Work Text:
He designs Shang Qinghua just for himself.
It’s a silly thing really, selfish, but who could tell him he’s not allowed to do what he pleases with his own book?
His editor may try but Mo Beijun isn’t known as the Frigid King of Fiction, the terror of editors and publishers across the globe, for no reason. Perfectly capable of staring across a table while his work is put through the ringer, suggestions and humdrum assurances that this change will enhance the reader’s experience.
Mo Beijun knew that meant “water down” the content, making it more palatable for a broader audience to increase sales beyond the usual bracket of his already established and loyal fans. But did he care about that? No. He’s never written for the average housewife looking for a romance tale and if a little blood makes the reader shrivel in disgust? Put down his work and find something else, it never mattered.
He wrote about gods, war, traitors and Kings.
If there was a dragon, someone was getting eaten. A war? Someone would die. Mo Beijun was sick of love stories rounding the edges of danger. He’d kill a main character just to keep his readers on their toes - make their lover do it and laugh. Betrayal was just a fact of life.
He avoided letting anyone too close for such a reason, tired of faceless phone calls calling him various names when he didn’t show up to a random birthday party or being told " childhood associate number three had a baby - so send a card". It was pointless, and none of his business and they didn’t care for him so why should Mo Beijun spend the energy?
Frigid King, it suited him and he wore the title well. Sparsely decorated home. Neat, clean and organized. Fake plants because living ones were too needy - unlisted even in his apartment’s records because he didn’t need that sort of opening for a nosy neighbor. He liked alone, he liked his space, and he liked not having anything distracting him from work. His agent was bad enough, her loud voice and pushy attitude is exactly why he made her a clawing, feral she-demon in his latest series. Violent and annoying and she of course adored the character of Sha Hualing too much that Mo Beijun regretted ever putting her in the world. It felt bizarre having someone hold any claim over his creation and only out of fear she’d do something to his monthly checks did he avoid killing off the she-demon. (for now, he’d find a way).
His stories were not supposed to feel personal, just the means to a paycheck and to make his publishing house sweat when his contract drew near to the end.
.
Mo Beijun gets coffee on rare occasions outside of his home. The barista is a mousy man who talks too much and spells his name wrong - apologizing too loudly when Mo Beijun informs him of the mistake and Mo Beijun can’t stop thinking about it for days.
Shang Qinghua comes into existence at that time and is hardly qualified to even be considered a background character. He designs him that way, some simpering little wretch in the background of brutal court scenes. Tensions high and only the sniveling whine of a lesser breaking the silence. He wasn’t supposed to be notable, or even important. Destined to die offscreen in the next siege of the palace lands when the Protagonist is away on some mystical journey, his kingdom attacked by his wicked twin who knows no satisfaction.
A joke character.
A throw-away.
Something to toss in and dump once his clinging to the leg of whatever Lord was closest grew tiring. He never had a purpose beyond foolishness and the occasional comedic relief…
Except…
Except Mo Beijun made the mistake of describing him and accidentally puts in too much effort.
What would Shang Qinghua look like , he thought.
Innocent but messy. (hair neat in the morning but slowly unraveling throughout the day. Ink stains on his jaw and most assume the mole to the right of his lips is just ink.) Small.
Small enough that large enough hands would encompass his waist like a belt and he’d squeak when surprised. Bearing dark eyes that never seem to relax from full bloom. Like he was trying to absorb the world and figure how it works. Tidy but clumsy and often overlooked for his cleverness.
Able to conduct himself like an adult but would fall apart at the first sign of stress. Clingy and strange, complaining to his few underlings of the workload but never shirking his duties. Why? Because Shang Qinghua had to know things to further the plot when needed. Mo Beijun couldn’t leave a plothole like that…
Unless.
Unless Shang Qinghua was a spy?
He recalls leaning back in his chair that evening, working on the next draft.
A spy.
His mouth almost twitched with interest.
Yes. Shang Qinghua could be a spy - a traitor this whole time! His readers wouldn’t see it coming, no one would. Such a pathetic little man who cries at the Protagonist when asked to carry a sword and do battle with demonic hordes. Ha, what an idea. A skillful little man hiding in plain sight. Working all this time for the yet-unnamed demonic King who lingers in small mentions at the backs of the main characters minds.
But why?
Would he be a spy to be greedy, selfish? No. Too easy, too cliche. Shang Qinghua was sweet in a way that Mo Beijun embarrassed himself thinking of. Pretty but not vain, having luxuries enough but not spoiled.
What then would cause a man to betray his sect? Allow demons to fester in the shadows of the mortal realm if he were not cruel or greedy. Why would a squeaky cultivator with no tragic backstory of blood rivalry in his past serve the secondary antagonist demon lord??
Love.
