Chapter Text
Shang Qinghua wasn't yet Shang Qinghua, nor had he yet any notion that he would become Shang Qinghua. He was labouring under the summer sun, inwardly cursing his martial brothers from An Ding Peak, Qing Jing Peak, and the whole of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.
He'd fled from home almost as soon as he'd differentiated into an omega. He'd known virtually nothing of cultivators—the closest he'd come was seeing them flying overhead—except that they defied the will of heaven by seeking immortality. That was enough. It was the natural order for omegas to be given to an alpha to form a mating bond and spend their lives serving their mate, their alpha children and their beta sons. He was not naturally courageous, but he would have suffered worse than the arduous journey to avoid that fate.
Cang Qiong Mountain Sect's entrance test should have warned him. There was no escape to be found in cultivation, not when he'd been chosen by the An Ding Peak Lord. Instead of spending a mortal's lifetime serving one mate, he was bound to spend his immortal life serving an entire sect.
As the lowest-ranking disciple on this mission, he was relegated to driving the laden cart. His more fortunate martial brothers sat in the cart behind him. The rest walked alongside. They shared his resentment of the immortal masters and martial brothers who ordered them around, complaining vociferously as they travelled. Shang Qinghua held his peace.
Since joining the sect, he had reasoned there were two paths out of spending his life as a lackey: leaving the sect, or becoming one of its lords. The An Ding Peak Lord appeared no less harried than any of his disciples, yet the number of sect members who could command him was far fewer. There was little chance of Shang Qinghua climbing so high. More than half the Peak Lords were alphas and the rest were beta men.
Nevertheless, leaving the sect was impossible. If his family accepted him back (unlikely), he would still be worse off than before; if not, he wouldn't live long as a destitute outcast. He had accepted that he must remain an An Ding Peak disciple for a time while he gathered money and resources. To that end, he would climb as high as he could. Even low-ranking inner disciples had more comforts than outer disciples, and his stipend would increase with his rank. As an omega, he didn't think he could reach a position that would satisfy him, but he would improve his odds by seeking to avoid being noticed for anything except his diligence.
Joining his martial brothers in complaining wouldn't endear him to them—they would find no common ground with an omega; he could never be better than unwanted and unworthy competition to them—and would give them cause to smear him as a gossip or a malcontent.
The cart jerked to a stop. His most senior shixiong turned on him immediately, cursing and blaming him. Shang Qinghua lowered his head silently and jumped down to see what had happened, even as an unnatural chill swept through the air. The cart's wheel was frozen solid where it had landed in a pothole. Shang Qinghua looked up with a sense of foreboding to see a tall figure wreathed in shadows.
He shrank in terror. He was sure the approaching figure meant death, but he couldn't make himself move from behind the wheel. Everything seemed to slow down around him but it didn't help him make sense of anything; there was too much noise and movement for him to track what was happening. The demon was broadcasting aggression in his scent as powerfully as the sect's strongest martial cultivators. Even the beta disciples who couldn't smell it seemed to sense it. Shang Qinghua's pheromones, usually tightly controlled, saturated the air with his fear.
A loud, insistent noise sounded in his ear and something yanked at him. The world snapped into focus. His senior shixiong was pulling him away from the cart, yelling at him about his duty to fight demons. He had drawn his sword, as though it were any use to an An Ding Peak disciple.
"I won't," he said. His voice came out clear and firm despite his terror. He tightened his grip on the wheel.
"I told you to go, so go!"
"I won't! I won't go!" Shang Qinghua's voice rose.
The other disciples joined his senior shixiong in pulling at him, trying to cast him before the demon. He didn't care why they were trying to sacrifice him, whether they meant to escape with their lives or were fools enough to think they could defeat him. His mind turned on his only objective: to survive. He pled with his martial brothers while they pried his fingers free, knowing they wouldn't listen.
As soon as the other disciples pushed him forward, he threw himself at the demon's feet.
"My lord, spare me!" he wailed. "I can be useful!"
He clung to the demon's legs. The demon glowered down at him and unsuccessfully tried to kick him aside. Something behind Shang Qinghua distracted him. He looked away and the shouts of the other disciples were sharply cut off.
