Chapter Text
Shang Qinghua
Mobei-jun had given him chickens. It’s the most ridiculous thing and yet, it’s all Shang Qinghua can think about. Especially after Luo Binghe’s declaration that this was a courting gift. There’s no way! None at all! As if Mobei-jun could want someone so pathetic and ordinary as Shang Qinghua as an official consort when there were plenty of beautiful demons to tie himself to!
But Mobei-jun had rejected every suit brought before him and hadn’t pursued any on his own. Shang Qinghua isn’t stupid enough to think he’s the only one who is or has warmed Mobei-jun’s bed. Just because Shang Qinghua stopped taking other lovers after the first time Mobei-jun pushed him down doesn’t mean Mobei-jun did the same! Someone as handsome and powerful as Mobei-jun could have a different person every night, and Shang Qinghua certainly isn’t here all the time! Sometimes, he’s on An Ding for a month or two at a time.
But then, Mobei-jun has a habit of showing up at random on An Ding during those times and they definitely put his bed in the leisure house through its paces.
“Hnnnggg!” Shang Qinghua pulls at his hair, wanting to curse Luo Binghe’s name for ever putting into his head the thought that Mobei-jun might actually want him for more than… more than…
It’s stupid, right? It’s stupid to even imagine. It’s stupid to hope and Shang Qinghua is a realist at heart. That’s what makes him so good at his job, both of them, and it’s what makes him valuable to Mobei-jun. If this is some kind of joke by Luo Binghe- That has to be it, right? He just wants to humiliate Shang Qinghua and make Mobei-jun uncomfortable, that’s all this is. Tension starts draining from his shoulders even as his chest feels three sizes too small. It’s a joke and Shang Qinghua can safely ignore it and…
And think about demon chickens.
He scrubs at his suddenly burning eyes. The amount of not even a little bit pornographic dreams he’s had about marrying Mobei-jun and being his and sitting at his side instead of behind him, it’s not zero. The guilty pleasure is one he doesn’t allow himself to indulge in very often (definitely not in the demon realm!) but he still does here and there. He still thinks of gentle hands holding him against a pleasantly cool, perfectly firm body just meant for cuddling. He still thinks about waking up and not being alone in Mobei-jun’s bed, or not leaving before Mobei-jun wakes up so that he limits the amount of time he’s stolen from his king.
Fuck, he’s so very, very stupid, and he can’t even get Luo Binghe back for dangling this perfect dream in front of him.
His fingers are wet. He doesn’t let his hitching breath resolve into sobbing. It’s been a long time since he let himself be this affected by how out of his league Mobei-jun is. He’s watched beautiful demon princesses and warriors make eyes at his king for decades and he just…
He wishes he could, openly. He wishes-
“Qinghua?”
Shang Qinghua jumps with a yipe, jerking around to stare at the target of his terrible regard. “M-my king!”
Elegant brows furrow as Mobei-jun walks towards him. “You’re upset.”
“Oh- I just- haha, this servant is fine, my king! He’s just being stupid, he-”
Cool hands cup Shang Qinghua’s face and the already weak mask crumbles into pieces because Mobei-jun’s trying to wipe his tears away as he stares down with his full attention. The weight of it makes Shang Qinghua want to fall to his knees and run away both. It makes the shameful tears run faster.
“What happened.”
“It- it’s nothing. Just a joke that’s been played upon this servant,” Shang Qinghua tries to wave off, but somehow that makes Mobei-jun’s expression even more stormy.
“What joke?”
“Ah, my king needn’t worry, it’s nothing. This servant was just tired and-”
“What. Joke.”
He’s not getting out of this, is he? “Just… Junshang said something very silly! This servant knows better than to believe him. It’s ridiculous, this servant’s tears are- are from laughter.”
But Shang Qinghua isn’t laughing and neither is Mobei-jun.
“What did he say?” Mobei-jun demands, searching his face like there may be clues there to find.
“He- haha, it’s so dumb. He said my king was trying to court this servant, can you believe it? As if my king would ever lower himself to-”
“Junshang is correct.”
“Right? Ridic-” Shang Qinghua freezes. “Wait, what?”
The glitter in Mobei-jun’s eyes is one Shang Qinghua usually associates with anger, but none of the other signs are there.
“This king would have Qinghua as his prince consort,” he says slowly, as if to make sure Shang Qinghua doesn’t miss a word of it. “He understands that none of his demonic or human gifts have been enough for Qinghua to accept his suit, but-”
“What- Gifts?! P-prince consort?! Is my king drunk!?”
Mobei-jun flinches in a way that is not at all outward, but Shang Qinghua sees it all the same. He starts pulling his hands back and Shang Qinghua slaps his own over them because he is going to fall apart the moment Mobei-jun isn’t touching him anymore.
“This king will find a proposal gift worthy of his intended,” Mobei-jun vows with an intensity that makes Shang Qinghua shudder.
“You- you really-” What kind of mirror world has Shang Qinghua fallen into?! “But what about heirs?!”
Beautiful blue eyes blink slowly. “Twin Heart Womb Flowers.”
Oh yeah, Shang Qinghua forgot about those for the storyline with a barren wife and- “Wait, that’s not even- They’d be half demons!”
“Junshang is half human.”
“Yeah, but-”
“Qinghua.”
