Chapter Text
Shen Qingqiu wakes to the warm rays of dawn and his husband’s radiant smile.
“Good morning, husband,” Luo Binghe says, eyes twinkling. He lays his head on Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder where they both lie in their bed—an easy and familiar gesture. “Shall I make us breakfast?”
“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu whispers. He hesitates before tucking a stray strand of hair behind his husband’s ear.
He still can’t quite meet Binghe’s eyes, after last night…!
Binghe himself seems fairly unbothered. He presses a kiss to Shen Qingqiu’s fingers smoothly, with zero hesitation. “I should make us something hearty,” Binghe continues. “So we can start off our honeymoon on the right foot.”
Isn’t it a little late for that? “Anything’s fine,” Shen Qingqiu says blearily. “Anything you make is good.” And you know it, you shameless thing!
Binghe pouts a little. “Today’s the first day, Shizun,” he says. “It needs to be special.”
“… First?”
“The first day of our honeymoon?” Binghe asks slowly, as if to humour his half-asleep husband through his slow return to the waking world.
Only—there’s no need for that now.
Shen Qingqiu sits up in bed, rapidly sobering up, as Binghe’s words finally sink in. He looks sharply at his husband, who, taken off guard by this change in demeanour, shrinks back a little at the sudden intensity. He observes Binghe’s eyes, confused, yet very, very much lucid.
“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu says. “The first day of our honeymoon was yesterday.”
Somehow, Luo Binghe’s memory is missing an entire day.
With more questioning, it becomes clear that Binghe’s lack of recollection of the day before isn’t from some temporary morning stupor. Because Binghe isn’t just mixing up dates here; he’s completely forgotten the events of the previous day. Twenty four hours of his life, gone as if it never happened.
It also becomes apparent that whatever this amnesia is, it’s not going away so easily. Shen Qingqiu examines his husband’s body, usually so impervious to any fault, and can’t find anything out of the ordinary—not a single clue that might shed light on how to solve this problem. Shen Qingqiu considers consulting Mu Qingfang, but he’s got a feeling that the solution lies elsewhere. Call it a hunch.
Binghe, who by this point has a good radar for his husband’s feelings and an unabashed desire to be spoiled, sits obediently through all of Shen Qingqiu’s fussing.
“So I really lost a whole day, Shizun?” he asks.
Shen Qingqiu winces. “I’m sorry, Binghe,” he says. “If only this teacher could tell you how or why.”
To have crept into their lives so abruptly yet quietly, and also leave no other physical symptom in Binghe’s body like a poison would, this amnesia could really only have originated from a curse. The question is, who would do such a thing, and why? It’s true that Luo Binghe, Demon Emperor and scourge of the cultivation world, has made a lot of enemies in his time, but anyone capable of casting this kind of curse unnoticed—and who had the opportunity to do it—could have done far, far worse by this point. Why create such an opportunity, and then squander it?
Shen Qingqiu threads the awareness of his spiritual senses through his husband’s meridians one more time for good measure. Having a better idea of what to look for, he manages to feel out the edges of the curse in Binghe’s body, though the form of it is difficult to grasp, like an eel slipping through his fingers. He does manage to discern some details, however. There’s a recurring quality to the curse, as though it reactivates at regular intervals. There’s a limited, fixed scope to the memories it steals away. And lastly, there’s some condition built in to this curse that, if fulfilled, will allow the curse to be dispelled, though Shen Qingqiu cannot possibly guess what that might be, even with all his fake-it-till-you-make-it Peak Lord experience!
Something nags at his brain about this whole setup.
Out-of-nowhere amnesia that strikes strangely predictably, at a predetermined time—sometime in the middle of the night, judging by Binghe’s current state. An odd lack of negative consequences following the protagonist’s sudden vulnerability. And a tantalisingly close solution to the curse, just out of reach.
It’s almost as if someone has reached into their lives and inserted an artificial conflict that’s sure to have a dumb resolution just to watch Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu squirm and suffer for a little bit.
Shen Qingqiu stops in his tracks.