"Don't kill me," Shang Qinghua begged, falling over the words, "I'll do anything you want, I'll serve you for the rest of my life!"
"What use is a human servant?" said the demon.
"I… I …" Shang Qinghua stammered, trying to think what the demon might want. "I'm a disciple of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect! I can be your spy, help you by undermining the great sects so you can conquer the human realm!"
The demon laughed. "An outer disciple, and an An Ding Peak outer disciple at that. With you as my spy, would your sect be any weaker?"
Anger spiked through Shang Qinghua. He suppressed it before it could bleed into his scent, determined not to challenge the demon. Before he could reply, the demon collapsed without warning. Shang Qinghua yelped and flinched, but the demon didn't move, even when Shang Qinghua struggled out from beneath his weight. The other disciples' bodies lay scattered around. Worse, the horse was long gone.
Shang Qinghua doubled over with a sudden urge to vomit. His breath juddered. He slowly brought it back under control, watching the demon's prone body anxiously for any sign of movement. When he had mastered himself again, he drew his sword to slit the demon's throat.
Then he hesitated. He would get no credit for slaying the demon—at best, the Peak Lord would think he'd landed a lucky blow while the demon killed the other disciples. It would be worse if the Peak Lord miraculously believed an undersized omega disciple had killed a powerful demon—Shang Qinghua would be expected to replicate the feat.
He'd been in the sect for long enough to learn a few things about the demon realm. It was abundant in the spirit stones that were so precious in the human realm. Moreover, judging by his clothing, this demon was wealthy. If Shang Qinghua could persuade the demon to accept him as his spy, he might be able to accumulate enough money to leave the sect and live independently.
The demon had tried to kill him, but he'd shown some willingness to talk before he'd passed out. In any case, he must be severely weakened. Shang Qinghua should be able to escape if he were still hostile when he woke, and, if he were more amenable, would have time to argue his case while the demon recovered.
The disciples weren't due back for several more days. Shang Qinghua could spare a day or two to treat the demon's injuries and use his aid as leverage to come to an agreement. When he returned to the sect, he would account for the delay by saying he'd been sent back to the dock to retrieve something and found the disciple's bodies when he returned. He couldn't help feeling anxious about spending time alone with a strange alpha, but he told himself his concern was unfounded. The demon was in no state to assault him and his heat had recently passed, so the demon couldn't force a mating bond on him—not that any demon would want a human as his mate.
He examined the demon's body, wrinkling his nose instinctively, though the demon's scent was surprisingly inoffensive. There was very little blood. He found no injury to the demon's skull and resigned himself to opening the demon's clothes.
There was only a small wound in the demon's side, with a faint gleam of gold visible inside. Shang Qinghua reached in and pulled out a strangely formed dart. He didn't recognise it, but from the gold he guessed it was crafted by Huan Hua Palace. That would explain why such a small weapon had caused the demon's collapse. He cleared the cart of books, hauled the demon's body onto it, and starting pulling it back to town.
He told himself it was an investment, not a loss, when he had to outlay too many of his painstakingly accumulated coins to pay for a room at an inn and medicine along the way. Once in their upstairs room at the inn, he dropped the demon's body on the floor and collapsed on the bed, where he lay half-dozing as the shadows lengthened. Eventually, with an effort of will, he dragged himself up again. He would need to mollify the demon when he woke, and it wouldn't help if he was offended by being left on the floor.
He checked the demon hadn't died and pulled off his heavy outer robe before heaving him onto the bed to treat his wound. If the worst came to the worst and someone discovered a demon hiding here, Shang Qinghua could feign shock and get away with the expensive fabric. Selling it would at least recoup his losses.
The demon didn't rouse through Shang Qinghua's handling. Shang Qinghua was strongly tempted to lie down next to him—but scent notwithstanding, he was wary of getting too close an alpha. He folded the demon's outer robe, setting it within easy reach in case he needed to run away, and prepared to sleep on the floor, as far away from the demon as possible.
He woke feeling uneasy and, seeing why, flinched back; the demon was already awake and staring at him.
"My lord," he said, scrambling to his feet.
"What do you want?" said the demon.
Shang Qinghua stammered for a moment, flummoxed by the abrupt question. "I, ah, hoped we could form a mutually beneficial partnership," he said.
