Chapter Text
[ This is your third strike, USER_001. Loading punishment... ]
Shang Qinghua almost dropped the stone in surprise. The unconscious, dying face of his (future) King didn't even flinch, despite the rough brush against his sculpted nose.
The System command was clear: Kill him. Simple and direct.
Mobei-jun might be an arrogant bastard, but he was still his arrogant bastard. No matter if it was his hands that would break his neck in the future, Shang Qinghua didn’t want to kill him.
His ideal man . The vessel into which he poured his fantasies and yearnings. The last beacon in his novel of something he had not prostituted to the masses. The sapphire hidden in the sea of cheap plastic.
Shang Qinghua also wanted to survive. He wanted to be able to enjoy the few moments he would have before setting fire to his coffin and kneeling at his grave. And the System was offering him that on a silver platter: a crushed skull in exchange for years of half-cooked peace and a forgettable but quick death.
Or so it would seem on paper.
Shang Qinghua wrote this world. He was more than well aware of what was coming. What the hell did the System think it was? Saying that Binghe's right-hand man wasn't important to the plot was one thing (how the fuck removing a critical secondary character is fixing anything plot-related???), but what kind of crappy deal was that ?
Oh yeah, kill your favourite character so you can live a slightly less miserable life, while knowing that everyone around you is going to kick the bucket anyway. You totally aren’t getting even more tortured after that, trust me bro.
What a load of bullshit.
Anyone with half a brain in their head would see what the obvious solution was. Shang Qinghua pushed the rock aside, dropping it on the slush-spattered road.
If the System intended to torture him all his life, it could go fuck his robotic mother. If he was going to suffer anyway, at least it would be watching his favourite creation thrive.
Shang Qinghua dragged his King to safety (having such a beautiful face should be illegal, next to him even the most exotic beauties would look like cheap, bland plastic flowers), stepping over the bodies of the NPC outer disciples whose names he'd never cared to memorise.
The [ Loading punishment... ] sign continued to hover above his head.
______________________
[ Punishment implemented ]
The repeated pinging of the System made Shang Qinghua startle. Wei Qingwei's eyes narrowed further, his hand resting on the handle of his sword. Even with his insanely mediocre cultivation level, Shang Qinghua could sense the tense aura.
The decisive moment, the impending betrayal, the companions (not as if he had ever been close to the other core disciples, but oh well) one wrong reaction from becoming enemies.
Swap swords for guns, add a convenient tumbleweed and some cool hats, and tadah! A scene straight out of a classic Western. Even the whistling wind did its part to increase immersion.
Shang Qinghua's attempt to roll a NAT 20 and survive with perhaps all his limbs was interrupted by another System message.
[Your USER_001 status has been removed.]
[ ... ]
[Welcome, NPC_001. Enjoy this gift: an immersive, premium experience in the world of PIDW. Terms and conditions apply. ]
NPC? Was he not one already? Was the title of ‘cannon fodder’ not enough? Had he done such a bad job that it didn't even give him the dignity of being called a secondary extra of no relevance’?
Was the punishment to hurt his (non-existent) ego for complaining a couple of times about the missions? Apart from saving his King, he had accomplished everything. Yes, maybe he had whined and dragged his feet every step of the way, but he had done it! That was the important thing! Please, he was dressed from head to toe in ‘dog vomit’ yellow, the symbol of Cang Qiong on his back, and he got up before dawn every day. What more evidence that he was on the right track with regard to his role?
The System was as sensitive as an Idol’s male fandom, dear Heavens.
Wei Qingwei said, “Did a cat get your tongue along with the shipment, shidi? Don’t make that face, can't you see I'm making a joke? What, it's not funny? Oh right… Shang-shidi, why are you alone? Where are the others? why did you delay your return, did something happen?”.
“Uh Wei-shixiong, you really like to make these bad jokes. The others... the others...” This sudden encounter was too unexpected, and Shang Qinghua couldn't make up a believable story right away.
But fortunately, 'Grandmaster' Airplane always had a trick up his sleeve. Right now, he looked as if his body couldn't take much more, and absolutely no one would suspect if he faked a faint.
He closed his eyes, and let gravity take him....
“Shang-shidi, don't faint!”. Wei Qingwei walked over, grabbing him by the shoulder before he fell. Shang Qinghua opened his eyes, unable to close them, as he regained his composure.
What was going on?
“Shidi, accompany us back to the sect. You don't look good, so don't wander away from us...”
The words left Wei Qingwei's mouth, and it felt like blades had fallen on Shang Qinghua's little fantasy about leaving the sect. His whole body became heavy, tense, like a puppet suddenly having its strings pulled.
An invisible tug made his knees buckle, his hips pivoted. His feet stepped in front of each other. One step, one more. Muscles did not respond to his call. Trying to change direction or slow down sent a nauseating tug in his gut. The thunder before the hurricane.
Fear and despair became a murky swirl in his stomach, clouding his vision. Shang Qinghua continued to advance towards the group as if he were nothing more than a stringed mannequin. A doll. A puppet.
His inner conflict must have shown on his face, because one of the nameless female disciples took pity on him. “Shang-shidi, don't faint. Be glad we found you in one piece, soon we will return home and the disciples of peak Qian Cao will examine you."
The tears of dread at the corners of Shang Qinghua's eyes dried in an instant. And it wasn't exactly because of his martial sister's comforting words. His eyes widened into crow's feet at the corners, the edges of his lips stretching from tip to tip. His entire face was frozen into a soft, pleasant but plain smile.
Shang Qinghua wanted to scream, to yell, to shout, to do something. But his mouth refused to open.
The pain of trying almost knocked him over, Wei Qingwei’s order keeping him awake. His insides might as well have been melting under a blazing fire, but even on the edge of unconsciousness, his feet continued to keep the pace set by the sect.
The System had gotten creative this time. His demotion to NPC was nothing more than shackles in disguise. Chains wrapped around every inch of his body.
If he could consider it his anymore.
The end of his autonomy . Of his free will . The best way to ensure that he could never, ever rebel again.
A curse of obedience.
______________________
It turns out that being a disciple at the glorified peak of errands was the worst nightmare of someone with his condition. Yes, he managed to rise to inner disciple and then to senior disciple, but at what cost?
He lived surrounded by commands. His job was to receive orders every moment of the day. Shang Qinghua would give anything to be able to go back to the days when slacking off was punished with laps and beatings. Two orders at a time? Three? You'd sulk, whine for a bit, then carry out one and later the other. Piece of cake.
Not anymore.
