Work Text:
1.
The human boy is muttering to himself, when Mobei Yi comes to.
“Stupid system,” he says, eyes closed. There is a fan in his hand, and although he looks tired, he does not stop fanning Mobei Yi in an effort to lower Mobei Yi’s temperature. “Stupid monsters. I am the goddamn creator of this universe, and I have to complete stupid side quests to get a measly arctic fig? Those stupid acid wasps. They better hope I never leave this stupid world, otherwise I’ll write them all to extinction! Do grasshoppers eat wasps? Hmm. Don’t know, don’t care. They do now.”
The words don’t all make sense to Mobei Yi, but he is good at filtering through nonsense to get information.
He doesn’t feel as weak as he was before he passed out; he can feel the chill slowly seeping back into his veins, the work of the arctic fig, no doubt. It’s not a cure-all, but it helps to speed his body’s natural healing process. Already, he can feel the gash across his stomach has closed up.
It is strange that someone, that a human, this far away from the North would know about the healing properties of the arctic fig. Even back in the North, it’s a much overlooked fact.
Mobei Yi blinks to clear his vision, and then takes stock of the human boy, properly.
He is a small, scrawny thing. Dishevelled, probably through battle with the acid wasps. Low in cultivation level, from the looks of it, which makes his battle against acid wasps a feat, considering how they attack in a swarm. His clothes have definitely seen better days, torn and stained as they are. His hair is thrown up, held together not with a guan or with ribbons as humans usually do, but with...sticks. He is a mess.
Mobei Yi doesn’t know how long he was unconscious for. This human boy could have left Mobei Yi to his own defence, could have slaughtered Mobei Jun for credit, and yet-
He has saved Mobei Yi’s life. He has protected Mobei Yi from harm.
When the boy goes on his knees, calls Mobei Yi his king, and swears fealty to him later, the only answer that Mobei Yi can give is, “Yes.”
2.
Over the next few years, as Mobei Yi works on amassing power, Shang Qinghua becomes a constant presence in his life.
If asked by Shang Qinghua, Mobei Yi would say that Shang Qinghua is good for reconnaissance, for information. No point in having a mole in Cang Qiong Sect, and not having the good sense to use him to his advantage.
The truth is that Mobei Yi relies on Shang Qinghua’s counsel, more often than not.
He was surprised when Shang Qinghua was made the next peak lord of An Ding Peak when his master ascended, but only mildly. Shang Qinghua knows things, has knowledge of matters that he should not know, and he stores them all in his mind, keeps all his cards close to his chest. Shang Qinghua is quick-witted, and if he is slow to act, as he usually is, Mobei Yi has learnt that it is a deliberate facade.
So when Shang Qinghua sends a communication talisman, asking to see Mobei Yi, Mobei Yi goes to him.
“The North-West faction is planning a revolt, my king,” Shang Qinghua says, when Mobei Yi appears before him.
My king.
Mobei Yi likes that Shang Qinghua calls him his king, likes that a lot, if he’s being honest with himself. He likes that Shang Qinghua kneels at his feet, likes that Shang Qinghua defers to his authority, likes that Shang Qinghua looks at him like he is more than the barely favoured prince of the North, kept by his father’s side initially because of a life debt his father owes to his birth mother, and now because Mobei Yi is, through Shang Qinghua’s efforts, proving to be of use to the kingdom.
“Evidence?” Mobei Yi asks.
“None at hand,” Shang Qinghua tells him. This is not unusual. It would be more unusual for Shang Qinghua to have concrete evidence for his theories, even though they always turn out to be true. “But there is a scroll that records the contributions of each clan to fund this revolt. You must go. I know it is beneath you, my king, but you can’t delegate the search to any of your brothers. You will find it hidden behind a protection array in the ice pool that General Zhao keeps in his manor.”
Mobei Yi doesn’t ask how Shang Qinghua has come to know this — Shang Qinghua never tells him the truth anyway. He speaks of sources that Mobei Yi knows he cannot have, of prophetic dreams that Mobei Yi does not believe. Mobei Yi will not keep asking, only to have Shang Qinghua lie to his face every single time.
Shang Qinghua will tell him when he is ready.
Mobei Yi is not in a rush.
Shang Qinghua has sworn to stay with him forever, and Mobei Yi knows that the gods of old keep their promises.
--
He finds the scroll, and decimates the clans involved in the revolt.
All three of his half-brothers conveniently happen to be involved in the coup. Mobei Yi beheads them all in front of his father, in the presence of a full court; he has never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
That night, Mobei Yi is named the heir to the throne, the next Mobei Jun.
Shang Qinghua smiles at him when he arrives at An Ding Peak. “My king,” he says, and the words sound sweeter that night than they have ever sounded before.
3.
“You will yield to Luo Binghe, my king,” Shang Qinghua tells him.
Mobei Yi, who now answers only to his hard-earned title of Mobei Jun, has learnt over the years not to question Shang Qinghua’s counsel, but in this, he is reluctant to follow.
