “This king continues to learn as he reads.”

“…I see that, my king.” Shang Qinghua scratches the back of his neck, before hunching over a piece of paper while mumbling harshly. “Although I’m worried what that book is teaching you exactly—not that I’m opposed to my king being interested in humans without his usual vehemence—oh dear, I really should have made the villain someone more obviously unlikeable and unforgivable—”

Shang Qinghua wrote the book? All the more reason for this king to continue reading.

Mobei-jun refocuses on his reading as Shang Qinghua devolves back into his personal ramblings. It takes him a couple of sentences in to realise that he has yet to return the question back to Shang Qinghua. Mobei-jun frowns. It’s not like Mobei-jun would not care about what Shang Qinghua has to say, it’s only that he had not thought to ask. How neglectful of him. If this is an area in which he can support Shang Qinghua, then he must do so.

“What does Shang Qinghua find most interesting?”

Shang Qinghua blinks amidst his frantic writing. “Huh? Could you repeat that again, my king?”

Mobei-jun waves the book. “What about Shang Qinghua? Shang Qinghua enjoys the book, yes?”

“Oh! Yes, yes,” Shang Qinghua taps his brush against his chin. “I did enjoy the book, in a way. I guess… I wanted to challenge myself with all the kissing and cuddling, you see… and only kissing and cuddling. I wanted to see if it would be interesting enough in the end.”

No, Mobei-jun thinks, eyes narrowing. He does not see. In what way was Shang Qinghua challenging himself? Was he kissing and cuddling other people? Was he holding them gently the way he does now with this Mobei-jun? The jagged edge of jealousy pierces through him. He must know who. If Shang Qinghua has a need to challenge himself then he should ask his king and not—not that other person. Not any other person. Only this king.

“Uhm, my king. I think you froze my ink—”

“Who,” Mobei-jun barks out. The book lays forgotten as he leaves it on the bed and strides towards Shang Qinghua.

Shang Qinghua gulps and peers up at him. “Who, what, my king?”

“Who is Shang Qinghua challenging himself with all the…” his voice devolves into a hiss, “kissing and cuddling?”

“…What?”

The more Mobei-jun thinks about another’s hands on Shang Qinghua, the more enraged he gets. “Who is Shang Qinghua—”

“No, my king! You’re mistaken! I didn’t mean—“ Shang Qinghua turns red again, “I meant challenging myself in terms of… writing… the story. I’m the author of the book. Ta da! It’s pretty embarrassing, isn’t it? I hope you’re not hoping to tell anyone haha, my king. That’s what I meant—not that I’m going around… doing those things. I don’t actually—that is, to say that—I don’t have anyone—”

Relief melts his jealousy away. “Good.”

Shang Qinghua bristles. “Eh? Good? What do you mean ‘good’?”

Mobei-jun kneels and rests his hands on Shang Qinghua’s shoulders. He turns him so that they’re facing each other, shoulder to shoulder. He catches Shang Qinghua’s eyes and pours all the intent and dedication he could within his gaze, willing Shang Qinghua to understand his importance to this king.

“If Shang Qinghua has need of anything… anything which troubles Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-jun emphasises. “He may ask this king.”

“…Ah, I’m sure you have more important things to do than to be troubled by this old man and his whims, my king…”

“No.”

“No?”

“Nothing is more important,” Mobei-jun says gravely. “If it troubles Shang Qinghua, it troubles this king.”

“Oh,” Shang Qinghua says, fidgeting with his brush. “Well. Uhm. Thank you, my king. You’re, uh, you’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

Is Shang Qinghua finally starting to understand? He hopes so. He must show Shang Qinghua that this king will take any matter Shang Qinghua brings to him seriously, if only because it is important to Shang Qinghua. Perhaps, he will take the initiative now and pave the way until Shang Qinghua feels more comfortable to do so on his own. Yes, Mobei-jun thinks. This is an acceptable course of action.

“Tonight,” Mobei-jun decides. “This king must deal with some things but he will be back. Then, Shang Qinghua will cuddle with this king.”

Shang Qinghua squawks and jolts so hard, he knocks the paper and ink off the desk. Then Shang Qinghua pales as the ink, still frozen, breaks into shards and the edges starts smearing on his floor and his wayward papers.

“No,” Shang Qinghua moans. “No, no, no! Not the budget reports. Ah, I’ll have to start all over again, no. Why did I do that—”

It is a good thing they are only practising their cuddling, Mobei-jun thinks. Who knows how much destruction Shang Qinghua would have accidentally wrought onto himself if Mobei-jun had included practising their kissing as well? Shang Qinghua’s own characters in his little flower book did not kiss until more than halfway through the story. Mobei-jun knows how delicate Shang Qinghua can be, however, and it won’t do him good to push him too far too soon. Patience, Mobei-jun reminds himself, especially considering all the missteps he has taken before his revelation.

Mobei-jun pats Shang Qinghua’s curled over form on the floor. There is business he must settle first before he can retire for a night’s rest. The sooner he finishes, the sooner he’ll be back and they can begin cuddling.

Later that night, Shang Qinghua shuffles uneasily around his bed. “My king,” he says, playing with his sleeping robes. “I guess you were serious? I wasn’t sure if you were serious or not.”

Shang Qinghua looks soft like this, with his hair down and the lights of the Leisure House dimmed. His fringe curls around his forehead, the way it would if he had been rubbing his the drowsiness from his eyes.

Mobei-jun has already shed his cloak and robes, preferring to sleep with only his pants on. He has made himself comfortable on Shang Qinghua’s bed, like he would if he were taking an afternoon nap. In truthful, he’s curious. Shang Qinghua’s bed is much smaller than Mobei-jun’s own one in his estate. Mobei-jun wonders how one fits two people in a bed as small as this, yet it must be possible, because the little flower book described a situation as similar as their current one right now and both Li Yuming and Chen Bocheng used it as an opportunity to deepen their romantic bond.

When it looks as if Shang Qinghua would happily spend the rest of the night hovering on the edges of their bed, Mobei-jun barks, “Shang Qinghua. Get in.”

Shang Qinghua jumps and he basically throws himself on the bed. He is stiff as he scoots himself under the blanket, and the little space on the bed means that he’s half on top of Mobei-jun as he’s squashed against the wall. Mobei-jun follows Shang Qinghua under the blanket, and it’s warm, but not unpleasant. The same kind of warmth as having Shang Qinghua’s body plastered against him so Mobei-jun does not mind.

“Okay! Good night, my king!” Shang Qinghua says nervously. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Shang Qinghua forcibly closes his eyes, his body stiff as a board. Even though Mobei-jun can see him trying his best to keep quiet, Mobei-jun could practically hear the buzzing in his head. Every once in a while, his eyelashes twitch, as if temptation to peek is too strong. Shang Qinghua must be very nervous right now. It amuses him.

But Mobei-jun has done some research in the little time they’ve been apart. Cuddling is very much like hugging, only lying down. So, Mobei-jun sneaks his arms around Shang Qinghua’s waists, and hauls him close. Shang Qinghua flails, as he usually does, and his cheek lands on Mobei-jun’s chest. Tentatively, Shang Qinghua rests one hand on Mobei-jun’s chest.

“Unfair,” Shang Qinghua murmurs, flexing his fingers. “Super unfair. Not even in my wildest dreams could I have rock-hard abs like this. I could be working out twenty-five hours a day, eight days a week, and still be soft like a marshmallow!”

Mobei-jun buries his nose into Shang Qinghua’s hair and breathes in deep. He doesn’t know what a marshmallow is, but if it’s as soft as Shang Qinghua says he is, then he feels the sudden urge to pinch it, like what Li Yuming would do to Chen Bocheng’s cheek when he is deep in thought. So, careful with his strength, that is what Mobei-jun does, reaching over and pinching Shang Qinghua’s cheek with his fingers.

Shang Qinghua’s response… is much more positive than what Mobei-jun thought it would be.

“Whaa—my king,” Shang Qinghua whines.

“Sleep.”

Shang Qinghua humphs, and he puffs out his cheeks. Mobei-jun knows because he can feel it. It's delightful how unguarded and petulant Shang Qinghua can be when he forgets that he's afraid of this king. Mobei-jun pats Shang Qinghua on the head and rearranges Shang Qinghua to his liking, ignoring his yelps and whines as he tucks them into a more comfortable position where Shang Qinghua is mostly on top of him.

Sleep comes naturally, after that. This king feels fullness in his chest, like stepping into the heart of a snowstorm after being cooped up for too long, and he thinks that Shang Qinghua's smaller bed isn't so bad if it gets Shang Qinghua cuddling up with him.

In the morning, Shang Qinghua jolts himself awake so violently, he falls off the bed. It is very odd, since Mobei-jun has seen Shang Qinghua wake from his sleep, and it's usually a slow, bleary, almost leisurely, process. Is this because they are sharing a bed together? Mobei-jun will make note of catching Shang Qinghua before he hits the floor next time this happens. 

Humans are truly such strange creatures.

Shang Qinghua's first request, when he finally asks, comes months after Mobei-jun first insists that Shang Qinghua may ask anything of this king. After months of hugging, cuddling, and sharing a bed at night.

"My king, you know how you mentioned that this humble servant may ask things of you?" Shang Qinghua asks, after whispering to himself for a good while. "Well, I've been thinking, and—"

"Yes."

Blinking, Shang Qinghua says, "Sorry, my king. I thought I heard you say 'yes' to my request—"

"Shang Qinghua is correct."

Shang Qinghua gapes at him.

Mobei-jun waits. After an acceptable amount of time has passed with no signs of Shang Qinghua gathering his composure, Mobei-jun puts a finger under Shang Qinghua's chin and slowly closes his mouth. 

Shang Qinghua shakes out of his stupor. "But… my king… I haven't asked anything yet…"

"This king will do it," Mobei-jun says. "What is needed?"

"My king, you can't just—what if I asked for all the guarded treasures of the kingdom? Or half of your inheritance? You can't just give out your agreement so easily."

Mobei-jun frowns. "Why half?" he asks. Shang Qinghua may have all if he desires it. Eventually, what belongs to this king will belong to Shang Qinghua. Is that not how marriage works?