"Partnership?" said the demon. "Yesterday you offered to become my servant."
Shang Qinghuas hesitated. The demon looked him over derisively and said, "Fine. I'll pay whatever an An Ding Peak outer disciple is worth."
"I don't intend to remain an outer disciple," Shang Qinghua replied stiffly. "But even as an outer disciple, since I'm from An Ding Peak I can go anywhere within the sect. I'll be able to give you useful information."
The demon snorted at this. "You can make yourself useful now by drawing me a bath."
His tone rankled, but Shang Qinghua went to find the innkeeper regardless.
After running up and down the stairs several times carrying water, he slunk into a corner to recover and eat some of his travel rations. The demon, Mobei Jun, stripped off his remaining layers as though Shang Qinghua weren't there and stepped into the tub. Shang Qinghua went completely still at the sight.
Despite his uncollared neck, despite his height and breadth, Mobei Jun didn't have an alpha's cock, but an omega's cocklet and cleft. Shang Qinghua knew he was staring, knew his mouth was agape, yet couldn't stop himself. He'd never admired an alpha, but an omega of Mobei Jun's stature, on the other hand… he held himself as though he his strength was unquestionable. His brazenly uncovered neck was a silent challenge to every alpha who saw him. Shang Qinghua was consumed by mingled envy and desire.
Mobei Jun threw his inner robe at Shang Qinghua with a curt order to go and wash it. Shang Qinghua dropped his gaze and complied, dazed by the intensity of his reaction. He inhaled Mobei Jun's scent before he started washing his clothes. This time he paid attention instead of trying to block it out. The fragrance Mobei Jun used still lingered, an unfamiliar woody scent that blended pleasantly with his pheromones. It sent a rush of warmth through Shang Qinghua, pooling between his legs. He pressed his thighs together before he shook himself out of it and set to his work.
He spent the rest of the day mending Mobei Jun's clothes and being interrupted by demands to change the bathwater. He fetched and carried not wholly without resentment, but telling himself he couldn't expect a demon to have any social graces and, besides, it wasn't as though Mobei Jun was in any state to haul water himself. Mobei Jun acted with the same unreflective assumption that someone else would serve him that Shang Qinghua had seen in other disciples born of wealthy families.
Had differentiating as an omega been a shock to Mobei Jun? Shang Qinghua had been a small, quiet child. He had both dreaded his fate if he grew into an omega and been unsurprised when he differentiated. In that sense, he had nothing in common with this demon. Yet the demon realm (little though any cultivator would admit it aloud) was in some respects similar to the human realm. Demon omegas wore collars, as Shang Qinghua had since his natal parent had given one to him with the strictest prohibition against being seen without it by anyone except his mate or close relatives. Had Mobei Jun always refused to comply, or had he had to grow strong enough to defy convention first? Had anyone tried to make him a lord's mate before he became a lord in his own right?
Shang Qinghua couldn't imagine any parent allowing their omega child to travel free and uncovered if they had to power to prevent it. Mobei Jun was clearly powerful, but had he any companion who understood what it was to be pressed into an unwanted and unfit role?
The strong often despised the weak. Shang Qinghua knew that he couldn't be considered strong. He wasn't physically gifted and his chosen cultivation path was slow and steady. Still, he couldn't help imagining an ideal future as he worked. He might find kinship with Mobei Jun as he could with none of his fellow disciples, consumed as they were with striving against one another. Shang Qinghua knew he was more capable than most of them. He could bend his talents to supporting Mobei Jun's endeavours, whatever they were, and benefit in turn from having a strong protector. All this, assuming Mobei Jun was receptive to him.
He made time to wash his own clothes and himself before nightfall, though he couldn't bring himself to remove his collar. He washed underneath it and blotted it dry as best he could. Cleaning up slightly restored him, but he was still exhausted. He ventured to approach Mobei Jun where he lay on the bed.
"My lord, there's only one bed," he said. "Since we're both omegas, it wouldn't be inappropriate for us to share it."
Mobei Jun hit him.
Shang Qinghua staggered back, his ears ringing, but he still heard Mobei Jun say, "I don't share my bed with servants."