No matter what he did, he ended up curling up in his room at the end of the day, unconscious from the pain in his insides. The curse didn't give a fuck that it was physically impossible to be in two places at once, he just had to comply.
At least his Shizun favoured him for his ‘diligence, complacency, impeccable attitude and smile’ (ha). The private room he got as a reward at least allowed him a small oasis in that hell.
He learned to move in the shadows, to become small, to cover any possible order with a wave of words devoid of substance. To bore or pester to the point where they would leave him alone. He learned to use cowardice as a shield to hide a deadly Achilles heel.
Two could keep a secret if one of them was dead (or is some kind of invisible technological deity that he doubted counted as alive in the first place).
Even when his master ascended, he managed to walk away from the ceremony with a vague ‘take care of the Peak’ instead of the usual ‘wishful thinking’ speech of the older generation weighing on his bones.
His martial brothers considered him annoying. The only visits were strictly on sect business, brief and concise. His disciples kept their distance, too busy to care what their Shizun did. Direct communication was rare, as the other Hall Masters had given up trying to coax him out of hiding.
An average otaku hermit's dream, one would think. Shang Qinghua lived like that for too long before dying, not by choice, to enjoy it. The endless paperwork and the occasional beating, courtesy of his King, were not exactly good company.
He liked the peace, but not that much!!!! Even in his past life he had been able to interact with the comments and sometimes the cute cashier who was horrified by the dangerous weekly amount of instant ramen he bought.
Hey, at least the plot was following its usual path. Not showing his face often wasn't going to change anything. Little Luo Binghe was already under the sharp claws of his scum villain, blackening like a sprout under fire. Yue Qingyuan was still visiting his Xiao-Jiu with sad eyes. Mobei-jun was still on his way to occupy the northern throne. He still was on his way to die horribly.
However, it was for the best. What use was he, as secondary cannon fodder demoted to third grade?
As long as he respected social distancing like he had the plague, everything would be fine, right?
Right?
______________________
Shang Qinghua clenched his jaw, cursing with words that would make his two mothers in both lives wash his mouth with soap. Every step he took near Qin Jing Peak was another shovel full of misery to be tossed into his grave. He had diligently avoided this place for years, but now it was in vain.
If only he hadn't run into Yue Qingyuan before... Of all the things he could order him to do, couldn't he think of a better method of torture than to order him to talk to Shen Qingqiu, especially about spending so much on books and materials that it would turn an average nobleman into a beggar before the end of the trimester?? Good grief…
Shang Qinghua gritted his teeth and mentally prepared himself for what was to come. The bamboo hut loomed over the hill with the ominous aura of a guillotine waiting for the next neck.
Anyone would have given this task to a disciple, but Shang Qinghua was not just anyone. He was a poor soul doomed for the rest of his days... If he even survived this encounter. Apparently, his beloved scum villain had become much more erratic and irritable since the Qi deviation and he was about to find out the veracity of the rumors.
To his ears, disciples practicing guqin in the distance sounded like final boss music
At least they wouldn't be around to see him squirm like a worm in a hook once he escaped the withering jade-green gaze.
Not that he could explain to his loving and kind Shixiong that he wasn't there of his own free will. Literally. Physically . Shang Qinghua frowned as he watched his feet step in front of each other without pause, refusing to obey his desire to flee. How ironic.
At least he'd convinced himself (did it count as gaslighting if he did it to himself?) that Shen Qingqiu’s previous order to "stay away" didn't specify how close , so the agony of breaking an order wasn't yet crushing his insides.
Wait a second…
He raised an arm to knock on the door but stopped short. The hut was relatively small, and the space of a very present-in-his-home Shen Qingqiu. Shang Qinghua was already too close. From the base of the hill he should have started to feel something , but against all odds his body was as fresh as a lettuce that hasn't had 8 hours of sleep or coffee in decades; the aches and pains of warning signs shining by their absence.
His brain clicked.
He pushed the door with all his might, swinging it wide open. The crack of wood was followed by the sound of a cup shattering into a thousand pieces.
In the middle of the room, with his tea escaping from the broken shards of porcelain on the floor, and a look that combined equal parts indignation, confusion, and unwelcome surprise in a curve of the eyebrow, stood Shen Qingqiu.
Or at least, the body .
Shang Qinghua came striding in, grabbing him by the shoulders to stand face to face. Before Shen Qingqiu could process what was happening enough to decide to impale him with Xiu Ya for his audacity (the paperwork to replace the door was going to be nothing compared to the pain of having to be absent on medical leave, it would be the end of him), Shang Qinghua stared into his eyes, feeling hope burn in his gut, and said, “You're not Shen Qingqiu .”
“...”
Well, seeing the confusion on his Shixiong's face completely abandoning his features to be replaced by a mixture of venomous indignation made Shang Qinghua wish he had thought out his “plan” just a little bit better.
At least he would take the memory of Shen Qingqiu's jaw wide open like a fish as a consolation to the grave.
Shang Qinghua let go of the robe, brushed it off a bit with a nervous chuckle, and began to back away slowly toward the door, preparing to run as if his life depended on it. And it did. Shen Qingqiu's sharp tongue was scary on normal days, but after staying silent? He swallowed hard, cold sweat dripping down his back.
“You dare… You filthy rat … Get the hell out of my house, you little...!!!!” Shen Qingqiu recovered from the shock faster than expected, his words burning like a whip.
The effect was immediate. Shang Qinghua felt his face emptying, his whole body tensing as the curse acted. His feet swung at a perfect 180 degree angle towards the door, before moving straight ahead towards sweet freedom.
(Shang Qinghua sighed to himself, at least he hadn't ended up as a Swiss cheese, nor had he been told to 'get lost'. The last couple of times someone ordered that, he wandered around the nearby woods for hours and hours, his head messing with all his senses at every turn, before they found him. The headaches had rivalled the migraines he got when hearing about stuff Bai Zhan’s disciples broke)
But, as usual, Shang Qinghua's horrible luck kicked in. He heard Shen Qingqiu let out a noise of indignation behind him and what sounded like wood (possibly from his fan) cracking. He tried to speed up his pace, but it was too late.
“Hold it right there!!!” Shen Qingqiu ordered, his voice exuding anger. Fantastic, Shang Qinghua thought, as his whole body literally stood still as a statue in mid-step, bent over facing the hill. If it weren't for the strange specifics of the curse, he would have crashed face first into the ground.
He stood waiting for the subsequent wave of all manner of insults, complaints, and a few extra threats against his life and limb integrity, but got only deafening silence. Apprehension began to take its toll on his gut.
“Come here.” A clear, precise, inescapable command.
