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Chapter Text

The carefully-written letter that sat now upon the Sect Leader’s desk had been given with great care into the hands of its courtier. This young woman, specially chosen for the task, had worn out six horses riding to Cang Qiong mountain. Through day, night, rain, and snow. Over great mountains and across deserts. She kept it dry as she waded through rivers, and cradled it with the utmost care, as though her life depended upon it.

It probably had.

Perhaps they ought to have sent a cultivator, the sort who could ride a sword in half the time. Or perhaps the choice instead, to send this young lady, meager in her skills and yet fearsome in devotion, had been deliberate.

This young woman had thus arrived at the gates of Cang Qiong mountain, handed off her final horse, and, after perhaps a lifetime of rushing as quickly as she could to arrive, stood at the gate, and waited. She did so silently, with a pleasant smile on her delicate face, her small fingers steepled together before her tiny frame.

She also had a great pair of horns, sharp and menacing, the same shining white as her hair, curled like two raptor’s talons. They had been, rather incongruously, decorated with elegant, floral lace woven from a black thread.

Her visage, settled just outside the great gates of Cang Qiong, had caused quite a stir. Yet none had raised a blade against her at all. Perhaps this was due to the seal, carved from imitation jade, which hung about her neck. It bore the sign of the demon empire. Whatever this message was, the girl was clearly important.

The letter, too. Shang Qinghua himself had wandered down to accept it, blinking up at the sweet-looking lady demoness with a pair of curious eyes, as though he could not for the life of him understand what she was doing there. She had merely smiled at him, and handed off the letter with a bow, and ‘regards from her imperial mistress.’

That a meeting between the Peak Lords was to be called was of no question. It was only a matter of when.

The answer depended entirely on the Sect Leader, sitting at her desk.

She had leaned forward onto her elbows, pressing the pads of her fingers together in a way that unknowingly mimicked the little demoness outside. Upon the scroll, which had been so carefully sealed into a little box, until the moment Yue Qingyuan had opened it, was stamped an image she knew very well. She had last seen it in battle, a decorative mark upon the sword of Tianlang-jun, which she had noted when their blades clashed in a great flash of lightning.

There was no way that he was around to send the letter, so who could be this new demon emperor? Had they any true relation, or were they some new upstart, styling themselves in the visual language of the old dynasty? These were the questions that fluttered through her mind like hummingbird wings as she cracked open the letter and read it.

Outside the Sect Leader’s office, Shen Qingqiu was pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth. As elegantly as possible. Her fingers, pinching her fan between them, were so tight that she felt she would snap it. And yet to any watchers (this being Qi Qingqi, who was seated with her arms crossed and her knee bouncing) she was the picture of poise, despite the storm raging within.

A demon! A demon at Cang Qiong mountain! And she was not attacking, nor scheming, nor doing anything but standing there rather pleasantly. Surely there was some trick. The last time demons had come to Cang Qiong, they had smashed the Rainbow Bridge to bits and harrassed its students. Now, instead of an army, they had brought a single courtier.

What was the play? Perhaps she had some sort of summoning tool. Perhaps she was there to spy on the inner workings of the peak. Perhaps she was--

The doors of the sitting room slid open. Not the ones that Shen Qingqiu wanted, but the entrance doors. In walked Shang Qinghua, who looked like he was about to faint from shock.

Shen Qingqiu paused before the door and settled upon one of the cushions. “Shang-shidi. What do you make of all this?” Now that her sharp mind had a target to focus on, her movements slowly unfurled into something more serene.

“I- I don’t know,” muttered Shang Qinghua, wringing his hands. “This doesn’t make any sense. There shouldn’t be-”

“And what would you know?” asked Qi Qingqi, “about that?”

Shang Qinghua blinked at the two of them. Shen Qingqiu, lounging as though it were a regular afternoon. Qi Qingqi, raising an eyebrow. The weiqi board between them, left abandoned.

He steeled himself. “I don’t know a lot. But the empire should be in complete shambles right now. There shouldn’t be an emperor yet.”

Shen Qingqiu clicked her tongue. “Yet. You expected this?”

Shang Qinghua flinched. “It’s common knowledge that the empire tends to go through phases of unification, fracturing, and chaos. Oh, except the Northern Kingdom, of course.”

“I hadn’t taken you for a historian,” said Qi Qingqi. “Especially not a demon one.”

Shang Qinghua stroked his chin, hand on his hip. “I had thought that the chaos era wasn’t over yet. The only way that could change is if someone... suitably powerful... pulled them all into line.”

“Like leashed dogs,” Shen Qingqiu observed. “Is that what our mysterious courtier is, then? A leashed dog?”

“Perhaps,” said Shang Qinghua. “But I think she seems more devoted than that. Someone merely leashed would have run by now.”

“True enough.” Shen Qingqiu flicked her fan shut. “Then she is part of the group that holds the leash. And those on the other end are terrified.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Does a demon emperor rule any other way?”

“I... suppose not.”

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrowed. Shang Qinghua definitely knew something, but he wasn’t sharing it. How typical.

She was about to swap theories with Qi Qingqi, when the door to Yue Qingyuan’s office flicked open.

“Assemble the rest of the Peak Lords. We have much to discuss.”

The letter, presented to the leadership of Cang Qiong Mountain, read as follows:

My dearest Zhangmen-shigu. No matter the time that passes, I shall always think of you. Your immaculate presence, ruling over Cang Qiong. Your fearsome sword. Your countenance. Your placid face, which showed no emotions at all when it witnessed the horrible things that Shen Qingqiu did to me.

I had once thought to blame my dear shizun for everything. But this is only half true, is it not? After all, it was you who refused to stay her hand.

For every sufferance I have endured, I could have had warmth. After the night my shizun and I parted, I discovered something very interesting. I could have grown up a future empress, cherished and loved. If only you had not sealed my father away. Did you know what it would do to me, when you fought him? Did you know that I existed? Did you think of my mother, waiting for him?

But these are old hurts and do not matter now. I shall give back to you every ounce of care that you gave to me. The two of us stand at an opportune crossroads to make amends. I, the young empress of the unified demon empire. You, the Sect Leader of the world’s greatest cultivation sect. Should you come to me as hostage, I shall, out of the kindness remaining in my heart, act with mercy.

If Cang Qiong Mountain does not acquiesce to my demands three days after receiving this letter, I myself shall come and personally raise it to the ground, as is my due.

With Love,

Empress Luo Binghe, of the Demon Realm

Yue Qingyuan had read it aloud with a blank voice. The Peak Lords stood in silence, staring down at the fine calligraphy, the sort one might only learn at such a place as Qing Jing Peak. Slowly, the heads in the room began to turn, one by one, to look at Yue Qingyuan.

“I will fight her,” said the Sect Leader. “I will dispatch this young upstart as easily as I did her father.”

Shen Qingqiu pressed her fan to her lips. For once, she was entirely silent, her face pale.

Qi Qingqi rounded on her. “What’s this about your student? Didn’t she die?”

“Apparently not,” growled Shen Qingqiu.

“Your treatment of her apparently endangered the rest of us,” Wei Qingwei spat. “Perhaps you ought to go as Luo Binghe’s hostage, and not the Sect Leader.”

“It is me who Luo Binghe resents, Wei-shidi.” Yue Qingyuan’s voice was as cold as a river.

“She won’t accept me,” Shen Qingqiu argued, apparently willing to give the idea real thought. “Demons like that won’t negotiate. And Luo Binghe especially won’t with me.”

“I am curious,” said Qi Qingqi, “of what this Luo Binghe refers to when she speaks of your deeds.”

Shen Qingqiu’s lip curled, and she fluttered her fan. “She was a disciple of my peak and was unable to keep up. How she interpreted that is none of my concern.”

“And her father,” Shang Qinghua interrupted. “What about him?”

“What about him? Perhaps his relationship to Su Xiyan was more mutual than we were led to believe,” Shen Qingqiu suggested. “In which case, it is tragic now that the whelp’s mother died.”

Yue Qingyuan laced her fingers together. “Had I known... perhaps I would not have acted as I did.” Her frown grew strange, as though remembering, once more, her final fight with Tianlang-jun.

Shen Qingqiu waved her fan, dismissive. “It’s far too late to think of problems like that. How are we going to deal with her now? That is our true question.”

“I will kill her,” said Yue Qingyuan, eyes distant. “I will draw Xuan Su, if I must.” Yue Qingyuan turned away. “I shall deliver my response to her attendant. Luo Binghe may bring an army, so we ought to be prepared. Cang Qiong mountain sect should not suffer.”

“I shall deliver the message,” Shen Qingqiu argued. “You are too important to be seen doing such a thing. Give her the impression that you have paid her barely any mind at all.”

Yue Qingyuan nodded.

The reply was delivered succinctly and quickly to the courtier, both in writing and verbally. Luo Binghe’s devoted servant smiled pleasantly, lifted a token, and sent the letter away in a flash. The reply was easily as quick, flashing into the young lady’s hands in a near instant, as though it had already been prepared.

Yue Qingyuan, it read. I will give you one more chance to surrender. Tomorrow, I shall come to Cang Qiong, and we shall fight personally. If you kill me, my demons shall leave your mountain alone. But should I win, you will come with me. If you do not agree to these terms, I shall bring my army.

The ensuing arguments were swift.

“I will fight her, then,” Yue Qingyuan said. “As I promised.”

“If you do this,” Shen Qingqiu retorted. “You will be acknowledging her status as empress. Which is probably what she wants.”

“Perhaps,” said Yue Qingyuan, “but if the other option is an invasion, then we shall be acknowledging her legitimacy either way. In this manner, Cang Qiong mountain is kept safe.”

“I do not think you should fight her,” Shen Qingqiu argued, rapping her fan against the table of the Peak Lord’s meeting room. At this hour, it was dark. The rest of the Peak Lords had not been convened, left to focus on their own peak’s defenses. It was only Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan, sitting alone.

“Why not?” Yue Qingyuan asked. “I am confident that I shall win. And then she will not bother us again.”

Shen Qingqiu’s mouth twisted. “I do not particularly care. I just...” she looked at her lap. “That creature is a beast, Yue Qingyuan. And we need you as Sect Leader.”

“I have fought one before, Qingqiu-shimei. I know the dangers.” She raised an eyebrow. “Why do you now lose your faith in my martial abilities?”

Shen Qingqiu scowled, but had no real retort prepared. Her beautiful face was curled in displeasure, her soft lips turned down, her green eyes narrowed. Suddenly, she stood in a snap of her skirts. “Fine. But if you get yourself killed fighting some horrific creature, then don’t come crawling back to me about it.” And with that, she strode from the room.

Yue Qingyuan spent the next morning ruminating, leaning over her desk. There was a curl to her lips, her usually demure fingers clenched into something almost strange. Over and over again, she remembered the battle with Tianlang-jun. Over and over, his techniques. His great strength. His taunts. He had been powerful; if Luo Binghe’s mother was Su Xiyan, a human, then perhaps she would not be so. Yet, she must be careful.

