Celestial Afterglow

by elanor_pam

Summary:

Shang Qinghua, also known as Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, stared flatly at what had once been a field boasting near sect-level Feng Shui alignment, and the drowned, bloated remains of the Sun and Moon Dew Flower cuttings that had sprouted within it. Their plan was now quite literally a wash.

If only he could consult Cucumber Bro on how to save Cucumber Bro! But in the absence of Cucumber Bro, he could but rely on the one plot coupon the infamous Peerless Cucumber had ever applauded.

Notes:

• Translation into Русский available: Ореол Небесного Экстаза by Nuoba

The river had flooded.

A dam had burst. Rocks had been dragged along by the current. The terrain had shifted. Trees had been uprooted. All of it caused by a freak storm, itself the result of a small demonic spat miles upriver.

Shang Qinghua, also known as Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, stared flatly at what had once been a field boasting near sect-level Feng Shui alignment, and the drowned, bloated remains of the Sun and Moon Dew Flower cuttings that had sprouted within it.

He would find the demons responsible and— and— set Cucumber Bro on them.

Goddammit, Cucumber Bro. Shang Qinghua sat on a slimy boulder, his head in his hands. How was he going to— his Bro was in the hands of fucking Huan Hua! Couldn't this have waited like a couple months to happen? Literally why.

Okay. Okay. This plan was bollixed, but if his world had anything, it was bullshit macguffins for ass-pulling rescues. The problem was remembering them after decades of old porn memories being displaced by budgetary tables and filing systems. Even the events he'd made a note to remember had been prioritized along different lines.

Cucumber Bro would probably remember. If only he could consult Cucumber Bro on how to save Cucumber Bro! In his absence, Shang Qinghua could only grip his head extra hard and ask himself: What Would Peerless Cucumber Do?

...post a scathing 5k-word long diatribe.

He'd probably find a way to do it from the afterlife, too. Honestly, even if Shang Qinghua managed to save his ass he'd probably flame him for not doing it in an appropriately subversive and revolutionary manner. Had that asshole ever praised any of his work in a way that wasn't witheringly backhanded?

And then Shang Qinghua, his mind drifting through memories of diatribes past, was struck by a bolt of inspiration. There was— yes, there was—

There was one, one Cucumber Review™ that had opened with: well played, airplane.

Shang Qinghua began to pace, his feet squelching into the mud, a very stupid, very risky plan congealing in his mind. Cucumber Bro couldn't complain!

He'd find a way, for sure, but this was the only plot coupon he'd ever straight-up applauded. That had to count for something.

Binghe cheerfully strode into Shang Qinghua's tiny, frozen Northern Palace quarters. Casually, through the door, like a normal person in an informal setting. He even had his Huan Hua robes on, heedless of the permanent chill.

Shang Qinghua had been ready for that, as much as he could have been ready for a one-on-one conversation with his murderous, overpowered creation. He'd been expecting said creation to slice his way in through Xin Mo as a power move, but whatever.

He was good.

He was prepped.

He was drunk hard enough that Luo Binghe's arrival only sobered him down to tipsy level. This was, despite all appearances, actually according to keikaku.

"What a surprise, Shishu!" Binghe said, cheerfully. "How unusual for you to take the initiative to call on this one!"

Shang Qinghua rose slowly to his feet, bowed in careful movements. "Junshang," he said, evenly.

Being half-wasted was very much a deliberate move. So were the jug and cup visible at his desk. For his crimes, Shang Qinghua was a morose, silent drunk, and he wanted as little babbling and flailing in this conversation as he could humanly afford.

The depressive downswing would be a bitch, but a better bitch than the usual anxiety. He knew he was hard to take seriously, and even counted on it, most of the time; the contrast right now was also a calculated move.

They called it gap moe for a reason.

Luo Binghe's eyes flickered to the alcohol and back to him with raised eyebrows.

"I only see one cup, Shishu," Binghe said, evenly.

"This swill is unworthy of your lips, Junshang," said Shang Qinghua, quietly.

"And yet you drink it."

"They call it Liquid Courage for a reason, Junshang."

Binghe looked slightly more surprised, and then his face smoothed into a porcelain-perfect smile.

"How surprising," he said, amiably, "that Shishu would require fortifying just to exchange words with this shizhi."

"This servant requires all the meager strength he can gather," Shang Qinghua said quietly, solemnly, "to speak of matters regarding Shen-shixiong."

He had Binghe's full, predatory attention.

"Does Junshang recall, in the early years of his discipleship," Shang Qinghua began, "the event of a qi-deviation that had Peak Lord Shen bedridden for several days?"

Silence. Loud, intense silence.

"Peak Lord Shen woke up a much changed man," he continued. "We investigated carefully, considered many fanciful theories. But the truth was simple. He recalled little of his past. Years of his life, washed away in a fever. We pretended not to know, and let him be. He seemed peaceful. Relieved."

He paused, pressed his lips together. Considered taking another shot of booze right before the roiling aura of the stone-still Binghe, then elected not to.

"This servant believes," he pushed on, "that Shen-shixiong is haunted by the accusations. In the absence of his own recollections, he can only turn to outside evidence. Whatever testimony Huan Hua presents he is sure to believe, and whatever judgment is laid on him, he will accept it. Junshang..."

Shang Qinghua swallowed dryly, to buy Binghe time just as much as his own self. Binghe was taking slow, deep breaths, his eyes unfocused, his face carefully blank.

"Junshang," he continued, determinedly, "what are your wishes for this trial?"

Binghe twitched in place, and then tensed dangerously. Qinghua watched it happen with distant, clinical interest.

Alcohol didn't make him less afraid, exactly. It was more like it made him care less about himself, his life and his future. His scurrying, electric self-loathing would slow to a mutinous crawl, less easily dismissed but also less disruptive. It granted him a sad, frigid sort of clarity, which he avoided for his safety and deployed very, very carefully; he couldn't trust it for analyzing himself, but in this one strategically arranged moment, he trusted it for analyzing Binghe.

See, Cucumber bro had been a good teacher. Shang Qinghua had been able to tell as much. He'd cherished Binghe, spoiled him, even. That kind of care didn't just vanish at the first betrayal, even one as dire as the System had imposed.

Shit got complicated, painful. Raw to the touch. But still there.

"I— do not wish for a trial," said Binghe, at last.

He'd thought as much.

"Shizun's past does not matter to me," Binghe continued, slowly rewrapping himself in cold authority. "There's only one question I wish to ask, and this farce of a trial cannot hope to answer it."

"Junshang does not trust Huan Hua's investigation," Shang Qinghua murmured.

"Not in the least," Binghe grumbled with great dignity.

"There is a flower," Shang Qinghua murmured, and Binghe immediately sharpened like an eager knife.

The setup went like this:

Wife What's-Her-Face was a branch member of a wealthy cultivation clan, unremarkable in all regards except, of course, for her beauty. The Elder of said clan was, of course, an asshole, and the arc's main villain; he'd deliberately spread rumors and slandered her reputation just to ensure she'd have no recourse and no allies once he'd had his way with her.

Bing-ge had fished her out of a river, too late for her purity, and her hesitant tale had left him incandescently wroth. He took her back to her clan, under the guise of a wandering cultivator, and was welcomed as her rescuer even as the Elder piled sordid implications upon the poor girl.

As a guest in the clan, Bing-ge deftly began to unravel the contradictory rumors, sowing confusion and dissent among its members, all the while solving problems, teaching techniques, and rising in esteem. The Elder, suddenly finding his subordinates both unruly and unusually perspicacious, decided to rid himself of what he assumed to be the source of the conflict by raising trumped up charges and maneuvering said Wife into a public hearing.

Instead of such paltry things as investigations or witnesses, though, he'd rigged the audience with a plot coupon.

"The Iridescent Pearl Lotus of the Celestial Pavilion," Shang Qinghua began, "is a Very Rare cultivation treasure."

"Very Rare?" Binghe scoffed, with good reason. There were Rare Treasures, Very Rare Treasures, Sacred Treasures, Sacred Rare Treasures, Sacred Very Rare Treasures, Heavenly Treasures, Heavenly Sacred Treasures, Heavenly Sacred Rare Treasures—

"Such Treasures are classified not only by their power and rarity," Shang Qinghua explained, "but also by demand. The Iridescent Pearl Lotus of the Celestial Pavilion is more rarely sought than it is found, its powers more feared than coveted."

Binghe leaned back, begrudgingly impressed.

"It can bestow immense spiritual power," he continued, "pure enough to lead a cultivator to the very edge of the Heavens. But only if they are worthy. And the specifics of this worthiness are a matter of ongoing debate."

"And the unworthy are...?" Binghe asked.

"Cleansed by the Lotus's purity," Shang Qinghua completed. "From inside out. Thoroughly. No survivors exist on record."

Binghe closed his eyes in thought.

Shang Qinghua left him to it. Well played, well played, he repeated in his mind, grasping that review like a safety blanket. It had to work. Binghe's fall had affected Cucumber so badly he'd readily embraced the notion of being killed and changing bodies, without ever once considering something like tossing Xiu Ya in a lake and raising goats and saying "Shen Who?" to anyone who asked. It had to work.

And so Shang Qinghua had to play Binghe, so Binghe could play Huan Hua. Obtaining the flower would be child's play for such a wealthy sect; there were more known flowers than people with the guts to consume them. But to play Binghe, he had to operate on a big, risky assumption.

The assumption that Binghe's question was less why was I pushed, and more was it right for me to be pushed.

A bad reason could be forgiven, a good reason could be resented. But if Binghe's doubt was over the concrete and not the abstract; over facts and not opinions...

Binghe opened his eyes.

"I have no desire to subject Shizun to the whims of such a fussy flower," he said, at last.

Subject, huh. A promising term.

"Junshang," Shang Qinghua said, his hand straying to the desk at his back, "this servant has evidence that the blood of a heavenly demon can withstand the purifying energies of the Lotus."

"Oh?" Binghe's eyes flashed with renewed attention.

"Surely," he fibbed, "Junshang's blood parasites could confirm the Lotus's judgment, and simultaneously ensure the appearance of whichever verdict he desires."

"That," Binghe smirked, "is much more acceptable. Where is this evidence?"

Shang Qinghua turned to his desk, reaching for a scroll, and immediately pitched sideways.

The chill in the room sharpened exponentially, only to retreat as Binghe caught him by the back of the robe.

"Ah— thank you, Junshang-shizhi," Shang Qinghua mumbled. He was still very drunk, it seemed. "It should be the— the scroll on the top."

Binghe lowered him to the floor with something adjacent to gentleness, then reached over him to the desk. Shang Qinghua heard papery sounds.

It was a very old account of some battle between cultivators and a heavenly demon emperor of ancient times. It was written by a demon historian and eyewitness to the occasion, which ironically made it a fairly unbiased account; demons didn't much care for propaganda, if the enemy was cool and badass then so much the better.

The account went as such: a cultivator, cornered and with his companions disabled, had been launched into a forest, spotted the flower, and immediately chomped it raw— an insanely badass move, the historian fanboyed frothingly. Then he'd jumped back into the fray in some sort of suicidal hail mary, hoping the purifying energies would weaken, if not destroy, the demon emperor along with him.

But the cultivator ascended instead, the spiritual energies emanating from him literally flash-frying the demon army in a wide radius...

...except for the demon emperor, who'd regenerated his burns faster than they'd appeared. Then he'd said "good fight, bro" to the newly ascended immortal and gone back home because he totally just wanted a cool fight and didn't care about losing his magnificent army he'd taken with him for a big-time invasion.

Maybe there was a bit of propaganda there, Shang Qinghua thought slowly as Binghe rerolled the scroll and stepped out of his darkening sight. But it didn't matter.

He wasn't counting on Binghe's regeneration either.

See, the thing was, Airplane had posted the cliffhanger with the Wife drinking the Lotus infusion, made quick notes— blood parasites to falsify results, undermine elder, tear him down, papapa to absorb her excess qi— gone to bed, then woken up bright and early for a dentist appointment.

His mom had agreed to come drive him home. His mom did not come to drive him home.

The dentist was a responsible guy and talked his poor drugged self into calling his mom, then wrested the phone from him to talk to her directly. Airplane had been too high to listen in, but the end result was that mom arranged for his landlady to fetch him from the dentist, and spontaneously offered to pay for the procedure despite having insisted she would not, repeatedly and with zero prompt, since he'd made this appointment weeks before.

The landlady drove his high ass back home, held him upwards through the elevator ride, then carted him right up to his door, even fishing into his pants for his keys. Then she stepped away for one second and he thought she was going to leave before he could thank her.

He turned around and then suddenly everything hurt like a bitch because he was on the floor with a root canal.

Next he knew he was on his bed, and the landlady was there along with the auntie next door, and they were feeding him lukewarm soup.

They had his prescription in hand, and fed him the appropriate pills; then they fed him other pills that they deemed were superior to whatever his dentist had prescribed. Then the auntie tried to give him hot tea while the landlady tried to feed him ice-cream, and then the auntie piled bedsheets on him while the landlady padded the sides of his head with ice packs.

Both sides. He'd only fucked up the one tooth, but okay.

Hours later he woke up, sodden from the melted packs and feverish sweat, chilled from the wind wafting through that one window he never opened but which was for some reason open. It was dark and he was in loads of pain; he stumbled around searching for where an auntie and/or a landlady would think to stash his meds, took them without reading the instructions, fished a half-empty can of Bootleg Monster from his fridge, and gingerly collapsed at his computer chair.

In thousands of chapters of absolutely mediocre pantsing, he'd never once— never once— missed an update. It was how his novel stayed relevant. It got him on the front page. It got him page views and subscribers. It got him rent money and food money. It helped him pay for a dentist appointment (as far as he was aware at the time). So he wasn't about to miss this one, oh no.

He opened the submission box and cast his mind back to the end of the previous chapter.

It came so clearly to his mind's eye.

This was how he wrote best: by picturing a scene, grasping it very firmly, and then casting his imagination back or forward, from how it came to be to what it led to. It didn't always work— sometimes what he came up with contradicted the loose collection of dumb wife plots he called his "canon", requiring herculean effort to railroad it into place, changing names, changing characters, changing the timeline, changing the ending, adding some lukewarm papapa and a feast to keep it on brand. Sometimes shit didn't make sense, and he had to contrive a context or introduce plot coupons to build a cohesive whole.

Sometimes he couldn't visualize anything at all and that was the worst. That was when writing felt like doing a root canal without anesthetics. That was when recycled wife plots or cringe-worthy orgies happened.

