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It’s been one hundred and sixty-eight days since Shen Qingqiu ended their courtship. Luo Binghe doesn’t mean to count them, the tally simply exists in his head, unprompted. He likes to think he’s moving on gracefully. He hasn’t taken another omega to bed, some splinter in his heart aching at the mere idea of being unfaithful, nor has he grovelled an embarrassing amount—only a perfectly appropriate, reasonable amount—and he stopped weeping himself to sleep quite early on.
Still, his chest aches whenever he meets those pale jade eyes.
The only silver lining is that Shen Qingqiu hasn’t taken another alpha either. He spends far too much time with Liu Qingge, allows the alpha far too many liberties, but Luo Binghe never gets so much as a hint of Liu Qingge’s scent from Shen Qingqiu. Luo Binghe’s blood boils whenever Shen Qingqiu leans in to speak to the other man, when he allows Liu Qingge to put food in his bowl or carry his books, Luo Binghe has to use meditation exercises to un-grit his teeth.
Luo Binghe should be doing those things. It’s not Liu Qingge’s place, it’s his—
—except it’s not. Not anymore.
He can’t help but wonder if Shen Qingqiu is properly satisfied, relying on his own hand for pleasure, deprived of Luo Binghe’s skilled mouth.
Luo Binghe shakes himself. He should be grateful. Shen Qingqiu has been kind. Kinder than Luo Binghe deserves. Shen Qingqiu hasn’t destroyed their relationship entirely, he still speaks to Luo Binghe, he still accepts the food Luo Binghe cooks for him and the small, inadequate gifts Luo Binghe’s meagre stipend can buy for him.
Most incredibly, he still guards Luo Binghe’s devastating secret.
Luo Binghe is grateful for that. He is. He is. He will always be grateful. He owes Shen Qingqiu his life.
He would be thrown out or more likely, killed, if the truth of his nature is discovered.
He just can’t help it. Can’t stop the desperate, aching need in his heart. It’s as natural as breathing, unthinking, instinctual, he can’t stop himself even if he tries.
At this point, he’s given up trying to get over Shen Qingqiu. There will be no other for him. Perhaps, when they’re older, and they’ve left the sect, he can try again. If Shen Qingqiu hasn’t been snatched up by then.
So many ifs, so much relying on the unreliable. It’s all he has left.
One this day however, halfway into winter, with the snow falling thick and cold over the mountains and valleys, Luo Binghe’s luck changes. He and Shen Qingqiu are assigned to investigate a strange death in Jin Lan.
They spend the day questioning the noble family whose daughter was found dead and despite using an elaborate array within the room and examining the body, Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe can’t find any sign of demonic attack.
According to the woman’s maidservants, she’d been behaving strangely for a few weeks. Sleeping all day, worrying at night, complaining of headaches, and refusing to eat. She had been set to marry, and her fiancé, a man who looked old enough to be her father, lined and white-haired, interrupted them to lament the loss of his young, beautiful bride.
Shen Qingqiu dislikes the man instantly.
After extracting themselves from the odious, blubbering man, Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe make their way to the inn, and Shen Qingqiu books one room. Luo Binghe, standing beside him at the counter, starts a little. There was enough money for each of them to have their own rooms, why would Shen Qingqiu want to share?
He looks at Shen Qingqiu, the question plain on his face, but Shen Qingqiu only raises an eyebrow, pale eyes unreadable.
Luo Binghe spends the next few hours fighting off a ravenous hope.
They take their evening meal in the main room of the inn at a small wooden table, simple fare that Shen Qingqiu eats as elegantly as if it were a meal served to an Emperor. Luo Binghe tries not to stare, tries to offer useful suggestions as Shen Qingqiu thinks aloud about the case. They’re in one corner of the room, the tables around them empty, and Luo Binghe basks in Shen Qingqiu’s presence as he would a summer day.
Most of all, he tries not to think about them sharing a room. Shen Qingqiu’s storm and bamboo scent wrapped close and enticing around him. Shen Qingqiu only a few steps away, warm and relaxed, protective outer layers stripped off, itching, perhaps, for some relief after their long day.
Would he indulge himself with Luo Binghe in the room?
He should. He deserves pleasure, even if Luo Binghe can’t be the one to give it to him. Luo Binghe won’t take offense at all if Shen Qingqiu touches himself. He will give Shen Qingqiu all the privacy he needs. Luo Binghe will lie so still and silent, it will be as if he isn’t there. If he locks every sound into his memory for later—
“Binghe.”
Luo Binghe startles out of his daydream. Shen Qingqiu arches a brow, waiting for an answer.
“Sorry. I was just—thinking.”
“About what?”
Luo Binghe wills down a blush, experiencing a brief, awful gladness his demonic heritage allows him to control his own flesh minutely.
“The case!” Luo Binghe fumbles for something intelligent to say, mind still sunk halfway into his dream. “That noble was awful, wailing about how beautiful she was, she was suffering before she died. He had no care for her heart, he only wanted to enjoy her flesh.”
Shen Qingqiu blinks, the suspicion growing in his eyes is interrupted by surprise.
“Hm.”
Luo Binghe smiles. He knows approval when he hears it.
--
Luo Binghe remains distracted throughout dinner, and once they actually enter their room and undress for sleep, turned away from each other for privacy, Luo Binghe vibrates with nervous tension.
He doesn’t know why. Nothing is going to happen. Shen Qingqiu is going to fall asleep. Shen Qingqiu is not going to touch himself. It’s a stupid fantasy that is not going to happen.
Luo Binghe lies down in his own narrow and lumpy bed. Shen Qingqiu’s must be equally uncomfortable. For a mad moment, he considers offering to let Shen Qingqiu sleep on him instead, he would be much more comfortable.
