Chapter Text
Shen Qingqiu hates swamps. He can’t believe he allowed Mu Qingfang and Liu Qingge to talk him into this. He should make it an official policy from now on: no forcing your shixiong to pick his way through dense swamps. Especially if you’re immediately going to go haring off deeper into the swamp and leave your shixiong alone, Liu Qingge.
Shen Qingqiu has been left to carefully pick his way over what available dry ground there is. Liu Qingge can use Cheng Luan to navigate wherever he pleases, but if Shen Qingqiu pulled out Xiu Ya to do the same, that would just be asking for Without-A-Cure to flare and dump him into the water. No, thank you! It’s bad enough having to stick his hands into the water every now and then to retrieve his targets.
Mu Qingfang requested a minimum of fifty Copper-Bellied Toads—taken alive, preferably, since it’s easier and more fruitful to extract the poison the toads secrete while they’re living rather than after the fact. Not that dead toads are useless, Mu Qingfang had been quick to assure them. The dried skins are likewise important to medicine, and they’re called Copper-Bellied Toads because because of the thin scales of the metal that cover their underbelly and parts of their legs. Shen Qingqiu is perfectly well-aware that copper is supposed to be have antimicrobial properties, and even if no one in the world of Proud Immortal Demon Way actually knows what a microbe is, everyone is nonetheless aware that there is something in the properties of copper that makes the metal safer than others.
Shen Qingqiu isn’t sure if using the copper from a poisonous toad is the best practice here, but he’ll defer to Mu Qingfang’s expertise.
At any rate, Shen Qingqiu rather resents being the one sent out to handle this. He has better ways to spend his time! Sure, the first Copper-Bellied Toad was interesting to look at, but his interest in the little beasts had quickly worn thin, overwhelmed by how very much he doesn’t like the environment.
This swamp is…
He’s sure it has a fascinating ecosystem. Shen Qingqiu isn’t in a mood to appreciate it. Liu Qingge is gone, but despite that, he would swear that something is watching him. Hopefully it’s not a monster that’s stalking him. Not that there should be too many swamp monsters, he’s pretty sure. Not in this region, at least. It’s been cleared out pretty recently—by their resident War God, in point of fact. There isn’t anything here Shen Qingqiu won’t be able to handle. Especially if Liu Qingge deigns to show his face again.
Why, then, are the hairs on the back of his neck steadily rising?
“Shizun.”
Shen Qingqiu spins in place, one hand going to Xiu Ya. That voice, right behind him—!
No one is there. Certainly not Luo Binghe. Shen Qingqiu’s lost (abandoned, purposefully abandoned, betrayed) disciple is only halfway through his five years in the Endless Abyss. He’s not in some random swamp.
Shen Qingqiu releases his hold on Xiu Ya’s hilt and exhales slowly. The swamp is dark, like it’s the set-up for a horror movie, and he’s annoyed by the muck everywhere, especially the amount of it clinging to his sleeves, and that annoyance is making him more generally high-strung. Ugh. He has about fourteen toads by now; he’ll finish with his half, and then he’ll go and find Liu Qingge. He wants out of here.
He turns back to the direction he was originally going. He thought he heard some toads croaking in this direction earlier.
Shen Qingqiu is a bare few steps down his chosen path when he sees a flutter of black cloth in his peripheral vision. His head whips to the side.
Nothing.
There’s nowhere over there for someone the size of a human to hide. Not as close as that black cloth had been to him. It wasn’t even Liu Qingge shooting past on Cheng Luan; for one thing, he would have said something. Probably. For another, his robes are white.
Not black.
Shen Qingqiu squeezes his eyes shut. He stretches out his qi senses. As suspected, there’s nothing in range of his senses other than the gentle natural qi of the swamp itself and the animals living inside it. If there were a demon here, Shen Qingqiu would be able to sense it.
Literally jumping at shadows, he scoffs internally. Brilliant. Maybe it’s a good thing I’ve been separated from Liu Qingge.
…Maybe I shouldn’t be saying things like that. Best not taunt the universe.
Or, more accurately, the System, but it’s been offline since just after the Immortal Alliance Conference. It can’t pull any strings right now. This is all a product of Shen Qingqiu’s own mind.
Comforting.
Shen Qingqiu determinedly keeps moving.
He catches three more Copper-Bellied Toads in quick succession, stuffing them into the wiggling pouch at his hip. It’s been specifically spelled so that animals can’t escape from it, which is a blessing when Shen Qingqiu has to juggle two toads at once while trying to open the flap to shove them inside. If he had to worry about escape attempts, he would hate this task even more than he already does.
All right, time for toad number eighteen, he thinks, idly flicking some of the muck off his hands. He spins leisurely in place, listening intently. Where are—?
Luo Binghe stands directly in front of him. Fourteen-year-old Binghe, still too thin from his mistreatment at the Original Shen Qingqiu’s hands, but with a cautious, hopeful look in his eyes as he tips his head back to meet Shen Qingqiu’s gaze.
Shen Qingqiu leaps back with a startled gasp. Between one blink and the next, his little white lotus disappears. Shen Qingqiu sits heavily on a conveniently nearby boulder, almost dizzy from the sudden fright. Funny, but he can’t seem to catch his breath.
What was that? Is Shen Qingqiu just tired, or is he actually—seeing something?
Shen Qingqiu stares down at his hands. They’re coated with the muck from the swamp, both from dipping his hands in the swamp and from holding onto the toads he caught barehanded.