This time, he tugged onto the dangling thread of the previous chapter, and it reeled in the next like an eager, foolish fish, like a clear movie, like he was sitting among the audience in that crowded courtyard, and simultaneously sitting right by the Wife, and simultaneously seeing inside her mind, knowing everything she thought and felt.

His fingers glided over his keyboard. Words flowed out one after the other, more easily than he'd ever before managed. Yes, this is what had happened. It had been exactly like this. He flew past his word count goal, submitted the post, then slid carefully out of his chair and onto the gritty carpet, satisfied with a job well done.

He woke up the next morning with more tooth pain and the sudden recollection of a) having had written notes for the chapter and b) having completely forgotten about them while writing high off his ass.

He'd just posted pure word salad, hadn't he? He'd just posted a bunch of word salad. Maybe it would bring in extra traffic. Maybe people would flock in to read the stupid word salad update on that one stupid long stupid novel. Maybe it would become a copypasta and he could make buck printing quotes on t-shirts.

He opened his notifications and Peerless Cucumber's review was on top, and it started with well played, airplane.

And when he read the chapter and read the review he'd been forced to agree that his delirious mind had somehow come up with some real cool shit.

Shen Qingqiu was so dead.

Ask him how he knew!! Go ahead!! Or don't, he'll say it anyway!!

Poor Gongyi Xiao came all this way and risked the ire of his sect siblings to deliver him a note in godawful chinglish that just said play along, it's all under control— literally nothing else could have made it more clear that all was not under control! Were the plant bodies ready or not? All signs pointed to not!!

Out of a lack of anything else to do, Shen Qingqiu "played along". It's not like he had anything else to "play" in this godawful dungeon. Luo Binghe came by several times, saying all sorts of cryptically menacing stuff like the past does not matter and I'll keep you alive no matter what, which, come the fuck on, that was exactly why he went through all the trouble with the seeds— he didn't want to stay alive through years of torture!! No one wanted that!! It's an awful thing to hear in that tone of tender reassurance, all the more spread across several days!! Binghe, your creep game is too strong!

Then a strange entourage of cultivators in disparate uniforms marched stately into his cell and Shen Qingqiu figured that, uh, whatever the hell was going on, maybe he should probably play along. Perhaps.

Luo Binghe was among them. Not much he could do in the way of rebellion.

He stumbled along, numb and light-headed, down interminable corridors, surrounded by cultivators on all sides, and was taken to... a bath?

Luo Binghe's stare seemed to be burning a hole into his skin as elders carefully relocated the Immortal Binding Cables to his wrists, then removed his rags, helped him lift his weak legs into the tub, and began to sponge the cable welts on his skin.

This bunch of intersect voyeuristic creeps were watching and even helping him take a bath.

This was.

Nnnnnnot normal?

A switch flipped in his brain that was marked I am naked and alone and helpless amid a bunch of people who hate me, and he began to shiver uncontrollably, despite the hot water.

Luo Binghe clutched his hands together, white-knuckled, a look of painfully convincing distress on his face. Shen Qingqiu averted his gaze. The shock in those eyes was much too realistic.

His pathetic trembling was uncomfortable enough that his bizarro assistants sped through this strange farce, wrapping him in towels and tugging him out of the water, towards a bench, where his hair was meticulously combed and his body draped in layers upon layers upon yet more layers of silk robes.

Were they, like, trying to pretend they'd treated him like a king during his imprisonment? Who would they be pretending to? Pretty much every sect from major to minor had a representative in this cadre of perverts except for Cang Qiong.

We get it, Binghe, you turned literally everyone against us!! What did the rest of the sect do against you? I'm the only villain in that mountain range!!

Please don't kill everyone because of me.

This sad plea went unvoiced as his hair was half-gathered and pinned by some sort of elaborate headdress full of danglies. There was no mirror, but he could feel the weight and tug of little chains and beads. Why were they dolling him up like this? This wasn't anything at all like his usual outfits!

The billowing sleeves were twice as long as his arms, which was maybe restrictive. He was pretty sure he could fight using them in a pinch, though. Maybe he could strangle the Palace Master before he went, assuming Without A Cure didn't hobble him even more than he was already hobbled. He already couldn't quite feel one of his feet.

Bathed and dressed but for some reason barefoot, he was escorted along yet more interminable hallways until they reached an open courtyard. Cultivators sat on cushions upon a mosaic floor, drawing a partial circle before a wooden platform; the platform itself was wide and ornately carved, with a small silk quilt at its center.

He was led and made to sit on the quilt, in full view of the gathered sects; two Huan Hua disciples flanked him, their hands on the cables around his wrists. Binghe knelt to the side, within reach, the very picture of filial piety.

From his new vantage point, he watched the perv escort scatter to their own groups. There was Tian Yi, and that was Zhao Hua, and a handful of minor sects, some of the major families, and the usual approved representatives for the wandering cultivators, pretending like they spoke for a cohesive group that recognized any authority—

Cang Qiong was lined up directly across the platform, with as prime a view of him as he had of them. And the representatives of Huan Hua were, of course, right below him, on their own little platforms arranged in diagonals with him exposed in the center. Very low platforms, putting them only the slightest bit higher than everyone else.

Assholes.

The Palace Master rose from his cushion, reiterating the accusations: Qiu household massacre, Wu Yanzi, going to brothels, disciple abuse, etc etc. Then he invited the perv brigade to speak on the state they'd found him in.

Despite the fresh reminder of his scumbaggery, the escort was thorough on his behalf: a Zhao Hua elder pointed out his malnourishment ("Peak Lord Shen refused food", like he'd been offered any), and a Tian Yi nun brought up his tattered clothes ("The disciple responsible has been sentenced to seclusion", said with his whole mouth like the Little Palace Mistress wasn't primly sat at his elbow) and the absence of replacements ("Peak Lord Shen tossed them into the acid"). The cable welts were also brought up, and an argument took place on whether or not there had been a need to tie them so tightly.

Shen Qingqiu tuned out a discussion on the state of his meridians. It didn't matter. Even if the original goods had been innocent of everything before joining the sect, the hearing would be rigged anyway. Binghe was sitting right by him, too. This was just a circus.

Instead, he studied the Cang Qiong representatives. Shang Qinghua, Qi Qingqi, Yue Qingyuan at the center, Liu Qingge, and Mu Qingfang. The latter had joined the meridians argument; he watched Shang Qinghua instead, who blinked at him slowly, like a cat.

Asshole.

The Old Palace Master clapped for attention. Without a hint of shame, he chided everyone for getting wrapped up in unimportant details— excuse you, they were the details of your own inhumane treatment of prisoners!— and tactfully ignored Yue Qingyuan's smiling, polite grip on Xuan Su's scabbard. Blah blah blah spiritual. Blah blah blah bias.

"Given that the sole living witness of the oldest accusations is also the injured party," the Old Palace Master nodded politely towards Qiu Haitang, "and the general unreliability of decades-old evidence and hearsay, I took the liberty of procuring a third, unbiased... mediator."

Oh goody, some famous ancient monk who's been in a cave for centuries and wants to go back pronto. The Palace Master signaled grandly to one side. A clattering sound approached. Can we get to the sentencing already?

A disciple wheeled a wide, carved jade basin into the circle.

Oh.

Oh, uh.

Fuck.

The atmosphere thinned in a collective intake of air.

"The Iridescent Pearl Lotus of the Celestial Pavilion," the Old Palace Master announced, with smug humility. "Its judgment is the judgment of the heavens. Surely, we can agree that its verdict will be beyond question?"

Deafening silence.

Bro, bro, you can't just—!!

The Lotus floated within its basin, its pearly, opalescent petals glimmering with their own inner light. Glowing specks floated around the basin, winking in and out of existence like fireflies. The disciple who'd brought it in stared, transfixed, before being tugged away by a hasty colleague.

The Immortal Binding Cables were hot around Shen Qingqiu's wrist, such was the density of qi it emanated; his guards began to hiss and pass their lengths between hands like hot potatoes. Shen Qingqiu felt blisters form, their pain distant. Each breath he took was heavy with raw power, palpable and clear in his senses even with his cultivation sealed, and it was as terrifying as it was soothing.

It was the real thing, without a shred of doubt.

That was the problem with the Iridescent Pearl Lotus of the Celestial Pavilion: it fucked with your head just by its presence. Denying its judgment felt deeply heretical, anathema despite all logic— who would dare, laying eyes upon it, to point out that it was harsh, or alien, or unfair?

They would, yes, but only after he was bleached inside-out and safely turned into a case study.

He glanced back at the Cang Qiong representatives, mostly ignoring Shang Qinghua. Fine, this was one way to ensure he died and transferred to the Sun and Moon Dew plant body, since not even Binghe's blood parasites could canonically interfere with the Lotus's effects. It was still a shit way to die and he was mad.

He watched Yue Qingyuan instead. The Sect Leader's eyes flickered between them— the flower, the Old Palace Master, and Shen Qingqiu; slowly, painfully, his white-knuckled grip on Xuan Su's scabbard relaxed.

Yeah, bro. Sorry. There's really, really nothing you can do here. Please don't cause a scene. Protect Cang Qiong.

A small stove and cauldron were wheeled in as well. A Huan Hua senior disciple and a Zhao Hua elder stepped forward to prepare the infusion, under Mu Qingfang's watch. The three of them were crying. A great deal of people in the circle were crying. Shen Qingqiu was also crying.

The thing with preparing the infusion was that the flower would die and that also fucked with people's heads. It was horrible. It felt horrible. Mu Qingfang was sobbing. Shen Qingqiu wished he could search for whoever wasn't sobbing, but his eyes had shut at some point and he couldn't seem to open them and bear witness to this senseless sacrilege.

He knew the deed was done when a grip around his ribs went suddenly slack; the air trembled with a shaky, collective sigh, and was suffused with the humidity and aroma of the infusion. He wished he could gag, but it was too pure, too clean, sliding into his lungs like a benediction and literally clearing his sinuses.

He opened his eyes to watch a glowing bowl pass from Mu Qingfang to the Zhao Hua elder, and on to a line that had spontaneously formed between the stove and the circle, each kneeling member solemnly and tearfully passing the infusion on until it reached the Huan Hua guard beside him.

The Lotus lay half-submerged inside the bowl, its water refulgent. It was beautiful, simultaneously alluring and poignant. It called out to him; before he knew it, the bowl was being tipped into his lips, and his head was leaning back to accept it.

It tasted like the rustle of bamboo under an autumnal breeze. It also tasted like tears, and a gently breaking heart. He wanted to hold it tenderly. Instead, it expanded in his belly like a drop of ink in water, suffusing his insides.

The cables were cut from his wrists, and his guards stepped hastily away.

He almost toppled off the platform, but Binghe wrestled him back into place. The accumulated grit in his meridians was stirring as qi trickled in, gently at first, but steadily intensifying; he felt floaty and vague, his nerves thrumming under the promise of an oncoming deluge.

God, that flower had a kick.

Shang Qinghua wiped his face with a handkerchief, sniffling. He felt like such a bastard, pushing things in this direction. No wonder people died from drinking that infusion, just the thought of boiling it was a crime. Maintaining objectivity in this situation was a bitch.

He watched the bowl pass from cultivator to cultivator in a chain, each of them boggling at the glowing concoction and letting go of it with visible effort. Even from his seat he could feel the vague temptation to partake, along with the bone-deep certainty of how stupid it would be to do so; no cultivator could possibly claim immunity to that pull.

The infusion had been prepared with samples from Shen Qingqiu's hair, trimmed off during the earlier grooming, then guarded and brought forth by each representative. In that way they ensured that the infusion would be attuned to him, even if one among their numbers sneaked in someone else's hair.

That would have been a massively dumb idea. Cucumber Bro was staring glassy-eyed at the approaching infusion, transfixed, his face slack in obvious trance; a third party thrown under that particular bus would have been equally obvious, and tricking someone else into drinking the infusion was too brazen a disruption for such a heavy ceremony.

The bowl reached its destination with much reluctance but little incident, and poor Cucumber Bro chugged it down without so much as token resistance. The light faded from the bowl; the courtyard suddenly became a boring, drab place, its sole point of interest the slack-jawed immortal draped in silks.

Said immortal began to pitch softly forward, but Binghe rescued him and rearranged him back on his rump, his face deeply focused. Cucumber sat quietly where he was put, clearly having checked out of reality.

He sure looked pretty.

Credit where it was due, the attending representatives had done a good job of grooming him, and the Huan Hua-provided robes were unadorned but quality; the ceremonial headgear they'd dug up was elaborate and dripping in jades and pearls. But Shen Qingqiu had been fine goods to begin with, and the soft-focus aura of the Pearl Lotus infusion, coupled with the absence of that patented Shen Qingqiu Bitch Face™, had combined into a truly heart-stirring whole.

Yes, Cucumber-bro looked Very Soft and Helpless! What did anyone expect from a wife plot! And this was one of the most potent, praised by Peerless Cucumber himself! Why, his earlier close call with a face-plant had tugged on his robes and revealed half the sole of a foot, white and luminous under the overcast sky, and now Binghe was literally choking at the sight of it, trying and failing to cover the display with the edge of a robe and violently shaking hands!

The shaking was probably the interaction of his blood with the Lotus infusion, but Shang Qinghua was gay enough to know a homosexual gasp when he heard one.

And ooooh, speaking of homosexual gasps.

It looked like the infusion was starting to kick in.

Well played, Airplane. Well played. I walked in raring to tear down some godawful victim-blaming juice, expecting Binghe to once again save the day with the bullshit magic of his blood and/or his dick, but THIS? Now this is a pleasant surprise! Let it not be said that Peerless Cucumber does not lay credit where it's due.

Zhou Meizi did nothing wrong.

Well yes, she's boring and tropey, I stand by everything I've said about her. She's only sort of existed under other people's thumbs so far. But that's it! She's been overwhelmed and used and faced a smear campaign by a man several levels of magnitude more powerful than she is! If some bitch weed decided she was icky because she was ~no longer a pure virgin~ I was going to blow SO MANY GASKETS. None of that was her fault!

But it looks like the flower can tell she had no control over her circumstances. Good on it, and good on you, Airplane-juju. Will she get to ascend? Her cultivation was low, iirc, the infusion may not be enough. Otoh, I'd embrace a female character that didn't end up relegated to the endless abyss of Binghe's harem. Be good on Binghe, too, to not get a bedwarmer he was set upon. He's getting too cocky. (Quick reminder that we haven't addressed his character flaws ONCE since the sects went down.)