Shang Qinghua’s voice cuts off as Mobei-jun leans down until their foreheads are touching. His gaze seems to almost burn into Shang Qinghua like a brand.
“This king would have Qinghua as his consort,” Mobei-jun says, soft and quiet between them. “He would spend his life with Qinghua. He would share his home with Qinghua. He would bear Qinghua’s children-”
WHAT?!
“My king can’t think this servant would make him carry-?!?!” It’s not that Mobei-jun hasn’t ridden him occasionally but that was just curiosity and experimentation and- Who would ever believe Shang Qinghua had been the one to knock him up? Get him all round with-
Holy shit.
Imagining it, that’s kinda hot.
There’s a soft snort. “This Mobei-jun worries Qinghua’s body would be unduly stressed. Does Qinghua find this king to be unsuitable for the task?”
Mind out of the gutter, Airplane! One crisis at a time!!!
“No! Nonono, my king would be a wonderful m- I mean- That-” Shang Qinghua feels like his brain is getting picked apart and pulled in every direction. Mobei-jun! Pregnant! There’s no fucking way!!! No matter how hot it could be, no way!!!!! “This- this servant would carry without issue, there’s no reason for my king to- to-”
“Then it’s settled,” Mobei-jun says with the smallest little uptick at the corners of his mouth. It’s almost smug. “Qinghua will carry the children.”
“You’re damn right I- wait. What?”
“Would Qinghua prefer a spring or fall wedding?”
“I-”
“This king’s advisors will insist on a state wedding, but I can turn them down if Qinghua wishes for something else.”
What the fuck kind of mirrorverse has Shang Qinghua found himself in?! Before he’s figured that out, he hears a familiar ding that hasn’t sounded in at least a decade before a blue box pops up in front of him.
[Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations! Important things must be said three times! Mission “Road to Matrimony: Get Out of Your Own Way” has been completed!]
What the fuck!?
[Host has completed his final story arc at long last.]
That doesn’t explain a goddamn thing! I didn’t even agree yet!!!
[Host’s subscription will end in one minute. Does Host wish to be sent Home?]
End?! Are you gonna kill me after all?! No! I don’t want to go anywhere!
[We hope you have enjoyed your time with the System! Please be sure to rate us five stars. The System will now uninstall itself.]
You can’t do this now! Not when I finally-
[Uninstalling…]
WAIT-
[System uninstalled. Goodbye!]
A presence Shang Qinghua has had so long he didn’t even notice it was there suddenly fades and with it goes Shang Qinghua’s strength. His knees buckle but big, strong hands catch and lower him slowly to the floor. He feels altogether too hot and too cold at the same time, a ringing in his ears and cotton in his head that he can’t think through. It’s gone? It’s gone and he’s still alive?! It’s-
Soft lips cover his and demand a response that is too familiar for Shang Qinghua to deny them. The world starts coming back in bits and pieces. Strong muscle under his fingers, calloused hands cupping his cheeks, the soothing scent of the spicy incense his king prefers.
The kiss lingers without becoming more, just the comforting pressure and affection Shang Qinghua didn’t realize he needed. Even when Mobei-jun breaks off to look at him with concern, that reassurance doesn’t fade.
“There doesn’t have to be a wedding,” Mobei-jun says. “We can elope.”
That isn’t the fucking problem!
“You don’t have to carry my children,” Mobei-jun says. “We don’t have to have children.”
What- oh. They’d been talking about that before System-
Holy shit, the System is gone.
“You don’t have to accept this king’s suit,” Mobei-jun says. “We can continue as we have.”
Shang Qinghua blinks and abruptly he’s back in the here and now. In front of him, the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen, the man hand crafted to be everything he’s ever wanted, who Shang Qinghua has loved for decades, is kneeling and walking back his requests one by one as if they aren’t vitally important to him, as if they’re not exactly what Shang Qinghua has dreamed of and never thought he’d ever get to have. He’s going to fuck this up if he can’t get words out, he’s-
He drags Mobei-jun into a kiss, burying his hands in luscious hair and taking advantage as lips part with surprise to taste. He overcompensates at pulling his king in and ends up with Mobei-jun crushing him under his giant, perfect body, and it’s everything Shang Qinghua wants for the rest of his life. If Mobei-jun never stops kissing him, it will end too soon.
“This servant wants more than anything to marry his king,” he says between kisses, the little hitch in Mobei-jun’s breath sending a thrill through him. Is he lightheaded or is the world actually spinning everywhere except where Mobei-jun’s face is? “Whatever his king wants, this one will do!”
“State wedding,” Mobei-jun says like he’s testing, like he’s seeing what Shang Qinghua might allow, as if Shang Qinghua could ever say no to him. “One thousand guests.”
“Yes, my king.”
“Two thousand guests. And a week-long feast with blood games before it.”
“Whatever my king wishes.”
“A dozen children.”
Helplessly, Shang Qinghua laughs with their next kiss and leans into the hands starting to pull at his robes. They can figure out the logistics later.
Mobei-jun
A wedding should not be harder to plan than a military campaign. As he glares at the list of suggestions from his advisors, Mobei-jun wonders which of them he should messily destroy just to get out of pandering to them. He is a king, there are traditions he can break with impunity, but there are more that will cause too much trouble to skip out on. Especially since his bride is human.