He looks over at Shen Qingqiu. With the blanket pulled up to his neck and hands neatly folded on his stomach, eyes closed, looking like a sleeping celestial statue in the moonlight filtering through the thin curtains. Luo Binghe swallows hard and turns away.
Time passes.
Luo Binghe is restless, his body demanding release. The animal living in the pit of his guts is half-awake, instinctually aware of the omega across the room. Shen Qingqiu’s scent is faint, yet enticing. The heady mix of bamboo, summer storms and chrysanthemum’s is a slow, lurid tease.
Snow falls outside the window while Luo Binghe shifts, his cock growing fat, his flesh heating, and his mouth filling with saliva.
He swallows it down, hands clenching in the thin sheets.
Don’t think about it.
Don’t think about what it tastes like.
Sweet, rich, faintly green—heavenly.
The warmth of the room is nearly oppressive, tangible on Luo Binghe’s skin. Luo Binghe had prepared an excess of warming talismans so Shen Qingqiu would not feel cold. Luo Binghe squirms, stubbornly keeping his head straight, blinking at the dark ceiling. He won’t look at Shen Qingqiu. If he does, the need to go over there, to kiss Shen Qingqiu awake, to make his cold eyes warm and soft with pleasure—will be too great to resist.
Maddeningly, Shen Qingqiu’s scent grows stronger.
Luo Binghe clenches his jaw and turns onto his side, facing the wall, maybe Shen Qingqiu’s scent won’t climb down his aching throat like sweet, warm syrup if he faces away. He squeezes his thighs together, curling his fingers into his palms, digging his nails into the sensitive flesh.
The pain doesn’t help.
It’s too close to when Shen Qingqiu would scrape his nails over Luo Binghe’s scalp, tugging his head, moving his mouth over Shen Qingqiu’s chrysanthemum at his own pace. Heat unfurls in Luo Binghe’s belly, his tongue darts out lick his lips and hunger coils through him, sharp and demanding.
Shen Qingqiu would make the loveliest sounds. Quiet sighs, soft, barely audible moans, long groans that rolled out of him seemingly without permission. A gorgeous symphony to accompany the lush feast of his physical responses, Luo Binghe’s mind unhelpfully renders every twitch and shudder, the softness and warmth of his skin, the way his scent would bloom, opening up and expanding, revealing deeper notes of sandalwood and the musk of want.
Luo Binghe can smell it now, can taste it on the tip of his tongue—
Luo Binghe freezes. His heart pounds against his chest, a frantic, needy rhythm. There’s a rustling, fabric shifting, like someone moving their hand under their clothes.
Luo Binghe is wide awake, staring at the wall. Maybe he’s gone mad, started hearing things. It’s just the leaves outside—
There it is again.
Luo Binghe waits, not breathing.
The rustling continues, it pauses occasionally, with no discernable rhythm. It’s definitely the sound of cloth moving. Luo Binghe’s chest feels tight. It can’t be, Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t—
He just—he wouldn’t.
Luo Binghe braces himself, he’s going to take a deep breath, and he isn’t going to smell arousal. He’s just imagining things. He must be so desperate, so pathetically needy, that he’s lost his mind. That’s all.
Luo Binghe breathes in and is hit with a physical hammer of sweet, rich, familiar desire.
There’s no mistaking it. Shen Qingqiu really is—
—aroused—wet—touching himself on the other bed.
Luo Binghe stares dumbly at the wall. Desire roars to life inside his belly, a searing heat, a blazing tower of needwantplease. He’s turning before can think, instinct taking over. His eyes land on the other bed and—
—the moonlight is kissing the blanket where it shifts over Shen Qingqiu’s groin, is glinting off his hair, is glowing on the skin of his wrist, exposed as it hides his face.
Luo Binghe falls off the bed.
He scrambles to his hands and knees immediately, unable to control the rush of blood to his face. By the time he raises his head, Shen Qingqiu is sitting up, staring at him, two high points of pink on his cheekbones the only giveaway of what he’s been doing.
“Let me help!” It bursts out of him, breathless and desperate.
Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrow.
Luo Binghe can smell it, unmistakable now. The fresh, sweet scent of Shen Qingqiu’s slick. His eyes jump to Shen Qingqiu’s hand, two long fingers are damp and glistening.
Luo Binghe’s head feels too big, swollen with heat. His mouth waters, tongue slipping out, aching to taste. His heart is a fat, twisting knot inside his chest, tightening to the point of pain. Stupid to ask, Shen Qingqiu is going to reject him and then what will he do?
Grovel.
Yes, a little more grovelling is acceptable right? Understandable, forgivable, in this situation?
“Why should I let you?” Shen Qingqiu’s haughty mask is firmly in place, he looks down his perfect nose at Luo Binghe.
Luo Binghe swallows, his tongue darts out to wet his lips, his lungs expand hungrily to drag in more of that delicious, teasing scent. It’s impossible he hasn’t been rejected right away, perhaps he’s dreaming?
Luo Binghe seizes the chance anyway, even if it is a dream, it’s amazing.
“I’m good! My mouth—“
Luo Binghe licks his lips, slowly, deliberately. Shen Qingqiu’s eyes flick down to his mouth. His throat bob’s.
“You like it.”
Shen Qingqiu tears his eyes from Luo Binghe’s mouth. He doesn’t deny it.
“I won’t do anything else. Just my mouth. You don’t need to touch me or anything, it won’t mean—just—just use me. “
Luo Binghe sways forward as he speaks, eyes big and pleading, trying to get as close as possible. He’ll crawl across the floor and kotow at Shen Qingqiu’s feet, he’ll—
“Very well.” Like a lord granting a favour—and he is, granting Luo Binghe the highest of favours—Shen Qingqiu beckons him over.