All of that aside, I don't know why I expected a mythical cultivation flower infusion to result in anything other than— let me give it a nice little squint— abstract orgasms? Okay then! It honestly holds more literary value than the last fifty arcs put together. Whatever drugs you were on when you wrote all these metaphors for physical and spiritual ecstasy, you should take them more often. Binghe hasn't even touched her that I could decode in this stream of consciousness delirium. Another important lesson for the Emperor: a lady doesn't need him to get off when she can have a cup of some bangin' tea instead! (Please don't come up with a tea-themed wife.)

Now for the bad and the sucky: [...]

Shen Qingqiu gasped.

Airplane had described the Wife's soft gasping as "innocently indecent", a phrase that had sparked a flame war in the comments section. Sexy or dumb? Evocative or oxymoronic?

If only Cucumber Bro could see himself, he'd agree that his gasps were both very innocent and very indecent.

His soft vagueness had shifted into distant bewilderment. His breath had quickened, and he swayed subtly in place with each voiceless exhale. His eyes were huge. His skin was beginning to emit a soft, snowy sheen.

His little confused gasps were unmistakably of the sexy kind. They were coming out of a pair of very pink lips, half-open and peachy-velvety. The pendants on his crown danced. He stared into the middle-distance, looking progressively more surprised, his eyes like obsidian pools.

Shen Qingqiu's chest heaved, and Binghe's adam's apple heaved along with it, struggling upwards then plunging down. It's okay, Binghe! You were actually always meant to be gay! I'm sure you won't be alone in discovering gayness today! I can see a few fellows who are clearly learning things about themselves right now!

Shang Qinghua tried to sneak a peek at Liu Qingge, but Qi Qingqi was in the way. (Yue-bro had lowered his forehead to the cobblestones and clenched his hands together in obvious prayer.)

The Old Palace Master made some sort of movement at the very edge of his sight.

"An embarrassing display," the Palace Master said, his flinty gaze and steady poise betrayed by the flush on his ears; he stared hungrily up at the platform, where Shen Qingqiu had begun to sway like a pendulum. "The verdict is clear, his obscene tendencies revealed. Let us preserve whatever dignity he has left."

The disciple he had signaled stared at the swaying Shen Qingqiu, whose skin had begun to manifest a faint iridescence, with something like panic. Shang Qinghua could guess what the poor man was thinking: He's too pretty! I can't do it! I'm too gay!

Okay, fine, maybe not everything here was about gayness. The Iridescent Pearl Lotus's fascination did infuse the drinker while it was at work, and it affected all present in much the same way; the prospect of killing Shen Qingqiu would be as emotionally fraught as the prospect of boiling the Lotus was.

The difference was that Shen Qingqiu was not a pretty flower in a basin, but a living, breathing, beautiful person swaying sensuously while under the influence. The resulting effect was deeply visceral. Harming him, much less killing him, would demand an exponentially greater effort of will; for all that Huan Hua had leapt onto the Shen Qingqiu Hate Train, who among them could be said to truly hate him that much?

Qiu Haitang rose to her feet, drawing her sword.

"I will do it," she said, hollowly.

Good thing the Lotus infusion hit Stage Two right about then.

Shen Yuan was a bell.

He swayed to and he swayed fro. His blood was music, gently plucked. His veins were a qin. His bones, flutes. His soul sang in a crescendo, up and up and up, flying on bamboo leaves and the autumn wind.

He rang with his whole being, and he thrummed in aftershocks.

Shen Qingqiu tensed, and then arched, and the air rang.

It hit like a sucker punch. Shang Qinghua was sure he'd reared back physically from it. And he wasn't the only one; Qiu Haitang was on her knees, leaning on her sword, and a few other seated cultivators were awkwardly straightening from various slumps.

The air rang again.

Shang Qinghua was braced, this time. He squinted against the vibrating air to focus on the debacle upon the platform.

Shen Qingqiu was glowing, now. The air moved around him, carrying the scent of green mountains, his silks and his hair fluttering in the sourceless breeze. He swayed drunkenly from side to side, his eyes half-lidded, a beatific smile on his face. Binghe was a silhouette against him, arms reaching out, swaying in tandem.

"Shizun," Binghe moaned, "Shizun—"

As Shang Qinghua watched, Shen Qingqiu's ribcage seemed to contract sharply, his body curling into himself, and then expand in a deep, reverberating pulse. The glow intensified, the air rippled. Something almost like a sound hummed at Shang Qinghua's meridians.

Oooh, that felt funky. Binghe let out a profoundly LGBT gasp, but he was closer.

Shen Qingqiu dimmed back down, his swaying uninterrupted. If it weren't for the light and the silk and the crown and all the mystical bullshit, he could have been vibing to some chill beats after demolishing a tray of weed brownies. As it was he was clearly in the Zone, only the Zone was within sight of the damn Jade Throne.

He and the Lotus were fully integrated now. Sorry, Qiu Haitang! If you swing your blade at him now, your hand will definitely boil! He's off-limits until it's done!

"Shixiong!" Qi Qingqi cried, yanking at his shoulder; reality snapped back into focus, and Shang Qinghua noted, with dismay, that he had been swaying.

"Fuck," he said, strangely breathless. "How?"

"Are you okay?" she asked, sharply.

"I am now, thanks to Shimei," he mumbled, hands half-raised to grasp at his head. His veins thrummed under his skin. He was suddenly afraid of touching himself and short-circuiting.

Shit! He knew the infusion had an area of effect, but it was never supposed to be this large! How was it affecting him? It should only extend to those adjacent to the fulcrum!

...he'd only described its effects on those adjacent to the wife, hadn't he. Bing-ge and the arc villain.

Bitch of a system.

The situation might just run a little out of control.

"This hearing is turning into a clusterfuck," Qi Qingqi groused, glancing sharply around at their unsteady audience. "But I suppose Shen-shixiong wouldn't have had it any other way. What is going on? I've never heard of high ambient qi having this kind of effect!"

Shang Qinghua stared. She was clear-eyed and focused, somehow completely unaffected.

"Do— do you not hear the notes?" he asked in surprise.

"All I hear is your blithering!!" she snapped, shaking his shoulder again. "Symptoms, now! Report!"

"Sympathetic meridian vibration!" Shang Qinghua blurted out, automatically, in reaction to the drill sergeant tone. "But— but— that makes no sense!"

"Explain!" she demanded.

"The Iridescent Pearl Lotus infusion is bigger than Shen-shixiong," he babbled. "It's affecting his surroundings, like, like, he's the center, and it's rippling out. In waves!"

The air rang again. Shen Qingqiu flared like an earthbound star, and Shang Qinghua felt it like a goddamn prostate massage in his golden core.

Damn!! Dang!!

Give a guy a warning!!

Qi Qingqi shook him like an offending potato sack, greatly impairing his ability to breathe. He felt no distress at the manhandling. His meridians sang. This really shouldn't be happening— in general, but also, specifically, to him.

He wasn't sure whether he should complain or not.

"Shixiong—" she snarled, the threat in it barely piercing through the serene fog wrapping around his brain.

"This shouldn't be happening," he mumbled in explanation, turning into her grip. His palms sought the floor. He needed to lie down, or this might get real awkward.

"This what?"

"Me," he mumbled, lowering himself slowly until he felt the cobbles against his cheek. Qi Qinqi still held his robe in a twisting grip, but she didn't try to haul him back up, thankfully; maybe she could see the situation in his face.

The pleasant thrum in his meridians was intensifying. The ringing in the air was louder, the light was brightening. He was probably about to get another spirited squeeze around his core.

"I shouldn't be feeling this," he whispered, and then Shen Qingqiu rang, and his core rang in tandem, blindingly bright, like a resonant string through his every vein and artery.

He felt like a bubble that had burst, and like another bubble within. He felt paper-thin and transparent and delicate and— and— beautiful, precious, somehow. Surely, this was a mistake? Surely, the kindest consideration he could earn was neutrality, like Qi Qingqi, like so many other cultivators looking around themselves in confusion— surely, the things he had done, the orders he had followed...

...imposed by the system.

Like Cucumber Bro.

"Ah," he mumbled, in sudden, joyful understanding. "The Lotus knows. It really... it really can tell..."

"Tell what?" Qi Qingqi asked, shaking him lightly. Very lightly, almost gently, like a wiggle. Ah, shimei!

"...when it's not your fault," he pushed on, trying to explain, to share the good news. Everything was floaty and warm, and kind, he felt kind. "When you are under threat. When there's no recourse. When... when the alternative is death..."

When some unknowable, mind-reading entity loomed overhead, brandishing the threat of points lost or gained in bullshit standards, demanding compliance, demanding behaviors, demanding results, doling out punishment and the occasional reminder that the failure state was a forced return to a dead body.

He'd tried his best for so long. He really, really had. He'd tried not to think about things, to keep his head above the water, to only barely nudge events where there was leeway. But he'd tried his best, and he'd never once thought his best might have been enough.

"I'm glad," he said, softly. "I was afraid... but I'm glad. Shixiong did his best, too."

And Cucumber Bro's best had been so much better than his own. He'd known it would work, because Shen Jiu had been a victim, because Cucumber Bro had been an even bigger victim in his new body and new world, because his priority had been the students under his authority even when it needn't have been and when he was in a shit situation outside his control—

Because pushing Binghe into the Abyss had crushed him. Because his mourning, his vigils, his slips of the tongue had been the talk of the Peaks. Because for the past three years he had operated not on the assumption that he would receive no mercy, but that he deserved no mercy, and he'd been ready to let Binghe take his anger out on him.

You'd think he'd throw off the curve. But maybe infusing such a gilded lily had inspired the Lotus to lenience. Shang Qinghua couldn't know; he could only give thanks.

His soul reverberated under the ringing bell, and he gave himself over to the blinding light.

Qi Qingqi let go of her shixiong. She tried to be gentle about it, despite her surprise. Despite hindsight and a queasy horror.

She led a peak of women, for women, whether by birth or by choice. She knew well the things young people were taught to blame themselves for, how much harsher that self-recrimination could be when they believed themselves strong.

There was much she didn't know about her martial siblings, and the realization stuck in her craw.

Abruptly, Zhangmen-shixiong straightened back up; she was relieved to see him clear-eyed, even if his eyes reflected the Lotus's light in a decidedly unnatural way.

"Shixiong," she said. "You're not enthralled," she added, with less certainty.

"No," he said, and then continued, with a self-effacing smile: "I don't think so, at least. I was sending a prayer to the gods."

"Shang-shixiong says Shen-shixiong will be fine," she said.

He nodded. "I heard it all," he said. "But I never doubted. When they brought in the Lotus, I knew Shen-shidi was saved. I was praying in thanks."

"You were that sure?" she asked in surprise; he'd bowed down the instant Shen-shixiong had drunk the infusion, before said shixiong's bout of unsteadiness, even. "The Lotus is—" her heart squeezed, an instinctual, irrational reaction, which she pushed through— "its judgment is... contentious."

"Say rather that it is obfuscated," Zhangmen-shixiong said in turn. "Deliberately, by the so-called wise. One could but look at the evidence, had it not been made scarce: the humble are rewarded, the conceited are cleansed."

His eyes hardened.

"Petty leaders cannot afford to be doubted," he continued, "or for the just to be empowered. Better to conceal the effects of this dangerous treasure, or one might question why a respected elder hesitates over this easy shortcut."

Oh. Huh. Well, that explained things.

"You truly do know Shen-shixiong best of us all," she told him, and he smiled bitterly.

"More than he knows himself," he said, and his voice was clenched like a fist. "He's forgotten so much. Too much. I might have doubted, otherwise— he did often lash out in his suffering. But..."

The light in his eyes intensified under a buildup of tears.

"How can one be punished for what one does not recall? He's innocent now."

Qi Qingqi turned back to the platform. Shen-shixiong's silks flapped like so many tangled wings, and he swayed to one side and the other in his heavenly dance, lost to some inner ecstasy. His glow no longer dimmed; flecks of light lingered in the wake of his every move, fluttering in the breeze, winking out like little spent sparks.

He wasn't alone in his stupor. Scattered onlookers had joined him, swaying in tandem— as well as Luo-shizhi, the picture of bliss. This unfilial disciple, innocent? Maybe he had truly been manipulated, a pawn in Huan Hua's game.

She glanced at the Old Palace Master, who was sitting very still, eyes fixed into the middle distance. His daughter looked confused and a little frightened, but fine otherwise.

Beyond Zhangmen-shixiong, Liu-shidi's status was... ambiguous. Yes, he gaped at Shen-shixiong, slack-jawed and vague and eyes aglow, but it might just be his dumb crush. His skin was luminous, but again: he just did that sometimes. Mingyan did it too. It was part and parcel of the unearthly beauty thing. If anything Shen-shixiong might be said to be finally catching up? No wonder shidi was stunned, he'd never been subjected to himself.

Mu-shidi glanced at her just as she glanced at him, and he looked exactly as bemused as she felt, which was a relief.

And then, somewhere in the circle behind Mu-shidi, she spotted movement that went against Shen-shixiong's soundless song. For a second, she did not know what she had seen; on the next second, she doubted her own certainty.

One of the wandering cultivators had scratched under his sleeve, slow and subtle. Pale dust had hissed down his arm in prodigious amounts. It might have been ash, or salt.

The wandering cultivator didn't seem to notice. His eyes were fixed into the middle distance.

Binghe was overjoyed.

And here he had been so anxious! He'd felt so bad. The Iridescent Pearl Lotus of the Celestial Pavilion had been the perfect scheme, in theory, a method to establish Shizun's innocence beyond a shadow of doubt, while also—

And it tore at him, for days and nights. He'd wanted to know. He hadn't wanted to know. He'd wanted Shizun to tell him, but he hadn't wanted to force Shizun to. He'd been ready to do it regardless, but faced with the likelihood of success, the prospect had grown unbearable.

Were the Lotus to deny Shizun's worth, he would hate it, and hate it, and hate it and hate it and hate it without end. The thought of it had churned in his skull like a fever. The nerve— the insult— oh, his peace of mind, no, his childish curiosity was not worth such a... a sin.

Shizun's reputation and life, however, were a different story. And he was out of options, with the hearing announced and witnesses and clues conspicuous in their fresh absence. It had been a slap in the face, to find the Old Palace Master was more than just an ass-kissing fool, that he'd had such long-held designs on Shizun's very life and name.

No, he'd thought, he could but carry on, and then beg forgiveness. To ensure Shizun's comfort in this harrowing trial, and deliberately ignore his own. To embrace his due, as he had the scar upon his chest, upon his palm.

Oh, how he'd anticipated the prospect of burning before Shizun, of charring, boiling, scarring, receiving the heavenly punishment his presumptuousness had called upon. He'd welcomed the thought of it. Ah, to suffer as he deserved. Maybe then, he'd be forgiven.