She may even have to draw Xuan Su. How much time would she have left, if so? How much would it take? How much, how much, how much?

There had been, in Luo Binghe’s letter, a second, more personal message. Yue Qingyuan had withheld it from the Peak Lords.

You may be strong enough to kill me, but will you be able to do that and protect her at the same time?

She knew what it meant. There was no preface, and no specificity, but she knew exactly what it meant. And so Luo Binghe had to die. Or. Or. Or Yue Qingyuan had to go with her.

One or the other. She weighed the options on a scale. On one end, she placed Cang Qiong mountain Sect. On the other, she placed Shen Qingqiu.

There truly was no contest.

No matter how much she cared, Shen QIngqiu’s safety would always come first.

A knock on the door of her office. Yue Qingyuan hid the second letter away, and allowed entry.

“Zhangmen-shigu?”

Yue Qingyuan smiled softly. “Ah, Ning Yingying. It has been some time. Have your studies been going well?”

Ning Yingying grinned. Through the years, she had grown quite a bit from that soft and thoughtless little girl. Her Qing Jing robes fit her perfectly, now. In her confident hands was a tray, containing a pot of tea and a little cup. “Shizun has taught me so many wonderful things. I shall show you my mastery of the qin, sometime. I’m even learning to implement it in battle.”

“That’s wonderful!” Yue Qingyuan cooed. It brought joy to her heart to see Ning Yingying doing so well.

“Thank you, shigu.” Ning Yingying bowed. Then, lifting her tray, she stepped further into the room. “I’ve brought you some cultivation enhancing tea from shizun, to assist in your fight tomorrow.”

Yue Qingyuan blinked. “Then I must drink all of it, for it is a great gift.”

Ning Yingying nodded. “Shizun is very angry, but she always cares.”

“She does,” Yue Qingyuan said. Ning Yingying poured her a cup, and Yue Qingyuan drank it.

“Another?” Ning Yingying asked, but she was already pouring. “You ought to drink it all, I think, shigu. It would make shizun very happy.”

“Indeed.”

Yue Qingyuan drained the tea to the last drop, hungrily. Determined, perhaps, to sup up any amount of affection Shen Qingqiu was willing to give.

In the morning, she stood at the entrance to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect in the regalia of battle. Xuan Su, still sheathed, was held out in front of her, its tip pressing into the ground. Yue Qingyuan’s dark hair, usually left to flow in the wind, had been tied back into a top knot.

Shen Qingqiu had done this.

On that morning, when Yue Qingyuan had been pulling herself into robes for battle, Shen Qingqiu had slipped into her room with a comb.

The woman who usually could barely get through five sentences with her had stood quietly behind her, and combed and combed and combed Yue Qingyuan’s hair, as though afraid that it would disappear from between her fingers. She did not mention the tea, but this was okay. Yue Qingyuan would speak only of things Shen Qingqiu wished to say. She would listen to the silence, to the gentle sound of her breath, to the patter of her heartbeat.

Yue Qingyuan allowed herself to enjoy the harsh pads of Shen Qingqiu’s pale fingers, rubbing against her skin. Gripping the base of her chin and tipping it back for a better vantage point. Helping her into the battle garments, leaning in close as she tied the sash. Inhaling, eyes closed.

Into the silence, Shen Qingqiu spoke. “I should have killed that girl, when she was a child.”

Yue Qingyuan shut her eyes. “Perhaps you ought to have left her alone entirely.”

Shen Qingqiu’s fingers tightened on the sash, pulling it just slightly too tight, around Yue Qingyuan’s waist. “Perhaps. I kept waiting, you know.”

“For what?”

“For the great Zhangmen-shijie to raise her hand. Or to place down her foot. To say: ‘this is enough, now’ and destroy the vermin before her.”

Frowning, Yue Qingyuan looked at the dark head of hair below. Shen Qingqiu had not yet risen from her position. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Look at what has been wrought. My student, angered at her treatment, come to take revenge.” There was something dark in her eyes. Something that burned like smoldering ashes, never quite able to cool. “I ought to have forseen this.”

“But...” Yue Qingyuan glanced up. “I do not understand, what about your treatment of her was so terrible.”

“Hm?”

“My shizun... she did many things to help me grow. I was broken and remade in her image. Yet you do not see me wanting revenge.”

For some reason, the sash around Yue Qingyuan’s waist tightened further. She grunted, but said nothing else. Anything that Shen Qingqiu gave her, she would take.

“Broken... how?”

Across the room, there was a mirror. Yue Qingyuan looked upon it and caught her own reflection, gaunt and strange with her hair pulled away from her neck. This is how her shizun had dressed. For some reason, the thought made her shiver. “It isn’t important, Qingqiu-shimei. A beating or two isn’t anything to worry about.”

“I’ve never seen you beat your students,” Shen Qingqiu whispered, and Yue Qingyuan had no idea how to respond to such a statement. She froze until Shen Qingqiu pushed her back down into the chair. “Allow me to work on your face, now.”

Shen Qingqiu produced, then, a set of brushes for makeup. Lip tape, for a bright red color, pressed between Yue Qingyuan’s lips. Ink to line the eyes, and draw a delicate huadian on her forehead.

Her face was so close. The dim light reflected gold on her deep eyes, and cast shadows on her gaunt cheeks, and dusted a halo though her hair. As usual, Yue Qingyuan felt that urge to lean forward, to meet the inviting lips with her own. But this was something that she was not allowed to have.

At the end of it, Shen Qingqiu stepped back and surveyed her work. “You are ready,” she said.

“I’ve never looked so beautiful before a battle,” Yue Qingyuan remarked, staring at her dolled up face in the mirror.

Shen Qingqiu clicked her tongue. “You are representing the sect, are you not? Allow me this.”

“As our chief strategist, I’ll of course listen to anything you say.”

“Except my recommendation not to acknowledge this.”

“Yes,” Yue Qingyuan agreed. “Except for that.” Then she tilted her head, and smiled. “Thank you for sending the tea last night. Ning Yingying can report that I drank it all.”

Shen Qingqiu blinked, raised an eyebrow, and said nothing. Perhaps she was embarrassed. Yue Qingyuan resolved to speak of it no more, and made her way down the mountain.

Alone, Shen Qingqiu stared down at Yue Qingyuan’s lipstick paper. Still damp, it had captured the imprint of Yue Qingyuan’s lips upon it.

They had looked plump and supple, a deep, kissable red. Shen Qingqiu, eyes half-lidded, thought of Yue Qingyuan’s round face, pale and pink-cheeked, and her thick brows.

Alone, in the quiet firelight of the room, Shen Qingqiu looked at the lipstick paper, at the shape that Yue Qingyuan had left behind, and pressed her lips against it, over the exact same spot.

The duel was to be at sunrise, held in the courtyard of Qiong Ding. Yue Qingyuan arrived there before the sun and stood, a silent and somber guardian, with the tip of Xuan Su’s sheath pressed into the earth before her.

All of Cang Qiong’s host had come there to witness what would hopefully be the undoing of this upstart empress. They filed silently around the courtyard and watched their Sect Leader, standing alone.

And they waited, and waited. And waited. Would Luo Binghe be late for their appointment?

A dark mass slid across the sky, like a needle pulling a black thread taught. Then it curled open into a slit. None other than Luo Binghe herself stepped through that portal; suddenly it became a dark halo behind her, a full-body mandorla that crowned her with dripping darkness. Behind her strolled her contingent: a host of demons... and cultivators. And all of them women.

Large and small, their clothing varied. The courier from before, followed by a fairylike lady with dragonfly wings extending from her back. A pointed-eared demoness with an elaborate hairstyle and barely any clothing to speak of. She stood next to Luo Binghe with a pleased expression. Those who had been there at the last attack would recognize her as Sha Hualing.

On Luo Binghe’s right stood a tall, muscular demoness in rare, winter furs and a crown of ice. Across the courtyard, Shang Qinghua squeaked at the sight and disappeared into the crowd.

Behind Yue Qingyuan, Shen Qingqiu bore into Luo Binghe with sharp, hateful eyes.

Luo Binghe stood, Xin Mo leaking darkness upon the stones, and did not acknowledge her. Instead, her ruby eyes burned their way into Yue Qingyuan. Long, dark hair flowed in rivulets down a strong back. Luo Binghe wore a mixture of demonic fashion and traditional robes. A revealing inner dress, crowned by an elegant overlayer. All black, embroidered in red like splatters of blood and flecks of holy fire.

“Hello, shigu,” she said, in a sweet voice.

“Luo Binghe,” Yue Qingyuan acknowledged. “Are you certain that you wish to do this?”

“I can think of nothing that I want more,” Luo Binghe sneered.

“Then we fight,” Yue Qingyuan said, lunging without a moment’s wait.

Luo Binghe was expecting it. With a laugh, she raised Xin Mo, blocking the slam of Xuan Su’s sheathe. The sword slid down, and she used the momentum to cut at Yue Qingyuan from above.

Now it was Yue Qingyuan’s turn to block. She slammed the sheathe into Xin Mo and grasped Luo Binghe’s wrist with her free hand, curling her elbow around it, catching Luo Binghe’s forearm in her own and locking it. Luo Binghe snarled, leaned in, and bit into the unprotected part of Yue Qingyuan’s, tearing outwards with a bloody mouth. Yue Qingyuan held fast, a single wince all that she betrayed of the pain, knocked her head into Luo Binghe’s, and wrenched Xin Mo from her hand.

Darkness climbed up Yue Qingyuan’s forearms. She threw the sword away; it slammed tip first into the courtyard and buried itself.

“Yield, Luo Binghe,” Yue Qingyuan rasped, “or I will take your life here and now.”

“Do it then.”

Yue Qingyuan, who had prepared to take a life that day, grabbed Luo Binghe’s clawed, free hand, and brought it to her own neck, slicing a bloody line across it. Luo Binghe laughed, gurgling wetly, and smirked.

“Did you think that was enough to kill a demon?”

“No,” Yue Qingyuan replied, in a voice like ice. She kneed Luo Binghe in the gut, let go of the demonspawn before her, and grasped Xuan Su’s hilt. She unsheathed the blade a few cuns, and brought it down on the empress, still struggling to stand.

Or, she would have, had a piercing pain not spiked suddenly in her fingers, causing her to drop the sword. She stared a moment at her own hand in confusion; such pain should not be affecting her this much.

It was all the time Luo Binghe needed. The empress jumped to her feet, lunching for Yue Qingyuan’s face with claws outstretched. The Sect Leader ducked at the last moment, and Luo Binghe’s fingers tore their way through her topknot instead of her cheek. The fastener clattered to the earth, and Yue Qingyuan’s hair flowed down from her head like a silk caught in the wind, fluttering to rest at her lower back.

Luo Binghe picked the half-unsheathed Xuan Su from the ground and opened it. Yue Qingyuan winced, grasping Xin Mo.