He is not the same boy he was a few years ago, hurt and pitiful and dependent on a human boy to care for him. He has proved his worth over and over again, has earned his right to rule over the North, has never lost a single battle.
Luo Binghe is just a half-breed.
“I know what you are thinking of, my king,” Shang Qinghua says. “I know you won’t listen until you have tried. And that’s fine! Luo Binghe is not unreasonable, and he is not unappreciative of talent. If you duel him, you will see that he is a ruler worth following, and he will see that you are a subject worth keeping. If you yield to him, my king, he will let his sword fall.”
“I will not lose, Shang Qinghua,” Mobei Jun snarls. The easy confidence behind Shang Qinghua’s words unnerves him. He doesn’t like hearing Shang Qinghua acknowledge someone else over Mobei Jun. Mobei Jun is Shang Qinghua’s king. He is Shang Qinghua’s king. And if he has to fight a half-breed to prove to Shang Qinghua that he is still worthy of Shang Qinghua’s fealty, of Shang Qinghua’s lov-
He shakes the thought. Is afraid to let himself continue.
“I will fight Luo Binghe, and I will win.”
--
He doesn’t allow himself to go to An Ding Peak, in the aftermath of his defeat. He heads back to the Northern Palace to lick his wounds in peace.
Shang Qinghua had told him that he would fail, and fail Mobei Jun did.
No matter how hard Mobei Jun tried, no matter that he shouldn’t have lost, he did, and Shang Qinghua had known that he would. He had even predicted that Luo Binghe would spare his life, would ask for Mobei Jun’s loyalty and in return let Xinmo fall away from Mobei Jun’s neck.
Shang Qinghua had known that things would play out exactly like this, almost like he’d seen it before.
Like he’d planned it.
Shang Qinghua’s words from their first meeting, his declaration as the creator of this universe, rings loudly in Mobei Jun’s ears.
Shang Qinghua is not just an ordinary god, sent to experience tribulations in the mortal realm.
Shang Qinghua is more than that, so much more than that, and-
And he has stayed by Mobei Jun’s side for so many years, has helped Mobei Jun to achieve all that he has today. He has let himself be at Mobei Jun’s beck and call, has endured insults and beatings, has knelt before Mobei Jun and addressed him as his king.
He has chosen Mobei Jun.
The thought sparks a flame in his chest.
Mobei Jun has always been Shang Qinghua’s king, and Shang Qinghua has always been Mobei Jun’s god. Shang Qinghua has chosen Mobei Jun, and Mobei Jun will not fail him. Whatever Shang Qinghua has planned for Mobei Jun, Mobei Jun will follow through.
4.
Mobei Jun has been so careful to control his temper around Shang Qinghua, to be as courteous to Shang Qinghua as he knows how, in light of his revelation of Shang Qinghua’s status, but Shang Qinghua had chosen to come to the Northern Palace at the wrong time, the wrong day, and he was so close, and Mobei Jun had-
He presses his lips to the crown of Shang Qinghua’s head, traces his fingers gently over the darkening bruises dotting across Shang Qinghua’s pale skin. “I apologise,” he says quietly, breathes the words into Shang Qinghua’s hair.
He’d been rough, earlier. Too rough. Had pinned Shang Qinghua to his bed, had bitten and scratched, had watched tears leak from Shang Qinghua’s eyes and still ignored his plea to “slow down, please, my king, I’m not going anywhere, slow down, please”.
He will not lie — he has thought about this before, about taking Shang Qinghua into his bed, about pressing his lips to Shang Qinghua’s skin, about pushing into Shang Qinghua and making him his.
In his thoughts, he was reverent, had touched Shang Qinghua with care, had taken him apart and brought him pleasure. He had thought that when he finally made his move, that he would worship his Shang Qinghua, but instead he had defiled him, had made him hurt, had made him cry.
Shang Qinghua shifts in his arms, presses a gentle hand to Mobei Jun’s face. “It’s okay,” he says, just as quietly. “It’s okay, really. It felt good. I wanted all of that. I’m okay, my king.” He is quiet for a beat, and then, “I know… I know what today means to you. She was… She really loved you, my king.”
There.
Another secret that Shang Qinghua shouldn’t know, but knows anyway.
Officially, Mobei Jun’s birth mother died in the hands of an assassin that sneaked into the Northern Palace. In truth, the reigning Queen had wanted the infant Mobei Jun killed to protect the interests of her sons, and Mobei Jun’s mother had traded her life to secure a promise from Mobei Jun’s father to never let harm come to her son.
He swallows past the lump in his throat, and tightens his hold on Shang Qinghua. “I don’t even remember anything about her. All I know about her, I learnt from Linguang Jun,” he says. It’s foolish, so foolish to be so emotionally compromised over this. “And I don’t even know if he can be trusted.”
Sometimes it’s the thought that Linguang Jun is a conniving snake that keeps him from falling apart on his mother’s death anniversary. Linguang Jun used to tell Mobei Jun stories of his mother, painted a picture of her that was almost too good to be true.