"What do you mean ‘why half’? Are you really—never mind that—because the other half would be your powers and I don't think your ancestors would be very happy with me if I asked you to house them all in my body—Anyway, I was thinking, my king, since you would be visiting the Sha clan near the Blinding Forest… I wanted to see if you would be able to check on my disciples and see if they're okay?"

The tip of Shang Qinghua's ears are turning red again. Mobei-jun feels the urge to touch them, to see if they have turned as warm as they looked.

"I understand if you're too busy to do so, and I know that this is a lot to ask of you. I wouldn't ask it of you if I could check on them myself, but zhangmen-shixiong wants me to attend him in a meeting with the silk merchants, and it's a petty important deal since they source the silks Qing Jing peak embroiders for us to sell, and those silks sell for a lot of money. A lot of money, my king! Besides, this would be the first mission my cute little disciple will lead as my new Head Disciple and she's never ventured near the Blinding Forest before, you see, let alone inside it! All of her mission have always gone smoothly and I still worry since An Ding Peak disciples have historically always run into bad luck in those areas —"

"Yes," Mobei-jun says. "This king will see to her safety himself."

"Ah, my king. It won’t only be her in the mission. It’ll be her, a couple of the outer disciples and some people from Bai Zhan Peak protecting them. Please, do not scare them," Shang Qinghua says. "It would frighten them very, very much if a big, powerful demon such as yourself appears out of nowhere. The Bai Zhan peak disciples might even do something as stupid as try and attack you—"

Mobei-jun gives Shang Qinghua a withering look.

"—not that I'm doubting you, of course!" Shang Qinghua insists, fluttering around him. That doubting liar. "Or questioning your control over your powers—just—the disciples can be very stupid when they're afraid. And that means they can be very unpredictable… both in good and horrible ways  So, be careful, my king."

Mobei-jun nods, letting the information seek in, letting Shang Qinghua's expectations of this king fuel his determination. He pats Shang Qinghua on the head. "This king will be careful," he promises. "Shang Qinghua's disciples and the fighting peak's disciples will arrive unharmed."

Shang Qinghua hesitates, before reaching up  and holding onto Mobei-jun's hand. "Thank you, my king,” he says, before gracing this king with a small, sweet, genuine smile.

Shang Qinghua must be reasonably worried if he forgoes any deprecating comment about the fighting peak. All the more reason for Mobei-jun to rise to the occasion. He recalls the many trials and tribulations Mobei-jun has placed in front of Shang Qinghua himself, expecting a haphazard result only for Shang Qinghua to deliver above and beyond what's expected. It is about time Mobei-jun does the same. He will not let him down. 

The Blinding Forest gets its name for certain days of the month where the forestry and lakes emit a thick fog that blocks any form of light from entering the forest. The fog is harmless, but it is particularly light-resistant, and dampens any form of external light that is brought in by travellers. As a result, the fog is darker than any ink can replicate. The more superstitious of the humans remarks it’s resemblance to a deep, endless, pit, and staring within the fog for too long will take away one's sight or ability to tell time.

Mobei-jun thinks that the danger lies with what the forest hides rather than what the forest can take. Many fearsome beasts and carnivorous insects make their home within the forest, and they rely heavily on their senses to compensate during the days where the forest is pitch black.

Yet, the forest is also rich in herbs and resources. There is an abundance of medicinal and recreational plants that thrive in its dark and cold environment, with some growing during the darkest periods of the forest and withering away at the first hint of sunlight. Often, the rarity and the bounty of the plant makes the tumultuous harvest worth every second.

One plant in particular, Mobei-jun recalls, acts as a psychedelic for shadow based demons, which means that Shang Qinghua's disciples risk running into young, careless, possibly intoxicated shadow demons looking to have their fun, among other things.

During the days leading up to its darkest period, the roads running through the forest also becomes a popular spot for human bandits. From his discussion with Shang Qinghua, the An Ding Peak disciples’ mission is twofold. They must accompany a group of merchants through the forest, accompanied by Bai Zhan Peak disciples, just before the fog falls. Then, they must barter for a discounted shipment of ink, herbs, and resin, and cart it back to Cang Qiong Sect. The latter part will be of no problem. The former, however, Mobei-jun will have to be vigilant about.

The Sha Clan had requested Mobei-jun’s expertise in stress testing their teleportation arrays. Normally, this king would have been above such a request purely from status alone, but the Sha Clan have been allies of his family for generations. A strong and necessary ally, situated on the other side of the world. It is a show of good faith that Mobei-jun is willing to divulge aspects of his teleportation magic for their understanding. When the heiress of the Sha Clan comes of age, Mobei-jun will take her under his apprenticeship and at the end, she too will renew the alliance for another generation.

By the time Mobei-jun reaches the Blinding Forest, the fog has blanketed over the area. His sight is more capable than a human’s but it is still limited in this fog. The are no signs of Shang Qinghua’s disciples in the fringes, so Mobei-jun stretches his senses, searching for any sign of human qi. He finds them north-east, still clustered as a group, with rope tied around each other’s waists and each person holding a light source of their own. Good. Then they are smart enough to have several methods of keeping each other close.

That is where their fortune ends, because as Mobei-jun gets closer, the pungent smell of alcohol wafts over him. One of their merchants is absolutely steeped in the smell, and a couple others follow his example. The idiocy of humans in tempering their senses with alcohol when faced a fearful situation is not something he will ever understand.

Immediately, Mobei-jun flares his qi, and a couple of creatures halt in their stalking of the An Ding Peak disciples, curious in the wave of qi he’s bleeding out. A layer of frost frames the road, thick enough to a deterrent for any curious creatures. This should help Shang Qinghua’s disciples from getting lost. As long as they follow the path unfrozen, they will find their way out.

One of the merchants swings wildly around, shivering. “W-what was that?” he says. “Did you feel that? Why did it become freezing all of a sudden?”

Shang Qinghua’s Head Disciple forces a smile. “Just the night’s chill! Nothing to worry about, aha!” Although, she sneaks a hand onto the hilt of her sword and she throws a look to the nearest fighting peak disciple to do the same.

Then, a slight change of wind. Mobei-jun feels it before he hears it, a beast with eight pairs of legs charging at the caravan.

The beast pounces over the grass which Mobei-jun has frozen, and Mobei-jun meets him in the air, the giant spikes he has frozen onto his shoulder pad piercing the beast’s belly. He portals them a short distance away, and they land in a roll, the beast clawing to get on top of Mobei-jun. He dodges the swipes aimed at his head. The beast snaps it’s maws, it's jaw only inches away from tearing out his throat. Mobei-jun grabs hold of it, digging his claws into the beast's jaw and pushing back against it's strength. A glob of saliva on his arm, and Mobei-jun can hear a hiss as the saliva eats away at his cloak.

Mobei-jun spears a blade of ice through it’s open mouth, and specks of blood splatters onto his face. There is a sharp sting as it's blood burns through his skin, but Mobei-jun ignores it as he tightens his grip on the beast's jaw and twists it’s neck until there’s an audible ‘snap’. Then, he portals himself away from under the beast, and he watches at the beast flops onto the ground, lifeless. He waits for the beast to potentially rise and checks for the damage done to his coat—to which there is a sizeable hole which reveals his arm padding.

Blood is rushing in his ears. His magic zings under his skin and his body feels limber. He can feel all the open skin on his face knitting together. During a hunt, he usually enjoys employing some tracking and stalking before engaging in the fight itself. Having to protect a target adds a new novelty which this kings finds interesting. Fighting the beast with limited vision and having the added layer of hiding his presence from Shang Qinghua’s disciples is invigorating.

How… refreshing.

Briefly, he wonders what the pelt of the beast looks like in daylight. Whether it’s dark colouring will swallow Shang Qinghua's smaller stature when placed on his shoulders.

His thoughts are broken by a sharp yelp in the distance. Then, a damning silence, followed by a sharp, piercing whistle. A number of creatures, their qi once stagnant, flares and starts mobilising towards the caravan.

Mobei-jun tucks that image aside. A thought for another time, perhaps. For now, he must make haste and ensure that Shang Qinghua’s students are escorted safely out of the forest.

Shang Qinghua’s Head Disciple sits across the table, bundled up in layers and layers of thick blanket, gripping the steaming cup of tea tight in her hands. Her face is pale, but still determined. Really, Shang Qinghua doesn’t know what he did in his past life to deserve her. He knows that he himself would not have been able to successfully shepherd a whole herd of slightly traumatised disciples back to Cang Qiong Sect unharmed after such a harrowing experience.

“It was so odd, Shizun,” Huang Wenwen says. “And to be honest, quite terrifying. We heard so many noises around us… so many roaring and high-pitched trills and we all had our swords out ready to fight but… nothing happened. We kept waiting, and wondering and... nothing. Nothing happened all night. When we took the same route back during the daytime, there were just… corpses of beasts littering close to the path we took. And they were big... which makes me wonder of what exactly killed them and how or why everything somehow missed us...”

"Yeah, that is..." Shang Qinghua agrees, "quite worrying."

Inside, Shang Qinghua is screaming, desperately wanting to tug at his own hair. My king! Please take a little more care with the situation! He knows that Mobei-jun is messy, but is this what he’s like when Shang Qinghua is not there to clean up after him? Maybe Shang Qinghua has been spoiling his king too much by being too competent.

Although, he is glad that that his disciples are safe. He has no idea what the merchants were thinking rushing such a travel through an obviously (!) dangerous route, but he supposes that this is retaliation for giving all the nameless fodder character less than negative-one IQ when he was writing the novel.

Shang Qinghua could say that the forest was playing with their senses, but that wouldn’t explain all the corpses his king left behind though, would it?

“You did a good job, Huang Wenwen,” is what he settles for instead. And if there’s one thing he knows about his own disciples is that they’re never too exhausted to be appreciate praise.

Huang Wenwen closes her eyes, empties her tea in one go. “Ah…Thank you, Shizun,” she says, after a while.

“Did you have any troubles with the Bai Zhan Peak disciples?”

“No,” she says. “Although they did want to skin the corpses for their pelts, but I put my foot down and said no, since they’ve been cooking in the sun for far too long. But also I, and many of the outer disciples, just wanted to get home as soon as possible.”