Shang Qinghua obeyed, retracing his steps, every inch was like a ballast on his soul. One by one, the rules he had laid out in order to survive were broken. All those years, every precaution taken, personal rule and escape plan devised to avoid becoming a complete puppet at the mercy of someone else's whims for the rest of his life were broken in front of his eyes.
All for a moment of impulsivity. Of hope. Of useless illusion.
First, never be alone with anyone for too long.
“... Sit down.”
Shang Qinghua obeyed. He fixed his gaze on the broken porcelain on the floor, the design of free birds flying in the distance a sign of cruelty and irony of fate. He was pretty sure that cleaning it up was going to be his first command. Picking up the broken pieces until the sharp shards of his own ingenuity cut his fingers until they bled, unable to stop, soaking the already blackened area of the planks in dark crimson. What a waste of such good tea....
Unfortunately, his inner ramblings didn't stop him from hearing Shen Qingqiu's voice.
Second, never let them talk. Interrupt, deflect, twist words, don't let them form complete sentences.
“Tell me, what made you burst into this master's home like that?”
“Orders from the sect leader...” Shang Qinghua obeyed. Once the direct question was answered, his tongue loosened. He needed to chatter in the most unpleasantly pitiful way he could. Annoying Shen Qingqiu enough to be kicked out of his peak was his best option. “I hope Shixiong will forgive this lowly one's shamelessness, work has had me running all over the peaks these days so I didn't think properly of my actions, with all the repairs for the damage from Liu-shidi's disciples, they can be a real pain in the ass, haha don't you think? From so many errands my poor legs are going to fall off, although it's good for a change of beat because I keep filling out forms and more forms at the peak, and, by the way, what the Sect Leader wanted me to tell you is that the new book order is way over budge-”
“Bullshit, shut up, ” Shen Qingqiu rubbed his temples. Shang Qinghua's jaw snapped shut so fast he almost bit his tongue. “ Answer me, what do you mean with what you said? That this master is not Shen Qingqiu?”
Shang Qinghua swallowed hard. His vocal cords twitched, his tongue twisting in his mouth, forming words with his voice.
“I think you're a transmigrator...”
Shen Qingqiu's head snapped around so fast it looked like it would pop off.
“Aha! Then you're a transmigrator too. That's why the System didn't go crazy when you burst in on my house!! Looks like we both transmigrated as villains… How long have you been here by the way?”
“Ufff bro, you have no idea. The System put me here as a fucking baby!!! Imagine going through puberty twice, having to cultivate from scratch and waiting YEARS for anything remotely related to the main plot to happen. Even in Shen Qingqiu's body all the becoming chopped pickle part, your instant transmigration package came with cultivation included at least…"
"Yeah right" Shen Qingqiu rolled his eyes. “The original goods had such a bad base that he had qi deviations left and right. Damn Airplane and his shitty writing, the villain could have dropped dead at any time with those conditions, how did he manage to survive being locked up and limbless for so long???"
“Yeah, good point… So,” Shang Qinghua interrupted, changing the subject. “Did you get a hit by a truck, classic style?”
“...”
“Come on bro , we're between doomed bros from the same hometown. If you want, I'll tell you about mine: ramen got on my pc, and I died from electric shock. It doesn't get more embarrassing than that!”
"..."
“Come on!! Pinky-promise not to laugh.”
“...”
“Don't tell me... Did you jerk off so hard that instead of coming, you left???”
“Don't be gross! I was only reading for Bingge. The very stupidity of the novel’s ending was enough to send me straight to the after life” Shen Qingqiu growled behind his fan.
“Pffffff- HAHAHAHAHA. Really??? You were so outraged that you died???” Shang Qinghua burst out laughing. “ It was so bad that you had a stroke???? Who knew that before I died, I already had a kill count...?”
“Wait. ‘I had’?...” Shen Qingqiu turned his head slowly like a hawk towards his prey. “That means... It was you!!!”
Oh no. Fuck his big mouth.
“B-Bro…” Shang Qinghua tried to calm him down.
Shen Qingqiu's murderous aura was overwhelming; the fan in his hand snapped in two with a bang. Brandishing one of the broken pieces in Shang Qinghua's face, he continued to shout. “ Fucking shitty author, unoriginal hack, sell-out bastard, fucking idiot, wannabe writer, unintelligent moron, leech, standardless vermin, you and your shitty papapa should go to hell !!!”
Oh.
Oh no...
The air left Shang Qinghua's lungs. Every beat in his chest felt both eternal and ephemeral at the same time. Tears pooled in his eyes.
Third, never, ever, let them notice your fear, the fact that they can control you.
Shang Qinghua knew his newfound brother Cucumber didn't mean it (because it was impossible to mistake that form of insult even after a lifetime. Who knew his biggest fan with a hate-boner would end up trapped there with him??), no matter how much his thin face was the only thing keeping Shang Qinghua safe from being a victim of a hate crime.
Still, there was no argument or explanation about metaphors that would stop Shang Qinghua’s hands from wriggling up to grab a broken shard of porcelain, twisting it until the sharp point was against his throat, and digging in against his skin.
“...Wait, what are you doing???” Shen Qingqiu interrupted his nagging, eyes wide open at the sight of blood pouring out of Shang Qinghua's neck, which was not slowing down even though his hand had gone still. “What the hell, Airplane??? That's not funny, what's wrong with you, stop it!!!”
Shen Qingqiu rushed forward and pulled (or at least tried to) Shang Qinghua's arm away from his neck, knocking them into a tangle of robes, blood and limbs. There were shards of porcelain in his hair and scratches on his cheeks, but he kept trying with all his might to separate Airplane's hand from the broken piece, to no avail. His headdress had fallen off in the fray, and his insults were becoming increasingly incoherent as panic shattered the mask of cold indifference.
“And why the hell aren't you saying anything? You can't do something like that without warning, what the fuck?” he shouted, being greeted by a spectral silence. Shang Qinghua wished so badly he could do the same. His throat would close up at the slightest attempt to even cry, scream from the pain, say something, utter a meager sound of some kind. “Say something, dammit!!!”
“Something,” he said, more a pitiful sob than an actual word. The absurdity of the situation made his chest heave from restrained laughter. Ha, dying after telling a lame joke, what better summary of his entire life?
“You...” Shen Qingqiu hissed and tried to sit up from the mess on the floor, only to fall backwards from a slip. His long hair covered his features, but Shang Qinghua could see the slight shaking of his shoulders and the rapidity of his unsteady breathing. He had sympathy for poor Cucumber, truth be told, in this timeline he was going to be accused not once, but twice of murdering a fellow sect brother.