Is this…
… a wifeplot?
“Are you going to keep examining me, Shizun?” Binghe says, voice breathy. “I really don’t mind.”
“Stop hitting me,” Shang Qinghua says.
Shen Qingqiu stows his abused fan. “This has your slimy hack author fingerprints all over it,” he accuses. “What is this storyline supposed to be, anyway?”
“You don’t know, bro?” Shang Qinghua snarks. “I thought you were my most dedicted expert reade—alright, alright, don’t take that thing out again, I get it.” He sighs. “It’s the wifeplot from chapter three thousand-and-something. There’s this artefact—a ring—”
“Of course there’s an artefact.”
“—that grants heartfelt wishes, and Luo Binghe’s supposed to have received it as some royal demonic court gift or whatever. Only, there’s a catch—upon making the wish, you have to have a way to survive the curse that follows.”
“The amnesia,” Shen Qingqiu says dully.
“Right. I think you’ve figured it out, basically? You’ll forget everything every night at midnight, but on the bright side, once the wish is fulfilled, the amnesia goes away too.”
“How is this a wish-granting artefact?” Shen Qingqiu says, aghast. “There’s no upside to wishing! Only this masochistic time-loop curse!”
Shang Qinghua shrugs. “Narrative predestination? I don’t know. I didn’t think about it too hard.”
Shen Qingqiu gives him a flat stare.
“You’re getting on my case for this?” Shang Qinghua protests. “Bro! You didn’t even read this arc!”
They need to move on before Shen Qingqiu throttles this shameless rat of an author. “Continue,” Shen Qingqiu allows grudgingly.
Shang Qinghua taps his chin in recollection. “The amnesia thing is like 50 First Dates, if you’ve seen that movie, only there’s an actual cure for the forgetting.”
“That was a terrible movie.”
“So you did see it! Anyway, Bing-ge in the original story saw right through the curse on the wish-granting ring, lost interest in it, and left it somewhere in his palace where a humble but beautiful serving girl who’s known nothing but misfortune in her life picks it up, and, well…”
A ring. Really, there’s a limit to how basic you can get with romantic imagery—and it’s anachronistic, to boot!
Wait.
Shen Qingqiu glares. “Are you saying my Binghe couldn’t see through the curse?”
“I am most definitely not saying that,” Shang Qinghua says. “Because nothing good would come of me stating or implying that in any way, shape or form.”
“… So what happened next?”
“Well, she was a pitiful kind of character. All she wished for was a single truly happy day in her life. So afterwards Bing-ge meets her and it’s an excuse for having a new date every day while he tries to figure her out. You know.” Shang Qinghua leans back in his chair, his explanation finished.
“You tried to write a romcom plot into a stallion novel?” Shen Qingqiu asks sceptically.
Shang Qinghua winces. “Yeah, didn’t go over too well. Anyway, you really don’t remember any of this?”
Shen Qingqiu wracks his brain thinking, but nothing comes up. “Did you include any interesting monsters in it?”
“No.”
“… That would do it,” Shen Qingqiu says.
“You’re a predictable guy when it comes to some things, huh,” Shang Qinghua says.
“Like you’re any different. Did the storyline end with a lot of gratuitous papapa?”
“Do you even have to ask?”
Shen Qingqiu rubs his temple while he reflexively curses Shang Qinghua under his breath.
“I mean, maybe it’ll all be resolved by tomorrow…?” Shang Qinghua says at his expression. He mimes something obscene with his hands. “You do know how to make Bing-ge happy, right?”
“Of course I do, that’s not the point,” Shen Qingqiu snaps, even though it actually kind of is. “But if this is a wifeplot, it doesn’t make sense. Why is Binghe the victim instead of me?"
“You’re calling yourself the wife?”
The fan descends.
“Bro!”
“Don’t dodge the question!”
“I wasn’t, I—” Shang Qinghua breaks off into a sigh. “Shen-shixiong. Peerless Cucumber. Buddy. My dude. You love literary analysis. You never shut up about it in your comments.”
