all over again (for you)

by NoirSongbird

Summary:

Shen Qingqiu dies on Maigu Ridge. Given the opportunity from a mysterious entity calling itself "the System," Luo Binghe takes the opportunity to try again, and perhaps save his Shizun and himself a significant amount of suffering.

But the System is nefarious, insistent, and firm: some things must play out as they are supposed to, and Binghe must take great care in how he reveals the truth of his identity, and to whom. With a very short list of allies, he hopes--desperately--that he can avert the tragedies of his first life, and ensure that the world he lives in is one that's worth saving.

Chapter 1: prologue

Notes:

I was simply possessed by this idea and now look at me. I've got a longfic. qq

"choose not to use archive warnings" is a cya for the fact that older-binghe-in-teenage-binghe-body is definitely going to have thirsty thoughts about sqq. is it underage? is it not? i truly do not know. anyway, enjoy the fic. <3

title from "over again," and i'm specifically thinking of the esmee denters cover!

Maigu Ridge has stopped descending. The human and demon realms will remain separate. Distantly, Luo Binghe knows that this should make him happy.

Binghe is not sure if anything will make him happy ever again.

Xin Mo lies shattered on the ground around him. For the first time since he laid hands on the sword, Binghe’s mind feels clear. Free of its corrupting influence. He can think again, without Xin Mo whispering in his ear and worming into his mind. It is a relief, in many ways, and Binghe realizes distantly that he suddenly no longer feels a bone-deep ache that he had come to be used to. Xin Mo, it seemed, had been hurting him in more ways than he realized.

Yet another way Shizun has saved him, by shattering it.

There lies the heart of the problem.

Shen Qingqiu is dead in his arms. Again. Backlash from Xin Mo’s power, when Shen Qingqiu had already been weakened by—by letting Binghe—by stopping Binghe’s qi deviation, the only way he could think of at the time, by throwing himself at his disciple and hoping it worked.

Binghe wants to throw up, from guilt and disgust. He had practically killed Shen Qingqiu himself, this time, and there is a part of him that is so very tired of other people dying for him. His mother, his adoptive mother, and now Shizun—twice.

Binghe supposes he must be worth something if he is worth dying for, but why can he not be worth living for, too? 

“Luo-shizhi,” Mu Qingfeng’s voice is gentle, and distantly, Binghe wonders when he became Mu Qingfang's shizhi again, “please, let me see Shen-shidi.”

“Shizun is,” Binghe’s voice cracks. His vision blurs. “Shizun is—“

He can’t bring himself to say it. He feels tears begin to fall, fat and wet, and he would be humiliated if he had the capacity to care about anything except that Shizun is dead in his arms, again.

Because Binghe knows, better than anyone, what it feels like to hold a Shen Qingqiu in his arms who is devoid of life. He did it for five years. He is doing it again now. 

He’d thought, for a brief and beautiful moment on the ridge, that things might be okay. Shizun had said that he wanted Binghe, that he loved Binghe—but then Shizun had collapsed against him, and by the time Binghe dragged them out of the Luo River, Shizun was gone.

This isn’t fair. It isn’t right. Why does Binghe have to save the world for people who hate him, only to lose the one person he has ever wanted to save the world for? When a world without Shen Qingqiu is not, for Binghe, worth saving? 

Why….why did he and Shizun suffer all of this, if there was nothing at the end but more pain? Why couldn’t they have their happy ending, like the couples in stories? 

It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair, and Binghe hates it, and he wishes he could do it all over again—

[System initializing. User #003. Account: Luo Binghe. Role: Protagonist.]

The voice Binghe hears is—strange. It does not sound human, but neither does it sound demonic; it is dispassionate and a bit unnatural. Binghe’s eyes cut in the direction of the voice, and there is a a strange….light. It hovers in the air, words that he sees and reads but does not comprehend. System? User? Protagonist?

No one else seems to be reacting to this. Perhaps it is for Binghe’s eyes only.

[Would Protagonist like to write a better ending?]

Binghe jolts upright, clutching Shizun—Shizun’s body, already cold thanks to the river—close to his chest. 

A better ending. Could…could he save Shizun? 

[Yes/No]

YES, Binghe screams in his own mind, with all the force of his grief and his heartbreak.

[System thanks User for his cooperation! System will send Protagonist back to a pivotal moment in Protagonist’s story. System wishes Protagonist luck in changing Protagonist's fate!]

Distantly, Binghe wonders what moment this “System” will choose. Perhaps the moment Shizun throws him into the Endless Abyss. Perhaps Jin Lan City, and Binghe can try again, can skip all the nonsense and carry Shizun out of the Water Prison himself. 

Binghe sort of hopes it’s before the Abyss. Clear of Xin Mo’s influence, Binghe never wants to hold that awful sword again. He hates how it makes him think and feel, how it clouds his mind and encourages his rage. It would be nice to be free of it. 

Binghe hears Mu Qingfang shout, and then he feels himself begin to collapse, and then everything goes black.

Chapter 2: i. qing jing peak

Notes:

Posting this with the prologue, since the prologue is quite short. <3

When Binghe comes to, he is on the floor of the woodshed, and he feels cold. 

It has been so long since he was here, it feels like a whole other lifetime. He feels small, and weak, and—ugh, he hates this. Having tasted better, it is miserable to be back here.

[System greets User Luo Binghe! Welcome to Proud Immortal Demon Way! P-points: 100. P-points may be increased by following storylines, unlocking secrets, and filling in plot holes! However, P-points may also be lost if Protagonist fails to uphold his role in the story!]

“What happens,” Binghe asks, though it’s entirely in his head, and that’s a strange sensation, “if these…P-points reach zero? And what do you mean, uphold my role in the story?”

[Protagonist must behave like a protagonist, and interact with key story beats. If P-points reach zero, Protagonist will be returned to his timeline at the point from which he was extracted, and events will proceed as previously ordained.]

In other words: Shen Qingqiu will die, and Binghe will be left alone.

Alright, well. That’s unacceptable.

“This one understands,” Binghe says, tensely. 

[Thanking Protagonist for his continued use of the System!]

As if he has a choice! 

Binghe hauls himself up, and winces. Everything hurts—and part of him cannot believe that he endured this treatment for so long. He is so much more powerful than any of them, except maybe Shizun. But…they are also children. Children following the example of their teacher.

Binghe swallows, unhappily. It is hard for him to be certain when precisely he has arrived, only that it is clearly before he was moved into the bamboo house with Shizun. And now that he thinks on it, he is concerned—which Shizun will he find, when he steps out of the woodshed? The one that cares for him, that treats him kindly—the Shen Qingqiu who sacrificed his life for Binghe not once, but twice? The one that inspired him to return here, in a desperate effort to avert that awful ending?

Or the monster that shut him in the woodshed and let him be tormented by his shixiong and shijiei, for reasons that Binghe still does not understand?

There are two sharp raps on the door. They startle him out of his thoughts with a jarring jolt.

“Get out! Shizun’s calling you!”

Binghe knows that voice, of course. It’s his precious shixiong, Ming Fan—that is, the primary instigator of his torments, here at Qing Jing. Perhaps he ought to carry a grudge, but years have worn the harsh edge of childhood torments softer, rounder. Ming Fan is nothing. An annoyance. Certainly not on the level of the people that actually deserve Binghe’s ire. And anyway, Ming Fan got better, over the years. So there’s that.

“Coming, Ming-shixiong,” Binghe says, as politely as he can manage. He cannot let anyone realize that anything is different about him. He will have to act the sweet little sheep, at least until he can figure out exactly where—or, when, rather, he supposes—he is, and he can properly begin his mission to fix things for himself and for Shizun.

Slowly, he stands—and nearly collapses again. How was it, he wonders, that he endured this sort of pain every day, back then? He is used to different agonies, now, but it isn’t all the spirit’s endurance that determines how much one suffers. The body has plenty to say, too, and his teenaged body protests the effort to move its damaged, battered self.

It had been a bad day, so far, Binghe supposes. 

He forces himself to stand anyway. It feels like his first little victory.

He steps outside. It is mid-afternoon, and Qing Jing is quiet, and…and Binghe nearly bursts into tears, overwhelmed by the fullness of his current emotions. He manages to hide them, because he cannot and will not burst into tears in front of Ming Fan, but even with all the aches and pains and agonies his body feels…

He is home. Home is not Huan Hua Palace, where he wallowed for five years with Shizun’s corpse. It is not the Imperial Palace in the demon realm, nor is it Mobei-Jun’s Northern Fortress, no matter how much time he spent in either of those places.

Home is Qing Jing Peak, and the sound of wind through bamboo, and the activity of his teachers and martial siblings, and…

Binghe sighs, and can’t help the little smile that draws across his face, which he reaches up to cover with his sleeve, disguising it as rubbing dirt away from his face, because Ming Fan cannot be allowed to see anything strange about him.

He’s missed this. More than he could have ever expressed. The breeze catches in his hair, and he takes a deep breath, and feels his lungs fill with pure, lovely Qing Jing air. 

“Well?” Ming Fan demands, when he stands there too long, taking in the wonder that is being back home after so many painful years. “Are you going or not?”

“This one is going,” Binghe says, and he bows politely, and moves towards the bamboo house. He isn’t sure what to expect, when he gets there, and the worry has him on edge.

Slowly, he pushes the door open. Shen Qingqiu stands there, face a perfect mask, and Binghe’s heart flips. He looks so radiantly alive, so brightly contrasted with the pale, cold corpse that Binghe last held in his arms. Binghe wants to fling himself forward, wants to cry, wants to—

“Shizun,” he says, instead of any of that, and he forces himself to straighten, and then to begin to kneel. It is painful. But he must have his dignity, especially in front of Shizun.

“No need,” Shizun says, airily, stopping him in his tracks, and with an elegant flick of his wrist, he tosses over a small bottle. Binghe catches it, and instantly, he knows what moment he has been brought to. Shizun must have just woken from his qi deviation, the one that changed everything for Binghe. “This is medicine,” Shizun continues, although he does not need to as far as Binghe is concerned. “Don’t let anyone see; they might think my Qing Jing Peak abuses its disciples.”

There is mockery in the tone, but it does not matter. Binghe knows: this is indeed a pivotal moment. Because this was the first moment Shizun showed him any kindness, a moment that is engraved permanently in his mind and his heart. His heart, which unhelpfully starts beating faster as he bows.

“Thanking Shizun for his kindness,” Binghe says. “This disciple will redouble his efforts, and ensure Shizun is not disappointed.” 

“How is your cultivation coming along?” Shizun asks, and Binghe flinches, remembering the state it was in at this point in his training.

He knows enough now to understand that his first cultivation manual was garbage, barely fit to be used as kindling. But, well. It isn’t incorrect to say—

“This disciple is stupid, and has still…failed to understand.” There was a strange sense of deja vu, moving though the same conversation over again. And, anyway, it isn’t wrong to say that fourteen-year-old Binghe was stupid. Too stupid to realize the techniques he was practicing were fake. Too stupid to know he was being tricked. And so, so eager to look for any kindness.

(That, Binghe must admit, has not changed, if the way that Shizun’s tiny regard, an act he has, in fact, seen before, is affecting him is any meter. Ugh. Had he not long ago accepted it, he would think it a little shameful, how much he loves Shen Qingqiu.)

“Today,” Shizun says, and Binghe jerks up to listen to him again, “this master punished you out of his own impatience. After all, time waits for no one. Now that I think about it, you’ve been under me for a while—how old are you, this year?”

It seems strange, that Shizun has to ask. But then, he has….not paid Binghe much regard, before this moment. So perhaps not so strange.

“This disciple is fourteen,” Binghe says, which is technically true, when asking about the age of the body he is now in.

Shizun goes silent for a long moment. He seems to be thinking about something quite seriously.

“This one would like to be alone,” he says, finally. Binghe bows, and darts back to the woodshed, precious medicine in hand.

As he applies it, he rolls over what he knows.

He has been returned to Qing Jing Peak, on the day of Shizun’s fateful qi deviation. It will be a little while longer before Shizun really begins to change, but this is…a good starting point. Binghe thinks that perhaps, he can begin finding ways to clean things up. First and foremost—he must determine when and how to tell Shizun the truth about himself. Perhaps if he reveals it before the Immortal Alliance Conference…

Binghe shudders.

He does not want to descend into the Endless Abyss again.

[Warning! Warning! Protagonist must complete questline “The Endless Abyss and Endless Hatred, a Sky Filled with Crystal Frost and Tears of Blood”! This questline is critical to Protagonist’s journey—if it is not completed, twenty thousand P-Points will be deducted!]

“Twenty thousand?!” Binghe snaps, in his own mind. “And aren’t I this ‘protagonist’? Shouldn’t I get to decide what is or is not ‘critical to my journey’?”

[The advancements achieved in this questline cannot be replicated any other way. Additionally, it is critical to the story’s structure. Thus, it is necessary for Protagonist’s development.]

This is….upsetting news, but Binghe cannot deny that the power he found in the Endless Abyss helped him greatly. 

“Must…must it be Shizun who pushes this one into the Abyss?” He asks, after a long moment of contemplation. Perhaps he can endure it again, but Shizun’s betrayal—twice—surely that must be avoidable? If it is not, how will Binghe fix anything? So many of Shizun’s misunderstandings of Binghe, his fears, his avoidant behaviors—they all resulted from that moment, and from Shen Qingqiu assuming that Luo Binghe could never forgive what was done to him at the Immortal Alliance Conference.

Binghe does not wish to live that awful, world-shattering moment again.

[Protagonist may attempt to circumvent Shen Qingqiu’s role in “The Endless Abyss and Endless Hatred, a Sky Filled with Crystal Frost and Tears of Blood,” but if no other villain emerges, Shen Qingqiu will perform the ascribed role of “scum villain.”]

“Shizun is not scum! Or a villain!” Binghe argues. “Shizun is good and kind and honorable, and System will not force him into such a terrible role!”

[Protagonist must complete “The Endless Abyss and Endless Hatred, a Sky Filled with Crystal Frost and Tears of Blood,” or twenty thousand P-Points will be deducted. Thanking Protagonist for his continued use of the System.]

It falls silent, after that, no matter how many curses Binghe mentally throws its way. Finally, he gives up prodding the thing for now; he does not yet understand what makes it come and go. 

He has more information now, in some ways. Primarily, it seems that he must fall into the Abyss, one way or the other. This thought makes him feel sick, but….he can endure it, as long as it is not Shizun who pushes him, he thinks. 

Binghe sighs. 

He must begin to plan.

For the moment, though, he is a disciple of Qing Jing Peak, and there are places he must be. 

---

He finds himself in the bamboo forest, Ning Yingying by his side. She is a sweet girl, and Binghe must admit to a certain fondness for her—a true sister, not just a shijie, who always treated him well. The unfortunate thing is that he cannot quite let himself relax, because he remembers this, too—it has been brought back to his mind quite electrifyingly recently.

Shen Qingqiu, breath slowly leaving his body, gently pressing his mother’s jade Guanyin into his hand. Apologizing to Beinghe for keeping it for so long. Looking at him with softness and warmth and---and love in his eyes, before those beautiful dark eyes closed forever.

And this—this, Binghe knows, is the moment it is lost. Ning Yingying is chattering away, trying to distract him from the work he needs to do—work he bitterly resents, but that must be done nevertheless. 

(It would be nice, he thinks, if perhaps he could mend some relationships with his martial siblings. This is a do-over, after all, and maybe the only change doesn’t have to be that he carries Shen Qingqiu off into the sunset. Maybe he can fix a few other things along the way.)

He intends to sit and meditate, to begin bringing his cultivation in proper line. It really is a miracle, given the techniques he’s been using since he received the fake manual from Ming Fan, that he hasn’t had an awful qi deviation and died, or had his powers wither away. But, well—Binghe supposes he must admit, it’s likely the influence of his Heavenly Demon blood. He’s lucky, he knows.

But the interruption arrives. Ming Fan and his little gang crowd around, and Binghe wants to fight back, but—he’s not sure his body could handle it. And, worse, he’s not sure he won’t automatically reach for his demonic qi, which he absolutely cannot do. He doesn’t want to hurt them, not really. They’re his shixiong, after all. And—and if Shizun has the Guanyin, then it’s okay, isn’t it? The person Binghe most adores will have something from Binghe’s only family. 

(He will not acknowledge Tianlang-jun or Zhuzhi-Lang as family. Not when they are huge contributors to Shizun’s suffering and death.)

[Protagonist has successfully survived an encounter with minor villains! P-Points +20!]

Binghe rolls his eyes. Of course the rewards are small; the twenty thousand he needs to be able to survive averting the Abyss must be a heady price indeed. 

When he is left alone in the forest, turning over a bloodstained leaf in his hand, he cannot help himself. He wants to run to Shizun, to embrace him. He starts to turn, to look, because there was the ditch carved by Shizun’s qi, and Shizun must be nearby to use such precise abilities—

[Warning! Warning! OOC!]

“OOC?” Binghe wrinkles his nose. The System’s unexpected intrusion leaves him feeling deeply unhappy.

[Protagonist must act in accordance with the knowledge and understanding Protagonist had at this time! Attempting to deviate too far—to behave out of character—is a function that is currently locked! System apologizes for the inconvenience, but Protagonist must complete a beginner quest in order to unlock the OOC function!]

“What does that mean?” Binghe demands.

[Protagonist will be provided with the opportunity at the appropriate time! However, it will be a quest for which Protagonist cannot not use his foreknowledge. Doing so would be cheating! System thanks Protagonist for his understanding!]

“System,” Binghe says, slowly, “how much will this ‘OOC’ function restrain me?”

[Taking out of character actions before the function is unlocked will result in deductions of P-Points. The more egregious the action, the more points will be deducted.]

Alright, that makes sense. In a very strange way.

Binghe buries his face in his hands, and groans. How is he supposed to start fixing things if he’s trapped in lockstep with his old self?

[Cheer up, Protagonist!] The System chirps. [System believes in Protagonist’s ability to unlock this function very soon!]

Binghe wishes that he was half as optimistic as that.

Notes:

poor binghe. next time: the ooc function unlocks, maybe!

come talk to me on twitter at noirsongbird; I'll definitely be posting preview snippets of future chapters AND I love to talk SVSSS.

Chapter 3: ii. beginner quest

Notes:

thank you so, so much to everyone who kudos'ed and commented on this fic!! i really cannot express how much your support means to me and it motivated me to get this written as quickly as i could, so please enjoyyyy. <3

this chapter can be lovingly summarized as "binghe's horny thoughts are gonna get him in real trouble someday."

Binghe’s skin itches. His body feels too small, too compacted—and his power doesn’t respond the way he’s used to. It has been a few days since he woke up as his fourteen year old self, since he cradled Shen Qingqiu’s cold body to his chest and pled with the universe for a second chance, and he still does not feel entirely used to the much more limited capabilities he has to work with. It has been difficult to train himself out of reaching for demonic qi; it seems a poor idea to test the seal on his powers, and also, every time he tries, the System dings in with a cheery little [Warning! OOC!]

Binghe is being very conservative about his points. He knows he has three years to earn them, but wasting them early seems foolish, when he wants to try to have as many available as possible when he goes to the Immortal Alliance Conference. Although he already has plans to make alterations—plans to which, of all people, Shang Qinghua is key—he also intends to be fully prepared if things go further sideways.

Whatever happens, the Immortal Alliance Conference must go differently. Though he isn’t particularly fussed one way or the other about all the deaths, he knows that Shizun will be, because Shizun is a good person, and not a scum villain, no matter what the damned System calls him.