They say karma hits hard, but Cucumber didn't deserve to become a sliced pickle, let alone with a pound of extra salt to boot.
Shang Qinghua began to see dark spots on the edge of vision, and the hand holding the sharp shard was beginning to seize up from the cold emptiness he felt in his fingertips. He was supposed to have more time... Perhaps he should have trained his disciples in Excel Xianxia magic. Luo Bingge valued efficiency, and some might have been saved thanks to their skills. At least the view of the bamboo roof was pretty, wasn't it? Better than the icy stone of the future darkened Emperor's palace.
I wish I could have said goodbye to Mobei-jun... I wonder how long it will take for him to replace me.
“ ... arm.” A murmur snapped him out of his daydream.
Shen Qingqiu's eyes were fixed on him. He moved closer, staining the knees of his pants with blood, his hand charged with spiritual energy. The icy green eyes glowed with the emerald fire of a determination that wasn't there before.
“I said,” he repeated, louder this time, “take your hand away from your neck right now.”
Even if Shang Qinghua couldn't feel it because of the blood loss, the limb began to slowly pull the fragment out of his neck, being replaced by the sudden coolness of Shen Qingqiu's qi. It hurt a little, but it worked miracles: his consciousness stopped wandering into the light and his eyesight returned to full HD 4K.
Still, they lay there in silence for a long while, circulating the qi to force the wound to heal and his body to restore the equivalent of a dark magic ritual in blood. It was probably going to leave an ugly scar anyway, but better than being the millionaire in a game of CLUE.
When Shen Qingqiu pulled his hand away, obscured by dried blood, the last rays of twilight were pouring in through the window.
“If you scare me like that again, I'll send you back to the modern world with my bare hands,” he growled, sitting up to adjust his, frankly, disgusting robes full of bodily fluids (unfortunately not of the fun variety) and wipe his hands. Shang Qinghua just laid there like a dead fish, following Shen Qingqiu with his eyes to see if he'd take the hint.
It's not like he could convey ' hey bro, thanks for saving my life, but I'm still frozen here because you ordered me not to move or talk and my back is really hurting a lot, so could you order me to move or something, pretty please?' with a single stare.
Shang Qinghua did his best kicked dog eyes and blinked several times, trying to convey the vibe of damsel in distress of a shojo manga.
And apparently it worked, because Shen Qingqiu blinked and returned to his side.
“Ignore all previous orders,” he commanded.
Really, Cucumber-bro, really ? Do we look like we're in a scifi fanfic to you? I just gave your floor a fresh coat of bloody paint, for the love of Xianxia, not motor oil. I'm not a Siri (or am I? a little bit?) or an Alexa. You never saw any episodes with mind control or voodoo or curse of obedience or the brainwashing plot of the day? I'm (very) sure there were even a couple like that in PIDW. Ignore all previous orders my ass, if it was that easy I wouldn't be trying to mimic a rug right now.
Cucumber seemed to get the idea when he saw no movement. He squeezed the air as if searching for his fan, then closed his fist when he remembered that the fan was broken. It looked like a scene from a silent film, from how many times Shen Qingqiu had opened and closed his mouth without speaking.
“Obviously that didn't work...” Cucumber-bro muttered to himself, after a while. “I should go find Mu-shidi...”
Shang Qinghua's soul, which was barely re-acclimating inside his body, almost flew out again. Cucumber had just saved him and he already wanted to send him back to the afterlife with a fright? Had his brain cells gone on sabbatical?
If Mu Qingfang misdiagnosed him (which he obviously was going to, metaphysically binding curses to a being only he could see was not exactly in Qian Cao's repertoire of teachings), the treatment could kill him or cause severe qi deviation. How did he know? First-hand experience was the best of teachers...
Shang Qinghua stared at him until Shen Qingqiu paid attention to him. He blinked twice, then another two times.
“Did you get something in your eye?” Shen Qingqiu wrinkled his brow. Shang Qinghua rolled his eyes and kept blinking in sets of two. “No, wait wait wait, are you doing the blinking twice to say no thing?”.
Shang Qinghua blinked once.
“That's a yes..."
Shang Qinghua blinked again.
“How do I take away whatever you have???”.
“...”
“Yes, I get it, yes or no questions only. Is it a jinx? Curse then. Was it meant to kill me? No? To hurt me? Neither? Is it the curse of the thousand silver puppet strings, the one on the spectral theater's arc wife? No again??? Then why...? Stop blinking so much. No no no, cancel that order. Shit, blink as much as you want. Don't look at me like that, as far as I know this mess is your fault, fucking Airplane!!! You know what, if we keep this up we're going to last all fucking night.” Shen Qingqiu grabbed paper and a paintbrush from the table near where they were lying.
Shang Qinghua was thankful (for once) that his lips were sealed; the joke that crossed his mind would guarantee huge fan-shaped bruises to add to his increasing wound loot of the night.
Shen Qingqiu grabbed paper and a paintbrush from the table near where they were. He scribbled the alphabet in English and used the paintbrush as a pointer. “Let's do it Stephen Hawkins style, I point, you double blink to indicate the letter to me.”
After a few excruciatingly slow minutes, a couple of letters wrong and a chipped paintbrush, Shang Qinghua had managed to spell out “Obey always - System.”
Shen Qingqiu's face darkened. “A curse of absolute obedience... Imposed by the System?”
Shang Qinghua blinked once. He could almost see the gears in his bro's head.
“How did you even end up like that? Don't tell me one of your ridiculous wife plots came back to bite you in the ass and the System punished you.”
“..."
“Oh. Right. I command you to speak freely.”
The tongue in Shang Qinghua's mouth stopped resembling a diving lead and came back under his control. Finally!!!! There was a limit to what a condescending look (especially his) could accomplish.
“Did it work?” Cucumber stared at him, expectantly. It was going to take some getting used to seeing that face with emotions so out in the open.
Shang Qinghua inhaled deeply, opened his mouth and let out a howling shriek at the top of his lungs.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA, DAMN, THAT HURT SO BAD YOU MOTHERFUCKER.”
Phew, it felt excellent to let that out. Plus, it was kind of funny to see Cucumber-bro jumping up like a cat with all his hair ruffled in shock.
“ What the hell was that?” he yelled, waving the paintbrush around like a madman.
“Bro, half an hour ago I had a thumb-sized hole in my throat and a piece of porcelain that if it had been a little deeper would have taken away my gag reflex. What do you think?”
“Don't be a pervert . And don't yell anymore or you'll wake up the disciples, and I still don't know how I'm going to explain,” he waved at all the bloody chaos, " all this mess ."