Surely Mu Qingfang would have mentioned if the poison the toads secreted was a hallucinogen, right? Shen Qingqiu had been under the impression that the poison wasn’t even contact-based. Certainly he doesn’t have any open wounds on his hands for any poison to have made it into his bloodstream. (Without-A-Cure was enough for him, thanks!) Besides, the poison from these toads, while useful in the medications that Mu Qingfang is making, has to be refined before being used; Shen Qingqiu’s cultivation is strong enough that it almost certainly would neutralize any side effects he might suffer if he had somehow come in contact with the natural weak state of this poison.
If it’s not because of the toads, then…
Shen Qingqiu pulls in deliberately deep, steady breaths through his nose. If it’s some kind of flower or pollen, maybe he’ll be able to locate it. Though if it has a scent, either it’s a subtle one, or he’s become too accustomed to it surrounding him. With a wince, he uses a bit of qi to temporarily spike the sensitivity of his olfactory senses.
Yep, that sure is a swamp around him.
There are more than a few plants in Proud Immortal Demon Way that can cause hallucinations. Usually they have some other horrible, quickly noticeable side effect, of course—and not even always one that leads directly to papapa! If they don’t have side effects, then there’s often some kind of distinctive scent to them, and all the ones he can think of off the top of his head would stand out in this swamp.
Unfortunately, Shen Qingqiu isn’t picking up on anything outside of the normal scents he’s been smelling this whole time. Probably not caused by a plant, then.
Is it something about the swamp itself?
Or is Shen Qingqiu just…losing his grasp on reality? Has the terror of Luo Binghe’s eventual return warped his mind? He’s down to the last two and a half years of his life; maybe this is a delayed stress response. Then again, it was a fourteen-year-old Luo Binghe that Shen Qingqiu saw, so that implies rather than terror, his mind is cracking under the weight of his gri—
Well, anyway! Whatever the situation is, he should probably go find Liu Qingge! If it’s the swamp itself, then they should probably leave. Quickly. If it’s not the swamp, then—then Shen Qingqiu will probably have to submit to a medical exam to figure out it. Maybe there’s a plant Shen Qingqiu was unaware of that he brushed against. Hopefully one that’s easily treated.
First things first, he needs to figure out where his shidi is. Shen Qingqiu casts his senses out again, searching for that blaze of Liu Qingge’s qi.
And keeps searching.
And keeps searching, goddammit.
Liu Qingge, did you leave the swamp entirely?!
Shen Qingqiu has a pretty good range. He should be able to find someone as blindingly obvious as Liu Qingge.
He can’t.
“All right,” he says. “That’s it.”
He pulls out Xiu Ya. Climbs onto his sword, and is about to begin his flight up and through the canopy when he feels his qi shiver in his meridians and come to a screaming halt. Shen Qingqiu thankfully was about two feet off the ground, so he thumps easily back down onto dry land rather than taking a long fall and probably landing directly in the water, going by his luck today.
Liu Qingge is demonstrably nowhere nearby, so Shen Qingqiu takes a moment to let out some therapeutic (and truly foul) curses.
Walking it is.
They entered the swamp at the southwest edge. Judging by the sun filtering through the canopy of the trees, and from his own personal sense of direction, Shen Qingqiu is confident that he can find his way back out. He’s not searching for Liu-shidi on foot! He’ll get out of the swamp and wait for Liu Qingge to find him.
Determined, Shen Qingqiu starts walking.
He gets lost.
He’s pretty sure he gets lost, anyway. He doesn’t know where he is, and no, he doesn’t know this swamp very well so it’s not as if he would know just by looking if he was in a familiar area or not—it all looks like a swamp to him—but, well. He loses the path he was following.
It’s not his fault! The swamp is fucking well haunting him!
It’s haunting him with Luo Binghe.
Shen Qingqiu had decided to leave in the first place because he recognized that the swamp was haunting him. He thought he had accepted it—if in fact it really wasn’t his own mind freaking him out—but that’s before the newest apparently-not-a-hallucination touches him.
A brush of knuckles against his cheek, as Demon Emperor Luo Bingge leans all the way into his space, Xin Mo unsheathed in his other hand.
“Shizun,” Luo Bingge croons, same as he had behind Shen Qingqiu earlier, same as that nightmare of the Water Prison that Meng Mo dropped him into, and Shen Qingqiu breaks. He runs, uncaring of direction or staying on the path. Anything to get away.
Which is why he’s now lost somewhere in this fucking swamp. Wherever he’s found himself, the canopy is far thicker overhead, casting deep shadows. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t even know which direction he came from, having spent far too much time looking over his shoulder rather than paying attention to whether his path curved. Hell, he hadn’t even bothered to stick to solid ground, instead bolting along whatever route seemed like it would get him away from Bingge quicker, even if that took him through water.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thinks, his back now to a tree and Xiu Ya held naked in his hand as he stares wildly around. It’s not real, it can’t be real, it’s too early. He still has two and a half years! He can’t be here! It’s the swamp, it has to be the swamp.
“Where are you going?” Luo Binghe asks curiously.
Shen Qingqiu doesn’t scream, but only because the jolt of adrenaline has him lashing out instead, Xiu Ya stabbing forward—
Into Luo Binghe’s chest.
“Shi…zun?” Luo Binghe’s voice breaks on the word, half-sobbing it.