The System is happy to award him points for little things, which seems strange. Surely it must be aware that Binghe intends to flout it as shamelessly as he can. But then, he was sent back to change things, so—

Augh. The whole situation makes his head hurt when he thinks about it too much. The point is that he knows he needs to unlock the OOC function as quickly as possible, so that he can actually make use of all of his foreknowledge. Because what is the point of having it if he cannot use it.

Also, Binghe has definitely come to have some issues with the System's choice of start point. Primarily: fourteen is a terrible age and Binghe would like a refund. Surely sixteen, a year before the Abyss, would have been perfectly reasonable?

But no. Fourteen, slender, half-starved, and only beginning to put on weight because, one, Shizun is starting to be kinder, and two, Binghe refuses to not use his future knowledge to hunt for his own damn dinner.

The affair of Shuang Hu City is rapidly approaching, and the other disciples are quite eager to be off. So, admittedly, is Binghe—he cannot forget this, will never forget any part of this incident, but he has been turning his memories over, of late, and intends to look at it with new eyes. And not just the eyes of an adult who can very much appreciate how pretty Shizun looks, disheveled and bound in Immortal Binding Cables, a central fixture of many years of Binghe’s adolescent fantasies. Which, surely, no one can blame him for. 

But, no, not just that.

There had been…something off, the first time, with the way Shen Qingqiu offered him up to the Skinner Demon. Certainly it matched the callousness of Shen Qingqiu before, but it does not quite align with the Shen Qingqiu Binghe came to know, and now that he knows , with certainty, that the qi deviation is something that matters, matters enough for the System to send him to it here and now, he feels especially puzzled by it.

So Binghe intends to pay extra attention to everything that Shizun does, on this hunt. For reasons of understanding exactly what is going on, obviously! Not for any other purposes!

---

The journey to Shuang Hu is familiar. A repeat of a repeat. Ming Fan is a menace. Ning Yingying demonstrates her kindness and compassion to protect him. 

Shizun invites Binghe to ride in his carriage. Shizun catches Binghe looking at him, absorbing every detail of his face, so warm and alive and beautiful, and he smiles, even if he hides it behind his fan.

Binghe didn’t know what he felt, the first time he did this. He had been truly fourteen, naive and foolish and unaware. He didn’t know the flutter in his chest at Shizun’s smile was the beginnings of a love he would gladly burn the world for. 

He knows, now. Knows that his heart leaps because this is the man that he adores, that he longs for—that has always been just out of reach.

Who is, Binghe knows, out of reach still.

Shizun retreats behind his fan, his expression closes off, and Binghe feels his chest ache. Over the years, he saw more and more glimpses of the person Shen Qingqiu was under his stony immortal mask, and he liked that person, very much. It hurt, to see him have to bury it. 

On the other hand, it did mean that his soft smiles were almost exclusively for Binghe, and that was nice.

The rest of the trip is quiet, as Shizun meditates and Binghe does his best to do the same. This is a genuine opportunity—he can feel out his meridians, trace his own spiritual pathways, and genuinely have peace in which to contemplate the abilities he has at hand.

He has to admit, he’s quite proud of his younger self—although his spiritual energy is disordered, it is not nearly as bad as it should have been, given that he has been working from a fake book and using bad techniques. He might be able to make something of this, especially with some work in the future.

But he has three years for that. He will make time.

---

Binghe is fully prepared for his little excursion with Ning Yingying. He’d lost her, the first time around, and while that had indeed resulted in the luring out the demon…he has a soft spot in his heart for his shijie. He knows that the ordeal had to have been terrifying for her; it certainly was for him. And he doesn’t want her to go through that again. Not if he can prevent it.

The problem is that he cannot. 

They wander the markets, Ning Yingying chattering up a storm in his ear. Binghe listens politely, responds thoughtfully, gladly chatting with the only friend he has on Qing Jing at this point.

In a few years, she’ll hate him, just like everyone else. He doesn’t think anyone could blame him for wanting to enjoy this time with her. 

But it cannot last.

He swears that he only looks away from her for an instant. Swears that it would be impossible for nothing to grab her up in that time. But he glances at a food stall, and his stomach rumbles, and Ning Yingying laughs—

And then he turns back, and she’s gone.

“ SHIJIE!” He screams, at the top of his lungs, panic seizing his chest. People turn, and stare at him, but he doesn’t care—if he can just find the Skinner before she gets too far, then maybe he can kill it, and impress Shizun, and protect Yingying, and that will already be a major change. 

There’s no response. He forces his way through the crowd, looking for any sign of Ning Yingying, but there is nothing. The Skinner Demon is fast, Binghe will give him that. 

He takes a deep, tense breath.

Closes his eyes.

Starts to feel for demonic qi.

[Warning!! Warning!! OOC!!]

“What,” Binghe snaps, flatly.

[Protagonist must know that it would be far more in character for his fourteen-year-old self to go get his teacher. If Protagonist does not do so, P-Points will be deducted!]

“You are infuriating,” Binghe hisses. “I do not have time, shijie is in danger—”

[Protagonist is wasting time by arguing! P-Points -20.]

Binghe whirls back towards the inn where Shizun is staying and storms off towards it. By the time he’s almost there, he’s worked himself up into a proper panic, because he knows that at this age, he would not be toweringly pissed, even though that’s what he’s actually feeling. And, truth be told, he is afraid. He knows how things are supposed to go, but what if they didn’t? What if something goes wrong? 

He pounds on Shizun’s door, and barges in, and babbles out the whole story, completely ignoring that Ming Fan is also there and glaring daggers at him. If Ming Fan wants to kiss their shijie so bad, he ought to do something about it, in Binghe’s opinion. And also stop treating Binghe as competition for her affections, because that is monumentally exhausting. 

And also not important right now.

Binghe knows that if he wants to properly act like his fourteen-year-old self, he should be tense and apologetic right now. Apologetic, he can manage—he knew that the Skinner would be coming for Ning Yingying and had still lost her—but tense, no.

It’s Shizun. The better version of Shizun. The one that would never hurt him on purpose. 

So, yes, he’s nervous, and a lot of that nervousness is trying to figure out exactly how much he can say, and if maybe he can nudge Shizun in the right direction quicker, and what if something happens to Ying-er while they’re wandering in circles, but….Shizun is so confident. So sure. 

And yet.

Spending time in his presence, Binghe begins to notice little quirks. Things that feel like they might be the beginning of a realization, but aren’t quite there yet. Like how, when they’re stymied at the cosmetics shop, Shizun pauses and turns his eyes in a particular way for a very long moment, and then he takes off again.

Binghe actually hesitates for a moment before following.

No, it can’t be.

He’s too distracted turning over the implications—and debating if he’s reading too much into a simple gesture, like he doesn’t stare at Shen Qingqiu’s face as often as he can manage—to even try and divert from what’s coming.

And then! And then!

He gets knocked unconscious by some low-level trash.

---

Binghe isn’t even angry when, upon waking back at the Chen Manor, the System pipes up. [Loss of face for Protagonist! Captured by minor villain! P-Points -50.]

That, Binghe had to admit, was a fair penalty, because here he is, the once and future Demon Emperor, bound with Immortal Binding Cable by a creature that, if he had even half his full power at hand, he would be able to kill with a thought. 

At least there are benefits to this situation. 

His eyes drift over, and he squirms, suddenly very uncomfortable and feeling very, very hot. Yes, there it is, the center of so many adolescent fantasies—Shen Qingqiu, torso bared and crisscrossed with Immortal Binding Cable, looking beautiful and vulnerable and—

Binghe is going to be thinking about this a lot, for the foreseeable future, whenever he’s in private. It’s shameful, he knows, but Shizun is beautiful, and Binghe really would love to have him tied up so prettily to be devoured sexually, instead of physically.

That’s not the point. Not even remotely. 

No, what is the point is that there is something incredibly strange about this incident.

Binghe’s eyes flicker upwards, while the demon is distracted feeling up Shizun. (And oh, Binghe wants to cut off his hands and burn his body to ashes for daring to touch Shizun. But he is bound, and helpless, and does not have the power to.)

He knows what will happen here. Shizun will appear to sell him out, offering him on a platter—and then the ceiling beam near him will shatter and crush the demon.

As a child, Binghe had written it off as a coincidence. Adult Binghe cannot manage to do that. Especially not when he is looking directly at the beam, and it is not rotten, or cracked, nor in any way in danger of breaking. And! It could not be Shen Qingqiu’s qi that pulled it down! Nor was it his own, or Ying-er’s, so….

“System,” Binghe said, as the Skinner turned towards him, “what happens if….things go wrong? If I die?”

[Protagonist is afforded some protection by virtue of his role in the story! However, straining such protection too much will result in a very terrible end.]

“Thank you, that is very helpful,” Binghe says, and he means it. He watches as the Skinner approaches, looking fascinated by him, and swallows. If it’s true, if he’s protected—better that he be put at risk than Shizun.

And on cue, the beam cracks and falls, and slams into Die-er, and knocks the column he and Ying-er are bound to. Poor Ying-er is already unconscious, but Binghe’s bonds are loose, and that means that he can, slowly, wriggle out of them while the idiot demon monologues.

Ugh. Binghe hates monologuers. This is one of the many reasons he’s so fond of Mobei-Jun; the man would die before he were inspired to some rambling, run-on speech laying out his motivations. 

But at least the Skinner is distracted, and so Binghe can dart forward, draw Xiu Ya, and send its sword glare to cut Shen Qingqiu free.Shizun springs to his feet, and slays the demon without a moment’s hesitation.

Binghe needs a moment. Shen Qingqiu takes it for alarm at witnessing the monster’s broken body, but. Well.

It’s, ah. Definitely not that.

At least Shizun does not seem to notice that Binghe is flushed red when he returns Xiu Ya.

Yes, he is…definitely going to have to spend some time alone when they get back to Qing Jing.

---

Shizun leaves to enter solitary cultivation on Qiong Ding, and Binghe sits with what he has learned.

Shizun’s behavior has changed radically. Shizun sometimes seems to react to something Binghe cannot see. Shizun sends the Skinner after him, and suddenly, in an incredible coincidence, Binghe is saved and can even free himself in order to save his Shizun and his shijie. 

There is a…thing, in this world, called a System, and it sometimes guides certain people’s behavior in an effort to change things.

There is something distinctly different about Shen Qingqiu. Something that started with is qi deviation. Something that changed his whole self, down to the very core.

Binghe is beginning to develop a theory, but there is little he can do with it yet, not when he’s still chomping at the bit of the OOC lock. 

Fortunately, the System has been very kind to him, and presented him with an opportunity to fix this.

There is a small village at the base of the mountain. The disciples visit there sometimes, when they have leisure time; Binghe usually has little of it, but ever since they returned from Shuang Hu City, Shizun has left instructions to ease off his chore requirements.

(When Binghe thinks about it, Shuang Hu City and then Shizun’s solitary cultivation afterwards also seem very important. More pieces to his pet theory.)

There are whispers, around town. 

A prominent merchant, suddenly taking sick, with a fever that will not be quenched. Eventually, it devours him, leaving him a withered husk.

It is just one person so far, but Binghe is not going to let this fester. 

The townsfolk are on edge, but despite their fear, they all seemed nervous about contacting Cang Qiong about it; he supposed they still feared the old Shen Qingqiu, who was often cold and sharp with people outside the sect. But Binghe suspected he could solve the issue, and the System was kind to him—kind enough to call this his Beginner Quest! 

How could he do anything but accept!

He has a vague suspicion of what it might be, but nothing clear; this must be what the System meant about not being able to use his foreknowledge. It has presented him with a very unusual creature.

Binghe really, really hopes it’s only one, but this is a beginner mission, right? The System wouldn’t saddle him with something he can’t handle, would it? That would be unfair.

The people of the town are stunned when he promises to help them, a young cultivator with no sword and only a bare bit of training. But Binghe just smiles, and tells them that it is his duty to help, and that he would be remiss if he ignored such a thing. He even takes the time to properly request a pass from the most senior hall master, who looks upon him skeptically, but relents once Bignhe promises that if the problem is too large for him, he will come back and get help. 

A problem so close to Qing Jing cannot be allowed to fester, Binghe argues, without the sect losing face. And, he thinks, the hall master probably just decided that Binghe is expendable anyway, since there’s no one who’s going to come looking for him if something does go wrong.

He spends a day in Qing Jing’s library, doing research, until he comes along something he suspects might be the right creature—a demon from the southeastern kingdoms, a creature of fire and heat, called a Fever Wisp. The solution is cold, and Binghe wishes desperately that he had Mobei-Jun to call on, because he would make this trivial. But he does not. So, instead, he knows he must improvise. 

The next day, Binghe returns to the town, gets a room at the inn. And prepares to hunt.

He asks the townspeople for ice, whatever they can spare, and uses his qi to keep a bucket of it chilled. A cold weapon will have to work, and while Binghe longs for Zheng Yang, and in fact would, at this moment, take Xin Mo, all he has is a borrowed knife from the peak kitchens. Once he is sure that it has been chilled sufficiently, and that he can maintain that chill with his qi, he leaves the inn.

He finds the dead merchant’s empty home, cleared out because people are afraid of catching whatever rotted him away, and meditates, seeking the sickly feel of demonic qi. It is all too familiar to him; years spent immersed in it and wielding it make finding the black thread in the air all too easy. 

Binghe smiles, and he is glad no one is around to see, because he is sure the System would dock him points if anyone were, because he is not smiling the innocent smile of his fourteen-year-old self. No, this is much more an expression of the Demon Emperor Luo Binghe.

This village—it is at the foot of Qing Jing. Near Binghe’s home. These people, thus, are, in a very real way, under his protection. And this demon has interfered with that. 

Binghe tucks the knife away, carefully, making sure that he is unlikely to stab himself with it, and keeping it close enough that he will be able to tell if it begins to warm. This is an exercise, for him; he must split his concentration in two directions, following the thread of the demon and keeping his weapon ready. Quietly, he tracks it, heart racing. 

It feels good, doing this. Hunting down a creature that is threatening ordinary people, for no real remuneration, simply to…help.

This is what he wanted to do, when he first chose to become a cultivator. It has been many years since he made that decision, and he thinks…he thinks he has lost track of that.

There is a laugh, behind him. Binghe is so lost in thought and so focused that it takes until then for him to realize that the thread of qi has ended, and he spins, but it’s too slow. The Fever Wisp is in front of him—a tall, slender being with near-translucent skin, barely skin over bones. He is wrapped in tattered, moth-eaten robes, and his hair is a tangled mess, and he smiles at Binghe with predatory intent. It is a horrifying sight. 

Binghe pulls out his knife, and the demon laughs.

“You think to slay me with that? ” he demands, and he shakes his head, lunging forward. Binghe slashes out, but the Wisp grabs Binghe’s wrist and—

Shen Qingqiu, days ago, bound by Immortal Binding Cable, looking proud and haughty despite his disheveled appearance. Shen Qingqiu smiling, and how it made Binghe’s heart race. Shen Qingqiu, in another life, on his knees in the Water Prison, as Binghe grips his robes and tears them off, wholly by accident. The feeling of Shen Qingqiu’s lips on his, how much he aches for that, how much he wants wants WANTS—

Binghe feels dizzy. The onrush of heated lust nearly brings him to his knees, and. Ah. The books were all prim about it, but…it makes sense. From what he had heard, the merchant had a taste for pretty young girls, and it seems that lust, and not simple sickbed fever, is the heat that this particular demon feeds on.

The knife slips from his fingers, and he can no longer concentrate on keeping it cold. He needs to stay standing, but that is very, very difficult, especially when his body feels as if it is on fire—

“Hah,” the demon laughs. “Sending a teenager to kill me, as if you aren’t the lustiest bunch. Practically free food.” The demon presses into his face, and Binghe stumbles backwards. “My, my. You are young. And very pretty. Are you sure you’re meant to kill me, little cultivator? Or are you a lure? Or perhaps a nice piece of tribute?”

“This one,” Binghe hisses, looking around for anything he could use as a weapon, “will stop you from harming anyone else.”

The burning is fading, since he escaped the Fever Wisp’s direct touch. He aches, but it’s ignorable—and Binghe suspects that is yet another blessing of his Heavenly Demon blood.  

The Wisp prowls in, and reaches for him again, and this time, Binghe is prepared to dodge out of the way, which makes the Wisp sputter.

“You— how?” he demands, shocked. Binghe smiles.

[Deduction: OOC! -20 Points.]

Binghe does not care.

The Wisp shrinks backwards. Binghe prowls forwards. Picks up the knife. And then he has to drop it again, because it is burning hot. 

“Hah!” The Wisp mocks, and he charges in at Binghe. “Whatever you are that you can resist me, you certainly can’t kill me! I’ll take you back to my lair, tie you up, feed on you for so long… !” The Wisp practically moans, which makes Binghe shudder. A vile creature.

Binghe needs another plan. He keeps dodging, and eventually, he turns tail and runs, and the Wisp follows. 

He’s come up with an idea. A stupid one. But he remembers the way back to his inn room, and he’s able to lead the demon there, and finally, he vaults in through the window he’d left out of. The Wisp climbs in after him, and starts laughing. 

“Did you think you could hide from me?” The Wisp asks, mocking. “Or do you wish to surrender yourself someone more comfortable? I promise, it will be quite nice for you, if you stop resisting.”

“No,” Binghe says.

He picks up the bucket of ice that he had left there. It’s partially melted, now, but still cool to the touch. He hurls it at the demon, and the Wisp howls in agony, clawing at nothing and trying to shake the frigid water off himself. But he cannot, and he withers away into a puddle on the floor, and Binghe grins. 

The door to his room opens, the innkeeper pushing his way in with wide, shocked eyes.

“M-my lord,” the innkeeper stammers, looking at Binghe—who is still breathing heavily—and then at the upturned bucket, and the puddle, “is everything alright?

“This disciple,” Binghe corrects, gently, and he puts on his sunniest White Lotus smile, “has taken care of the demon. It was weak against cold. This one will help clean up the mess left behind, and then must be back to Qing Jing.”

The innkeeper is stunned. He refuses to let Binghe help clean up, which Binghe finds more than a little distressing, and insists on not only giving him back what he paid for the room but sending him on his way with more than he started with. Binghe desperately tries to insist that it is only his duty, that he cannot accept such remuneration, that he doesn’t need it, but the innkeeper insists, and it really does become more awkward to keep turning the man down than to accept. He’ll just…slip into the bamboo house and leave it on the table for Shizun when he comes back. 

As he leaves, a System notification pops up, and he smiles.

[Completed beginner-level quest, P-Points +200. OOC feature un-frozen. From now on, Protagonist has full control of his account’s actions. Congratulations! Please continue to work hard!]

Binghe intends to.

Chapter 4: iii. without-a-cure

Notes:

sup guys, it's my birthday [or, well, it was on the second] and i spent all day writing this so i could post it a little early. my gift to y'all in thanks for all the awesome support this fic has received!! i appreciate every comment and kudos, genuinely makes me so happy and so eager to write more!!

Binghe desperately wants to speak to Shen Qingqiu, but he will be in solitary cultivation for quite some time yet. The understanding he is coming to seems clear, especially when he thinks back.

He is User 003. This implies, to him, that there must be a 001 and a 002, unless the System is stranger and less rational than he guesses. Binghe has begun to strongly suspect that one of those two is Shen Qingqiu. It is the only thing that makes sense, really—though he is unsure what it means.