Maybe his filthy demon blood would burn and boil until only the human was left behind, clean at last, and Shizun would acknowledge him once more—

Ah, how silly, really! How stupid!

No, not even in the ways he'd called himself over and over, in the Abyss and beyond. No, he was a fool in acknowledging his presumption, and then presuming.

The height of folly, really, to doubt Shizun's worth. The Jade Throne itself would be blessed to carry his weight. That Shizun was righteous and pure was never in question, and Binghe deserved to burn for ever thinking as much.

But he wasn't.

He wasn't!!

Shizun's qi soaked him like a blessing, full of the scents and sounds of Qing Jing, and it was warm and gentle, and pure, and, and... spicy.

It felt so good. It felt so good.

His blood leapt and danced in Shizun's veins, and in his own, caressing and embracing him from inside out, ever sweeter and harder and more intense, and if this were to be his death he'd die with praise in his lips.

If only he could breathe around Shizun's name. It was all he could do to quiver before Shizun's love, overflowing from Shizun's body, wrapped around him and seeping into him.

He felt Shizun's light in his core, and it blinded him.

How silly, how foolish to fear. To agonize for so long. True, Binghe wasn't burning. But Shizun was kind, and knew no evil. It was so obvious, when he thought about it.

If Shizun wasn't wrong and Binghe wasn't wrong then everything was just a silly misunderstanding. They were all befuddled! It really was the only thing that made sense. He loved Shizun and Shizun loved him and there had been a mistake somewhere but being mistaken wasn't a crime and everything would be okay in the end.

Even Xin Mo could find no argument, or words at all. Binghe welcomed the silence. It was just him, and Shizun, and overwhelming pleasure.

...that is to say, relief. Intense relief. Breathless and all-encompassing and—

Mu Qingfang watched the ongoing spectacle with clinical interest, keeping a mental tally of the audience members who'd harmonized with Shixiong, as well as the ones who were decidedly not harmonizing with Shixiong. Shen-shixiong himself seemed to be adapting nicely to the Lotus's brutal largesse, displaying no signs of distress. The unlucky ones, the Palace Master among them, would require immediate attention as soon as the Celestial Dance was over.

The air was syrupy with spiritual qi, which meant events were coming to a head and he and any other functional healers would be dealing with a pretty messy aftermath.

It really was the height of irresponsibility, to deploy the Iridescent Pearl Lotus of the Celestial Pavilion with so little forethought. Never mind that it was being used to settle some base scandal; had an appropriate scholar or healer been heeded, they'd have dosed Shixiong and then left him alone in a room, or at the very least sat the crowd in a wider circle.

But that would have meant consulting the likes of Shen-shixiong, or Wu Chen, or Mu Qingfang himself, and that would have spoilt Huan Hua's surprise. No, Huan Hua would have consulted its own specialists, and then ignored them as usual.

And that was assuming Huan Hua's specialists held any healthy respect for spiritually active flora. Some people took them for recreation— not items on the Lotus's level, of course, but lesser cousins. At a certain level of cultivation, the spiritual was harder to distinguish from the physical, and the higher the cultivation, the more solid the spirit, and the sharper its senses; a burst of cleansing, compatible qi was a spiritually rapturous experience that the physical body could only parse in the obvious way, and a deluge on the Lotus's level...

Maybe the Huan Hua contingent had expected the flood of Shen-shixiong's involuntary outpouring of qi to be a grand old time. Only the ignorant and the thrill-seeking would take the risk. He watched Binghe latch onto Shen-shixiong's waist with vague pity; the boy was making all sorts of sounds, twitching in a very telling way, his face buried in his master's belly. He wasn't falling to dust, but he was definitely falling apart.

The consequences of misinformation, Mu Qingfang thought, shaking his head to himself. The intensity of the experience must be overwhelming to such a young man. At least he was among the compatible, and that ensured his safety.

Mu Qingfang himself had been ready to leave the moment he felt anything resembling a thrall, uncountable benefits to body and spirit be damned. He valued his life and his dignity, thank you! His under-robes, too— the prospect of laundering after this fiasco was nightmarish!

And Shen-shixiong was the one most affected by this deluge of spiritual energy. Who was going to wash his silks? Huan Hua? Nobody ever damn took bodily fluids into account.

Shen Qingqiu was blisteringly bright— and yet, somehow, within the unearthly glow, he was perfectly visible, outlined in the crispest lines from the thinnest of brushes.

Side to side he leaned, at an improbable angle, without ever pitching over. His hair brushed his cheeks, blown into feathery strands by the roiling crescendo of his own qi, and his silks wavered like flags under the surface of a lake. His lids lay heavy upon his dark eyes, obsidian beads shuttered under long lashes.

Every now and again, his entire body would be stricken by minute shivers, and his swaying tempo would stutter very slightly, almost imperceptibly, as his core tensed.

And then he would uncoil— with rapturous abandon, with open, utterly naked delight, with a tiny yet maddening sound in his lips.

Like a snap from his fan, his expanding qi would slap his surroundings with a brisk, bracing wind, its coolness belied by the figure at its center— arched back, eyes rolled in euphoria, engulfed in nigh-solid brightness. And on he would sway, like a bamboo shoot dancing under the gale, as the breeze quieted and regathered, readying another burst.

On and on he arched back, uncontrollably, possessed, resplendent in his delirium, even as the tempo sped, as the respite between outbursts grew shorter and shorter, as his every heaving breath came accompanied by a heavenly gale.

And then, finally, the frenzy began to subside, the interludes lengthening, the tempo slowing. Within the steadying light, Shen Qingqiu's temples were beaded with sweat, and each droplet was a rainbowy lens augmenting the iridescence that had suffused his skin; his flushed cheeks were lined in translucent daubs of pastel colors, following the aftermath of overwhelmed tears. Droplets of qi gathered, solidified, then dispersed around him, like a riot of fireflies.

Liu Qingge watched Shen Qingqiu curl and tense under another onslaught. His lips were flushed and half-open. So were Shen Qingqiu's.

Shen Qingqiu threw his head back in renewed exultation. Beads of sweat flew every which way, each glimmering with a remnant of inner light. Liu Qingge followed the arch of their flight and squashed a sudden urge to drink from his canteen.

Watching Shen Qingqiu like this was making him feel all kinds of complicated ways.

Shen Yuan wasn't actually a bell.

He did feel very much like one. Inherently musical, filled with potential sound. Shivering in the aftermath of vigorous tolling.

He was also feeling very liquid, so maybe he was a river. Or a mermaid. He moved an arm before himself, and watched the sleeve flutter as if underwater.

Little sparkles followed after his arm. He moved it to and fro to better study the phenomenon. No conclusion was forthcoming, or necessary, really. There was something very peaceful and immediate about the world right now, that it felt churlish to scrutinize.

He laid his hand back on Binghe's head. He was crying. Silly child.

His friends looked well. Airplane was taking a nap. Liu Qingge was sparkling, but that wasn't unusual. Probably a, what was the word, a bishounen thing.

A few people weren't well, but they hadn't noticed it yet. Better to keep them distracted. He tried to tug at their attention, but it was— slippery. The music was growing faint. The potential was winding down.

He gathered the fraying edges of this hyper-awareness and, with some effort, managed one final toll.

Oh. Oh, that took something outta him. It had been so effortless just now! Whew. The world was dimming into sad drab colors, but at least the wounded were distracted for a little longer.

They wouldn't start bleeding until they moved. Then the burned flesh would flake into ashes and they'd inevitably panic and bleed harder. Better to head that off! Shen Qingqiu tried to give Mu-shidi a Meaningful Glance, but was unsure of his success.

He was still very— floaty.

He glanced back down at Binghe, running fingers through his fluffy wavy hair. His sticky disciple. A little extra sticky today, or maybe that was his robes. He wondered why Binghe had Huan Hua robes on.

He remembered why Binghe had Huan Hua robes on.

Oooooooooooooooooooooh ooooooooooh oooh bad. Oh, bad, bad. Oh, shit. Wait. Wait. Wait, shit. Okay, wait. Hold on. One sec.

He stopped petting Binghe, then hastily resumed when Binghe made a sad sound.

Okay, okay, okay.

Okay, uh.

So.

So, okay.

He looked away from Binghe's hair. Ooooh, that was a lot of people gaping at him. He looked back at Binghe's hair. Everything was distressing to look at! He looked back at the people. Did Airplane faint? Oh shit, did he get the— did he get the ash thing—

Waaaaaaaaait.

He looked at his own hand.

He was alive.

He flapped his hand a little, watched little sparks fly out. They didn't look like ash. His hand wasn't missing pieces.

He was okay!! Apparently!!

And had a case of lingering particle effects!! Apparently!!

His survival had so many metaphysical implications for the wider PIDW universe, and he didn't remotely have the brainpower to consider them, so he wasn't going to. He was, however, going to initiate the process of panicking. This was not according to plan.

The magical godly flower of lawful goodness couldn't just absolve the scum villain! What the hell was this verdict? What did this mean for the protagonist? Could it be— no, it was unthinkable, for him to be blessed while Binghe burned—

The thought of it twisted in his guts, scattering the serene clouds around his head.

Was this to be the narrative, going forward? Had the Abyss not been enough, necessitating one more arc of humiliation and trauma, in which Binghe sought unbiased vindication only to suffer further disappointment? To watch the Heavens favor a treacherous human, while he was disqualified on nothing but his demonic heritage?

In the original tale, all he'd done in the Abyss had been for survival. Between that and his early stay in Huan Hua, Binghe had still been bitterly heroic, his dark vengeful thoughts belied by his actions, his schemes set aside or thrown away to right deeper wrongs. Sure, all those good deeds had eventually turned to his advantage, but not on purpose! And anyway, he was straying from the point!!

The point was that Binghe couldn't have done anything objectionable yet! There had been literally no time for any of that, even! At worst, he'd engaged in perfectly consensual papapa with one of his future wives. If Binghe lost points for not being a virgin, when this particley body he was wearing had patronized all sorts of brothels—

Stupid flower. Stupid weed! That felt somehow worse than disqualifying him for his blood! Binghe needed no further blackening!

And yet, he'd been kneeling right by Shen Qingqiu during all of—

"Ah, Binghe," he said weakly, his fingers still tugging at the silky waves on his lap. "Approaching this foolish master can only cause you further pain..."

The agony Airplane had described for that Binghe had been as haunting as the wife's ecstasy, the utter rejection and purification of his blood from within and without. He'd regenerated as fast as the damage was felt, yes, maintaining an unaffected façade for the surrounding cultivators, long familiarized with pain in general— but the pain had still been felt, and it had been punishing.

This Binghe was still so young, and Shen Qingqiu was already hated. The least he could do was offer some cold comfort as Binghe gathered himself, no?

Binghe reacted at last, turning his face slowly against Shen Qingqiu's stomach to blink up a single scarlet eye.

His pupil was huge. His red iris was thin as the corona of a solar eclipse. His skin glowed from within, pearly white, emanating little particle effects, and his cheek was flushed a striking rosy pink.

"Shizun," he said, in a thready little voice, before going completely boneless.

Oh! Okay then.

So the Lotus wasn't a slut-shaming flower either, or prejudiced against demons. Good on it! Good on Airplane! Well played! But now Shen Qingqiu was starting to feel a little mad for having worried over nothing.

Actually, strike that! He'd worried over the person who was going to kill him! How was that for a twist? Some head-patting wasn't going to earn him a painless death!

He patted him a little more vigorously, to signal the end of the patting session. "Binghe, Binghe," he mumbled as he did so. "You don't have to— to put on this—"

His words seemed to get tangled between brain and mouth. Some of that fog still lingered, it seemed. His fear seemed less urgent. They were in public, so surely Binghe would not...?

Maybe he could keep on petting? (Wait.)

Some sort of commotion was starting to build up down in the circle— cultivators were out and about, Mu Qingfang among them, laying people on their backs, ripping open sleeves and robes, applying compresses and tourniquets. It was over, then, for a given value of over. They were officially in the aftermath.

Not many people had suffered the Lotus's cleansing, but it was still an upsetting sight. A handful of elders, a wandering cultivator, a disciple. Human nature being what it was, they'd probably face other consequences beyond the physical maiming. He'd better gather their names and maintain some contact, going forward.

Or, wait. Maybe that would be bad? Forcing these people into associating with the protagonist's target. But then again imbibing the Lotus infusion was basically a Big Time Respect Coupon in the cultivation world, a moral blank check of sorts. His reputation was untouchable now. Binghe would have to be really underhanded to get his way.

Maybe if Binghe associated with them instead...? (Wait, what was he even thinking.)

There was noise right by the platform, and he hunched over Binghe on some old custodial instinct. But it was just a group of Huan Hua disciples making a scene around the Old Palace Master—

The Master was pale and tight-lipped and stock still. His daughter nudged his arm in concern, and thin powder showered down his sleeve— at first in a hissing cascade, then in bloody clumps.

Oh, damn.

Fuck that guy, but also, holy shit. Damn. Fuck. Goddamn.

A Zhao Hua elder approached the platform, and Shen Qingqiu was glad of the new distraction.

"Honored Peak Lord," the elder asked, almost shyly, "do you require aid?"

"...maybe in getting to my feet," he admitted. He was still feeling a little, well.

He was still, erm.

Might as well call it like it was. He was still feeling, ah, still feeling kinda, sorta, you know.

He was feeling pretty fucked out.

Wife plots, what can you do.

"I'll carry Shizun," Binghe said, muffled into his stomach, and then proceeded to not move at all.

Shen Qingqiu stilled his hand on Binghe's head. "Binghe, you need carrying yourself."

"No," he whined piteously into Shen Qingqiu's silks. "I'll carry Shizun."

And then he stayed right where he was.

Shen Qingqiu shrugged helplessly at the Zhao Hua elder. "I'm not a priority," he said, indicating the wounded with a hand. Particle effects chased his movement. This was going to get old.

Yue Qingyuan approached the platform, his usual smile shining maybe a little brighter. Qi Qingqi followed with the unconscious Airplane held in her arms like a gangly, faintly glowing princess.

Liu Qingge trailed behind them, slowly, with an air of vague astonishment that looked entirely too complimentary on his face. He was also dealing with a case of lingering particle effects. They, too, matched him too well.

"Shidi," said Yue Qingyuan, with soft but sincere happiness, and Shen Qingqiu couldn't help but smile back.

"Zhangmen-shixiong," he said. "I seem to remain in this world."