Luo Binghe scrambles forward, dizzy from the intoxicating scent and Shen Qingqiu’s consent. He settles on his knees between Shen Qingqiu’s legs, which open to accept him.
This close, Shen Qingqiu’s scent is thick and syrupy, sinking into his throat and soaking into his brain. His blood burns, heat rising to roast his mind, setting him aflame. Shen Qingqiu’s hand sinks into his curls, those lovely, adored fingers grip him tightly, guide him assuredly to press his face to Shen Qingqiu’s groin.
Luo Binghe huffs in that heady, drugging scent, mind already half-floating in the warm, enthralling haze of taking care of his omega.
He licks at the hard, hot flesh under his mouth, wetting the thin cotton with this saliva. His fingers leap to the ties keeping the sweet promise of slick from his mouth. He undoes them, fumbling in his haste. He nuzzles into Shen Qingqiu’s crotch as he peels the offending cloth away, and spares only a single, seizing moment to stare at the perfection of Shen Qingqiu’s cock.
Then he’s licking, slurping, kissing, worshipping up and down the length.
He sucks the gorgeous, flushed-pink head into his mouth and groans. Shen Qingqiu tastes so good. Better than anything else. It goes straight to his cock, which is hard and straining against his trousers, leaking desperately though the fabric.
Shen Qingqiu makes one of his soft sounds, his dark, silken hair swaying forward, his inky lashes dipping, the usually severe set of his mouth becoming languid. His scent curls around Luo Binghe, like a halo, like a crown, surging with yesmoreyesgood satisfaction, bamboo and tea, spring rains and the sharp tinge of lightining.
Luo Binghe takes him deep, filling his throat, cramming himself full off Shen Qingqiu, moaning wantonly around the thick length. Shen Qingqiu’s nails dig into his scalp, and he releases a deep hum, the precursor to a moan. Luo Binghe sucks hard, hopeful, even as his eyes water. He blinks, letting the tears fall, watching Shen Qingqiu’s pupils dilate, his gaze enraptured, following the trail they burn down Luo Binghe’s cheeks.
His other hand brushes over one, thumb warm and calloused. He brings it to his mouth, petal-pink tongue darting out to taste. Luo Binghe’s cock kicks where it’s trapped, he could come from this, he has before, just from being good for Shen Qingqiu, crying for him, begging for him.
Shen Qingqiu rocks his hips, sighing, the tension seems to slip from his shoulders. After a few wonderful, thrusts, he draws out his glistening cock.
Luo Binghe whimpers, struggling not to strain after it. His alpha is bereft, empty, starved. How can Shen Qingqiu be so cruel? Doesn’t he know how much Luo Binghe needs him? Luo Binghe swallows down an undignified whine.
He needs to be good.
His hands curl around Shen Qingqiu’s hips, muscles flexed with the effort it takes not to push Shen Qingqiu’s legs apart and lick him where the scent is strongest, where he’s wet and needy.
Instead, Luo Binghe helps Shen Qingqiu push his trousers down his thighs, and pulls them off his legs. His hands tremble, electricity jolting though him with every brush of sensitive fingers against Shen Qingqiu’s soft, warm skin.
It’s always a little surprising how warm he is. How warm he can look, his usual countenance suggests it is impossible. But he does look warm, inviting, enthralling, like this: cheeks rosy, lips parted, hair loose and cascading around them, his eyes soft, only a thin ring of green remaining around the dilated, hungry pupils.
Luo Binghe lets go of Shen Qingqiu to fold the trousers, barely holding himself back from shoving the damp section into his mouth and sucking out the delicious taste. He sets them down, guts twisting at the waste.
Luo Binghe isn’t given long to mourn however, as Shen Qingqiu peers down at him, and then spreads his legs.
Luo Binghe blacks out a little.
When he blinks to, dizzy and shivering, his head is resting on Shen Qingqiu’s warm, firm thigh, Shen Qingqiu’s long fingers carding through his hair. Luo Binghe tries to speak, to reassure, but all he manages to do is open his mouth and drool, tongue lolling, desperate for a taste.
Shen Qingqiu looks amused, he pulls Luo Binghe’s head up by the hair and raises his legs. His feet— dainty, white-socked, perfect—come to rest on Luo Binghe’s shoulders. Luo Binghe moves through thick, sweet air. His eyes dropping to look at the delectable curves of Shen Qingqiu’s thighs, dragging along the skin to the apex, where Shen Qingqiu’s long fingers are wrapped around his cock.
Luo Binghe swallows hard, heart threatening to beat right out of his chest, coherent thoughts melting down and dribbling out of his ears. There, in the shadow of Shen Qingqiu’s plump balls, is his chrysanthemum, pink, slick and shining.
Luo Binghe’s tongue drops out again, and he’s moving, answering the call of Shen Qingqiu’s body, of his omega’s need. Thought falls away, and there’s only his tongue, and Shen Qingqiu’s slick.
It’s ambrosia in his mouth.
Luo Binghe laps over that sacred place. Over the tight furl of delicate skin leaking sweetness onto his tongue. Over the soft inner thighs, damp with slick. He groans and moans huffs, gorging himself on the taste that is wholly Shen Qingqiu. Rich and sweet and green like Shen Qingqiu’s eyes, sparkling and sharp like the clear streams that feed the pond behind the bamboo house, soaking through and lighting up his being like the storm of Shen Qingqiu’s temper, so good it’s almost painful to swallow it down.
