Chapter Text
They don’t talk about it. “It” being the painfully obvious fact that they had touched each other. Intimately. On a grassy patch on the side of a mountain, for any and all to see.
But Shen Qingqiu doesn’t miss the subtle shift in their dynamic: the way Liu Qingge can’t meet his eyes, gaze fixed at a distance ahead; the way he now matches Shen Qingqiu’s pace, slowing just enough to walk by his side.
They travel in silence this time, Shen Qingqiu unsure of what to say. It’s his first—a sudden, too-desperate groping in a dark movie theater doesn’t count—and he wonders if it’s the same for Liu Qingge. No, what is he thinking, of course it’s Liu Qingge’s first! The man is a stoic warrior who stiffens at the very thought of dual cultivation! ...the kind of stiffening that doesn’t lead to fun, pleasant experiences!
Fan over his mouth, Shen Qingqiu sniggers at his own self-correction.
Liu Qingge’s eyes shift to meet his, seconds before they flick away, his cheeks dusted pink.
He doesn’t break the silence.
Shen Qingqiu exhales. If he leaves it all to Liu Qingge, they won’t talk the entire way back. And then, because at least one of the Sect Leaders have the busybody trait of a neighborhood auntie, they’d be forced to discuss this strange, awkward tension between them before the entire Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.
Better to hash it out now.
“Was it that bad, shidi?” he asks, voice light.
Liu Qingge’s back straightens, stiff as a plank. “I have recovered,” he says, after a beat.
“Not the effects of the succubi’s poison,” Shen Qingqiu says. “I’m asking if the… the…” He makes a vague gesture with his fan. “The act of er, removing the effects was…”
“No,” Liu Qingge says sharply. At Shen Qingqiu’s startled look, he draws in a deep breath and shakes his head. “No,” he says again, softer, quieter. “It wasn’t bad.”
“Ah.” Shen Qingqiu flushes, mouth tipped up slightly at the corners. From Liu Qingge, that’s a resounding excellent, complete with great fanfare. “Glad this shixiong was of help, then.”
Without warning, Liu Qingge stops, Shen Qingqiu padding a few steps past him. When he looks back, Liu Qingge’s head is bowed, his brows furrowed. The sutras hang in a sling across his back, where muscles rippled beneath Shen Qingqiu’s hands just hours before. Unconsciously, Shen Qingqiu slides the tips of his fingers across his palm, recalling the heat, the quiver, of Liu Qingge’s body.
“I didn’t ask because you were there.”
Shen Qingqiu blinks, fingers uncurling. “What?”
Liu Qingge looks back at him with a steady gaze that makes Shen Qingqiu's heart do backflips. “I didn’t ask because you were convenient,” he says. “I asked for you, you, because… because I…”
It’s not often that Liu Qingge is at a loss for words. Shen Qinqqiu finds his neck craning forward, fan pressed to his lips, as Liu Qingge flounders.
“Because I…”
Yes?
Yes…??
“Good day, young masters,” greets an elderly woman.
Shen Qingqiu can’t help but swear in his head when Liu Qingge’s mouth snaps shut. Could your timing be any worse, old hag!?
Unaware of his ire, the woman hobbles closer. Her hair is grey, pulled back in a bun, while her back is bent double, a wicker basket of fruits balanced precariously on top. "You both look parched," she says. "Please, have fruit from my basket."
“No need,” Liu Qingge says, the brusqueness of his voice betraying his impatience.
“Oh, but they’re freshly collected,” the woman says. “The persimmons are especially sweet this season.”
Liu Qingge scowls. “I said—”
“We’ll take two,” Shen Qingqiu cuts in, snapping his fan shut. Irritated as he may be with the old lady's interruption, rumors spread like wildfire, and they can’t have regular townsfolk taking issue with cultivators. Well, he’d rather avoid what he can. Liu Qingge probably doesn’t care.
Smiling, the woman turns for Shen Qingqiu to reach into her basket. “You won’t regret it, young master.”
Liu Qingge watches her leave, arms folded across his chest. His old demeanor is back, with the frown and penetrating stare. “There’s something off about her.”
"You say that about everyone," Shen Qingqiu teases. The persimmons in his hands are round and firm, a sweet scent emanating from their glossy skin. "They do look appetizing."