Making Shang Qinghua meet him on the field of battle to prove himself is not a tradition Mobei-jun intends to bother observing. Shang Qinghua has already proven his prowess and usefulness in his role as spymaster for decades. In Mobei-jun’s eyes, any who dare to ignore the skill with which Shang Qinghua has danced the line between both realms don’t deserve to look upon his bride ever again. So, no combat trial for the bride. Mobei-jun will instead prove his own strength in the blood games preceding the joining ceremony.
The ceremony itself is a far greater battleground than any other piece. Most of his advisors keep clamoring for demonic and Mobei clan traditions, others are simply disgusted by the human ones. Mobei-jun agrees that the bowing nonsense seems silly. The spirits of his ancestors lie within his blood right, the power passed down from king to king. There is no one to notice his bow, nor to ascribe respect to. They’re dead, what do they care? As for Shang Qinghua…
“Ah, I mean. We can skip it! That’s kind of an awkward situation on my end, no need to complicate things!”
The words had come out quickly, almost panicked, but that’s how Shang Qinghua always speaks when he doesn’t want to dwell on some unknown from his past. Whether that’s from his previous life or instead a holdover of his human family in this life, Mobei-jun isn’t sure. His covert investigations into Shang Qinghua’s living relatives only found humans that refuse to acknowledge him, either because of his status as the son of a low born mistress or his well known ties with demons. No one Mobei-jun finds particularly worth his time, nor that Shang Qinghua has ever mentioned. As far as Mobei-jun knows, Shang Qinghua cut all contact with them when he joined Cang Qiong and has never seen fit to re-establish it after.
As for the family of his previous life, Mobei-jun doubts there would be a way to contact them. He also doubts there’d be merit in trying, not with the way Shang Qinghua weasels his way out of speaking of them even more than those of this life. Good riddance. Fewer humans to defend Mobei-jun’s claim on him against. Should he ever meet them, Mobei-jun will take penance from their corpses for the grievances against Shang Qinghua.
The list of suggestions and veiled demands dwindles the longer Mobei-jun has to look at it. Superfluous nonsense, obvious attempts to devalue the sanctity of this union, there are many. Mobei-jun obviously hasn’t beaten them enough if they feel so bold as to try this sort of subterfuge.
“You could have left this to your human,” Sha Hualing says when she finds him half ready to just tear all the documents apart.
“It is a gift to him. He may not participate in planning it.”
“Is Mobei going to be sane by the time this gets wrapped up?”
It’s a valid concern. Mobei-jun glares at her over his shoulder anyway, but Sha Hualing just saunters over to the seat next to him and drops into it with none of the grace she’s known for. Who is around to look at her? Mobei-jun certainly doesn’t care what she does.
“This Ling-er is just worried about her dear friend,” she says in a mocking coo. Apparently, he hasn’t beaten her enough, either.
“What do you want.”
Sha Hualing rolls her eyes. “Touchy. Maybe I’m actually worried about you.”
It only takes a few seconds of his unamused stare for her to sigh and hand over a scroll. Ah, the guest list from Cang Qiong. Good, now the demon and human cooks that will be overseeing the feast after their joining ceremony can accurately plan their supply needs and give him a final expense list. Unsurprisingly, only four peak lords will be attending with their head disciples. He eyes the names from Qing Jing but doesn’t necessarily recognize them. He barely recognizes the peak lords by sight. There’s been little need to care about them with Shang Qinghua managing relations on that front.
“So, who do you think will disrupt the feast first?” Sha Hualing asks.
“This king will tolerate no disruptions.” Everything will be perfect for Shang Qinghua, even if Mobei-jun has to murder every attendee.
“My money’s on Liu Qingge. Why is the War God of Bai Zhan even bothering with this?”
Mobei-jun doesn’t particularly care about his reasons. “Sha Hualing expects trouble?”
“Doesn’t Mobei?”
Hm. Mobei-jun sorts through to grab one sheet of paper and changes the current number of guards to be stationed around the castle during the festivities. After another moment of thought, he sets aside part of the wedding budget to hire assassins to permanently remove anyone who might prove themselves troublesome.
Sha Hualing leans over his shoulder, looking over the notes with a click of her tongue. “You’re overthinking things.”
“This ceremony will be worthy of my consort,” Mobei-jun says, finishing his last note and glancing to her. “This king expects Sha Hualing will give equal thought on the matter once her human lover accepts a proposal in the future.”
Red streaks over Sha Hualing’s cheeks as she jerks back. “What? Who do you think this Ling-er would- I am the demon saintess! A general of the emperor! If anyone’s going to get proposed to, it’ll be me!”
That would make more sense, Mobei-jun supposes. Is the reason why Sha Hualing hasn’t married her human because that human hasn’t realized she’d be open to doing so? If Mobei-jun decides he needs leverage over Sha Hualing, he might be persuaded to give Liu Mingyan some helpful suggestions for proposal gifts, just as Luo Binghe had for him.
He turns back to the stack of irritating paperwork that he’d like to drop onto someone else’s shoulders, if only he could trust them to do it right. Since he can’t, Mobei-jun gets back to work planning out a perfect day for his consort.
There are flowers to choose between.
Ning Yingying
If Ming Fan-
Excuse her.