Rage surged through Shang Qinghua, but he'd felt the power behind the blow. Though Mobei Jun might have been weak enough for Shang Qinghua to kill him when he'd first brought him here, he'd recovered too much to be defeated. Shang Qinghua lowered his head and let himself tremble with rage. Mobei Jun would assume it was from fear.
"Yes, my lord," he said submissively.
Mobei Jun tossed and turned all through night. Shang Qinghua lay on the robe he'd folded as a makeshift pallet and seethed at the demon for keeping him from sleep—as though he would have been able to sleep with humiliation-induced nausea spiking through him each time recollection of his earlier self-indulgent fancy intruded on his thoughts.
Once morning came, he told Mobei Jun he needed to return to his sect before a search party was sent out. Mobei Jun let him go with orders to meet him outside the sect's defensive arrays in ten days and be prepared to prove his worth.
Shang Qinghua trekked back to Cang Qiong with all haste. Needlessly, as it turned out: no one questioned his claim to have found the other disciples' bodies by the roadside when he caught up with them, or why it had taken him so long to return. The Peak Lords called on him to hear his story then dismissed him to recover before they held their discussion on the shocking demon attack.
The incident turned out to be a boon to him, since the An Ding Peak Lord made him an inner disciple. He concealed his joy as he moved his belongings to his new room, maintaining the appropriately somber demeanour of a disciple who had just lost numerous martial brothers until he had the novel luxury of privacy. He lay on the bed and stretched in contentment; if he'd known it could be so easy to be promoted, he would have engineered it earlier.
Despite its inauspicious beginning, Shang Qinghua's relationship with Mobei Jun proved as profitable as he'd originally hoped. As an inner disciple, he had more opportunities to ingratiate himself with the Peak Lord. As Mobei Jun's servant, he made himself valuable enough to occasionally ask for favours as well as money. A few strategic misfortunes befell An Ding disciples who stood in the way of Shang Qinghua's advancement, ending with the original head disciple. Shang Qinghua stepped into his place and, in due course, ascended as the An Ding Peak Lord.
The higher he rose, the more disillusioned he became with the previous generation of immortal masters who had seemed so lofty. Managing An Ding Peak required thoughtfulness and discipline, but it was nothing compared to the rigours of farming. It was a relief when he no longer had to feign sympathy for the old Peak Lord's being overwhelmed by a few stacks of bamboo slips.
Managing Mobei Jun was a more delicate business. In the beginning, Shang Qinghua had been wary of exhausting his store of valuable information and had meted it out in careful doses calculated to be enough not to waste Mobei Jun's time while he held more back to assure future payments. It had grown easier as he'd gained access to more information and developed his own network of informants; now he had a surfeit of useful knowledge from which to select at will. He performed increasingly valuable services to Mobei Jun, who sent him underlings to receive instructions, culminating in planning the invasion of the Immortal Alliance Conference by demonic beasts.
Now he stood in the Jue Di Gorge, shepherding a group of his disciples. He wasn't best pleased with having to enter the arena himself, but he'd known Yue Qingyuan would insist the sect leaders aid their disciples and planned accordingly. The few An Ding disciples had stayed close together, as expected. Shang Qinghua found them and led them through areas where the demonic beasts he'd unleashed should be more scarce, his sword drawn and blazing with light.
A Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python howled in the distance. Shang Qinghua made his way circuitously towards it, waiting for its cries to still so he could make his appearance and offer assistance a bare moment too late. The ground shuddered.
Shang Qinghua came up behind Shen Qingqiu and assessed the situation. The Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python had been killed, but it had opened a rift to the Endless Abyss first. Shen Qingqiu still radiated killing intent as he raised his sword against one of his own disciples. It was Luo Binghe, a recently differentiated omega Shang Qinghua had only seen in passing, who had stunned the spectators by taking first place in the rankings. He was weeping now as Shen Qingqiu forced him back towards the rift. There was a bloody mark on his face and his scent was broadcasting his distress. Shang Qinghua's lip curled briefly. After several years subject to Shen Qingqiu, Luo Binghe should know better than to expose weakness when faced with a hostile alpha.
