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Of course, of all the ridiculous effects the gratuitous plot-device plants of this stupid porno world could inflict on him that aren’t immediately cured by Protagonist papapa, this would have to be the one that Shen Qingqiu is struck with right now.
“Ah, Shizun-!”
He’s barely pushed himself up from his seat (on dirty ground, of course) before his knees are immediately buckling like they’re made of goo. He manages to get a hand on the ground (still dirty!!) and prevent a full face-plant, at least, but Binghe’s fretting does not bode well for the immediate future.
“Shizun! Here, let me help-”
“I’m fine, Binghe,” he snaps instinctively.
He glares down at the dirt, frustrated and angry at himself and the universe and everything in between. Really… hadn’t that been the one good thing about transmigrating into a villainous cultivator destined to be tortured to death?! For once, he could just walk! Basic locomotion didn’t need to be a major goddamn issue!! He could put up with Without-A-Cure, at least, since all it mostly took from him were methods of transportation he’d never had the chance to get accustomed to in the first place, but he’d spent approximately five seconds with this goddamn Jelly Limbs Curse and he was contemplating another goddamn golden core explosion here and now.
Binghe’s hand returned to his shoulder, tentative. “Shizun, is everything all right?”
Shen Qingqiu counts down from ten and sighs. “Binghe will need to travel deep into the mountain we can see in the distance – the tallest peak. At the core he will find a legendary flower with pink and purple petals which holds the power to cure this affliction.”
His husband nods seriously. “This Binghe will make the trip as soon as Shizun is returned safely home.”
Shen Qingqiu’s hackles rise again, unwilling to wait a second longer than necessary to fix himself. But he’d be a sitting duck out here on his own, and the journey to the centre will likely take Binghe at least overnight to complete, and he’d only get in the way if he demanded Binghe carry him along with him…
He really does want to spit blood. Shen Qingqiu is so god-damned tired of being a burden.
“...fine,” he mutters with gritted teeth.
He doesn’t complain as Binghe gently scoops him up into his arms to ride on his sword back home with him, even as goosebumps rise up all over his skin. He buries his face into his husband’s shoulder sullenly, not even trying to uphold his unflappable immortal master persona. If he feels like a child, he might as well act like it.
In the half-shichen trip back, he stews. It’s like falling – hah! – back into old habits, hating his body. He wouldn’t have expected the effect to be quite so immediate, but it really is like he never left. As though nothing else of this life matters, because at heart, he’s still just a fuck-up NEET who doesn’t even have a good reason to be as uncoordinated and tired and worthless as he is.
It’s probably how he should have felt all along, really. It’s not like he ever actually earned anything about the life he’d lucked out into transmigrating into. Thanks, scum villain!! This hopeless loser will gladly enjoy the spoils of your life’s work!!
By the time Binghe steps down before the Bamboo House, Shen Qingqiu is just about ready to crawl into bed and possibly never come out again. Thank god his husband will be busy off finding a cure and actually being capable without him – he’d be mortified to have Binghe witness one of his old-school funk naps.
However, Binghe doesn’t take him straight to the bed. Instead, he sets him gently down onto the lounge in the main room. “Can Shizun stand on his own?”
Shen Qingqiu grits his teeth. “Would Binghe have carried this master all this way if he could?”
“Flying on a sword is not the same as standing on solid ground,” Binghe very annoyingly points out.
So Shen Qingqiu waves him away. “This master is – fine. Basically. Binghe should hurry up and head out to find the cure already.”
Is that ungrateful, ordering the protagonist off like an errand boy? But then again, this is exactly the sort of thing the protagonist is supposed to do. It’s not like Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t be happy to take on such an adventure himself, if he could.
Binghe looks at him for a moment, a little too scrutinisingly. Shen Qingqiu tries not to squirm, avoiding eye contact.
And then, abruptly, Binghe makes a pleased sound. “This husband has just the thing!”
With a happy little bounce, Binghe turns to his old bedroom, which in the proceeding years has become something of a storage space for Binghe’s extra little trinkets and gifts which didn’t fit (or were refused to be allowed) in the main bedroom.
Shen Qingqiu listens, suspicious. Soon after, Binghe returns, proudly brandishing an elegantly carved stick.
“Shizun! If you use this, it should be easy to walk!”
A cane?! Shen Qingqiu flinches back without meaning to. “I’m not – Binghe, I’m a cultivator.”
“Is it unsuitable?” Binghe studies his movements with wide, nervous eyes, and Shen Qingqiu immediately feels a little guilty. “This husband thought of Shizun as soon as he saw it – look at the carving on the head, just like a Seven-Coloured Cobra! Look, it even has the underbite Shizun complained none of the scrolls adequately depicting!”
Binghe does have a point, Shen Qingqiu reluctantly admits. For a cane, it’s very well-made. The wood is lacquered with great care, too, and the lighter wood tone complements the light and fresh colours of his Qing Jing robes very well.