If Interim Peak Lord Ming doesn’t hurry his ass up, Ning Yingying won’t be held responsible for what happens when they end up late to the royal wedding. It’s not like this is the first official mixed realm social event since their shizun died or anything.
She keeps thinking the sting of it will go away, but it just hasn’t. Even worse than the first time, when he’d died to save his most important person, his suicide had been because none of them understood him. None of them were able to support him as he needed. It was her failure as his disciple.
Ning Yingying takes a breath, then exits the carriage when Ming Fan is finally done primping. His hair was fine already, but sure! Keep messing with it! Why Ming Fan thinks he’ll ever be able to match Shen Qingqiu’s effortless grace, she’s never understood. Still, she takes her place at his side as his head disciple and they walk together towards the elegant greeting hall.
It’s less gaudy than she’d feared. The decor is tasteful, showing wealth in all the little details instead of the stark gold eyesore of Huan Hua Palace (though, that had been less and less gaudy after Lao Gongzhu’s passing. The new palace master seemed more reserved, for what passes as reserved in Huan Hua Palace). Pure white and cool blues make elegant arks along the ceiling and upper balconies, decorated with beautifully faceted sapphires of truly impressive size alongside delicate flower blossoms in tidy arrangements, somehow still managing to be this side of obnoxious. Whoever handled the setup knew what they were doing!
The other attending peak lords had already arrived. Ning Yingying and Ming Fan go to greet them. After a few years, Ming Fan is only half as awkward about treating them like peers as he used to be. She might praise him later, as long as he doesn’t put his foot in his mouth before then. As Ming Fan gets into a conversation with Qi Qingqi about a few cross peak activities, Ning Yingying casts her eyes out upon the other attendees only to lock onto one she hadn’t wanted to see.
It makes sense that Luo Binghe is here. As emperor, it would be a grave insult for him not to attend the marriage of a king under his rule. She still wishes he’d skipped. She-
There’s a man she doesn’t know at Luo Binghe’s side. Short, thin, dressed in immaculate robes that are obviously more than he’s used to. His dark hair pulled into an elaborate style, an expensive pin slotted through his hair crown. A demonic noble? Possibly, most of the very high power ones look human, but she doesn’t spot any little telltale signs of something more. Maybe a human advisor of Luo Binghe’s, they’re standing very close and the man keeps muttering things to Luo Binghe that make him snicker.
Something about the way the man stands is… familiar. And then he pulls out a fan and her feet are moving before she consciously decides to storm over. If that bastard has replaced her shizun with a cheap copy-!
The man spots her and his eyes widen a moment before shifting into a blank mask that is so, so painfully familiar it has her stumbling. Soft hands catch her elbow as the man is abruptly at her side to steady her. His touch is hesitant and when she meets his eyes, there’s a guilt that no stranger should be showing her.
“Shifu?” she asks, almost soundless. The corners of his mouth tighten as his brows furrow.
“No,” he says nearly as quietly. “No, I’m- It’s-”
“Apologies for interrupting,” Luo Binghe says as he joins them, one hand going to possessively rest at the small of the man’s back, “but this is Shen Yuan. Greetings, Ning-shijie.”
Shen Yuan. Shen Yuan, the name she’s heard her sect leader mutter so many times. The name her shizun is said to have called himself before he-
“Yingying,” Shen Yuan says helplessly, his hand lifted towards her face but hanging in the air. “You- oh no. No, fuck, this is what I was trying to avoid, I shouldn’t have come. Why are you-?”
The vulgarity so uncharacteristic of her master (except when he thought he was alone) does nothing to disprove her theory. When she can’t answer through her clenched throat, Shen Yuan finally manages to start wiping her tears with the corner of his sleeve, achingly familiar in his awkwardness even with a new face. She’s actually taller than him now, but it feels the same anyway. His touch is gentle and light, like he’s afraid he might be out of line and still can’t help but try to soothe her.
“Stop that, they’re going to think this master- that I’m being mean to you,” Shen Yuan says. It doesn’t stop him from dabbing away her tears. “Shit, Binghe, this is your fault.”
“What?!”
“If you hadn’t insisted on me coming here-”
“This one remembers A-Yuan assuring Shang-shishu that of course he would be here, why would Shang-shishu ever fear he wouldn’t.”
“Bah, to hell with it.”
Miraculously, Ning Yingying manages to laugh and the pinched look on Shen Yuan’s face settles some. “This… This Yingying is very glad Shi- Shen Yuan came today.”
“Oh, I… Okay. Good.” Shen Yuan steps back from her, embarrassment lighting up the apples of his cheeks as Ning Yingying wipes away the last of the mess from her own. “I’m… I’m happy to see Yingying, too. You’ve really grown, haven’t you?”
There are people she should tell, if only to soothe their souls, but Ning Yingying can wait a little while. She draws the both of them into conversation and watches Shen Yuan grow more and more relaxed before her. The little ticks she so fondly remembers are still there, warming her heart to recognize them. Maybe her shizun is a little less polished, a lot more vulgar, but it’s still him. It’s still the person she dedicated herself to the tutelage of.
Maybe later, once Shen Yuan is more comfortable, he might let her visit wherever he’s been hiding. She can’t bring herself to ask just yet, but vows to do so before the wedding festivities end.