Shen Qingqiu lets go of his sword as if scalded. In front of him isn’t the Demon Emperor. It’s the Luo Binghe of the Immortal Alliance Conference, cradle seal freshly broken, backed to the edge of Abyss, eyes filled with tears as he begs Shen Qingqiu not to send him away and Shen Qingqiu fucking stabbed him again just now—
Shen Qingqiu staggers sideways, away from the shelter of his tree. Away from the horror of what he’s done. He trips backward over one of the tree’s arching roots, landing in the shin-deep water with a splash.
Luo Binghe is gone again.
Shen Qingqiu sits there, the ripples from his fall gradually dying down around him, for longer than he probably should.
Shi…zun? Luo Binghe’s voice echoes in his mind.
It’s not real, Shen Qingqiu thinks, shivering. It’s not real, it’s not. That’s the past. It’s over. You did what you had to do.
What he needs to do right at this moment is get out of this swamp. His qi is locked up due to Without-A-Cure, so he can’t summon Xiu Ya with it. He’ll have to pull it out of the water himself. All he has to do is get up and walk—a few feet—
A rock shifts beneath the hand he places in the water to push himself up. An impressively smooth rock, one that his fingers slide against until they accidentally get caught in the holes bored into it. Two…equidistant holes.
Shen Qingqiu pulls the rock out of the water.
The skull leers back at him.
“Fuck,” Shen Qingqiu says, very calmly.
He lunges for the place he last saw Xiu Ya. Something grabs his left ankle and yanks him back, dunking him almost fully into the water. Shen Qingqiu kicks awkwardly with his other foot, arms still stretching out and frantically searching for Xiu Ya.
There!
Xiu Ya’s hilt, thankfully, rather than the blade, is what Shen Qingqiu’s questing fingers land on. He tightens his grasp, pulling it from the water and twisting, swinging the sword in a wide arc.
Luo Bingge catches it negligently with one hand. The other has shifted upward so that it’s wrapped around Shen Qingqiu’s lower calf rather than his ankle, Luo Bingge’s claws flexing and shredding their way through the leg of his pants to draw lines of fire against his skin.
“Shizun, really, haven’t you learned by now?” Luo Bingge asks, grinning at him.
“Stop using his face!” Shen Qingqiu screams. He tries to draw Xiu Ya back, but Luo Bingge’s grip is firm. He fully rips Xiu Ya from Shen Qingqiu’s grasp, flinging his faithful sword to the side, and uses his hold on Shen Qingqiu’s leg to pull him closer again, until with a quick movement, Shen Qingqiu’s legs are both pinned beneath him. Shen Qingqiu is holding himself upright through the power of his core strength alone.
Shen Qingqiu flails ineffectually at him, until Luo Bingge uses both of his now-free hands to catch Shen Qingqiu’s arms, looping rope around them. It might as well have been Immortal Binding Cables, for all that Shen Qingqiu can fight against it with his qi stoppered.
“We’re only showing you what you want to see,” Luo Bingge tells him, almost earnestly. “You want to see him.” His head tilts thoughtfully. “Usually, they follow, because they want so desperately. But you ran away.” He smiles. “You came to us anyway.”
Usually, they follow…? Shit! It’s a goddamn lure!
A lure for something hungry.
Shen Qingqiu’s qi and hands are bound, half-pinned beneath an unknown monster wearing a too-familiar face. He has no weapons. He’s alone—except that somewhere in this swamp is his shidi.
Shen Qingqiu fills his lungs with a deep breath and screams as loud as he can. “LIU QINGGE! LIU—”
Luo Bingge shoves him beneath the water. It’s just deep enough that his mouth and nose are completely submerged, and unfortunately, he’s just wasted most of his breath by screaming. The thin traces of qi that he’s able to access despite Without-A-Cure aren’t enough to help him survive much longer than a mortal would. Is this really how he’s going to die? Drowned in some godforsaken swamp, years before the real Luo Binghe returns?!
He’s pulled back out of the swamp. Shen Qingqiu wheezes as he coughs up the water he accidentally swallowed.
“There, there, Shizun,” Luo Bingge says, a mockery of comfort. He pats at Shen Qingqiu’s back.
Shen Qingqiu headbutts him.
It’s a stupid move, using your head as an attack in a fight. It’s far more likely to do damage to yourself than your opponent, but Shen Qingqiu doesn’t have many other options. He’ll take what he can get.
Despite the fact that Luo Bingge has been touching him this whole time, despite the fact that Shen Qingqiu knows he’s a lure, it’s only now that Shen Qingqiu truly realizes that there is something deeply wrong with Luo Bingge’s body. He’s fully braced for the pain of his head cracking against Luo Bingge’s, a bone against bone collision, but that’s not what happens.
It’s too…squishy. Soft, and a little wet, and unless Shen Qingqiu is very much mistaken, there aren’t any bones inside Luo Bingge at all.
So that was less than useless, Shen Qingqiu has a moment to think, before Luo Bingge has him by the throat. If he pays attention, now, he can feel the way that there aren’t any bones in that hand, either. The prick of the claws around his neck are very real, though.
“That’s enough,” Luo Bingge says. Shen Qingqiu glares at him. He’s in the middle of trying to figure out his next move when Luo Bingge leans forward and kisses him.
Shen Qingqiu’s mind goes blank for an agonizing moment of confusion and blatant incomprehension before his brain kicks back on with a screech of mortal outrage. Is this one of Airplane’s awful papapa plots?! Why is this thing kissing him? Why does it look like Luo Binghe while it’s kissing him?!