Shen Qingqiu folds his arms. “And?”
“Have you never thought about it?” Shang Qinghua asks, almost pointedly. “Whatever we’re living, this isn’t Proud Immortal Demon Way anymore. It’s a whole different story now.”
Shen Qingqiu shifts around the soreness in his lower body. “I’m aware the genre changed,” he says stiffly.
“Congrats, but I’m not talking about that. We’re transmigrators.”
“Obviously.”
“So that makes this a transmigration story. Right?”
“I suppose you could say so,” Shen Qingqiu says, turning up his nose, “if you wanted to disregard the entire existence of the fourth wall.”
“Good enough, I guess. So. If this is a transmigration story, who do you think the real protagonist is?” Shang Qinghua leans in closer. His voice descends to a pointed whisper. “And following from that, who do you think the real love interest is…?”
Shen Qingqiu frowns. “What the hell are you going on about?”
“Alright, forget it, man,” Shang Qinghua says. He slaps Shen Qingqiu on the shoulder in a way that could signify either pity or solidarity. “Good luck with things.”
Okay! Okay. Maybe this curse doesn’t have to be a bad thing. If the cure boils down to giving Luo Binghe a single happy day, that should be perfectly manageable. Right?
Well, Shen Qingqiu’s so good at making his husband happy! In fact, Shen Qingqiu’s the master and valedictorian and CEO of making his husband happy! Besides, they’re on their honeymoon. You’re supposed to be happy on a honeymoon! So really, this curse isn’t actually interfering in their lives or making them do anything they weren’t already going to do!
Shen Qingqiu explains this to Binghe after their spontaneous papapa session, and Binghe nods readily along to his rundown of the situation with a blissed-out look on his face.
“You are listening, right?” Shen Qingqiu prompts.
“This disciple is list’ning dutifully t’Shizun’s instruction,” Binghe says, slurring the syllables together. He promptly undercuts his own words by launching into a sloppy wet kiss which Shen Qingqiu has no choice but to receive.
Really, this child! Still so glued to Shen Qingqiu, as if he hadn’t jumped Shen Qingqiu (again) right after he returned from talking to Shang Qinghua!
“I’m serious, Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu says after they finally break apart for air. He brushes a stray lock of hair gingerly out of Binghe’s eyes, and presses a kiss on Binghe’s brow. “I want you to know that everything’s well in hand, and it’ll all be over soon.”
Binghe doesn’t answer, only nuzzling further into the crook of Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder.
“… Binghe?” Shen Qingqiu says.
His husband’s shoulders are trembling.
“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu says again, faintly alarmed.
Binghe looks back up at him, eyes glittering with unshed tears.
“Shizun,” he says. “I’m not anxious.”
“Then—”
“I just never imagined…” Binghe pauses takes a moment to wipe the corners of his eyes. “You remember when I proposed to you, Shizun.”
Shen Qingqiu’s eyes soften tenderly. “How could I not?”
“I said back then that I never imagined that anyone would want to marry themselves to me,” Binghe continues. He waves a hand at their positions, limbs and blankets all intertwined. “I couldn’t imagine something like this either. To be able to entrust myself so completely to another, body and soul both…”
As if on cue, Shen Qingqiu flushes. Flirting, even at a time like this! “You—”
“Please don’t misunderstand. I’m as serious as you are, Shizun,” Binghe says. He plants a light kiss under Shen Qingqiu’s jaw, right in that spot that never fails to make him shiver. It tickles. It ignites. He wants to squirm away, but at the same time, he wants to get even closer. “What I want you to know is that I trust you completely in this. I am in your hands—as I always have been.”
Binghe draws back just far enough for Shen Qingqiu to see the unadulterated love in his eyes. It’s damn near overwhelming. It’s so intense it feels like it can’t be real. In truth, Shen Qingqiu had also never been able to imagine anyone looking at him like this. Binghe isn’t the only one here giddy with love, okay?! For the record!
“How could my husband ever fail me?” Binghe continues, with complete sincerity. “I could never imagine such a thing.”