Liu Qingge
For some reason, Liu Qingge has been put in charge of a group of elder mortal women that are inexplicably guests at a demon wedding in the demon realm. They’d introduced themselves of course, but there are so many that Liu Qingge can’t match any names to faces. The elders don’t seem to care about that, thankfully. They answer to his gruff call of elder-identifying-feature fine enough.
Two of the women seem utterly unaware of the danger the roaming demons could prove to be to them and keep wandering off. One poked him in the chest earlier and went on a rant about proper nutrition and hydration. A few others have shamelessly flirted with him. It’s humiliating.
How does Shang Qinghua even know these women?! So much of their chatter is like Liu Qingge’s own aunties that he’s spent his life avoiding like the plague. They talk about making sure their A-Hua is well taken care of, wonder about midwives and motherhood, and have a lengthy list of things they want to talk to the demon about. Liu Qingge isn’t sure they’d get out of that conversation alive.
They’re not of any Shang family lines, official or otherwise. One called herself a “bonus grandma”, whatever that means. Their clothing and mannerisms mark them as commoners. If Liu Qingge really cared, he might interrogate them further, but it doesn’t really matter where they came from. They’re here now and annoying him terribly, and he can’t get out of it. The guilt in Yue Qingyuan’s eyes when he asked this of him keeps Liu Qingge rooted within the radius of the elders’ ridiculousness even when he’d much rather just turn around and go back to his peak.
“Oh, I think it’s starting!” one of them whispers in a way that even someone half deaf would hear. The elders hurry to their places with Liu Qingge bringing up the rear. At least this lets him glare at anyone who seems to be considering whether the women would be good snacks.
The sudden burst of crimson among only shades of blue and white catch Liu Qingge’s attention immediately. Shang Qinghua is unrecognizable in his voluminous wedding robes, the sheer veil hanging over his face the clear indication of his role in this marriage. His hair is in a style more elaborate than Liu Qingge has ever seen on him, decorated with rubies and sapphires in equal measure. The demon is equally ornamented, but it seems more natural on him rather than Shang Qinghua’s usually more subtle styles.
At his side, the women coo and mutter to one another about the royal couple as they pass. Liu Qingge doesn’t bother keeping track of what they’re saying. He instead watches Shang Qinghua and Mobei-jun go through the motions of a mostly traditional ceremony.
Three bows, a proclamation, and then things veer as Mobei-jun rolls up one of Shang Qinghua’s sleeves and does the same for his own. He takes Shang Qinghua’s hand in his before sliding one sharp claw along his palm. Shang Qinghua doesn’t outwardly flinch. Mobei-jun slices his own palm and then clasps Shang Qinghua’s hand to let their blood mix. Symbolically, at least.
Without letting go of his hand, Mobei-jun flips the veil up and away from Shang Qinghua’s face before drawing him close and-
Liu Qingge looks away from the shamelessly affectionate display and is only slightly mollified that one of the elders seems to disapprove. The rest seem delighted. It makes Liu Qingge want to roll his eyes, but he suppresses the urge and instead goes back to watching the demons around them.
Then he spots Luo Binghe. If there is a man Liu Qingge hates more, he hasn’t met him. Light has returned to Luo Binghe’s face, the deadened boredom of the last several years gone as if it had never been there. He even has a new companion at his side, honorless bastard. Gritting his teeth, Liu Qingge reminds himself that he has a duty, he can’t just storm off to beat some respect into the demonic emperor.
“Stop scowling,” Qi Qingqi mutters from nearby. Liu Qingge doesn’t even bother looking at her.
There’s more to the ceremony, but nothing Liu Qingge pays much attention to. He guards the old women until it’s over and a demon comes to fetch them to see Shang Qinghua before the reception feast. Qi Qingqi goes along with them while waving Liu Qingge off. Good, he’d been just about ready to snarl if those women made one more comment about his “wasted beauty”, whatever that means.
Absent of other company, Luo Binghe and his companion stand close to one another, talking in low tones as they observe the humans and demons milling around. Liu Qingge watches them and his eyes keep focusing on the companion, rather than the emperor. Tiny thing. Doesn’t look like much more than a pretty face. Liu Qingge hadn’t taken Luo Binghe as the shallow type, but he’d also not thought him the type to break his vows, either. The reminder burns through Liu Qingge’s veins and he can’t not confront them.
He’s only taken a few steps when the companion catches sight of him. Shock widens the man’s eyes, lips parted for a breath, and then it all drains away to look like-
Oh.
Suddenly feeling flatfooted, Liu Qingge pauses his approach but can’t look away when the man continues to stare at him. The way he stands, the slight furrow of his brow, the fan he’s crushing in one hand. It’s all-
Luo Binghe wouldn’t just choose some shallow imitation, would he?
But Shen Qingqiu is dead, there’d been no miraculous extra body this time. Unless there had been? Shang Qinghua swore he’d prepared nothing, but the man is a known liar. Does Shen Qingqiu really still live in this world?
Luo Binghe glances his way but Liu Qingge ignores him to study the man at his side. It can’t be a coincidence, can it? A weak, tentative flicker of hope has Liu Qingge’s chest clenching. Then his feet start moving on their own. He’s only a few steps away when Luo Binghe shifts himself between Liu Qingge and his companion, the most unsubtle of warnings, but Liu Qingge doesn’t give a damn about him.
“Shen Qi-” Liu Qingge begins, only for Luo Binghe to interrupt him.