Afterwards, Shen Qingqiu claimed Luo Binghe had been killed in the demonic attack. Shang Qinghua neither knew nor cared why he'd wanted his own disciple dead. He had missed his chance to stab Shen Qingqiu in the back. His An Ding Peak disciples hadn't seen what Shen Qingqiu had done, so Shang Qinghua also couldn't rid himself of his shixiong by accusing him. If it was his word alone against Shen Qingqiu's, Yue Qingyuan would always support Shen Qingqiu over him.
When he was alone in his leisure house, much later, he poured himself a cup of water and stripped for bed. It had been too long since his last heat. He didn't usually suppress it since the gains weren't worth the cost—the distracting hum at the edge of his mind, the greater intensity and duration when he succumbed—yet his open and covert preparations for the Immortal Alliance Conference had left him with no time to spare.
He couldn't let go yet. There would be too much to do in the coming days, the tedious details of supplying disciples being promoted into new positions, planning funerals and memorial stones, and so on, not to mention making best use of the favour he would ask of Mobei Jun in exchange for his service. Tonight he would just take the edge off.
He slid his hand between his legs to stroke his cocklet and summoned a pleasant image, a familiar fantasy of Mobei Jun on his knees.
Too fast. He altered his mental picture while he palmed his cocklet, which was now swollen and sensitive. Mobei Jun, standing before him, brought low by… something. It didn't matter. He was flaunting his bared neck, as always. He undressed slowly, reluctantly, at Shang Qinghua's command. He'd been devastating even as a youth, and had only grown taller and broader since. He went to his knees. Shang Qinghua's strokes quickened. He came suddenly, gasping into his arm, holding the thought of Mobei Jun between his legs to draw out his climax.
After his first climax subsided, he brought himself to another before the fantasy started disintegrating.
He changed tack and pictured Mobei Jun lying down under him, letting Shang Qinghua fondle him, letting him tease his cocklet till he was trembling and pleading. Shang Qinghua would deny him. Mobei Jun would reach to bring himself to orgasm and Shang Qinghua would force his hand between his own legs. He came a third and fourth time imagining it was Mobei Jun's hand grinding against him. He pressed into it to chase another climax, which came more slowly, stuttering weakly to its conclusion as the two fantasies starting merging and blurring around the edges.
When it finally came, he decided he was finished for the night. He lay back and flexed his numb hand. He was vaguely dissatisfied now, as he often was after masturbating. His rational mind, re-awakened, reminded him that he'd been unacceptably self-indulgent. Mobei Jun would never kneel to him. He would have liked to come a few more times to stave off the feeling but it would take too much effort now.
He drank some water, wriggled out of his soaked trousers, and rolled to the dry side of the bed. He was tired. It wouldn't be long before sleep took him. He idly thought through his plans as he drowsed.
Mobei Jun seldom deigned to see him in person, instead dealing with him through his subordinates, but an achievement as significant as the invasion of the Immortal Alliance Conference should warrant a visit. Shang Qinghua would propose arranging a confrontation between Mobei Jun and Yue Qingyuan. Asking Mobei Jun's aid to elevate him to de facto sect leader might be too great a request, except that Mobei Jun would get the credit for slaying the cultivator who had defeated Tianlang Jun. That should be enough inducement for Mobei Jun to agree.
Shang Qinghua was inclined to think he should remove Shen Qingqiu first, if only because Shen Qingqiu would be unbearable as the sect's leader. The Qing Ding Peak Lord's temper was bad and he lacked the common sense to hide his dislike of his martial brothers, which boded ill for the sect's fortunes if he gained control of it even briefly. Shang Qinghua would have very cheerfully dismembered Wei Qingwei, for instance, but he had enough sense to treat his shixiong courteously.
Apart from that, the bizarre solicitude Yue Qingyuan showed for the shidi who openly loathed him suggested the former would suffer a shock at the latter's death. Fortunately, Shen Qingqiu was particularly susceptible to qi deviations, a fact impossible to hide from the Peak Lord who supplied Qian Cao Peak with medicines. Shang Qinghua had made a study of qi deviations in the years since his discovery and was well versed in ways to induce one.