He drinks Shen Qingqiu down for long minutes. He drowns himself in it. In Shen Qingqiu. He’s overwhelmed, completely surrendered, Shen Qingqiu’s thighs closing around his head, enclosing him in the fever-sweet darkness of his body. Every minute shift of Shen Qingqiu against him, every sigh and cut off moan, every shiver, all of it, savoured and swallowed down, safe in Luo Binghe’s belly
Luo Binghe could spend the rest of his life here. Could suffocate himself. Could die with a smile on his lips and gratitude in his heart. Sometimes, he thinks he’d let Shen Qingqiu kill him, if Shen Qingqiu did it like this.
Shen Qingqiu’s hands pull his hair, and Luo Binghe’s tongue goes to work in earnest. Licking over Shen Qingqiu’s chrysanthemum repeatedly, soothing the tight furl of muscle until it relaxes, until he can point his tongue and push, slow and steady, jaw already aching, into Shen Qingqiu.
Shen Qingqiu jerks, stiffening when the slick, starving tip of Luo Binghe’s tongue enters him, his thighs squeezing around Luo Binghe’s head.
Luo Binghe nearly comes. Shen Qingqiu is so, so hot inside, molten, wet and soft and burning. Luo Binghe whimpers, from here, Shen Qingqiu’s slick pours directly onto his tongue. It’s all he can to do swallow it down, and move his tongue at the same time.
Small, careful swipes, licking up that drugging, intoxicating sweetness. Drooling and swallowing and whimpering and whining because it’s so so good. He can’t think. He can’t breathe. He’s suffocating and he wants to do this forever. Until he passes out. Anywhere and anytime Shen Qingqiu wants it. Luo Binghe would gladly be his toy, his servant, his slave even, alpha instinct be dammed.
Devoted. Worshipful. Obedient.
He fucks Shen Qingqiu slowly with his tongue. Inches the whole length in bit by bit. Until he can swipe it around, trail the tip over that precious pleasure point. Shen Qingqiu rocks into his face, and they work that rhythm while Luo Binghe drowns and drools and swallows and sucks with his lips and fucks with his tongue.
Luo Binghe keeps pressing his tongue into that sweet spot, Shen Qingqiu’s thighs twitching, a sound escaping him every time. A sigh, a groan, a breathless, cut off moan.
Shen Qingqiu rocks his hips faster, rutting against Luo Binghe’s face, and Luo Binghe keeps devouring him, ravenous. He’ll never have enough of this, even if he did this every day of his life, it wouldn’t be enough. He’ll always be hungry for more of this ichor, this heaven, this honeyed slick, the essence of his beloved.
Shen Qingqiu’ stills, thighs clamping down around Luo Binghe’s head, his silken insides strangling Luo Binghe’s tongue, every muscle locking down. He spills, his cock no doubt spurting a gorgeous arc over his belly, and his chrysanthemum releasing a flood of overpowering sweetness, so strong his teeth ache.
Luo Binghe swallows every drop.
Shen Qingqiu’s scent sings satisfaction, and it sends Luo Binghe over the edge. Pleasure boils through him, as searing and as sharp as a blade. He comes with a whimper, tongue still working, his needy sounds muffled against the skin of Shen Qingqiu’s arse.
Luo Binghe spends the next several minutes in a daze.
He can’t speak, even with his tongue able to draw out, even with every last drop of slick licked into his mouth, even with Shen Qingqiu’s thighs parted and Shen Qingqiu’s hands in his hair, pulling him back.
Shen Qingqiu looks debauched. His cheeks flushed red, sweat sparkling on his forehead and jaw and the gorgeous line of his neck, chest heaving, hair in disarray. Dishevelled and satisfied and stunning.
Luo Binghe feels drunk.
The bitter scent of Shen Qingqiu’s seed is simply another intoxicating scent Luo Binghe has to taste. He licks Shen Qingqiu’s cock clean, then laves his tongue over the soft cotton covering Shen Qingqiu’s belly, where some of it has spilled on the cloth, he ends up sucking the fabric into his mouth, eyes locked on Shen Qingqiu’s, swallowing down saliva and Shen Qingqiu’s pleasure.
Shen Qingqiu’s eyes sparkle with the faint sheen of tears, but there are no streaks for Luo Binghe to taste. In moments, Shen Qingqiu blinks them away, awareness returning to his eyes.
Luo Binghe isn’t sure how long he spends sucking on the cotton, nuzzling Shen Qingqiu’s thighs, the only thing he knows is he’s done well. His alpha purrs within him, Shen Qingqiu’s satisfaction twining through their mingled scents, makes him buoyant with happiness.
He doesn’t notice the ache in his jaw or the protest of his knees for a long time.
--
The next day, Luo Binghe floats around the city, one step behind Shen Qingqiu, feeling as light as a feather. They return to the noble house, and fail to find any more clues. Shen Qingqiu waits several sichen for the maidservant to have a spare moment from her chores.
He steps away from Luo Binghe, bending close to ask her a question.
Luo Binghe is so happy that he doesn’t immediately rush over to put himself between them. Instead he strolls over, leisurely, content. Because he’s the one who satisfied Shen Qingqiu last night. He’s the one who has Shen Qingqiu’s pleasure in his belly. The woman is old and a beta anyway, not that Luo Binghe discriminates against potential threats to Shen Qingqiu, or his own position. It’s just, he’s so reassured by the previous night, he doesn’t feel the need to be on the defence.
Shen Qingqiu’s brows furrow at whatever she whispers to him and he looks at Luo Binghe with a complicated expression. Luo Binghe smiles back, unable to keep the joy from his own. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t smile back, but the complicated expression fades away, replaced with something Luo Binghe giddily squeals—in his mind, not aloud, he isn’t an idiot—is fondness.