Shen Qingqiu tries to turns his head away, but Luo Bingge’s other hand has moved to cradle the back of his skull, if such a delicate word can be used for the action. There’s a sharp pain there as Luo Bingge anchors his grip, claws tugging none-too-delicately at his hair and digging into the skin of his scalp. If it weren’t for the water already dampening his hair, Shen Qingqiu is sure he would be able to feel the blood start to pool there.
Luo Bingge takes advantage of Shen Qingqiu being unable to move. He doesn’t have teeth, as such, but in the same way that he has claws he has an equivalent of the sharp fangs that belong to the real Luo Bingge’s demonic form. He bites at Shen Qingqiu’s lips viciously, hard enough that now there’s blood collecting in Shen Qingqiu’s mouth. He gasps from the pain of it, lips parting slightly, and something long and thin slips its way inside, curling against his tongue.
“Mmph!” Shen Qingqiu protests. He tries to pull away, but Luo Bingge’s hold on him is unshakeable. There’s nowhere for him to go. He tries to bite down instead, to sever the thing before it can get any further, but it’s simultaneously slick and tough. He can’t get a good angle on it, nor build enough force, especially not with the way Luo Bingge continues to attack his lips.
Whatever is in his mouth, it tastes of swamp water and mud and, beneath that, faintly floral. The floral flavor is growing, actually, as the definitely-not-a-tongue keeps shoving its way deeper inside until, finally, it shoves its way down his throat. Shen Qingqiu briefly gags around it, before it gets its way past his gag reflex. Oh, god, what the fuck, what is it doing?
The floral taste keeps growing. Shen Qingqiu can identify it now—it’s lotus. It’s the only thing he can taste now, the water and mud of before buried under its overwhelming flavor.
It’s getting hard to think. He isn’t sure if it’s because of the kissing and the thing in his mouth, or because of what the thing is seeping out into his body, but he feels dizzy and breathless. His limbs are locked in place; he’s having trouble even curling his fingers, despite them being free of the rope wrapped around his arms.
Luo Bingge finally pulls away from him, the hand around his throat having long ago slid down to rest on Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder. His other hand stays buried in Shen Qingqiu’s hair. Shen Qingqiu’s lips must be a nightmare, judging by the red smeared around Luo Bingge’s sharp-toothed grin, his glowing crimson eyes bright with sadistic mirth.
Wait, Shen Qingqiu thinks distantly. But the…tongue…? It’s still…
Lotus all but bleeds over his tongue, all-consuming. Shen Qingqiu sways gently, unable to catch himself or correct his balance, kept upright only with Luo Bingge’s assistance. He blinks, then blinks again. It doesn’t help to clear his vision. Black is encroaching on all the edges.
That should worry him, shouldn’t it?
He’s so tired, though.
“Shh, Shizun, it’s alright,” Luo Bingge says, voice lilting in a singsong manner. Shen Qingqiu can’t look away from his red, red eyes. He blinks, and they aren’t eyes at all, but feathers, perched on a mound of coiled, shifting vines that are dotted with white thorns dyed their own bright red from Shen Qingqiu’s blood.
“Go to sleep, Shizun,” the black-and-red bird sings, coaxing.
“Go to sleep,” Luo Bingge repeats, as he flickers back into being.
Lotus, everywhere, dragging him down.
Lotus…for my lotus…
And then Shen Qingqiu is gone.
“Shizun,” Luo Binghe calls softly through Shen Qingqiu’s bedroom door.
Shen Qingqiu hums in acknowledgment, loud enough that Luo Binghe can hear. He finishes the last touches on his hair, checking in his bronze mirror to make sure that it looks as it should. Good enough. He stands, a tiny smile tugging at his lips.
Ah, he’s become rather vain about appearances since he transmigrated, hasn’t he?
Shen Qingqiu sweeps out of his bedroom and to the table in the main room, where Luo Binghe has laid out a lovely spread. His former disciple is waiting patiently, standing next to it.
“Sit, sit,” Shen Qingqiu says in mild exasperation. “You don’t have to wait for me, how many times do I have to tell you?”
“At least once more, Shizun,” Binghe says, his crimson eyes crinkling at the corners with his gentle amusement.
“Honestly,” Shen Qingqiu grumbles. They’ve been repeating this argument for a while now, even though Luo Binghe has had his guan ceremony and is, by rights, a full adult, and thus can rightfully be considered more of a contemporary to Shen Qingqiu now rather than a subordinate. He reaches for the tea. Bats at Luo Binghe’s hands when he tries to take the pot from him, and pours tea for the both of them.
“Thanking Shizun,” Luo Binghe murmurs, holding the cup of tea in the cage of his fingers but not yet drinking from it.
“Mn,” is all Shen Qingqiu says, too busy taking a bite of his youtiao to bother with real words. The two of them work slowly through their breakfast, youtiao and tea eggs and beautifully shaped hua juan. There’s no classes for Shen Qingqiu to teach today, no business in the Demon Realm to call Luo Binghe away, so it’s just the two of them in the bamboo house and the whole long, leisurely day stretching in front of them.
Luo Binghe, sticky creature that he is, ends up spending most of the day with his head in Shen Qingqiu’s lap, half-napping as Shen Qingqiu lazes about and catches up on his reading. In point of fact, Luo Binghe seems to be making a concentrated effort to forcefully manifest the ability to purr. As the thought strikes, Shen Qingqiu digs his fingers a little deeper in Luo Binghe’s hair the next several times he strokes Binghe’s head, scratching softly, and Luo Binghe lets out a deep sigh of contentment.