“Dear Cucumber-bro,” Shang Qinghua looked at him. He hoped that not being able to wiggle his eyebrows didn't take away the strength of the sarcasm. “I'd gladly help you clean up, considering it's mostly my bodily fluids and all (don't look at me like that! My blood, my jokes), but as you can see I've got my hands a little full of the difficult task of playing dead.”
Shen Qingqiu's eye twitched, but he played deaf. “So, Airplane , if I order you up we won't go back to the same situation as before, will we? Are you sure you weren't ordered to try to assassinate me and lie about it, or even self-eliminate if you failed?”
“Quite sure.”
“And you remember all the orders?” Shen Qingqiu poked his cheek with the handle of the paintbrush.
“This ain't Code GEASS bro, no cassette erase. I'd be twisting like a leech on salt if I didn't comply with the order. Besides, Cucumber-bro, you're the one who told me to go to hell” Shang Qinghua pointed out nervously. “Unfortunately for you and me, this curse takes things to heart. Everyone and their grandmother know that's not literal, but it takes a lot to force the limits of the curse.”
A ping from the System made them startle.
“Don't mind it, someone's a tad sensitive on that subject; I was referring to forcing the boundaries of this magnificent gift . Now, if you'd be so kind, could you let me move so I can do the sarcastic quotation marks properly?”
Shen Qingqiu released him, and Shang Qinghua regained control of his limbs at last. He stretched hard until his back cracked, cursing through his teeth over the awkward position he had been pinned in. His clothes were filthy and clung unpleasantly to his skin. The annoying tug on the new scar on his neck didn't help either.
I'm going to need a long bath after this....
He dropped down onto Shen Qingqiu's side using the bed as a backrest. Shang Qinghua pulled from his sleeve/inventory a couple of bottles of liquor he was carrying as emotional support. He held one out to Shen Qingqiu and took a long drink before replying with a lamenting sigh.
“Regarding your question from earlier... no, I didn't run out of B-points nor was it a wife plot. I wish. Unfortunately bro, it's something worse. It all started with me refusing to smash a very handsome royal head with a rock...”
______________________
They talked and talked for hours. Time dispersed in the dark shadows of the night, the soft candlelight long forgotten, leaving the room cradled by the dim gloom and the faint glow of stars in the distance.
The alcohol was long gone, but still they talked, clinging to the only company that shared the longing for the world they left behind.
Shang Qinghua talked mostly about the details of the curse. Or rather, the handful of frankly pathetic bits of information he could offer without incurring the wrath of the System.
They could share everything else, but even the most basic data, such as how it even functioned, led to ears shredded by the noise of incessant warnings.
Still, Shen Qingqiu had managed to fish out some details from the incriminating silence. That was something, at least.
He gripped his shoulders firmly, liquor colouring his cheeks, but his gaze was still sure.
‘’Airplane... if anyone ever... you know... I'll give you a hand, no matter what it is. I know you told me that without knowing the specific command you can't reverse the order, but still there must be something that I can, I mean, it can be done..."
Shang Qinghua wanted to cry. He had been running away from others all his life so as not to be dragged down by the curse. He wasn't used to the feeling of having people really care about him, even if it was disguised under so many layers of tsunderism it would make an onion cry with envy.
"Awwww, bro... you care about me? Who knew Mr. Cucumber had a tiny bit of heart for anyone other than his beloved white lotus?" he said in a high-pitched, mocking voice.
"Don't get any weird ideas, you shitty author. I'm only saying this because you and your big mouth will doom us if someone makes you talk. You'll drag me down with you in whatever mess you get into".
"Yeah, yeah , whatever you say." He smiled, pouring the last drops from the bottom of the empty bottle onto his tongue.
The first rays of the sun marked the end of the evening. Shen Qingqiu began to hear the disciples in the distance, and Shang Qinghua had never felt kicked out of a place so politely. Watching Shen Qingqiu say variations of "could you", "would you be so kind...", and (gasp!!!) “please” with every sentence was hilarious. Shang Qinghua wished he had a camera. That memory deserved to be framed on his wall forever.
("Have a good ... oh fuck , right. Forget that ... no, remember that!!! Why is this so hard? Ehhh... I hope you have a good trip back? Personal wishes don't count, do they?” )
Still, despite the comedy of the situation, he could tell that Shen Qingqiu was really trying to avoid any possible command in his sentences, and Shang Qinghua couldn't help but give him a farewell hug as a thank you.
Shen Qingqiu stood stiff as a board, but gently patted him awkwardly on the back, before basically slamming the door on his face.
Shang Qinghua slipped away before the disciples saw him. Especially one with fluffy hair and bright eyes. Shang Qinghua could read between the lines of what Shen Qingqiu had told him the night before: his stallion protagonist had become a puppy (or rather, a sort of glowing-eyed tick) clinging to his Shizun's side.
He saw in the distance the way he bounced towards the door of the bamboo hut. It was adorable. The magic of the first crush...
( Obviously he was going to refrain from ever commenting on that to his bro, the (completely and utterly not) heavenly cucumber lover. He would send thoughts and prayers to his son, that was going to be a tough nut to crack).
He arrived at his Leisure's house without really drawing the stares of the few wandering disciples. None were paid or had enough energy to care that their Peak Lord was covered in dried blood and smelling of stale drink; those who were awake at that hellish hour had either pulled an all-nighter or had risen very early. All their souls cursed him for not creating coffee in this world.
What wouldn't he give for even the hideous sewage from an office machine?
He pondered whether to go to bed or take a shower first. A huge yawn from all the sleepless nights accumulated and the energy spent avoiding death decided for him. No way was he going to get water or talismans to warm it up in that state. That was the problem of the Shang Qinghua of the future.
He undressed carelessly, tossing the stained clothes in a disastrous pile on the floor. The cool air of the room was a relief against his naked, tired body. At least most of the dried blood had stayed on the clothes. Another excuse to postpone the bath.
Without bothering to pull back the covers or turn on any lights, he dropped onto the bed. The firmness of the mattress against his back was a relief. It was a little cold for his taste, but not unbearably so. It was even pleasant. There was nothing like an ice-cold pillow to numb his aching neck.
Except... he didn't have such a pillow.
A shiver ran through him that had nothing to do with the decreasing temperature of the room. He patted the spot against where his head and back rested and gave it a couple of squeezes. Something that looked suspiciously like a nipple pressed against his palm.
A round, large, very cold nipple.
Swallowing hard, he looked up slowly. Two bright blue eyes stared back in the darkness.
