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At this point, the “Peak Lord” title Shen Qingqiu bears is something of a formality. Ning Yingying’s Shizun spends maybe three or four weeks a year, in total, at Qing Jing Peak, and always with his husband in tow. When they’re in residence, Luo Binghe play-acts as the head disciple, taking over all duties of attending to their master, and sometimes even assigning duties and practices to others. But for the rest of the year the running of the peak falls to Ning Yingying.
Technically Ming Fan is in charge, but (he would be the first to admit, grateful that someone has noticed) he's more of a follower than a leader. Ning Yingying is the kind of person who would rather do something herself once she knows what needs to be done.
Still, it makes her chest clench to see smoke rising from the little bamboo house.
She should go say hello. It’s difficult to time it, especially when she didn’t see them arrive. Something about returning to Qing Jing Peak makes Luo Binghe want to take Shizun to bed right away, or at least that’s what she’s forced to assume when Shizun is unavailable for hours and emerges freshly bathed, pink-faced and embarrassed. But whenever they’re done, Shizun is always enthusiastic to see her and get caught up on Cang Qiong business (with her) and gossip (with Ming Fan).
“Shijie.” One of the newest disciples tugs on her robe. “Shijie, da-shixiong said to tell you he’s going down the mountain to take care of some plants.”
“Okay,” she says, still watching the house. “Wait, what?”
“Plants. That’s what he said.”
“Okay, thank you, Jing-er.” That’s something Ming Fan can explain when he gets back. Ning Yingying pats the little disciple on the head, then tugs his ponytail a bit tighter so it sits high. “Go run laps.”
“Yes, shijie.”
She might as well try. Ning Yingying goes to knock on the door of the cottage.
Luckily, her shizun does not seem to be engaged in marital pleasures. He opens the door right away, unsurprised but visibly pleased to see her, and invites her in for tea. Luo Binghe skulks around the edges of the room, dusting surfaces with a cloth and giving her sideways looks, probably because she’s preventing him from jumping his husband. Honestly, she knows far too much about his sex life. Luo Binghe doesn’t know a thing about her sex life, but she doesn’t make hers into everyone else’s problem.
Even the polite greeting he gave her—a nod and a courteous “Ning-shijie”—grates coming from Luo Binghe. It’s the way he says “shijie” like it’s a formality. It’s certainly not one she insists on, which means it’s theatre for Shen Qingqiu’s benefit. The things Luo Binghe does to pretend he is still Shen Qingqiu’s disciple make her tired to contemplate. She ignores him to catch up with Shizun, who always has interesting stories about the demon realm.
They’re barely into their tea when there’s an urgent knocking at the door.
“Shizun! Is Ning-shijie here?”
Peering around Shen Qingqiu’s hip is Jing-er again, his ponytail already drooping. Ning Yingying stands quickly.
“Jing-er, this is your shizun,” she chides. “He is the master of the peak. Any matter that I might address is more rightfully his to attend to.”
“Ah, that’s alright,” Shizun says quickly. “You can handle your responsibilities, Yingying.”
What he really means is that he doesn’t want to do it. She can’t help but smile. Shizun is Shizun no matter how long he’s gone for.
Jing-er does a quick bow to Shen Qingqiu, bobbing like a plum thrown in the pond, and then turns back to her. “Shijie, da-shixiong says to come right away!”
She frowns. “He needs help with... the plants?”
“Yes! He said it’s urgent!”
Ning Yingying turns to Shizun, bowing. “Shizun, your disciple must leave you for now—”
“Nonsense, of course we’ll come with you if there’s trouble,” Shen Qingqiu says. “Binghe, you’ll come, won’t you?” Luo Binghe shrugs.
--
They run into Ming Fan at the foot of the mountain struggling with a large tangle of vines. He’s keeping them at bay with blasts of spiritual energy from his sword, barely managing to deter one group of the vines before another attacks him.
“Shimei!” he calls out gratefully, before seeing Shen Qingqiu and lighting up further. “Shizun! Shidi.” Another vine sneaks around his waist, trying to ensnare him, but he blasts it back with a yelp.