Yue Qingyuan stepped up, his arms extended, and Binghe finally stirred. He raised his head to look up at Shen Qingqiu, so soft and unguarded that Shen Qingqiu's heart did a funny squeeze and loop despite itself; his eyes were once again black, his huadian faded.

Maybe he'd been struggling with his human guise. No wonder he'd hidden his face so insistently into Shen Qingqiu's belly.

Binghe pulled his knees under himself, a maneuver complicated by his insistence on keeping his arms firmly around Shen Qingqiu's torso. Calm down, Binghe, I'm not running anywhere any time soon! Then he shot an ugly look at Yue Qingyuan and shifted one of his arms to Shen Qingqiu's back, sliding it down his rump, gathering the spread of silks until his arm was firmly under Shen Qingqiu's knees.

Then he rose to his feet.

Oooooh, this under-robe is nasty, was the first thought in Shen Qingqiu's head. The second was: Binghe is princess-carrying me.

(The third thought was eeeew, it's sticking to my leg.)

Binghe stepped off the platform, landing smoothly among the Cang Qiong contingent. The impact, or lack of it, was not remotely consistent with the height; he might well have just floated down.

It made Shen Qingqiu feel some sort of way.

"Shizun, this disciple was foolish," said Binghe, softly, apropos of nothing. Shen Qingqiu couldn't help hearing it— his head was pillowed on Binghe's soft, very silk-padded chest. "This lowly one's hasty assumptions forced Shizun into such discomfort. This disciple mistrusted Shizun, and was... and was blinded..."

His eyes filled with tears, to Shen Qingqiu's horror. Binghe, everyone is watching!! Your Shibo and Shishus are definitely listening! Airplane is probably only pretending to be unconscious!

If this is part of your new strategy then this old master is definitely too emotionally compromised to maintain perspective! Mercy! Mercy!

"Shizun meant only to do what was right in a fraught, confusing situation," Binghe continued shakily, while Shen Qingqiu frantically wrestled with the dumb monkey instinct to go teary-eyed in tandem. "There were so many dangers, so many victims, so many concerns! Shizun was considering the greater good, and this disciple—" he sniffled— "this disciple was wrong to take it personally!"

Shen Qingqiu lost to the dumb monkey, sniffling in defeat. Binghe, he thought, I don't know what you're trying to say! It sounds like— it sounds like— but that can't be right, so I'm confused and upset instead!

"Shizun was trying his best!! Everyone was just trying their best!!" Binghe choked out, finally, loud enough to be plainly overheard. "Please forgive this foolish child for misinterpreting your intentions!!"

Binghe, are you listening to yourself? The words you're saying, they can only sound like...

Are you rescinding your complaints? In public? Are you offering a pretense at reconciliation before the sects? Is this a truce? Binghe? Are you giving us a truce?! Oh my god, are we having a cease-fire?!? A breather?

He opened his mouth to ask just that, but then he suffered some sort of brain malfunction, and what came out instead was a pathetic little—

"...you don't hate me?"

Binghe produced a sound that Shen Qingqiu's hindbrain interpreted as the hyper-realistic sensation of dropping his heart into a paper shredder. Oh, this was shit synesthesia. He wanted a refund.

"Never!" Binghe cried, openly sobbing into Shen Qingqiu's forehead. "Never, never, I could never, Shizun. I love you!"

Binghe was pretending, Shen Qingqiu reminded himself sternly. He was adapting to the situation, playing a new role. His grip was tight and his arms were warm but it was pretend. He dropped a kiss into his hairline but it was pretend.

Shen Qingqiu couldn't stop shivering and couldn't stop crying.

It was all pretend. It was just a truce. But he was crying and quivering and when Yue Qingyuan squeezed his dangling hand he couldn't even seem to gather the strength to squeeze it back.

He was a mess.

This made it, narratively speaking, the perfect opportunity for Qiu Haitang to approach him, so of course that was exactly what she did— sword sheathed, eyes lowered and contrite.

Her skin was pearly.

"This cultivator apologizes," she said, with forced steadiness. "You share a strong resemblance to the man I seek, but that is all you have in common. The Old—" she cut herself off, pressing her lips into a line— "...I may have been manipulated into aiding some plot against Cang Qiong. Any reparations you demand, I will strive to make."

"You should state the facts," said Binghe, venomously. "The Old Palace Master played us all for fools. Whatever he sought to gain from smearing Shizun's name—"

Spoken with his entire mouth!! Shen Qingqiu was weirdly moved.

"Shen-shidi is not in a state propitious to making his will known," said Yue Qingyuan, like the saint he was. "I will not speak for him, nor ask for his wishes until he's rested. But," he lowered his chin, looking almost fragile, "I do have a request, as the Eldest Martial Brother of Cang Qiong Sect."

He laid his hand on her shoulder.

"Let go of your resentment," he said, earnestly. "Abandon your search. I see that you loved, and were loved in turn. Do not make that love into a burden. Let it bring you peace, and be free."

Qiu Haitang stared at him, blankly, until her chin began to tremble; then she looked down, as if Yue Qingyuan's gaze were too much to bear.

"I suppose—" her voice quivered, "I suppose it's high time I admitted it. Wu Yanzi offered his wisdom to many youths, but none were known to follow him for long, were they?"

"Wu Yanzi was an opportunist," said Yue Qingyuan, kindly. "An unscrupulous manipulator, said to have employed the most repulsive of forbidden arts. What you watched your fiancé do," he continued, his voice softening, "may not have been done willingly, or even knowingly. Such were the ways of Wu Yanzi."

Qiu Haitang's face crumpled at last. "He's dead, isn't he?" she asked, weakly. "Shen Jiu is dead."

"Oh—" Shen Qingqiu blurted out, stupidly, his hand tightening reflexively around Yue Qingyuan's. "He's... he's dead."

Realization hit him like a truck.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, eyeing the confused Qiu Haitang with beseeching eyes. "I'm so sorry, he— he's dead. He's really dead. Oh no," his voice began to shake.

Tears escaped his eyes, thick like bullets, cold on his skin.

[ Congratulations! ]

Oh, for fuck's sake. He buried his face into Binghe's chest, remembered it was Binghe's chest, then sheepishly unburied his face. Qiu Haitang was sobbing openly, she probably took his dumb babbling for confirmation, which, well, it was, but—

[ Optional Story Quest Celestial Infusion completed successfully!

Secret Main Scenario Path Heavenly Regard activated! Alternate scenario paths can no longer be accessed. ]

Oh my god.

[ Trait Celestial Afterglow acquired! ]

Did you have to call it that??? At this time?? Qiu Haitang's grief deserves better!

She was being led away now, hopefully by sympathetic sect siblings. But the inter-sect gathering seemed to be scattering at last, or making a poor attempt of it; cultivators were gathering in clumps to exchange mutters, glancing back at Shen Qingqiu in a manner that wasn't remotely subtle. Some gaped openly, staring with entirely unwarranted bewilderment.

Come on, his reputation hadn't been that bad before Jinlan, had it?

Yue Qingyuan and Binghe kept shifting into place to block their sight, and in the meantime he had System notifications to blearily blink at.

[ Celestial Afterglow is obtained upon successfully becoming one with the Mythic-Level Righteous Cultivation Item Iridescent Pearl Lotus of the Celestial Pavilion. This is a Permanent Trait and cannot be corrupted, transferred, or removed at any point, by any means. ]

Shen Qingqiu wasn't quite sure, but. The system might just be trying to imply that he had fused with the Pearl Lotus!?

[ Host has successfully become one with the Mythic-Level Righteous Cultivation Item Iridescent Pearl Lotus of the Celestial Pavilion and has obtained trait Celestial Afterglow!

This is a Permanent Trait and cannot be corrupted, transferred, or removed at any point, by any means. ]

Oh.

[ Passive sub-traits granted by Celestial Afterglow upon acquisition:

Celestial Blessing: Host is granted stacking multipliers of:

• immunity against evil sources of harm 50 levels below Current Level
• advantage against evil sources of harm 20 levels below Current Level
• initiative against evil sources of harm of Current Level and Below
• resistance against evil sources of harm above Current Level
• weakness against evil sources of harm of level mythic and above.

Celestial Blessing is a permanent feature and cannot be toggled off. ]

So he could survive anything unless it could kill him. Wasn't that basically... normal?

[ Celestial Fascination: Host's skin is granted a subtle inner glow.

Passive effect: Dazzle friends and enemies alike with the Iridescent Pearl Lotus's inherent Heavenly Radiance! Radiance is unavoidable within an area of effect of [Current Level]/3, measured in feet and centered on Host. Outside this area, effects are line-of-sight only.

• Stacks with pre-existing fascination multipliers.

Celestial Fascination is a permanent feature and cannot be toggled off. ]

Useless!

[ Lotus Nacre: Host's skin is granted a cosmetic pearly sheen.

Passive effect: grants a multiplier to Celestial Fascination.

Lotus Nacre is a permanent feature and cannot be toggled off. ]

Shen Qingqiu mentally made a sound that went like hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

His dismay might have been noticeable, because Binghe's arms tightened around him, and the circle of his martial siblings closed in further. Airplane was up at last; Qi Qingqi was taking point and held him up like a battering ram, but he peeked over her shoulder at Shen Qingqiu, looking distinctly discombobulated and vaguely gaussian.

Weird.

But they seemed to be on their way to somewhere private, or as private as it got amid the gaudy excesses of Huan Hua, so Shen Qingqiu settled back to catch up on whatever humiliating shenanigans the System intended to further subject him to. Forewarned was forearmed, as they said.

[ Celestial Grace: Host may toggle one or more of the following cosmetic effects to complement Lotus Nacre:

• Lotus Opalescence: Host's pearly sheen obtains a subtle color-shifting undertone (within palette restrictions).
• Lotus Bloom: Host's Heavenly Radiance is granted a variable stacking multiplier, becoming distinguishable even under direct sources of light.
• Lotus Pollen: Host produces tasteful particle effects.

Celestial Grace is an optional feature and may be toggled on or off. ]

Fucking finally.

[ Each toggled effect grants a stacking multiplier to Celestial Fascination, affecting both area and intensity of effect.

Celestial Grace effects may be automatically toggled on or off by quest events, items, actions, weather, outfit, outside factors, or Host's emotional state. ]

Fucking hell.

Binghe had sat him down at some point, while he was busy grousing internally. He vaguely recognized his surroundings as the earlier bathing area; the whole creepy grooming session felt like it had happened a lifetime previous, but that sham of a hearing couldn't have taken longer than fifteen minutes, tops.

He cast his mind back to gauge the duration of all that... stuff... but just the recollection of it put him in a weird headspace. He felt too floaty and too calm, and he didn't want calm right now; he wanted to be able to get pissy and hissy.

He had many reasons to be pissy and hissy, foremost among them the fact that even sat on a stool he couldn't seem to hold himself up. He wasn't weak, but he couldn't seem to gather what strength he had; instead he was sagging back into Binghe's grasp as Yue Qingyuan tenderly untied his robes.

No, bro!! Don't do it! It's terrible. It's a disaster area!! Also Binghe is pissy and hissy and that's very alarming!!

Mu Qingfang power-walked into the room at that point and took over, to Shen Qingqiu's relief. It was still a disaster area, but somehow it was less mortifying when a doctor was the one looking at it. Mu-shidi even had the sense to peel everything off at once while simultaneously wiping his front down. Dignity salvaged!

Binghe was still a little hissy while submerging him into the hot water— which seemed to generate a helpful little yet long rendered pointless censorship glow— but by the time he turned to Shen Qingqiu in earnest his filial mask seemed to be back in order.

"I can help Shizun scrub," he said, solicitously, only to get pissy-hissy again when Mu-shidi pointedly stepped up.

This clownery was tiring. Shen Qingqiu had better things to piss and hiss at. He toggled his Lotus bullshit off and went back to his patch notes.

[ Celestial Touch: grants all actions and skills a stacking multiplier of Celestial Fascination and Celestial Blessing, including martial skills, crafting skills, and performance skills.

• Crafted items retain up to 25% of passive effects granted by Celestial Fascination and Celestial Blessing even when removed from Host's area of effect.
• All offensive abilities are granted a Celestial Fascination multiplier, stacked upon applicable mastery multipliers as well as Host's emotional multipliers.
• During battle, Celestial Fascination grants stacking attribute buffs to Friendly units and stacking attribute debuffs to Enemy units according to each units' mastery and emotional multipliers. ]

Wait, those were actually good? Apparently? He was cool with playing support mage.

[ Non-offensive abilities involving physical performance are granted an extra 1.5 Celestial Fascination multiplier, stacked upon applicable mastery multipliers as well as Host's emotional multipliers.

• Any musical performance is granted an additional 2.5 Celestial Fascination multiplier, stacked upon applicable mastery multipliers as well as Host's emotional multipliers.

Celestial Touch is a permanent feature and cannot be toggled off. ]

Useless!!

Aaaaaaaaaand the Lotus Pollen was back on. Fucking hell. Did this endless parade of disney princess bullshit come with anything that wasn't randomly activated particle effects? Something with practical uses? A cool energy blast?

[ Abilities unlocked by Permanent Trait Celestial Afterglow upon acquisition: ]

NOW we're talking.

[ Heavenly Toll: Forcibly command the focus of all units within a [Current Level]/2 radius, measured in feet and centered on Host. Affected units are subjected to disadvantage on all will saves for the duration.

Additional effects:

• Applies the Serenity status to all affected units, resetting emotional multipliers for the duration.
• Friendly units will be granted heal over time for the duration.
• Friendly units will be granted a Morale buff upon effect end.
• Enemy units will be granted a Morale debuff upon effect end.
• Neutral units will be granted no buffs or debuffs.
• In battle, all affected units will be stunned for up to 15 seconds according to applicable Celestial Fascination multipliers.
• Outside battle, all affected units will be stunned for the duration.

This ability may be cast once per hour for full effects. When recast within an hour, efficacy is proportional to cooldown period. ]

Hell yeah, support mage! Some bard shit! We're cooking with petrol! His other cosmetic effects toggled back on and he didn't even mind.

[ Heavenly Burst: forcibly push a burst of cleansing qi through your own meridians, dispelling detrimental effects. ]

That was... that was basic. That was basic disciple stuff.

[ Effective against randomly applied debuffs caused by Detrimental Feature Without A Cure.

Cooldown period proportional to severity of randomly applied debuff. No abilities may be cast during cooldown time. ]

Oh right, he still had to deal with... that. Okay then, this was good. Good shit. No more badgering Liu-shidi.

[ When used against randomly applied debuffs caused by Detrimental Feature Without A Cure, cooldown period may last no less than three hours and may extend to a week. No abilities may be cast during cooldown period.