“Read to me, Shizun?” Luo Binghe asks sleepily.
“As Binghe wishes,” Shen Qingqiu says, and starts his book over from the beginning.
Shen Qingqiu makes his appearances at all his classes. His disciple give him their due attention, or they try to, but Shen Qingqiu can tell they’re distracted. Qixi is soon, and Shen Qingqiu has long since promised to escort the younger members of his peak to the festival. His older disciples can handle themselves—and Shen Qingqiu is certain no few of them have dates arranged for themselves. They’ll want to be as far away from their teacher as possible, most likely!
All but one of them.
Shen Qingqiu hides his smile behind his fan. Luo Binghe has claimed his place by Shen Qingqiu’s side for the festival, because of course he has.
Shen Qingqiu’s last lesson for the day is in the early afternoon. His senior disciples trail behind him to an open-air pavilion overlooking one of Qing Jing’s ponds, their instruments carried along with them, ready to enjoy the good weather while practicing. Shen Qingqiu spends an enjoyable shichen listening to his students practice their own performances, and then he allows himself to be persuaded to perform for them in turn. Each student is given an opportunity to request a song.
Luo Binghe comes looking for him eventually, settling beside Shen Qingqiu to merrily listen to his impromptu recital. Luo Binghe gets the last request of the afternoon. Shen Qingqiu plays, his peak calm and peaceful around him, a soft breeze snaking through the bamboo to cool them as they play, and Shen Qingqiu is happy.
“Perfect,” Luo Binghe says, taking a step back to examine him after tying the jade ornament in place on Shen Qingqiu’s belt. His own jade ornaments gleam—his mother’s guanyin necklace, peeking out the front of his robes, and the white jade belt ornament that Shen Qingqiu bought for him last year. Luo Binghe was absolutely determined to dress Shen Qingqiu for this outing, and Shen Qingqiu indulged him.
This is why he’s wearing significantly fancier robes than his regular Peak Lords robes, with impressive embroidery and countless seed pearls forming the waving patterns decorating his outermost robe. Not to mention this is why Luo Binghe had spent so long on his hair, and then delicately painted a crimson huadian on Shen Qingqiu’s forehead. It’s a perfect match for Luo Binghe’s own, because his sticky former disciple can’t bear not to stake his claim on Shen Qingqiu. As if he isn’t going to be holding Shen Qingqiu’s arm the whole evening! Who would get any ideas, silly man?
In point of fact, Luo Binghe looks as if he’s getting ideas of his own—the kind that would irreparably muss Shen Qingqiu’s hair and careful outfit, and make them significantly late to meeting the disciples.
“No,” Shen Qingqiu says firmly, making to move past Luo Binghe.
“But Shizun!” Luo Binghe says, grabbing Shen Qingqiu around the waist and spinning them in a small circle.
Shen Qingqiu whaps him on the head with his fan, because otherwise he’s going to be very late and his youngest disciples are going to hit him with absolutely pitiful, woebegone expressions—which, when employed by all of them at once, manage to outshine even the Protagonist’s puppy-dog eyes.
…Shen Qingqiu is undeniably weak to that doleful expression on Luo Binghe’s face, though.
“Festival first,” he says, snapping open his fan to cover his face. Luo Binghe drops the piteous expression immediately, smugly assured that he’s won the long game if not the short.
This time, he lets Shen Qingqiu leave the bamboo house, falling into step beside him as soon as they’re both outside.
“Does Shizun have plans for the festival?” Luo Binghe asks.
Shen Qingqiu slants a sideways look at him. “This master suspects that Binghe has suggestions,” he says drily.
Luo Binghe doesn’t deny it.
Indeed, Luo Binghe deftly guides Shen Qingqiu through the festival the whole evening. At the beginning, he yields somewhat, allowing Shen Qingqiu to pay attention to his young disciples and keeping a watchful eye on them himself, but as the evening stretches and Shen Qingqiu sends his youngest back up the mountain with an escort from some Xian Shu disciples already heading that way, he takes charge. He leads Shen Qingqiu directly to the vendor stalls Shen Qingqiu likes most, refusing his master the chance to pay for any of the books or fans or other trinkets he selects, and he plies Shen Qingqiu with food at any opportunity: jianbing, tanghulu, mantou.
The only thing Luo Binghe disdains are any of the stalls selling qiaoguo, of which there are a great many, given that it is a traditional Qixi food.
“This disciple can make better qiaoguo for Shizun,” Luo Binghe insists quietly as he ushers Shen Qingqiu away from the most recent place where he paused to admire the deftly crafted shapes. Shen Qingqiu will admit to teasing his former disciple somewhat; he doesn’t desire qiaoguo so desperately that he has to stop at every possible stall, but it’s undeniably amusing to watch Luo Binghe fluster. No doubt his former disciple has specifically prepared and packed away his own qiaoguo and is simply waiting for the proper moment to gift them to Shen Qingqiu.
Sure enough, Luo Binghe eventually begins guiding them toward the outskirts of the festival and the path back to Cang Qiong. No doubt Luo Binghe is eager to claim the prize he wheedled out of Shen Qingqiu before they left Qing Jing. Before that, though, they pause at the edge of the town’s lantern light. Luo Binghe pulls a cloth-wrapped box from his qiankun sleeve and presents it to Shen Qingqiu.