Ning Yingying is at his side in a moment. She slashes at the vines trying to swallow him, but her sword bounces right off. She swings again, harder, and this time the edge just barely scrapes one of the vines.
A blast of blue-white qi, pure as glass, temporarily clears the space around her. Shizun appears at her right, Luo Binghe a step behind him.
"Yingying, Ming Fan, step back," he calls out. "I'm familiar with this plant—it's best left to me and Binghe."
Ming Fan falls back gratefully. Shizun puts himself in front of Ning Yingying and faces the plant, Xiu Ya at the ready.
But he and Luo Binghe don't seem to have much more luck than Ming Fan. The vines look like normal plant matter, but none of their powerful spiritual swords have been able to cut them. Luo Binghe's demonic qi is no more effective than spiritual qi. As highly accomplished fighters, they are able to hold the vines back more effectively, but before long it seems likely that the vines will overwhelm them.
“Shizun, look out!” Ning Yingying doesn’t spare a moment to think before she leaps forward and pushes Shen Qingqiu out of the way of a group of onrushing vines flying towards the back of his head. Luo Binghe turns to swipe at them with a blast of demonic qi, but it’s too late—the vines miss Shen Qingqiu and entangle Ning Yingying, circling her waist and both of her wrists. She strikes at them with her own qi and the flat of her sword, but they only grow tighter, strangling her forearms. Ming Fan slashes his sword back and forth, trying to cut her loose, but with no visible effect. The vines squirm around Ning Yingying’s arms, clutching her tightly like a prize.
“Yingying!” Ning Yingying glances at Shizun, but he doesn’t look concerned, only bemused. His eyebrows lift, his mouth twitching into a tiny surprised smile.
“Shizun?” She stops struggling. If Shizun isn’t worried, there probably isn’t anything to worry about. She tugs at the vines again, but they still won’t budge.
“Yingying, this master is grateful to have raised such a filial and skilled disciple. But there was no need to push this master out of the way. This master is accustomed to dealing with such situations and fully expected to get caught. The easiest way to get the creature to retreat is to simply cooperate with it.”
Ning Yingying burns with embarrassment. Of course her shizun, at his level of cultivation, didn’t need to be rescued by her.
Her throat tightens. When she was younger, Shen Qingqiu—though always kind and compassionate—sometimes acted like he expected Ning Yingying to make mistakes. Protecting her from situations that only someone very silly and thoughtless would be damaged by. He missed a lot of time when she was growing up, and he comes back to the peak so rarely. She has failed to show him the competent cultivator she’s become.
She bows her head. “This disciple apologizes for her rash actions and lack of trust in Shizun.”
“No, no, it’s fine! This teacher doesn’t mind Yingying taking on the inconvenience. It won’t hurt you, it’s just... a little embarrassing.”
Huh? Ning Yingying looks up at him, then follows his gaze to where Luo Binghe is splayed against a nearby tree, just as hopelessly entangled in the vines as Ning Yingying is. Luo Binghe is looking at Shen Qingqiu, aghast. He jerks against the bindings, hostile qi radiating from him, but it does nothing.
“Shizun,” he says hoarsely, “this isn’t one of those plants where we have to—”
“No! Absolutely not!”
Ning Yingying is lost. They must be speaking of flora commonly found in the demon realm.
Shizun clears his throat, opening his fan and fluttering it lightly. “This plant is known as Truth That Binds. You just... have to... express your true feelings for each other, that’s all. There’s no other way to free yourselves.”
“Shizun!” Luo Binghe’s face collapses into an even more dramatic picture of dismay. “It could have been you here with me?”
Shizun’s fan creeps a little further up his face. “Binghe, I have told you my true feelings!”
“But I want to hear it again!"
Ming Fan turns on him. “How can you order our shizun around like that! Show respect!”
Ning Yingying would elbow him if she were not incapacitated. It’s been years—it’s clear to anyone that whatever impels Luo Binghe to call Shen Qingqiu “shizun” is not the attitude of a disciple for a master. Shizun does not seem to mind.