Now it was Luo Binghe framed by silver light, and Yue Qingyuan with the stench of dripping darkness. Their swords crashed together. Light and darkness exploded in all directions and splattered across the courtyard like blood. Yue Qingyuan’s wrist contorted again. The sword fell, and Xuan Su struck her armor.

But the familiar, hated blade was close enough now that she could once again grasp Luo Binghe’s wrist at just the right spot and wrenched it free. Then she kicked the empress backwards, flicking Xuan Su out to the side.

Luo Binghe took her sword.

For a moment, the two stood there, facing each other. Hair flowing in the strange wind that the meeting of their two swords had caused. Light meeting darkness in a moment that collapsed in on itself, into a wretched, hungry singularity.

Their blades met once more. Where they touched devoured light; it was light itself. It was ravenous. Yue Qingyuan slid her blade upwards and sideways, so that the strong end of Xuan Su, closer to the pommel, lay overtop the weak tip of Xin Mo.

The two of them trembled. The air itself began to burn and howl. The courtyard stone cracked and shattered and floated around them. Yue Qingyuan grasped the upper hand, flicked Xin Mo into the distance, and bore her blade’s tip into Luo Binghe’s heart.

Or. She would have. Instead, she froze right there, in the killing position.

With a sweet, gentle smirk, Luo Binghe stepped back. Raising her hand, she curled her fingers. Pain flashed up Yue Qingyuan’s body, joining the horrible shrieking that Xuan Su usually caused within her, and she watched with a strange, detached horror as every flick of Luo Binghe’s fingers dropped her into the kneeling position of surrender.

“Well,” Luo Binghe huffed, “I win.”

“I--” Yue Qingyuan snapped her mouth shut, but Luo Binghe forced her lips open. “I... surrender.”

And finally, now, Luo Binghe’s triumphant gaze drew itself to Shen Qingqiu. “Well?” She asked. “Are you going to try and kill me now, shizun? Why don’t you come here?”

“Luo... Binghe,” Yue Qingyuan bit, of her own power, rising back to her feet. Xuan Su, who had hurt her in the first place, was now her crutch. “Keep to your promises.”

“Well,” Luo Binghe snipped, tossing her hair. “I am indeed a woman of my word. Now, call me empress.”

“I... have done enough.”

Luo Binghe lifted her fingers, as though controlling a puppet. With a haughty distance in her gaze, she piloted Yue Qingyuan to lift Xuan Su up, and up, and up... and to drive the blade fully into her own stomach, so that it sprouted out the back.

There came an awful shriek from the crowd. It belonged to Shen Qingqiu; both Luo Binghe and Yue Qingyuan knew it.

“E-empress...” Yue Qingyuan coughed, blood dripping from her mouth. She fell to her knees.

“Swear fealty to me,” Luo Binghe ordered, pressing the heel of her boot atop Yue Qingyuan’s head. Her inky black hair, frizzy with the sweat of battle, dripped over the courtyard like blood.

“I... swear.” Yue Qingyuan rasped.

“Then you are mine.” Luo Binghe smiled, and turned to the crowd with an expression that could be called affectionate. “I will be in touch,” she said. Leaning down, she grasped Xuan Su’s hilt and slid it from Yue Qingyuan, sheathing it easily. A prize.

Yue Qingyuan breathed just a little easier. She opened her mouth, half delirious, one thought left in her mind. “Xiao--

Her lips were smashed closed, forcefully, by a twitch of Luo Binghe’s fingers. Ning Yingying, standing on Shen Qingqiu’s left, stared at her, expression blank, half-sorrowful. What was she thinking?

Yue Qingyuan allowed darkness to take her in the meantime.

Chapter Text

The first to react when Yue Qingyuan had fallen had been Mu Qingfang.

Pushing out of the crowd, he threw himself onto his knees before the sect leader and tore her regalia open to inspect the wound. Shen Qingqiu had strode after him, half-frozen, unable to look and unable to look away.

Yue Qingyuan lay there, eyes shut in a mockery of peaceful sleep, barely breathing.

“Well,” Luo Binghe had remarked, wiping Xin Mo off with her sleeve, “I have her now. Despite your initial reluctance, I will keep up my end of the bargain that I first offered. Enjoy, Shen-zhangmen.”

The contingent of the Demon Empress did not return the way they had come. Instead, after making certain she was stable, Luo Binghe slung Yue Qingyuan over her shoulder like a sack of rice, and the entire procession began to descend the steps of the mountain.

Of course, Shen Qingqiu thought. They were not merely here for a victory, they were here to rub that victory into the cultivation world.

She watched long enough to catch sight of a small woman dressed in the garments of a servant rush out from the Cang Qiong contingent and into the procession.

Beside her, Ning Yingying was sobbing into her hands. Her shoulders shook; she tore at her hair. Shen Qingqiu placed a hand on her shoulder, gentle as she could.

Ning Yingying flinched.

Alright, then. Shen Qingqiu huffed, and in a wave of her sleeves, made her way to the Sect Leader’s office.

It still smelled like Yue Qingyuan. Everything had been left the same. The austere walls of someone who thought herself above decoration, the desk with its neatly filed papers and not a drop of ink spilled. She sat in the plush chair and stared at the papers ahead of her. There was the usual affair: the letter from Luo Binghe, papers from An Ding Peak to be filed.

A small scroll, in one of the drawers, read: you may be able to kill me, but can you do that and keep her safe?

The very same handwriting as Luo Binghe’s ultimatum. Shen Qingqiu did not wonder long who this ‘she’ was. Yue Qingyuan was so lofty that she kept herself away from everyone. Yet even Shen Qingqiu was aware of… rumors of favoritism for Qing Jing Peak. And there was one person who Luo Binghe surely hated the most.

She crumpled the note in her hand, dropped it in the drawer, and slammed the door shut. Placing her head upon the table, she clenched her fingers into fists and began to tremble.

The door slammed open. Qi Qingqi. “Shen Qingqiu, have you no shame? They haven’t even left the mountain yet and--”

Shen Qingqiu glared up at her, face hot with tears.

Qi Qingqi’s steps faltered. Confronted with the sight of her sorrow, she awkwardly stepped towards her, palms lifted, as though she were calming some kind of horse.

“Not since Liu Qingge’s death has Cang Qiong seen such a tragedy.” She ran her hand gently over Shen Qingqiu’s hair.

Qi Qingqi’s voice was soft. Shen Qingqiu allowed herself to forget that this was her shimei, and lean in to the touch the way she might a lady of the Warm Red Pavillion.

“Now we must move forward,” Shen Qingqiu said. Qi Qingqi kindly avoided mentioning the cracking in her voice. “And we must try our best to get her back without waking a beast.”

“And we will,” Qi Qingqi said. There was a brief pause, after which, she added. “Shen-shijie. I know our relationship in the past has been… ambivalent, at best. But our sect needs unity now more than ever. I will support you as acting sect leader, until Zhangmen-shijie can be recovered.”

Shen Qingqiu nodded. “Thank you.”

They needed to recover Yue Qingyuan. They needed to recover Yue Qingyuan. Something within her began to cry. Something else began to rage. How dare Yue Qingyuan risk her life like this?

And… how dare she do it to protect someone as awful as Shen Qingqiu?

Somewhere in her decades in this world, Shang Qinghua had watched the plot that she had written upturn so completely she’d stopped bothering with keeping track. First, Luo Binghe was a girl. A girl? When had Airplane written a girl? Luo Binghe was supposed to be a boy!

Then again, Shang Qinghua had been supposed to be a boy too, and she definitely wasn’t.

It seemed that this would be her situation in both lives. She had been cast into the role of Shang Qinghua, servant to the fearsome Queen Mobei-jun. If only she could have transmigrated into Qi Qingqi or something!

But it wasn’t as though she was trapped. A lonely Airplane had thought up plenty of tropey devices for changing genders. Getting ahold of the Flower of Serene Bliss had even been really easy. Qian Cao Peak kept some on hand for things like this, a detail Airplane had written one night so that she wouldn’t have to think about her own, frustrated tears. What was more difficult was deciding whether or not the system would let her use it. It stayed woefully silent on the matter, no matter how many questions she asked, repeating only that Shang Qinghua “was supposed to be Shang Qinghua,” a phrase that was so cryptic that transition terrified her.

Whatever. Shang Qinghua slaved away for everyone, and watched Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan have their tragic romance, and realized that she could still just... walk around the nearby town as a girl and nobody would bat an eyelid.

So life had gone on. Shang Qinghua was her, and yet Shang Qinghua the Guy was a role she had continued to play for far too long. The Flower of Serene Bliss had bloomed and bloomed and bloomed on the window, its eggshell-shaped petals blazing a bright pink. Shang Qinghua amassed a collection of dresses and went into town in them just to be herself, when the An Ding paperwork got to be too much.

Then Luo Binghe had come, and taken Yue Qingyuan away in the most weird and fucked up way possible (a plot point that she hadn’t expected to happen, given that Luo Binghe was a girl now). Ah, that was her daughter! How proud, this author-god was. And terrified. Oh, she was terrified.

But with Yue Qingyuan about to be... possibly deleted, Shang Qinghua had been faced with a dilemma.

Though the plot had been written, by her account, decades ago, she still remembered this part. It had been a lot less… bloody, in her drafting. But also more direct.

Her fearsome stallion protagonist was supposed to realize that the best way to get to his (her? was she actually like Airplane, since she was made in her image? In that case, of course she would end up a woman!) shizun was to take away her enabler, the passive Yue Qingyuan, to marry. It was supposed to be a bit of a tease. The fandom had been split on if Luo Binghe should take full vengeance on Shen Qingqiu or win by adding her to the harem.

Here was the last vestige of the novel that Proud Immortal Demon Way was supposed to be before it had been taken over by wish fulfillment:

Luo Binghe was supposed to get neither vengeance nor sex. Yue Qingyuan was not supposed to eventually realize that she truly loved Luo Binghe and grovel for her wrongdoing, but to loathe her like a villain no matter what Binghe tried. And bloody revenge would bring no satisfaction either. Of course, could she even write such a thing? A protagonist beating a woman? Luo Binghe was supposed to be all grimdark, but this was too much, even for a stallion novel, right?

So, Shen Qingqiu was supposed to scheme and then… bring about her own downfall? Become a human stick? Grovel for Binghe’s forgiveness once she realized how cool she was?

Well, Shang Qinghua had gone to her noodle-y grave before she’d managed to decide if she would commit to her original draft or give into pandering like she’d always done.

And now here she was, staring at the little plant she’d coveted for years. It was blooming beautifully. The effect was bound to be strong.

Yue Qingyuan was surely losing to the might of the protagonist, but only because Binghe was a black lotus who didn’t play fair.

There had been no marriage proposed this time. Yet, contemplating the possible plots, she could not help but panic. She could not help but want, suddenly, for the sorrowful story she’d originally intended to never bear any fruit, system or no system.