Yes, Luo Binghe’s eyes linger on the wry twist of Shen Qingqiu’s lips. It’s definitely fondness, for Luo Binghe.
It’s the best day of his life.
--
It’s the worst day of his life.
Luo Binghe is vibrating with—not anger, he’s not angry with Shen Qingqiu. He isn’t. Shen Qingqiu must have a reason, a good one for bringing them, here.
Luo Binghe stands tall and proud. He has nothing to be ashamed of. Neither he nor Shen Qingqiu are here for improper reasons. Shen Qingqiu certainly can’t be. Luo Binghe satisfied him thoroughly last night, he can’t be looking to pay a strange alpha to serve him?
The signature red lamps of the brothel are lit, even in the early evening. The day has been a dark one, overcast and gloomy, with rapid flurries of snow pelting the thronging crowds. It’s the mid-winter festival, and the glow of bright lamps and cheerful street stalls smelling of delicious snacks had kept Luo Binghe warm throughout their walk.
It wasn’t until Shen Qingqiu marched right up to the brothel that Luo Binghe felt cold.
He glares at every one around them, making sure to catch the eye of every alpha and hold it until they are cowed. An incredibly pretty woman approaches them, her lined eyes bright with recognition and relief.
Luo Binghe focuses. Does she know Shen Qingqiu? She can’t possibly—
“Gege! I’m so glad to see you.”
Gege?! Luo Binghe’s mind boggles, who does this woman think she is? He’s about to scold her, looming into her space, when Shen Qingqiu’s hand clamps down on his arm.
Shen Qingqiu gives him a look.
Luo Binghe closes his mouth. Jaw clenched, he stands close enough to Shen Qingqiu to make his disapproval obvious. He glares at the woman, who blinks back at him, perplexed. She turns back to Shen Qingqiu, smiles again, but there’s a line of worry between her brows.
“Let’s go to my room.”
Her room?! So she can put her unworthy hands on Shen Qingqiu?! Not on Luo Binghe’s watch you won’t you manipulative—
“Alright.”
Luo Binghe’s heart plummets. Shen Qingqiu can’t really mean to—
“Binghe.” Shen Qingqiu, half a step behind the woman, gives Luo Binghe a come here glance.
Well. That’s different. Maybe Shen Qingqiu wants to see him with a woman? Luo Binge sticks to Shen Qingqiu’s side as they make their way through the room, winding around beautiful, painted women and their customers. Music and laughter follows them into a corridor, and becomes muffled as they slip deeper into the building.
The woman stops in front of a pair of bamboo-screen doors and opens them. She ushers them into a small, yet cosy room, with only enough space for an intimate tea-table and sleeping mats. She sits down, arranging her robes around her, each movement elegant and refined. Luo Binghe has to admit she is quite lovely, eyes lined and lips painted red.
Shen Qingqiu sits down across from her with Luo Binghe at his side.
The woman makes no move to call for tea and refreshments, but wrings her hands where they rest in her lap. She’s worried.
“Where is she?”
She? Luo Binghe straightens up. Is Shen Qingqiu looking for a specific prosti—lady of the night? He must already be acquainted with her, must already have been intimate with her. Luo Binghe’s chest constricts painfully, and for a second, he can’t breathe.
It must have happened after they ended their courtship. Shen Qingqiu had needs and that woman fulfilled them. There shouldn’t be any need to meet her now though, not when Luo Binghe has shown how happy he is to take care of Shen Qingqiu.
Resentment curls through Luo Binghe, and he resolves to demonstrate again, in front of that woman even, that he is the only companion Shen Qingqiu needs. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t need to pay him either, which is surely a point in his favour.
The woman looks down, her composed expression cracks, and her lower lip trembles.
“She’s dead.” It’s a whisper.
Shen Qingqiu goes rigid. His voice comes out ice cold.
“What happened?”
“She—she’s dead. She went out to buy decorations and didn’t come back for days. We went looking and we found her—“ She dabs at her eyes with the edge of her sleeves. “—dead.”
Shen Qingqiu moves around the table and takes the woman’s hand in his. Luo Binghe swallows down a surge of jealousy. Maybe they’re friends. He tries not to feel too relieved. A woman is dead, Shen Qingqiu’s acquaintance, intimate companion or not, Shen Qingqiu knew her, he must feel the loss.
Shen Qingqiu isn’t here to have sex with anyone.
Luo Binghe isn’t glad, of course, it’s terrible. He’ll have to comfort Shen Qingqiu, will have to make up for the way the woman clutches at Shen Qingqiu’s hand like a life line, the way she sets her head on his shoulder and tries not to sob.
Shen Qingqiu strokes her hair, and Luo Binghe tells himself it’s because Shen Qingqiu is a good person. Kind, underneath his cold demeanour. It’s not because he wants to fuck her.
“Do you know who might be responsible? An angry client?”
The woman shakes her head. “No, Gege. There were no complaints. No one was angry with her.” She dabs at her eyes again.
“May I see the body? There might be a clue.”
“Yes, uhm—“ She looks at Luo Binghe, askance.
“He’s with me.” Shen Qingqiu says simply. Luo Binghe’s chest warms despite himself.
Shen Qingqiu takes both of her hands in his, looks deeply into her miserable eyes. “A-xing. I promise I’ll find the bastard that did it, I will make him pay.”
The warmth in Luo Binghe’s chest swells. Shen Qingqiu is so good. So noble. Helping anyone in need, even an unworthy demon like Luo Binghe. Luo Binghe doesn’t deserve him.
A-xing nods, and after a few more assurances, she stands up to take them to the body.