Is Shen Qingqiu like him? Sent back from a future that went wrong, and trying to fix things? Did he, perhaps, regret his harsh treatment of Binghe too late, and get a chance to try again, only to die—twice—in the effort? If that’s the case…Binghe still cannot hate that Shizun. Whatever timeline he came from, whatever he might have done, Binghe does not remember it, so it cannot be relevant to him. Instead, he remembers the man that welcomed him into his home, that protected him, that cared for him.

Whoever Shen Qingqiu was before, Binghe knows who he is now, and that is what matters. 

The real question is: who is the third User?

A conundrum Binghe will have to put off for the moment, because he has another priority.

Namely, Shang Qinghua.

The System says that he must go into the Abyss, but Binghe has another idea.

“System,” he says, as politely as he can manage, “if I could find another way to replicate the powers and enhancements I gained in the Abyss in my first life, in a way that I find satisfying and effective, would that be enough?”

[Protagonist’s demon heritage must be revealed, and Protagonist must gain access to his demonic qi. Questline “The Endless Abyss and Endless Hatred, a Sky Filled with Crystal Frost and Tears of Blood” provides the very best opportunities for Protagonist to do so.]

“What if, perhaps,” Binghe bargained, “I began training with Mobei-Jun? We could then reveal my heritage at the Conference, and I could flee with him to continue growing my abilities.”

[Protagonist may attempt to find alternate quest paths! However, such deviations may have unexpected consequences!]

“I believe I can handle that,” Binghe said. 

[System wishes Protagonist luck in his endeavors!]

Well. That was interesting. Before, the damn thing had insisted he had to compete this…very dramatically named questline , whatever that means. But if presented with an alternative option, it merely warns him of potential unintended consequences.

Perhaps that is what Binghe needs. To wheedle with the thing, plead and persuade, until he finally gets his way. If that is what must be done, then it is what must be done.

Now, he needs to make time to visit An Ding Peak.

---

It takes him weeks to find an excuse to make a visit. Nearly long enough that Shizun will be coming out of solitary cultivation soon; that means that Sha Hualing’s demonic invasion is rapidly approaching. 

Ugh. Sha Hualing. Binghe feels exhausted just thinking about her. She’d been useful to him, of course, and she was powerful, but her entire personality….ech. Dealing with her always made Binghe feel like he’d run a hundred laps around Qing Jing Peak. And now, she’s about to crash back into his life again, and Binghe is going to have to deal with the damn duel with damn Elder Sky-Hammer and do his best to make sure that Shizun does not get Without-A-Cure poisoning. The number of times Shizun has sacrificed himself for Binghe is simply unacceptable, and Binghe intends to reduce that count as much as he can, in this life.

Thus, he needs to speak with Shang Qinghua, get in contact with Mobei-Jun, and start training posthaste.

When he arrives at An Ding Peak with a request from Qing Jing’s primary librarian, for Peak Lord Shang’s eyes only, An Ding is as lively as always. Disciples are running left and right, and he has to grab one, apologize profusely for interrupting her work, and request directions to the Peak Lord. Shang Qinghua, evidently, is tucked away in his offices, and according to the disciple, Binghe may need to wait to meet him.

Binghe thanks her and darts off, making his way to the building she indicated. It is low, and small, and apparently where the Peak Lord and his logistics team keep their office space. If Binghe remembers things correctly, it is not yet time for Shang-shishu’s meeting with Mobei; he will not be interrupting their bizarre courtship dance, which is good, because it is, frankly, exhausting to watch two people be that stupid about each other. 

He arrives at the office that has Shang Qinghua’s name on a brass plaque on the door, and knocks politely. 

“Shang-shibo,” Binghe says, “this disciple comes carrying a request from Yige-shibo regarding a few texts she would like to add to the library on Qing Jing.” 

“Come in,” Qinghua says, from the other side of the door, in a tone that sounds deeply exasperated. Binghe isn’t bothered; Qinghua sounds like that 90% of the time when he’s been bullied into doing work.

He steps through the door, and deftly slips a silencing talisman out of his sleeve, which he slaps on it, and then quietly locks the door behind him.

“Hello, Shang-shibo,” he says, to the man’s back, and in that moment he feels more like his old self than he has since he awoke here. “How are things with Mobei-Jun?”

Shang Qinghua freezes. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, though Binghe can see the tremble in his entire body. 

“Mobei-Jun. You must be due to report to him soon, yes?” Binghe says. Qinghua turns towards him, slowly. 

His eyes flick towards something Binghe cannot see.

It is a subtle movement, but it is one that Binghe strongly suspects he recognizes the source of.

“….You are the third User,” he says, stunned. Qinghua jolts.

It makes sense, in some ways. He can remember Qinghua occasionally muttering things in an unfamiliar tongue, or saying things under his breath that….well, Binghe understood the words individually, but together they made little sense. Just like Shizun. And, too, this explains why Shizun trusted him with something as fragile as cultivating a second body in case of Shizun’s death.

So many puzzle pieces click together neatly before Binghe, and he cannot help but smirk.

Qinghua narrows his eyes, splays his hands on his desk.

“Proud Immortal Demon Way,” he says. Binghe wrinkles his nose.

“What?” He says. That was what the System had said, wasn’t it—? “Welcome to Proud Immortal Demon Way?” What did that mean?

Qinghua looks equally confused. 

“You—don’t know that name?” He asks. “But—you—-the System?”

“I was sent back,” Binghe says, carefully, examining Shang Qinghua’s every expression, “after stopping the realms from merging, and…” Binghe stops. Considers exactly what he wants to say. “...Losing someone very important to me in the process. The System gave me an option to try again. To save him.”

“To save….him,” Shang Qinghua says, and he pulls his chair forward and drops into it, looking a little lightheaded. “So you are Luo Binghe? Always have been? No, uh, adventures in other worlds?”

“Nnnno,” Binghe says, frowning.

“You’re just. From another timeline. Which is how you know about Mobei-Jun, so I have not been found out, and I am not useless to my king.” Qinghua looks relieved. Binghe supposes that makes sense. “Wait—you said you stopped the merging of the three realms?”

“Obviously,” Binghe crossed his arms, and he knows he has to look offended. “What else would one do? And what are you talking about, other worlds?”

Shang Qinghua stares into the middle distance. Binghe cannot tell if he’s reading a System notification or just. Staring. 

“I am…” Qinghua begins, slowly, “not. From. This world.” He swallows. His eyes flick over, and that is definitely a System notification, or a conversation with the thing—Binghe wonders if he is determining how much he can reveal. “In my world,” Qinghua says, “I was a writer. And I created a story, called Proud Immortal Demon Way, about a young half-demon who was bullied by fate and by the world, and who rose to insane heights of power, and took vengeance on all those who had harmed him.” Qinghua sighs. Binghe is utterly transfixed; he couldn’t say a word if he wanted to. “I wasn’t always proud of what I wrote. I had plans, you know? Ambitions. A real storyline. But my readers—ah. More papapa, more violence, more ridiculous wife plots. More wives,” there’s an edge of exhausted judgment in Qinghua’s tone, “even if they aren’t exactly the most fleshed-out characters. And the money was good, you know? I didn’t have a very good life, back then, but all the dollars I got from that ridiculous novel—they helped. A lot.” He stops. Binghe feels like he might faint, which is odd, because he’s not usually given to those sorts of dramatics.

“But then! This idiot,” Qinghua gestures at himself, “has an accident—you wouldn’t understand if I tried to explain it to you, and I don’t mean offense? Just, there are things in that other world that have….no real parallel here?” Binghe nods, the most he’s been able to do. “Trust me, though, it was bitterly ironic. And I wake up, here, in my own story—as Shang Qinghua, of all people! And not even Peak Lord Shang Qinghua! I was a child. I lived my entire life over again. I had to make all my own stupid choices and dig my own grave,” he sighs, defeatedly. “And now here you are. In front of me. My son.”

“You….wrote. This world.” Binghe says, slowly. 

The concept is insane. Shang Qinghua, the architect of….everything?

“I wrote a version of this world,” Qinghua corrects him. “Not even the one you came from, it sounds like. In my version, you merged the three realms.”

“What,” Binghe says.

“The circumstances—!” Qinghua waves his hands. “Things were very different, it sounds like! You didn’t do that, another you did, I—please don’t hurt me, Junshang.” Qinghua paused. “Did…. did you become the Demon Emperor?”

“Yes,” Binghe says. 

“Actually,” Qinghua hums. “Why don’t you….tell me what the story you remember was like.”

Binghe does. If Qinghua thinks that he could at all be like someone who would cause untold pain and suffering by merging the three realms—! No, absolutely not, he must make sure that Qinghua understands that whatever Luo Binghe he wrote, that is not the person sitting in front of him.

Qinghua’s expression is fascinating. The more Binghe talks, the more thoughtful he looks. 

“That is a very different story than the one I created,” Qinghua says. “But I think I like it better. Except for the ending. Absolute rubbish.” 

“I’m glad you agree, Shang-shishu,” Binghe says. 

“Ah, can’t you call me something just a little more intimate? You are my son, in a way,” Qinghua sighs. Binghe frowns. 

“You aren’t my father,” he protests, and Shang Qinghua pouts.

“In a very real way, I like to think I am,” Shang Qinghua says. And then, stands up, and comes over, and pats Binghe’s head, and—

It’s not like when Shizun does it, obviously. But it is nice. So maybe there’s some merit to this.

“Perhaps. This disciple. Might call Shang Qinghua Hua-ge, in private.” He knows that he is definitely pouting. But Qinghua knows his secrets, and…well, the way he looks at him, there’s a sort of pride in his eyes. A pride that Binghe might have liked ot see, coming from a real parent. Or an older sibling. 

Also, Qinghua cannot possibly be a worse father-of-sorts than Tianlang-Jun, who, Binghe must remember, was essentially the proximate cause of Shizun’s death.

The look of pure joy on Shang Qinghua’s face does sort of make Binghe’s heart melt. Also, he learns, quite suddenly, that Shang Qinghua gives good hugs. Not as good as Shizun’s, but good nonetheless.

“So,” Qinghua says, “if we’re going to fix all of that, we’ll have to get started quickly, yes?” He squeezes Binghe one last time, and moves back to his desk. He does…something that Binghe can’t quite see, and a secret compartment pops open. From within it, he withdraws a sheaf of notes—his work for Mobei-jun, undoubtedly. He flips through them, looking ponderous, and pauses for a long moment on one.

Finally, he locks eyes with Binghe, and Binghe does not see the harried An Ding Peak Lord. He sees Mobei-Jun’s spymaster and chief strategist. 

Binghe cannot help but smile. This, in this ocean of confusion, is very familiar.

“Where is your shizun,” Qinghua says, but it really isn’t a question.

“Cultivating in solitude in the Ling Xi Caves,” Binghe replies.

“That can’t be interrupted,” Qinghua acknowledges, “but…when he is out, I need to speak to him.” He shakes his head. “The Shen Qingqiu in your memories—he’s probably the most unlike the one I know. Which means, I think, that he is the key.”

“I think he might be another User,” Binghe says. “His behavior changed drastically, and he sometimes seems to be reading something that isn’t visible, and I think he….knows things.” Qinghua nods.

“That would make a lot of sense,” he agrees. His eyes flick to the door. “Go back to Qing Jing. You’ve already been here for too long, no sense letting anyone get suspicious.” Binghe nods, and then he blinks.

“Ah, Yige-shibo’s request,” Binghe offers the missive to Qinghua, who groans loudly.

“Always more work!” He says, and he waves Binghe off. Binghe takes the silencing talisman and goes.

---

The day of Shizun’s emergence from solitary cultivation arrives, and Binghe feels his heart pounding in his chest. Binghe and the other disciples have arrived on Qiong Ding to meet him, and it is chaos.

Sha Hualing and her demons have arrived.

Shang Qinghua is present, but he is working very hard to disappear into the crowd, for reasons that Binghe can honestly sympathize with. Qinghua is at his best in the shadows; Binghe suspects that if he asked to make Sha Hualing disappear, that would not be a problem. A straight fight, however….well. Bolstering these demons by having them defeat a Peak Lord seems like a terrible idea, to Binghe. Still, he is guiding some of Qing Jing’s younger disciples away from the fighting, and covering for them as best as he can, and honestly, that’s all Binghe could possibly ask of him right then.

Well, okay, “call in Mobei-Jun and have him handle this entire problem,” perhaps, but that was not a realistic request.

All of a sudden, there is a clamor, and Binghe’s heart jumps. He turns, and—yes. 

“Shizun,” he gasps, eyes wide. 

Shizun is radiant with spiritual power. His seclusion has done him well, and to Binghe’s surprise, his eyes seek Binghe—and their gazes meet for a moment before Binghe turns away, flushing bright red. Shizun was looking for him in a crowd—it made his heart do acrobatics he could only hope to match with his body in combat. 

He remembers how this plays out, and his eyes cut to Shang Qinghua, who is watching with interest as Shen Qingqiu steps forward and negotiates the little tournament. Binghe knows that this is something Sha Hualing will seethe over for many years, but truly, there’s nothing to be done; if she’d pressed a real attack, Shen Qingqiu would have handily eliminated all of her monsters. Binghe is certain of this, especially watching him take on Elder “One-Arm” with grace and elegance. 

Shizun is beautiful when he fights; he is beautiful all the time, but especially so when he is moving through combat like water. His grace is unparalleled, and Binghe watches his every movement with concentration. He has the eyes of an experienced warrior to track Shizun with, this time, and he notices subtleties in his hand gestures and seal-making that he hadn’t even thought to look for before.

Also, Shizun’s hands are very nice, and Binghe would like to touch them. That is not a particularly relevant thought, in the moment, but it is something that is very much on Binghe’s mind and it does make him squirm a little during the fight. 

Elder One-Arm is left defeated, and arguably quite humiliated, and Sha Hualing steps up. This next fight is….uncomfortable, mostly because she and poor Liu Mingyan take more damage to their modesty than to their actual bodies. Binghe suddenly longs for one of Shizun’s fans to duck behind so he won’t have to watch all this….clothes-ripping.

He looks over at Shang Qinghua, who is very assiduously not looking at the fight, and in fact looks more than a little ashamed of himself. Good.

Poor Liu Mingyan loses, but what could realistically be expected? Sha Hualing is a Demon Saintess, a powerful warrior, and Liu-shijie is only a disciple, no matter how powerful she will grow to be. 

Binghe sees the long, lingering look Sha Hualing gives Liu Mingyan as she is helped away, and something in the back of his mind clicks, and he suddenly understands Sha Hualing’s long, truly ridiculous obsession with the woman.

Ah. Yes. That….makes sense. Even if Binghe is fairly certain Sha Hualing never actually figured it out for herself. 

Anyway, he cannot be too concerned about his future subordinate’s romantic nonsense. His own match is upcoming, and Binghe hears all sorts of gasps when Shen Qingqiu nominates him to stand against the massive Elder Sky Hammer. Binghe’s eyes find Shen Qingqiu’s again, and he locks their gazes together, giving his Shizun a single, brief nod. He watches Shen Qingqiu’s eyes widen, and then he breaks into a smile that he hides behind his fan, and nods toward Sky Hammer.

Binghe moves into the circle that has been made for the fights, and takes a deep breath. 

There is a hue and cry about the poison on Sky Hammer’s armor, and Ning Yingying darts forward to wrap her arms around his and plead with him to stop, but Binghe just shakes his head.

“I will defeat him,” he said, “and I will not let Cang Qiong Mountain lose face.”

There is something about the way he says it, he thinks, that makes Ning Yingying back off. But, anyway, he drops his voice low.

“Ying-er,” he said, quietly, “I think that Liu-shijie’s brother is in the caves. Do you think you might be able to attract his attention? The Bai Zhan War God could surely help us.”

Ning Yingying’s eyes light up, and she nods, sharply, daring off.

Most people probably assume that she is weeping over fear for her friend. Binghe knows otherwise. Ning Yingying is not half as stupid or helpless as most people believe her to be.

They begin.

It isn’t easy. Sky Hammer hits hard, and Binghe has to dodge the poison spikes and be mindful of how much damage they can do. But he knows that this fight can be his. He just needs an opening.

It takes…a longer time than he is proud of for him to find that opening, to gather his qi into his hand, and to punch it upwards, sending a blast directly into Sky Hammer’s chin and knocking him firmly onto his ass.

[Martial prowess proven! Gained the attention of Sha Hualing and Liu Mingyan! P-Points +500!]

“But I do not want— ” Binghe hisses, but he barely has time to vent his complaints, because he has to pay attention to Sha Hualing’s little tantrum before she is thrown out. Has to pay attention to Sky Hammer, when he leaps up to attack. Binghe moves to protect himself, but Shizun is faster, and—

Binghe’s breath is stolen in an instant by the image of Shen Qingqiu holding, and then casually tossing aside, that massive hammer.

The power contained in his seemingly delicate body—ah! Is it any wonder that Binghe isn’t the only one falling all over his feet over Shizun? It’s a good thing, he thinks, that Liu Qingge isn’t here to see it, because Qingge would probably have proposed to Shizun on the spot, seeing him do something so undeniably powerful. It makes Binghe’s knees a little weak, too.

“Shizun,” he gasps, softly, awed. 

“You wanted to kill him?” Shen Qingqiu said, icily. “The disciples under my tutelage are not yours to bully.”

Shizun is truly beautiful and amazing, and Binghe’s heart picks up its pace. 

“Are you alright?” Shen Qingqiu asks him, and he rushes to nod. 

“This disciple is fine,” he says, “but, Shizun, Sky Hammer—” 

The elder had already started to move, and Binghe reached up to pull Shen Qingqiu out of the way—if he was struck with that poison-spiked armor, he would be fine! His Heavenly Demon blood would easily expel the poison!

Xiu Ya darts out, stabbing through Sky Hammer’s chest, but it is not enough. Binghe watches in horror as, for the second time, Shen Qingqiu is poisoned with Without-A-Cure for his sake.

His knees buckle and he hits the ground, hands coming up to cover his mouth. Were Sky Hammer not already dying, Xiu Ya through his chest, Binghe would kill him himself a thousand times over—but he is frozen, watching blood drip from Shen Qingqiu’s arm.

“S-Shizun,” he stammers, “you--you’ve been—!”

He cannot even make himself say it. Tides of shame overwhelm him. 

“Nothing is wrong,” Shen Qingqiu says. “Don’t listen to the ravings of this blowhard.” But Binghe doesn’t need to listen. He can see the injury with his own eyes. 

”So arrogant, Shen Qingqiu!” Sky Hammer laughs, mockingly. “But your death is assured, Peak Lord—the poison in my armor is called Without-A-Cure, and it is called such for plenty of reason!”

Something cold and steely freezes in Binghe’s heart, and he finally finds the strength to move, gripping Xiu Ya and drawing it to press it against Sky Hammer’s throat. 

“Your people must have a cure,” he demands, voice colder than the winters of the Northern Desert. In that moment, he is not lost, fourteen-year-old Binghe. He is the Junshang, the Demon Emperor, and he knows his killing intent must radiate off him.

Sky Hammer laughs.

“There really is no cure,” Sha Hualing assures him. “The poison is called Without-A-Cure, and it is for a reason. If Elder Sky Hammer says there is no cure, then you may trust, young master, that there is no—”

She stops mid-sentence, because Binghe has, coldly and efficiently, beheaded Sky Hammer. 

“Such an insult to a Peak Lord of Cang Qiong cannot be allowed to stand,” Binghe says, squaring his shoulders. There is silence on the field, until Shang Qinghua moves forward, wearing the face of someone who is very much calculating something.