Luo Binghe would be happy. Yue Qingyuan would be happy. Shen Qingqiu would be happy. Damn it!

Shang Qinghua plucked a petal from the flower with a little too much force. The roots, when brewed into tea, could change her back into a man (she shivered) if the system so desired.

But here in this flower was… the person she wanted to be, and the new story she wanted to tell.

For once, it was something the system had demanded. She listened for its familiar, hateful chime and its terrible voice and heard nothing. Instead, there was a quiet expectancy, like a breath being held.

So she shoved the quivering, pink petal into her mouth and chewed.

The system chimed: [Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations! Important things must be said three times!]

Damn it.

When all was done, it was quite easy to slip into the dress of a servant, and easier still to slip into Luo Binghe’s contingent. A tiny thing like her wouldn’t be out of place there. She would have time to look in the mirror later. For now, there was a story to break.

On the first day after Yue Qingyuan had been kidnapped and Shang Qinghua had disappeared, Shen Qingqiu called Ning Yingying to her. Long had she sat in Yue Qingyuan’s chair, until her nose had gone blind to her smell, and the sun had set and risen again. Ignoring the sect in a panic outside, she had contemplated the battle and the day prior over and over and over. Yue Qingyuan would have won. She knew it; until Luo Binghe had begun twisting Yue Qingyuan around like a puppet, she was almost certain. But how had such a thing occurred?

One detail had caught, like a snag, in her mind. A single sentence, uttered by Yue Qingyuan, into the quiet of the dressing room.

There was a knock on the door. A moment later: “You asked to see me, shizun?” Ning Yingying stepped into Yue Qingyuan’s office. Now that a day had passed, she seemed a little better. Her cheeks were still puffy and red, as though from tears, but she had put on fresh robes and held her head high.

“Yes, I have a few questions. Logistics, as well. Come and look at this, would you?”

Ning Yingying came over to the desk and leaned forward. “Isn’t this usually Ming Fan’s job?”

“I need the sharp eyes of a girl to look over these papers.”

Huffing, Ning Yingying stepped forward and began to examine them. “This is research, isn’t it? Into... heavenly demons... and their blood.” She paled.

“That’s right. It’s the only thing that makes sense, isn’t it, A-Ying?” Shen Qingqiu tapped a diagram explaining blood parasites. “How would Yue Qingyuan have any in her? Not even in her fight with Tianlang-jun did she inhale a drop. And we were careful, too, that it could not get in through any wound.”

Ning Yingying swallowed. Shen Qingqiu sighed, ignoring the heaviness that had begun to pierce her chest. “Perhaps Yue Qingyuan inhaled some... when she cut Luo Binghe’s throat?”

“Not enough to puppet her body fully, I’m afraid.” Shen Qingqiu sighed. “The truth is, A-Ying, there is something that Yue Qingyuan mentioned to me. I cannot help but think about it.”

“Yes, shizun?”

“She thanked me for the tea.” Shen Qingqiu flicked her fan open. In response, Ning Yingying’s eyes flicked to the side. Her gaze was turned downward, onto the manuscript. Why could she not meet her shizun’s eyes? Well, Shen Qingqiu knew. “I never gave her any tea. Nor would she have let just anyone come into her study.”

“Then... it would have been... someone close to you.”

“And who is close to me?”

“Ming Fan,” Ning Yingying supplied. “And... me.”

“And Ming Fan is a boy. He’s far too stupid to do something like this.”

“So...”

“So... did you poison Yue Qingyuan, Ning Yingying?”’

Finally, Ning Yingying looked at her, with big, watery eyes. With those thick eyebrows and that pitiful, apologetic expression, she looked like a miniature Qi-jie.

“I did. I did poison her. For Binghe.”

Ah. Betrayed again.

“I ought to whip you,” Shen Qingqiu hissed. “I ought to kill you here and now.” And here she stood from Yue Qingyuan’s chair and turned away. “But... I cannot, A-Ying. You have always been... dear to me, where few are.”

Ning Yingying stood. “I-”

“You are banished from this mountain, Ning Yingying. Do not return.”

“Shizun--”

Shen Qingqiu whipped around. “You do not call me that any longer. Go to the demons, to whom you’ve given your allegiance. I never want to see you again.”

“Yes... Shen-guniang.” Cheeks and eyes reddening, Ning Yingying bowed.

“You have betrayed your sect.”

As she turned to go, Ning Yingying paused. Her gaze, when she looked at Shen Qingqiu, was sharper than usual. “Do you want to know why I did it?”

“Sure.” Shen Qingqiu crossed her arms. “But I already know it. I told you not to associate with that Luo Binghe. Beastly girls like that are the most dangerous.”

A soft, gentle smile came to Ning Yingying’s face. “No, shizun.”

“I said, don’t--”

The smile dropped. “It was you.”

Shen Qingqiu raised an eyebrow. Ning Yingying steeled herself. “It was the way you treated A-Luo. I thought you just didn’t know what my martial siblings did to her... but you did. You encouraged it. You said cruel things and beat her with your own hands. Did you even think about what you were doing? Did you think about how you made her feel, when you punished her like that? Did you think about what it did to me, to watch her suffer under you and feel unable to do anything?”

“I should have killed her.” Shen Qingqiu hissed. “I should have just wrung her neck the moment I saw she was a demon. I should have tried a little harder when she was a disciple.”

Ning Yingying shut her eyes. “I knew... that you would say something like this. Shen-guniang... I love you. You raised me well, and you gave me support. But wasn’t Luo Binghe the same as me?” Voice quieting, she whispered: “Why, shizun? Why? Why her and not me? I was useless. I was terrible at cultivation, unobservant, and spoiled. A-Luo worked hard! She could have been so great!”

Shen Qingqiu looked down at the table, at the heavenly demon page. It had been scrawled over with Yue Qingyuan’s notes. They were years old, their ink fading, written just after her fight with Tianlang-jun. She had survived that. She had come back injured, but with her head held high. Not crushed beneath a boot.

“She’s certainly great, alright. She’s nearly killed your shige. She’ll probably torture her, too. How can you join someone like that? How can you betray your martial siblings, your peak?”

“Because,” Ning Yingying said. She breathed deeply, then leaned across the table. In a voice as cold as ice, she said: “maybe then I can stop her from becoming just like you.”

And with that, she left. The door slid quietly shut, and with it, a small petal flaked from a flower, dying in the corner of Yue Qingyuan’s room. Shen Qingqiu strode to it and glared down at the shriveled little thing. Her stupid Qi-jie, unable to keep even one plant alive. How useless, she was. A stupid, kind woman who could hold her own in a fight with a demon but overwatered her plants until they shriveled away.

Shen Qingqiu imagined Yue Qingyuan, imprisoned in the clutches of Luo Binghe, without support. Alone. Her untouchable beauty scraped and scraped away by the claws of a woman almost as beastly as Shen Qingqiu. Her goodness eroded and carved into whatever shape Luo Binghe desired. At least Shen Qingqiu had tried to keep away.

But now, Yue Qingyuan had been taken by Luo Binghe.

But now, Ning Yingying had betrayed her.

And Yue Qingyuan was gone.

And it was all Shen Qingqiu’s fault.

Something inside of Shen Qingqiu’s hideous, blackened heart began to howl.

Chapter Text

Yue Qingyuan first woke to darkness and the sound of water dripping all around her. Beneath her back was cold, jagged stone. She stared up into the malignant darkness, cut by not even a speck of silver, and felt the throbbing of her bones, the horrible ache of her core. The pounding of her head was so thick she could barely think past it.

One singular thought came to mind: not here again.

She could not stand the Ling Xi caves above her, yet she was always here, in her dreams. She had never once left it.

Lucky her, that there was nobody to witness such wretched dreams.

A blink, and she returned to the waking world. A gold tapestry hung over her head; she had been draped in a thick blanket and laid on a soft mattress. Looking to her right, she saw a relatively spacious room past the drapery, decorated with dark-wood furniture. There was a dressing table, a mirror, and a clothes chest. To one side, a small window, half-obscured by gold curtains, looked out on a little, grassy courtyard.

After years of Qiong Ding austerity and deep blacks and silvers, Yue Qingyuan felt as though she had to squint just to see in the too-bright room.

She sat up, intending to walk around, and paused to note the howling pain in her abdomen and the ache of her meridians. Then she shrugged. What was a little more pain? Her body had been a well of aches and cracks since the Ling Xi caves and her shizun.

Standing up, she stumbled around the room. A little table had been laid: a pot of tea with a warming charm and a plate of little cakes.

Yue Qingyuan was not hungry. Instead, she limped to the window and glanced outside of it. The courtyard in which she had been placed was empty and overgrown, scattered with broken floor tiles. Rain poured outside down leaking porch-roofs onto grass.

This all seemed... just a little familiar.

With a sigh, she swiveled back to her room, which she noticed was covered in a layer of dust, and tested whether or not it was a prison. First the door of her little house, which slid open easily. As she did so, she noticed the red bands on her wrists. Hm.

The courtyard was far more difficult to exit. Yue Qingyuan’s unfamiliar nightgown was quickly soaked by the rain. Even so, she limped to a pair of heavy doors with barred windows. A simple application of spiritual energy might have broken the lock, but none came to her call. Instead, the bands on her wrists grew hot.

No matter. She had put plenty of work into being physically strong for Xiao Jiu, too.

Clenching her hands into fists, she swung a hand at one of the doors. Lucky her, though it had been gilded with fine metal, the wood underneath was as brittle, water-logged, and poorly made as anything else in Huan Hua palace.

The door smashed open into splinters. Ignoring the screeching of her body, she slammed herself into the moldy doors and out into the main walkway. Here the gilding was still fresh, the tiles unbroken.

Huan Hua palace complex was the same as ever. But why would Luo Binghe put her here?

Inhaling, Yue Qingyuan allowed herself once more to indulge in the impulsivity that she knew to be wrong. But until one burning question was answered, she would not stop.

First things first: she must hunt down one Luo Binghe. How long could it have been since their fight? She can’t have gone very far.

Not particularly caring to sneak, Yue Qingyuan wandered through the complex, past fancy ladies followed by trails of servants, protected beneath flowery umbrellas. It was almost familiar, she thought with some fondness, harkening back to days huddled together in the rain, watching the wealthy pass by, their heads dry. Xiao Jiu had always snickered though, and pointed. No matter how dry they tried to be, unless they had servants to carry them, the trains of their skirts would always get wet.

Speaking of...

Yue Qingyuan made her way to where she knew the main palace complex to be: the most central building, decadent in its decoration. Now, red and black tapestries hung across it, bearing the symbol of the demon empress. How had Cang Qiong missed this?

No matter.

The closer she came, the straighter her back, the steadier her gait. No matter the pain, she had something to do, and she must appear as reserved as possible to do it. Not Yue Qi, but the Sect Leader of Cang Qiong mountain sect pushed through the large, ornate doors of the palace, past flocks of well-dressed women, both demon and cultivator, gossiping in corners.