Several flights of stairs later, they enter a dark room, windowless and cool, likely underground. A-xing picked up a lamp along the way, and the candle within provides faint but sufficient illumination for her to pick her way through stacks of wooden boxes. Hidden behind a tall pile of them is a table, and on the table is a shrouded form.
A-xing sets the lamp down on the corner of the table. Luo Binghe’s eyes easily make out the tears sparkling in hers. Her hand trembles as she reaches for the cloth. Shen Qingqiu catches it, squeezes it. Luo Binghe, plastered to his side, is grateful for the darkness. It conceals the sour expression he can’t keep off his face.
Shen Qingqiu pulls the cloth off, and stares hard at the dead woman’s face. His expression isn’t obviously different, but Luo Binghe can see the pain in the corners of his eyes, the harsh set of his mouth, the clench of muscle at his jaw. He sends a pulse of qi into Shen Qingqiu’s arm, warm and reassuring.
Shen Qingqiu looks at him then, a little startled. Luo Binghe hopes he can see that Luo Binghe is here for him. To comfort and hold and reassure. Shen Qingqiu can weep on his shoulder if he likes and Luo Binghe will be honoured to wipe away his tears. Shen Qingqiu must see something, for he tilts his head, as if in question.
Luo Binghe isn’t sure what the question is. And whatever answer is on his face isn’t the right one, for Shen Qingqiu turns back to the body. He sets his hand on her forehead, and murmurs a few words. A simple ritual prayer, asking for peace for the departed soul.
Luo Binghe and A-xing follow along behind him.
Then, Shen Qingqiu examines the body. There are no obvious marks, no injuries, no sign of what caused the death. No sign of struggle either. No clue as to who did it.
Frustration grows within Luo Binghe just as he can sense it in Shen Qingqiu. Without any clear leads, the chance of finding the one responsible, and making them pay, as Shen Qingqiu promised, is non-existent.
He helps Shen Qingqiu search, turning over the body to examine the back, peeling off the shoes, shifting the robes to see if there’s some small sign they’ve missed. They find nothing.
Luo Binghe hates this. He hates the distant look on Shen Qingqiu’s face, the cold mask of indifference he wears as protection. Even his demonic senses provide no information, the woman doesn’t smell odd, nor are there any curses or stray bits of qi lingering around her.
Shen Qingqiu takes the dead woman’s hand, eyes hard with anger, and pauses.
He turns her hand around, and peels the stiff, grey fingers back from the palm. Lying there is a small belt hook made of white jade. Carefully, Shen Qingqiu picks it up. It’s carved with the face of a dragon. It look’s vaguely familiar, but Luo Binghe can’t quite place it.
Whoever it belongs to must be wealthy. A nobleman or an especially wealthy merchant. Identifying the murderer will still be difficult, near impossible maybe, but with this, they have a chance.
Luo Binghe feels a surge of gratitude towards the dead woman, for latching onto and keeping close, something useful like this. He’s surprised with the sudden appreciation for her, a stranger, who if she were alive, he would probably dislike for how much Shen Qingqiu cares for her, but now he feels a small amount of disappointment that he won’t get to know her. A part of Shen Qingqiu’s life, cruelly taken from him.
Shen Qingqiu stares at the piece of jade, expressionless, then tucks it away into his robe.
They give A-xing their farewells and reassurances and leave.
Shen Qingqiu is silent the whole way back, though he doesn’t shove Luo Binghe away when he sets a protective arm around his shoulders. Luo Binghe guides them through the thronging crowds, shouldering them open when needed and walks Shen Qingqiu into their room at the inn.
He breathes in the still lingering scent of their combined pheromones and leaves Shen Qingqiu, still lost in thought, it seems, sitting at the table. Luo Binghe goes downstairs and orders them dinner, which is already underway, so he takes it up himself.
Shen Qingqiu comes out of his stupor to eat.
“Thank you.”
Luo Binghe’s heart skips a few beats, and he has to fight his stupid smile off his face.
Shen Qingqiu acknowledging him like this, thanking him for such a small thing. It’s unbelievably satisfying.
Shen Qingqiu is still distracted throughout dinner, afterwards, he climbs into bed without a second glance at Luo Binghe. He’d taken the piece of jade out again to stare at it, and it’s still clutched in his palm as Luo Binghe blows out the candles.
Luo Binghe can’t sleep, so he lies awake, wondering about Shen Qingqiu’s strange behaviour. Shen Qingqiu hadn’t suggested they search for the owner, perhaps consult someone in clothing shops. Shen Qingqiu had merely looked at the jade and been silent and preoccupied about it.
Which means, Luo Binghe swallows, it means Shen Qingqiu already knows who the owner is. Who the killer is. Knowing Shen Qingqiu, he must have a plan to deal with him, to kill him. That’s why he’s been so quiet, probably working over the risk he intends to take.
If Shen Qingqiu is caught killing a noble or a wealthy merchant…
It would mean the end of his career as a cultivator. This isn’t a demon or a curse, but a man. And cultivators are forbidden from interfering in human affairs. Murdering one, especially, would be a capital offence. That won’t stop Shen Qingqiu from keeping his promise.
Shen Qingqiu is truly noble like that. He won’t go back on his promise.
He must mean to fulfil it then, and he if hasn’t told Luo Binghe. He means to do it alone. To take the risk alone. Keeping Luo Binghe safe from accusation.
Luo Binghe’s lungs spasm. Shen Qingqiu, is still doing all he can to protect Luo Binghe. As if keeping quiet about his demonic heritage weren’t risky enough. He’s risking even more.
Luo Binghe really, truly doesn’t deserve him.
A rustle of cloth pulls him out of his thoughts and he listens in silence as Shen Qingqiu gets dressed, picks up his sword, and leaves the room. He must be going to do it now, intending to return before morning, leaving Luo Binghe none the wiser. To keep him safe.