“Ah, good, very good.” Shang Qinghua nods. “There’s no telling what diseases the corpses could have picked up in that short amount of time.” He gets and heads to the cupboard, searching for more comforting blankets. “All that matters is that you all arrived home safely," he fusses. "I promise that all your other missions from here on out won’t be half as exciting as the one you just had. In fact, some of them will be so mind-numbingly boring that you’ll start wishing the Bai Zhan Peak Disciples would start making a fuss just so that something would happen—”

Huang Wenwen sinks into the pile of blankets Shang Qinghua is determinedly tucking around her, and comforts herself with the sounds of her Shizun’s chattering.

Chapter Text

Shang Qinghua's little flower book reads a little like the man himself. A little droll and stuffy at first glance, but it quickly becomes entrancing, unabashedly dramatic and entertaining towards the end. It provides Mobei-jun with a rare insight into human intimacy, or more precisely, Shang Qinghua's version of intimacy. There is hugging, petting, and cuddling, yes, but there are other acts of affection which capture Mobei-jun's attention.

For instance, in the book, Li Yuming and Chen Bocheng take turns preparing each other’s meals. They wash each other’s hair, and bring each other gifts. They keep each other safe—this is highlighted by multiple and multiple situations where Chen Bocheng whisks Li Yuming to safety—and provide a space in which the other may sleep unguarded. Mobei-jun’s can feel his heart race as he continues reading. These are all things which Shang Qinghua has done for this king in some way. All of the things which Shang Qinghua still insists that he does for his king.

Was Shang Qinghua aware of this? That his actions suggest an intimacy that translates even into human culture. He must have, since he wrote the book, but at the same, he might not have. Because it is Shang Qinghua.

And Mobei-jun supposes that these can also be things which a servant does for one’s master. Yet, even as he mulls this possibility, it does not ring quite true in his mind. He has had other servants before. None of their touch offers as much comfort, lingers so securely, or rings with as much loyalty as Shang Qinghua does. But, perhaps, it is a combination of these acts of service, along with their hugging and cuddling, which would entail as courtship for a human.

Hmm. Mobei-jun cannot get too excited just yet. He needs more material for comparison.

So, once Mobei-jun finishes with Shang Qinghua’s little flower book, he works through the rest of Shang Qinghua’s reading selection. He did not write these ones, and Mobei-jun can tell. They lack Shang Qinghua’s fanciful and humorous descriptions. They are still entertaining, nonetheless, if not enlightening. Much of the acts of services are the same in each book. They vary in the particulars, but their intent is always the same. Always in affection. Always for love.

“You’re really enjoying those, aren’t you, my king?”

He peeks over from his book to where Shang Qinghua is undoing his hairpins. With each pin that he pulls out, a lock of hair comes tumbling down. The flow of it captures Mobei-jun's attention. If he cups his hands under Shang Qinghua’s hair, would it tickle his fingers like a waterfall?

Cuddling together at night has brought many quiet joys to Mobei-jun’s sleep. Watching Shang Qinghua settle into his night routine is one of them.

Mobei-jun nods. He is struck with a brilliant idea as Shang Qinghua untangles his hair.

“Shang Qinghua,” he says, and he motions him to come close.

Shang Qinghua does not jump at his orders anymore, much because Mobei-jun has also tried to soften his tone when speaking. He does look at this king quizzically, if a little warily, as he drags his feet over.

“Sit,” Mobei-jun says, and after Shang Qinghua sits, Mobei-jun turns him to face the other way.

With his claws, he skims his fingers through Shang Qinghua’s hair, up and down in slow motions. Shang Qinghua’s hair is wavier than this Mobei-jun’s and it is thicker. He catches on a small patch of tangled hair, and he picks at it, careful not to tug too harshly. Shang Qinghua grows more jittery under his touch, and that makes Mobei-jun think that he’s not doing this correctly. When Shang Qinghua combs this king’s hair, it usually calms him.

“Uhm… my king?”

Mobei-jun grunts.

“Are you… are you brushing my hair?”

Shang Qinghua can be so dense sometimes. “Yes.”

“Oh, okay.” Shang Qinghua says. “Would you like a hairbrush for that? It would make it easier…”

Maybe that is where Mobei-jun is going wrong. He frees Shang Qinghua hair from his grip and Shang Qinghua quickly grabs a hair comb and offers it to his king in his rodent-like way. This time, Shang Qinghua calms under his ministrations, and Shang Qinghua’s hair is much more tameable with a comb.

Time goes by in this fashion. Mobei-jun finds that he derives satisfaction from the action as well. He likes how Shang Qinghua softens under his brushing—he likes that Shang Qinghua softens as a result of his touch. They have come a long way for Shang Qinghua to feel safe with him even when his back is turned.

Shang Qinghua sighs, and it’s not a stressed sigh, nor a melancholic sigh, or even a sigh of distress. It must be his contented sigh. This is a major success.

“Thank you, my king,” Shang Qinghua says. “Ah, it feels so nice. Although, you should be careful… If you keep this up, I might ask my king to do this every night! I might end up absolutely spoiled!”

The thought of Shang Qinghua growing spoiled by this Mobei-jun pleases him. “Yes,” he says. One day, he would have Shang Qinghua dressed in his colours and draped in lines and lines of embroidery. He would only wear fur of fearsome and beautiful beasts, hunted by the king’s own hands. All who would look at him will know how highly this king regards his little human.

At this point, there are no more tangles in Shang Qinghua’s hair, but both of them are reluctant to move away from their position. Shang Qinghua talks about his day with little prompt. Mobei-jun likes that. He likes hearing about Shang Qinghua’s day.

“I see that my king has started on the other books.”

“Hmm.”

“Do you like it so far?”

This is another change this king must adjust to. With Shang Qinghua growing bolder with regards to his interactions with this king, he has begun to regularly ask for this king’s opinion, and so this king must set aside his discomfort at talking and provide for Shang Qinghua in this matter. Besides, discussing the books also provides an opportune moment for Mobei-jun to explain the subtleties of demonic courting for Shang Qinghua.

“Yes,” he says. “It is interesting.”

“What part of it do you like the most?”

Mobei-jun pauses. This book’s main conflict is different than the little flower book’s. The heroine lives in the shadow of her elder sister, in love with the man that her sister is engaged to. What interests Mobei-jun is that the heroine and her sister are still affectionate with each other despite this source of contention. They talk, they cry and they hug often—an action that Mobei-jun now understands can also be shared between family.

“The woman and her sister,” Mobei-jun says. “They still hold fondness for each other.”

“Yes, their bond is very strong!” Shang Qinghua wiggles in a way which dislodges Mobei-jun’s hands from his hair, for fear of pulling his hair. He looks over his shoulder. “Does my king find that strange?”

Strange? Aligned with all the new information he’s learned about human customs, no, he supposes not. He knows that outside his own family, familial bonds are often honoured with respect, if not fondness.

“Soft,” he decides. “Not strange.”

If the sisters were demonic, the heroine would have been encouraged to court the man regardless, especially by her own sister, and at some point, that would have required a battle.

“Ah, I’m guess the demonic way would involve a lot more fighting then?”

Mobei-jun nods. At Shang Qinghua’s curious look, he explains, “The heroine should have courted the man along with her sister. If her sister decides that her devotion is stronger, then the sister might step aside and withdraw her engagement.”

“I see… I see…” Shang Qinghua taps his chin. “But what happens if the man prefers the sister? It doesn’t seem like the man has any choice in the matter currently.” Shang Qinghua purses his lips. “Or that the man is getting all these women throwing themselves at him while doing no work himself!”

It is complicated. “If the man did not… consider the heroine a potential mate, then he would have rejected her court in its nascency. Letting her continue on would have been cruel.” Mobei-jun thinks on it. “And would have had grave consequences,” he says.

Shang Qinghua takes one peak at his face and shudders. “Yes… yes, very grave. Demons don’t mess around, huh. Guess you got to be careful about sending mixed messages when everyone’s got sharp claws and a unquenchable thirst for blood at their disposal…”

Shang Qinghua always has a strange way of wording things, but Mobei-jun supposes the sentiment is apt. “Most demons do not court lightly,” he says, although there are always exceptions. Like his father, for example, and many of the demons born in the younger generation.

Younger demons these days beat each other silly before any kind of commitment or courtship. It’s ridiculous.

Mobei-jun frowns. “My father had children with his concubines,” he tells Shang Qinghua, and he does not hide his disapproval.

It is not the keeping of concubines which Mobei-jun disapproves of even though Mobei-jun fails to see how the appeal of harems outweighs the trouble of the constant infighting. It is bringing life into the harsh Northern Desert and into its bloodthirsty court, without the protection that comes with being the child of an official spouse.

When Mobei-jun ascends, he will repay the loyalty Shang Qinghua has shown him twice fold. Shang Qinghua’s position and power as his Queen Consort will be uncompromising. He will take no other as his spouse or concubine. And should the time come for heirs, Mobei-jun has faith that Shang Qinghua will find a way. They are not the first of the Mo Clan to overcome such an issue and they won’t be the last.

Shang Qinghua is shocked. It is rare that something truly shocks his little spy. “What? But—that can’t be right—I don’t remember…” he breaks off into mumbles before clearing his throat. “You have siblings, my king?” he asks.

Mobei-jun shakes his head. “Had.”

“Oh… what…”

“Linguang-jun killed them,” he says. “They were young. Their mothers could not match a demon from the Mo Clan. My father did not afford them the proper guards until it was too late.”

“Oh,” Shang Qinghua mutters. “Figures. Stupid, decrepit ice box.”

Mobei-jun is amused. “This happened before this king was born.” In fact, Mobei-jun only knew from a combination of record keeping, his uncle’s taunts directed at his father, and gossip from the palace help.

“Still,” Shang Qinghua says. “Even though I’m not that surprised, picking on defenseless kids is a pretty scum move, even for your uncle.”

“Yes,” Mobei-jun agrees. Mobei-jun has often wondered if that was why his father stole Linguang-jun’s bride, as compensation for all the heirs he had killed. It did not matter in the end anyway. Having Mobei-jun’s mother accept his father’s court must have been a blow to his uncle. Linguang-jun’s hatred for his father overshadows any form of affection or love he might have for his mother.