Shen Qingqiu first, then, before Shang Qinghua discovered evidence that Mobei Jun had been behind the invasion of the conference and ensure Yue Qingyuan's path crossed Mobei Jun's. He would need to make sure Wei Qingwei was near enough at hand to come to Yue Qingyuan's aid. Mobei Jun couldn't withstand both of them. And afterwards, Shang Qinghua's two remaining senior martial brothers would tragically succumb to the injuries they were sure to sustain during the fight.
Possibly Mobei Jun would survive the encounter. Even so, once Shang Qinghua was in full command of the sect's resources, he would have the means to end their relationship. Mobei Jun's survival would grate on him, but he could live with it as long as he no longer had to bow and scrape to his demon master. Since becoming head disciple, he had perfected the image he wished to project: unassailably dignified, impervious to insult or threat. He would yield to his martial brothers' suppressing pheromones (namely, Shen Qingqiu's and, before his death, Liu Qingge's), but without letting his own scent betraying any trace of fear. He had not dared to show the same face to Mobei Jun, who remained predisposed to strike him at any sign of defiance, and he would rejoice the day he was rid of him.
After the human sects' Immortal Alliance Conference, Mobei Jun hosted a banquet in celebration of their humiliation. By now his seminal parent never left seclusion, so the only relative whose presence he had to endure was his uncle. The guests' conversations washed around him as he considered what to do with his human servant.
That Shang Qinghua turned out to be of any use was a surprise to Mobei Jun. At first he had stayed his hand in recognition that Shang Qinghua's assistance had saved his life; the slow trickle of information Shang Qinghua had offered hardly made up for the trouble of having to visit him. Mobei Jun had delegated the duty when he could, not only to avoid the human realm, but also to avoid seeing Shang Qinghua.
He'd barely noticed his human servant's appearance at first, exhausted and travel-worn as Shang Qinghua had been. Shang Qinghua had been more composed and better dressed at their next meeting. His clothes bore a subtle fragrance Mobei Jun didn't recognise which blended alluringly with his natural scent. Mobei Jun had been stunned by his own desire, until Shang Qinghua had offered one of his false smiles and started talking. He spoke too much without saying anything, offering a ceaseless stream of empty flattery and conciliation. He showed no ability of his own, needing Mobei Jun's intervention to advance through his sect's ranks. He was beneath Mobei Jun's notice, yet he continually made himself just useful enough to retain.
Mobei Jun despised his own susceptibility to this pretty, whimpering human omega. It was humiliating that Shang Qinghua's face was the one his mind conjured when he relieved himself during his heats, that he couldn't help measuring potential lovers' scents against Shang Qinghua's.
If Shang Qinghua were more capable, he might be worth keeping—but then he would also be too dangerous to remain in his position. As it was, his interests as Peak Lord were opposed to Mobei Jun's as ruler of the Northern Kingdom. Moreover, if he were ever exposed, Mobei Jun's achievement at the Immortal Alliance Conference would be diminished by the knowledge that a human had played a part in it, however small. It was time to stop hesitating and be rid of him.
Mobei Jun made the usual arrangements to send an order to Shang Qinghua to meet him outside the sect. For this visit, he could go straight to his servant's leisure house, but he thought his shadow ability was still generally unknown to the human sects. It might be revealed if he killed Shang Qinghua within the sect, and having it in reserve was to great an advantage to be thrown away on the disposal of a servant who'd outlived his purpose.
Shang Qinghua went to his meeting with Mobei Jun ready to persuade him that attacking Yue Qingyuan would be mutually beneficial. Mobei Jun was already at their meeting place when he arrived, looking as he usually did: bored and irritated at having to lower himself to speak to a human. Shang Qinghua bowed and smiled his greeting.
Mobei Jun didn't respond, only raised his hand, almost too quickly to be seen—but Shang Qinghua's years as an An Ding Peak disciple had honed his sense of danger. Even years out of practice, he managed to dodge the thread of ice that would have skewered him. He let his somatic memory keep him alive while his fingers found the talisman he kept in his sleeve for these meetings. Foolishly, he'd grown complacent enough not to have it directly under his hand.
He cast the Black Sun Immortal Fire talisman at Mobei Jun. Mobei Jun had been eerily silent, but he cried out as he recoiled from the blaze. Shang Qinghua took to his heels, running without daring to look back until he reached the sect's boundary. By then, Mobei Jun was nowhere to be seen.