Luo Binghe throws off the covers and drags his robes, boots and cloak on. He picks up his sword and hurries after the tall figure slipping out of the door.
He follows Shen Qingqiu through the dark, wet streets. Empty and silent at this time of night, the crowds returned to their beds to sleep off their merry-making. Luo Binghe slips around a corner leading to a side street, and promptly gets Xiu Ya at his throat.
“Shixiong.” Luo Binghe croaks. Shen Qingqiu’s expression is fierce, anger looks lovely on him.
“Binghe.” Shen Qingqiu lowers the blade slightly, confusion flickers across his face, followed by determination.
“Go back to the inn. I’ll explain in the morning.”
Luo Binghe marshals his courage.
“No.”
“No?” Shen Qingqiu raises the tip of his sword, it hovers over Luo Binghe’s jugular. One wrong move and well, he may not die, but it would hurt. It would hurt a lot. Shen Qingqiu’s scent is sharp and angry, his eyes cold and hard. He would do it. Hurt Luo Binghe to keep him safe.
Luo Binghe’s heart feels too big for his chest.
“Let me do it.”
Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrow. He doesn’t lower his sword.
“Do what?”
“Kill him.”
“What makes you think I’m going to kill anyone?”
Luo Binghe licks his lips. He needs to say this right.
“The murderer. You know who he is. You intend to make him pay. Let me do it for you.”
Shen Qingqiu stares at him, something like disbelief crossing his beautiful face.
“Why should I trust you? Why would you help a would-be murderer like me?”
Luo Binghe shoves down the rising hurt, swallowing hard. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t trust him with this, but why would he? It’s not like Luo Binghe has proven he can be trusted with dangerous secrets. Not the way Shen Qingqiu has.
But Shen Qingqiu could trust him. He’d trusted him enough to take him to the brothel. And Luo Binghe hadn’t caused trouble or judged him for it. A wave of guilt washes over him. Not out loud anyway. In his mind he’d assumed the worst—that Shen Qingqiu was going to pay someone to service him sexually. He hadn’t trusted Shen Qingqiu either, not outright.
“Because, it’s the right thing to do.”
“Is it? To murder a man in cold blood?” Shen Qingqiu’s head tilts, curious.
“He killed her. Your friend. He ought to pay for that.”
There’s a pause. Shen Qingqiu stares him, searching his face.
“You really believe that?”
“Yes.”
Shen Qingqiu sighs, he pokes Luo Binghe’s shoulder gently with the tip of Xiu Ya, solid and sharp.
“Go back. I can do it. You don’t need to worry.”
Luo Binghe opens his mouth, and Xiu Ya comes to rest on his chin.
“All you need to do, is keep your pretty mouth shut.” Shen Qingqiu says, eyes dropping to Luo Binghe’s lips. When he looks up, the question in his eyes heats Luo Binghe’s blood.
Not the time.
“Let me do it. Please.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“I know. I know you don’t need me. You can do it on your own.” Luo Binghe raises his hands, placating, pleading.
“But I want to do this for you. Let me do it. You’ve done so much for me. Kept my secrets. Let me show you I can keep yours.”
Shen Qingqiu hesitates, thinking.
“I can make it look natural.” Luo Binghe continues, lowering his voice, as if he’s whispering something seductive. This is a seduction, in its own way.
“Please. Let me take this risk for you. Let me help you.” Luo Binghe wills Shen Qingqiu to see his sincerity, his devotion, his loyalty. All of it. Any of it. Let him trust Luo Binghe. Heaven, please, let him see that Luo Binghe is his, in all ways, no matter what, through all things, legal or otherwise, Luo Binghe will always be by his side.
“I can’t trust you.” Shen Qingqiu sounds like he wants to though. Luo Binghe can hear it in his voice.
“You trusted me with the brothel. You can trust me with this. I will keep your secrets, just as you keep mine.”
Gently, Luo Binghe pushes Xiu Ya down, Shen Qingqiu allows it. He stares hard at Luo Binghe’s face. Hope jumps around Luo Binghe’s stomach. It seems like…
“Fine.”
Shen Qingqiu steps back. His mouth is still set in an unhappy line.
“But I want you to bring back proof. Some token that you killed him.”
Luo Binghe could whoop for joy, could kiss Shen Qingqiu’s hand. He doesn’t, only nodding demurely and offering a soft smile. He wants to grin from ear-to-ear, but that kind of emotional expression right now will make Shen Qingqiu think he’s incompetent.
Shen Qingqiu sheathes his sword, and inclines his head down the darkened street.
As they make their way to the nobleman’s house, the clouds part and the moon comes out. Luo Binghe sneaks glances, admiring the way the moonlight worships Shen Qingqiu’s face. When they pause and wait for a trio of patrolling city guards to pass along the next street, Shen Qingqiu allows him to press close, and Luo Binghe’s heart sings.
Should he be so excited to kill a man for Shen Qingqiu? Probably not. Is he excited, thrilled, nearly aroused at the prospect of Shen Qingqiu trusting him this much? Yes, absolutely, completely, yes.
They reach the residence, Shen Qingqiu has lead them to the back wall of the courtyard. He crosses his arms and tilts his jaw. Well, his eyes say, go on. Show me if you can.
Luo Binghe decides then and there to give him a gift. Another secret. So Shen Qingqiu can feel secure while he waits for Luo Binghe to return.
Instead of leaping over the wall, Luo Binghe allows his demonic qi to slip out of his skin, it cloaks his body in smoky tendrils of darkness. Shen Qingqiu’s eyes go wide, alarmed.