“Shen Yuan is this lord’s guest,” he says with all the haughtiness of a high born brat, but the point comes across. Something that’s been tight and painful in Liu Qingge for years suddenly unravels as he looks past Luo Binghe to the short figure behind him. Shen Yuan meets his gaze with obvious reluctance.
There’s a lot Liu Qingge could say to him. None of it manages to be voiced. The staring continues until Shen Yuan takes a deliberate breath and then steps around Luo Binghe.
“Greeting Peak Lord Liu,” Shen Yuan says with a deferential nod, as if they’re meeting for the first time. Is that how he wants to play this? Pretending Liu Qingge doesn’t know, pretending there isn’t decades of history between them? That Liu Qingge hadn’t failed miserably to support the man he’d grown so fond of?
No. That isn’t acceptable.
Shen Yuan startles when Liu Qingge removes a fan from his sleeve and thrusts it into his face. It’s been sitting in there for years, a painful reminder of mistakes and loss. He thought he’d have it forever. Blinking eyes that have gained a wet sheen, Shen Yuan takes the fan as if it were as delicate as glass, opening it to stare at the elegantly painted peonies across richly dyed black.
“Forgot this,” Liu Qingge says.
Shen Yuan looks up at him, visibly swallowing. Something wars in his gaze for a few seconds before he finally settles on, “Thanking Shidi for returning it.”
There’s still plenty they haven’t said, explanations and apologies and probably more Liu Qingge decides to ignore for now. None of it seems as important as the tiny, tentative smile that Shen Yuan doesn’t hide fast enough behind the fan. That’s enough.
Yue Qingyuan
“We of Cang Qiong are grateful to be part of this well deserved joining,” Yue Qingyuan says, nodding politely towards the king of the north so important to his martial brother. The demon’s expression is as minimal as ever, but Yue Qingyuan likes to think he’s happy about all this if only for Shang Qinghua’s benefit.
“Zhangmen-shixiong honors us with his attendance,” Shang Qinghua says with the happiest smile Yue Qingyuan has ever seen on him. Has he ever seen true happiness in Shang Qinghua before? He’s not sure.
“Cang Qiong is family to this king’s consort,” is all Mobei-jun says in acknowledgement. While Yue Qingyuan gets little from it to what the demon feels, it seems to please Shang Qinghua very much considering the pink rising on his cheeks.
Yue Qingyuan excuses himself and starts moving around the reception. As the sect leader of a major sect, there are certain political obligations even for an event like this. He spoke with some of the other cultivators that had been invited, traded some uncomfortably sharp barbs with a demonic nobleman under the guise of polite conversation, and even let himself be drawn into a philosophical debate on the nature of the reincarnation cycle and the implications of being able to break away from it.
This sort of thing has been his norm for a long time, and yet, Yue Qingyuan still finds himself exhausted by it long before he’ll be allowed to leave. Qi Qingqi catches his eye from across the room, her brows lifting as she sends him a look that clearly says not yet. Very well. He glances around the reception room to find the next target of his hobnobbing and then sees Luo Binghe standing within six feet of Liu Qingge without the two of them getting into an argument. Or, perhaps before they’d had the chance to start an argument.
His steps aren’t precisely hurried as Yue Qingyuan makes his way over to head off a possible disruption of Shang Qinghua’s wedding, but he takes as little time as he can. Only when he’s closer does he notice the exasperated figure at Luo Binghe’s side. Telltale signs of a cultivator, interesting eyes.
The man looks at him and stiffens as if he recognizes Yue Qingyuan. Someone high ranked from another sect, perhaps? The name escapes him, but there is something a little familiar about his face. Nothing negative, he thinks.
“Shidi appears to have found good company,” Yue Qingyuan says with a smile and then nods to Luo Binghe. Nearly seven years past has made it easier to bite down the urge to cause a scene and tear out the bastard’s eyes. “This master hopes he isn’t interrupting.”
Liu Qingge glances his way, then makes a vague motion towards the unknown man. “He’s-”
“This is my empress,” Luo Binghe interrupts with a smile full of knives. There’s something under the byplay here that Yue Qingyuan hasn’t caught just yet. Interesting. “We were just about to leave.”
“Binghe,” the man hisses.
“Does husband wish to stay?”
The man hesitates, glancing towards Yue Qingyuan and then away again. Curious. And even more so, Yue Qingyuan is fairly sure he does know this man. Liu Qingge and Luo Binghe’s familiarity with him is odd as well. Their social circles rarely cross except-
Except when it came to Shen Qingqiu. Yue Qingyuan looks closer at the man and watches as pale eyes flicker to him before finding something else to look at. As if the sight of Yue Qingyuan upset him, as if he had something to feel guilty about. His features aren’t Shen Jiu’s, but there are hints there. Close enough to be a sibling or a son. That can’t be a coincidence.
“Shidi?” Yue Qingyuan asks as pieces fit together.
“No,” the man whispers.
No, because nearly seven years ago, Yue Qingyuan had failed to understand and support this man. Ice in his veins, Yue Qingyuan thinks about the sword mound in his private garden, the shrine to two men lost from his life because he hadn’t been enough. It wasn’t entirely his fault of course, Yue Qingyuan can’t help but take responsibility for it anyway.