“Look, this is easier!” Shizun says, making a gesture with his fan that encompasses both Ning Yingying and Luo Binghe. “With you and I, Binghe, it’s... well...” He clears his throat again. “There’s a lot to say! But you and Yingying are just friends! Simply say that and the plant will release you and go dormant.”
We’re not friends, Ning Yingying thinks, at the same time as Luo Binghe says aloud, “We’re not friends.”
“Nonsense! Go on.” He waves at them again.
Ning Yingying looks sideways at Luo Binghe. He does not return her gaze. She glances at Shizun, whose eyes indicate that he is smiling expectantly, and Ming Fan, who is glaring at her and Luo Binghe in turns.
When they were kids, Ning Yingying hated Ming Fan for being so cruel to Luo Binghe. But after Shizun died she no longer felt the need to defend her shidi. In those dark years, with Shizun gone and Luo Binghe’s terrifying power growing, they would stay up late into the night lamenting Luo Binghe’s betrayal of the sect and their teacher. Ming Fan has never forgiven Luo Binghe. Not for taking Shizun from them nor, she suspects, the more childish way in which he felt Luo Binghe took Shizun from him long before that.
But the other man here is Luo Binghe’s husband.
“I don’t mind Luo Binghe,” she says.
Luo Binghe looks away. “Ning Yingying is my shijie.”
The plants don’t move.
Shizun laughs. “Emotion, you have to put emotion into it! How do you feel?”
“Yingying, be honest,” Ming Fan urges.
How is she supposed to feel? She loved Luo Binghe like a little brother, and he doesn’t speak to her anymore. She turns her chin towards him, trying to catch his eye. “Luo-shidi. I appreciate all that you do for Shizun’s well-being.”
Luo Binghe gives her a cordial nod. “I appreciate Ning-shijie’s dedication to the same.”
Ning Yingying tugs at her wrist. The vines pull a little tighter.
“Ah,” Shizun says. “Perhaps we should... give you two some time alone?”
Luo Binghe’s head snaps up. “Shizun, no, don’t leave!”
“Ah, Binghe.” Shizun goes to him. Ning Yingying looks down when he’s still several steps away, not wanting to intrude on whatever marital moment they’re about to have.
Shizun’s voice is soft. “I won’t leave if Binghe doesn’t want me to, but I know Binghe is in no danger here. Won’t it be easier to talk to your shijie without me listening?”
“But Shizun, I—” Luo Binghe’s voice drops to a murmur. Shen Qingqiu makes soft noises at him. Ning Yingying can hear the sound of a gentle kiss. She looks at Ming Fan, whose expression matches hers.
“I’d be happy to give you some privacy, shimei,” Ming Fan says loudly. “If that’s what Shizun thinks is best. I respect his wishes."
Ning Yingying and Luo Binghe end up sitting on the ground, both completely draped in greenery. Ning Yingying stares at the grass. Luo Binghe taps his fingers on his sword hilt impatiently.
“Maybe we should try a fire talisman,” Ning Yingying says.
“If Shizun says there’s only one way, then there’s only one way.”
“Well, maybe we should try that, then!”
“Fine.” The red mark on Luo Binghe's forehead blazes, and he sets his teeth. "Just tell me what you think of me. I don't care. I want to get back to Shizun."
"Why do you have to say it like that?" Her hands, peeking out from the vines, clench into fists. "Why do you act like you think I hate you? Have I ever done anything to wrong you?"
"You know what I am." He gazes at her with eyes as dark as the bottom of a well. "We were raised in the same sect. I know what you think of demons."
"I don't have a lot of experience with demons," Ning Yingying snaps. "I don't think anything about them. I know you."
Luo Binghe's eyes flash. "So you hate me for being myself then."
"You're the one who's always glaring at me when you visit, and trying not to let Shizun spend any time with us!"
"Because I know you want to turn him against me! Don't lie—we have to be honest, remember?" He shakes his wrist, failing to disturb the vines at all. "You hate that Shizun and I are together."