Liu Qingge snorts, though his eyes soften. "Have both, then."
Shen Qingqiu lifts a persimmon to his nose and breathes deep. Something prickles, crawling across his skin, but he ignores it in favor of sinking his teeth into the fruit. The burst of rich tanginess floods his mouth, drops of it sliding down his chin, and he can't help but let out a soft sound of satisfaction.
Liu Qingge clears his throat. "Are you done?" he grumbles, his voice strangely hoarse. "We have a fair distance to—” His throat bobs as Shen Qingqiu sweeps his tongue across his bottom lip. “—to cover.”
What? Does Liu Qingge want a persimmon now, having seen how juicy the fruit is? Really, there’s nothing to be shy about! He could just ask!
“Shidi,” Shen Qingqiu starts, but Liu Qingge reaches out, the pad of his thumb swiping Shen Qingqiu’s mouth and chin.
“You’re a mess,” Liu Qingge mutters. His eyes have taken on a bright sheen, color high on his cheeks.
Shen Qingqiu's lips part, his own cheeks heating up. This is new, this shyness, this tenderness. The subtle shift in the intensity of Liu Qingge’s stare, from fierce suspicion to one that sears into Shen Qingqiu, turns his insides molten.
“Liu-shidi,” Shen Qingqiu whispers.
Liu Qingge leans in, lashes lowered. “Yes?” he says, softly.
“...did you want the other persimmon?”
And just like that, the spell breaks.
“No,” Liu Qingge snaps, before he flips his sleeves and stalks ahead, ponytail swaying. The tips of his ears still burned red.
So endearing.
Chuckling, Shen Qingqiu takes a step forward. “You didn’t finish your sentence earli—”
The pain strikes, sharp as a viper’s fangs. Shen Qingqiu staggers, body doubling over, hands clutching his chest. His throat closes with his meridians, and he feels the sensation of falling—sees the ground rushing up towards him—but he collides into something firm and warm instead. Something steady.
“Hey,” Liu Qingge says. Strong arms wrap around him, holding him close. “Hey!”
Shen Qingqiu’s breath grows raggard as he fights to draw it in, to fill his lungs desperate for air. In his chest, something throbs, the pain clouding his vision and spreading down his limbs.
“What’s happening to me,” he gasps.
“Don’t talk,” Liu Qingge barks. There’s an emotion in his voice that Shen Qingqiu has never heard before, not from the fearless warrior of Bai Zhan Peak. “Just hold on,” Shen Qingqiu barely registers the hiss of Cheng Luan sliding out of its sheath, “I'll get us to the nearest town—”
Laughter cuts him off, soft, faint giggles that grow into harsh, high-pitched cackling. Even with Shen Qingqiu's blurred vision, he can just about make out a set of bones floating in a white, glittering mist. No, not bones.
A skeleton.
Around Shen Qingqiu, Liu Qingge’s grip tightens. “Baigujing,” he hisses.
The skeleton's jaw unhinges for another shriek of laughter. "To think you were the cultivators who gave my little Meiyin so much trouble. And all it took was a pair of poisoned persimmons!"
Shen Qingqiu clenches his teeth. Baigujing?? Poisoned fruit?? Airplane ah, so it's not enough that you're a hack writer, you've also ripped off this plot and demon from a 16th century novel with a hundred adaptations*!?
"Wretched demon," Liu Qingge spits out. Cheng Luan's glint is unmistakable. "Hand over the antidote. Now. "
Baigujing flicks back imaginary hair. "Is that really the attitude you want to take? When it's my little Meiyin who holds the cure? Ah!" Her bony fingers snap, as if she'd had a sudden inspiration. "Why don't you drag your sorry partner back to see her? With an apology and a bit of grovelling, she might just save him!"
Liu Qingge's spiritual energy flares. "You—"
He stops when another spasm sends Shen Qingqiu's back arching in pain, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.
Vaguely, Shen Qingqiu hears Baigujing's voice in the distance, crowing about her victory (again) and how foolish they were for antagonizing her dearest little sister (again).
But beneath that, piercing through all that nonsense, is the cry of his name.
We're hitting a lot of firsts today, Shen Qingqiu muses, before everything goes black.