They turned in silence, eyes wide, watching Yue Qingyuan stride her way down the main walkway, through heavy columns. In the palace itself, it seemed that a significant portion of the gold had been stripped, painted over with deep, demonic reds and careful black. Seated on the throne, dressed in all the garb of an emperor, was Luo Binghe herself.

Xin Mo was settled on her lap, while Xuan Su leaned against the throne as a trophy.

Yue Qingyuan pushed past whoever currently was receiving an audience, vaguely noting the golden garments and the whip she carried, and walked right up to Luo Binghe’s throne.

“Yue-zhangmen,” Luo Binghe noted, eyebrows raising. “You’ve dripped all over my carpet. And you’re indecent.”

Yue Qingyuan did not particularly care. “Have you done anything to her?”

“Who?” Luo Binghe, smiling congenially. “Who out there could I possibly harm, except for you, Yue-zhangmen, who has broken her imprisonment and interrupted imperial proceedings to ask inane questions?”

“Punish me all you like,” Yue Qingyuan said. “But I must ask. Have you done anything to Shen Qingqiu, or have you kept our bargain?”

“Bargain?” Luo Binghe mused. “I do not recall a bargain.”

“I come with you, and you do not harm Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.”

“Oh, that bargain. Yue Qingyuan, that is for the whole of Cang Qiong. Why, I’m harming Shen Qingqiu right now by keeping you here.”

Clasping her hands together, Yue Qingyuan smiled. “Then she is safe.”

Lucky her, that Shen Qingqiu hated Yue Qingyuan. Certainly, she would be annoyed that Yue Qingyuan went and lost a big fight, and got herself kidnapped, and was now powerless. But she would not have to see her pitiful face anymore, which probably was an improvement.

“In that sense, she is,” Luo Binghe agreed. “As you remain in my hold, I will not lay a hand on a single member of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.”

“Then I am finished here,” Yue Qingyuan said. She smiled the way she had often smiled to the Huan Hua palace master, and turned around. Walking down the steps, she paused only when a thought occurred to her. “Oh... Junshang. I suppose I have just disrespected you in front of your court. Do I require a punishment, then?”

She turned back to the throne. Luo Binghe regarded her with a blank expression. At her side, the little lady– oh, that was the Little Palace Mistress, who Yue Qingyuan had interrupted– looked smug.

“...yes,” Luo Binghe said, after a moment, “you certainly do.”

“Then I await Junshang’s judgment.” Yue Qingyuan knelt back before the throne, and prepared herself. Would it be a whipping? Some humiliation? Being locked away? All these things, she had endured, could endure, would endure again and again, for Shen Qingqiu.

Luo Binghe stared down at her, eyebrows raised. “Right now, you are still injured, and I have no interest in such things. Once you heal from our battle, then I shall punish you.”

“This one thanks Junshang for her mercy,” Yue Qingyuan said, and bowed. “So long as Shen Qingqiu is safe, she will have this one’s obedience and fealty.”

“I shall have you escorted back to your palace.”

“No need. I know the way to the cold palace, Junshang.”

With that, she stood back up, and left the throne room, walking easily to the same doors that she had broken, returning to the little room, and shakily kneeling at the table. Away from the throne room, she allowed herself to tremble in pain. The whole of her ached. Xuan Su’s absence burned her core.

With fingers trembling, she poured herself a cup of tea. For now, she needed to heal. Yue Qingyuan had managed to ensure Shen Qingqiu’s safety from a great threat. Until it was obvious to her that such a bargain would not be kept, she would not jeopardize this, even if it meant Xuan Su was going to eat away at her.

And heavenly demons, she knew, were well-known for their word. If she gave obedience, Luo Binghe would give in kind.

There was a stranger in the palace. Luo Binghe knew this to be true, because she had put her there on purpose. Yue Qingyuan had been settled in the worst accommodations outside of the water prison, and she had not been given any servants or doctors or guards. Only Luo Binghe, through the copious blood parasites, knew the extent of her strange injuries.

It had been odd.

Luo Binghe had expected kicking and screaming. She had expected imperious demands for better accommodation. She had expected escape attempts. She had not expected for Yue Qingyuan to be so docile.

As soon as she had assurance of Shen Qingqiu’s safety, she seemed about ready to submit to anything.

No wonder she was not the Peak Lord of Qing Jing, Luo Binghe thought, strolling down one of the corridors of her palace, because she had simply taken Luo Binghe at her word. She had no true way of knowing whether or not it was being kept.

“Junshang,” a soft voice uttered, interrupting Luo Binghe’s stroll. “I would like to talk.”

“Ah, Mingyan.” Luo Binghe turned. Through the swaying beads of her veil, she caught the veiled face of the first cultivator who had followed her. Liu Mingyan had exquisite bearing, wearing pure white robes and forgoing the purple of her peak. “What do you wish of me?”

“Your... revenge.”

“Hm? What about it?”

“It isn’t justice.”

“No? But Shen Qingqiu is suffering, is she not? I bet she’s in agony, right now.”

Liu Mingyan’s brows furrowed. “Not over my brother. Not over her debauchery, or anything else that she has done. Is she truly even stressed about Yue Qingyuan? They barely even speak to each other. And now,” she hissed, “you expect this to be justice?”

Luo Binghe cocked her head. “But this is justice. She took everything from you, so we’ll take everything from her.”

Her veil flowing back and forth, Liu Mingyan shook her head. “That isn’t justice, that’s revenge.”

“They’re the same thing, my dear.”

“They’re not.”

“They are.” Luo Binghe clicked her tongue. “Walk with me, Mingyan.”

Liu Mingyan did so, drawing her steps in line with Luo Binghe’s, despite clear reluctance in her gait. Her hand stayed gripped on her sword, the pale flesh of her knuckles reddening from the force of it. As though she were about to slay a demon.

“What is it, Junshang?”

“Do you know how I built this empire, Mingyan?”

“Violence, mostly.”

“No.” Luo Binghe shook her head. The beads swayed back and forth. “Not violence. Revenge.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“I cannot be some normal emperor, conquering his way across the world and marrying its women. And yet look at the followers I have. Look at the court. It’s full of ladies from every land we’ve visited. Why do you think that is?”

Hand falling to the false jade pendant that every follower of Luo Binghe wore, Liu Mingyan narrowed her eyes. “Because you have power.”

Their footsteps echoed off the wide hallways of the inner palace. It was still being transformed from its days as Huan Hua’s stronghold. Gold leaf torn away from walls, to be re-added in subtle patterns, sold, or made into regalia. Demonic motifs added to the elegant decorative scheme of wealthy cultivators. The low firelight painted what gold remained in hot, flickering reds, like the skies of the abyss.

Luo Binghe stopped. “No, Mingyan. Not because I have power. Power alone isn’t enough. They follow me because I grant them revenge. I don’t ask them to be perfect. I don’t ask them to lay down for me or anyone else. I fulfill deeper desires, rough and raw ones, and so they follow me into endless depths. I gave Sha Hualing revenge against her father, Mobei-jun her uncle. I free girls from brothels and help slaves kill their masters. That is how I got my army. By indulging such things.”

“That is how you got me.”

Luo Binghe nodded. “And we shall get Shen Qingqiu directly, in time. But we must be patient, and enjoy any victories we have.”

“I… suppose. But what we are doing now is wicked.”

Luo Binghe giggled. “It is simply indirect. Let Shen Qingqiu climb high so she may fall all the farther. And remember, you are not the only one harboring rage. Does the name Qiu Haitang not ring a bell?”

“Do you think I pay attention to your harem, Junshang?”

Luo Binghe laughed. “Ah, not a harem. But they may as well be. Anyway, recently I met someone and offered her a place here. She has testimony you may find intriguing… of the time Shen Qingqiu murdered her family.” Watching Liu Mingyan stiffen, Luo Binghe smiled in sympathy. “So you see, you are not the only person she has hurt. We are building a case. In the meantime, we have rendered inert the one person who could have protected her. Perhaps before we might have had to sneak around Yue Qingyuan, but now we have her locked away and under my control. She could live in the palace forever like a bird in a cage, unaware that anything at all has happened to Shen Qingqiu.”

Liu Mingyan bowed her head. “But Yue Qingyuan has done nothing wrong. My brother… cared deeply for her.”

Luo Binghe’s voice came out far sharper than she intended. “Not nothing wrong, but simply nothing. She saw how Shen Qingqiu treated me for years and let it happen. She just stood by. And… she let Shen Qingqiu get away with murdering your brother. In all your righteousness, do not forget that.”

“I will not.” Liu Mingyan’s voice rang quietly, like a broken bell.

“It gladdens me that we had such a discussion, Mingyan. I think I shall visit our little caged bird now. Will you be coming?”

Liu Mingyan shook her head.

“Then I will see you later.”

The trek to the cold palace was long. Luo Binghe enjoyed every second of it, watching the finery of Huan Hua deteriorate as she left its golden center. One day, she thought, once she had torn this place to the ground, she would build a new, better palace, with a tall throne so she could overlook her subjects.

Ah, and there were the cold palace doors. Yue Qingyuan had… smashed a big hole in them. So Luo Binghe would have to punish her for destroying imperial property, too.

Yue Qingyuan’s stern face, waiting for punishment, flashed in her mind. There had been not an ounce of fear. But did she not fear punishment, or not fear Luo Binghe?

Passing through the gate, Luo Binghe strode to the doors. A more polite empress would have knocked, perhaps, but Yue Qingyuan ought to know that there was no such thing as privacy, for her.

The door slid open. And there was Yue Qingyuan, kneeling at the table, eyes shut in meditation. Unaware of Binghe, she seemed to slouch. Her pale, bandaged fingers were trembling.

At the jingle of Luo Binghe’s beads, her dark eyes snapped open. The trembling halted, as though it had never existed. Her back straightened and her face slid into a grotesque, milquetoast smile. As though she was not suffering.

The washerwoman’s wain, dying smile flashed suddenly in Luo Binghe’s head. She held suppressed a shiver. “Yue Qingyuan. Or should I call you something else, now that you aren’t a part of Cang Qiong?”

Yue Qingyuan looked up at her with a blank and congenial expression. “Junshang may call me whatever she likes.” “What were you called before you were Yue-Zhangmen?”

“This one was called Yue Qi.”

Here, Luo Binghe caught a subtle twitch in Yue Qingyuan’s lips. Something was strange, about that name. “Well, Qi’er. I am here to speak. There is much for you to learn.”

Frowning at the name, Yue Qingyuan reached to the table and poured a cup of tea. Despite the tremors of earlier, her hands did not shake.

“For me?” Luo Binghe asked.

“For you,” Yue Qingyuan repeated. “You are a guest, after all.”

“I am a guest nowhere,” Luo Binghe reminded her. “I own everything.”

“Yet I am receiving your visit. And, as you say, I am your inferior, now. So, I ought to pour you tea. Enjoy.”