Shang Qinghua was sure he broke some laws of physics by how fast he jumped out of the bed. He almost ran through the opposite wall in his rush to put as much distance between his criminal hand and the (surely very angry) owner of the chest he had just squeezed.
He had just not-died!!! Couldn't the universe give him a break? Could it at least be in a less humiliating situation? The bare minimum of dignity he deserved was to go to his grave with more than just shame and his birth suit on him.
Frost crawled across the floor to his feet, turning the room into a torture chamber. He was going to come out of there with no nipples at that rate. He didn't dare move, no matter how much his whole body was shaking like a palm tree in a hurricane.
Mobei-jun pushed the sheets aside in one fluid motion. His hair fell like a raven waterfall to his right, partially shadowing his face. Still, his eyes like ice sapphires glittered in the darkness, fixed on him like an eagle on its prey.
Why the hell is my King looking at me like that, where did the demons' lack of modesty go? He can walk around with his whole personality out in the open (not that I'm complaining) in public, but I can't wear the Dragon Balls in my own house? I'm not ugly enough to be treated as an eyesore!!!!
Every step in his direction felt eternal. The cold on his family jewels didn't help.
Black-tinted hands ran down his neck, forcing his head up until his new wound was fully exposed to Mobei-jun’s cold breath.
“Who did that to you?” Mobei-jun asked, his voice rumbling in a low growl.
“No one my King!!! You see, it's a funny story…”
Mobei-jun's brow furrowed further, his long black nails running along the pink, sensitive skin. “Don't lie to this King.”
Shang Qinghua's tongue moved. Fortunately, there was a way not to do exactly what Cucumber feared.
“It was an accident, a porcelain cup broke and I got stuck in a shard unintentionally . Shen-shixiong helped me to remove it and heal my wound. Forgive this servant for the disaster…”
( Ha . Mobei-jun said ‘Don't lie’, not ‘Tell me everything that happened’. Bless the loopholes).
Mobei-jun raised his arm. Shang Qinghua closed his eyes, but the blow didn't come. Instead, the weight of Mobei-jun's thick brocade cloak almost knocked him over, the warmth of the leather wrapping him from head to toe.
He clenched his freezing fingers and tried to bow. A failed attempt, because Mobei-jun's hands were still in the front, holding the cloak against his body.
“T-this servant thanks you...” he didn't even know how to end the sentence. He sank his face into the fur of the cloak, avoiding as much as he could eye contact with those eyes that seemed to want to devour him whole.
“Qinghua should be more careful... and take a bath.” Mobei-jun finally turned away, ripping away the intense atmosphere in the blink of an eye. Shang Qinghua exhaled the air he had been holding. Without the fur on his shoulders and the silhouette of the cloak wrapping his body in shadows, his King looked less intimidating. More... mundane.
Without another word, Mobei-jun sank back into the sheets like the spoiled cat he was.
Shang Qinghua sighed, thanking his wound for giving him enough karma to keep Mobei-jun from mentioning the unfortunate bed incident. Too bad it wasn't enough to interrupt his regular programming.... His insides were already ticking like clockwork, announcing the start of the working day.
Goodbye to his couple of hours of sleep.
How I wish I had put more arrows into Yue Qingyuan in the original book... one for each day I'll have to get up with the sun to work. Early risers are an oppressive class.
Dragging the cloak into the side room, he cleaned himself as best he could with a towel and a bedpan. At least the cold water was going to keep him awake. He threw on a couple of layers of under robes, just enough coverage to keep the fur of the cloak from itching, and plopped down in front of the stacks of paperwork on his desk.
Behind Shang Qinghua's back, the bed rustled. His King's narrow gaze made him shiver every time, no matter how often he had found himself in that position.
It seemed this had become his favourite pastime: stalking him at work. Steal his bed all day and not even use it for a nap? The nerve!!
He really needed to get another bed, or the equivalent of a fold-out couch, so that he could sleep in peace. His King's constant visits had gone from few and fast to long and too frequent. Unfortunately for Shang Qinghua, he didn't live in a fanfic where there was only one bed, so there was no cuddling.
His back hurt from looking at the floor.
And come to think of it... Why was Mobei-jun there today?
Pushing away the doubt in his mind, he started talking about recent gossip from the sect.
"... And that's why I don't let the outer disciples take care of the other Peak Lords' orders. The wedding was almost a disaster!!!!! Ha, I'd rather face a thousand diamond-ringed Fox than an angry bride again... In fact, it reminds me of something, my King. In this servant's hometown we had a custom, rather unconventional, for engagements...."
The room echoed his words in a lulling echo. It had become his routine. Shang Qinghua rambled on about mundane matters (internal intelligence on sect matters, he alleged), while Mobei-jun watched and added a noise every now and then; Shang Qinghua would bet his best brush that his King only used him as ASMR to sleep.
Perhaps it was something like exposure therapy, momentary insanity or lack of sleep, but Shang Qinghua found himself relaxing against the thick cloak around him and the cold on the back of his neck.
Mobei-jun was a breath of fresh (or cold) air against all the other ( scarce) interpersonal interactions. His orders were few, and they ended early. No spending the rest of his days doing paperwork, or smiling, or distancing himself from obnoxious peak lords.
Ironic, wasn't it? That he felt safer under the gaze of his future executioner than with his fellow sect members.
“Qinghua...”
None of them were worth getting close to anyway. A decade and a half, at most, and they'd all be dead.
"Qinghua..."
The surviving few weren't going to look kindly on him either for being a key player in such destruction. The original goods had had so little screen time that there was no telling how they would get along with Mu Qingfang after the sect collapsed. United as the only remaining humans, or enemies because of the bloody betrayal?
"Qinghua." An icy hand made him startle. Huh? At what point had his King stepped up behind him?
"Tomorrow is the Winter Solstice dance," Mobei-jun said. So that's why he was there? Shit, the date was already tomorrow? Lack of sleep had his internal calendar screwed up. He'd been running all over the place, banging his head against the wall from the stress of coordinating it all, how could he have forgotten?
"I remember, My King.’" At least he did now. "Did something happen?"
"This King..." Mobei-jun stumbled over his words, making a face Shang Qinghua knew well. It was the same one that stared back at him in the mirror when he ate too much instant ramen. A spot somewhere between indigestion and constipation. Though on the noble features of a King it looked far more elegant than an uneasy stomach.
"Does my King wish to go over some of the details of the ceremony? Did something happen with the repairs to the West Hall you commissioned? Has your uncle been pestering the preparations? Or...?"
"No..."