Shen Qingqiu feels his heart settle into steel.
“Then this husband will have to do his best not to disappoint,” Shen Qingqiu says.
He pushes his husband down onto their bed again, straddling him with an easy confidence he knows Binghe goes wild for.
“Oh?” Binghe whispers. “What might Shizun have in mind for us?”
Papapa!
Lots of papapa!
So much papapa they could be a two-man standing ovation for a Hatsune Miku one-day-only anniversary tour!
After they clean up, Shen Qingqiu stares up at the ceiling from their bed, letting a happy exhaustion take him. It’s his turn to slur his words. “You’re happy now, right?” he asks, only half-complaining.
“And if I said I wasn't?” Binghe asks from his side.
Shen Qingqiu lightly swats at his husband's forehead. “Don’t joke about that.”
“Sorry, Shizun,” Binghe says unseriously. He looks thoughtfully at the portion of the ceiling that once had a hole blown through it. “But there really is something I’d like to do now, if Shizun is willing.”
Shen Qingqiu surreptiously rubs at his ass. “What is it?”
Binghe catches the gesture. “Nothing like that, Shizun. At least not right now,” he says. “But the sun is just about setting by this point, and the skies are clear. What say you we go out and watch the stars?”
At this, Shen Qingqiu smiles warmly. That’s all? That's nothing! “Of course,” he replies, fond.
“And because Shizun is so exhausted from our activities,” Binghe continues innocently, “he should be taking it easy.”
Shen Qingqiu’s danger senses begin tingling. “As you say…”
“And so it naturally follows”—and Binghe is outright beaming now—“that Shizun shouldn’t need to do something as base as walk on his own two feet. In his condition.”
‘Condition’? What, of being forcibly assigned the role of pillow princess?? “This master wonders how, then, Binghe expects me to get around?”
Binghe claps his hands in determination. “Shizun must surely allow this disciple to carry him in his arms the whole way through.”
Shen Qingqiu’s smile freezes instantly. “Binghe!!”
“But Shizuuun,” Binghe says, dragging the syllable out.
“There are many people out and about still! The night is still young!” Shen Qingqiu near-yells.
Getting assigned pillow princess wasn’t enough, so now he has to be princess-carried in front of all his disciples? What’s with this logic?? Shen Qingqiu would rather die!!
Binghe puts on his best pleading look. Oh no. “This disciple can’t bear to think of his master experiencing even an iota of suffering on our honeymoon…”
“You mean to parade me around like a prize,” Shen Qingqiu says flatly.
“I wouldn’t dare,” Binghe says demurely. “But it’s true. Shizun is a prize, and everyone should know it.”
“You—!”
Binghe looks at him with glistening eyes. Are they actually physically watering up? How the fuck does he do that on command?? It can’t somehow be OP Heavenly Demon blood powers again, right?? Directing his blood to fuel his tear glands or some shit? … Hey, wait a minute, is that actually how—
“It would make me really happy, Shizun,” Binghe says with emphasis, kicked-puppy look at full power.
Fuck!
This protagonist absolutely knows what he’s doing!
Alright. Well. It’s not like he was ever going to win this, curse or no curse. Shen Qingqiu lights a candle for his last shred of dignity as a Peak Lord, if any such thing yet remained.
In no time at all, they’re dressed and ready to go. And once they’re at the door, Binghe expectantly holds an arm out in invitation, looking for all the world like the happiest demon Pomeranian to ever exist.
So Shen Qingqiu allows himself to be swept up into Binghe’s arms like some two-bit maiden. Oh, the sacrifices he makes for his disciple! The indignities he suffers through!
“Shizun,” Binghe says as they step out, “you’re smiling so brightly.”
“Am I?” Shen Qingqiu says. He harrumphs. “You must be seeing things.”
“As you say, Shizun.”
So of course the first person they run into on their romantic evening walk is Ming Fan.