“Ling-er,” he says, sweetly, “this master thinks it would be best if you took your subordinates and retreated—ah! It would be unfortunate if there was any more loss of life today.”

“No!” Hualing says, her anger rising, and Binghe groans internally. “I demand compensation! This disciple has wantonly murdered my subordinate!”

“Your subordinate attempted to kill me, despite our fair agreement! He has poisoned my Shizun!” Binghe snaps back. “This disciple acted only to defend his Shizun and his fellow disciples, since Elder Sky Hammer had demonstrated that he has no respect for the rules of engagement that had been laid out!”

Shen Qingqiu moves next to Binghe.

“This master is responsible for his disciple’s conduct,” he says, smoothly, “so he will receive retribution. How about this? We will exchange a single palm strike each, and whoever is left standing will be the winner?” 

“Ha!” Hualing laughs. “You would be a fool to do that, Great Master Shen, because the poison you have been struck with has all but certainly crippled your spiritual pathways! You won’t be able to raise a single hand to me!” She laughs. “Without-A-Cure disconnects the spiritual pathways, starting at the wound. With enough time, not only will your qi stagnate and coagulate, so will your blood!”

“If that is so,” Shen Qingqiu says, coolly, “then you have nothing to fear.”

“Shizun!” Binghe reaches out to gently grip his sleeve. “Please, it was this disciple’s rash actions that led to this point, so this disciple should—”

“No,” Shen Qingqiu says, gently, and his hand comes up to pat Binghe’s head. “This master is responsible for you, Binghe, and will not cower behind his student.”

“But Shizun was injured protecting this disciple,” Binghe says, and his voice cracks.

“Since you know this,” Sen Qingqiu says, gently, “do something to preserve your own life. Let this master handle this matter.”

Binghe swallows. He has nothing to say to refute that, though he can feel tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. Shen Qingqiu moves into position, squaring off with Sha Hualing.

“Then, Senior Shen, please forgive Ling-er’s rudeness!” Sha Hualing says, in a way that makes it clear she is not at all looking for forgiveness.

“Come on,” Shen Qingqiu says, voice still cool as ice, “and let fate decide who lives and who dies.”

They are squaring up to strike. Binghe feels horror crawling up his spine, and prays, desperately. 

Right as they are about to clash, there is a burst of power.

Binghe has never been so glad to see Liu Qingge in his life. Either of them. He deals with Sha Hualing with ease (ah, her poor clothes, Binghe has to avert his eyes once again) and he glares at the demon army present.

The arrival of the Bai Zhan War God is enough of a deterrent. In a rain of sword glares, he sends them running, though most of the demons except for a small party with Sha Hualing are hemmed in and captured.

Elder Sky Hammer’s headless corpse is left on the ground.

Binghe moves to gently support Shen Qingqiu, who is looking quite weak at this point. He wants to hiss at Liu Qingge to back off when the man reaches out to take Shizun’s hand and begin circulating energy, but he stomps that part of himself down. Qingge is ensuring Shizun will live for the moment. That is more important than Binghe’s petty jealousy. 

“It was definitely the right decision to send Yingying to copy Xue Yi and pound on the walls of Ling Xi Caves, wailing until you came out,” Shizun sighs. 

“Who’s Xue Yi?” Qingge asks, frowning. 

“World’s greatest beauty,” Shen Qingqiu replies, and Binghe notices a strange expression on Shang Qinghua’s face. He glances over, and Qinghua mouths my world, which makes Binghe perk up.

It seems it is true. Shizun is a transmigrator, like Hua-ge.

“How am I?” Shizun asks. Binghe listens with interest.

“You won’t die for now,” Qingge assesses, and he looks around, and seems to notice Shang Qinghua for the first time, which significantly darkens his mood. “I can see what Shen-shidi did,” he says, sharply, “but you, Shang-shidi—were you cowering as always?”

“Shang-shibo,” Binghe cuts in, voice soft and a little shaky, “worked very hard to protect many of Qing Jing’s younger disciples until Shizun arrived.” Qingge looks sufficiently mollified, though he’s still mostly looking at Shizun, which is definitely not making Binghe seethe internally. Qingge is entitled to look, Binghe supposes.

Binghe feels Shizun’s legs give out, and shifts to support him better. 

“Let me…let me lie down,” Shen Qingqiu says. Binghe helps him to do so, and watches in horror as he coughs up a mouthful of blood. Yes, Binghe knows this will be alright, in the end, but it is still terrifying to see the man he loves battered so badly, and this was…this was something he wanted so badly to prevent. And here he is, having failed to do so quite terribly.

“Shizun?” Binghe asks, nervously.

Shizun smiles at him. His heart jumps into his throat.

“I knew…” he says, softly, reaching up to pat Binghe’s head again, “...that you would definitely win.”

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes close, and Binghe’s heart shatters.

Chapter 5: iv. meng mo

Notes:

hehehehehehehehehehe

sorry this update is later than planned, i wanted to try to keep to a monday schedule but i have a friend visiting this week so it'll probably be a bit late next week too qq <3

this chapter contains a very brief allusion to underage sex (more detailed context in end notes!)

also you may notice there is now a series title. ……yeah I think this part is getting us abt thru the immortal alliance conference and then there will be a part 2 for the rest uwu

When Shen Qingqiu stirs awake, he has to blink several times in puzzled confusion. Everything is quiet, and he is in his room on Qing Jing Peak—he knows that much. The bed is comfortable and luxurious and these are definitely the ridiculously expensive sheets the original goods picked out. Which he kept. Because they are expensive and it would be a waste and if he is doomed to be stuck in this stupid novel, he should at least be comfortable!!

So. That all makes good and perfect sense. What does not make sense is that there is a figure at the end of the bed, slumped over, asleep. It is Luo Binghe, and he is on his knees, bent forward, head resting on his arms. 

Shen Qingqiu feels a jolt of surprise. What is Binghe doing here? And why is he passed out in such an uncomfortable position? Shen Qingqiu shifts, putting his feet on the ground, and scoots over so that he can reach out to gently pat his disciple’s hair. Binghe looks so worn down—Qingqiu can tell that easily, up close.

“Luo Binghe?” He says, and Binghe stirs—slowly at first, and then he jolts upright. 

“Shizun!” He gasps, and the way he looks up at Shen Qingqiu—

It is enough to shatter and mend his heart, all at once, the softness and devotion and underlying layer of guilt there.

“This disciple has kept watch at Shizun’s bedside,” Binghe says, “to monitor Shizun’s condition, while he slept, because of the…” Binge swallows. “Shizun fell unconscious, from the poison, and Mu-shibo said that someone should always be at Shizun’s side to monitor his condition, so this disciple has done that. And—!” Binghe stops, and sits up very straight, and looks Shen Qingqiu in the face, firmly, even though his voice drops very soft—barely audible even by Shen Qingqiu’s enhanced cultivator hearing. “Mu-shibo, Liu-shibo, and Yue-shibo requested to be notified as soon as Shizun awoke, but once this disciple has brought them here—this disciple would very much like to speak to Shizun. In private, please?”

Shen Qingqiu has no idea what to make of any of this.

“This disciple can also prepare food for Shizun! So Shizun can eat while he waits!” Binghe proactively bounds to his feet, so full of energy.

“This master would appreciate that greatly,” Shen Qingqiu says, because he would have to be an absolute idiot to turn down the protagonist’s cooking! His legendary skill that won many a reluctant delicate rich lady into his harem! This might be a thoroughly confusing awakening, but the offer of food cooked by the protagonist’s golden hand is simply not something he could ever think to refuse.

Binghe bustles into the bamboo house’s main room, and Shen Qingqiu stands, and steps in after him, and finds Ming Fan there, waiting, with his arms crossed, looking deeply frustrated.

“Why do you dare to hover around Shizun? Doesn’t the sight of you make Shizun sick?“ Ming Fan demands. Aiyah, did he have to constantly dig his own grave deeper? Needling Luo Binghe at every opportunity? Truly ridiculous! And putting words in Shen Qingqiu’s mouth—!

Okay, maybe they were true for the original goods. But not for him!

“Shizun was injured for this disciple’s sake,” Binghe said, and though his eyes were averted down, there was a tightness in his shoulders—was he angry? “Therefore, it is this disciple’s responsibility to tend to Shizun.”

“You—“ Ming Fan starts.

“Ming Fan,” Shen Qingqiu says, before Ming Fan can pick up his shovel and start digging again, “this master understands that his martial brothers wished to be notified when he awoke. Perhaps you would be willing to do so?”

Binghe said he wanted to speak to Shen Qingqiu in private—who is he to deny such a request! And this way, they can get it done before Shen Qingqiu has to deal with his martial brothers, all of whom are likely to hover. Especially Yue Qingyuan, that poor man, with his unfortunate attachment to the original goods.

“Yes, Shizun,” Ming Fan says, and he bows, and then darts away, clearly frustrated. 

“Thanking Shizun,” Binghe says, softly, and then he, too, darts away, though it’s only to the kitchen. It isn’t long before he returns, with a steaming bowl of congee, and Shen Qingqiu’s heart jumps. Such simple fare! But so special, for being made by the protagonist! Binghe sets it down in front of him, and looks so adorably hopeful—! 

Shen Qingqiu takes a bite, and for a moment, he thinks that Without-A-Cure must actually have killed him, and this must be Heaven, for only among gods could one find such perfect cuisine.

“Is it to Shizun’s liking?” Binghe asks.

“Yes,” Shen Qingqiu says, as if there was ever a chance of any other answer, and Binghe’s face lights up. “It very much is.”

“Then this disciple will gladly make it for Shizun every day, with variations, if Shizun wishes.”

Shen Qingqiu is struck, right through the heart. That—that’s Luo Binghe’s perfect seduction line! A promise to ply a beautiful girl with lovingly homemade food, every day, with variations—ah! 

To deploy it on an old man like him, really, Binghe! Get more restraint! Save the big guns for someone like Liu Mingyan!

“Shizun would like that very much,” he says, because he’s not a complete idiot and he’s not going to turn down delicious food from Luo Binghe’s hand.

He takes a while to eat, enjoying the flavors of Binghe’s cooking, but there is still one sort of elephant in the room.

“You said you wished to speak privately to this master,” Shen Qingqiu says. “What about?”

He assumes it must be the Without-A-Cure poisoning. He wonders if anyone knows that there is a cure, but it is…insanely specific. It is, in fact, dual cultivation with the very person who sits in front of him, because the cure to three-fourths of all ailments in Proud Immortal Demon Way is Luo Binghe’s Heavenly Demon dick. The cure to the other one-fourth is his blood. 

Neither of those things are options, not when Binghe doesn’t even know his heritage, and not when—well! Sex with Binghe is all well and good for swooning maidens, but no matter how many snarky comment responses he recieved insinuating such, Shen Qingqiu does not want to sit on Binghe’s dick. Especially not fourteen-year-old Binghe’s dick. No way. Absolutely not. That is a one-way ticket to human stickdom, and vile besides.

Something funny happens, while Qingqiu is turning over possibilities. Binghe’s entire posture shifts, and he no longer looks the eager, innocent disciple. He stands up, moves to the door, slaps something on it—

A silencing talisman.

Shen Qingqiu had no idea Binghe knew how to make those.

“Proud Immortal Demon Way,” Binghe says, and his eyes are scrutinizing Shen Qingqiu for a reaction. 

Shen Qingqiu knows he gives one. He gapes. He never expected to hear those words out of Binghe’s mouth—is it possible that Binghe is also a transmigrator? What? How? If so, perhaps they can reach an accord, a mutual agreement of non-homicide—

“Qinghua was right. You do know it.” Binghe says it like pieces of a puzzle are coming together. Qingqiu feels more like they’re coming apart.

“Qinghua?” He wracks his brain. A minor villain in Proud Immortal Demon Way, the peak lord of An Ding, spy for Luo Binghe’s future right hand man, Mobei-Jun. Shen Qingqiu remembers that he was on Qiong Ding Peak the night of the fight against Sha Hualing, which was odd, because he definitely shouldn’t have been, but there wasn’t much time to pay that any mind then. Perhaps he should have paid it far, far more attention.

“I am not from the same world as you and he,'' Binghe says, “but I did—I do—the System. You have one, don’t you, Shizun?” 

Shen Qingqiu looks. There is no notification to guide him. Whatever is happening, it is happening to him without any input from the thing that has become the bane of his existence in this second life.

“I do,” Shen Qingqiu admits. “What…world are you from?”

“This one,” Binghe says. “But…the future. One future. I have always been Luo Binghe, I am just….getting the opportunity to repair my mistakes.”

Shen Qingqiu feels cold. It is a very good thing, he thinks, that Binghe knows he isn’t the original goods. Because, apparently, the sweet disciple he has been poisoned for…is in fact the Demon Emperor, master of a harem six hundred strong, feared monster across the three realms. And he wants to repair his mistakes. 

What mistakes?! Shen Qingqiu wonders. Not killing him earlier?

“I see,” he says, and he tenses, panicked. “Surely,” he says, “since you know that I am not the original Shen Qingqiu—sins of the past can be forgiven, yes?” 

What if Binghe doesn’t care? What if he decides that he hates the original goods enough that he’s willing to take revenge on whoever is in the body? 

Binghe looks….confused. 

“Shizun has made up for what the original Shen Qingqiu did, many times over—even the first time, how could this disciple ever have held a grudge past Shizun being poisoned for this disciple’s sake?” There’s a thread of desperation in his voice, and something in his eyes that takes Shen Qingqiu a moment to identify.

It’s pain. 

He supposes the original goods was probably familiar with this wounded look (and, he wonders, how could the original goods have continued being so cruel, faced with this reaction!) but he’s barely ever seen it himself. 

“This disciple…” Binghe’s voice gets very soft. “This disciple would never want to harm Shizun.” 

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t understand. How can a few kindnesses have been nearly enough to make up for the years of abuse Binghe endured at the original goods’s hands? How could some nice words and a few headpats and one dramatic self-sacrifice quell the rage that had led to turning Shen Qingqiu into a human stick?

Binghe’s head jerks towards the door, suddenly, and he frowns.

“Always interrupting,” he grumbles, bitterly, but he tugs down the silencing talisman, and then bows, stepping away from the door long enough for it to open and reveal Yue Qingyuan, Liu Qingge, and Mu Qingfang. 

Somewhere in the chaos of those three sweeping into the bamboo house, Binghe disappears.

Shen Qingqiu does not know what to make of anything that just happened, so he focuses on reassuring his martial brothers regarding his condition.

It makes more sense than trying to determine any of what just happened with Binghe, anyway.

---

Binghe knows that he has no proper excuse to be on An Ding Peak. He makes one up anyway, so that he can go to Qinghua’s office and pace back and forth, wringing his hands.

“Shizun was afraid of me, ” he says, behind the safety of a silencing talisman. 

“Well,” Qinghua points out, and he’s clearly trying to be as delicate as possible, but he pauses, and goes silent. Binghe whirls towards him. He is not consciously making himself look pathetic, but from the way Qinghua wilts, he must be doing it anyway.

“Hua-ge,” he whines, and that is on purpose. “What did you write? Who does he think I am?”

“Uh,” Qinghua says, and he looks distinctly guilty. “Well, the original goods’s fate was. Ah.” He scuffs his foot against the ground. Looks away. “Human stick.”

“What,” Binghe says, gaping. He’s not unfamiliar with the concept. Can’t even say he wouldn’t do it, since that would directly be a lie, since he. Well. Had done it, to the Old Palace Master. But to do it to his Shizun—

“Consider!!” Qinghua says, defensively, gesticulating like he does when he’s stressed and trying to take up as much space as possible, as if the only thing that might preserve his life in the face of someone else’s rage is for him to do so, “this was a version of Shen Qingqiu who never changed! Never had that qi deviation! Years and years of abuse, culminating in—”

“The Endless Abyss,” Binghe sighs. Yes, alright, he can see the pattern falling out, can imagine that particular web of circumstances leading to….a less than pleasant outcome, for Shen Qingqiu. But that is not his Shizun, and—

Suddenly, thinking about the Abyss, something clicks into place.

“SYSTEM,” Binghe roars in his own mind. 

[Yes, Protagonist?] The System is toneless as ever.

“In my first life, was Shizun also a transmigrator?” Binghe asks. He knows the answer. Has no doubt about it. 

[Users 001 and 002 have been consistent across both timelines!] The System chirps. 

So, yes, then. Binghe is now certain.

“The System,” Binghe says, aloud, to Qinghua, “made Shizun push me into the Abyss.”

“Aiyah,” Qinghua sighs. “Yes, probably. It already— oh, shut up, he knows!” Qinghua must be addressing his own System aloud, with no fear of Binghe’s presence. “It already wants me to start planning for the Immortal Alliance Conference. Which, let me be entirely clear—I have no intention of letting it be some kind of massacre!”

“It wasn’t too bad, in my timeline,” Binghe says. “Cang Qiong Mountain had injuries, but no deaths—well, except me, but.” Binghe shrugged.

“Reports of your demise were, obviously, greatly exaggerated.” Qinghua says dryly. Binghe snorts. Yes, that is an apt description.

“Anyway, do you think—how do I convince Shizun that I’m not going to…” He swallows. “Do that to him?” He can’t even make himself say it out loud. It was a fine punishment for the Old Palace Master, who had ruined his Shizun and poisoned his mother and sealed away his father under false pretenses. 

“I don’t know, Bing-di,” Qinghua admits, and he exhales. “Talk to him? I’ll make time to come by Qing Jing as soon as I can.” He looks despairingly at the mountain of paperwork around him. “...Which….may not be for a while.” Qinghua pauses. “Have you made contact with Meng Mo yet?”

“No,” Binghe admits. “But last time, he showed up the night after Shizun woke up.”

“Tonight, probably, then.” Qinghua nods. “That….should be interesting.”

“Entirely so,” Binghe acknowledges. He exhales, and stands up. “I shouldn't stay too long. Thank you, Hua-ge.”

“Any time, Bing-di,” Qinghua says, and before Binghe can duck out the door, he stands up and fluffs Binghe’s hair. Binghe groans, and Qinghua waves him out the door.

It’s nice, Binghe thinks. To have something like family.

---

Binghe conspicuously avoids him for the rest of the day. Shen Qingqiu is sure it’s happening; Binghe never seems to be where Qingqiu is, like he’s desperately avoiding following up on whatever the actual hell the conversation they had that morning was.

Shen Qingqiu isn’t sure how to feel about that. Is Luo Binghe plotting, planning? Trying to determine the best angle for his vengeance? Or was he sincere, when he said he would never want to hurt Shen Qingqiu? 

Nothing makes sense, and Shen Qingqiu knows that his other disciples notice, they’re just too afraid to say anything. He wants to sigh, but he can’t; still, he intends to fix this. He has no idea how long he is for this world, since apparently Luo Binghe has transmigrated back in time and he is probably carrying a very heavy grudge, but with what time he has, he can try to set a better foundation for all of Qing Jing’s disciples. It’s not their fault they’re shallow and messy—for one, “Great Master” Airplane had written them that way, and for another, their Peak Lord had, until a few scant months before, been an arrogant, scheming, perverse weasel! Things were bound to be messy under those circumstances!

So, with whatever time Binghe deigns to give him, Shen Qingqiu is going to be a better teacher, damn it. Before his health intervened, Shen Yuan had thought about perhaps becoming one someday, but when he was finally diagnosed…well. That stopped being relevant. His family had more than enough money to pay for his treatments, and there was no point in trying to overwork himself and make himself sicker.