Beautiful, delicate qiaoguo shaped like magpies are settled neatly inside. Shen Qingqiu is sure that Luo Binghe has mixed different ingredients into each one—indeed, he can spot sesame seeds peppering one of them, and what might be rose petals in another. It’s almost a shame to eat them, since they’re so lovely.
Shen Qingqiu pulls one of the magpies from the box. Offers it to Luo Binghe, and then selects another for himself. They eat together, Shen Qingqiu’s eyes closing momentarily in bliss. Delicious as always, is his Binghe’s food.
“Shizun,” Luo Binghe says. “Let’s never be parted.”
“Yes,” Shen Qingqiu says. He allows himself to be pulled into a kiss, and then through one of Xin Mo’s portal to land directly in his bed, Luo Binghe already busy shoving several layers of Shen Qingqiu’s robes out of the way so he can get his hand on Shen Qingqiu’s cock.
Neither of them get much sleep that night.
Shen Qingqiu visits Bai Zhan, Luo Binghe in tow. Liu Qingge is recently returned from a night hunt—as evidenced by the fresh monster corpse on the doorstep of the bamboo house this morning, about which Luo Binghe had rolled his eyes but dutifully dragged away to butcher—and Shen Qingqiu is in the mood for a spar.
They go a few rounds before Shen Qingqiu bows out. Luo Binghe leaps up to take his place, always willing to test his strength against Bai Zhan’s War God. It’s no hardship for Shen Qingqiu to watch the two most beautiful men he knows fight against each other. They’re almost evenly matched, though of course the balance tips ultimately in Luo Binghe’s favor. He only gets better the more he fights Liu Qingge.
Shen Qingqiu pulls out a fan and begins waving it in front of his face. Luo Binghe has Liu Qingge pinned beneath him, and his shidi’s face is flushed a fetching pink from exertion. Then Liu Qingge turns his head, looking directly at Shen Qingqiu.
“Wake up,” Liu Qingge says urgently. “Shixiong, you have to—”
Luo Binghe kisses his way down Shen Qingqiu’s jaw and then neck, teeth nipping lightly here and there.
“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu says, aiming for scolding but landing closer to breathy. He’s going to have to wear high-collared robes for the next few days if Luo Binghe keeps this up.
True to form, Luo Binghe only takes this as encouragement. He sucks hard at the junction of Shen Qingqiu’s neck and shoulder, and Shen Qingqiu yanks at Luo Binghe’s hair in recompense. The dratted man moans, rutting against him.
“Shizun,” Luo Binghe pants.
“Not in bed I’m not!” Shen Qingqiu snaps, flustered as ever. Luo Binghe hums his acknowledgment and then goes back to his previous work, trailing his way down Shen Qingqiu’s chest and all the way to his aching cock, already stiff from the long make-out session they’ve indulged in and the way Luo Binghe had been squirming against him nearly the whole time.
Luo Binghe mouths at his cock, licking a stripe up the underside, then popping the head into his mouth. His dextrous tongue swirls around the head, and Shen Qingqiu’s grip in his hair tightens again. Fuck, it feels good, Binghe is so good to him—!
Luo Binghe peeks up at him through his lashes, a coquettish and nearly demure look belied by the hunger in that same gaze. Then he swallows Shen Qingqiu whole in one sinuous movement.
“Yes!” Shen Qingqiu half-shouts, bucking in place at the tight, wet heat of Luo Binghe around his cock. Then Luo Binghe’s hands land on his hips, holding him in place, and all he can do is pant helplessly as Luo Binghe bobs up and down, encouraged by Shen Qingqiu’s fierce grip in his hair to shove him back down when he seems as if he might fully pull off. “Yes, yes, Binghe, exactly like that!”
Shen Qingqiu gets a bit too distracted by the blowjob. Without him noticing, at some point Luo Binghe lifted one hand from him and managed to coat his fingers in oil. Shen Qingqiu only becomes aware of it when those self-same fingers begin circling his hole.
“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu gasps. Luo Binghe sucks hard on his cock, and in the same movement pushes the tip of one finger past the rim. Only one knuckle deep for now, but the combination of the two types of stimulation is getting to Shen Qingqiu. “Binghe, I’m close—”
Luo Binghe hums and Shen Qingqiu moans. Languidly, while still working Shen Qingqiu’s cock with his mouth, Luo Binghe sinks his finger in deeper, stroking at Shen Qingqiu’s insides, and that’s it, it’s all too much for Shen Qingqiu. He comes with a cry. Luo Binghe swallows it all down, coaxing every last drop of Shen Qingqiu’s seed from him, and takes advantage of the relaxation caused by his orgasm to fuck a second finger into Shen Qingqiu. He pulls off of Shen Qingqiu’s cock with a wet pop, licking his lips with a lascivious grin.
“Insatiable,” Shen Qingqiu says, voice hitching softly as Luo Binghe’s questing fingers unerringly locate his prostate.
“Only for you, Shizun,” Luo Binghe says sweetly, and there isn’t much coherent conversation after that.
Shen Qingqiu takes tea with Yue Qingyuan, and indulges the sect leader with a game of weiqi after. They make casual chit-chat; nothing serious, though Shen Qingqiu admits he’s considering taking a sabbatical.
“I know some of our Qing Jing bestiaries aren’t complete,” Shen Qingqiu says. “They haven’t been updated since before our generation took over. It’s well past time for someone to deal with it.”