Kneeling at the table, Luo Binghe took the little cup between two claws and sipped. The tea was extremely bitter; she suddenly remembered ordering to steep it far too long, just for a little extra discomfort. She was, perhaps, indirectly torturing Yue Qingyuan. But how else to get revenge on a woman who had never raised a hand against her, and yet had caused all her pain? It had to be the little things.

“Did Qi’er enjoy the tea?”

Yue Qingyuan smiled. “This lowly one indeed drank it very well. Might she inquire as to the purpose of this visit?”

“I wanted to get to know you, Qi’er. Not you as a Sect Leader, but the real and true you.”

Yue Qingyuan’s finger twitched where it had settled on her lap. “I’m not sure what you mean. That is me.”

“That can’t be you. You’re a leader, aren’t you?”

“I was.”

“And,” Luo Binghe stood and began to pace around the Cold Palace. It was quite musty. “As a leader, I am certain you understand the true realities of rulership. The performance, of it all. You must keep everyone in line. You must let them think you have their best interests at heart.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. Is Junshang saying that as a leader I did not try to care for my sect?”

Luo Binghe clicked her tongue. “Not at all, my sweet little Qi’er. So loyal and true. But... not to your sect.”

“I cared for my sect, as best I could.”

“But there was one person you cared for more, wasn’t there?”

Yue Qingyuan sipped her tea, eyes half-lidded, downcast. She seemed to be contemplating her own reflection in the tiny cup. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you mean.” “That Shen Qingqiu,” Luo Binghe hissed. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Yue Qingyuan stiffen. “It did not matter what she did. When she chased away disciples, you watched and said nothing. When she was lecherous, when she was rude to her fellow Peak Lords, you did nothing. When she murdered Liu Qingge, you let her get away with it.”

“Junshang,” Yue Qingyuan said, voice sharper. “You do not understand a thing.”

Luo Binghe stopped, and slammed her hand against the wall, and watched Yue Qingyuan flinch like a dog waiting to be kicked. “When she beat me, and locked me in a woodshed, you watched. And you did nothing.”

“Luo Binghe,” Yue Qingyuan said. “I know that Shen Qingqiu was harsh. I wish I had asked her to keep a lighter hand. Perhaps then you might have kept away, instead of trying to pick Cang Qiong apart like a knot.”

“But you do not think she was wrong?” Luo Binghe allowed her voice to remain as tender and light as a sweet breeze. “You merely think that pouring tea over my head, and stringing me up, and whipping me, was a little too harsh?”

“You were given shelter, teaching, and discipline.”

“And a faulty cultivation manual. Were I not a heavenly demon, it would have killed me thrice over.”

Yue Qingyuan bowed her head. “That, I cannot defend. She should not have done such a thing.”

“So,” Luo Binghe said, “you can defend everything else then, can you?” Her voice quieted.

Straightening her back, Yue Qingyuan looked Luo Binghe directly in the eye. Her thick eyebrows had furrowed. “What a Peak Lord does to her disciples... is her right. Do you think Shen Qingqiu was the only one who ever used a whip?”

“Who else then?” Luo Binghe asked. “Liu Qingge? Qi Qingqi? Shang Qinghua? You? Name a peak lord. Name one.”

“The previous Qiong Ding Peak Lord,” Yue Qingyuan whispered, face eerily blank. “She... did such things.”

Luo Binghe hit the wall again, for the satisfaction of another flinch. Then she drew to the table. “My condolences, shige, that you went through such a thing.”

“It was fine,” Yue Qingyuan said. “It was normal. It was... deserved.”

“Deserved?” Luo Binghe reached for the still hot teapot. “So, if you deserved it, then I did too?”

“It is not my place to judge Shen Qingqiu,” Yue Qingyuan said, in a voice as still as stone.

“Fine then. You, Qi’er, cannot judge me for this.”

Fist trembling, Luo Binghe overturned the teapot on Yue Qingyuan’s head. Burning liquid, still steaming from its talisman, wet her dark hair and dripped down her face. She looked up at Luo Binghe, and for a moment her cheeks were red, and her eyes were big, and her breath was heavy. Something trembled in them, ominous and terrifying, fearful as a rabbit in a trap.

And then suddenly, they faded into a dim sort of acceptance, as though all of the life within had been washed away by the tea. “Would Junshang like to do anything else to this lowly one? Is it time for her punishment already? This one will prepare herself.” Yue Qingyuan slid her nightgown off her shoulders and revealed her bare back.

It was... covered in scars. Strange, strange scars, as though lightning had caressed its way over her body. Interspersed between was the familiar criss cross of a whip.

And, on her lower back, faded and yet as clear as day, just beneath the bandages from their fight: a slave brand, one that simply read ‘Seven.’

Then Yue Qingyuan grew still and stiff, and said nothing more.

Luo Binghe... was not Shen Qingqiu. “This is not how you hurt me,” she said. “So I will not do that.”

Yue Qingyuan craned her neck. “Yet Junshang said I was in need of punishment for breaking imperial protocol. Surely, this is what she meant?”

“I.”

“Go on then,” Yue Qingyuan said, kneeling. “What are you waiting for? It’s your right, isn’t it?”

Luo Binghe was supposed to be the empress who helped slaves kill their masters. She was supposed to be the empress who brought the satisfaction of revenge. She was supposed to feel it herself. Instead, staring at Yue Qingyuan, she could not help but feel as terrible as a beast.

“You... have permission to walk around the palace,” she said. The words spilled out of her mouth quickly, only half planned. “And... you will not be whipped. A doctor and a maidservant will be assigned to you. Put your clothes back on, Yue Qingyuan. You’re indecent.”

“This one thanks Junshang for her mercy.” Yue Qingyuan slid the nightgown back over her shoulders, and turned back to the table. “I’m afraid I have no more tea to serve you. Hoping the empress forgives me.”

“She... does.” Luo Binghe sighed. “Yue Qingyuan, what sort of strange and horrible creature are you?”

“Horrible?”

“If Shen Qingqiu came to you, and asked to whip you, what would you say to her? Answer me honestly, or I’ll draw it out with my blood parasites.”

Yue Qingyuan smiled. And it was... strange. Whereas before, her smiles had been genial and shallow, as much a mask as anything, at the thought of Shen Qingqiu, something seemed to glint in her eye. “I would say that Shen Qingqiu could do anything she desired to me.”

“Even if you had done nothing wrong?”

“Even then.”

“And if the wrongdoing was clearly hers?”

“I would still let her do it.” Yue Qingyuan smiled.

Luo Binghe’s eye twitched. “Enough of this. Your favoritism for her is disgusting. You would let Shen Qingqiu get away with murder, even if the person she was murdering was you.”

Yue Qingyuan remained silent, expression blank, but did not deny it.

Disgusted, Luo Binghe rose to her feet and stormed from the Cold Palace in a flurry of robes.

The waking woman was an enigma. Luo Binghe would examine her dreams instead.

When she slept, Luo Binghe followed into her dreams, and wove a trail of them, until she had crossed that bridge into memory.

She blinked and found herself on Qian Cao Peak. Before her was... Shen Qingqiu, lying, delirious, in a bed. Her thin face flushed and covered in sweat, she looked nothing like the lofty, terrible Peak Lord that Luo Binghe had the misfortune of knowing.

“Qingqiu-shidi,” hummed a melodious voice. Luo Binghe turned and watched Yue Qingyuan make her way to the bed before settling herself gently upon it. She laced her hand with Shen Qingqiu’s and looked down at her with a fond tenderness that Luo Binghe had never seen before.

Shen Qingqiu mumbled something, and shifted around.

“Qingqiu-shidi,” Yue Qingyuan crooned, smiling softly. “Mu Qingfang told me that you had managed to pull through. I’m so, so very happy.”

“Hnngh,” Shen Qingqiu mumbled. Her eyes blinked open, and she stared at Yue Qingyuan. It was clear from the mist in her gaze that she hadn’t actually come to real awareness. “Qi-jie.”

Yue Qingyuan made a very strange face. “X-Xiao Jiu?”

The name made Shen Qingqiu twitch. “Don’t call me that.”

Her free hand raised and clawed uselessly at the Sect Leader’s face. In response, Yue Qingyuan’s watery eyes crinkled. Her smile grew evermore gentle. “Sorry, sorry. Your useless shijie messed up again.”

“Go away,” Shen Qingqiu hissed.

“I will, I will, I promise. But Mu Qingfang told me to watch you, a little, and talk to you.” The same damn, sweet smile did not leave her face.

Luo Binghe did not understand how she could have been so gentle and kind to such a horrible and wretched creature as Shen Qingqiu. Even though the Peak Lord was trying to push her away, Yue Qingyuan’s gentle presence remained.

Drawing one arm beneath Shen Qingqiu’s back, Yue Qingyuan held her close like a doll, and then settled her head in her lap. Her fingers rubbed gentle lines down Shen Qingqiu’s hair. Shen Qingqiu huffed, burying into the fabric.

“I hate you,” she murmured. “Leave me’lone.”

Yue Qingyuan did not pause in her movements, nor look particularly hurt. “Rest well. Rest well. It might be late, but your Qi-jie will protect you. Your Qi-jie will provide.” With that, she curled down like a flower heavy with dew, and pressed a kiss to Shen Qingqiu’s temple.

Why isn’t there someone who loves me like that, Luo Binghe thought, suddenly.

There had been, she supposed. But her true mother, the washerwoman... was long dead, her gifted pendant still lost forever at Qing Jing. Luo Binghe would never see it, or tender love like this ever again. Something ached in her heart, and she pulled herself out of the dream.

Luo Binghe truly had nothing. Liu Mingyan questioned her, and the women she saved did not care for her. Even Ning Yingying, who was supposed to be a constant supporter, had looked at her with such a pitying, horrible expression when Luo Binghe had requested her help with the duel (and Ning Yingying had explained away Shen Qingqiu’s behavior for years).

There was no love for her. She would have to have the satisfaction of revenge, instead.

One thing was true. Yue Qingyuan did not understand what it meant to suffer, and have those around you do nothing to help. It was a lesson she would have to teach. Lucky her, that the servants of the empire were on her side. Lucky her, that the wrathful ones, prone to bullying, would get their claws into Yue Qingyuan in seconds.

I will do nothing, Luo Binghe thought, about any wrath Yue Qingyuan incurs when she explores the palace. For she did nothing for me.

When Yue Qingyuan called for help, nobody was going to answer her.

Chapter Text

When the plot of Proud Immortal Demon Way had started, An Ding Peak had become a very disappointing place to be. Away from the action, doing paperwork! That’s where Shang Qinghua had been! And she had liked that just fine, except when her daughter started getting to do cool shit, and Shang Qinghua had not seen anything but the requisition forms for a new floor on Qiong Ding Peak because Binghe had been punched so hard into it the stone had broken and flown everywhere.