In the end…all things repeat, don’t they? He gets to be a powerful cultivator, but gets poisoned in such a way that means that the chronic pain is back, that he is still weak. 

At least pain management in this world just means circulating his qi with Liu-shidi. That’s much easier than in his old world. No prescriptions to chase down, no doctors to argue with, no schedules of medication, no need to restrict his food or drink to avoid interactions.

He spends the day looking over his disciples, checking on their progress, conferring with the other teachers about how things proceeded while he was in seclusion. 

They seem confused. The original goods wasn’t exactly involved, not to the extent that Qingqiu is choosing to be. Certainly not in the way Qingqiu is choosing to be. But he will produce excellent cultivators well-practiced in the four arts, damn it. Shen Qingqiu has his teacher’s pride!

Finally, he settles in to sleep, and then he opens his eyes—

And he is surrounded by fog.

What the fuck?!

There is only one thing this can be. Shen Qingqiu is sure he knows this plotline, but it makes no sense. It should be Ning Yingying here, as the person that Binghe trusts most! Or perhaps Liu Mingyan, if the mind within his disciple is truly the older Binghe, the Demon Emperor, who would obviously be most attached to his number one wife. 

The point is, it should be a woman, and so all Shen Qingqiu can think is: why him?

“Shizun,” a low, rich voice says, from behind him, and Shen Qingqiu spins.

Oh.

It is definitely Binghe in front of him, but it is definitely not his delicate, teenaged disciple. It is also, he thinks, distinctly not the Demon Emperor of Proud Immortal Demon Way. For one, that Binghe usually wore his hair straightened; this one has the high ponytail, yes, with bangs framing his demon mark, but his hair is as fluffy as the Binghe of the waking world’s.

For another, no Proud Immortal Demon Way Luo Binghe would ever look at any Shen Qingqiu the way this one is. There is softness in his gaze, a warm fondness that Shen Qingqiu doesn’t think he has ever seen anyone turn on him, in this life or his first one.

“Binghe,” he says, and his voice is a little soft and wavering. Binghe sighs, and looks down at himself. 

“Ah,” he says, softly. “This is my dreamscape, so I suppose it’s only natural that I appear the way I think of myself.” He steps forward, and puts a hand under Shen Qingqiu’s chin, tilting it up so they’re looking into each other’s eyes.

Shen Qingqiu’s face gets hot. Anyone’s would, though, under such intense scrutiny from Luo Binghe!

“Hm. Too bad,” Binghe says, and he steps back. “I suppose I was hoping you might look like your real self. This disciple would have liked to see Shizun’s old face.”

“You wouldn’t,” Shen Qingqiu says, quickly, and he produces his fan from his sleeve to hide behind. “This master…was nothing special, in his last life.” 

And why would Binghe care?!

“Still,” Binghe says, and then he sighs. “We should find Meng Mo,” he says. “It would be useful, to have him again.”

“You seem…quite confident,” Shen Qingqiu says. Binghe shrugs. 

“This is not the first time this disciple has dealt with Meng Mo’s tricks.” He smiles, fondly, and it’s a strange expression on Binghe’s face. Almost wistful. “Shizun was with me last time, too.”

“Last time?” Shen Qingqiu prods, gently. 

“As this disciple told Shizun,” Binghe says, “this disciple is from the future. But not the one that you know.” He turns, and faces Shen Qingqiu, tugging on the sleeve of his robe. “Shizun…in your first life, you read Proud Immortal Demon Way, didn’t you?” 

His eyes are shining. He looks nervous. 

It’s honestly…cute.

“Yes,” Shen Qingqiu says. “How does Binghe know about that, though?”

“Shang Qinghua told me,” Binghe replied. “He explained…quite a lot.” Binghe exhales. “He wrote the story, so I suppose I’m lucky to have an ally like Hua-ge.”

“Wrote…the story,” Shen Qingqiu says, very slowly.

Shang Qinghua is “Great Master” Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky??????

This is not a revelation he has time to process. Not when Meng Mo might strike at any time.

“The world that I lived through—it is not the one from Hua-ge’s story,” Binghe says. “He thinks that it’s because of you—because you took over Shen Qingqiu, and were a much better Shizun to me than the original ever would have been.” Binghe’s eyes sparkle. “But…things went wrong. And the System gave me a chance to go back and do things over again, so that I might….repair the mistakes of the past. Make a better future. For myself, and for the people I care for.” Binghe’s voice is soft. So is his expression.

“How can this master help?” Shen Qingqiu asks. What else is he to do, in the face of this? He wanted to change things anyway, to avoid his own terrible fate! If Binghe is on his side, that will save him so much effort! He’s practically saved already!

“We can discuss that later, with Hua-ge,” Binghe says, “but I have some ideas. First, though…” He glances around them. “First, Meng Mo.”

“You aren’t afraid?” Shen Qingqiu asked, moving next to Binghe.

“Of course not,” Binghe says. “Shizun is here, and if Meng Mo intends to use my childhood against me….” He shakes his head. “No, I am not afraid.”

There is something distant in his eyes. As if he can think of worse horrors than his childhood. Binghe takes a step forward, and suddenly, the mist parts and the scene shifts, as if Meng Mo takes that lack of fear as a challenge.

Binghe freezes.

“No,” he says, softly. 

They are in a forest, and everything is on fire. Shen Qingqiu faces off against Luo Binghe—older than the one that the current Qingqiu knows, but younger than the one that stands beside him. Behind Binghe gapes an opening in the ground that seems to radiate demonic qi. 

Oh. Shen Qingqiu knows what he is looking at.

He watches as another version of himself swings Xiu Ya at Binghe. Watches as it sinks into Binghe’s chest, and the adult Binghe flinches as he stumbles backwards. 

Watches as Shen Qingqiu shoved him into the Endless Abyss.

“Binghe?” He asks, softly. Binghe is staring at the scene before him, and he shakes, and he does not look like the Demon Emperor. He looks afraid. And miserable. 

The scene shifts.

They are in a city. It is not one Shen Qingqiu recognizes, and they are looking down on it from a rooftop. 

Before them stands Luo Binghe, the older version, a mirror of the one standing next to him now. Across from him is Shen Qingqiu.

Luo Binghe is laughing, and demonic qi roils around him. Shen Qingqiu looks terrified. 

The Binghe next to him shrinks, and hugs himself.

“No,” he says, again. “Please, no.”

Whenever Binghe had been prepared for, it was not this. 

The memory of Shen Qingqiu walks forward, and pulls Binghe into his arms. 

There is a burst of power.

Binghe’s memory of Shen Qingqiu steps backwards, and smiles.

“Everything that happened in the past…I’ll repay it all to you today.”

Then, he falls off the roof.

“Shizun!” He’s not sure which Binghe screams. Maybe it’s both of them.

Shen Qingqiu realizes what he’s witnessing, and it shocks him. In this memory…Binghe’s Shizun had self-detonated in order to save him.

He turns to look at Binghe.

“I never wanted…” Binghe turns, and looks at Shen Qingqiu. “Please, Shizun, this disciple never wanted—even then, it seemed like Shizun suddenly hated this disciple, but I understand now, Shizun was afraid of what he thought was going to happen to him, and—”

So, these are…Binghe’s memories. This Binghe. The one that has come back to the past, and who experienced a very different world than the Proud Immortal Demon Way that Shen Qingqiu knows.

“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu reaches out towards him, and the scene shifts around them again.

For a long moment, it’s a whirl—a tornado of memories, and all of them center around Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu. Tender moments from Binghe’s disciplehood. Things, later—a kiss in a bamboo forest, a fight with Liu Qingge that Shen Qingqiu interrupts, a battle with a strange demon that clearly seems to involve Binghe protecting him, an exchange of kisses in a dark bedroom—

And Shen Qingqiu, suddenly, understands. 

It seems…that Binghe has not returned from any future. He has come from a very specific future. The future of a world that Shen Qingqiu— Shen Yuan —has altered. Altered extensively, even. 

Altered to the point that it is more than obvious that the story Shen Qingqiu thought he understood is not the one that will be playing out.

The scene stabilizes. 

This time, Shen Qingqiu has no idea where they are. It seems to be a cave, but he can’t be sure, and something seems to be off about it—ah.

It’s moving. 

“Why,” Binghe’s voice trembles. “Why, of all things, why this—“ Shen Qingqiu looks, when he hears a low growl. There, he sees Shen Qingqiu in Binghe’s arms, but Binghe looks…out of his mind. Shen Qingqiu kisses him, but it doesn’t seem to quell memory-Binghe’s fury.

“ No,” The real Binghe gasps, and he lurches forward. “No, I won’t watch Shizun die, not again, I can’t!” 

“Binghe!” Shen Qingqiu gasps, and he reaches out. He can see Binghe summoning qi to his hand, like he intends to lash out at the image of himself that is entwined with his memory of Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Qingqiu cannot think of another solution. He moves, puts himself in front of Binghe, and throws his arms around his shoulders. 

“Binghe, no,” he says, softly.

“I can’t—I came back to save Shizun, I can’t watch Shizun die all over again,” Binghe says, voice shaking.

“You will not,” Shen Qingqiu says. He squeezes Binghe’s shoulders, tightly. “Binghe. This is a dream—a trick created by Meng Mo. If you attack these visions—it’s the same as hurting yourself, and this master will not allow that. In any case, this master will not die. I promise. You’ve seen the way things will go, haven’t you? So we can work together. Fix things.”

“Shizun,” Binghe says, and his voice shudders.

And then, he bends, and kisses Shen Qingqiu full on the lips.

Shen Qingqiu freezes. His mind blanks. He cannot make himself pull thoughts together. For all that he has more than seen that in the world this Bignhe comes from, he and his Shen Qingqiu were entwined in a way that seems distinctly romantic, he had not quite managed to make the leap that Binghe might have those feelings for him. 

But, it seems, he does.

The dream world shatters around him, and he faints in Binghe’s arms.

Notes:

underage sex allusion: shen qingqiu ponders that cure for without-a-cure and very specifically rejects the possibility of sleeping with fourteen-year-old binghe.

Chapter 6: v. mobei-jun

Notes:

o7 now things are getting FUN,

Binghe would, under most circumstances, have been devastatingly annoyed at Meng Mo for interrupting his time with Shizun. However, in this case, Meng Mo has probably saved him from embarrassing himself further, considering that he—that he was stupid enough to kiss Shizun, this Shizun, a version of Shen Qingqiu that has not had all the experiences he shared with his Shen Qingqiu, and who probably hasn’t fully adjusted from thinking of him as a fourteen year old child.

Fuck. That is undoubtedly going to be a problem later. Binghe is going to have to make so many apologies. 

Moreover, though, he had hoped—well. He’d hoped for a fresh start. With a Shizun who hadn’t suffered, the way Binghe had made his own Shizun suffer. But now this version has seen all the horrible things he’d done, all the ways he hurt his Shizun, all the obsession, the possessiveness, the—well. The dream realm had certainly carved Binghe down to his core.

Shizun had comforted him here, certainly, but that had been in the moment. What would Shizun think, given time? Binghe didn’t want to guess.

“You’re quite the interesting case, aren’t you?” Meng Mo’s smoky voice purrs, and there’s a whirl of his smoke-and-shadow nonsense before he forms in front of Binghe. “Two lives’ worth of memories in that brain of yours.”

“It’s quite a long story,” Binghe says, dryly. “But it is good to see you face to face, Senior Meng.” 

“So you know who I am,” Meng Mo says. “This is quite an impressive dreamscape.”

“Thank you,” Binghe says. Then, he smiles. It’s his best, most charming smile, the one he mastered manipulating his way through Huan Hua Palace, the one he only deploys on people he wants something from. “It could be better, though, I am sure, with your aid.” 

“Is that so,” Meng Mo says. There’s a greediness in his tone, like he thinks he’s negotiating from a position of strength. Binghe will let him continue to think so.

“This one would be glad to learn from Senior Meng, particularly as this one has some…unique abilities that this one cannot yet access, but that Senior Meng might help with,” he says, still smiling. “Though he hopes Senior Meng understands that this one has no Shizun but Shen Qingqiu.”

Meng Mo looks perturbed, but Binghe knows he doesn’t have much choice. If he tries to seek another host, he will likely fade away without a body.

Perhaps one of the failures he needs to fix is failing to help Meng Mo. Though, he admits, he is fond of having his Portable Grandfather on call. 

Maybe he’ll talk to Hua-ge. The Sun-Moon Dew Mushroom is obviously not an option, since demonic qi would destroy the body, but maybe there’s some other ideas in that head of his. (Binghe understands now, why the Shang Qinghua he knew before always seemed to be at least two steps ahead of Mobei-Jun’s enemies.)

“You drive a hard bargain, kid,” Meng Mo says, finally. “But let’s see what this senior can do with you.”

---

Shen Qingqiu jolts awake in his bed, and gasps. 

He can still feel the tingle of Binghe’s lips on his. 

He reaches up, gently pressing the tips of his fingers to his lips, and his face goes red. Uncaring for anything like dignity, he rolls over, buries his face in a pillow, and screams.

It wasn’t that he was totally unfamiliar with the concept of romance! And this certainly wasn’t his first kiss, when one counted his previous life! He’s had a few sloppy, experimental kisses as a teenager, and one or two as an adult with nice girls his family members introduced him to. 

The thing is, Shen Qingqiu is forced to admit, none of those kisses were quite like the one he got from Binghe. None of them had made him freeze, made his whole body heat up, left him thinking about them after—even when the dream-within-a-dream Meng Mo dumped him in had been a nightmare of a dark cell, water dripping in the distance, and the sound of approaching footsteps. He knows what that nightmare was meant to be, but—! Hasn’t he already evaded that fate? 

Binghe doesn’t want to kill him, he wants to—!

Shen Qingqiu screams into his pillow again. 

While he is lamenting the position that he has been left in, there is a knock at his door, and he freezes momentarily. There is only one person it can be, and Shen Qingqiu is not sure he can face Binghe right now.

But, what is he going to do? Turn him away, after that agonizing series of emotional revelations? 

Binghe, Shen Qingqiu is sure, would definitely take that as a rejection, and that is the last thing Shen Qingqiu wants. While he…isn’t entirely sure how he feels about the entire prospect of being romantically entangled with Binghe, and he certainly isn’t going to do anything now, he doesn’t want to break the protagonist’s heart!

“Come in,” he says, and he gets out of bed and attempts to put himself in a more respectable state. It isn’t entirely possible, but he can straighten his robes and pat down his hair a bit. When he steps into the main room, Binghe is already there, and he’s fidgeting nervously.

“Is Shizun alright?” He asks. Under the nerves, Shen Qingqiu sees the same softness in his eyes that had been turned on him in the dream realm. It nearly turns his legs to jelly with the force of it. 

Who wouldn’t fold a little, under such intense adoration?!

“This master is fine,” he says, which is only a lie if you squint, obviously. He’s perfectly fine, really! Not at all having any form of crisis, sexuality or otherwise! 

“Good,” Binghe says, relieved, and his shoulders sag. Then, though, he sinks to his knees and kowtows. “This disciple is sorry, Shizun. What this disciple did, kissing Shizun in the dream realm—it was completely inappropriate, and Shizun may punish this disciple however Shizun wishes.”

“Ah,” Shen Qingqiu says, and his face goes very red, and he has to produce his fan to cover it—how was a man supposed to handle this sort of thing?? “Just…do not do it again? Particularly in the waking realm?”

“This disciple understands,” Binghe says, and there’s something slightly shaky in his tone. It makes Shen Qingqiu’s heart ache. “It would be troublesome for Shizun, if people thought Shizun was…involved, with a young disciple.”

To say the fucking least!

“This master is glad Binghe understands,” he says, instead of snapping like he wants to. He briefly fans himself, and then shakes his head. 

“Might this disciple prove the sincerity of his apology by making breakfast for Shizun?” Binghe asks, and he sits up, looking up at Shen Qingqiu with wide, hopeful eyes. Shen Qingqiu sighs internally, but externally he gives Binghe a nod.

“This master would like that very much,” he says. Binghe springs to his feet and turns to dart away. 

Shen Qingqiu frowns.

It hits him, uncomfortably, as Binghe goes to leave, that…he is going to curl up in a nice, warm, comfortable bed, but Binghe will be returning to a cold woodshed.

“Binghe,” he says, and his tone is careful, “this master thinks…that it would be an appropriate reward, for the disciple who won Cang Qiong Mountain so much face by defeating and boldly slaying a powerful demon, to be made Head Disciple. And, if Binghe would like, to move into the side room, here in the bamboo house.”

Shen Qingqiu is not prepared for the way Binghe’s eyes water, or for the way he flings himself forward to hug Shen Qingqiu around the waist.

“Shizun is the Shizun this Binghe knew before,” Binghe says, and Shen Qingqiu isn’t entirely sure what to make of that. Still, he reaches down to pat Bignhe’s head.

“This master would not leave Binghe to suffer in the woodshed,” he said, softly. Binghe nods, but Shen Qingqiu hears a brief sniffle.

It is so hard to connect this sweet white sheep to the handsome, imposing grown man that Shen Qingqiu had seen in Binghe’s dreamscape! And yet, they are in fact one and the same, and Shen Qingqiu wonders if the version of him that Binghe is familiar with had to deal with a sticky, weepy disciple. Who was hopelessly in love with him.

…That sounds nice, Shen Qingqiu has to admit.

Gently, he pats Binghe’s head. 

“Shizun is so kind to this disciple,” Binghe says, softly. 

“As Binghe deserves,” Shen Qingqiu says, almost without thinking. Binghe stills in his arms.

“Even though…Shizun surely knows that this disciple is…” Binghe swallows. “A demon.”

“Even so,” Shen Qingqiu says. “Binghe must understand—this master does not come from this world, and therefore does not share this world’s prejudices against demons.” He fluffed Binghe’s hair for good measure. “You will need to be careful of what you do with Meng Mo. Don’t prod too much at the seal on your demonic powers.”

“Of course, Shizun,” Binghe says. Shen Qingqiu sighs.

“Come and sleep,” he says. “We’ll move your things in the morning.”

---

Settling into living at the bamboo house has been…good. Binghe knows that this Shen Qingqiu does not know how much it matters to him, to be able to go home, but it does.

He will fight with every ounce of his being to preserve this. To preserve his ability to stay here, on Qing Jing, in the bamboo house, with his Shizun. 

It is not, he has come to realize, only Shen Qingqiu himself that he has come back to save. It is also the life they could have had, together—one that Binghe destroyed by making Cang Qiong Mountain Sect his enemy. Even if Shizun had survived Maigu Ridge, had chosen to stay with him…he would never have been allowed to set foot in Cang Qiong again.

But he is here, now. And they have important work to do.

It takes a few days, but eventually, Shang Qinghua does bustle down to Qing Jing. He knocks on the door of the bamboo house, and Binghe rises, and greets him.

“Hua-ge, come in,” he says, and he beckons. “This disciple has made tea and snacks.” Qinghua has an armful of scrolls, but he shifts his grip so that he can pat Binghe’s head.

“Always good to see you, Bing-di,” he says, and then he turns, and meets Shen Qingqiu’s eyes. 

“Hello, Great Master Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky,” Shizun says, voice dripping with vitriol.

Binghe’s eyebrows float up.

“Ah, Bing-di told you that, did he,” Qinghua says, and he looks uncomfortable.

Oh, this is going to be good.