"I don't care that you and Shizun are together, that's his personal life! I just wish you would let him stay here! He's not even really your shizun, you left the sect! You are the sect leader of an entirely different sect, Luo Binghe."
"He is my shizun." He says it with the authority borne of knowing he's always the most powerful person in the room. "You don't understand what he means to me."
That stings right to the back of Ning Yingying’s eyes. She blinks it away. It’s not like she didn’t know that Luo Binghe has long forgotten their past. She never helped him anyway, all those times that she tried—sneaking him food or medicine in the woodshed, standing up for him against their peers, or just sitting and talking to him while he simmered with hurt. It would always end in A-Luo being punished more heavily for receiving her care.
She cried over it more than he did. Luo Binghe would just withdraw, his eyes going black and distant, something in him eroding more and more with each petty cruelty. But he would eventually seem to shake it off, submitting to her teary hugs and telling her that it didn’t matter, that he would accept worse for the sake of his training.
The part of him that Shen Qingqiu was beating out of him was the part that was her friend.
In the end, though, Shen Qingqiu's death was what emptied him of everything but cruelty.
"I do understand. I'm the only one who could understand that."
Luo Binghe flinches back like she's hit him. The set of his eyes makes him look thirteen again.
"Did you forget," she says, "that I was there for everything? I know how he hurt you and I know how he saved you. And anyone can see that he would do anything for you. I wish you wouldn't make him prove it by taking him away from everyone else who cares about him."
Luo Binghe is pale, his lips pressed together so tightly his mouth shakes. It takes a moment for her to realize it's with anger.
"I don't do that," he says, clipped. "I don't need your opinion on my marriage. It should have been Shizun stuck here with me anyway."
He struggles against the vines looped around his torso. An aura of demonic qi sparks into light around him, a moment before flames burst from his hands. He presses the fire to his chest. The vines catch and blacken without weakening, blistering but staying strong around his body. Luo Binghe’s robes underneath catch light as well, the silk flaring up like kindling. The flame is demonic in nature, black licking at its heart, but the heat coming off it is real.
“Luo Binghe, stop it!” The vines hold Ning Yingying tight; she can’t even manage to inch closer to him. “It won’t do anything, you’re only hurting yourself.”
“I heal quickly.” The flames roar, engulfing Luo Binghe’s chest. He watches passively, mouth set hard.
“That doesn’t mean you should hurt yourself for no reason. Just stop it, calm down.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Luo Binghe!” She pulls out her last resort. “Shizun wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself, whether or not you can heal afterwards.”
The flames roar higher. Luo Binghe’s head snaps up to look at her, his expression terrible. “Don’t say that. Don’t act like you care about me like he does.”
She closes her eyes while her heart contracts. The sound of Luo Binghe burning crackles through the air. “I do care about you.”
“Stop it,” he hisses. “Don’t lie to me!”
“A-Luo, I mourned you!” Her throat spasms on the last word, turning it into a tiny hiccup. She also wishes it was Shizun here with her instead of Luo Binghe. “You died. I missed you! I thought you were killed by demons and I cried for months! And when it turned out you were alive, you hadn’t even come back to Cang Qiong Mountain, you didn’t even come tell us. You didn’t even care if I knew. We mourned you and you turned against the sect!”
The sound of the flames sputters to nothing. Ning Yingying opens her eyes to see Luo Binghe staring at her, his face flushed from the heat and his skin reddened under the vines in the places where his robes have turned to ash. His expression is still shuttered, dark, the version of him she’s always hated to see.
“You missed me?”
She bites the inside of her lip. Tears threaten behind her eyes, making her whole face tight and hot. The vines have grown loose around her wrists, draping down her shoulders like long necklaces.
“I still miss you.”
Luo Binghe’s sharp gaze follows the vines as they gently unweave themselves from Ning Yingying, releasing her. She shakes her arms out, grabbing her wrists in turn and massaging them with her fingers.
“You’re not lying,” he says quietly.
She shoots him an aggravated look. “I’ve never lied to you.”