Surreptitiously joining Luo Binghe’s victory procession had, upon arrival at the newly refurbished Huan Hua Palace, had the final benefit that Shang Qinghua had gotten to see her daughter in action. And what a lovely young lady, she had become (when she wasn’t attempting murder (especially when she was attempting murder— sorry, Yue Qingyuan, but Binghe was really cool and hot and also scary)). When Shang Qinghua caught sight of her striding through the open palace doors, she could have kissed herself for the good work she had done.

It was a good thing she was far away, or Shang Qinghua might have been terrified.

Ingratiating herself with the servants had been easy. It turned out that huge political processions across the cultivation world required a lot of staff! One extra mouth to feed didn’t seem too out of place. What it meant instead was an extra pair of hands to do the laundry, and cook the food, and set up the tents. And when they arrived at Huan Hua, it meant someone else to deliver meals and wash the floors and change the bedding.

A little lady like Shang Qinghua was barely noticed among the uncountable legion of servants.

In the meantime, Shang Qinghua took the chance to snoop. With no actual assignments, she wandered as she pleased, carrying laundry or trays of food back and forth between palaces as though making deliveries. But it was the fancy cultivators and befuddled Huan Hua disciples and confused demons to whom she was listening.

The gossip was juicy. Apparently, instead of the harem her daughter had been supposed to have, she had accrued all the same women into some kind of girlboss empire. Like generals in a shonen for the protagonist to fight one by one, except there were several hundred of them. And unlike wives, who gave great exchanges of power and wealth, the alliances between Binghe and these women was far more tenuous. The small palace could only hold so many; each courtyard held multiple cultivators or demons. Many more who were princess-turned-queens with Binghe’s help offered power and support and fealty from afar.

And those who chose to live there? Well.

On her third day pretending to do servanting, Shang Qinghua, wandering down one particular, dark hallway, had come across a conversation.

A cultivator! And a demon!

At first, she had thought it was just any cultivator. Then she had seen the veil, almost seeming to glow golden in the warm firelight. And the demon’s skimpy clothing, a bright, wedding red, and intricately braided hair.

Liu Mingyan and Sha Hualing! Shang Qinghua had hidden behind a nearby pillar, fake laundry clutched tight in hand.

Their whispered voices were barely audible in the hall, but they sounded furious. Of course! Shang Qinghua had played up their rivalry on purpose. It made sense that they would still hate each other here.

Sha Hualing teased something with a smirk. Liu Mingyan trembled. In a flash of her robes and a loud thud, Sha Hualing was slammed against the wall.

A fight? A fight and Shang Qinghua was here to witness? This might get ugly. She ought to leave—

The veil had fluttered to the floor, teased away by a curled claw. Then Liu Mingyan had shoved her face into the crook of Sha Hualing’s neck. The demoness cackled, then cut off into a grunt. “Mingyan...”

Oh. Oh. This made too much sense.

Shang Qinghua needed to evacuate. She spun around to go, but her slipper squeaked on the floor.

The two potential-murderesses stilled.

“Oh?” Sha Hualing raised an eyebrow. “It seems we have a little spy.”

Liu Mingyan quickly returned her veil to her face. “Who is it?”

“Just some little servant,” Sha Hualing hummed. “Nobody we need to worry about. What’s she going to do, spread a rumor?”

Sighing, Liu Mingyan straightened herself out. “I’m going.”

“Embarrassed?” Sha Hualing crooned. “Or frustrated? Which one is it, jiejie?”

“I am not discussing this in front of a servant!” With that, the most beautiful cultivator in the world stalked off into the corridor.

“Flustered!” Sha Hualing cackled. “But at least she’s sexy when you watch her leave.” Her sharp gaze turned to Shang Qinghua, who swallowed. “Well, if you’re going to follow us around, you may as well make yourself useful.”

“W-what can this lowly one do for you, my lady?”

“I have an artifact I need to deliver. You’ll be a good little girl and carry it for me, won’t you? I have such weak arms, I need someone to help me out, and you chased off my big, strong cultivator.”

“Of course, madam.” Shang Qinghua said.

A spark of delight began to burn in her heart. She was going to spend some time with Sha Hualing! She was getting closer to the action! Surely she could use this to sneak into council meetings, and to start fixing what she could. The real scheme would be getting Luo Binghe to stay her hand, of course, but if she could get into Sha Hualing’s good graces, then she might just be able to–”

“Walk a little faster, why don’t you?” Sha Hualing barked. “I do not want to be late, or Junshang will kill me or something. Mobei-jun needs this treasure as soon as possible. And I’m running late, because getting this stupid thing took days of fighting.

Shang Qinghua tripped.

Mobei-jun? Mobei-jun was here? Wasn’t she supposed to return to the northern kingdom? What was she doing, still here in this den of snakes. She was going to recognize Shang Qinghua for sure. And then she would surely beat her up again, for running off. A thought occurred, strange and anxious: would Mobei-jun try to make her reverse the effect of the flower?

“Oh? Are you okay?” Sha Hualing asked. “I guess you are some little thing. Worried the Northern Demon Queen is going to eat you?”

Yes! Yes, that exactly! Though would that really be so bad?

“I am sure that her Highness is magnanimous.”

“Actually,” Sha Hualing remarked, checking her nails, “she hates humans. Lucky you that Luo Binghe told her she wasn’t allowed to kill anyone here.”

“I-I see.”

The two of them paused in Sha Hualing’s “””office,””” a set of quarters consisting of a tiny table covered in a monstrous stack of papers, a hammock covered in blankets and pillows, and a floor littered in so many deadly looking weapons that Shang Qinghua felt she might lose a toe at any moment. Waiting at the door, she watched Sha Hualing tear through the weapons until she retrieved a large, vicious looking thing and shoved it into Shang Qinghua’s hands.

Then, they made their way to Mobei-jun’s quarters. Here the palace seemed darker, colder, the fires burning with an odd, blue flame that reflected strange colors on Huan Hua’s gaudy gold. And finally, they came to her queen’s rooms.

“Mobei-jun,” Sha Hualing announced, slamming open the door. “I have the shit you needed.”

Mobei-jun looked up from where she had been thumbing... oh shit, the little jade tablet that she often used to call Shang Qinghua. Which Shang Qinghua... had left at home in her rush. Her eyes briefly landed on Sha Hualing, then slid down to Shang Qinghua.

“Who are you.” Those sharp, ice-chip eyes narrowed.

“This one is called H-Hua’er.” Shang Qinghua stammered.

“Hua’er,” Mobei-jun mused.

Shit. That was a terrible cover name.

Shang Qinghua’s shaking, clammy palms lifted the sword into the air. “This one has brought... Sha Hualing’s weapon.”

“I see.”

Previously, Mobei-jun had been reclining in a large, plush chair. Now she rose upright. Delicate, dark hair spilled over her bare breasts like a river across a melting glacier. She placed a large, calloused hand on her dark pants and stretched to her full height. Shang Qinghua, forced to crane her neck just to see her, looked up at the unimpressed, elegant face of her queen.

“Give it here, human,” Mobei-jun hissed, as though Shang Qinghua was just nothing to her at all. Leaning down, she snatched the sword away. A strand of that dark hair fell and dragged across Shang Qinghua’s face.

Lips parting, Shang Qinghua continued to look up. She really had created her ideal woman. There was nobody hotter (ha) in this world.

Sha Hualing smirked at her. “So Hua’er is like that, is she?”

“Like what?”

“Sha Hualing,” Mobei-jun interrupted.

“Sorry, Mobei-jun. Humans are just so fun to tease.”

“Hm.” Mobei-jun’s piercing gaze shot right through Shang Qinghua’s heart. Did she recognize her? If she recognized her, then everything was over. “Okay.”

Wow! So easy! Unless... maybe Mobei-jun did recognize her, and hadn’t said anything? Her queen was so magnanimous! Unless she was simply biding her time, waiting for the right moment to bring it up. Or she didn’t care. Or she was angry.

Should Shang Qinghua expect a beating, soon?

In her panic, Shang Qinghua’s wandering eyes landed on the sword. The black obsidian of the blade gleamed iridescent. She recognized the form, one that she had designed herself. A possible magic item for the protagonist that had turned out to be cursed, forged to look like the true one. She had nearly forgotten this arc; Interesting that Sha Hualing had completed it instead. “Oh. That’s fake.”

The two demonic rulers turned their sharp gazes to her. As though she were being threatened with knives from multiple angles, Shang Qinghua lifted her palms. “The metal doesn’t look right. Something is wrong with that sword”

Mobei-jun examined the weapon, testing it in her hand. Shang Qinghua followed her gaze. Mobei-jun was probably now noting the flaws in the blade. The gems were too dim, the sheen of the metal just a little too matte.

“...You may be correct, little human. I’ll speak with Junshang about this when the item is presented.” Mobei-jun made for the door, pausing just in the doorway. “Sha Hualing, are you coming?”

“Fuck no. I’ve got other cultivators to chase down.”

“...human. Come along then.”

“Yes… your highness.”

They strolled down an large hallway, and turned left into some dark, forgotten corridor. It seemed to Shang Qinghua that the walls were curling in overhead, the lights on the walls dimming. Or was that Mobei-jun’s broad back, covering Shang Qinghua’s view of the hall?

Her gaze slid to the hand clutching the hilt tight. A strong hand, that could press into Shang Qinghua’s thigh. Or hold her high against a wall.

Or, she thought, with a bitter swallow, beat her.

Suddenly, the air in the room felt too dry. Shang Qinghua bit her tongue. She was nothing more than a human servant. Mobei-jun knew nothing. And so nothing would happen.

Soon they came to a grand door, which led to a fancy audience chamber that Shang Qinghua had a vague memory of describing once while writing at three AM. The word “grandiose” had come into play quite a bit. Now, standing before Luo Binghe’s throne, she was unable to see this world’s adaptation of her work.

She stared at her feet instead, listening to Luo Binghe and Mobei-jun speak about the cursed weapon and what might be done with it. Then:

“And who might you be?” Luo Binghe crooned. Shang Qinghua looked up and thought that she had really outdone herself.

Her creation was perfect. She was strong and broad and tall, but as sinuous and sensuous as a snake, with a body that was as delicate as it was built. Her traditional demonic gown hung tenuously off of her breasts, like a torn curtain, falling from its rack. Over her shoulders, a great, fur cloak strengthened her silhouette. She had clearly put a lot of thought into her appearance, dressing until the lazy, effortless power that a demonic emperor was supposed to exude looked as natural to her as breathing.

Luo Binghe’s right hand perched delicately around the hilt of Xin Mo, the fingers barely grazing it, her legs spread wide to make room for the sheathed blade between them. Her left elbow leaned against the side of the throne to support her face, with one clawed finger pressed into her soft lip. She was draped so artfully, so casually, and yet so powerfully over one armrest, that Shang Qinghua’s mouth dried.

Then her eyes caught it: Xuan Su still sat on the side of the throne, a prize as much as Yue Qingyuan was. Was it too far away? Did Yue Qingyuan feel its absence?