“You,” Shen Qingqiu says, and he produces a fan, and jabs it at Qinghua’s chest. “ You. And your rotten book, you couldn’t close a plot hole if it begged you to! And naming a cureless poison Without-A-Cure, never mind that we both know perfectly well that there is one and exactly what it is, ” and that is interesting information that Binghe is going to follow up on, but for the moment, he is entranced by how radiant Shen Qingqiu looks in his fury, “which is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to your refusal to name things properly! Also, leave some dignity for mythical flowers! They aren’t just cabbages, to be found at any market, and surely there must be some that aren’t some form of ridiculous aphrodisiac, the number of those is just too much—”

Qinghua is silent. But Binghe watches as a smile slowly grows on his face.

“Peerless Cucumber!” He says, finally, interrupting Shizun’s rant. “Oh, I’d recognize those criticisms anywhere. Cucumber-bro, how are you, look at you, you are a very lucky man—and hey, aren’t you glad I didn’t listen to your comments?”

Binghe raises his eyebrows.

“Peerless….Cucumber,” he says, slowly. Shizun goes red to the tips of his ears.

“Oh, yes,” Qinghua grins. “I know who your Shizun used to be! Ah, my most dedicated fan, I think!”

“ Most dedicated fan?!” Shizun snaps, as if he is offended by the very concept.

“You were the only one who paid attention!!” Qinghua protests. “Ah, man, whenever I saw a comment from good old Peerless Cucumber, I knew I was in for it, but you were always so thoughtful, bro! You cared! About more than the papapa and the fight scenes! It was really refreshing, honestly!”

Shizun looks surprised.

“ Peerless Cucimber is an…interesting name,” Binghe says, slowly.

“It was not my name, ” Shen Qingqiu says. “Commentary was usually left using pseudonyms, and entendres were perfectly common.” He waves his fan at Qinghua. “His is a masturbation joke.”

“Bro,” Qinghua says. “Why you gotta sell me out like this.”

“I am not going to sit here and let Binghe think I’m some—some shameless pervert—!” Qingqiu stutters.

“This disciple would never think so,” Binghe says, as innocently as he can. Truth be told, he would sort of like it if Shizun were a shameless pervert.

“He got into so many fights in my comment section,” Qinghua says, looking directly at Binghe, clearly having chosen to ignore Qingqiu’s flushing and flailing, “defending you from anyone who had the slightest, mildest criticism. Honestly, it was impressive.”

“Shizun defended me?” Binghe makes his eyes get as wide and puppyish as possible, and turns them directly on Qingqiu. “Even before he knew me as a person?”

“Yes, well,” Qingqiu says, hiding his face behind his fan in the way he only does when he’s particularly embarrassed, and he reaches over to pat Binghe’s head, “other people were stupid.”

Qinghua looks smug.

“And…what was Shizun saying, that he and Hua-ge know a cure to Without-A-Cure?” He keeps his eyes puppyish and sad, and Qinghua and Qingqiu look at each other.

“It’s your worldbuilding,” Qingqiu says, finally. “ You tell him. Bro.”

“ Bro,” Qinghua whines, and then he sighs, and drops his scrolls next to the table and himself down to sit.

“Hua-ge?” Binghe asks, softly. 

“The cure is dual cultivation with a Heavenly Demon,” Qinghua sighs.

Binghe groans. Of course it is, because the cure to everything is dual cultivation. And of course that would explain why his Shizun never told him. Shizun was probably ashamed, and that wasn’t even accounting for how he had been terrified Binghe wanted to kill him, and then they had never really had a chance to properly speak about it, and…augh. 

“Which will not be happening,” Qingqiu says. “I will deal with Without-A-Cure. Qingfang prescribed herbs, and Qingge is insistent about checking my meridians.”

“This disciple could also handle cleaning Shizun’s meridians,” Binghe grumbles, jealously. He knows he probably sounds like a brat. He doesn’t care. Qingge took advantage of Shizun’s obliviousness to put hands on him, and Binghe does not know if he can endure it all over again until Shizun wears down and agrees to just…let Binghe fuck him. Surely it can’t be that bad of a prospect—

—He thinks of Shen Qingqiu, underneath him, a bloody mess, shivering and in pain, and.

Well.

Maybe it can be that bad of a prospect.

He stops letting himself think about it.

“What I actually came here to discuss,” Qinghua says, and he pats the pile of scrolls, “is that I’ll be meeting Mobei-Jun for my monthly report tomorrow. I think I’d like you both to be there.”

Binghe sits up. He and Mobei-Jun may not have been friends, per se, but Mobei had been a reliable ally to him, and it would be good to have him much earlier on.

“So you’re already spying for him,” Qingqiu says, and he clicks his tongue. 

“Of course,” Qinghua sighs. “I have been for years. And it’s kept him from killing me so far! Which is a streak that I would very much like to continue.”

Binghe nearly snorts out loud. The concept of Mobei-Jun doing serious harm to Qinghua is basically laughable.

“When should we be on An Ding?” Binghe asks.

“After dark,” Qinghua says. “You’ll have to sneak in. No one can see you.”

Qingqiu sighs.

“We’ll be there,” he says. Binghe nods.

Things are beginning to come together.

---

Sneaking to Qinghua’s residence after dark is easier said than done, but they manage it. So, when Mobei-Jun steps through a portal into the residence’s office, Bignhe and Qingqiu are also waiting for him.

“My king!” Qinghua greets, and he moves between Mobei-Jun and the other two people in the room—like he instinctively knows Mobei-Jun probably won’t kill him.

(Maybe, Binghe thinks, like he knows Mobei-jun won’t kill him yet. It would make sense, if the first iteration of Shang Qinghua were doomed to die at the hands of the demon he had spied for. It would also be painfully ironic, considering that Binghe knows that in a few years’ time, Mobei-Jun will be willing to move Heaven and Earth to protect Qinghua.)

“Who are these others, Qinghua,” Mobei-Jun demands. He looks mistrustful, in a way that is practically the edge of panic for someone as normally composed as him. Binghe remembers a painful, very drunken evening of opening up about past pains, when he had asked Mobei-Jun why he attacked the Immortal Alliance Conference personally.

He remembers the story Mobei-Jun told, of being ambushed by Huan Hua Palace and dragged to the Water Prison. Tortured. How he had waited years for his chance at vengeance. How it added to Binghe’s conviction that Huan Hua ought to be reduced to ash, and the Water Prison collapsed on itself.

“My fellow Peak Lord, Shen Qingqiu of Qing Jing, and his Head Disciple, Luo Binghe.” Qinghua looks nervous. “They are no threat to you, my king! This one swears, he would never put you in a position that might endanger you!”

“This Luo Binghe,” Binghe says, and he moves around Hua-ge and Shizun, to face Mobei-jun head-on, because showing any fear will get him nowhere, “has recently learned that he is the son of Tianlang-jun and the human cultivator Su Xiyan.”

Mobei-Jun’s eyes widen, a fraction. Then, they narrow, and he examines Binghe. 

“And?” He asks, imperiously. 

“While this one’s powers are currently sealed, and this one intends to keep them that way until this one is certain he will be able to stand before all that oppose him, this one wishes to request Mobei-Jun’s aid.” He took a breath. “This one learned of his heritage in a dream. A prophetic nightmare, of sorts. Showing a possible future that this disciple would very much like to avert—but this disciple will need Mobei-Jun’s help.”

Mobei-Jun’s eyes narrow.

“Mobei-Jun,” Binghe says. “You wish for revenge on Huan Hua Palace, do you not?” That takes him by surprise.

“How do you know this.” 

Mobei-Jun had said that he hadn’t even spoken about what he had endured with Qinghua. He’d only trusted Binghe with it, given Binghe’s grudge against Huan Hua and its vile Old Palace Master.

“As this one said,” he replied, “I was shown many things. And…this one has his own reasons for wishing to see Huan Hua uprooted.” 

“You speak boldly, in front of other cultivators, to talk of destroying a fellow sect.” Mobei-Jun is still guarded, but Binghe can tell he is interested.

He tears open a portal.

“Fight me. We cannot do it here, but if this king is to aid you, this king will see proof of your powers first.” 

“Wait—” Shizun starts, surging forward. 

“Qinghua and Peak Lord Shen may witness,” Mobei-Jun says. He moves to step through the portal, and Binghe follows. He doesn’t have to look back to know that Shizun and Hua-ge are coming, too.

It is night in the Demon Realm, as well, and at this hour, there are few in the combat hall that Mobei-Jun takes them to. Binghe remembers that this space is used for ritual duels, and also for general sparring practice between the soldiers in Mobei-Jun’s army. 

“Qinghua and Peak Lord Shen will not interfere,” Mobei-Jun says.

“My disciple has no sword,” Shen Qingqiu says, and then, to Binghe’s surprise, he draws Xiu Ya and…just…hands it to him.

His spiritual weapon. Xiu Ya. Binghe can feel it singing with Shizun’s spiritual energy. It is warm, and he feels his own qi meeting its note.

Mobei-Jun makes a short noise of assent. 

Then, without hesitation, he attacks.

The good news is, Binghe is eminently familiar with Mobei-Jun and his tactics. They had fought side by side for years, in his previous life, and this Mobei-Jun is not so different than the one he knew. Binghe falls into fighting like this is any of the dozens—hundreds—of times he and Mobei-Jun had sparred before, though this time, he has Xiu Ya instead of Xin Mo.

It feels better. He likes the heft of Xiu Ya in his hands. Likes how it feels to fight with a proper spiritual weapon that works with him, instead of fighting him the way Xin Mo often did. Binghe thinks that he will be much more careful with Zheng Yang in this life, when he gets it—it would be much better to keep that sword.

He watches Mobei-Jun for a tell, an opening—and finally, he finds it. Dives under an ice spike, twists, and comes up, slamming a blast of spiritual energy into Mobei-Jun’s chest that knocks him off balance. He follows it up by bringing Xiu Ya around and pressing it to Mobei-Jun’s throat.

Mobei-Jun’s eyes widen, barely perceptibly.

“....Impressive,” he says, after a moment. “Fine. This king will teach you.”

Binghe grins, slinging Xiu Ya over his shoulders.

“This one will be glad to learn.”

Notes:

we're probably approaching a timeskip, and then it'll be face-first into the immortal alliance conference, which i am VERY excited about >:3c so, like, buckle your seatbelts, it's about to get FUN.

Chapter 7: vi. immortal

Notes:

flkfmasdlf i am so sorry for missing last week's update, this chapter has been giving me FITS and i finally just gave up and strangled it into the shape it is now. also, we have a chapter count now! two more, i think, though i could end up being wrong, and then it'll be time to move to part 2!! o/

In training with Mobei-Jun and Meng Mo, Binghe feels his cultivation improving by leaps and bounds. His abilities may still be sealed, but the longer things go on, the more confident he becomes that he will absolutely be able to wield them when they are released.

Moreover, he thinks…he thinks he may not need Xin Mo. That is, of course, his goal—to be powerful enough to avoid that bastard of a sword—but he will admit, it felt distant and unattainable at first. But not anymore.

He had relied on Xin Mo in his last life, a powerful crutch that, honestly, he was beginning to think had actually stunted his natural growth. How much of his spiritual energy had constantly been tied up in bullying Xin Mo into fucking behaving? What could he have done, without it driving him to constant distraction? 

Perhaps he will get the chance to find out.

And, with Meng Mo helping him construct ever more complex dreamscapes, Binghe finds that it is all too easy to draw Shizun into elaborate scenarios designed to give them the private time in their dreams that they cannot have in the waking world. 

He is courteous, of course. This is a long game to seduce Shizun into his arms, and Binghe knows that he will have to take his time. Shen Qingqiu, Binghe has realized, is very unaware of his own feelings—and of others’ feelings towards him. He clearly knows Binghe is romantically interested in him, but that’s only because Binghe literally kissed him, and he seems to have contentedly filed that away as Something To Be Dealt With Later, because in their dreams, he doesn’t protest any of Bignhe’s gentle touches or any of the closeness he seeks.

He really is very respectful!! What he wants to do is kiss Shen Qingqiu until he’s breathless and then beg him to let Binghe fuck him, and he most assuredly does not do that. Instead, he makes them food, combs Shizun’s hair, tends to his clothes, idles and listens to him play guqin. All things he does during the day, as Shizun’s head disciple, but there is a different current to them in dreams, not least because he’s in his adult body. And if the robes he fashions in his mind are a little tight fitting, if they highlight his broad shoulders and muscular chest, well, Shizun stares at those a lot, so how can Binghe be blamed for showing him what he clearly wants to see?

Every once in a while, there is a fizzle of something between them in these lovely dreamscapes. Shen Qingqiu lingers in his arms longer than necessary after Binghe helps him tie off his robes. Their hands brush, and stay touching for longer than they need to. Shen Qingqiu’s eyes linger on his lips, or his shoulders, or his chest, or his hands—and Binghe aches, so thoroughly, to touch. 

But he is patient.

Three years practically fly by. There is so much to do—training with Mobei-Jun and beginning to subtly get his claws into power in the demon realm, which has included quite a bit of negotiating with Sha Hualing. Monitoring Qinghua’s spy network, and watching for nonsense from other demons. Training with Shizun, night hunts, making time for his martial siblings.

Amusingly, he had finally lost his temper with Ming Fan, demanding that he knock off treating Binghe as romantic competition for Ning Yingying and do something about his feelings, because Binghe is not interested. He’d even declared that if Ming Fan did not get over his nonsense, Binghe would tell Yingying himself. Ming Fan looked shocked, but the next day, the two of them were sitting close together and holding hands at the midday meal, so Binghe thinks his somewhat mulish strategy was, ultimately, successful. And they are cute.

Which is a relief from the other not-his-own developing romance that Binghe finds himself at the center of. 

There is no escaping it: Mobei-Jun and Hua-ge are obviously in love with each other, and also two of the most romantically stupid people Binghe has ever met. And he is acquainted with Shen Qingqiu, so that is saying a spectacular amount.

Things are a little better, of late, ever since Binghe had idly mentioned to Mobei-Jun during one of their practice sessions that humans consider it a sign of unacceptable weakness to do violence to an intended partner. That had at least cleared up the hitting portion of the Problems Between Mobei-Jun and Hua-Ge. 

Couldn’t solve that the two of them were, for their own reasons, both far too reluctant to have a conversation about feelings. But there was time for that.

His work as Head Disciple of Qing Jing has been…fulfilling. Positive. It gave him chances to go out and connect with the rest of the cultivation world, Shizun at his side, and he has found himself making actual friends outside the sect. Gongyi Xiao, for instance, is infinitely more tolerable when he isn’t trying to protect Shizun from Binghe. Outside that context, Binghe finds him approachable, friendly, upright, and honorable, which is good. 

Binghe knows he will need these friendships later. Especially because he intends, one day, to unearth and expose all of Huan Hua Palace’s crimes as publicly as possible, and having someone on the inside that he knows he can trust will be invaluable. Qin Wanyue and Qin Wanrong will also serve for that; the twins are sweet, and Binghe likes spending time around them.

Another change from his first life—Shizun no longer pesters him about girls. He understands why, now—apparently Shizun and Hua-ge expected him to grow into the master of a hundreds-strong harem, and Binghe had only been capable of sputtering in horror at the suggestion . But it is nice, to not have the object of his affections trying to push him at every woman he encounters.

Liu Qingge still comes to stabilize Shizun’s meridians, and Binghe still feels like he’s drunk an entire bottle of vinegar every time he sees them together, but it bites less, knowing that Shizun is slowly falling into his arms. And anyway, it manages Without-A-Cure, which is for the best, because Shizun continues to reject even the possibility of a perfectly clinical round of dual cultivation to clear out the poison. His argument that it would raise more questions than it answers is fair, but every time the poison acts up, Binghe feels more frustrated. 

Eventually. He will cure Shizun eventually. Even if that “eventually” feels quite far off indeed.

But time marches. The lazy, peaceful days in the bamboo cottage cannot go on forever. Finally, the date looms.

The Immortal Alliance Conference has arrived.

---

“I could not go,” Binghe proposes, idly. He glances out the window of the bamboo cottage from his position standing next to Shizun’s desk. It is a beautiful day outside, and after they are done sorting things out, he thinks he might like to see if Shizun will join him in the garden for guqin practice.

“Impossible,” Shen Qingqiu says. Binghe heaves a sigh. He knows it’s true, but still. “If the head disciple of Qing Jing doesn’t even compete, we lose face, and people will want to know why.” Shen Qingqiu sighs, resting his cheek against hisfist. “People already think I coddle you too much. Holding you back from the Conference will just start more tongues wagging.”

“Let them wag,” Binghe says. They’ll wag faster in a few years, when he makes Shen Qingqiu his husband before the entire cultivation world. 

“If you refuse to go,” Shen Qingqiu says, softly, “the penalties will likely be steep. For all of us.” He sighs. “We’re prepared. Qinghua and Mobei-Jun are ready. It will go well.”

Their plan is quite straightforward, all things considered—there will be demonic beasts loosed on the conference, but only a select few, ready to dramatically tear things up. It will be bad, and messy, but Mobei-Jun will be instructing his underlings to limit casualties. Hopefully there will be few dead young cultivators. Hopefully most of the friends Binghe has made over the years will escape.

Mobei-Jun himself will handle breaking the seal on Binghe’s demonic powers. They’ll have their dramatic little confrontation in front of witnesses, and Mobei-Jun will “kidnap” a struggling Binghe away. It will all be very theatrical, and Binghe won’t even have to be parted from Shen Qingqiu for long, since Mobei-Jun will be able to shadow teleport his Shizun to visit in the time between his “disappearance” and his re-emergence in the greater cultivation world, where he will arrive as the Demon Emperor come to bargain.

It’s a good plan, really it is. Binghe likes it a lot. He would just rather not have to do it.

[Protagonist must complete—]

“I know,” he snaps internally. He had to complete the damn quest, one way or another. They have found an easy way, he hopes. A way that won’t cause him to lose his home on Qing Jing forever.

It will work. It has to work.

---

The trip to the Conference is long and tedious, and Binghe itches the entire time. Really, everyone attending can fly on their swords, and it seems unnecessary to go by horse and carriage.

“Traveling by sword would attract lots of unnecessary attention!” Qinghua argues, which, as far as defenses of his artistic choices go, is at least better than “ dollars for papapa,” which Binghe and Shen Qingqiu have both heard far, far more often than either of them would like. “Imagine: a whole field of hundreds of cultivators, flying through the sky—terrifying for the townsfolk!”

“It happens once every four years,” Shen Qingqiu pointed out dryly. “The townspeople could easily be used to it. Expect it, even. Like the Olympics!”

Binghe gathers that’s some reference to their home world that he just isn’t familiar with. He has also gotten used to those, and to reading and writing and speaking the strange language they refer to as “English”—or sometimes “Chinglish,” when it’s blended with a Chinese language that isn’t entirely familiar to Binghe, but is at least closer to home than the very strange script of the English language. Which, at least, is mostly straightforward, only twenty-six characters to arrange into words. But knowing these things is useful; they essentially have an uncrackable code, better even than all the mechanical cryptographic techniques Qinghua fiddles with. 

“I made my choice,” Qinghua says, haughtily, the way he gets when he knows he has no other defenses for his terrible artistic decisions, “and we are all living with it. Anyway, aren’t the carriage rides nice? You can play go with Qingqi!”

“Not all of us get to ride in carriages,” Binghe points out, flatly. 

“It builds character,” Qinghua says. Binghe rolls his eyes. “Besides, you can take the time to chat with some of your fellow disciples, mostly unobserved.”