Shang Qinghua doubled over, gasping and shuddering until he pulled himself back together. His mind was racing. He couldn't make sense of what had happened—there was no reason for Mobei Jun to kill him—but no matter. He had to protect himself first; he could grapple with the problem of why later.
He drew his sword, set off the array that would sound the alarm throughout the sect, and waited until a disciple on sentry duty appeared. He was young and panic-stricken, panting for breath.
"Shang shibo! What happened?"
"I was attacked by a demon just outside the sect. I drove him back, but I thought it best to sound the alarm in case he was the forerunner of an invasion," Shang Qinghua said gravely. "I'll need to confer with my martial brothers."
The disciple nodded frantically. "Wei shibo isn't far away," he said. "I sent my shidi to get him."
Of course it would be Wei Qingwei. Shang Qinghua let no trace of his disgust show in his face. Wei Qingwei was the model of a perfect alpha: tall, handsome, heroic and chivalrous. Without ever stepping beyond the bounds of propriety, he warmly complimented Shang Qinghua's achievements (as though Shang Qinghua would value an alpha's opinion), was solicitous about his health (as though, as an omega, Shang Qinghua was frail and incapable of taking care of himself), and took every opportunity to join him on missions (as though Shang Qinghua was desirous of an alpha's company). Since Shang Qinghua couldn't spurn him without appearing churlish, his very existence was a constant source of resentment.
Before long, Wei Qingwei came into view, flying swiftly and holding his other sword. (It was a disappointment to Shang Qinghua that his shixiong was so generally admired that he'd never heard anyone suggest an alpha who carried two swords was compensating for something.) He landed and strode over to Shang Qinghua to stand too close and annoy him by asking repeatedly after Shang Qinghua's health, even after Shang Qinghua graciously told him he was unhurt and that Wei shixiong need not worry.
He inched backwards as soon as the arrival of Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu created a distraction, far enough that he could see Wei Qingwei's face without craning his neck. Yue Qingyuan immediately set his teeth on edge by repeating Wei Qingwei's pointless questions until Shen Qingqiu cut him off, demanding to know what had happened.
As much as Shang Qinghua disliked Shen Qingqiu—particularly his habit of broadcasting his aggression in an attempt to suppress everyone around him—at times, he had to admit he found him less irritating than the sect leader. A sect leader shouldn't fuss over his martial brothers like a nursemaid.
"I was walking along a route I take frequently, down that slope over there," he said. "It's just outside the sect's defensive arrays. I encountered a demon who attacked me without any warning." To his indignation, his voice trembled as he spoke. He hadn't had such a close brush with death since he'd been a disciple, before he'd crafted his persona to position himself as a suitable candidate for Peak Lord; it revived an old habit he'd thought he had eradicated. He saw Yue Qingyuan and Wei Qingwei notice and hated them for how their faces softened in pity, but didn't immediately correct himself. It wouldn't do to show them how easily he changed faces. He finished speaking and looked away, as if to recover his composure.
"Was the demon alone?" said Yue Qingyuan.
"How did you escape?" Shen Qingqiu asked at the same time.
"I didn't see any others, but I confess I was badly startled. I only managed to escape by using a defensive talisman and retreating," said Shang Qinghua.
"So was this a coincidence, or a prelude to another attack on the sect?" Yue Qingyuan mused.
"It could be either," said Shen Qingqiu. "We can expect an increase in sporadic attacks by lone demons emboldened by the disaster at the conference, or some demon lord may attempt an invasion for the same reason."
His statement had the benefit of changing the focus of Yue Qingyuan's pity, at least.
"Regardless, we won't allow the demon realm to inflict more losses on us," Yue Qingyuan said firmly.
"No," Shen Qingqiu said, without a trace of shame for allowing others to take the blame for the death of his most talented disciple. "I'll go and see if there are signs of any other demons."
"I'll go with you," said Yue Qingyuan.
Shen Qingqiu snorted disdainfully and flew off, leaving the sect leader to catch up.
"Will you be all right if I join them?" said Wei Qingwei, his hand on one of his sword hilts.
"Certainly," said Shang Qinghua. "Don't let me keep you."