“This shi- That is. I’m glad Shen Yuan is well.” It’s too little and yet, it’s all he can think of to say.
Shen Yuan finally meets his gaze, conflict in his own. “...Me too. I’m glad Zhangmen-shixiong seems to be doing all right.”
Somehow, the familiar address makes the smile on Yue Qingyuan’s face a little more real. A different face, a little rougher around the edges, but this is definitely the man he spent a few decades getting to know. It had hurt, realizing he’d been too late in confessing his sins to Xiao Jiu, but losing Shen Yuan still hurt sharply. His relief at seeing the man before him is genuine.
“I’ve kept Xiu Ya in perfect condition,” Yue Qingyuan assures him. “It will be waiting for you, should you wish to visit.”
“That…” The conflict intensifies as Shen Yuan’s lips press tight for a moment. “You know I’m not him. Xiu Ya isn’t mine.”
“It still chose to serve you. A spiritual weapon is linked to the soul, not the body. If you could use it, it accepted you after… After its original user passed.”
Yue Qingyuan has worked very hard to be able to accept Shen Jiu’s death. He’s meditated upon it, spoken candidly with Mu Qingfang on the matter. He was too late to save Xiao Jiu for the final time, but that doesn’t mean he can’t now be there for Shen Yuan, should Shen Yuan wish to accept him.
“This shixiong… I won’t ask you to be him,” Yue Qingyuan says, realizing abruptly that it’s true. “It wouldn’t be fair to place that weight upon you just to satisfy my own selfishness. But… I would like to keep in contact if Shen Yuan allows it.”
Beside him, Luo Binghe slides an arm possessively around Shen Yuan’s slim shoulders. but Shen Yuan himself just continues to stare at Yue Qingyuan.
“Xiao Jiu has been gone from my life for a very long time now, but…” Yue Qingyuan smiles, a painful and sincere thing Qi Qingqi would mock him for, had she seen it. “I’ve missed Shen Yuan these last years since he left the mountain.”
Shen Yuan looks away, his hands curling tight at his sides. Too soon, Yue Qingyuan supposes. For once, he’s early instead of late. That’s all right. They’re immortal. He can wait as long as Shen Yuan takes to decide.
“Please take your time,” he says. “Cang Qiong will always be open to you, should you need us.”
With a polite nod, Yue Qingyuan dismisses himself instead of forcing his lingering presence when Shen Yuan is already so uncomfortable. He won’t get anywhere by pushing too hard. If Shen Yuan ever returns to the mountain, it will be ready for him. Yue Qingyuan will make sure of it.
Shen Yuan
Once upon a time, Shen Yuan had been a boy living on borrowed time. He’d spent nearly eighteen months with only the touch of nurses’ gloved hands on his skin, only hearing his family’s voices over the intercom, which happened less and less as time went by. The only accomplishment he had to his name was finishing high school at sixteen. There hadn’t been much else to do in those years while stuck in a bed, even if they’d been at home rather than in the long term care facility he ended up in soon after graduation.
They stopped telling him he’d recover by the time he was seventeen. His parents had talked before about attending online courses at a university, but that faded as well. Any ambitions he’d had when he was younger fizzled out and disappeared. Shen Yuan was going to die long before he could have ever accomplished them.
The only respite he had from his approaching demise was reading. He read any and everything people brought him. When physical books were deemed too high a risk of contamination, they instead provided him with a tablet so that he could access ebooks and webnovels. He read because there was little else he could do. His wasting body grew weaker by the day. He couldn’t even write anymore by the end, the act of lifting a pen enough to exhaust him and too much of his dexterity was gone to manage anything readable. The sensitivity of the tablet had to be raised again and again as his weakening fingers put less and less pressure upon the surface.
Since complaining aloud about his state would just make his family sad during their dwindling visits, he let that dissatisfaction out in the only safe way he could: complaining about terrible writing online. It might take him a few hours to type out his review of a new chapter, but he persevered. He’d fill the screen with critique and scathing insults, snarled about plot holes, foreshadowing that never paid out, and wasted potential. Sometimes people agreed with him, sometimes they didn’t, but he could make his mark here. He could put something into the world that would last just a little longer than he would.
No work infuriated and inspired him more than Proud Immortal Demon Way. The beginning had so much promise! The prose was heads and shoulders above many of the webnovels he’d come across, at least when the author didn’t rush through the descriptions to get to the next plot point. There was obvious creativity and thought put into the setting, and the main character was wonderful! Every time Luo Binghe triumphed, Shen Yuan cheered him on. Every time Luo Binghe fell, Shen Yuan hated his enemies all the more.
In probably some effort to keep his spirits high, his parents bought him every PIDW wall scroll or piece of fanart he wanted, and the nurses dutifully decorated his room with them in glass sealed frames. His whole world became Luo Binghe’s adventures as he took the world by storm. No challenge was too great for the 200 IQ point protagonist and his iron will!
When the novel suddenly took a quality nosedive and became nothing but sexcapades, Shen Yuan spent weeks demanding that the author go back to putting actual effort into his work, actual pride! Most of the other reviewers laughed at his impotent rage, but that just made Shen Yuan more determined to make himself heard. He tore apart every new chapter, lamented over the beasts and wives that only existed to make Luo Binghe look cool. And he did look cool! He was the best character and Airplane didn’t deserve to write for him if this was all he strived for!