He is still. The flames, dying out, have taken his anger with them. He watches her while the bared skin on his torso unevenly patches itself up, the red shiny patches healing into taut, pale smoothness.
“Why didn’t you tell me that before? That you cared about me.”
Ning Yingying pushes the pliant vines off her body and gets to her feet, adjusting the sword at her hip. She dusts her robes off with her hands and puts a hand to the back of her head, ensuring that her hair has stayed in place. “I just did and you accused me of lying. You trusted magic vines more than your own shijie.”
She leans over and grabs her calves, rubbing the stiffness out with her fingertips. Then she clasps her hands over her head and leans to one side, then the other, her muscles awakening after being held in place so long.
When she turns back, Luo Binghe is still silent, frowning at the ground.
“You have to say something too, shidi,” she says.
He swallows a little frustrated growl. “I know. It’s...” She watches his chest swell as he heaves a sigh. His gaze flits upward, settling somewhere among the branches of the surrounding trees. “It’s hard to trust anyone besides Shizun. No one else... has ever chosen to stay with me.”
She kneels before him, putting a hand on his shin. “You were mean to me, Luo-shidi. Why should I have to stay by your side when you're being spiteful and cruel? But”—she speaks quickly, trying to get ahead of the hurt that flickers across his face—”but I care about you, and if you were trapped in a woodshed now, I would come sneak you medicine again.”
Luo Binghe makes an odd noise, a suppressed snort that gets caught in the bridge of his nose. The glossiness of his eyes makes her jolt backwards a fraction. His long lashes shut, and tears slide down his cheeks.
Ning Yingying hangs still, stunned. Luo Binghe never cried on Qing Jing Peak, not any of the times he was beaten or berated.
“Shijie,” he says. “I didn’t—I thought you hated me for—killing Shizun.”
Oh. That was the last time they interacted, before Luo Binghe reappeared at Qing Jing Peak five years later as Shen Qingqiu’s shadow. She spent most of those five years Shizun was gone trying to forget the dizzying immediacy of that moment, the heated words she flung at Luo Binghe as he clutched their shizun’s fresh corpse.
Luo Binghe left Cang Qiong Mountain and gifted his considerable power to a rival sect. He allowed Shizun to be falsely accused and discredited, imprisoned, isolated, not offering a word in his defense. And then his inability to handle his spiritual weapon led to Shizun’s generous, loving death. Then he refused to allow Shizun’s body and spirit to rest, denying Cang Qiong Mountain closure.
But Shizun isn’t dead, and Luo Binghe would no longer allow anyone or anything to stand against his husband. It is not difficult to interpret his actions as those of the scared thirteen-year-old she once knew, lashing out in desperation to escape pain that only redoubled on him daily. There isn’t any anger left in her towards Luo Binghe, not in any corner of her heart.
“You didn’t kill him,” she says. “I don’t hold you to things you said in anger so many years ago, and you shouldn’t hold me to the same.”
Luo Binghe swallows, muffling a sound in his throat. “I would have hated me. For not protecting him.”
“Shidi, no one could possibly doubt how much care you put into protecting him now.”
Another wet sound as his throat jumps, like he’s trying to eat all his sobs. His eyes flutter open, glistening in the light through the trees. “I want to get out of this plant.”
She snorts. “Go on then.”
“I...” More tears slide down. “I still... like shijie too. I’m sorry.”
The vines slither away from him, taking swathes of singed, thready fabric with them. This is typical Luo Binghe: after Ning Yingying had to dig up so much, he gets away with one sentence and ends up half-naked. Rather than stretch his limbs like she did, he slumps forward and lets his forehead rest on her shoulder. The strangeness of it makes her hesitate. The last eight years have taught everyone in the jianghu how duplicitous Luo Binghe can be. It’s hard to believe he would drop his guard with her—it’s much more likely that he would decide that trusting her is to his benefit somehow.
But how? She has no particular closeness with Shen Qingqiu. She has no power in sect politics. There’s nothing he could want from her. She’s just Ning Yingying.
She cautiously brings a hand up to pat the back of his head.