It could be a lie, and Mobei Jun would not have his mother’s blood on his hands.
Shang Qinghua kisses the base of his throat. “She was a good woman,” Shang Qinghua tells him. “Kind. From a small, unassuming clan. Not meant for a life as a concubine, but she was happy when she married your father. Happier still when she had you. If she’d thought that there was any other way, she wouldn’t have chosen to leave you. She really loved you. You were the light of her life-”
“Stop,” Mobei Jun chokes out.
He doesn’t know if it’s better or worse, hearing this from Shang Qinghua. He sees everything, he knows everything, and if he’s telling it to Mobei Jun now, it must be true.
“She would be very proud of you, if she could see you now, my king,” Shang Qinghua says gently, because he never knows when to keep his mouth shut. “I, too, am very proud of you, my king. I could not have made you better.”
Mobei Jun kisses him. Kisses him, and keeps kissing him, until the turmoil in his chest subsides, Shang Qinghua’s words a soothing balm against the pain in his chest.
5.
Mobei Jun says to Shang Qinghua one night, when he’s got his head pillowed on Shang Qinghua’s chest, listening to his too-quick heartbeat starting to slow, “Tell me something else.”
“What do you wish to hear, my king?” Shang Qinghua asks. “I was saving the reports for tomorrow morning, but if it pleases you to hear about the resurgence of the forest fires in the West, I am more than happy-”
“Not about that,” Mobei Jun says. “You know many things that you shouldn’t know about. Things that happened a long time ago. Things that have yet to happen. Things that you credit to having spies I know you don’t have, or prophetic dreams that, if asked, I’m sure junshang will disprove.”
Shang Qinghua’s heart skips. He fingers still where they are carding through Mobei Jun’s hair.
He’s nervous, even though he shouldn’t be. It is likely he’s not half as aware of the power he holds over Mobei Jun.
Mobei Jun’s lips curve. “This lord is not asking for an explanation,” he murmurs. Shang Qinghua will tell him when he’s ready. “Just tell me something you shouldn’t know about. Something I don’t know, too.”
“Well…” Shang Qinghua’s fingers resume their soothing motion. He is quiet for a moment, and his tone turns tentative when he continues speaking. “If everything had gone to plan, you would have married a nine-tailed arctic fox demon. Smart, sneaky, but kind. You would’ve picked her because she was kind. She would’ve been the only wife you had. She would’ve borne you two sons, and you would’ve taught them to love each other the way you wished your brothers loved you.”
Mobei Jun’s breath hitches.
His half-brothers hadn’t been unkind, not when they were children, not at first. For a few years, he’d held out hope that whilst the Queen detested him, that his brothers would accept him.
Then his da-ge poisoned him on his eighth birthday. The poison didn’t take his life, so his er-ge sneaked into his room, and tried to finish the job, while Mobei Jun was recovering. His vocal cords were badly damaged from the acid in the poison, and he couldn’t scream for help.
Mobei Jun had really thought that he was going to die that night.
His san-ge saved his life by coming into the room at the right time. Mobei Jun felt relief flood through his body when his san-ge stopped his er-ge from slicing his throat open, but that lasted only the barest second because it became apparent from the way his brothers had started fighting each other that they were competing. That his san-ge only stopped his er-ge because he wanted to be the one to kill Mobei Jun. There was a prize. The Queen had set a bounty.
His brothers would’ve killed him over some stupid pieces of gold.
Shang Qinghua’s fingers slide away from Mobei Jun’s hair to rub at the back of Mobei Jun’s neck instead. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’ve brought up a bad memory.”
Mobei Jun shakes his head. It’s all in the past.
He’d grown up well, even without allies within the family, even with the Queen out for his life every single week.
He’d won the approval of his father, eventually, and more importantly, he’d won the love of a god.
His god.
The Mobei Jun that he is now is strong and powerful and more than capable of chasing away memories that have no place taking up space in his mind.
He shifts, presses his face into the crook of Shang Qinghua’s neck, and breathes in his soothing scent. “And now?” he asks.
“Huh?”
Mobei Jun kisses Shang Qinghua’s neck. “You said that would’ve happened if everything had gone to plan,” Mobei Jun says. “What about now? What would happen now?”
“I… I could find her for you,” Shang Qinghua offers quietly. “The fox demon. I know where she is. I could bring her to you, and you could still have that nice little family that was planned for you. She would bring you great contentment, I think.”
“No,” Mobei Jun decides. “Contentment is not good enough.”
Once upon a time, it would’ve been; now, he knows what it feels like to have more. To wake up next to a person dear to his heart, to fall asleep listening to his nonsensical rambles, to be willing to make noodles for him just to make him smile.
“This lord wishes to be happy, Shang Qinghua,” Mobei Jun tells him.
Shang Qinghua lets out a small, surprised, “Oh.”
Mobei Jun smiles, and burrows closer into Shang Qinghua’s arms. “And I have all I need to do that right here with me already,” he says.