That someone being Shen Qingqiu, of course. It’s an excuse for him to explore the world, to investigate all of the terrible and wonderful and absolutely multitudinous creations of Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky’s mind. Shen Qingqiu would never express his deep admiration out loud, not now that he doesn’t have the relief of the Internet and specifically its Zhongdian forums as a barrier between them, but he and Shang Qinghua are both well aware of how much Shen Qingqiu loves Airplane’s monsters.
Plus, it’s not as if the sect really needs Shen Qingqiu right now. Everything is calm. Everything is perfect. There are no looming threats on the horizon, no conflict with any of the other sects. Shen Qingqiu is perfectly content to leave Qing Jing and its disciples in Ming Fan and Ning Yingying’s capable hands while he’s away. They’ll do a wonderful job.
Yue Qingyuan bears this suggestion of a sabbatical with indulgence. “This Qingyuan supposes Qingqiu-shidi will be taking Luo-shizhi along with him?”
“Of course I will,” Shen Qingqiu says. As if that’s even a question! Luo Binghe goes everywhere he goes. Even now, Shen Qingqiu can feel the bonfire flare of his qi approaching, ready to coax Shen Qingqiu back to Qing Jing for dinner. Not that it will take much effort to do so.
Yue Qingyuan smiles at him, and says, “Xiao Jiu, it’s not real. Please, you have to remember—”
Luo Binghe thrusts into him. Unintentionally, Shen Qingqiu rakes his nails down Luo Binghe’s back, perhaps a bit too hard—though Luo Binghe seems pleased enough by it, given the punched out little noise he makes and the enthusiasm with which he thrusts again, bullying his way impossibly deep into Shen Qingqiu.
Shen Qingqiu is too out of it to make more than breathless ah ah ah noises. Luo Binghe has already ripped two orgasms out of him, and he’s fucked Shen Qingqiu through the overstimulation until Shen Qingqiu is well on his way to a third one. Thank goodness for cultivator stamina, Shen Qingqiu supposes, or he would never be able to keep up with the Protagonist as well as he is.
Luo Binghe covers Shen Qingqiu’s mouth with his own, slipping his tongue inside immediately. He kisses like he wants to consume Shen Qingqiu. Shen Qingqiu is weak to it, the way all of Luo Binghe’s focus and passion are reserved solely for him. He kisses back enthusiastically, letting out a muffled groan as Luo Binghe puts his hands to good use: one tweaking at Shen Qingqiu’s nipples, the other reaching to wrap around his cock where it lies between them. He strokes Shen Qingqiu almost lazily, a counterpart to his pace as he pushes in and out of Shen Qingqiu, his pace beginning to stutter as he approaches his own orgasm.
Shen Qingqiu writhes. Too much, too much, he can’t take any more of this!
Luo Binghe buries himself to the hilt inside Shen Qingqiu and finally comes. The sensation is enough to knock Shen Qingqiu over the edge, too. He loses a bit of time. When he eventually comes back down, it’s to Luo Binghe staring raptly at him, looking quite pleased with himself. The Heavenly Pillar is still inside him, already half-hard again.
“Absolutely not,” Shen Qingqiu says, weakly pushing at Luo Binghe.
“But Shizun,” Luo Binghe whines. His hips move, very slightly, and Shen Qingqiu reflexively, though feebly, clenches around him.
“No,” Shen Qingqiu says. Luo Binghe’s stupidly large cock nudges against Shen Qingqiu’s prostate again, a gentle movement that sends a sharp zing through Shen Qingqiu’s body. “I’m going to sleep.”
Luo Binghe lets out a heavy sigh. “Very well,” he says, faux-mournfully. “Allow this disciple to clean Shizun before he rests.”
Luo Binghe slips himself out, but rather than fetching towels and a basin, he takes it upon himself to clean Shen Qingqiu with his tongue. That unfilial brat. Shen Qingqiu really should stop him. He can’t quite bring himself to.
By the time Luo Binghe makes his way between Shen Qingqiu’s legs and starts eating him out, all the remainder of Shen Qingqiu’s will has crumpled like tin foil.
“One more round,” Shen Qingqiu concedes. “And that’s it.”
Luo Binghe draws back, laying a soft kiss on his inner thigh, gracious in victory. “Yes, Shizun.”
“It isn’t absolute garbage,” Shen Qingqiu says, dropping the stack of his completed edits onto the table in front of Shang Qinghua. The admission pains him, but praise works remarkably well on his disciples. (It works a little too well on one former disciple in particular.) Shen Qingqiu supposes he’ll also give some praise to Shang Qinghua, since, to Shen Qingqiu’s pleasant surprise, Shang Qinghua can write stories that aren’t dogshit.
…Shen Qingqiu shouldn’t really be surprised by this. The bones of Proud Immortal Demon Way had been good, and Shang Qinghua has a talent for worldbuilding. He just gets lost in complicated plots and drops too many of the threads, or goes off on tangents that are too distracting from the main conceit of his story. There’s a reason Shen Qingqiu stuck with PIDW for so long.
“Bro,” Shang Qinghua says, eyes full of stars and—are those tears? “Bro, that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. About my writing, at least.”
Shen Qingqiu unfolds his fan and covers his face. “I wouldn’t have agreed to edit it if I didn’t think it had potential,” he mutters, and aggressively shoves Shang Qinghua away when he tries to go for a hug or some bullshit.