“You said I make him stay away from Qing Jing Peak,” Luo Binghe mutters.
Luo Binghe famously has a perfect memory for slights.
“I did say that.”
“I don’t like coming to Qing Jing Peak,” he says, “because the people here are the only people I think Shizun might leave me for. He loves this place. And I’m never going to belong here. So... so I don’t want him to compare them to me.”
“Shidi, honestly.” She may be thawing on him, but this makes her roll her eyes and tap the back of his head with the flat of her palm admonishingly. “He’s not ever going to leave you, he loves you too much.”
Luo Binghe draws back. His face is stormy, brow furrowing in a way that looks almost like anger, except why would he be angry?
“Why would you say that?”
To answer this question is so absurd that it defies her ability to speak. Why is it on her to explain to Luo Binghe how Shizun looks at him? How can Luo Binghe possibly be this insecure when the man lives in the demon realm most of the year, away from the world he’s always known and all of his colleagues, students and friends, just for Luo Binghe? Were they not both there when Shizun died for him? Are they not both there every time Shizun allows Luo Binghe to paw at him in front of her?
“It’s... very obvious,” she says flatly.
Luo Binghe’s face only grows more conflicted. He searches her expression, gaze sharp as a sword point, as though he expects to find a sign of insincerity there.
“A-Luo. I’m not trying to flatter you. It’s just really obvious.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
He doesn’t answer, but he sits back, leaning his weight on his palms.
"You were his favorite first," he says. "Before he liked me. So when he... when we were on Qing Jing Peak together, I was always scared. That he would go back to preferring you."
Luo Binghe's reality is filtered through his fears, a distorted reflection in a rippling lake. It's impossible to know what he thinks until he says it, because it's impossible to predict how every detail he observes twists and darkens in the world that exists in his head.
It must be exhausting for Shizun. But then again, maybe not. Shizun's patience for Luo Binghe is bottomless.
"We both know how that qi deviation changed him," she says. "I don't think there's anything left in him from before."
Luo Binghe nods, but he's not looking at her, and she's not convinced he actually heard her.
"Shijie is the only friend I've ever had," he says abruptly. "So I don't know... I didn't know... I might have made mistakes." His voice skews high on the last word, his mouth pinching shut. He closes his eyes like he's shocked by his own words. Or doesn't want to watch her react.
He's never been good at handling his emotions. His reactions were always overwritten, too big and too scary on his face and in his actions. She grew to love him like that, seeing the person he tried to be when the things that happened to him weren't taking him over.
"Well, you're my shidi. I'm supposed to help you with mistakes, A-Luo."
He starts crying again.
--
When they make it back up the mountain, Shizun is waiting. He marches over to them, eyes darting anxiously between the composed Ning Yingying and the singed and red-eyed Luo Binghe.
"Binghe! What on earth took you so long?" He touches where Luo Binghe's robes have burned away, frowning. "What happened to you? I said all you had to do was talk!"
"It's alright, Shizun," Ning Yingying assures him. "We're fine."
Luo Binghe throws himself into Shizun's arms. "Shizun, I missed you so much!"
"Don't be ridiculous, we were barely parted for any time at all!" But Shizun's cheeks are pink. He pats Luo Binghe's shoulder. "Act properly in front of your shijie, Binghe."
Luo Binghe just nuzzles against Shizun's neck.
"It's fine," Ning Yingying says. "It's wonderful to see Shizun so happily wedded."
The flush on Shizun's face spreads across the bridge of his nose. "Yingying!"
"Shizun, I wanted it to be you there with me so badly." Luo Binghe speaks in a low voice, but not low enough. He's never cared to conceal any detail of their relationship from bystanders, but he’ll gesture towards propriety to appease Shizun. "I wanted to hear what you would say. And Shizun would look so beautiful tied up in—"
"Binghe!" Shizun pushes him away so he can bring his fan up to cover his face, which is only growing redder. "Don't say such things. And—and if your heart is set on such a scenario, then just construct it in the dreamscape!"