• Passive Celestial Afterglow sub-traits may not be toggled off by Detrimental Feature Without A Cure.
• Celestial Grace may be granted a multiplier by Detrimental Feature Without A Cure.
• The status effect Swoon may be randomly activated, impairing the usage of most actions.
• Celestial Grace is granted a stacking multiplier when under the Swoon status effect. ]

This sucked ass. Could he get a good one now?

[ Heavenly Favor: Bestow the favor of the heavens to a friendly unit of choice.

• Applies a multiplier to all of target's attributes, stacked upon applicable mastery multipliers as well as target's emotional multipliers.
• Host must kiss target to apply effect.
• Attribute multiplier may vary according to location of kiss and Host's emotional multiplier as well as target's emotional multiplier. ]

Uuuh.

[ This ability has no casting restrictions. No cooldown period. No maximum simultaneous instances. Cannot be stacked with itself. ]

Uuuuuuuuuuuuuh.

[ Heavenly Allure: ]

Oh hell no. He shrunk back into his censorship glow water and tried to resist when Mu Qingfang began to tug him out. No, please! He wasn't actually a bard main. His charisma modifier was in the negatives! Rolling seduction gave him secondhand embarrassment!! He was a dumb virgin in soul if not in body!! Binghe, please stop pissing and hissing!!

Oh, thank goodness, Binghe had a towel.

He was carried back to the stool. This swoony maidenly shit was getting real old. Wait, was it the fucking status effect? Was he literally suffering from a debuff called Swoon? Even Airplane was back on his feet! Although he was thankfully maintaining distance from the proceedings, and not even looking like he was holding back a laugh. Liu-shidi also stood nearby, looking handsomely useless, and together the two of them glittered like a pair of confused Lotus effect toggles.

He was being briskly dried by Qi Qingqi. Such was his life now.

[ Heavenly Allure: ]

He didn't want this in his life.

[ Heavenly Allure: sway units towards the path of Heaven.

Affects all units within a [Current Level]/5 radius, measured in feet and centered on Host. Celestial Fascination multipliers may affect radius and intensity of effect. Affected units are subjected to disadvantage on all will saves for the duration.

• Enemy units will receive a stacking Morale debuff, and may temporarily become Neutral units.
• Neutral units may temporarily become Friendly units.]

Okay, less bad.

[ Friendly units may become afflicted with the Obsession status debuff. ]

LITERALLY WHY.

[ Obsession status debuff may not be cleansed by normal means.

• Debuff length affected by target's emotional multiplier.
• Stacks with existing Obsession status debuffs. ]

He wanted out of the System's Wild Patch Note Ride. Oooooh no, the next tooltip was huge. This was going to be a doozy, right?

He elected to put it off. They were dressing him back up, now in normal robes of normal length if not in his usual colors, and he even got slippers this time. Not that he was going to be putting them to use, it seemed— he was, in fact, dealing with Swoon, he had a big fat Swoon stamped in red on his status screen. Oh, he had so much shit in his status screen, and he wasn't dealing with any of it any time soon. Was it possible for his brain to be Swooning? Because his brain might be Swooning.

He was once again princess-carried, surrounded by a Cang Qiong escort, this time to some well-appointed bedroom.

"Wait," he asked hastily, as soon as Binghe was done laying him on the bed with excruciating slowness. "Whose room is this?"

"Apologies, Shizun," said Binghe, sheepishly. "It's only a lowly guest chamber."

"Ah," he said, "okay then."

And his limbs sagged onto the pillows like useless pool noodles.

He couldn't help it!! Everyone was acting so weird he'd had the sudden awful thought that they might have carted him off to the Old Palace Master's quarters!! Huan Hua couldn't pay him to step in there with a hazmat suit!!

...but of course no one was about to stash him in Huan Hua's literal Sect Leader's quarters. All this shit about fascination and obsession and particle effect toggles was fucking with his head. It didn't help that he was surrounded by slack-jawed martial siblings apparently getting caught up in his dumb sparkle aura— clearly, running out of things to do made one susceptible to empty-brain rays!

Binghe made noises about the Cang Qiong delegation retiring to their own quarters; they nodded vaguely and made no move to depart. Binghe did not attempt to press the issue.

The room collectively stared at him, gaping with varying degrees of intensity.

He opened the last tooltip in defeat.

[ Heavenly Dance of the Celestial Pavilion: Embody the Iridescent Pearl Lotus of the Celestial Pavilion, and pass judgment upon all surrounding units.

• Area and intensity of effect are granted a stacking multiplier for each extant Iridescent Pearl Lotus of the Celestial Pavilion within ability's area of effect. ]

...he was never, ever casting this.

[ Effect: casts successive instances of Heavenly Toll at no cost for the duration.

• All additional Heavenly Toll effects may be stacked for the duration.
• Given a certain number of Serenity stacks upon Friendly units, a unit's Serenity status may be randomly upgraded to Heavenly Bliss status, granting target all beneficial aspects associated with Dual Cultivation without its respective requirements.
• Heavenly Bliss may be interrupted, but all attribute upgrades obtained before interruption will be maintained.
• As long as Heavenly Dance of the Celestial Pavilion is active, Heavenly Bliss may be resumed.
• A target's list of active quests and passive traits may grant increased chances of Heavenly Bliss status upgrade. ]

Wasn't this.

Wasn't this what had just happened. Like. Just now. Ten minutes ago. In the audience.

He remembered being a bell. He felt like a bell right now, but a different one, the kind that got hammered on the skull. The words Dual Cultivation danced before his eyes like he had a detached retina.

Was it a. A spiritual orgy. Did it count as a spiritual orgy. Had they had a.

He was losing his entire shit.

[ Given a certain number of Serenity stacks upon Enemy units, a unit's Serenity status may be randomly upgraded to Heavenly Woe status, granting target the stackable debuff Scourge and its associated Damage Over Time effect for the duration.

• A target's list of active quests and passive traits may grant increased chances of Heavenly Woe status upgrade.
• Scourge may not be cleansed by normal means.
• Damage caused by Scourge may not be reverted by normal means.
• The damage caused by Scourge may be reverted by the consumption of specific items. Cosmetic effects may be granted or removed at random.
• A target's list of active quests and passive traits may grant increased chances of damage reversal and cosmetic effect removal. ]

Oh goody!! Only friends joined the glow orgy!! Enemies got turned to fucking ash!! It was fucking called Scourge!! And it was stackable!!

Also what do you mean normal means you vague walnut of a system. Do they bleed indefinitely or do they just get to have gaping flesh craters for scars. What are the items and how fast do I need to be to get them. So help me god I will flip out of this bed and Swoon across the floor like a drunken worm—

[ Friendly units within area of effect may be randomly granted a permanent Celestial Afterglow sub-trait with reduced attributes.

• A target's list of active quests and passive traits may grant increased chances of Celestial Afterglow sub-trait acquisition. ]

Was that what was up with Airplane? And Liu-shidi? Although for all he knew Liu-shidi had always had particle effect toggles. They'd certainly seemed to turn on and off at random for the entirety of their acquaintance. Maybe this situation had flipped them on and he was also having a bitch of a time turning them back off?

Maybe that was the deal with Luo Binghe, too. He'd already had his Protagonist Halo, his Cute Little Sheep Glow, his Smile Sparkles, his Fierceness Fascination, so maybe unsealing his Heavenly Demon blood had unlocked some toggle that was identical to Lotus Pollen, System is that Lotus Pollen.

System, System, is that Lotus Pollen, it looks JUST like Lotus Pollen.

Does Binghe have Lotus Pollen, he's a Heavenly Demon but they're not actually Lotus Related, I always mentally equated him to a Lotus but I'm pretty sure the backstory is a Heavenly Official just got sick of Heaven and flowers were not involved so if that's Lotus Pollen why does he have Lotus Pollen.

System I am rereading this entire shitshow of a tooltip and there's only one way Binghe could randomly obtain Lotus Pollen and that's if he were a Friendly Unit, System—

[ Neutral units are not affected and receive no traits, buffs or debuffs. ]

Cool!! Cool!! System is Binghe—

[ This ability may be cast once per month for full effects. Requires a cooldown period of no less than one week, up to four weeks. Status effect Swoon may last for up to one week, impairing the usage of most actions. No abilities may be used during cooldown period.

• Cooldown period may be reduced by the accumulation of qi through meditation before casting, or the consumption of specific items before casting.
• Cooldown period may be reduced by the consumption of specific items during or after casting.
• Cooldown period may be reduced by the use of musical or performance equipment of sufficient spiritual level during casting.
• When employing musical or performance equipment, all related Celestial Touch effects and multipliers apply.
• Passive Celestial Afterglow sub-traits are granted a stacking multiplier when under the Swoon status effect.
• Passive Celestial Afterglow sub-traits may be granted additional multipliers during cooldown period. ]

Great!! Awesome!! This master is a potato for the foreseeable future!! Is Binghe a friendly unit.

It was maybe his imagination, but the System window seemed a bit mulish about not being able to hide behind the impersonal tooltip window. Even its autotuned blandness had a touch of annoyance— but it finally, actually gave a straight answer.

[ For the Iridescent Pearl Lotus of the Celestial Pavilion's purposes, Protagonist Luo Binghe is classified as a friendly unit. ]

Oh.

Oh.

His eyes began to leak big fat tears.

He blamed Swoon.

According to its description, Swoon impaired the usage of most actions.

It was not an overstatement.

He couldn't sit on his own. Standing was out of question. For days he laid in bed like a useless potato, waited on hand and foot, the weight of a spoon enough to have his arm shaking like it was trying to vibrate into a different dimension. Every nap he woke from, there was a sect sibling, or a Huan Hua disciple, or Binghe taking turns to watch over him.

Binghe!! Binghe was a friend now!!

Just thinking about it made him dizzy with confusion!!

Anyway Swoon was bullshit.

Even once he was back on his feet, Swoon lurked at the ready, eager to make a wimp of him. Swoon and Celestial Fascination were a lethal combination; he couldn't take a stroll without his legs crumpling under him at the nearest courtyard, and he couldn't take a stroll without attracting a crowd either, and as a result, the entirety of Huan Hua had gotten to see him fold up like a glittery pamphlet at least once.

And they always froze.

And gaped.

And then tripped into a cartoonish pileup while on their way to help him, which was never not funny— but also wasn't helpful when he was sitting on the floor actually feeling like crap because Swoon was bullshit.

His martial siblings were chaperoning his walks within hours of his first fail, but even they couldn't help being stunned by the sight of Shen Qingqiu sliding to his rump in a shower of shoujo sparkles. Even Qi Qingqi! At least Mu Qingfang snapped out of it shortly, and after the initial freeze-up Airplane had just shaken his head and mumbled "gay" before helping him up.

(Yue Qingyuan had begun to whisper weak little apologies and shed tears in some creepy trance, and coming forward Shen Qingqiu elected to stay indoors during his shifts.)

Liu Qingge alone was faster than the dazzle effect, holding him up before he fell— but then he froze up, and Shen Qingqiu ended up Swooning over his arm for at least half a dizzy, queasy minute before some disciple had a crying fit and snapped Shidi out of it. Somehow that was the worst of the episodes, and it had people bursting into tears long after it was over, including some who hadn't even been there to see it. Sometimes he could swear the latter group cried the hardest!!

...and then it was Binghe's turn to babysit, and he cut the gordian knot by princess-carrying him to and fro heedless of his protests.

Binghe!! This might be a little too much!!

But Shen Qingqiu couldn't say he wasn't thrilled. Binghe was a friendly unit! Actual! Confirmed!! He wasn't sure why or how but as far as he was concerned this single development had made every single Celestial Inconvenience worthwhile. Binghe was a friend now!! Just the sight of his face, surrounded by proof of his status in the form of floating twinkles, made Shen Qingqiu feel heavy, heady relief warm him all the way to his fingertips!!

He blamed Celestial Fascination.

Celestial Fascination was such bullshit.

And don't get him started on the Celestial Grace toggles!! They were such a sham. Oh, the effects worked, alright; Shen Qingqiu was shinier than a rare pokemon and he hated it. But the toggles? He always turned them off and they always toggled back on. He had to babysit the things!! Not even being in a justifiably shitty mood made a single effect take a break!! He was in particle effect hell!!

At least Binghe was also in particle effect hell?

He pulled it off beautifully, of course. The subtle, soft light within his skin, the pearly sheen, the Lotus Pollen, it all could have been made to complement his looks specifically— and probably had been, as the protagonist. He'd always been stunning, but now Shen Qingqiu felt as if he could stare at him forever.

He certainly kept catching himself in the middle of staring at him for, uh, way too long? But Binghe was kind enough to humor him, and even seemed to be caught up with staring back sometimes.

That was probably just Celestial Fascination again. Airplane even called it a "Stupid Celestial Feedback Loop", which sounded about right.

Celestial Fascination was such bullshit.

In an effort to not just lay about in Huan Hua for a sparkly week, Shen Qingqiu dictated the nebulous jargon-filled baloney of his new tooltips to Airplane whenever they had reasonable privacy together. Shen Qingqiu called it "Operation Lorebash", and it was slow-going.

"...did I brainwash Binghe?" he asked plaintively one time, while they discussed Heavenly Allure.

He completely deserved Airplane's disbelieving squint.

"No! But! But!" he continued, hastily, sitting up from the ever-growing hoard of tasseled cushions that propped him up in bed. "The System said he counted as a Friendly Unit for effects, and the thing turns Enemy Units into Neutral Units and Neutral Units into Friendly units, so what if the thing turned him from Enemy Unit to a Neutral Unit and then into a Friendly Unit and that's why he's being Friendly?"

Airplane stared at him in confusion, before turning to his notes.

"Okay, so," Airplane started, "we haven't figured out what Allure actually does, but you're asking if the status change can be harnessed? Because—"

"No!!"

Airplane squinted at him.

"I don't— I don't want him to be a Friendly Unit because of some dumb spell!" Shen Qingqiu whined, upset and mad about being upset. "I want him to be Friendly because he's Friendly!! I—"

Airplane squinted at him.

"I like Friend Binghe!" he kept on blabbering. "Friend Binghe makes me happy!! I wish my mouth would shut up!!"

Airplane squinted at him.

"I'm going nuts!" Shen Qingqiu said, and then began to sob. Operation Lorebash wasn't even a battle, and he was already losing!!

"Bro, calm down," said Airplane, raising his notebook like a shield.

"Mind control is squicky!!" he tried to explain, feeling progressively crazier. "I like when people fight back!! I want Binghe to fight back!! But I don't want to die..."