Mo Beijun almost slaps himself for the thought, snapping his laptop shut and fumes for the rest of the day.
No. Not love.
Disgusting.
Romance was pointless, he wouldn’t waste his time.
Shang Qinghua survives his premiere in the latest installment and is an appropriately received character. Some liked him, some didn’t care. He was inconsequential and Mo Beijun was glad. Shang Qinghua was like a secret dropped in that his audience couldn’t possibly know.
A wonderfully wicked device that had him patting his own back because who would ever suspect this oval-faced man to be the traitor? The one who hides behind the noble and elegant Protagonist when trouble appears? Who shivers at the name of demons and clings to thighs of any strong male in the vicinity. The one who makes the rest groan with his awkward jokes - but manages to drop vital information at just the right time. The one who knows too much without suspicion, working diligent in the shadows and yet to have his true motives revealed.
Mo Beijun was proud of this character, found writing him was joy when the main character was growing too stiff. Shang Qinghua was the too loud voice which made an impression, but not always a good one. He was annoying and sticky and pathetic and filled a quiet room with sound and life faster than Mo Beijun could provide him tense situations to ruin with his lack of perception.
He was perfect.
Mo Beijun would probably hate him in real life.
But this was his fantasy, and he designed Shang Qinghua for himself. Made him gentle and small, awkward so he had to be swift and clever to survive.
Someone who would stay by his side...
Mo Beijun huffs at his own stupidity as he closes the latest draft, mentally noting to clean up a few paragraphs which didn’t flow the way he wanted in the morning. He was punctual with his submissions to the editor and already ahead on this draft so he could sleep early as well. His quiet, cold house greeting weary eyes as he stands to head to bed.
Mo Beijun knocks over the mug of tea he’d completely forgotten about. It’s ice-cold and half full where it splashes over his arm and computer. The liquid-like a dark wave spilling down to where multiple cords were plugged into the same power strip.
He gives a shout as he dives to stop it.
…
[The System was successfully activated! Role bound: Shang Qinghua’s mysterious Lord, Demonic Northern Lands Sovereign King, <<ERROR: Information UNAVAILABLE.>>
PLEASE ENTER USER ID.
“What?”
YOUR NAME PLEASE.
“Mo Beijun…”
<<Information Accepted. Thank you.>>
Welcome Mobei Jun, Frigid King of the North]
...
He has claws.
Why does he have claws???
These things are entirely impractical! He’s torn this cloak. TWICE.
Who designed this cloak!? Why does he wear a fur mantle that feels like carrying a sack of rice over his shoulders - but then have robes so open he can see his own stomach!
(Abs, there are so many abs, that's not anatomically possible is it? He worked out but this was obscene!)
Ok. Calm down. Be logical. This is a dream, clearly.
Mo Beijun stands, wobbles. He is tall, he is much taller than he should be and he grasps the black wooden arch of the bed to remain stable. Brushing back the weight of hair which falls like a navy-black curtain across his face. Mo Beijun stumbles towards the diamond shaped mirror of polished brass, he has to see himself because he knows what he is and knows what he’s not…
And the Ice Demon who stares back is NOT Mo Beijun, author of the popular fantasy series Humbling Eternity of the Cultivator’s Path.
He hadn’t even given this demon a name yet. He was just a nightmare slowly brewing from the North, something that would eventually ruin the heroes' lives after Shang Qinghua let loose the pathway to the abyss…
This character was meant to begin the stage for the grand downfall, a demon who somehow met Shang Qinghua and for whatever reason the man followed him!
What was happening….what was going on?
“My King!”
Mo Beijun turns to greet the voice and his breath is crystal vapor at his lips upon setting eyes upon the owner.
Round eyes that see too much.
Oval face that is too soft to be a threat.
A pink mouth, loud and moving too quickly to focus on as Shang Qinghua stands in the doorway.
Shang Qinghua.
Is standing in the doorway.
“My King you look ill.”
He’s fast, dashing across the space between them without hesitation. Moving hands against Mo Beijun’s brow and arm. Feeling cold skin and - searching for what a fever? He’s an ice demon! Who wrote the logic in this world?
Oh. He did.
He’s an Ice Demon…
This is Shang Qinghua…
“Your pulse is quite fast My King, did something happen?”
“No.” He answers, startled by his own voice. But his actual weakness in speaking to others seems to read as appropriate for this character. He doesn’t raise any flags of alarm, but this simply cannot be happening.
He’s steadied by deft hands and a concerned expression, Shang Qinghua darting his head beneath, trying to get a better look at him. He’s so small and Mo Beijun can’t handle it when that soft face breaks in relief and the cultivator merely looks happy to be there.
No one has ever smiled at him like that before.
This is a dream.
This has to be a very good, very confusing dream.