Mobei-jun reaches up and gently pulls on Shang Qinghua’s fringe. “What about Shang Qinghua?”

“Huh?”

“Does Shang Qinghua have siblings?”

“Aha, no. Just me, sadly. My parents were already disinterested after having one kid. Imagine if they had two.”

“Did Shang Qinghua want siblings?”

“Hmm.” Shang Qinghua taps his chin. “I guess so. It wouldn’t have been as lonely growing up with a sibling, I think. I would want an older sibling, though, who would pamper me and spoil me rotten.”

Interesting, Mobei-jun thinks, on both accounts. He tucks his new found knowledge away for later.

Shang Qinghua continues narrating his thoughts, and Mobei-jun nods where appropriate. At some point, he yawns, and Mobei-jun decides that it is time for rest. “Shang Qinghua,” he says, while tugging at Shang Qinghua’s elbow.

“In a minute, my king. I must put the brush away and—” He interrupts himself with another yawn, “—now that I think about it, I was about to check over the variance sheet one more time before I sleep—”

“Shang Qinghua,” he warns, before lifting Shang Qinghua by the waist and depositing him in their bed.

Their bed, Mobei-jun thinks, because it’s not only just Shang Qinghua’s bed any longer. One day, Mobei-jun arrived at the An Ding Peak Leisure House and Shang Qinghua’s tiny single bed was replaced with a bed large enough to fit both this king and Shang Qinghua. This Mobei-jun is humbled. He knows from Shang Qinghua’s rambles that sourcing a bed that would cater for his size would not have been easy. That Shang Qinghua did so without being asked shows the consideration that Shang Qinghua puts into this king’s comfort, as well as showing that Shang Qinghua welcomes this king’s cuddles at night.

The brush he can put away himself, so he places that on the bedside table. The variance sheet can wait for tomorrow. Mobei-jun know that if left to it, Shang Qinghua will find more things to be worried about and the time for sleep will be lost by the time he has finished. So he wrestles Shang Qinghua’s wriggling form under the blanket, and he wraps one arm around Shang Qinghua’s waist like an anchor, chaining him to this king’s side.

Shang Qinghua does not put much of a fight. Even if he did, Mobei-jun isn’t able to tell. He flops on top of the pillows for a bit. “My king, you’re too cold,” he whines, pouting and sniffling and looking at him with improbably huge eyes.

Mobei-jun glowers at Shang Qinghua. He refrain from rolling his eyes at Shang Qinghua’s antics, before transferring enough spiritual energy that Shang Qinghua sighs happily.

Shang Qinghua can easily regulate his own body heat, just as this king can easily ignore his pathetic crocodile tears. That is not the point. Shang Qinghua will put on a show, as it is his whim, and Mobei-jun will indulge in Shang Qinghua’s whims, like a good partner should. Besides, Shang Qinghua only acts this pathetic when he wants this Mobei-jun’s attention. Mobei-jun likes that.

So, Shang Qinghua would makes a fuss about being put to bed while Mobei-jun tucks him in. Once Shang Qinghua is under the blankets, he throws all semblance of dignity out the window—something that, in Mobei-jun’s opinion, was already on the brink of extinction in the first place—plops his cheek onto this king’s bare chest, and begins snoring within minutes.

Perhaps it’s normal for humans to be nuzzling one’s chest when they are content. Shang Qinghua certainly does it often. Shang Qinghua seems to enjoy smushing his face in this king’s chest no matter if they’re standing, sitting or lying down. It reminds him of how the White Armoured Frost Leopard greet their pack mates hello, but in their case, it is the tiny bird Northern Plover Bird saying hello to the leopard.

This king is half propped on the bed, still reading his book when Shang Qinghua finally settles his chin comfortably. “Ooh,” Shang Qinghua says, eyes quickly scanning the page. “You’re about to hit the good part. I think you’ll really like the next bit, my king—ah, no spoilers from me!”

Mobei-jun wonders if Shang Qinghua has ever done anything in his life quietly. He surprises himself; he likes it that way.

He rests one hand on Shang Qinghua’s head, and they continue reading with Shang Qinghua his thoughts known every couple of pages. It is peaceful and it is good.

With the accomplishment of Shang Qinghua’s first task comes Mobei-jun’s deep hunger to keep proving himself—to keep providing for Shang Qinghua. It is an exercise in patience as Shang Qinghua still hesitates. Shang Qinghua still doubts his importance to this king. He does not give this king enough time to digest what is being asked, at times, before he retracts his statement and flees the vicinity.

Mobei-jun wants Shang Qinghua to approach him for anything which troubles his mind or his heart, no matter how small or inconsequential he thinks it may be. Even if Shang Qinghua thinks the favour asked is unbefitting for Mobei-jun, Shang Qinghua should still come to this king. Mobei-jun would do it anyway. But he supposes that Shang Qinghua asking Mobei-jun for anything at all is already progress made in the right direction. All he can do now is to continue taking the initiative with their courtship. As Madam Meiyin advised; same heart, softer methods.

“Another cloak, my king?” Shang Qinghua says.

Shang Qinghua looks at the coat in his hands, then at the numerous coats folded in his overstuffed wardrobe, and the ones Shang Qinghua has carefully folded into a storage box on top of the wardrobe. He starts fidgeting with the hem of the newest coat, hand embroidered by the best tailors of the Northern Kingdom.

“Thank you, my king. Ah, how lucky am I that my king is so generous… but… it’s just that… well…”

Mobei-jun frowns. This coat is skinned from the Three-Pronged Ground Beaver by this king himself, known to have the warmest fur in the land, and the most conducive of heating spells and talismans. It's for the coldest parts of the Northern Desert, as opposed to the other coats Mobei-jun had gifted before. They are for the milder winter moments, during the times that even this king likes to shed his outermost layers and bask in the sun, as well for aesthetic reasons, where Shang Qinghua might want a change of coat for no particular reason other than the embroidery on one pleases him.

“Isn’t this a little… too much for a humble servant?” Shang Qinghua asks. “My king, what would people think if they saw all this? I mean, think about your reputation! A king such as yourself should not stoop so low as to… shower his already devoted servant in all this finery! My king should use his wealth to better himself—not that he needs any bettering. He's already the best! Besides, I’m running out of space to store them somewhere safely, my king. Imagine what my martial siblings would say? They’d say that I’ve embezzled funds from the Sect to fund a secret clothes addiction…”

Again with Shang Qinghua reminding Mobei-jun of their positions as a way of separating him from his king. Shang Qinghua may be a servant, but that will change in the future. Mobei-jun will not have any kind of distance between them. He may serve this king like the other servants, but make no mistake. Shang Qinghua is elevated beyond anyone else in Mobei-jun's life and he intends to formalise it in name and writing in the future.

"This king does not need anyone's permission to bring Shang Qinghua gifts," Mobei-jun announces. He glares at Shang Qinghua, as if daring him to challenge him otherwise.

Shang Qinghua cowers behind his luxurious, personally hunted, hand-embroidered Three-Pronged Ground Beaver coat.

As much as this king loathes to admit it, he may have a point about the lack of storage room, however. Mobei-jun thinks on it. "This king will bring the wardrobe at Shang Qinghua's room in this one's estate," he allows. "It will have sufficient room. There will be a new wardrobe at the estate."

Shang Qinghua looks around his modest bedroom in the Leisure House. "...I guess you could do that… Maybe if I put this wardrobe in the office it will fit…" He pokes his head into the office. "Hmm."

Shang Qinghua will figure it out. Mobei-jun already has eyes on a bigger wardrobe for Shang Qinghua's room, one with decorative carvings on the door and handles. "Yes," he says, before his shadows take him away.

The next time Mobei-jun summons Shang Qinghua for intelligence, Shang Qinghua arrives at the estate swallowed by his new coat. He rubs his cheek against the fur in between reports. He burrows into the thick collar and sighs when he thinks no one is looking. 

As usual, Mobei-jun is always looking, and Mobei-jun is satisfied with Shang Qinghua's happiness. 

Aligned with what he's learned from Shang Qinghua's books, the next endeavour he strives to provide is food. When the couples in Shang Qinghua's books originate from great distances, food is used as a pathway to share one's culture. 

Mobei-jun’s relationship with food can only be described as tumultuous.  When he was very young, the court was rife with assassination attempts, mostly through poison and mostly targeting the young, future-to-be Mobei-jun. He remembers a faint impression of his mother warning him—the firm insistence at only accepting any form of food from herself or his father. 

After his mother had passed, this job was given to official minders appointed by his father. Sudden, severe bouts of stomach pain became more common, and many of his minders were subsequently decapitated by his father. This continued until Mobei-jun’s cultivation grew strong enough that it flushed the poison out of his body before it could do any form of damage and Mobei-jun had grown tall enough to decapitate the perpetrators himself.

It was not until much, much later that he knew of the role his ‘beloved’ uncle had played in many of his poisoning attempts. A role, in which, he still plays to this day.

Thus, Mobei-jun does not eat unless he has hunted and prepared the food himself with one notable exception. As always, Shang Qinghua is that one notable exception.

It starts as a habit borne out of their tense and disastrous first meeting, during they first few days where they were tucked inside a little inn room located in Huan Hua Sect’s territory. Distrust mired their interactions, and so, Mobei-jun made sure that Shang Qinghua took the first bite out of any food he brings to this king. Shang Qinghua claim servitude, but Mobei-jun knows what humans are like, and he waits for Shang Qinghua’s attempt, half curious to see if this small, shaking, cowardly man would have the gall to poison him.

Obviously, the attempt never came. Mobei-jun is steadfastly sure that the attempt will never come. Then, time passes. Things change and Mobei-jun has grown from being that young, distrustful demon prince always expecting the worst out of his puny human.

If Shang Qinghua hands food to him, or takes a bite out of the food, then that means the food is safe because Shang Qinghua has secured the food. The staff at his estate has been installed there by Shang Qinghua himself, and so their food is also safe to eat. This means that they share many meals when Shang Qinghua is at the North or Mobei-jun is at the Leisure House. Even when they have separate dishes, Shang Qinghua likes to steal bits off his plate and shovel the parts he doesn’t like onto his king’s plate when he thinks this king isn’t looking.