But regardless of all that…
At his continued hesitance, Binghe’s eyes begin to fill. “This husband acquired this artefact as a gift… but if husband truly detests it so-”
“Fine!” Shen Qingqiu snaps it up, irritated more than anything at how predictably a soft touch he can be. He knows he’s being manipulated, okay?! But – just look at that smile Binghe gives him, when he does what he wants!! Is it really worth the struggle to resist something like that?!
Glowering at the cane again, Shen Qingqiu decides that it sometimes may be.
“Husband should try it!” Binghe urges, smiling sunnily.
He’s not going to. He’s not – he’s not an invalid. Even back in his old life, he’d figured out ways to make do. Sure, most of the time that involved just not going anywhere, but hey: if it works, it works, ah?
Binghe’s eyebrows are starting to knit again. Growling faintly, Shen Qingqiu touches the cane to the floor and pushes himself up.
“There. Happy now?”
Binghe does look happy. “Now Husband should try walking with it! This husband will be happy to intercept if Shizun should stumble…”
There’s something in his eyes when he says that which makes Shen Qingqiu suspicious in an entirely different way. Almost defiantly, he pushes himself forwards. It’s his first attempt to use his legs since that first fall, and it’s… definitely weird and wobbly, but the cane holds, a solid touchstone.
...hm. It’s actually rather useful, isn’t it?
Binghe’s grin is blinding. “Shizun is doing it! This husband is relieved.”
Shen Qingqiu waves a hand dismissively, aborting the action when it disrupts his gravity more than expected. “Yes, yes. This husband is not a child.”
“Not at all.” Binghe looks him over again, appraisingly. “Husband looks very distinguished like this… a true wise and immortal master.”
Ay – what is with this child and his old-age pensioner kink?! A little flustered, Shen Qingqiu hobbles his way over to his desk. At least unlike his old body, he doesn’t really find himself out of breath the same way. It’s just… a little more mental and physical work, keeping his balance. And embarrassing.
But he makes it, and sits down, lightly setting the cane against his desk as though this is entirely normal and he isn’t bothered by his stupid hopeless body at all.
“See?” he says, nose upturned. “This master is fine. Binghe can cease his incessant fretting.”
Binghe’s smile is embarrassingly fond. Shen Qingqiu retrieves his fan, glad to be sitting again and free to wield it.
His husband darts forward, leaning over the desk to press a kiss to Shen Qingqiu’s forehead. “This husband will not be long. Shizun will have his cure by morn.”
“Binghe doesn’t need to push himself,” Shen Qingqiu murmurs on automatic. “This master… can take care of himself.”
“Of course!” Binghe grins. “In fact, once the cure has been found… this husband wouldn’t mind trying out this curse’s effects for himself. With such flexibility, this husband must be able to reach so many new sorts of positions…!”
Shen Qingqiu gawks, and then whaps his unruly husband with the fan. “Enough! If you’ve got time enough to think of such things, Husband can spend it on something actually useful.”
Binghe chuckles and kisses him again regardless, before at last taking up Zheng Yang once more and heading out.
With nothing left to do but wait, Shen Qingqiu attempts to return to the work awaiting him at his desk.
But… it really is a very skilfully-carved object his husband had gifted him. The ridges of the cobra’s head are quite pleasing to the touch, and there are small gemstones embedded into the eyes. It ought to be ridiculously over the top and showy… and, well, yes: it sort of is. But isn’t that sort of thing justified when one’s husband is the emperor of all demons?!
This really… is his life now. This is no fake fan merchandise or cosplay: this is a real, genuine piece of demonic artwork, given to him in love by Luo Binghe himself. The man he, in turn, loves.
He ends up giving up on his work and retrieving a book to distract himself, which requires the cane again. And then he fancies some tea, and it’s a shame Binghe isn’t around to prepare it, but his husband does try to set things out when he leaves so it’s easier for Shen Qingqiu to manage it himself. Which comes in very much useful when Shen Qingqiu has to figure out how to fill the pot and pour everything one-handed and with wiggly noodle arms. A lot of water ends up on the counters, is the thing. But he gets his tea in the end, and he’s sure Binghe won’t mind cleaning up the mess later. He’ll just be happy his husband had been making use of his gift.
All in all… it doesn’t end up being all too bad, actually. He still can’t say he’s entirely fond of his body right now, but… it’s manageable. An improvement over the past, surely. He even finds himself wondering if he might’ve been a bit happier back in the old days if he’d found a way to get around that let him drink some tea when he wanted it. He was probably a bit dehydrated back then, on top of everything else.
Plus, Shen Qingqiu thinks as he spies the cane out of the corner of his eye. This thing is kind of cool as fuck. So.
Maybe he can keep it around, afterwards. Just in case. In this world, one never knows what will be coming for them next.