“Really though, thanks,” Shang Qinghua says, after taking a large gulp of his tea and eagerly picking his way through the treats Luo Binghe has laid out for them. The Protagonist himself is back in the kitchen, putting together a late lunch. He had sighed heavily at the prospect of Shang Qinghua joining them, but nonetheless allowed it, and is currently giving them space to discuss Shang Qinghua’s newest work. “You always were my most dedicated anti-fan. It’s nice getting to share this with you again.”
“Shut up,” Shen Qingqiu says.
Shang Qinghua just laughs. He says, “The mushroom bodies aren’t ready yet. If you die here, you’re going to die for real, Cucumber-bro.”
Shen Qingqiu stares at him. “What?”
“I don’t have much time, Mu-shidi’s only out of the room for the moment, but listen to me, please, you’ve got to—”
Luo Binghe eats him out until he’s screaming and every thought Shen Qingqiu has ever had flies from his mind.
Shen Qingqiu crosses Qing Jing, heading toward the Quiet Pool. He glances at the clearing behind the bamboo house, and he thinks, I’m forgetting something.
Luo Binghe pulls out of Shen Qingqiu. Carries his pliant form to the bath, full of steaming water, and climbs in with him, settling his master between his legs and allowing Shen Qingqiu to relax against him as Luo Binghe focuses on washing his body. Shen Qingqiu drifts peacefully for some time, enjoying Luo Binghe’s gentle touch on him, until—
“Don’t you dare,” Shen Qingqiu warns, as Luo Binghe’s fingers start to linger longer and longer inside, when he’s supposedly only helping Shen Qingqiu get cleaned out.
“I would never,” Luo Binghe blatantly lies, twisting his fingers. Then, since Shen Qingqiu is nice and loose from the Heavenly Pillar, Luo Binghe slips a third finger inside and lazily thrusts them, somehow never quite managing to hit his prostate.
Shen Qingqiu squirms. The water splashes around him.
“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu says. Stop! Teasing! Him!
“Apologies, Shizun,” Luo Binghe says unrepentantly, laying a featherlight kiss on Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder. A fourth finger joins the others.
“Nnn,” Shen Qingqiu says, head tipping all the way back to lay against Luo Binghe’s broad chest. Luo Binghe’s third goddamn leg presses heavily against his spine. Now Luo Binghe seems to be able to find his prostate, the bastard. He’s hitting it with unrelenting precision, driving Shen Qingqiu wild in the process. “You—brat. Might as well—might as—”
“Might as well what, Shizun?” Luo Binghe murmurs.
Shen Qingqiu can’t say it. He reaches behind himself and clumsily grabs at Luo Binghe’s pillar.
“If Shizun insists,” Luo Binghe purrs.
Qing Jing is quiet. It’s supposed to be quiet, but not like this.
Something is wrong.
Cultivator stamina or not, riding Luo Binghe is definitely an activity for the beginning of the night, not the end. Shen Qingqiu nearly collapses flat on his face when he finally comes. Catching himself is made a moot point when Luo Binghe grabs him and crushes him to his chest as they both come down from their respective orgasms.
“What’s this?” Shen Qingqiu asks, half-teasing and unbearably fond as his face is smushed into Luo Binghe’s shoulder. It would be better if it was his tits, he thinks, and banishes that thought as too shameless, even with everything that they’ve done together. “Holding onto me so tightly—are you afraid I’m going to run away?”
“Stay with me, Shizun,” Luo Binghe pleads. “Don’t leave me. Stay.”
Now that’s worrying.
Shen Qingqiu uses a bit of his qi to bolster his strength and forces himself out from Luo Binghe’s near-crushing grasp. He sits up enough that he can take in Luo Binghe’s face.
“Who said I would leave?” Shen Qingqiu asks gently. “Why is Binghe so worried about this?”
Because Luo Binghe is worried, Shen Qingqiu can tell. His eyes are filled with tears, and not crocodile tears, either. Shen Qingqiu can sense the difference, and there is a horrid desolation in Luo Binghe’s demeanor that tells Shen Qingqiu this is serious.
“They’re going to take you away,” Luo Binghe insists.
“Who?”
“Wouldn’t it be better to stay?” Luo Binghe asks, ignoring the question. “Aren’t you happy?”
Shen Qingqiu is a little uneasy, actually. “Binghe, what are you talking about?” He shifts, intending to pull himself apart from Luo Binghe. This is something they’re going to have to have a discussion about, preferably at a table rather than while Shen Qingqiu has Luo Binghe’s Heavenly Pillar up his ass.
Luo Binghe rolls them over. Now Shen Qingqiu is the one on his back, and Luo Binghe quickly arranges himself so that his full weight is lying on top of him. It’s not an unfamiliar position, but the conversation, or lack thereof, surrounding it—
“Stay,” Luo Binghe says.
“Binghe, get off!” Shen Qingqiu isn’t teasing this time. Something is really wrong. Luo Binghe is wrong. His form shivers, going nearly transparent, before his huadian flares and he’s back to full corporeality.
Shen Qingqiu tastes lotus.
“Stay,” Luo Binghe insists, and then he’s kissing Shen Qingqiu again, desperately, grinding into him, his hands sweeping down Shen Qingqiu’s sides until his fingers land on Shen Qingqiu’s hips, digging in hard. The lotus flavor grows stronger. Neither of them have had anything with lotus in it for some time now; Luo Binghe occasionally makes lotus seed paste as a filling for baozi, but—but—that’s wrong—he hasn’t done that for—not since—
Xiao Jiu, it’s not real.
If you die here, you’re going to die for real.
Shixiong, you have to—
WAKE UP.