"You'll be safe inside the sect's defensive arrays," Wei Qingwei reassured him, as though Shang Qinghua hadn't sourced all the required materials and overseen the creation of said arrays.
"Yes, I have complete confidence in the sect's techniques," Shang Qinghua said. It was as close as he could get to rejecting Wei Qingwei's reassurance without sounding ungrateful.
He went back to his leisure house after Wei Qingwei left. Since his martial brothers were out chasing demons, he took over informing the rest of the sect what had happened, doubling the patrols, and arranging for the defensive arrays to be reinforced.
These necessary matters occupied his mind for some time, but it inevitably returned to the question of Mobei Jun. There had been no warning whatsoever of Mobei Jun's attack, yet he had definitely tried to kill Shang Qinghua. No matter how Shang Qinghua racked his brain, he couldn't find a reason for Mobei Jun to kill him. Nevertheless, Shang Qinghua had to assume Mobei Jun hadn't been acting on a whim. Mobei Jun wanted him dead, so Mobei Jun would try to kill him again. Shang Qinghua needed to find a way to kill Mobei Jun first.
The most elegant solution would be a variation of what he had already planned, setting Yue Qingyuan against Mobei Jun. He would take care not to unduly hasten his preparations. He could remain safely within the sect's defences for a while—no one would think it strange for an omega to be timid after being attacked, no matter how calm and rational his usual behaviour was—and adapt as needed. If he couldn't obtain the poisons he needed without leaving, he would let this opportunity pass and wait for another. Preserving his own life came first.
Mobei Jun reared back from the sudden agonising heat. He was engulfed in flame. Driven to panic, he retreated through the shadows, flinging himself into the northern sea. The icy water quenched the flames but the burning remained. The pain throbbed through him and diminished only slowly as he healed himself.
Not since he'd been a small child had Mobei Jun been taken so completely off guard. Of all his acquaintances, Shang Qinghua had been ranked as one of those least likely to be capable of hurting him. Clearly he hadn't seen that Shang Qinghua could be dangerous. So what else had he missed?
He would find Shang Qinghua again. This time, he would be less cavalier about the risk. It was yet to be proved whether Shang Qinghua was a worthy opponent, but clearly it would be wiser to treat him as on. Mobei Jun would take him unawares and decide whether to keep him alive after imprisoning and questioning him.
It would be best to act quickly, before Shang Qinghua had time to develop further counter-measures. Mobei Jun didn't remain in the water until he was fully healed, only long enough to be certain he would be able to overpower Shang Qinghua. He returned to the Northern Fortress by nightfall to give some orders in advance, then went directly to Shang Qinghua's leisure house.
Shang Qinghua was asleep in his bed. He didn't stir at Mobei Jun's approach. Mobei Jun seized his wrists and held them behind his back to pull him out of bed. Shang Qinghua woke yelling. Mobei Jun didn't bother to silence him. In the next instant, they were in the Northern Fortress, where he passed Shang Qinghua to the prison commander, reminded him his life would be forfeit if he didn't keep the human alive, and left. He would speak to Shang Qinghua when his wounds were fully healed. With luck, the time spent in a prison cell would loosen Shang Qinghua's tongue.
Shang Qinghua woke abruptly to find himself pinned. He thrashed violently, too flooded with panic to save his energy. There was an awful, wrenching movement and he flinched from the sudden bright light.
At last he managed to still himself and pay attention to his surroundings. He was in a strange room, and it was Mobei Jun behind him, holding his wrists in a bruising grip. There were several armoured men in front of them. Shang Qinghua was shivering violently, as much from the room's bitter cold as from shock.
"What's happening? Why am I here?" he said. His voice was shaking.
Mobei Jun ignored him and thrust him towards the armoured men, who dragged him away. Shang Qinghua clung to the edges of his reason. His thoughts scattered like rats when he tried to grasp them, so that he only caught of impressions of his surroundings.
He was dragged through a series of bewildering corridors, occasionally passing other people who glanced at them curiously. It was only when he caught sight of an imp like the ones Mobei Jun had occasionally sent to protect him that he realised he must be in the demon realm—these guards were human-like demons.
They reached a prison without Shang Qinghua catching a single glimpse of the outside world. He was pushed into a cell and the door slammed shut behind him.