"Bro! Bro!!" Airplane insisted from behind the notebook. "Multipliers, bro!! They make you sparklier!"

"That makes no sense!!" Shen Qingqiu slapped a pillow in revolt.

"Strong emotions make you prettier!!" Airplane cried, even as his own dumb soft-focus filter went haywire. "Think shoujo logic!!"

"I hate it!!" he shouted.

"Stop being gay!" Airplane shouted back.

"I'm not gay!!" he sobbed, in a way that even to his ears sounded extremely gay. "I want Binghe to break his mind control in a badass anime way but I don't want to die but I kinda would just to watch it happen!!"

"That's super gay!!" Airplane pointed out.

"No!!" Shen Qingqiu shrieked. "It's sick and badass!! Fuck you!! You hack writer," he added, pitifully, and then fell back onto his pillows, spent. "I hate Swoon," he whined.

That would turn out to be an average Operation Lorebash session. He could handle about twenty minutes of it before losing his ever-loving mind for no reason either of them could seem to fathom.

"I don't know why I'm being such a little bitch," he confessed to Mu Qingfang, eventually, and then immediately felt the urge to cry like a little bitch.

Mu-shidi gaped at his language harder and more intensely than he'd ever had at his scenic swoons, though, which was pretty satisfying.

"Shixiong," he said, gently. "I think you're just decompressing. You went through a deeply traumatic ordeal—"

"More like I drank some bad tea and went through a publicly inappropriate ordeal," Shen Qingqiu muttered venomously. "A deeply lewd ordeal. A dewd orgeal."

Mu-shidi looked at him with an offensively pitying expression.

"I meant the Water Prison," he said, slowly.

"Oh," said Shen Qingqiu. "That wasn't so bad."

"I've seen the place," said Mu-shidi, flatly. "Your disciple showed me. I read the reports. I also learned plenty that wasn't in the reports."

"It could have been worse," Shen Qingqiu said.

"You breathed acidic fumes for weeks. In solitary confinement."

"It could have been so much worse," Shen Qingqiu insisted.

Mu-shidi fixed him with a very serious, very intense stare.

"Shixiong," he said, firmly. "Something about the Lotus's lingering aura makes it very hard for me to compartmentalize my feelings about the litany of highly upsetting self-destructive folderol that has cascaded from your mouth for the entirety of our acquaintance whenever we happen to discuss your well-being, or more often the poor state thereof."

"Ah," Shen Qingqiu said.

"So," he continued, icily brutal, "I would appreciate it very much if you were considerate of my aforementioned feelings, and kept your usual casually dismissive attitude about your physical and emotional scars to a minimum at this current juncture."

"Okay," Shen Qingqiu said weakly.

"Glad to have reached an understanding," Mu Qingfang said, steadily and politely. "Now do enlighten this Shidi on how much worse Shixiong had expected his experience to be."

"Well," he stammered. "Well, they could have... cut off my legs."

"Cut off your legs," Mu-shidi echoed.

"And arms."

"And arms," he said, with slow and somehow threatening understanding.

"But they didn't," Shen Qingqiu added. "Which was good."

Mu Qingfang nodded. "In sum," he said, serenely, "Shixiong spent weeks in solitary confinement, his cultivation sealed, Without A Cure accumulating in his meridians, in a small stone platform surrounded by acid, breathing acidic fumes, and expecting to have his legs and arms cut off— all of this in the wake of very public and very false accusations. Is this Shidi correct?"

"Yes...?"

He had to fight off the impulse to say some of the accusations might have been true. Good thing he forgot to bring up the tongue! And the eye! Mu-shidi was already pissed off enough!

Also he no longer trusted his knowledge of Shen Jiu's backstory, so who even knew about all of that anymore. Airplane? Hah.

He waited until Shidi stopped pinching the bridge of his nose to make his own point. "Stress aside," he conceded, "this one does not sense any lingering harm from that experience— whereas..."

He indicated the bed.

"There was harm, though," said Mu-shidi. "The corrosion in your lungs, eyes, skin and meridians was independently confirmed by several of the masters who examined you during your ritual purification—"

Oh, the perv bath? Also what's this about corrosion in the eyes?

"—and was discussed at length prior to the Iridescent Pearl Lotus's infusion. You may not recall it," Mu-shidi continued, his face severe, "as you appeared to be barely cognizant of your surroundings. Regardless," he dismissed his own displeasure with a hand. "You were healed. Even the extant damage from Without A Cure has been undone, although the poison itself remains."

"Then why am I prone?" Shen Qingqiu couldn't help asking, a little petulantly.

"The Lotus's infusion appears to have, ah, forcibly widened your meridians—"

Ugh.

Just say fuck!! Just say the Iridescent Pearl Lotus of the Celestial Pavilion gently fornicated my spiritual veins wide open and now they're sore!! We all know it happened! We were all there!! It was a public event!! I even liked it!! It felt good!! It felt damn good!! I could go without the weird voyeuristic setup of an entire circle of sectarian representatives watching me jizz in my robes while I'm ritualistically out of my goddamn mind but if I could lock myself in a room and guarantee I could walk back out on my two feet and none would be the wiser you bet I'd be enthusiastically experimenting with this whole thing!!

Shen Qingqiu admits it!! In the privacy of his mind, but he does!! He was spiritually deflowered by a celestial plot device and he'd go for it again!! He just wished he'd been taken to dinner first!!

Mu Qingfang was shooting him a weird sly glare, even though Shen Qingqiu had firmly kept his mouth shut during his mental rant.

"...the Lotus infusion widened your meridians," he repeated, "And swelled your qi reserves to levels they would not have been equipped to handle otherwise. As far as we can tell, it's a permanent and dramatic change your body has yet to adapt to, so have some patience with yourself."

Oh, so his spiritual veins were loose like... a... loose... person? The whole sexual metaphor was falling apart on him, so he set it down with some ambivalent relief and let Mu Qingfang talk himself out.

Qi Qingqi at least knew the way to his heart.

"I come bearing goods," she announced, once the door had closed at Mu Qingfang's back. "You don't deserve my services, but I am magnanimous."

The goods were gossip.

A Tian Yi nun had spontaneously ascended during the proceedings, a glad occasion but one that left an unfortunate gap in their staff; other witnesses were saddled with one or more particle effects due to their unfortunate proximity, or something, who even knew. A wandering cultivator turned out to have been using experimental techniques to influence the perception of his associates— he got the Scourge, of course; his companions were upset but clear-headed for the first time in months, possibly years. Other Scourge subjects hadn't really brought their victims along, but were now for whatever reason compelled to confess their crimes and play nice. Or more specifically to confess to some crimes, and pretend to play nice.

Even the Old Palace Master?

Qi Qingqi made a face like a bloated corpse was humping her leg.

"Even now, he demurs and deflects," she grumbled. "His confession alludes to actions taken on behalf of several powerful families, but specifies neither said actions nor said families. He circles around the facts as if avoiding a curse, but it's impossible for a man of his power and experience to be subject to one so overpowering that he can't evade it and we can't detect it. The wounds on his face means he can't speak, and written interviews give him an edge. But..." she watched his face cunningly. "We do have leads."

The lead was Binghe.

"No, no, no," Shen Qingqiu said, out loud, trying to clamber out the bed like a complete moron. Qi Qingqi hauled him back onto the cushions before he managed to so much as kick off a single blanket.

"Behave or I'm leaving," she threatened, and settled back on her chair as he sagged in defeat. "Luo-shizhi has been a boon. He led us to the Water Prison and gave us a nice and detailed account of everything that was done to you, on and off-record. But the most pertinent account he gave us was of himself. The Palace Master was fucking with his head."

He wasn't!!

...probably!!

Anyway the only mindfucker in this circus was chief sparkle-clown Shen Qingqiu, and he wanted off the stage pronto, get him the fuck out of here—

"He was confused by his own behavior," she continued, to his growing horror. "His memories were clear, but he couldn't explain why he let things happen as they did— lay the fuck down, Shixiong! He recalls wanting you safe and under his protection, and thinking for some reason that the prison was a reasonable way to accomplish that. He remembers trying to hold casual conversation while you lay tied and shivering before him, and losing his temper when you didn't play along— down, Shixiong!" she said, hauling him back from a spirited attempt at cracking his skull onto the floor. "Do you want to upset him further? He thinks he was going mad! He thinks you must hate him!!"

"No!" Shen Qingqiu shouted, well and nicely ensconced in the middle of a nervous breakdown. "No!! I don't hate him, no—"

"Well, tell him that," she said.

"He hates me!!" he shrieked.

"Are you stupid?" Qi Qingqi asked.

"He's brainwashed, he really is brainwashed," Shen Qingqiu cried into his hands.

"Not anymore, you fool—"

"It's my fault!" he cried. "I did this, I did this—"

"This is inane," said Qi Qingqi as she flounced out of the room, safe in her entirely erroneous assumption that Shen Qingqiu hadn't turned into an abomination. He needed to fix this. He needed to grab Airplane by the ankles and shake him upside down until he dropped a new macguffin—

Binghe entered the room.

It spoke to the weight of his presence that even Shen Qingqiu's brain went quiet at the sight of him. The colors grew brighter; the light, bouncing off carved wood and gold foil, became honey-like.

Celestial Fascination was such bullshit.

"Shizun," Binghe choked, with sweet, heart-breaking softness.

"Binghe," Shen Qingqiu whispered back, bruised to his soul.

"Ugh," said Qi Qingqi, rolling her eyes from the door, before turning around and closing it firmly at her back.

Binghe flung himself at Shen Qingqiu's bed.

"Shizun!!" he cried, grasping Shen Qingqiu's gently illuminated hand. "No, no, Shizun, I could never hate you—"

Oh, this was giving him some bad deja-vu.

"Binghe," Shen Qingqiu shook his head helplessly, motes of light scattering through his hair. "Binghe, please, it's the Lotus, it's affecting your thinking and I can't control it—"

"I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me, why I did those things, why I—"

"You do— you do know, you're just muddled, it's my fault, the Lotus—"

"No!! No reason could justify—"

"I hurt you!! I— I pushed you into— I pushed—"

"But I understand now!!" Binghe insisted, squeezing his hand. "It's obvious! I should have seen it from the get-go!!"

"Binghe, what—"

"I was the most suspicious person in the entire gorge!!" he continued, almost too cheerfully, shaking Shen Qingqiu's shimmering hand up and down. "How could someone so righteous as Shizun justify sparing me and risking hundreds of lives under his responsibility? Shizun had no choice but to bury his feelings and take decisive action!! Even if his heart believed in this one's words, Shizun could not afford to be wrong in that situation!"

Binghe had just.

He had just.

He'd just come up with an actual logical reasoning for Shen Qingqiu's unbelievably shitty System-mandated actions.

"You..." he whispered, helplessly. "You accept that?"

"It was presumptuous of this disciple to demand preferential treatment in the middle of a pitched battle," Binghe said, mournfully. "It is true that this disciple was upset, but that does not make the feeling justifiable—"

"Justifiable!" Shen Qingqiu cried, trying to sit up. "It was the Endless Abyss! Of course it was justifiable— your anger, your hatred— how could you feel anything else when this lowly one condemned you to such a fate?"

"Shizun!" Binghe tried to push him back down, foiling Shen Qingqiu's attempt to grab and shake him by the shoulders; the air glittered bright and powdery as they struggled. "Shizun, is this what you—"

"The Lotus has you under a thrall!" Shen Qingqiu continued, clinging to Binghe's arm. "You have to wake up— become master of yourself! You can do it, you can do anything!"

"Shizun, easy—"

"You have your revenge to take!"

Binghe grabbed his head then, reeling back, dismay pale and bright in his face— good! Good, it was working! Do it, Binghe! Show the Lotus who's the protagonist!

"Is this what you've been thinking?" Binghe gaped. "All this time, you've been thinking...?"

"This one was too cowardly to face the consequences of his actions," Shen Qingqiu confessed, his chest clenching with renewed fear. "But I cannot stand for this. To see my disciple befuddled by some glorified weed—"

Binghe fell back on his ass in a puff of little lights, wide-eyed.

"Shizun—" he choked. "Shizun— Shizun—"

"You deserve better!" Shen Qingqiu sniffled, burying his shaking, shining hands in his sleeves. "You deserve the world! And I, I know what I deserve, so— I won't run again. I will p-pay my debt in blood, if, if I must, just— p-please— leave me my. My limbs."

Binghe stared.

"And my eyes," Shen Qingqiu added, sheepishly.

Binghe shook his head slowly, sparkles drifting listlessly downward.

"And my— no, nevermind, limbs and eyes, that's plenty," Shen Qingqiu babbled helplessly, the reality of what he was doing catching up to him. "Limbs and eyes. Yeah." He nodded. Lights fluttered.

Binghe covered his face with both hands, shaking, curling in on himself.

"...this is my fault," he sobbed, weakly.

What, getting brain-blasted by bullshit flower vibes? Hardly! Bing-ge had originally dealt with the Iridescent Pearl Lotus decades into his rise to complete domination. You're just underleveled! And you're already two years ahead of schedule! You're doing amazing, sweetie!!

Shen Qingqiu didn't say any of that, though, because a part of him was beginning to regret his life choices as of the last five minutes.

"Shizun, please," Binghe said, shakily, grasping at Shen Qingqiu's covers and incidentally revealing a tearful, flushed, heartbroken face, opalescent under his tears. "All that time I spent in the Abyss, fighting, fleeing, scavenging... you were my light."

"But—" Shen Qingqiu protested.

"My memories of you— your lessons, your music, your encouragement, your... your smiles!" he continued, hastily, his aura intensifying. "They kept me alive. They kept me moving. I was shocked, true! I was upset! Angry! Confused! But, Shizun... how could such petty feelings hope to outshine the years of joy and peace I experienced under your gentle guidance?"

"No...!" Shen Qingqiu mumbled, weakly, shaking his head.

"How could this disciple be anything less than grateful," Binghe insisted, "when it was Shizun's wisdom which saw this one to victory and to safety, time and time again, even when facing evils I could scarce comprehend?"

"But I—" Shen Qingqiu said, shrinking into his cushions, overcome with some paradoxical kind of hot, molten panic. "I hurt you—"

"I hated myself," Binghe confessed. "I thought I was— dirty, disgusting, unworthy—"

"I hurt my little disciple!" Shen Qingqiu sobbed, covering his face with pale, bright hands. "I stained my little sheep...!"

"But I wanted to see Shizun again! I couldn't help it! I wanted to know why Shizun did what he did— and now I know!"

"Binghe—"

"And I wanted to know whether Shizun regretted it, and now..." he grasped Shen Qingqiu's hands delicately, uncovering the rainbowy tear tracks upon his iridescent cheeks. "Now I know. Now I know!"