Silly, Mobei-jun thinks fondly, before pondering on his next steps in their courtship.

Shang Qinghua’s food preferences tend towards heavily salted food cooked in a fire or inside one of his cooking utensils, while Mobei-jun's preferences veer towards cold, raw cuts of prime meat, and the crisp vegetation that can only be found in the North. Since Shang Qinghua has taken over management of his estate, many types of spices and cookware have been imported from human lands, but the meals they share still leans heavily into Northern customs due to trade limitations. The natural conclusion, then, is for Mobei-jun to try Shang Qinghua's very human food, from Shang Qinghua's very human culture, catered to Shang Qinghua's preferences.

Yes, Mobei-jun decides. He will show Shang Qinghua that this king can indulge and cater to Shang Qinghua’s tastes. And so, with purpose bolstering his steps, he portals into the kitchen in his estate. There are sounds of metals and porcelain crashing as many of the servants drop everything in their hands to bow to him. Mobei-jun nods in greeting, and heads off to find the head chef.

She bows deeply, a water imp who initially arrived as a guard, and later retired to pursue her passion of cooking. She only comes to Mobei-jun's knee without the six horns sprouting from her head, and when she bows, she's even smaller. Yet, she has been the head of his kitchen for many years. Shang Qinghua routinely sings her work praises as, aside from being skilled at her craft, she is one of the only chefs he’d found that did not show aversion to human food. She is loyal, and Mobei-jun plans to elevate her as the Palace Chef when he ascends.

"This humble one welcomes my prince to the kitchens," she says. "H-how may this one serve my prince?"

Mobei-jun greets her with a shallow bow. “Prepare a meal for Shang Qinghua. One of his favourites.”

She straightens up at the thought of cooking. “Yes, this humble one can do that! This humble can prepare a meal for Shang Qinghua. Which one should this one prepare, my prince? Lord Shang has many favourites.”

Good question. Mobei-jun must choose wisely.

“ Aiya, ” Shang Qinghua says in despair, “What I would give for some noodles right now…”

“Noodles,” Mobei-jun decides. “Prepare a second serving. This prince will partake alongside Shang Qinghua.”

The water imp bows again. “Right away!”

What follows is a string of complicated actions in which the water imp prepares their meal. Mobei-jun watches in fascination as she hand pulls the dough into thick, uneven ribbons which she submerges in boiling water. The broth she prepares is the red one, the one which Mobei-jun remembers Shang Qinghua eating during the coldest days in the North. Once she has ladled everything into their bowls, she tops their noodles with a teaspoon of—Mobei-jun is not quite sure what it is, but it is red, in small clumps, and it is submerged in oil. She places the jar containing the strange red concoction on their trays.

“This one has finished,” the water imp announces. “Would my prince and Lord Shang like anything else?”

Mobei-jun shakes his head. “No, this shall be all.”

He nods his thanks and lifts the tray, scrunching his nose when the warm steam tickles it. Then, without further ado, he portals to Shang Qinghua’s Leisure House, and finds Shang Qinghua at his office, writing furiously on a piece of paper.

“Shang Qinghua.”

“My king!” Shang Qinghua flails and almost bowls himself over. “You are here!” He squints at Mobei-jun in confusion. “… And you have noodles? In your hands?”

“Yes,” he says, because how else would he carry the tray. “Shang Qinghua will eat with this king.” He walks into the dining room, and he knows Shang Qinghua follows from the flurry of his footsteps, and places the tray on the table. The water imp has prepared chopsticks for them as well, so all that is left for Mobei-jun to do is arrange the bowls. Once he settles in his seat, he looks expectantly at Shang Qinghua.

Shang Qinghua stands at the doorway, blinking at him. He rubs his eyes and stares.

Mobei-jun feels impatience nipping on his heels like a wild dog, but he stomps it down. “Shang Qinghua, sit,” he says, instead.

Shang Qinghua furrows his eyebrows, but he does seat himself across from his king, albeit slowly. “My king?” he asks. “What… what are you doing?”

“This king has brought you food.”

“I see that… but my king… you brought me noodles.”

“Yes.”

He peers at the bowl. “These are Stillwater’s noodles?”

Stillwater. That must be the name belonging to the water imp. “Yes. She was ordered to make Shang Qinghua’s favourite meal.”

“Oh.” Shang Qinghua almost sounds lost. “But my king doesn’t usually eat noodles…”

“No.”

“Then why…” Shang Qinghua trails off, and Mobei-jun can hear the buzzing begin in his head.

Did Mobei-jun misstep again? He doesn’t understand. “Does Shang Qinghua not usually eat at this time?” he asks.

Shang Qinghua shakes himself out of his stupor. “I mean, I usually do have lunch at this time but… my king brought me noodles. My king doesn’t usually bring me food… much less noodles… I don’t understand… did something happen, my king?”

Mobei-jun frowns, and perhaps a little shame dusts his cheeks. He has truly been lacking in their courtship. It is a humbling reminder of how neglectful he has been; he did not think such a simple action would warrant a reaction like this from Shang Qinghua.

“No,” he says. “This king wishes to dine with Shang Qinghua.”

“My king wishes to dine with me,” Shang Qinghua repeats, almost in awe. “And he has brought me noodles.”

“Yes.”

“Noodles,” Shang Qinghua whispers.

Mobei-jun can feel his eyebrows dip as he stares at Shang Qinghua. “Yes,” he says again, with care.

“Okay…” Shang Qinghua nods, and it’s as if a puzzle has clicked into place; all his subdued energy comes fluttering back like a bird taking flight. “Okay! Ah, my king! You’re so kind! And thoughtful! I will not question my king any longer! If my king wants to dine with me, then who am I to deny him? Excuse me just then, my king. I was just having a moment and I’m feeling much better now that I have some delicious noodles with me, hmm, yummy!”

Mobei-jun is not quite sure what just happened, and not for the first time, he does not fully understand exactly what Shang Qinghua means. Mobei-jun feels like he has stepped into a pool of lava and  somehow, by the grace of the Northern ice, came out unharmed. Shang Qinghua does not seem upset, however, so this king must have done something right.

Shang Qinghua leans down and inhales the smell of the noodles. He even waves his hand, as if drawing the steam towards him. Shang Qinghua is absolutely ridiculous. “Hmm,” he says. “This smells unbelievably scrumptious! Oh, Stillwater has outdone herself, and she should really get a raise, my king, she’s basically running half of the body of staff when I’m at An Ding Peak—actually…” Shang Qinghua looks at his bowl, and then look at the identical bowl in front of Mobei-jun. “…my king, are you sure you want to eat this with me?”

Mobei-jun narrows his eyes. Is Shang Qinghua challenging him? Had he not understood when this king said he wished to dine with Shang Qinghua. He will not have Shang Qinghua doubt him.

“Don’t look like that! I’m not doubting you, my king. I will never doubt you! My king is the most handsomest and strongest of them all! But you have to understand why I’m worried. You don’t eat noodles with hot broth for one, and especially not with chilli! I like my food really spicy, my king. Like, really, really spicy. And the hot soup combined with the chilli… it hits pretty hard… and I know that you hate the heat, my king…”

Heat? Pah! It does not matter how Mobei-jun feels about the heat; this king’s cultivation base is immeasurable! It  has kept him cool during the strongest heat strokes in the Southern territories, and this is before he has inherited the power of his ancestors. And Mobei-jun has eaten many things with herbs and spices. He will not leave any room for Shang Qinghua to doubt him.

“This king will enjoy what Shang Qinghua enjoys.”

“My king…”

“Does Shang Qinghua doubt this king?”

“No, I would never—”

“Good,” Mobei-jun says. Then, he pointedly glares at Shang Qinghua as he lifts his chopsticks.

“Alright, then.” Shang Qinghua bites his cheeks in the way he does when he’s trying to hold back a particularly smug smile. It makes him look quite devious. Like a hamster who has swiped a handful of melon seeds from under his master’s nose. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Normally, Mobei-jun would heed Shang Qinghua’s warning, as he knows the limits of this king better than he knows his own limit. And he will, but he must also rise to this occasion, as even though Shang Qinghua says it’s not a challenge, Mobei-jun will not have Shang Qinghua find him lacking in any way.

In any way at all.

So this king takes a strand of noodle with his chopstick. Demonic qi pools in his spiritual veins, and he prepares it for circulation. He peers at it, and it looks harmless enough. He lifts the noodle into the air, feels heat as the noodle touches on his tongue. He chews and swallows.

From Shang Qinghua’s description, he expected a sharp, forceful hit. Like a powerful blow, or an overwhelming and intense burn that’s heavy but short, like a thick wave of heat smashing into his body, before washing away

Mobei-jun does not expect the slow, crawling sensation of burning. It starts from his mouth and travels down to his chest, belly, and onto his skin. Immediately, his instincts cry out in action. There are two warring forces inside of him; the stifling, stinging heat from the red noodles, and the cool sensation of his qi washing over his veins. It’s a constant shock of hot and cold and hot again. In a matter of seconds, his nerves are raw and over sensitised. There is a heavy pressure on this king’s chest which only gains more weight as time goes by.

Poison, Mobei-jun thinks. His body is reacting as if this is poison.

But it can’t be poison. Shang Qinghua would never poison him. Mobei-jun has seen Shang Qinghua shovel these noodles into his mouth until his cheeks are on the verge of bursting, as if the red broth is made of water. Is this what Shang Qinghua means by spicy? Why has Shang Qinghua been regularly feeding himself poison? Why is Shang Qinghua making himself feel like he’s burning alive?

Shang Qinghua enjoys this?

“My king,” Shang Qinghua says, watching him in worry. “You know I was just teasing you right? It’s okay if you don’t eat it—ah, my king.” He sounds audibly more nervous now. “Oh no, my king, you’re sweating! Oh god, what is happening! I didn’t know this would cause you to—hold on, my king, I will get you some ice! Or—no, that’s not strong enough. I will get you some cooling talisman! As fast as I can!”

Mobei-jun grabs Shang Qinghua’s arm before he can fly past.  “No,” he barks out.

Shang Qinghua pauses. “Huh?”

“This king is fine,” he hisses, although he sheds his outer two cloaks and lets them slide to the floor. It get better with time. If he tackles the red noodles slowly, it gives his body enough time to douse the fires which the red noodles ignite.