This, at least, is true, and Binghe is mostly mollified. Last time, he spent the trip stewing in jealousy because he thought Shizun had his eyes on Liu Mingyan—now he knows that it was actually Shizun hoping to see a blossoming romance, which is so utterly ridiculous to think about that Binghe wants to laugh. Liu Mingyan, he has learned, is almost exclusively interested in women, and from the way she talks about her fights with Sha Hualing—more frequent than either seems to be happy about, except for the ways that they are—Binghe’s demon associate’s (he will not go so far as to call Sha Hualing a friend, when she mostly only seems to tolerate him because he demonstrated his unhesitating willingness to, as Qinghua once put it, “end someone with extreme prejudice,” if pushed) very strange slap-slap-kiss affection may well be reciprocated. 

Hopefully they get past the slap-slap and to the kiss sooner rather than later.

In any case, Binghe does use the ride to spend some time chatting with Liu Mingyan, who is all too happy to regale him with stories of her brother’s latest nonsense (frustrating, because the less Binghe thinks about Liu Qingge the happier he is, but Qingge is her only family and she adores him), her latest literary endeavors (gratuitously entertaining, and he’s sometimes tempted to feed her anonymized stories of Qinghua and Mobei-Jun just to see what she would make of them), and the general gossip around the sect ( extremely useful, and Liu Mingyan has an ear for exactly what’s most important). 

In that way, the trip passes pleasantly enough, and they arrive at the accommodations set up for visiting cultivators not long before nightfall. 

Binghe spends a sichen checking his supplies, ensuring that the qiankun pouches that Shizun and Qinghua prepared for him before they left are set. An extra precaution, in case something goes wrong, and one that Binghe knows is necessary. But the entire time, he feels on edge. 

Everything they have spent three years preparing for—it will make or break tomorrow. 

There is something else, Binghe thinks, that he would like to make or break.

So he waits until he hears no more sounds outside his tent, slips out, and finds Shizun’s.

When he ducks through the flap, Shizun is engaged with writing—letters, maybe, or notes for the bestiary and herbalist’s guides that he and Qinghua are working on together, Binghe can’t tell. Besides, as soon as Binghe steps in, he jerks his head up, looking startled, but his expression softens quickly when he sees who it is.

“You should be careful, Binghe,” he scolds, though there’s no real heat in it. “Sneaking into your master’s tent at night—people might get ideas.”

“Let them,” Binghe says, more heatedly than he meant to. “Shizun, I—“

He pauses. Swallows.

“Shizun,” he starts, again, and he knows his voice is more than a little trembly. This is not easy. This is, in fact, much bolder than he means to be. But everything could go thoroughly wrong tomorrow—and even if it doesn’t, Binghe does not want to go into the most important event of his second life (so far) with the question hanging between them. Again.

If things go wrong, Shen Qingqiu might find a way to blame himself. And Binghe needs him to know—to understand—that there is no universe in which this Binghe could blame this Shen Qingqiu for his suffering.

Even before he knew of the System, he’d tied himself in knots to try to excuse Shizun for the events at the Conference. He’d blamed Mobei-Jun, blamed the other sects, blamed everyone he could, except for Shizun. And now he knows that, in the end, Shizun was never to blame. The System had demanded it. Had almost certainly threatened his life if he resisted. And, truly, Binghe would rather walk through the Abyss all over again—walk through it a hundred, a thousand times—if the alternative is losing Shen Qingqiu.

“Yes, Binghe?” Shen Qingqiu asks, gently.

“Shizun is surely aware,” Binghe says, softly, pulling himself together, “that this disciple has harbored romantic feelings for Shizun for quite some time.”

Shen Qingqiu freezes. It’s always like this, trying to directly confront him about things, and Binghe keeps pushing, because either he’ll get over it or Binghe will get rejected, and either of those options—

Well. Binghe would rather not get rejected. But this is and isn’t the same Shizun who said he loved Binghe, and if this Shen Qingqiu doesn’t want him that way, Binghe will….will do his best to respect that.

He doesn’t expect to be very good at respecting that, but he’ll do his best.

“I…am aware,” Shen Qingqiu says. It’s gratifying, in some ways, to be one of only two people Shizun drops formalities around. Because Binghe knows a truth about him that Liu Qingge and Yue Qingyuan never will.

He closes his eyes.

“We shouldn’t,” he says, softly.

We shouldn’t. Not no, not I don’t want to, not get out…

We shouldn’t.

“Shizun,” Binghe says, softly, and he moves into Shen Qingqiu’s space, “this disciple doesn’t understand. Does Shizun find this disciple displeasing somehow? Or has this disciple not done enough to show his devotion? If it’s this disciple’s age, surely Shizun recalls that in truth, this disciple is older than Shizun, even, regardless of this body, so—“

Binghe is rambling. He knows he’s rambling. But his mouth is charging ahead with only so much input from his brain, as he tries to squeeze out all the words he wants to say. And there are so many—there is so much he wants to make Shizun understand. 

Shen Qingqiu sighs. Stands up. And then, his hand cups the back of Binghe’s head and he pulls him in for a kiss.

Binghe’s brain short-circuits. 

He isn’t proud of that fact, that it takes him a moment to twist his hands in Shen Qingqiu’s robes and kiss back with eagerness and intensity, but it does. He can’t think, for the first few seconds after Shen Qingqiu’s lips touch his.

This is the first time, he’s fairly certain, that either version of his Shizun has initiated a kiss with him. The one on Maigu Ridge doesn’t count, for reasons Binghe thinks should be obvious. 

He lets his hand untwist from Shen Qingqiu’s robe as the kiss lingers, trailing down his side and gently gripping his hip. Shen Qingqiu makes a noise into Binghe’s mouth that is absolutely obscene, and Binghe groans in response.

“Shizun,” he gasps, when their lips part for a moment.

“Don’t…call me that, when you’re kissing me, groping me—it’s not appropriate!” Shen Qingqiu’s face is bright red. 

“What should I call Shizun instead, then?” Binghe asks, leaning in to steal another kiss and nibble on Shen Qingqiu’s lovely bottom lip a little.

“Shameless,” Shen Qingqiu hisses.

“Shizun kissed this disciple,” Binghe says, brightly, “which means, I think, that Shizun is just as shameless.”

It’s an irrefutable argument, Binghe thinks, and Shen Qingqiu responds by making a noise that’s somewhere between needy and frustrated and gently whapping his cheek.

“I said, don’t call me Shizun when we’re…when we’re like this,” he grumbles.

“Shizun did not tell this disciple what to call him instead,” Binghe teases. Shen Qingqiu’s cheeks color, but he looks thoughtful for a moment.

“…My name. Before. It was…it was Shen Yuan.”

Binghe’s entire internal world realigns. This…this is the most precious knowledge he has been given. His beloved’s name, his real name, the one he went by in his old world—it makes Binghe’s heart skip.

He leans in, kisses him again.

“A-Yuan,” he breathes against Shen Qingqiu’s— Shen Yuan’s —lips. He trails kisses down his cheek, his jaw, his neck, repeating “A-Yuan, A-Yuan, A-Yuan,” with every press of lips to skin. Shen Yuan makes little contented noises, and goes pliant in his arms.

“No one has called me that in years,” he sighs. “I like the way it sounds on Binghe’s lips.”

“Then this Binghe will call A-Yuan by that name whenever he can,” Binghe sighs against his shoulder. He nuzzles at Shen Yuan’s neck, taking in his scent—light, fresh, underlaid by the delicate lotus scent of his hair and skin oils. He wonders what Shen Yuan smelled like, before. What he looked like. He wonders so many things—wants to know Shen Yuan as he was and as he is.

His hand creeps around, moving from Shen Yuan’s hip to the tie of his robe, and Shen Yuan goes tense in his arms.

“Binghe, wait,” he says, hand moving to gently squeeze his shoulder. Binghe growls, and nips lightly at Shen Yuan’s neck. 

“A- Yuan, ” he whines, in the tone that he knows is precision targeted to get him what he wants. He swears, he actually feels Shen Yuan’s knees go weak when he does, and that makes him feel smug. 

Shen Yuan takes a steadying breath. 

“Binghe,” he says, softly, “we can’t. Not now. There are too many people, and…” His cheeks turn bright red, and Binghe feels another charge of intense smugness.

“Is A-Yuan worried he wouldn’t be able to control his voice?” Binghe asks. Shen Yuan’s cheeks get significantly redder. A correct assumption, then.

“A-after,” Shen Yuan stammers, and it really is a treasure, that Binghe gets to be witness to his immortal composure cracking. “Binghe,” he says, and then he cups Binghe’s face in both hands and makes Binghe look him in the eyes. “Return to me after the Conference, as its winner, and this master…I…” He swallows. “I will give you whatever you wish.”

The promise makes Binghe’s heart skip. He leans in and crashes their lips together again, pulling Shen Yuan tight against his chest. 

After the Conference. The Conference, which is tomorrow. The conference that Binghe was already sure he would win, but at which victory now feels far more imperative. 

‘Sorry, Gongyi Xiao,’ he thinks, briefly, ‘but I’m going to have to show you up quite badly tomorrow, it seems.’

Chapter 8: vii. alliance

Notes:

no comment on the chapter count except for "i was thinking about splitting the fic into two fics and decided not to." series stays for interquels and stuff like that though!

anyway, this chapter also fought me because it's quite pivotal, but uh. the ride has become wild. o7 have fun everyone.

The morning of the Immortal Alliance Conference dawns bright and beautiful. Binghe knows that he has a lightness in his step as he readies himself. Today, he will make a good showing at the Conference—he will show them all exactly how powerful he is, and how well his Shizun has taught him.

He makes sure he carefully packs everything he needs—qiankun pouches, signal talismans, and importantly, the single, special talisman he has that will allow him to call for Mobei-Jun when his time to step onto the stage of this little drama arrives. He adjusts Zheng Yang on his hip, and gently runs his fingers over the hilt of his old friend. 

He remembers the simmer of excitement, from the last time he prepared to do this. He had been so eager to prove himself—still is, if he’s honest. He may not need to prove himself to Shen Yuan, he has already earned Shizun’s affection and his wonderful, honest regard, but he needs to prove himself to the rest of the world. Show them all how strong he is, and that he is better than his nature, so that when he returns, a powerful Heavenly Demon, and claims Shen Yuan as his husband, none will oppose them. The Huan Hua Palace Master won’t dare to breathe a word attempting to slander him. Qiu Haitang…

Qiu Haitang is an idiot, and when Binghe thinks of her for too long, he feels the same upsurge of heartbreak and jealousy he’d felt when she called herself Shizun’s fiancée in Jin Lan City. 

He still hasn’t asked Qinghua about that. He knows he should. He knows it might matter. But he can’t make himself. He doesn’t want to know, if he’s honest. 

The point is, he will put himself in a position that no one will dare challenge, and he will have friends and allies throughout his generation of disciples, and he will be able to protect Shizun, and protect the life they have begun to build on Qing Jing Peak.

And that starts today.

He steps out of his tent, and goes to the waiting area for disciples, and flashes Gongyi Xiao a quick grin when he sees him. Gongyi Xiao responds with a sharp nod and an acknowledging smile of his own. 

It’s nice to know it’ll actually be a competition. It really is too bad that he’ll have to humiliate his friend. But he suspects Gongyi Xiao will take it with grace.

He wonders, briefly, if Shizun will place the five-thousand-spirit-stone bet on him again. He never mentioned it; it seemed such a small detail in everything else, and anyway, if he said something, that was as good as asking, when the first time, the bet was placed purely on faith. He sort of hopes that this version of Shizun has as much faith in him as the last.

Then again, even if he doesn’t, he’s already made Binghe a promise that’s better than any wager he makes with the other masters.

Binghe just has to make him make good.

---

As the Conference progresses, Binghe feels more and more confident. Monsters fell before his blade, and each bead slid around his wrist feels like another step closer to getting to have what he’s been aching for, all these years. Two lifetimes’ worth of wanting, and it’ll all be resolved tonight.

The thought makes him tingle.

He has a few hangers-on, this time, and if he’s honest, he definitely purposely sought out the Qin twins to keep them close. In his last life, he hadn’t known Qin Wanyue before she lost her sister—but he knew her after, knew how diminished she seemed, how unmoored. And maybe it’s not all about fixing the big things. Maybe the little ones matter too, like the life of someone he’d barely given a second thought before. 

Even if Qin Wanrong is incredibly annoying. She absolutely will not stop chattering in his ear, and he’s pretty sure she’s trying to flirt with him. She wraps both of her arms around one of his, and Binghe has to force himself not to grimace as he extracts himself from her grip.

“Apologies,” he says, and means it not at all, when she looks upset, “but this one must keep both hands free. There are still many threats in these woods.”

“Hmph,” she says, and she storms off, which makes Binghe pause and pinch the bridge of his nose. Should he go after her? Probably. Does he want to go after her? Absolutely not. 

…Shizun would probably want him to. That’s the deciding factor, and he turns, unhappily, to go make sure she’s okay.

There’s a piercing scream, and that decides the whole matter for him much faster. Without a second thought, Binghe charges in the direction it came from, Zheng Yang out and ready. 

“Oh, what the fuck,” he says, softly, and he hopes no one else hears, because that is one of those very out-of-place phrases that he’s picked up from Shizun and Qinghua, but it’s also the only thing that can adequately express how he feels,when he catches up with Qin Wanrong and sees an absolutely massive Ash-Eating Tiger Cobra looming over her. It snarls, and prowls forward, fangs dripping venom that steams as it falls.

This creature—feline in shape, but with scale-stripes and a cobra’s flaring hood—is called “ash-eating,” Bignhe remembers, because its venom rapidly drains the water out of a victim’s body, leaving a husk behind that the creature then consumes. Unless, of course, one has Heavenly Demon blood. Or dual cultivates with a Heavenly Demon.

[Quest Initiated: The Endless Abyss and Endless Heartbreak: First Fall of the Demon Star!]

The System notification makes Binghe want to scream, but he turns away from it. Not now.

Binghe doesn’t hesitate. There’s a demonic technique Mobei-Jun has taught him—a significantly less powerful version of Mobei-Jun’s teleportation that lets him use qi to, of sorts, fold space between him and a target, and cross the distance instantly. It can only carry him to somewhere he sees, and without his demonic qi, it takes quite a lot of spiritual energy, but there isn’t time to be concerned about that.

He moves. Brings Zheng Yang down. Decapitates the beast, splattering himself in hot blood, and then grabs Qin Wanrong and hauls her away from its head, where the venom still drips. 

[Performed badass rescue! P-Points +200!]

“Stay back,” he orders the other disciples crowding around. “Its venom and saliva are still toxic, for as long as they remain steaming.”

“What is that?” Qin Wanyue asks, as Binghe hands her sister off to her. 

“Ash-Eating Tiger Cobra,” Binghe says, frowning. “My Shizun makes a study of rare demonic creatures, but this one is…particularly elusive,” he says.

Because it’s native to the Endless Abyss.

He hadn’t expected to see one again in this life, because he hadn’t expected to go back to the Endless Abyss. But here one is, lying on the ground before him, and it makes Binghe’s stomach lurch.

Mobei-Jun wouldn’t send in one of these. So why is it here?

Binghe had been prepared for all sorts of creatures native to the North, and even some that weren’t. This, though….this is wrong.

“This shouldn't be here,” Qin Wanyue says, and he watches her straighten up and steel her spine. “We need to call for help.”

“Agreed,” Binghe says. They need the masters in here anyway—and if it’s this bad for them, how bad must it be for less experienced groups?

He swallows, unhappily.

“Please keep your eyes open,” he says, “and look up. Many demonic beasts like to nest in trees, and may attempt to ambush from above.” Qin Wanyue nods, and pulls out her signal talisman. Binghe lets her light it, and sends off one of his. The ordinary one. The one that will call Mobei-Jun to his side remains carefully tucked away, in case things somehow, unaccountably, get worse.

Which, of course, they do. 

Someone screams. Binghe spins, and a whole string of swear words he’s learned from Shizun and Qinghua come to mind, but he very wisely does not say them out loud, no matter how much he wants to.

Ghost-Head Spiders are dropping out of the trees.

“Run!” He snaps, flinging a sword glare in front of him to clear them a path through the spiders. “And absolutely do not let them land on you!”

Easier said than done, he knows, but he might as well offer the warning. 

They run, him and this motley group of half-prepared disciples, who would have been fine if something wasn’t clearly going absurdly wrong. He can hear things moving in the woods—bigger, nastier things—and by the time his group stumbles into the clearing around the stream he remembers from his first life, the one with the Nu Yuan Chan, he can tell that a lot of them are getting tired.

The Ghost Head Spiders are closing in, and he can see movement in the water.

“Stay away from the stream,” he says, and he can feel his demonic qi practically rattling at the cage of its seal, wanting to burst forth, to protect— these are his people, now, and he will not let them die here. 

But they are cut off. Monsters behind and in front and around.

This is bad. This is very, very bad. There are a lot more Ghost Head Spiders this time, they’re backed up against the Nu Yuan Chan, and they don’t have time to wait and pray that Shizun finds them this time.

Binghe pulls out the second signal talisman. Lets it burn up.

Instantly, there is a rip in space and time, and before Mobei-Jun steps through, a wave of ice spikes shoots out around their little group, impaling the scrabbling spiders as they approach. Qin Wanrong gasps, and turns, and gasps again when Mobei-Jun steps through his portal.

Binghe wants to sigh, but contains the urge. Yes, Mobei-Jun is quite beautiful. It’s really quite unfortunate for Qin Wanrong that his type is mousy, thigh-hugging bureaucrats who promise him lifelong devotion. 

“Is that…a demon?” Qin Wanyue asks, clearly shocked.

“This king is Mobei-Jun, King of the Northern Desert of the Demon Realm,” he says, and his eyes flick over the group, lingering longest on Qin Wanyue and Qin Wanrong in their Huan Hua Palace golds. He looks deeply disappointed. Binghe supposes he can understand that; this is quite the motley crew, and two of them are disciples of his most hated sect. “Luo Binghe. This king did not release these monsters.”

“Thought not,” Binghe says, unhappily. “There was an Ash-Eating Tiger Cobra earlier.” 

“Troublesome,” Mobei-Jun says, which is a gratuitous understatement. His ears flick. “Peak Lord Shen and Peak Lord Shang are approaching.” He waves a hand, and freezes the river, which neatly deals with their waterborne demon problem. “Cross.” 

Binghe doesn’t hesitate. The other disciples do, looking between themselves.

“Do you want to be eaten by Ghost Head Spiders?” Binghe asks. “Because this one assures you: it is an incredibly unpleasant process, and you do not.”

That acts as enough of a motivating factor. Their little group crosses the river, and when they do, they are met on the other side by Shen Yuan and Shang Qinghua. 

Mobei-Jun is not subtle about moving directly to Qinghua to check him for injuries. Qinghua is equally unsubtle about the color of red he turns and the squawking he does. 

Shen Yuan looks over their assembled group, and frowns, bringing up his fan to hide it. 

“There is a clearing not far from here,” he says, “that contains a certain magical flower that may repel weaker demons. It will give us time to formulate an escape plan.” He looks over the group of disciples, at the Qin twins clinging to each other, at the various other exhausted disciples, and his expression tinges with deep concern. Shen Yuan really is a good man—Binghe is so lucky to have him. 

“Mobei-Jun,” Binghe says, “when we get there, can you portal the others out? Shizun, Shang-shidi, and I can stay behind, and look for anyone else who needs help.”