"Really? You'd—"
"Just do what you want, if you're only going to sulk otherwise!" He fans himself rapidly. Ning Yingying clears her throat.
"I should write a report on the incident. We can finish our tea later, Shizun. Shidi," she says, nodding at Luo Binghe.
He gives her an uncertain smile. "Shijie. I'll—join you. For tea. If I'm permitted."
--
"Come on." Liu Mingyan licks her way down Ning Yingying's throat, sticking her tongue in the hollow between her collarbones. Ning Yingying arches under her with a soft cry, pulling her closer by the hips. "Tell me something."
"No," Ning Yingying pants. She rocks against Liu Mingyan's thigh. "It's not material for your books, Mingyan, it's their lives."
"But my readers like a hint of realism. Please?"
"I don't—ah." She breaks off as Liu Mingyan bites lightly at her jawbone. "I don't know why you always want to talk about Bingqiu when we're having sex."
"That's not it!" Liu Mingyan pushes herself up on her palms to gaze down at Ning Yingying. Her dark hair is falling down, perfectly framing her heart-shaped face. When Liu Mingyan is exerting herself, her face flushes along the ridges of her cheekbones like rouge. Ning Yingying presses in harder where their thighs are entangled and watches Liu Mingyan bite her reddened lip.
"It's not that I want to talk about Bingqiu when we're having sex," she says. "I want to talk to you about everything I like, and I want to have sex all the time."
Ning Yingying gazes up at her, her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest.
--
Shen Qingqiu slaps the little yellow book down on the table in front of Luo Binghe. "This is not what happened!"
Luo Binghe blinks at him. "What's that, Shizun?"
"This!" Shen Qingqiu stabs a finger at it.
"Is that... a new volume of Resentment of Chunshan?" Luo Binghe perks up, immediately excited. "I didn't know there was a new one! Shizun is very attentive."
"Yes, well." Shen Qingqiu folds his arms across his chest. "It doesn't do to be caught unawares when people gossip. But Binghe, are you sure you had nothing to do with this installment?"
"Shizun, how could I? I don't know who writes them."
"It's just—it's just that you and I were the only ones there. Not that—I mean, the book is wrong about what happened!"
"Wait, Shizun, let me look at it." Luo Binghe gives him an indulgent smile, picks up the book, and starts to read aloud.
Shen Qingqiu thrashed against the vines, his naked body prettily restrained.
"You have to be honest, Shizun," Luo Binghe purred. The look on his face was evil and demonic, yet sexy. "Your body always responds honestly to my touch. But now your mouth must do the same."
"That doesn't even make sense—"
"Shizun, hush, I'm reading."
Shen Qingqiu mewled desperately. The way Luo Binghe was caressing his bound body was starting to drive him out of his mind.
"Oh, Binghe," he moaned shamelessly. "I—I can't say it."
"But you must. Or would you like to be captured by my demonic vines forever?"
Shen Qingqiu lowered his eyes, blushing madly, and shy tears began to fall. All these years he always tried to push Luo Binghe away, insisting that the younger man was a brute for treating his master so roughly. But now, he had to admit the truth.
"I love when you fuck me with your big hard demon cock," he cried out. "I want you in my—"
"That's enough!" Shen Qingqiu claps his hands over his ears, unable to take anymore. It was one thing to skim it himself—after all, he's used to reading shitty webnovels. It's quite another to hear his husband read those words aloud with no hesitation whatsoever! Luo Binghe's brazenness is truly OP.
Luo Binghe turns the book over contemplatively. "Well, some of the specifics are a little exaggerated," he says, "but on the whole it's not so different from what we—hey!" He brings a hand up to rub his forearm where Shen Qingqiu swatted it. "Anyway, Shizun, if you're really angry, why don't we go back to Cang Qiong Mountain and investigate? The author must have spoken to someone there to hear about that event."
That stops him short. "Binghe, you want to go back to Cang Qiong?"
"Sure," Luo Binghe says. "We can visit our friends."
Shen Qingqiu stares at him. Forget Resentment of Chunshan—this Luo Binghe in front of him is way too OOC!