He undoes his grip in Shang Qinghua’s arm, willing the tingling sensation away. “Sit.”

“My king, don’t be silly,” Shang Qinghua snaps. “You’re burning up—you are an ice demon, and you’re burning up!”

“This Mobei-jun is fine,” he growls, as drops of traitorous sweat drips into his eyesight.

In a fit of stubborn foolishness, he grabs the spoon. He does not think. He only acts.

He takes a spoonful of the soup and swallows.

Mobei-jun is staring at the ceiling.

For how long he stares at the ceiling, he’s unsure. It’s an alarming thought; a gnawing gap where his memories should be. A moment of weakness he would revile himself over later. Still, he floats and slowly, the mist which has clouded his mind disperses.

“—stupid, stupid! My king is so stupid—”

He does not know how long he’s been in the cold bath, or how Shang Qinghua got him into the bath in the first place. In fact, he can’t remember when and how Shang Qinghua discretely drag a bath tub big enough for this king into his Leisure House. He supposes it does not matter now. The ice cold water Shang Qinghua is pouring over and over his chest again is doing its trick. Mobei-jun can feel his spiritual veins soaking up the soothing sensation, pouring the healing ice over the crevices in his veins which had been burnt open by the red noodles.

Strangely enough, his spiritual energy feels more robust. Undoubtedly, the rawness is still there, but it’s as if the fire had burnt away the impurities in his own body.

“—would not know why my king had to be so stubborn as to almost kill himself instead of just backing down like a sane, smart person would—”

Mobei-jun grunts. His throat is parched and if he croaks, he will not admit it. “This king… wanted to share… Shang Qinghua’s meal.”

Shang Qinghua has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, squeezing a cloth so that water falls on top of Mobei-jun. “Well, that’s just stupid, my king,” he mutters. “We always eat together anyway. It’s nothing to almost kill yourself over for.”

“This Mobei-jun is fine.”

“This Mobei-jun almost died.”

“This Mobei-jun wanted to share Shang Qinghua’s meal,” he insists. “Not a meal from the North. A meal that Shang Qinghua likes, from Shang Qinghua’s place of origin.”

Shang Qinghua’s hands stutter, his irateness falling away like the water he’s squeezing. “You… wanted to try something that I liked?”

“Yes.”

“My king…” Shang Qinghua says, although his voice has lost its bite. “Why didn’t you tell me? There are many things that we could have shared that would have not almost caused a qi deviation.”

Mobei-jun huffs, indignant at the thought of a piece of human food almost causing him a qi deviation. Shang Qinghua is mistaken. This king’s cultivation base and spiritual flow will need something much stronger than that to cause a qi deviation. What happened before was merely… a curious training incident. A flirtation with spiritually disruptive substances.

Nonetheless, he will not contest Shang Qinghua over this idea. This king will need to redeem himself once more in the face of Shang Qinghua’s latest challenge.

Which reminds him.

“Shang Qinghua is very strong.”

“Huh?” Shang Qinghua blinks, and looks over his shoulder, just in case. When he realises that no one is behind, he points at his chest. “Me?”

“This Mobei-jun has always known that Shang Qinghua had hidden strengths,” Mobei-jun says, pride shining in his words. “Shang Qinghua is truly impressive.”

“My king… are you sure you have the right person…?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. I guess he could still be delirious,” Shang Qinghua mutters to himself.

Mobei-jun shakes his head. He reaches out to grab Shang Qinghua’s hand as what he’s about to say is important and it is important that Shang Qinghua gives this Mobei-jun his full attention.

“Shang Qinghua is strong,” Mobei-jun says. “This Mobei-jun had not realised it at the first instance, nor the second instance, nor the third instance or the subsequent instances after that—“

If it’s possible, Shang Qinghua’s expression grows even more doubtful by the second

“—Shang Qinghua's strength can be hidden, and this Mobei-jun failed in searching hard enough. But over time, Shang Qinghua’s strength is undeniable. His tongue is as sharp as the ice this king conjures, and his mind is as skilled as this king’s shadows. This Mobei-jun recognises Shang Qinghua’s strength, and is glad to have Shang Qinghua by his side.”

Shang Qinghua gapes at him. Then, very, very slowly, Shang Qinghua turns bright red.

Perhaps there are still traces of the fire inside him, as Mobei-jun cannot explain the compulsion which possesses him. Transfixed by the heat which Shang Qinghua is emitting, Mobei-jun leans over and touches his cheek, curious to see if it is as hot as it looks.

Ducking his face, Shang Qinghua slaps his hand away, flustered. “Ah! My king is teasing me again! Even when my king is delirious he is mean to me.” He stands up and rushes over to where the towels are placed. “That’s it, my king! It’s time for bed. You’re clearly out of your mind right now!”

His cheeks are still red, Mobei-jun notices. It pleases him.

He will take the defeat which the red noodle hands him, if he can take the victory of Shang Qinghua’s red cheeks in return. He may have failed Shang Qinghua’s challenge, but this king is not out of the fight. It is time for rest and recuperation, and when this Mobei-jun comes back, he will be stronger than before.

Chapter Text

In the wake of Mobei-jun’s defeat, Mobei-jun allows himself a moment’s rest while being pampered and fussed over by Shang Qinghua’s concern. In truth, the treatment is no different than all the other times Shang Qinghua treats him when he is wounded, but Mobei-jun soaks up the attention nonetheless. It has always been a quiet and secretive pleasure of his, being coddled by Shang Qinghua, no matter how unbefitting it may be for a demon of Mobei-jun’s stature to be under Shang Qinghua’s mercy.

That itself is what the humans would call a ‘culture clash’. His old self would have inferred arrogance and offence at Shang Qinghua’s fussing, Mobei-jun now understands that this is how Shang Qinghua shows his concern. This is an act of service driven by affection. Shang Qinghua’s attention, then, becomes a heady drug. Now that he recognises it for what it is, he wants to preen into the touch. He wants to purr and lounge in their bed. He wants to luxuriate in Shang Qinghua’s concern.

He wants it to never end.

“My king, there is no secret to it,” Shang Qinghua says, at Mobei-jun’s question. “You simply build your tolerance by eating it consistently. A little bit more than before, everyday. At some point, the heat becomes, well, more tolerable and all the other flavours start to come through. In fact, some say that a little bit of heat enhances the taste, my king!”

Mobei-jun cannot imagine himself enjoying that poison, but he will have to build resistance to it eventually, so that he may have one less thing that could be used against him. Maybe with time, he will understand the appeal of that burning heat.

“So it is like training?” he asks.

Shang Qinghua scratches his chin. “I guess…”

Mobei-jun nods and pats Shang Qinghua on the head. He understands training.

Shang Qinghua truly is skilled in his own ways.

As much as Mobei-jun loathes it, his defeat at the hands of the red hot noodles have humbled him in the eyes of Shang Qinghua. ‘Humanised’ him, in a way, as the love stories would often describe the situation as. Mobei-jun will never understand why humans conflate weakness and vulnerability with humanity—but he digresses. The red noodle incident has made him more approachable to Shang Qinghua. And Shang Qinghua is resourceful; given a thread, he will weave a fabric fine enough for a king. Progress, no matter how small, pleases Mobei-jun.

Shang Qinghua’s confidence has grown in other manners of their interactions a well. He brings plates which aren’t as unfamiliar as Mobei-jun thought they would be; cold cucumber salads, lightning-jellyfish from the eastern shores, meat cooked in rice wine and vinegar. Ingredients which Mobei-jun has eaten before, usually cooked in the heat of a fire and served warm. In some cases, the heat adds a smokiness to the food which Mobei-jun enjoys, although he still much prefer most form of liquid, especially his soups, served cold.

“I tried to describe it as accurately as possible for Stillwater to recreate.” Shang Qinghua rubs his hands before scooping rice into a small bowl and hands it over to Mobei-jun. “And of course, there’s a lot of ingredients which I had to substitute for since they are just… impossible to source, shall we say. I think she has outdone herself once again. Hmm, they all smell so good. Here, my king, you must try the pork ribs first. It’s coated in flour before it is fried in oil which gives it a crispy outer layer that picks up the spices well and stays crispy after being tossed in a hot wok—”

Here is another one of Shang Qinghua’s many hidden talents: talking voraciously while inhaling his food. A lesser man would have choked three stalks of vegetables ago.

Mobei-jun bites the pork offered to him by Shang Qinghua’s chopsticks. In one of the novels Mobei-jun read, the heroine offers her love interest bites of food as part of her courting ritual. Mobei-jun picks up a piece of purple leaf, and holds it close to Shang Qinghua’s mouth.

“Eh? Is that for me?” Shang Qinghua bites the leaf in one go. “Thank you, my king!” he mumbles around his full mouth. “My king is so very generous and kind! Always making sure that his humble servant eats well!”

Mobei-jun soaks the effusive praise into his skin, and holds another piece of leaf up to Shang Qinghua’s mouth.

“Again?” Shang Qinghua accepts his bite anyway and chews heartily. “Oh, another one—uhrfrm.”

It simply does not occur to Shang Qinghua that he could turn away the food that’s being offered, so Mobei-jun keeps offering bits of food to him just to see how far Shang Qinghua will let him go.

“My king,” he whines. “When is it your turn to eat, huh? Have a little heart! You’re feeding this servant a little too well. This poor servant will grow too big for all his clothes if you keep this up!”

Mobei-jun is struck with the picture of Shang Qinghua draped in Mobei-jun’s colours, rounder around the middle, with chub packing his cheeks. A Shang Qinghua made softer from how well Mobei-jun provides for him. The thought sings like a revelation. Mobei-jun takes a piece of the pork and almost smothers it against Shang Qinghua’s mouth in his enthusiasm.

At some point during their dinner, Shang Qinghua has another mischievous glint in his eye. “Maybe my king might make the meals himself next time? Hmm? My king might make noodles, perhaps.” he says, before cackling madly.

Mobei-jun narrows his eyes. A challenge then. Maybe he will make the red noodles himself. By the time that he’s perfected it to his satisfaction, he would have trained himself up to resist enough chilli that Shang Qinghua will be absolutely impressed by the amount he’s eaten.