"So, my King? Are there any last-minute problems that need to be fixed? Is the menu complete? Are more seats needed for sudden guests? Any-"
Mobei-jun dropped it by placing an icy finger on his lips. All his hairs stood on end. His King's cheeks looked darker than usual, and his eyes seemed to fix on some spot on the side of his head. Was he ill? Was that the urgent matter? Why hadn't he told him before?
“Do not interrupt me,” he growled. “This King... desires your presence at the Solstice ball.”
“But my King... this one was already going to attend?” Shang Qinghua cocked his head, confused. “No offense, but Xiu Lin can barely keep her antennae under control, much less cope with the extra manpower hired for the event. I'd eat my brushes with salt and pepper before leaving all my , ahem, the work at her mercy. Or wait, you mean go undercover? I could-“
“Qinghua doesn't understand.” Mobei-jun exhaled, the closest thing to a sigh Shang Qinghua had ever heard him let out. “This King does not want you there as a servant, advisor, or spy. This King... wants you there at his side .”
“T-This lowly one doesn't understand.” Shang Qinghua swallowed hard, stifling the butterfly cocoons that were daring to be born in his stomach. “Does My King need my service as a food-taster? On the list of attendees I saw no clans employing poison, and we will be serving all the appetizers as is tradition. Do you want me as a scribe to register the guests? Extra extra manpower?”
Mobei-jun finally looked him in the eye again, brow furrowed in frustration. “No. Not a servant, an advisor, or a bodyguard. Not as cupbearer, attendant, or taster. I , this King... Desires your presence as a companion .”
Surprise made him drop the brush, ink staining his desk.
404 error. Shang Qinghua.exe not found.
Had he heard correctly?
He blinked a couple of times, processing the words. There was no way to misinterpret what his King had said. What kind of sleep-induced hallucination was this, and why wasn't it disappearing when he pinched himself?
And what the fuck was he supposed to answer???
For the first time in his two lives, 'Grandmaster' Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky had been at a loss for words.
“Qinghua is free to do as he wishes.” Mobei-jun stepped back, his voice sharp and hard. The temperature in the room slammed back down.
Oh shit, had he taken too long to answer?
“My King, wait!!!”
“This King has matters to attend to.”
Shang Qinghua lurched forward. He could not let Mobei-jun leave the room like that.
(Shang Qinghua has used [ HUG THIGH ]. It's super effective!!!!)
“This serv- ehhh, this one was just surprised!!! It was so sudden!!! Give me a second to process, please!!!”
The cloak had fallen away from him about half a meter after being dragged by Mobei-jun's legs. It was just him, his inner robe that might as well not even exist because of how cold it was getting, and his tears against the angry demon. Still, Shang Qinghua held on to keep Mobei-jun from disappearing into the shadows.
“To be ABSOLUTELY, COMPLETELY and POSITIVELY sure, do you mean ‘companion’ as in partner or... as in lover?".
“This King was clear in his words.”
“Wait, WAIT. Y-you mean you wish to have me as a lover?”.
“Yes.”
“'Lover' as someone to kiss, hug, cherish and, you know, love romantically?? ?”.
“... Yes. Qinghua has asked different versions of that question several times already. Will you go to the ceremony by my side, or do you wish to refuse this King's courtship?”
Please gods if this is a dream I don't want to wake up.
“No!!! I mean, yes!!! I mean, Argh!!!” Shang Qinghua sat up using Mobei-jun's leg for support, almost tripping on the thin ice that had formed on the floor. It wasn't his fault that all his blood had migrated to his face!!!! He could feel his skin burning with the intensity of two lifetimes as a virgin.
He swallowed the shame he didn't know he could feel, and stared Mobei-jun in the eyes. “I do want to go to the ball with you, My King!!!”.
Mobei-jun picked up the cloak lying on the ground and put it back on his shoulders with a soft (and basically nonexistent if you didn't know where to look; thank heavens Shang Qinghua's eyes were focused like lasers to those lips) smile.
Shadows surrounded them. The floor under their feet changed from polished wood to the icy rock of the Northern royal chambers.
Mobei-jun's hand was still firmly gripping Shang Qinghua's.
At what point had the stars aligned like that? Was something good happening to him? To him of all people?
He didn't want to jinx the moment, but maybe it was a sign that things were going to start changing for the better, for once.
Shang Qinghua was over the moon, infinity and beyond. What could go wrong?
______________________
The answer to that was all. Everything.
Shang Qinghua could barely breathe. His lungs burned with the force of choked shrieks and unshed tears. His vision was blurred, Linguang-jun's macabre smile burned with fire on his retina.
They had crossed paths as soon as they left Mobei-jun's room. (Shang Qinghua had put on spare robes Mobei-jun had brought him, he wasn't about to walk in Xianxia underwear through a palace colder than Antarctica. He valued his toes right where they were, thank you very much).
“At last, I found you! Dear nephew, your palace is full of useless pests. Not one of them has shown up to bring me my afternoon wine. You should grab a couple and set an example for the other lazy vermin” He wrinkled his face in disdain. ” Oh, speaking of the pests ... Look what we have here. Go and get me an aged bottle, red not white, quickly .”
Shang Qinghua's feet stung, moving towards the exit. Hey, at least got to walk away....
“Stop.” Mobei-jun said, and Shang Qinghua paused mid-step. “Qinghua is not here today in the role of a servant.”
Linguang-jun's eyes widened slightly. “Ohhh, so this is the situation. Congratulations nephew, I thought your esteemed guest was going to play hard to get until the day the three kingdoms fall. And you, what was your name? Never mind. Smile . Pretty little mortal things like you don't look good with wrinkles.”
Mobei-jun growled in warning. He grabbed Shang Qinghua by the arm and pulled him gently back to his side, covering part of his body with his huge cloak.
That didn't stop the corners of his lips from stretching into a vacant smile. Linguang-jun scrutinized him with his gaze, his smile definitely laced with fangs and venom. Shang Qinghua didn't like the oily glint in his narrowed eyes. His instinct told him to run out of there like the devil himself was after his soul.
Linguang-jun finally turned away, letting out a sigh. “These young people now and their lack of filial piety. Tsk, I'll retire until the celebration begins. Dear nephew, I'll see you tonight. And you ,” he pointed at Shang Qinghua with a crooked finger. “ Bow to me, and retire to do whatever you have to do... but make sure someone brings me some good wine to my bedchamber.”
Shang Qinghua obeyed. His waist bent to the ideal angle, and his feet itched for the need to get out of there fast.
“My lord, I will go immediately to convey your wishes to the servants.” Shang Qinghua slipped out from under Mobei-jun's cloak and walked quickly, definitely not running, out of the hallway. Fortunately, just around the corner he ran into a servant whom he sent straight to fetch what Linguang-jun asked for.