Mobei-Jun’s expression darkens. He clearly does not like the idea of leaving Shang Qinghua behind. Especially not to help a group of humans. But he glances over them again, and huffs. 

“This king will do it,” he says, “and then return to assist you.” Binghe nods. 

They fight their way through the forest, to the clearing that has haunted Binghe’s nightmares for years.

He does not like being back here. This feels wrong, and ominous, and he wants to run back into the woods. But this is the safest place for them to be, and he knows it. 

Mobei-Jun gathers the group of terrified disciples together, and opens a portal. 

“Go,” he says, and he herds them through, stepping after them. While he’s gone—though it’s not for long—Binghe stabs Zheng Yang into the ground and lets himself sag over. His eyes close, and he lets out a long breath.

He feels a gentle hand on his wrist, and spiritual energy flows into him. When he leans backward, an arm comes around his waist, and he ends up leaning back against Shizun’s chest.

One benefit of not having quite hit the peak of his growth: he tucks neatly under Shizun’s chin, and it’s very nice, to fit against him this way. 

“Well,” Shen Yuan says, lifting up Binghe’s wrist to look at the beads there, “I think you’ve more than won, Binghe.”

“Of course,” Binghe says, tiredly. He turns and nuzzles at Shizun’s shoulder, letting the warmth of Shizun’s spiritual energy fill his meridians and refresh him. “Shizun promised. This one would not allow any other outcome.”

Shen Yuan sputters, and Binghe doesn’t have to see his face to know that he’s bright red.

Ah, he loves this man so much. 

“Promised what?” Qinghua asks.

“None of your business,” Shen Yuan snaps. Qinghua laughs. 

Binghe takes a deep breath, and straightens back up, pulling Zheng Yang out of the ground and squaring his shoulders. A portal ripples to life, and Mobei-Jun steps through. His eyes seek out Qinghua, and the frown abates to his normal expression when he sees that Qinghua is still standing.

Binghe wonders if it’s a demon instinct, to so vigorously want to protect your beloved, or if it’s just that both of them have chosen remarkably fragile men who need quite a bit of protecting.

“System,” Binghe says, “what is happening. This is not how things were before.”

[Protagonist was warned that attempts to deviate too far could have unintended consequences.]

Ah, good. So the System is going to be monumentally unhelpful.

“We can’t stay here,” Shen Yuan is saying, fluttering his fan and glancing at the edge of the clearing. He must recognize this place, too, though he would only know it from stories, not from a visceral memory that Binghe has to keep forcing himself not to think about. 

Shen Yuan will not throw him into the Abyss. Shen Yuan does not want to throw him into the Abyss. He has spent years trying to help Binghe avert that very outcome. 

And yet.

The ground shudders.

And Binghe feels a spike of fear.

He staggers backwards, and feels Shen Yuan’s arm come around his waist, pulling him close. Realistically, he doesn’t need to be protected, but it does feel nice to have Shizun’s arm around him and Xiu Ya held between him and a threat.

Because there is a threat.

Frost creeps up the grass from the treeline. The little delicate flower that has kept minor demons at bay is frozen in place, and Luo Binge’s breath catches. Whoever this is, he doesn’t think he knows them, but a glance over at Mobei-Jun shows that he’s clenching his teeth, and he’s put himself between Shang Qinghua and whoever is stepping through the tree-line.

“Well, well, nephew.” The voice sounds mocking, dry. The person it is attached to is perhaps the smuggest demon that Binghe has ever seen, and that is a position with some extremely stiff competition. Most demons are some form of smug. This man radiates it, in the way that some of Luo Bignhe’s old courtiers absolutely oozed obeisance. “How pathetic, to see you aiding humans against your own kind.”

“ You, ” Mobei-Jun says, his voice dripping with contempt. “This king should have known. You cannot find your own glory, Uncle, and so you must instead usurp mine. As always.” The other demon laughs. 

“Mobei-Jun,” Binghe says, and he forces his voice not to shake, “who is this?”

“Ahhh,” the demon says, and he smiles, and it is incredibly unpleasant, “you must be the brat. The one my nephew has taken such an interest in.” Shen Yuan’s grip around Binghe’s waist tightens. The demon gives a very mocking bow. “My name is Linguang-Jun. Disappointed to learn my nephew has never spoken of me.”

“Because Linguang-Jun is not worth speaking of,” Mobei-Jun says, icily.

The ground shakes. There is a rush of heat.

The Endless Abyss has opened.

“Ah,” Linguang-Jun sighs, “it seems that our little chat is going to be cut short.” 

He waves a hand, and an ice spike shoots out of the ground, directly towards Binghe and Shen Yuan. 

There is only one option. 

Binghe grabs Shen Yuan’s arm and throws him as hard as he can, out of the way of the spike.

It goes through Binghe’s chest, and he chokes on an upswell of blood.

[Dramatic rescue! P-Points +200!] 

“ Binghe! ” Shen Yuan’s voice is anguished, and Binghe feels a moment of guilt.

“Let this disciple…protect Shizun, for once,” he gasps.

He can feel it. His demon qi roils inside him.

He snaps the ice spike, and throws it aside, and the seal on his demonic qi shatters. He knows that his demonic forehead mark has to be glowing, bright red, and he feels his qi whip his hair free of its ponytail. The injury heals, rapidly, Heavenly Demon blood coming alive to repair any damage.

[Heavenly Demon Blood Awakened! P-Points +1000! Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations! Important things must be said three times!]

Linguang-Jun looks shocked, but Mobei-Jun grins, feral and vicious. An ice sword forms in his hand.

“Junshang,” he says, and Binghe grins right back at him. He twirls Zheng Yang in one hand, and launches forward.

Linguang-Jun meets both their blades with a pair of ice swords of his own. 

This time, when it clashes with demonic qi, Zheng Yang holds. The exposure of years of training with Mobei-Jun have made it much stronger, and Binghe knows how to manipulate his own qi to keep his sword whole.

Linguang-Jun is strong, it’s true, but Binghe and Mobei-Jun are stronger, and they’ve been sparring partners for years. They have no trouble weaving in and out of each other’s attack patterns, constantly keeping up the pressure, and Linguang-Jun is constantly on the back foot. Shizun and Qinghua seem to have chosen to stay out of the way, which is good, because Binghe and Mobei-Jun more than have this handled.

They’re driving him towards the edge of the Abyss, and something in Binghe flares up smug about that. That he might get to throw someone else over that edge, someone who has threatened Shizun and harmed innocent people.

Linguang-Jun seems to realize he’s losing. 

Binghe recognizes the exact moment that he comes up with a different plan.

He makes a gesture, but no ice moves towards Binghe or Mobei-Jun.

Instead, there’s a very wet sound behind them, and then a hacking cough.

“Qinghua!” Shizun gasps, which makes Mobei-Jun turn. So does Binghe, which is stupid, he shouldn’t take his eyes off the enemy, but—

Horror roils in his chest. 

Shang Qinghua has been neatly impaled, and pinned to a tree.

There is so much blood.

Linguang-Jun makes another gesture, and the ice spike impaling him withdraws, and Qinghua collapses to the ground in a pool of red.

“QINGHUA!” The shout rips from Mobei-Jun’s chest, and Binghe doesn’t even blame him for teleporting to Qinghua’s side. If it were Shizun, Binghe would have done the same.

He turns back to Linguang-Jun with a feral snarl of rage, and launches at him, just as Xiu Ya comes flying in to join the fight. But he’s sloppy, and he knows it, and Linguang-Jun’s hand snaps out, wrapping around his throat. He squeezes, and Binghe chokes.

“You look so much like your father,” Linguang-Jun says, and he sighs. “But that fire in your eyes….that’s all your mother. I met her once, you know. Remarkable woman. Too bad she chose her lover so poorly.”

“Put him down,” Shen Yuan says, and Linguang-Jun laughs.

“As you wish, Peak Lord Shen,” he says.

He does not drop Binghe.

They are so close to the edge—

He throws.

And Binghe falls.

The last thing he hears is Linguang-Jun’s laughter, and Shen Yuan’s pained scream of his name.

Notes:

Come talk to me on twitter or tumblr!

Chapter 9: grief

Notes:

velociraptor screech, yeets chapter into the fic, runs away

Shang Qinghua is not moving.

This is an alarming development—Qinghua is always moving, always chattering. Even if it’s little things, fidgeting with his sleeves or chewing on the end of his brush or tapping his fingers while he works, there is an abundance of energy in him that Mobei-jun has always found exhausting and comforting in turn.

But now, he is still, except for the barest movement of his chest. There is that, at least.

Mobei-jun can hear the sounds of a fight behind him—Peak Lord Shen has undoubtedly moved to fight Linguang-jun, given what he just did—but it seems distant. As far as Mobei-jun is concerned, it might as well be taking place in a different realm entirely. 

His father had asked him to be indulgent of Linguang-jun. To always remember that he is family. Mobei-jun has, as a result, tolerated quite a lot of suffering, many attempts on his life, and more annoyance than any one man should have to put up with. But this. This is beyond the pale. This is not harm to Mobei-jun.

This is harm to Qinghua. To Mobei-jun’s intended.

Demonic qi—his variety, at least—will not heal a human. So the best Mobei-jun can do is pull off Qinghua’s robes, shred his own cloak, and create makeshift staunches and bandages to slow the bleeding. 

Mobei-jun has never felt so powerless in his life. 

He hears footsteps approaching, and pulls Qinghua tight against his chest. A black ice sword forms in his hand, and he stabs it into the ground in front of him, a clear threat display. He must look like a feral beast, he knows—snarling at whatever or whoever approaches, Qinghua held tight against him, ready to do whatever it takes to protect this fragile man from any further harm.

He should have been able to protect him from this. But he could not.

Linguang-jun is gone, he realizes. Of course he is. Whoever is coming is likely powerful enough to be a threat.

And oh, what a threat.

Mobei-jun is more familiar with the people of Cang Qiong Mountain than, he thinks, most people realize. He spends plenty of time hovering in the shadows there, usually just to keep an extra eye on Qinghua—once, he’d told himself it was entirely for practical reasons, but he’s spent enough time hovering in shadow and watching Qinghua teach his disciples or work in his garden to know that isn’t entirely true.

As a result, he recognizes the three Peak Lords that come into the clearing—Yue Qingyuan, the sect leader; Mu Qingfang, their healer; and Liu Qingge, the one they call the War God.

Qingge draws his sword, and Mobei-jun snarls.

“Liu-shidi, wait,” Shen Qingqiu says, and he positions himself between Mobei-jun and Liu Qingge. 

“Shen-shixiong, what are you doing, ” Liu Qingge demands, though he mostly sounds confused. “That’s a demon—“

“I am aware, ” Shen Qingqiu shoots back, “but he has helped us.”

“You…are the demon that helped those disciples evacuate,” Yue Qingyuan says, and his eyebrows knit together, and he frowns, like he’s not sure what to make of this. 

“Shang-shidi is hurt,” Qingqiu says, cutting in to state what must be blatantly obvious, but perhaps these idiot humans need their priorities properly redirected. “Badly.”

Shen Qingqiu is also bleeding, Mobei-jun notices, but he says nothing about his own injuries. 

Mu Qingfang starts to move towards them, but Mobei-jun growls. He glares, eyes sharp as the edge of his sword, up at Yue Qingyuan. He pulls Shang Qinghua closer, holding his unconscious form right against his chest, and refuses to break eye contact with the Cang Qiong Sect Leader.

“Mobei-jun,” Shen Qingqiu says, “you have to let Mu-shidi check Shang-shidi, he’s the finest healer in the human realm—“

“No one,” Mobei-jun says, and his voice cracks with the weight of guilt and fear , but he forces himself to stay steady, “will take him away from me.”

“We will not take him far,” Mu Qingfang says. “Mobei-jun can come with this one, while this one examines his shixiong?”

Mobei-jun does not break eye contact with Yue Qingyuan as he says, “swear to me. No harm will come to Shang Qinghua by your hands, or those of anyone from Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.”

Yue Qingyuan’s expression is unreadable. His eyes flick from Mobei-jun’s face, to Shang Qinghua’s unconscious form, to the way that Mobei-jun’s arm curls around his shoulders. Then, they move back to meet Mobei-jun’s again.

“....I swear,” Yue Qingyuan says, finally. Mobei-jun exhales, and loosens his grip on Shang Qinghua, just enough so that Mu Qingfang can carefully take Shang Qinghua from him. Then, he stands, and falls in next to Mu Qingfang’s side. He will not let Shang Qinghua out of his sight, not until he is tended to.

---

“You saved his life,” is Mu Qingfang’s first judgment, when he is able to properly examine Qinghua and begin the process of repairing his broken body. “He’d have bled out long before I could do anything, if not for those bandages.”

At least Mobei-jun has been able to do something. At least his presence there mattered enough to ensure Qinghua didn’t bleed out in the grass.

Mu Qingfang treats him with respect, the way he would anyone else. The way he does Shen Qingqiu’s gaggle of disciples, when they come to check on their Shizun, who was far more injured fighting Linguang-jun than he let on. 

Not that Shen Qingqiu saying much. Once they arrived at the healer’s tent, and Shen Qingqiu no longer needed to move, he collapsed in a chair and fell silent, and only moved again when Mu Qingfang directed him to sit on a table so his wounds could be checked. Otherwise, he has been entirely still and silent.

Which leaves Mobei-Jun with the unenviable task of informing Shen Qingqiu’s disciples of what happened to their Shizun and why their Luo-shidi is not present. 

He is not good at softening blows, and frankly, even if he were, he thinks that the circumstances would warrant him being less than gentle.

“Luo Binghe was thrown into the Endless Abyss. By the same demon who attacked Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu.” He knows his delivery is flat. He knows it does not match the rage simmering inside him. And it certainly is not comforting for a group of young humans to whom he is delivering deeply upsetting news.

Unfortunately for them, Mobei-jun does not, realistically, care. There are hysterics. Tears. Many questions thrown his way, though they are practically piled on top of each other, and he really does not wish to answer them. The only thing Mobei-jun cares about is that he can look over at Shang Qinghua’s bed and see his chest rising and falling. 

“You,” one girl, petite and delicate but with an expression that brooks absolutely no nonsense—Mobei-jun likes her immediately—says, after the initial pile of questions has stopped when it becomes clear that Mobei-jun will not answer them. Then, she stops, and seems to consider something. “Demon…Lord? Sir?”

“Mobei-jun,” he offers, “will do.”

“Mobei-jun,” she says, and she crosses her arms, “did you have anything to do with any of this?”

“Some,” Mobei-jun says, honestly. “Intended to target Huan Hua Palace. Owe their Palace Master repayment, for violence committed against this king.” That is….also mostly true. “But the majority of demonic forces were not mine.” He looks over at Shang Qinghua, and something inside him hurts, in a way he rarely feels.

“Hm,” the girl says, and she regards him suspiciously.

“Yingying,” Shen Qingqiu says, the first words he has spoken since they arrived at the tent, “please leave Mobei-jun alone.”

“Does Shizun know this…man?” The girl, Yingying, asks. Shen Qingqiu nods, tiredly, which makes Mu Qingfang frown.

“I will pretend I did not see that,” Mu Qingfang says, prudently. 

“Thank you, Mu-shidi,” Qingqiu says. 

There is a lifelessness in him, as if all of his energy has drained out. Mobei-jun understands. He feels a similar hollowness inside him. It is not the same, because Qinghua is still here, and still alive, even if he is barely clinging on. But Shen Qingqiu, too, has witnessed great harm come to the man he loves, right before his eyes, and he too was helpless to stop it. 

“Luo Binghe is strong,” Mobei-jun says. He isn’t sure why he’s bothering, except for the sense of shared loss he feels. “He will survive.”

Shen Qingqiu nods.

He does not look ready to believe it.

---

Binghe’s loss, Shen Qingqiu realizes, is a little like having a hole carved into his chest. Or, at least, what he imagines that must feel like. There is an empty place inside him, at the very core of his heart.

He should have known. It had been so foolishly optimistic, to think they could outsmart the System successfully. The System wanted its blackening arc, and Shen Qingqiu had thought—this Binghe already had his! He’s dangerous and clever and brilliant, already the seeds of the Demon Emperor have been planted—more than planted! Fertilized, watered—if anything, those seeds have blossomed into something….Shen Qingqiu doesn’t know. Something beautiful, in the way a storm is beautiful, in the way a tangle of roses and thorns is beautiful. 

Glorious. Dangerous. Incredible. Is it any wonder, then, that Shen Qingqiu is in love with this man?

He can admit it to himself—that what he feels is grief and loss and a broken heart. 

But it is not enough. Not for the System, which seems to demand their suffering. 

Binghe is gone.

---

One month after the Immortal Alliance Conference, Shen Qingqiu has not once left the bamboo house since he returned to it. Liu Qingge, tired of watching him mope and with few other ideas about how to fix it, bodily carries him to Qiong Ding Peak to attend a meal with Qingge and Yue Qingyuan.

The meal is silent. Shen Qingqiu picks at his food, eats little, and says nothing. 

He returns to the bamboo house after, and does not leave.

---

Three months after the Immortal Alliance Conference, Shen Qingqiu’s disciples finally coax him out of the bamboo house and back into teaching. He does not have the same excitement for it that he did before, but he tries. 

Slowly, a sense of almost-normalcy begins to return to Qing Jing Peak, as much as can be normal when the Peak Lord is captured by a grief so powerful that it seems to weigh him down. 

But life goes on.

---

Eight months after the Immortal Alliance Conference, Cang Qiong Mountain Sect might seem as if it were back to normal, if one does not look too closely. Shen Qingqiu joins his martial brothers on night hunts and expeditions. He teaches his students, practices his swordplay, banters with Shang Qinghua as best he can.

Shen Qingqiu feels as if he is slowly dragging himself through a fog so thick it clings to him, makes his footsteps heavy, anchors his body to the ground. 

But life goes on, and so must he.

---

A year and a half after the Immortal Alliance Conference, Mobei-jun stumbles, bloody and battered, into a Peak Lord meeting and collapses into a squawking, protesting Shang Qinghua’s arms.

---

In the depths of the Endless Abyss, Luo Binghe tosses aside a Black Moon Rhinoceros Python, its corpse hitting the ground with a heavy thud. 

It is his final obstacle. Xin Mo is close, he is sure of it, feels as if he can sense its tainted qi calling out to him.

He wanted to avoid this. Had hoped that he could avoid this, really. Xin Mo is poison, and the longer he spends free of it, the less he wants it back in his meridians and his mind. How much better might he have handled Shizun’s nonsense in his first life, if he had not had Xin Mo whispering in his ear? What might he have done, without that cursed sword?

But he needs it, to escape the Abyss, to return to Shen Yuan. 

Before him is a great cliff. 

At the top of it, he knows, waits Xin Mo. 

He climbs. And climbs. For hours and hours, perhaps for longer—Binghe does not care. Time is irrelevant. Physical effort is nothing. If he can reach the top, if he can claim the sword, he will be able to cut himself a portal back to Qing Jing, to the bamboo house, to return to Shen Yuan’s embrace. It will all be worth it—months and months of suffering, of fighting, of clawing his way through the Endless Abyss. 

He will be able to go home.

He hauls himself over the edge of the cliff.

Before him is a pedestal, where Xin Mo should rest.

The pedestal is empty.

Xin Mo is gone.

Notes:

anyway, WE'RE BACK BABY. i have some ideas rattling around for the next chapter and an overall plan for the story, this one was just really, really hard to squeeze out for some reason!

comments loved and appreciated, i hope you guys still want to read this after so long!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of the next right thing