These dinners have become another quiet joy in Mobei-jun’s evenings, an unexpected routine where Mobei-jun has avoided hinting at any form of predictability his whole life. When his duties takes him away for the night, Mobei-jun finds himself irate, counting down until the moment he may travel back and listen to Shang Qinghua say his ridiculous things.

Shang Qinghua’s little love stories provide him company in these moments. Mobei-jun finds them interesting beyond the trials and tribulations of the main couple. The themes, the philosophies it reflects and, the human values it portray, Mobei-jun tucks them close. It brings context to many human actions he’s observed throughout his life and makes him wonder if Shang Qinghua would enjoy the sweeping love stories commonly told in the Demon Realm, assuming he hasn’t already sought it out for himself.

He will need to find the written version of these love stories first. Demons are not one for meticulous record keeping, something Shang Qinghua bemoans about over and over. Perhaps Stillwater will be an invaluable source in this endeavour. Shang Qinghua already regards her highly.

“Begging your pardon, my prince, not that this humble servant is wont to doubt you all the time—not at all,” Stillwater says. “Wouldn’t the Royal Archivists be better suited for this task?”

Mobei-jun would not trust the Royal Archivists even if they told him the sky in the Eternal Abyss is perpetually blood red and its clouds are made of acid and smog. At least, not without motive. Stillwater is different. For one, Shang Qinghua trusts her. Stillwater has been in Mobei-jun’s employ for long enough that the trust is already there, and she has never given him reason otherwise. Stillwater’s honour, hard-work, and honesty shine in work ethic; Mobei-jun has never had anything to fear from all the meals she’s prepared for him.

(Red noodles non-withstanding.)

After assuring that Stillwater may speak freely with Mobei-jun, she is surprisingly outspoken for someone so small. It has been days since Shang Qinghua’s remarks. He knows that Shang Qinghua meant it in jest, and yet a part of him bristles at Shang Qinghua thinking that this king is lacking in this one area which brings so much joy to Shang Qinghua. They’re currently in the kitchens of his estate with Mobei-jun hovering close as he watches Stillwater shape a ball of dough into noodles.

His own attempt at making noodles yielded a questionable ball of dough. It was tough, yet bouncy. It stretched, but not evenly. When this king tried to lengthen the dough as Stillwater has shown him, he had miscalculated the amount of strength needed. The dough ripped at the middle, and had such momentum that the newly made ends flung backwards and hit an unsuspecting servant passing by. It was illuminating. With some proper intent, the dough could have been a weapon of mass destruction. But a weapon is not an inappropriate food for a human. Thus, in the interest of preserving the kitchen, his staff, and Shang Qinghua, Mobei-jun will carefully observe Stillwater for longer before attempting on making his own once more.

Mobei-jun shakes his head. “Stillwater has better judgement of Shang Qinghua’s taste.”

“Yes, yes, but only in the matter of food, my prince!”

“Not only food,” Mobei-jun says. “Stillwater has better understanding of Shang Qinghua as a person. He speaks highly of Stillwater always.”

Knowing his little human, it does not take much for Shang Qinghua to spill his thoughts with someone he likes. It’s the verbal equal of his most limpet-like quality.

Stillwater perks up and her tail swishes in delight. “This servant is humbled by Lord Shang’s regard! This servant admires Lord Shang’s capabilities, yes, yes! Three Heavenly Dynasties this Stillwater has lived, and Stillwater has never lived as easily as she does under Lord Shang’s care.”

Interesting; he wasn’t aware of Stillwater’s age before this conversation. Demons might be immortal, but they rarely survive more than one dynasty due to their penchant for violence. A demon as old as Stillwater suggests strength, wisdom, and cunningness. He wonders if Stillwater would accept a more lofty and venerated position in the Northern Palace when Mobei-jun ascends, something more prestigious to match the wisdom she carries. She might decline however—Shang Qinghua did mention that her passion lies in food and cooking.

Mobei-jun himself was born in the nascency of Tianlang-jun’s rule, during the longest stretch of storm the Northern Desert has ever seen. He is the favoured son, his minders had told him. The North has favoured his birth; colours streaked their skies, the winds howled like a ravenous beast, and the temperatures dropped like an object falling into the abyss, until the snow the storm carried was sharp enough to pierce skin. The roads were so wretched that demons had to rely on their shadows and portals for travelling.

Mobei-jun doesn’t know how much of his birth was embellished due to his royal status, but he can’t deny that he enjoys the thought of the Northern Desert—his pride and his home—welcoming him into this world.

“Shang Qinghua enjoys love stories,” Mobei-jun says. It matters not the kind or quality, Shang Qinghua is an avid reader, although Mobei-jun does notice that Shang Qinghua gravitates towards stories with happy endings. “This prince would share some Northern love stories with Shang Qinghua, but in written form, so that Shang Qinghua may enjoy it at his leisure.”

Stillwater nods. “An excellent gift, my prince! Although, this servant cannot remember if any of the stores she heard were written down. This servant heard it around the campfires from when this servant was stationed out West… Oh dear, that was so many moons ago…"

Mobei-jun frowns. The winter fox and the dragon, the frost giant’s hundred day slumber, the moon and the river spirit; these are all stories which Mobei-jun only knows because they were told to him when he was younger. By his uncle no less, Mobei-jun thinks wryly.

"Oh! How could I forget!” Stillwater’s tail slithers up and smacks her cheek. “Children’s books! There is maybe a book of children’s tales in the storage, and children’s tales they are often love stories, are they not? Shall this servant and my prince rummage around and see what we can find?”

How curious. Mobei-jun himself has never cared to look through the storage in his estate. Perhaps that is another mistake on his part. As soon as Mobei-jun nods, Stillwater whistles, and a crane demon appears, bowing to Mobei-jun before turning to accept the ball of dough Stillwater hands them. Then, after washing her hands, Stillwater takes Mobei-jun through his estate, and down the stairs until they’re underground.

An underground structure storing anything else other than food is unusual in the Northern Desert. Permafrost solidifies the ground, and this is beneficial when storing food for another day. Other belongings would have needed to be properly preserved before being stored down here. When Mobei-jun and Stillwater step foot inside, however, the air lacks frigidity and sharpness. Stillwater touches a panel on the wall, and light floods the basement, showing rows and rows of shelves with boxes stacked on top of each other.

Mobei-jun has never seen anything quite so organised belonging in the Northern Dessert. “Impressive,” he says.

Stillwater perks up. “Thank you, my prince! My prince is too kind!”

“Stillwater is too humble.”

“Not true, my prince. Lord Shang helped Stillwater every step of the way.”

A warm sensation bubbles inside his chest, and Mobei-jun welcomes it. “Shang Qinghua is also impressive.”

“Yes, yes, of course!” Stillwater says before jumping from one shelf to another. “Stationery… scrap metal… hmm, rations, not rations… where was it…. Aha!”

While Mobei-jun admires the shelves around them, Stillwater shoots off with admirable speed, clawing her way to the top. A moment later, she carries a chest easily triple her size above her horns and lands in front of Mobei-jun. The chest lands on the ground with a heavy thud.

“If my prince wouldn’t mind.” Stillwater taps at the lock.

It is another one of Shang Qinghua’s creations; a lock which only responds to a drop of Mobei-jun’s blood. Shang Qinghua uses this only when the contents can be considered highly personal—Mobei-jun is curious. He pricks the tip of his index finger with his claw. The blood drips twice before his finger mends itself. The lock clicks and Stillwater hefts the top open.

A mishmash of things are tightly packed inside: folded furs, silk robes, cutlery, and rectangular boxes, some small, some large. Stillwater shuffles through the latter while Mobei-jun picks up one of the robes. They are not unfamiliar to him; these are the robes he wore when he was younger and—Mobei-jun holds the robes out—smaller than even a water imp, it seems.

Stillwater looks over at him and chuckles. "Yes, yes. My prince was very small at the time. The smallest son of the Mobei-jun, they said. Yet, the walls shook like a strummed string and cracks appeared on the floor. The queen almost split the palace walls in half when she gave birth. This servant remembers the cries of the workers, rushing to keep the walls intact until my prince was born."

Mobei-jun blinks. "Stillwater was present for my birth?"

"Not directly, my prince, no, but Stillwater was one of many guards in the Queen's retinue, yes." She nods. "Stillwater and others here worked for the Queen many… oh… many, many, many moons ago. It is why Lord Shang brought us here, to work for the prince's estate."

Shang Qinghua continues to surprise him. Mobei-jun has often wondered about his mother, about a woman who was loved by Linguang-jun and chose his father instead. Mobei-jun struggles imagining the shape of her face, the tone of her voice, or the colour of her eyes. But there is the barest imprint of care in his memories; of time spent in her lap and faint brushes of affection. She had kept him safe, and it was not until she was gone that Mobei-jun realised the dangers which surround him. She might have been the first person to have ever loved him. Yet Mobei-jun is not sure if this perception is the truth of the matter, or if it’s only a projection of a lonely child longing for a parent’s attention.

He cannot deny that he aches to reconstruct the woman his mother was and having Shang Qinghua deem her retinue loyal enough to stand by Mobei-jun’s side gives Mobei-jun confidence that his mother’s love might be true.  He wonders how she would fare in today’s court; how she would juggle the wreckage that is his father, his uncle, and the state of their kingdom. He wonders if, with time, his mother would become another demon who considers Mobei-jun to be a means of an end, or if she would continue to be nurturing, even as Mobei-jun grows strong enough to protect himself.

He wonders what she would think of Shang Qinghua.

“My prince?”

Mobei-jun blinks. “Yes,” he says. Once again, the depth of care which Shang Qinghua bestows upon Mobei-jun humbles him. Mobei-jun runs his thumbs over the tiny silk robe, before bowing towards Stillwater. "Stillwater has this prince's gratitude."

A slight blue tint appears on Stillwater's face. "My prince is too kind once again! Much too kind. The Queen was good to Stillwater and Qian Qian even before the Queen became Queen. The honour is all Stillwater's!" Stillwater’s tail swishes in delight once more. “Oh! here it is!”

Qian Qian must be Stillwater’s wife, an ox demon in charge of the estate’s smithy.