Phew, saved by the bell.
He had to stay for a while, delegating more of his duties. If he was going to attend a ball as well as the first formal date with his King (the very thought made him want to hop up and down the aisle) he couldn't keep an eye on the logistics.
He didn't really trust them to do half the job right, considering the state of the financial records before he laid a hand on them, but all his colleagues were surprisingly cooperative for a change. Even Xiu Lin's uppity self. The amused glint in her eyes told him that, even without giving reasons why his, in her words, controlling ass was delegating for once, they already knew.
Finally, Shang Qinghua was only a turn away from his small office. He could rest, away from nervous servants and Hamletian uncles until the next day. When he would lie in that bed tomorrow, it would not be as a servant but as the King's companion. He still couldn't believe it!!!
But as always, the universe liked to spit in his face and revel in his suffering.
“What do we have here...” the hissing voice of Linguang-jun made his hair stand on end. Linguang-jun was waiting inside, beside the door.
Heaven, Earth, and Abyss. Oh no.
“My Lord...” Shang Qinghua bowed. “What brings you here? Was the wine they sent him not to your liking? Do you need-”.
“My nephew holds you in high regard,” Linguang-jun closed the door behind him, putting himself between Shang Qinghua and the only available exit. “Much more than I thought. Oh young love, it's a wonder.”
“This servant apologizes, my Lord, but he has work and things to do...” Shang Qinghua swallowed hard.
“Well, I have something I need you to do for me. Something only you can do...”
“But-”
“ Silence .” He ordered. Shang Qinghua closed his mouth with a sonorous click. “ Good boy .” Linguang-jun chuckled under his breath.
Rivers of cold sweat ran down Shang Qinghua's spine.
Oh shit.
He knows.
Of all the goddamn characters on the face of this damned novel, did it have to be him ???
Shang Qinghua controlled his breath. There was no need to panic yet. In his sleeve he had a couple of smoke talismans, and if he was lucky (which he doubted) there would be the emergency fire talisman. Either way, he could gain a few precious seconds to activate the teleportation seal under his desk rug, or the alarm he set the last time a demon decided his existence was a personal offense.
All he had to do was...
“Hold it right there, no trying to escape. Very well, now empty your sleeves, give me what you were going to throw. Let's see... Smoke talismans? Really? Those street magic tricks won't work on me.” Linguang-jun froze the talismans, turning them into a pile of shredded paper. “Now, go and sit on the bed.”
Shang Qinghua had no choice but to obey, his fear rising like acid up his throat. Linguang-jun wasn't that kind of trash in PIDW, but with the System's interference, who knew what kind of butterfly effect had been unleashed?
“Our beloved King wishes to formalize his engagement in front of everyone. Did you think my nephew was going to ask you to the ball just to show off his new human toy? You're an adorable little thing. I know his plans. I would never have guessed that frigid piece of ice had heartstrings deep down, although I still doubt it if he hasn't devoured you yet.”
Mobei-jun was going to propose to him? Shang Qinghua didn't know what to say. He swallowed hard and muttered, “Why are you telling me this?”
Linguang-jun ran one of his bony fingers across Shang Qinghua's chin, forcing him to look up.
“Because I want him dead . The bastard is sitting on the throne that belongs to me… All thanks to you. Ah, did you think I wouldn't notice rivals dropping like flies, clans surrendering without a fight and treasures hidden for hundreds of years filling the arks? Without you, my dear nephew would have perished long ago. And so...”
Linguang-jun drew a dagger from his back. No larger than a kitchen knife, it was crude and unpleasant to the eye. The leather handle peeled by time, the blade rough and veined, the edge golden with poison.
“... You'll take care of getting rid of him. Or him of you, I'm not picky. I prepared this one especially for my nephew. Don't worry, the poison won't kill him... at least not right away. He'll have plenty of time to make you pay for your betrayal.”
Shang Qinghua could barely hear his words above the pounding of his heartbeat bursting in his ears.
“Give me your hand.” Shang Qinghua obeyed. The weight of the poisoned dagger dug into his fingers. It had the texture of a gallows rope, worn by hundreds of blood-covered hands, like his own.
Linguang-jun moved closer until Shang Qinghua felt his breath on his ear.
“Tomorrow you will come to the ball, dressed in your finest clothes. No crying, no whining, no complaining, no lamenting. You will dance with my nephew, eat and drink as if nothing happened.
As soon as the auroras come out, he will take you to a special place and you will go with him without protest. He will surely give you some speech, if he hasn't run out of his quota of words for the week. As soon as you hear the first bell ringing at midnight, you will look him in the eye, pull out this dagger with both hands, aim for his throat and pierce him until he bleeds to death on the ground.
If Mobei-jun tries to fight back, you will tell him how much you always hated him while standing still and letting him do whatever he wants to you.”
Linguang-jun's hand tightened around his neck, blocking the air for a few more seconds. He smiled even wider, delighted in Shang Qinghua's attempt to breathe without being able to break the command to stay still. The cold of his fingers was sure to leave a horrible dark mark on his throat.
Before Shang Qinghua could faint, Linguang-jun released his grip. The air struggled to get back into his lungs in the position he was in. Motionless, vulnerable, pressed powerless against his bed.
Posed like a doll, like an ornament, like a puppet to be controlled.
f I somehow manage to get out of this, I'm going to hunt this fucking wretch down and tear him limb from limb while making him choke shallowing his own filthy fingers.
“Like I said, if you can't take him, he'll take you down anyway. Let's see if he can keep the throne after that.” Linguang-jun chuckled. Winking, he slipped through the door. “Well, you are free to move. I'll see you tomorrow, don't try to miss it... And ah, don't tell our little secret to anyone.”
And just like that, in a flash, Shang Qinghua was left alone in the room. He tried to get out of bed but collapsed on the floor. His legs were unresponsive, dragging every word spoken like a shackle crushing his bones. Chains that in less than 24 hours would tighten and tighten on his body with the weight of a life until they killed him.
Shit.
Shang Qinghua reached across his desk. He could still trigger the alarm... but what good would it do if he couldn't say anything? Just the thought of it turned his tongue into lead.
Tsk, the bastard had left a necklace of well-formed, cold-burnt bruises from his fingers. 'The letter with blood enters, eh?'
He wasn't about to let the bastard win. Did he think all he had up his sleeve was a pile of talismans?
Just to save his skin and his King, Shang Qinghua was capable of anything.
The small mirror returned his gaze. This time, there was someone who could help him.