Shen Qingqiu freezes up at the sight of his ex-NPC-fodder disciple—now an upright young man—who in turn watches his teacher with what could be disgust, horror and/or secondhand embarrassment. He buries his face into Binghe’s pecs so he doesn’t have to figure out which it is, and avoids thinking about the fact that it probably makes things look even worse.
“Ming Fan,” Binghe says. The vibration of the words in his chest brings a warmth to Shen Qingqiu’s face. “What brings you here?”
“I—I was bringing up—”
Silence.
“Well?”
“You know,” Ming Fan croaks. “I don’t remember. I must have taken the wrong path.”
The sound of light footsteps comes up to interrupt the standoff.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” a new, higher voice says. Ning Yingying has entered the fray, then. “Both of you! A Luo, we were only delivering supplies, as usual. Da-shixiong, don’t you think you could be happy for Shizun? Just for a day?”
Don’t invoke your shizun’s name, Ning Yingying! He’s currently trying to not exist!!
“Luo Binghe’s already this shameless,” Ming Fan says, “and you want to encourage him further? He’s already won!”
“It’s not about winning or losing,” Ning Yingying insists. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t have to look to understand that neither Luo Binghe nor Ming Fan agree with this statement.
“Look at him!” Ming Fan says. “Just because he… he…!”
“Do continue,” Binghe says. “I’m sure Shizun at least taught you to finish your sentences.”
“Just because you married him doesn’t mean you get to forget all propriety!”
There’s another pause.
“I… married…?” Binghe says.
“Did you forget?” Ming Fan says incredulously. “The whole sect was going wild over the news yesterday. Or did you just want to make me say it out loud to gloat?”
Oh, right. Binghe wouldn’t remember that. “I announced our marriage publicly yesterday,” Shen Qingqiu whispers to him. “Everyone knows officially now—you’re mine, and I’m yours.”
Binghe trembles at this. Hey, don’t drop your shizun now! The only thing more embarrassing than being princess-carried is being princess-carried badly and then getting dropped on the ground!!
… Really, Shen Qingqiu is just roasting for the sake of it again. It still startles him, the way only a few words from him can make or break his husband’s spirit. Who gave Shen Qingqiu the right, huh?! That’s the protagonist of the world, right there! It doesn’t make sense! It doesn’t make sense at all!
But Shen Qingqiu can’t say he hates it.
“We’re all very happy for you both,” Ning Yingying chirps.
“I don’t know about that,” Ming Fan huffs. But even his tone is more teasing than actually acerbic at this point. “How can we entrust Shizun to someone with memory this poor?”
“Alright, that’s enough now,” Shen Qingqiu says, not ungently, turning to Ming Fan and Ning Yingying bravely. He clears his throat in a vain attempt to protect whatever remains of his thin face. “Ming Fan, Yingying, thank you for bringing up the usual supplies to the bamboo house. Binghe and I will be on our way.”
Ming Fan bows in response, and so does Ning Yingying, though not before giving Binghe an anachronistic thumbs-up when she thinks Shen Qingqiu isn’t looking. It’s not very xianxia of her, but what the hell. He’s not sorry he taught his disciples that.
After those two leave, however, Binghe remains rooted to the spot.
“Binghe?” Shen Qinqgiu prompts cautiously.
He hears the muffled sound of a sniffle.
“Crying again?” Shen Qingqiu asks. He wipes a tear away from Binghe’s face with his sleeve. “Are you an endless fount? What is it? Don’t go ruining that beautiful face of yours.”
“Shizun called me beautiful,” Binghe cries.
“You already know you’re beautiful,” Shen Qingqiu points out.
“But Shizun saying it out loud is different. It’s…” He sniffles again. Ah, this child. “Shizun told everyone we’re married.”
It was long overdue, to be quite honest. “Yes, I did.”
“Shizun… Shizun is proud to be my husband.”
Shen Qingqiu buries his face in those pecs again in lieu of a real answer, but who can blame him? They’re right there!
“Alright,” Binghe says. He half-laughs, interrupting a sound in his throat that might otherwise have turned into a sob. “Let’s keep going.”
They proceed uphill, walking towards the summit of the peak.