Stillwater brings a small book wrapped in cloth. There is a faint wash of familiarity as he touches the cover of the book.

Mobei-jun tucks the little book in one of his coat pockets and nods his gratitude further. He picks up one of the smaller rectangular box. “What is this?”

A silver and sapphire hairpin lies nestled inside. Although it has an intricate design, it is the sapphire which captures Mobei-jun’s attention. The sapphire’s responses to his shadow magic. His shadow magic curls at the tip of his finger, curious.

“If it is not my prince’s, then this hairpin might have possibly belonged to the Queen,” Stillwater says. “Everything in this chest used to belong in my prince’s old rooms, before the Queen had passed and my prince was moved to this estate. Perhaps Lord Shang might have more answers, my king.”

In all the human love stories he’s read through, there is a recurring theme in gifting one’s partner a family heirloom in a symbolic show of welcoming them into the family. For Mobei-jun, it’s a little simpler than that; it is the deep-bone satisfaction of seeing Shang Qinghua wearing his colours, his mother’s history, and his magic. With a little tinkering, Mobei-jun can weave his qi into the hairpin, so that Shang Qinghua may call upon this king even without words, if needed.

“Hmm,” Mobei-jun says, tucking the box into his coat. He nods towards the chest. “What else is there?”

Mobei-jun does not end up learning how to make noodles just yet, but that is fine. This king will learn another day. Instead, he and Stillwater further explores the contents of the storage. He had not put much thought on what happens after he’s outgrown his belongings. He assumed that they would taken away and destroyed, but it makes sense that they would simply be stored away for the next generation of Mo demons to use.

The next generation of Mo demons… Mobei-jun can’t help but think of the little robe and the pile of fur cloaks stored in the chest. Would they be born small like him? Or would they be even smaller because of their human counterpart?

Mobei-jun must not get ahead of himself. They have not even made their courtship public.

It takes two turns of the sun for Mobei-jun to finish weaving his magic into the hairpin. It takes many more than that for Mobei-jun to resolve a land dispute between three prominent Northern clans in the place of his father. By the time he’s back, he’s unsettled and snappish. His appetite for blood has been long sated and Mobei-jun is left hungry for the comforts of his puny, squirrely human.

Slipping into the bed he shares with Shang Qinghua is like being submerged into an ice bath. His limbs loosen. All the knots in his muscles unwind. Shang Qinghua is two doors away in his office—Mobei-jun can feel the steady flow of his qi. He’s mumbling, probably sorting out his paperwork. Busy, busy, busy. His little human is always busy. It is lulling.

Mobei-jun falls asleep, and when he next wake up, it’s to Shang Qinghua puttering around the room. His boots have been taken off, and the cloak he tossed on the ground folded. What an ample opportunity. A harried, little hamster scurrying around what he thought was a sleeping leopard. Mobei-jun keeps his eyes closed until he can hear Shang Qinghua bustling nearby. Then, he strikes.

“—so spoiled, always leaving his things on the ground, never taking his shoes off—absolutely no manners, this one—aaahh!”

Tucking the squirmy, squawking Shang Qinghua under his arm, Mobei-jun rearranges Shang Qinghua’s limbs to his liking, until Mobei-jun is nuzzling his neck, basking in the scent of Shang Qinghua’s sweet soaps and his afternoon snack—melon seeds. If he doesn’t drape himself over Shang Qinghua’s arms and legs properly, then Shang Qinghua might hurt himself in his flailing. He shifts and tugs appropriately until Shang Qinghua's trapped under him.

He breathes in deep, and a knot he did not even know existed inside his chest unwinds. Mobei-jun feels the sudden urge to test the suppleness of his skin. Maybe turn his head to the side and bite him—to punish him a little, for occupying so much of Mobei-jun’s thoughts without mercy. So, that is what he does, and he bites gently, making sure his fangs doesn’t pierce skin while enjoying the soft bounciness of Shang Qinghua’s cheek.

Shang Qinghua turns red, and his face emits an oddly wonderful amount of heat. Unthinkable, for an ice demon like him, to find any kind of heat endearing.

“Aaah, my king,” Shang Qinghua whines. “First you scare me, and then you bite me… and now you’re trying to freeze me with your cold, cold breath! Have a little mercy for this poor servant of yours. He’s had to deal with constant emergencies non-stop, run from one peak to the next, and now my king is squashing me flat like a pancake!”

Mobei-jun shifts his leg slightly. “Pancake?”

“Uh, it’s a human food, my king. A little bit sweet, made of flour, milk and eggs. You eat it for breakfast.”

“Does Shang Qinghua want ‘pancake’ for breakfast?”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind, but no, no, it was just an expression.” After a moment’s pause, Shang Qinghua hesitantly rests his hands on the collar of Mobei-jun’s robes. “How did…This isn’t to say that this servant has no confidence in his king—or that his king is weak or anything because my king can handle anything that is thrown at him with no problems at all—”

Mobei-jun rumbles his chest, so that Shang Qinghua may get to the point.

“The, uhm, disputes… are solved?”

Mobei-jun nods.

“Did it go well?”

It was a diplomatically sensitive mission. Mobei-jun held his patience close, but one Head of Clan annoyed Mobei-jun so much, that Mobei-jun grabbed his skull and banged it against the wall until the demon saw sense—so, ultimately, it was a success. “Yes,” he says. “It went smoothly.”

“And does that mean… you’re done? For a while?” Shang Qinghua asks. “You have no need to leave so soon?”

…Did Shang Qinghua miss him?

Mobei-jun feels a rolling satisfaction in his belly.

Shang Qinghua is avoiding this Mobei-jun’s eyes and his blush is travelling all the way down his neck. Shang Qinghua missed him. Shang Qinghua found the distance which kept them apart as distasteful as he did.

Now that Mobei-jun can peer at Shang Qinghua to his content, the darkness underneath Shang Qinghua’s eyes becomes more evident. Without Mobei-jun reinforcing a strict bedtime, Shang Qinghua has probably been sneaking irregular sleep like a thief in the night. He knows that at his most harried, Shang Qinghua gets too exhausted to regulate his own body temperature with his spiritual energy. He has not been a very good king if he’s left Shang Qinghua alone, cold, and stressed on their bed.  He must remedy such neglectful actions as soon as possible.

“Did Shang Qinghua miss this king?”

Shang Qinghua sputters. “W-what? No!” he says. “Who said that? Nobody said that!”

Mobei-jun carefully traces the bags under Shang Qinghua with his finger. “Shang Qinghua has not been sleeping.”

“There’s no time to sleep, my king. There’s too much to do.”

“Shang Qinghua does not have to rest alone anymore,” Mobei-jun announces. “This king will accompany you.”

Shang Qinghua shakes his head fervently. “My king is so! Arrogant! And presumptuous! I just said that I’ve been flooded with emergencies—I haven’t had the time to even notice that you were gone—who are you again? My king, who?”

Mobei-jun leans down and nips at Shang Qinghua’s cheek again.

“Wha… my king, why are you biting me again!” Shang Qinghua bats pathetically at his shoulders. “Let me up! Let me up! I won’t stand for this bullying any longer… beside I have something to give you, my king. Before you distract me again by squashing me!”

Mobei-jun considers it, and after Shang Qinghua starts pouting, he lifts his body long enough for Shang Qinghua to wiggle out from underneath.

Speaking of, he also has gifts for Shang Qinghua. How could he have forgotten? Indeed, it is so easy to forget the Three Realms when he’s in Shang Qinghua’s Leisure House.

Shang Qinghua runs into his office, and when he comes back he’s carrying the leather belt and armguards Mobei-jun has left behind in the Leisure House. He places it on the table for Mobei-jun in the morning.

“I’ve been thinking of this since the noodles incident,” he says. “And I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner—wouldn’t it be so handy to keep some cooling talisman with you wherever possible? After I added the cooling talisman, I started thinking about all the other useful things I could add—like an emergency shield, or some medicine—Eh? What’s this?”

Mobei-jun has taken hold of Shang Qinghua’s hands. He places the jewellery box and the book wrapped in cloth and watches expectantly as Shang Qinghua unwraps his presents.

“My king…” Shang Qinghua inhales a sharp burst of air. “I… I can’t accept this… This book belongs in your library, and this is your mother’s hairpin! This is too grand, much too grand! I can’t possible accept this, my king, I’m just a serv—” Shang Qinghua quickly shuts his mouth when frost starts to form in the air.

Mobei-jun raises one eyebrow. Ice creeps on the walls.

“Nothing,” Shang Qinghua squeaks, clutching his gifts to his chest. “Nothing at all!”

Immediately the frost dies down. Mobei-jun is pleased.

Why is it that only Shang Qinghua is allowed to shower this king with care, and thoughtfulness, and protection? Why can’t this king be the one who spoils Shang Qinghua for once?

Mobei-jun first gestures to the storybook, which Shang Qinghua is still hugging with all his might. “For all the stories Shang Qinghua has shared with this king, this Mobei-jun wishes to share some of his own too. This king can not remember if the stories were written anywhere, but perhaps Shang Qinghua could start here, and this king will find more stories in the future.”

Then, he gestures for Shang Qinghua to hand him the hairpin. With steady, careful hands, he fixes the hairpin in Shang Qinghua’s bun, patting down any stray strands he finds along the way.

“For all the care and protection Shang Qinghua has given this king, this Mobei-jun wishes to care and protect Shang Qinghua too,” Mobei-jun says, running his hand down Shang Qinghua’s hair. “If Shang Qinghua cannot call for this king by voice, then his hairpin will call him for you. Know that no force in all of the Three Realms could stop this king from coming for Shang Qinghua.”

Shang Qinghua stares at him, wide-eyed and lips slightly trembling.

After a moment of silence, he rubs his eyes. “My… my king,” Shang Qinghua croaks. “You… you…”

It’s almost as if any hidden resistance in Shang Qinghua’s demeanour leaves his body. Shang Qinghua leans forward and sinks into Mobei-jun’s arms. He rests his forehead on Mobei-jun’s chest and breathes in deep.

“You spoil me so,” Shang Qinghua mumbles, after a while. “Welcome home, my king.”

Yes, Mobei-jun thinks. This is home.

Mobei-jun is home.