Shen Qingqiu sobbed uncontrollably, his entire body shaking, devoid of strength, scooped raw. He tried to speak, but he couldn't utter a single word.

Luo Binghe had just.

He had just.

He'd just given a perfectly understandable, non-brainwashed reason for... for not taking revenge.

Could his stint as a teacher truly have caused this big a change in Binghe's motivations? Yes, he'd set out to hug the protagonist's thighs, to buy himself a lesser sentence, to ensure his continued mobility if not his continued comfort, but... that initial resolution had kind of petered out into a comfortably mediocre routine. Binghe had cooked and cleaned after him, for fuck's sake! And he'd let it happen just because his little sheep had looked so upset at being denied!

Of course an orphan in Binghe's circumstances would strive to make himself useful and panic when foiled! But he'd looked so happy...

Oh, Binghe! Could it be... you have such low standards for what constitutes loving care? This is heartbreaking.

"I made so many plans, once I was finally out," Binghe continued, warming Shen Qingqiu's shaking hands between his own. "I was going to become a great, famous righteous cultivator, meet you again as a peer, and you would be so impressed and proud of me, you'd forgive my heritage and accept me again! It sounds... pathetically naive now that I say it, though," he laughed awkwardly. "Childish. Embarrassing. I don't know why I ever thought it would work, but. It's why I approached Huan Hua," he explained. "Distinguishing myself among their disciples would have been little trouble."

Harsh but true. Gongyi Xiao was the closest to competition he had in the entire sect.

"And then... I learned you'd gone to investigate a plague-ridden city. With your health!! With the poison!! I had to come at once. But..."

He shook his head ruefully, gazing intently into Shen Qingqiu's joined hands.

"It's no wonder Shizun fled before me," he said, softly. "Invading your room unannounced, pursuing you into the night, forcing my blood down your throat... nevermind all the fanciful self-recriminations Shizun was tormenting himself with— such actions can only be construed as threats! And the things I said!" he hunched his shoulders. "I barely remember what came out of my mouth, but the little I do is— unacceptable. Shameful..."

Vaguely encouraged by the admission, Shen Qingqiu nodded. Yeah, sorry, Binghe, the shit you were spouting was, uh, concerning. To say the least.

"My actions at the prison, too," Binghe continued, his eyes glistening. "What did I expect? After that farce in Jinlan, after keeping my counsel as you were defamed and mistreated, of course you'd expect the worst and maintain your distance. And there I was, expecting normalcy, demanding answers, screaming at you, ripping your robes then offering my own as if we were— as if—" he sputtered, winced, then dropped Shen Qingqiu's hands in order to push his forehead against the floor. "Those are the actions of the utterly deranged!! This lowly one has no excuses!! None whatsoever!!"

"Binghe," Shen Qingqiu said, softly. "Please rise."

"Shizun!" he cried into the floor.

"Binghe," Shen Qingqiu said, again. "Rise. I want to see my disciple's face."

He finally rose from his kowtow, and his countenance was shining, velvety, achingly fragile.

"Come here," Shen Qingqiu called, extending a weak hand that Binghe hastened to cradle.

He rose from his knees as Shen Qingqiu tugged him closer, enough that he could reach out and... make his point.

Shen Qingqiu guided Binghe's hand toward the sword at his belt.

"You have it," he whispered. "An excuse."

Binghe paled under his dimming glow.

In the end, it was Binghe's description of his "plans" that had convinced Shen Qingqiu. This Binghe had, despite a rocky start, been reasonably favored within Cang Qiong; he had no reason to hold a grudge against the cultivation world at large. Absent any rumors of a heavenly demon disguised as a disciple within the Alliance Conference— which Binghe could have easily ascertained upon his return— he could have simply laid low.

And, as Sha Hualing had once so memorably proved, a sufficiently powerful demon could break into the sect and cause havoc so long as they made sure Yue Qingyuan and Liu Qingge were otherwise occupied. Manufacturing this opportunity would have been child's play for Binghe, who was used to managing the documentation and correspondence of the Second Peak; he could have had Shen Qingqiu under his mercy with little hassle, then "escaped" the Abyss and joined Huan Hua with an impeccable sob story and a rock-solid alibi.

He'd only needed Huan Hua in the original work to weaponize its riches and influence against first Cang Qiong, then the rest of the world! And having established that this Binghe lacked the motive to seek out those targets...

...his actions in joining Huan Hua and revealing himself in Jinlan could have had reasons other than the ones he'd given, true. But they still spoke to some level of impaired judgment. Binghe was supposed to be smarter than that, and only one very specific plot coupon in the world of PIDW was known to affect him to such a level.

"This master only knows of one item which could have facilitated your escape," he told Binghe, softly, his other hand rising to touch his clammy face. "And it is known to exact a heavy toll upon its users. You must be careful," he added. "Avoid making use of it at all cost."

Binghe nodded, weakly, tears dropping freely down his cheek; he pushed into Shen Qingqiu's palm and, unexpectedly, turned his face to kiss it.

"As expected of Shizun," he said, softly, while Shen Qingqiu hiccuped in surprise and overheated in embarrassment. Binghe gazed at him kindly; Shen Qingqiu stared back, searchingly.

Motes of light floated across the room, around them and between them, as they gazed at each other in a Stupid Celestial Feedback Loop— until Yue Qingyuan came in for his babysitting shift.

"I figured it out, bro! I think!" said Airplane, striding into the bamboo house with a skip in his step.

They were finally, finally back home. Swoon had taken its entire allotted week to subside, the last two days of which had been spent inside a coach; Huan Hua was turning into enough of a clown show that the Cang Qiong delegation had unanimously elected to cart him back before any further incident of disciples tripping into a pile could take place.

Qi Qingqi had eagerly volunteered to stay behind and keep abreast of the proceedings. The decision had seemed out of character right up until they reached an inn for the night; Shen Qingqiu had Swooned spectacularly upon stepping down from his ride, the parade of curious non-cultivators around the place collapsing right along, and at once Shen Qingqiu wished he were Qi Qingqi and away from that shit.

Every stop along the way had been met with a crowd of nosy onlookers. The gossip had simply moved that fast.

At least now he was back in Qing Jing, in his bamboo house, and the worst he had to contend with was being on cooldown and having dumb particle effects.

"Figured what out," he snapped, flapping his fan in nervous bursts and blowing light motes all over the place. His raw, erratic mood might be another thing he had to contend with, too, and with Binghe outside there was nothing to keep it from taking a nosedive.

He was getting along so much better with his shixiongs! Being "enthralled" by the Old Palace Master was enough to garner him the horrified sympathies of even the likes of Ming Fan! His own set of particle effects were proof that he had been righteous and victimized! Which to be honest was kinda true!

So Shen Qingqiu felt like shit for feeling like shit, and also mad about it.

"Why you keep flipping out and losing your shit," Airplane told him, kneeling by the tea table as if he hadn't just said something supremely off-pissing. "See, I've been reading these over and it just hit me that most of your passives and actives," he shook his notes demonstratively, "are area of effect."

"And?" Shen Qingqiu tugged the teapot away from him in a fit of pettiness so intense it immediately flipped into shame and had him on his feet fetching another cup.

"And, well, you are in the area of effect. Smack-dab in the middle!" Airplane flipped through pages, oblivious to his shixiong almost fumbling a priceless teapot at his back. "And nowhere in these there's a note about you being immune to your own bullshit. So what I'm thinking is," he opened to a particular page, unaware of Shen Qingqiu's growing dismay, "when you did the dance? The Heavenly Dance? It's a bunch of Heavenly Tolls, right? And those reset your, uh, emotional modifiers. So..."

Oh no. Oooooh, no. Shen Qingqiu could see where this was going, and he absolutely hated that it made sense.

"If we assume that emotional modifiers are just, well, modifiers, and not the emotions themselves," continued Airplane, wholly focused on his notes, "then those are, what? Things that modify your emotions. Items, potions, stuff. Aphrodisiacs probably fall under that umbrella, too— happy for you, bro. But also? People control their emotions all the time. Right? Or not so much control as affect them, it tends to be subconscious. So I'm thinking that—"

Shen Qingqiu set the extra cup and refreshed teapot down with profound animosity. Ooooh, he hated it. He gollum-levels of hatessed it.

"—when you repress your emotions, that's also a modifier! At least for the purposes of, uh, all this shit, so, basically, your problem is you've been through a lot of shit, right, and suddenly you ran out of copium."

Shen Qingqiu dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling, long and silent.

"Bro?" Airplane asked, after nearly half a minute of not getting his tea poured.

"...this might as well happen," said Shen Qingqiu, flatly.

"Guess you're getting your repression back on track!" Airplane chirped, going back to his notes. "But there's more to this, too, and it's all good news."

"Oh, goody," Shen Qingqiu mumbled.

"So I decided to try and describe Xin Mo's properties through this lingo," he said, flipping his notebook to another page. "For fun, you know? And I feel pretty confident in saying that Xin Mo shoves emotional modifiers so far up your ass they're hitting your throat. Just piling multiplier stacks on all your worst traits till you get a qi deviation from all this psychic damage over time! And then— in comes a guy who drank a flower infusion and drops them straight back down to zero. Get it?"

Shen Qingqiu tried to catapult himself away from the table, only for Airplane to wrestle him back down as if he were a recalcitrant toddler, then pour tea for them both while Shen Qingqiu tugged his hair completely askew.

Not even Airplane was fazed by his random freakouts. This was the lowest Shen Qingqiu had fallen since he was killed by food.

"But yeah!" Airplane resumed, slapping his Xin Mo stat sheet triumphantly, tea cup in his other hand. "This is why Binghe is being friendly to you— it's his baseline status! With the effects for Heavenly Toll, then the ones from Heavenly Dance which grant both Serenity and Heavenly Bliss, which as it says here—" he flipped back a few pages— "blah, blah, basically Dual Cultivation without requirements... you scrubbed his Xin Mo Danger Meter nice and clean!"

"...I thought I would be weak to Xin Mo, not the other way around," said Shen Qingqiu, slowly, his splayed fingers dragging down his face. "The description said—"

"Well, yeah," Airplane conceded. "Xin Mo is a mythic level item, for sure— but so is the Iridescent Pearl Lotus of the Celestial Pavilion. I mean, it's in the name! Gods rise into and fall from the heavens willy-nilly, but that flower is a native species. You're as weak against Xin Mo as Xin Mo is weak against you. You cancel each other out!"

Shen Qingqiu considered this revelation carefully.

"Is this why Zhou Meizi had to ascend?" he asked, eventually.

"Oh? Oh!" Airplane brightened— literally, because of his inherited sub-trait— before glancing away awkwardly. "Erm, yeah. I mean, a single Toll can reset Xin Mo's influence, and a Dance can do a full spiritual cleanse and put a stop to even the nastiest qi deviation. She'd drive the harem to obsolescence— she'd drive papapa to obsolescence! So she had to go."

"You talk like you weren't the one writing the book," Shen Qingqiu pointed out, relaxing despite himself. "It was your story! Why not give this plot coupon some conveniently sexy limitation like you did a hundred others?"

Airplane looked confused and mildly upset by that observation.

"Anyway," said Shen Qingqiu, hastily, feeling like he'd overstepped somewhere, "it's not like you didn't give her a lavish wedding and an excruciatingly described wedding night before she was rubber-banded into the sky."

Airplane huffed derisively.

"Bro, please," he said, contempt thick in his voice. "You know what my readership was about. If they didn't get their hit they'd riot! As for me, well," he shrugged awkwardly, "I know you're not having a good time, but I actually think this is a great development. Binghe is pretty attached to you, and you can manage his Xin Mo-related crises, and his harem is obsolete, so—"

"Uh, what?" Shen Qingqiu paused in the process of lifting his tea cup.

"I think we're on track for some refreshing slice-of-life," Airplane continued, blithely. "Which is what I've been wishing I'd written for the past several decades, lmao."

He'd actually said "lmao", as in lee-mao.

"But— Binghe's harem?" Shen Qingqiu repeated, weakly. "You can't mean..."

"You said it yourself, Bro, several times," said Airplane, swirling the dregs of his teacup as if it were fine wine. "It was bloated and comprised almost entirely of shallow beauties he'd met, wed and then forgotten about. That was the point! His was supposed to be a story about a guy who had literally everything he could want except for true happiness. The hollowness of material wealth!" He raised his palms theatrically. "The loneliness at the top!"

Shen Qingqiu felt like he was having either a revelation, or an aneurysm.

"That's all well and good for a guy in a book," said Airplane, serving himself more tea, "but it's pretty awful to watch up-close, so I'm fine with you derailing the whole thing. Anyway," he downed the entire cup in a gulp, rising to his feet. "Gotta go now, but you can keep the notebook, edit the Xin Mo entry if you remember anything I forgot. I have a meeting with my king— ah, did you know?" His gaussian glow brightened up a few notches. "My king hasn't hit me once for like, a whole week! No idea why, but I'm loving it!"

Notes:

MBJ: (raises fist for the daily courtship smacking)
SQH, stepping back in alarm: (glows softly like a tolkien elf as a subconscious defense mechanism) (suddenly charisma +2)
MBJ, struggling with himself: ??!?? ?!? ?? ? ?? !!! ?? ?!
SQH, uncertain but hopeful: (glows a little more) (charisma +3)
MBJ, having twenty simultaneous moments: !??! ?! ?? ?

Lotus Bloom hit SQH like a station wagon and he doesn't even know it.

Do I have an explanation? No. I’m not even sure I have actual thoughts in my head. I pictured Shen Qingqiu sparkling and glowing like a 90s CLAMP illustration, and then I pictured how mad he’d be about being depicted like that, and the seeds for this fic were planted. Add a dash of Shang Qinghua competence, the most mary-sue-ish plot device I could fathom, and a preposterous amount of riffing on RPG abilities/traits, and you get something like a weird character study that scooted in sideways. Shen Qingqiu is a sparkly princess now, uncontrollable irresistible purity aura and all; wife-beaming has never been so literal. Hell, I forgot to write it in and then there wasn't a good place to fit this information into, but Shen Qingqiu's hair has probably doubled in length and glossiness or something. He's just that magical now, you know!

I imagine the new main scenario quest has become “Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe gaze piningly at each other's soft-focus faces in a Stupid Celestial Feedback Loop, while explosions happen in the background”. The System must be living its best life.

Anyway, the Iridescent Pearl Lotus of the Celestial Pavilion is free to good home should anybody else wish to play around with it. It’s certainly among my proudest creations.