The bamboo thickets of Qing Jing Peak thin out the higher up they go, which also leaves them more at the mercy of the cool evening wind—another fantastic excuse for Shen Qingqiu to snuggle further into Binghe’s broad shoulders while simply enjoying the steady one-two rhythm of Binghe carrying him up, step by step. And with fewer trees in the way, their view of the skies opens up until all they can see is a heavenly canvas of sunset colours stretching from horizon to horizon, stars and sun working in harmony to give Shen Qingqiu one of the most romantic nights he’s ever had.
There’s no missions to clear, no enemies to be vanquished, no duties yet unfulfilled. In this moment, all there is is Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe. Nothing more, nothing less.
“You can set me down now, Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu whispers.
Binghe obeys dutifully.
They sit in peaceful companionship upon the bare grass, and enjoy the time passing slowly in blissful silence as they slowly watch the skies grow dark. The orange light fades. The galaxies take over. Shen Qingqiu has never particularly been into stargazing, but he wonders for a moment if this world has all the same constellations as—as the ones he grew up with. He’s never looked up for long enough in any world to know them by heart. He never had the time, or there was always something else, or…
Out of the blue, it strikes Shen Qingqiu like lightning that he would rather enjoy sitting here and looking up at the skies with Luo Binghe forever.
“We should have a pavilion built here,” Shen Qingqiu says suddenly.
“Shizun?”
“Nothing big,” Shen Qingqiu continues. “A roof, a table for tea, and two seats. Nothing more.” He looks at his husband. “That’s all we’ll need.”
He squeezes Binghe’s hand, larger than his own, and Binghe’s breath hitches.
“Just for us?” Binghe asks, his voice small.
“Just for us,” Shen Qingqiu confirms.
Binghe’s hand squeezes back.
When night at last falls in its entirety and the moon hangs brightly overhead, the two of them make their way back down—via princess carry again, of course—and they trade light banter as they descend. They run into more Qing Jing disciples, and this time Shen Qingqiu finds that it’s easier to face them, and they in turn extend him the grace of pretending that he isn’t completely embarrassing himself as their shizun. Probably Ning Yingying informed them all in advance, to stave off the worst of the shock. It’s likely that by now even the stair-sweepers of the sect know of Shen Qingqiu’s and Luo Binghe’s combined shamelessness.
Ah, well. They’ve had far worse said about them. And Shen Qingqiu is happy to find out that he really doesn’t care all that much, right now—not when the person who matters most to him is right here.
He soaks in the feeling, heady and embarrassing and warm, and allows Binghe to take them both back to the bamboo house.
When they finally settle into bed once more to sleep, Shen Qingqiu reaches a hand out to cup his husband’s cheek. Binghe startles at the touch, but then relaxes into it. His eyes are full of love. His smile is full of peace.
The happiest day of Luo Binghe’s life, huh. Maybe this could be it.
“Goodnight,” Shen Qingqiu whispers.
“Goodnight,” Luo Binghe echoes.
For this beautiful instant in time, Shen Qingqiu forgets to worry about anything at all. He watches Binghe drift off, and he allows himself to unwind, too. He falls into unconsciousness soon after, guided by a giddy, hazy anticipation of the week to come.
I love you, Shen Qingqiu thinks, on repeat. I love you, I love you—
Shen Qingqiu wakes to the warm rays of dawn and his husband’s radiant smile.
“Good morning, husband,” Luo Binghe says, eyes twinkling. He lays his head on Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder where they both lie in their bed—an easy and familiar gesture. “Shall I make us breakfast?”
“Please do,” Shen Qingqiu returns groggily. An anxiety enters his heart as he stirs to full wakefulness.
Isn’t something… off?
Luo Binghe himself seems fairly unbothered. He presses a kiss to Shen Qingqiu’s fingers smoothly, with zero hesitation. “I should make us something hearty,” Binghe continues. “So we can start off our honeymoon on the right foot.”
Shen Qingqiu sits up fully.
“Binghe,” he says. “You don’t remember?”