With every wife added to Luo Binghe’s growing harem, Shen Yuan only got angrier. Any interesting women quickly disappeared into the crowd never to be seen again. Only the most annoying ever appeared after their arc was over. The rare exception might have gotten more screen time, but Airplane seemed to be allergic to actually fleshing them out and making use of their narrative potential! Quantity over quality, Luo Binghe deserved so much better.
At night, Shen Yuan would stare up at his ceiling and think about the day’s chapter. He imagined scenes and rewrote them to better suit Luo Binghe’s happiness. There had to be something all this was leading to. Surely, the person who wrote Luo Binghe’s disciple years wouldn’t just let the whole story devolve into shameless sexcapades unless they were building up to a momentous ending. Luo Binghe was a blackened stallion protagonist, but he was still a protagonist! Surely he would finally come across the true love of his life (or notice how worthy Liu Mingyan was of this title) and crown her his empress. Love her with everything he had in a real way instead of his fleeting physical gratification. Luo Binghe deserved to be loved and to love in return. He deserved to have everything he truly wanted in the world.
But that wasn’t what happened. The day Shen Yuan read the final chapter of PIDW, he only didn’t throw the tablet across the room because he lacked the strength to do so. Knocking it off his lap desk onto his sheets was the closest approximation he could manage. How dare Airplane leave it like this? How dare they deny Luo Binghe what he’d bled and suffered for? It wasn’t fair.
He hadn’t really noticed when the edges of his vision started to darken. Machines screamed around him, but Shen Yuan only cared about cursing that damned Airplane with the last drop of his strength. It wasn’t fair! None of this was fair! If Shen Yuan had to die by inches alone in this stupid fucking room, the least the world could give him was a truly happy ending for his favorite character, and it didn’t even do that.
There were voices but they joined the incomprehensible noise around him and made no impact on Shen Yuan’s seething rage. It wasn’t fair and as his body started to fade, or he to fade from it, he thought, dumbfuck author, dumbfuck novel.
Shen Yuan hadn’t really been aware that he actually died until he woke up as Shen Qingqiu. And after that, well. If Airplane wouldn’t work towards Luo Binghe’s happiness, then Shen Yuan would damn well do it for him.
“What is A-Yuan thinking about so deeply?” Luo Binghe asks with amusement in his voice, his hand a comforting warmth at the small of Shen Yuan’s back.
“Nothing important,” he says. The wedding reception is winding down. Shang Qinghua and Mobei-jun had already left for the honeymoon Shen Yuan insisted Mobei-jun take his new bride on. Give Shang Qinghua a couple weeks of luxury. He certainly deserved it.
“Is it the peak lords?”
“No. I was just…” Shen Yuan sighs and then looks up at his lover, tracing the familiar paths of Luo Binghe’s gorgeous face. “Before, when we… Well. What I mean is, Binghe didn’t ever get to…”
Why is it always so hard for him to just say things. Even as a useless drunk in a nowhere town, the important things always got stuck in his throat.
Luo Binghe hums. “Did all this make A-Yuan want it for his own?”
“What? Of course not,” Shen Yuan says with a glare. “It’s all too much trouble, can you imagine how much worse it would be for… if we…”
A warm hand cups his cheek as Luo Binghe leans in, pressing their foreheads together. “All A-Yuan has to do is ask.”
The wedding robes Luo Binghe had commissioned so long ago for their private playact at matrimony had been carefully stored away. Shen Yuan isn’t sure they even still exist, but his own wouldn’t fit him now. They’d have to be reworked, and some trends had changed in the meantime, Luo Binghe’s probably wouldn’t work either. Besides, it really was just entirely too much trouble. Shen Yuan didn’t need any of it, especially not when the two of them already considered themselves husbands.
“This lord remembers something Shang-shishu said about ‘renewing vows’,” Luo Binghe says thoughtfully. Shen Yuan can’t help but look back up at him again as those dark, star filled eyes grow ever warmer with affection.
“It- it’s silly. It would be a waste,” Shen Yuan says. “There’s no reason for anyone to bother.”
“And if this husband wants to bother and rededicate himself to his A-Yuan…?”
Shen Yuan swallows and shuts his eyes tight. He’s just never been able to deny Luo Binghe anything and he can’t now, either. It’s certainly not because Shen Yuan wants that just as much.
“We are technically not married right now,” Luo Binghe says. “This may be the perfect opportunity to make a show out of rectifying that publicly.”
Of course the born showman that is Luo Binghe would think of it that way. Shen Yuan huffs out a laugh, opening his eyes to shoot a dirty look towards him.
“If you want a wedding, you get to plan the thing.”
“Of course.”
“I don’t have the patience for it, just tell me when to show up.”
“This lord would be happy to surprise A-Yuan with his efforts.”
“I mean it, I’m just going to lounge around in the library while you rush around doing whatever the fuck.”
Luo Binghe laughs and Shen Yuan falls for him all over again. Then he almost actually falls as Luo Binghe decides it’s been too long since the last time he got to have a dramatic moment. The way he dips Shen Yuan low, capturing his mouth hungrily, is right off a stupid romance novel cover, but it’s hard to care when he’s being kissed like this. He barely even notices Luo Binghe sweeping him into his arms and leaving the celebration hall.
There’s a bed with their names on it.