“What’s this?”
“Shadow magic.” Luo Binghe says, trying not to purr at the interest Shen Qingqiu doesn’t bother to conceal. He focuses and a tendril stretches out, narrowing to a wavering point and approaching Shen Qingqiu.
Shen Qingqiu, brave and fearless and reckless beloved of Luo Binghe’s life, touches the tendril with one curious finger, intrigued. Luo Binghe can feel that finger too, it’s faintly electric, as if Shen Qingqiu is reaching through his skin and brushing directly over his nerves.
They’ll have to explore this more later.
“I can go directly inside.”
Shen Qingqiu’s interest – curiosity - intrigue, his utter lack of fear or disgust o contempt at Luo Binghe’s inhumanness, at the proof of Luo Binghe’s evil blood. It’s incredible. Stunning. Heady. Luo Binghe will never get tired of it. It’s so—
He doesn’t have words. His whole body feels hot. Aroused. His eyes are damp.
Not the fucking time.
“How?”
Luo Binghe grins helplessly.
“Like this.” He says, and disappears.
He reappears inside the compound, on the balcony. He can make out Shen Qingqiu, a dark figure on the street. He waves, and Shen Qingqiu waves back. Luo Binghe slips into the house.
It takes him several minutes to find the nobleman’s room. He shadow-walks from room to room, not bothering with the corridors. This skill is not one he’s had much occasion to use, but he finds himself quietly grateful for the ability, as it ensures he can serve Shen Qingqiu perfectly in this.
And earn his trust.
And maybe, just maybe, Shen Qingqiu will consider courting again.
Luo Binghe banishes the thought. That doesn’t matter. What’s important is that Shen Qingqiu trusts him, even if they remain friends, or friends who are occasionally intimate, even if Shen Qingqiu doesn’t declare them mates. This is still more than Luo Binghe could’ve hoped for. More than he deserves.
Shen Qingqiu’s trust is a priceless thing, and Luo Binghe is on the cusp of earning it.
Another room, large and luxuriously appointed. A bed, similarly appointed, contains two sleeping figures. The quiet of the night is interrupted every so often by the nobleman’s loud snores.
Luo Binghe approaches, and anger curdles through him as he hovers over the bed. The second person is a young woman, there’s a bruise over her eye. She’s on the edge of the bed, nearly falling off, as far as she can get from the man sprawled out beside her.
Luo Binghe recognizes him. It’s the nobleman they met earlier, he hadn’t recognized the route they’d been taking, too busy celebrating Shen Qingqiu’s trust in him. It’s the man whose fiancé died, the one who’d blubbered all over them about how young and beautiful she was.
Abruptly, Luo Binghe knows the nobleman must have killed her too. A sudden death, no sign of injury or struggle. However he’d done it, Luo Binghe can guess the reason why. She had refused to serve him, so he’d gone out, found a brothel worker, and when she had refused him too, on account of not working at the time, he’d killed her as well.
Luo Binghe reaches out with his shadows, he wants to make the man suffer, but there isn’t time. So he’ll make sure the man knows why he died instead.
He pushes his qi into the man, holding him till with the shadowy, tentacualr darkness that seeps from his form. He urges the man awake, but keeps his mouth shut, unable to speak. Terror struck eyes stare up at him, and he sees the recognition within them.
Demon.
“This is for your fiancé, and the woman from the brothel. And her,” Luo Binghe nods to the sleeping woman. “And any other woman you’ve wronged.”
The man tries to shake his head, whimpering. Luo Binghe watches his face, there’s no remorse, just abject fear. Luo Binghe stops his heart. He closes the man’s eyes after the last desperate shivers are done, walks to tall wardrobe in the corner, and picks out a jade token etched with the nobleman’s family name.
There’s something else in the wardrobe, a hand mirror of etched silver, facedown, bleeding malicious, murderous qi. Luo Binghe picks it up, careful not to turn it, and wraps it in a strip of cloth from his robes. This must be the murder instrument.
He shadow-walks back to Shen Qingqiu.
Finds him leaning against the wall. Shen Qingqiu startles forward, surprised, and, Luo Binghe notes with pleasure, impressed.
Luo Binghe offers him the token. Shen Qingqiu takes it, raises it into a beam of moonlight, stares at it. Then he stares at Luo Binghe.
“You actually—you killed him. For me.” He can’t keep the disbelief from his voice.
“Yes. For you.” Luo Binghe holds out his hand, an offer, a plea and promise in equal measure. I’d do anything for you.
“You’ll keep it a secret too? The brothel and this.” Shen Qingqiu looks at his hand.
“Yes. I will. I’ll even do it again. If you ever need it.” Luo Binghe would happily kill for him, suffer for him, die for him. It will take time for Shen Qingqiu to believe it wholly. But with this, Luo Binghe has set him on the path to reach that understanding.
Shen Qingqiu takes his hand, grips it tight. Luo Binghe squeezes back. His heart soars, and he smiles helplessly. Shen Qingqiu gives him a small, precious smile in return.
They hold hands all the way back to the inn.
Luo Binghe is utterly content, that night, they sleep in separate beds, but Luo Binghe feels closer to Shen Qingqiu than he has ever been. He has earned Shen Qingqiu’s trust, been given his secrets to guard. It’s an incomprehensible intimacy, a precious part of Shen Qingqiu’s life, now ensconced safely in the chambers of Luo Binghe’s heart.
It’s the one-hundred and eighty-ninth day since Shen Qingqiu broke the courtship, but the long months of anxious misery seem ephemeral to him now. Wiped away like cobwebs from a precious treasure, whose shining perfection he has only just noticed.
Luo Binghe goes to sleep with a smile on his face.