Quietly, Shang Qinghua noted to herself: steal that sword, and hide it near enough to the cold palace that Yue Qingyuan would be in no danger.

What a terrifying plan. She gulped. The things a writer had to do to create a happy ending.

Meanwhile, Luo Binghe pushed to her feet and loomed perfectly.

“Oh how cute,” she sighed. “This human looks a little bit like me.”

Well, of course she did! Thinking about it now, Luo Binghe fit Shang Qinghua’s old transition dreams almost perfectly.

“She noticed a problem with the Blade of the Glacier.”

“Oh?” The empress’ eyes lit with some curiosity. “We went through some trouble to acquire that sword. What could the problem possible be, little human?”

“I-it’s a forgery.” Shang Qinghua stuttered.

“A forgery? Why didn’t your little servant tell you, Mobei-jun? I thought he assisted you in all things.”

Mobei-jun’s great shoulders seemed to droop, ever so slightly. “He... has gone missing, since the duel.”

“Hm? I thought he was loyal to us.” Luo Binghe leaned forward with catlike grace. “What happened?”

Mobei-jun huffed, brows furrowed. “He disappeared without a word.”

“I say that you must have chased him off, Mobei,” Luo Binghe said, gesturing with one perfectly manicured hand. “I bet he escaped in the chaos of my duel. I see how you treat him. Do you realize that humans don’t enjoy being beaten? Have you been paying any attention at all to my revenge? To the women who follow me?”

“I’m here because you defeated me, Junshang, and because you are the current empress. You have my loyalty.”

“But not your understanding, I see.” Luo Binghe turned that cruel gaze on Shang Qinghua. “Human.”

“Y-yes, Junshang?”

“Would you follow someone, just because you saw they were stronger than you?”

“I’m not sure that I...”

“Would you willingly follow a master who beat you?”

“I suppose I… wouldn’t like it.” Shang Qinghua turned her gaze back to her feet.

“You see? Mobei-jun, you lost him because you chased him away. And we lost a valuable spy in the process.”

Mobei-jun was silent. This was nothing new; she was often silent. Shang Qinghua twisted her head and craned her neck to look. Her queen’s face was stoney, her lips curled downward. What was on her mind?

“Human,” Luo Binghe asked. “What are you called?”

“Hua’er,” Shang Qinghua answered.

Luo Binghe hummed. Her back straightened, and her gaze cooled. “I must ask, Hua’er, what brings you to my palace? I have never seen you before.”

Shang Qinghua had not planned a backstory. She had never expected to be noticed. Yet, a story poured out of her anyway.

“My previous mistress was... unkind to me. I wished to work somewhere better. And who better than the empress Luo Binghe, who avenges wrongdoing?”

Luo Binghe blinked. “See, Mobei-jun? When you are unkind to human underlings, they run away. They are not demons. You ought to speak with me more on this subject. I could have guided you.”

Shang Qinghua’s fingers bunched in her skirt. This was too much. What, was Mobei-jun just going to change her behavior? Shang Qinghua was a tool to her, one that made itself useful each day. Now that she had run, all she had really saved herself from was an eventual death at her queen’s hands.

“He said...” Mobei-jun nearly whispered, “that he was going to follow me for the rest of his life.”

“Oh?” Luo Binghe cocked her head. “Do you doubt his loyalty, then?”

“Something may have happened to him,” Mobei-jun continued, shaking her head. “His house lies empty.”

Smirking, Luo Binghe turned back to her throne. “If he really is so unshakable loyal, then you must have chased him away.”

Mobei-jun’s stalwart shoulders drooped, a little. Ah, why was her queen so difficult? One moment beating Shang Qinghua up, the next worrying when she was gone. What was she going to do with her? She was really so cute when she was pathetic.

“I’ve had enough of this,” Mobei-jun said. “I have informed Junshang of the sword. My work here is done.”

“Fine then, Mobei-jun,” Luo Binghe huffed. “Go back to your lonely ice palace and brood, then.”

Had Mobei-jun been brooding? Shang Qinghua was certain that she had not actually been gone that long, and yet her queen was worrying?

“Does Junshang require anything else of me?” Mobei-jun asked.

“No. Go back to your little palace. I should like to know if your Shang Qinghua shows up there. Perhaps he’s just another snake from Cang Qiong, hiding away until it seems safe.”

Ice played across Mobei-jun’s fingers. Shang Qinghua swallowed.

“Or,” Luo Binghe said, and here she leaned forward once more. “Perhaps, he simply grew tired of you. A lifetime of service, and have you ever once rewarded him?”

They were the exact words that Shang Qinghua wanted to hear, and yet she felt her heart sink. Luo Binghe really was... quite cruel.

Despite herself, Shang Qinghua felt her mouth open. “I-I’m sure your servant is just busy, right now, and didn’t have time to let you know why.”

“Were you granted permission to speak?” Mobei-jun asked, in a voice so harsh that ice seemed to pierce Shang Qinghua’s heart. She froze in the way a mouse might.

Luo Binghe raised an eyebrow. “And that is why you have trouble gaining their loyalty, my dear little queen.”

“What.”

“You have no understanding at all of others. What servant is going to follow a master who only ever beats them?” For a moment, it seemed as though Mobei-jun would protest. “That isn’t why–”

“Oh? It’s not?” Luo Binghe’s eyes sparked. “Then tell me. Why do you beat Shang Qinghua?”

Shang Qinghua wished that her children would stop fighting. This was getting too stressful. She pulled herself inward, in hopes that she would go un-vaporized in the ensuing fight.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I want to hear about it.” Luo Binghe draped herself across her throne. “Tell your empress. I order you. If you don’t tell me, I’ll beat it out of you. A fight that you know you cannot win.”

“I would not dream of rebelling.” Mobei-jun sighed, crossing her arms. Oh, her muscles were flexing, she was really so tense! “I beat him because...”

Luo Binghe leaned forward expectantly.

“Because?”

Shang Qinghua could not help but lean as well, watching Mobei-jun’s strong face. Her long eyelashes trailed over her pale cheeks.

Mobei-jun was a woman of few words. Shang Qinghua felt excitement spark in her heart, warming the cold. She was going to say more than three whole sentences! And perhaps even... explain why she was so punchy.

“In demon culture. When two demons... like each other... very much.”

Shang Qinghua’s heart ceased to beat. She nearly collapsed to the floor right then and there.

“Ha!” Luo Binghe leaned back. “So you love him?”

“I... I do not... I do not know. Maybe?” Mobei-jun’s gaze slid to Shang Qinghua.

Right. She was still an outsider, to them.

“Mobei-jun, a bit of advice. Humans do not respond well to beating. That’s a demon thing.”

The fearsome queen of the north pursed her lips... and pouted, a little. “Then what. Should I do.”

“Let’s just ask our resident human. So, Hua’er! How would you like to be romanced?”

“Uhm.” Shang Qinghua wrapped her hand around her wrist. “I would like to... not? Be beaten?”

“That’s obvious,” Luo Binghe clipped. “What do you want?”

“Someone… nice?”

With a performatively annoyed groan (Shang Qinghua would know), Luo Binghe threw back her head. “Come on. Surely a beautiful lady such as yourself has some needs?”

Sure, but why would Shang Qinghua say anything in this hostile environment? Luo Binghe was just using her to bully Mobei-jun! She didn’t care at all. No, what Shang Qinghua wanted most right now was a little damn—

“Respect.” Shang Qinghua said. “I would want respect.”

“Well there you have it!” Luo Binghe said. “Respect.”

Conversation over! Surely, Luo Binghe would tell her to scurry along!

“Mobei-jun. Leave us.”

Mobei-jun stalked out, perhaps furious.

Luo Binghe turned to Shang Qinghua, gaze unreadable. “Hua’er. Come here.”

Shang Qinghua swallowed, but stepped forward. “Are you… going to kill me?”

Cocking head head, Luo Binghe frowned. “Now why would I do something like that? Don’t you know, unlike most cultivators, I have morals? I wouldn’t harm an innocent human, especially not a sweet lady such as yourself. I’m only going to assign you to a very special job.”

“Hm?”

“You seem like quite the observant lady. I was trying to pick the perfect servant for this, and fate dropped you on my lap. After all, most of the maids here are affiliated with some lady or another. You were quiet enough to sneak into this place and are affiliated with none of them.” Here Luo Binghe smiled.

“What is the job?” Shang Qinghua asked.

“I need you to monitor Yue Qingyuan, and report back to me what she says and does. You’ll be acting as her servant, so get her to trust you.”

Now it was Shang Qinghua’s turn to be confused. “Why would she trust me?”

“You’re small and cute and harmless. And she does seem to like protecting things.”

Was this an insult.

“Nobody would suspect you of anything. And in the meantime, I’ll take care of you. Tell me what you want, and I will provide.”

In any way Shang Qinghua wanted, it seemed. Luo Binghe smiled, but it was half-lidded and strange. Like this, holding out her clawed hand, palm open, she was terrifying.

But Shang Qinghua couldn’t say no. Not to Luo Binghe.

Putting herself next to Yue Qingyuan was perhaps the best thing she could do. She would have the ear of both the former sect leader and the new demonic empress.

This was it. Shang Qinghua was writing her own story now. And the System had yet to stop her.

Yue Qingyuan’s handwriting was a neat, gentle scrawl that took up the smallest space available on the page. Shen Qingqiu had seen it before: the delicate linework, the tender swoops of the characters she wrote, the way that her fingers cradled the brush like it was something precious. She had always resented that– how dare Yue Qingyuan get to enjoy writing, how dare she get to love the very thing that Shen Qingqiu had beaten into her by the Qius?

Now, reading through the documents that Yue Qingyuan had left behind on her desk, she could not help but miss it. Yue Qingyuan had written like she was afraid of taking up too much space on the paper, and now all Shen Qingqiu seemed to want was that presence once more.

Until then, she must continue on the Sect Leader’s work.

What else could she do? Yue Qingyuan had given her freedom to protect this wretched place. The least Shen Qingqiu could do was take care of it.

She picked up one old document, a requisition form from Qing Jing that Shen Qingqiu had thought rejected. In her quiet writing, Yue Qingyuan had noted in the corner that all Qing Jing requests were to be filled, and for the Peak’s library to be supplied with new books, more ink and brushes.

It had yet to be submitted to An Ding. Yue Qingyuan had been taken before she could.

With a sigh, Shen Qingqiu took out a new, blank paper, and dipped her brush into the freshly-ground ink.

With a steady hand that hid the spiking beat of her heart, she began to write.

To the Empress Luo Binghe,

You have something of mine. You needn’t take her; your conflict is with me. Let us meet and negotiate. Surely there is some solution we can come to in order to satisfy both parties.

-Shen Qingqiu, Peak Lord of Qing Jing Peak,

She paused a moment in her writing, then added: Acting Sect Leader, to the end of it.