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“… Then I said to her, ‘I regret to be the one to tell you this, madam, but I have suffered concussions that were more pleasant than the atrocity you just committed with that instrument.’ And then she threw her pipa at my head!” Shen Qingqiu huffed, as though this attack was unwarranted and unexpected. “So I picked it up and proceeded to play the same song – after giving the instrument a proper tuning, of course – and the proprietress offered me the position that the other woman had been auditioning for.”
They were alone in the bamboo house, Luo Binghe busy with demon realm squabbles and Yue Qingyuan with cultivator politics, so Shen Yuan had discarded his posture and propriety and was curled on the floor, clutching his stomach from too much laughter.
“No!” he gasped, waving a hand as though he could coax more air to enter his lungs. His Jiu-dage was going to be the death of him – by asphyxiation. “What did you do?”
A little smile played around Shen Qingqiu’s lips, one that only Shen Yuan – and Yue Qingyuan on very rare occasions – ever got to see. “I took the job, of course. Played at the Warm Red Pavilion for a month until I got bored and returned to my duties here. Qi-ge still thinks I was on an extended and challenging night hunt.”
That set Shen Yuan off again. When he’d laughed himself dizzy and then panted his way back to equilibrium, he said, “And that’s where the rumors got started, about your lecherous nature?”
Catching Shen Yuan’s flailing hand, Shen Qingqiu helped him sit back up. “I can only assume. That pipa player was exceedingly bitter about losing the job to me. And while her playing might have been second rate, her ability to spread lies was apparently masterful.”
Shen Yuan washed down the rest of his laughter with a scalding gulp of tea.
“I miss it, you know,” Shen Qingqiu said wistfully. “Night hunting.”
“What’s keeping you from…” Shen Yuan bit off the rest of the question. Too late. Shen Qingqiu gave him a look too placid to be called accusatory and tapped his wrist meaningfully, right where Shen Yuan placed his fingers each month to help regulate his qi.
Ah. Right. Without-a-Cure. Which had been Shen Yuan’s fault. He toyed with his fan, but it would be weird to use it to hide from Shen Qingqiu. Even separated, they’d shared a brain for so long that they could practically read each other’s thoughts. It was like hiding from a mirror.
“I—”
“If you apologize, I’m dumping this tea on your head,” Shen Qingqiu warned, studying his cup as though judging if there was enough liquid in it to be worth the bother. “And then the little beast will defenestrate me, and Yue Qingyuan will do something needlessly stupid in retaliation, so please spare us that little drama or I’ll be forced to run away and return to my aborted career as a brothel entertainer.”
No apologies, then. Several solutions passed through Shen Yuan’s thoughts, all of them discarded because he already knew how Shen Qingqiu would shoot them down. An easy hunt would be humiliating and insulting. He could take someone with him, but the list of people who would be useful, tolerable, and available was limited to only Shen Yuan. And since there was no knowing when flare-ups might occur, there was no planning for safe periods.
The only option Shen Yuan could think of was…
No.
What the fuck? Why had that even crossed his mind?
“What is it?” Shen Qingqiu asked, because unfortunately they didn’t quite share a brain anymore. If they did, he would know immediately and scrub both their thoughts of the idea until no trace remained.
“Really, nothing. It’s… you don’t want to know. And anyways, it’s not really feasible.”
Shen Yuan reached for the pot to refill his cup. Shen Qingqiu’s hand came down on his. “Don’t use the ‘so terrible you can’t even tell me’ excuse with me.” He said it like it was a joke, but there was the undercurrent of old pain there. If there was one thing Jiu-dage hated more than anything else, it was people withholding information from him because they thought the truth was worse.
Fine. But Shen Yuan was going to need his fan for this. “Ah… there actually is a cure for Without-a-Cure,” he said, pulling it out of his sleeve and pretending to examine the brush strokes on the paper. It was a scene of clouds and cranes, pretty but cheap. Luo Binghe’s A-Niang had given it to him with a kind smile and a pat on his cheek, and it was his new favorite for that reason alone.
“So even that stupid name is a misnomer?” Shen Qingqiu made a rude gesture in the direction of An Ding Peak. “Let me guess, it involves imbibing the little beast’s blood?”
The only reason the fan stayed in Shen Yuan’s lap was because he feared he might set it aflame if it brought the cheap paper and wood anywhere near his cheeks. “Well. It involves… er… receiving some of Binghe’s body fluids.”
Please, please don’t make him say more than that!
Luck – and years of mental co-habitation – meant that Shen Yuan was spared having to explain his meaning in any more detail. Instead, he was treated to a dance of colors and expressions passing across Shen Qingqiu’s face like a swift-moving storm.
For some reason, not having to give voice to the idea just made it more embarrassing, and Shen Yuan scrambled for something – anything – to say that might mitigate the discomfort of what he’d just avoided suggesting.
Which, unfortunately, was a frantic, “I mean, it wouldn’t have to be you! Just your body.”
Shen Qingqiu’s gaping mouth snapped shut.
His color returned to normal.
He hmm’d under his breath.
Oh fuck. Oh no. That was not good. He was getting an idea. He was contemplating it! If Shen Yuan didn’t do something, he might even suggest it.
“No,” Shen Yuan said.
Head cocked to one side, Shen Qingqiu mused, “We’ve traded back and forth before – bodies, not husbands. It’s not like we’re very attached to them.”
“I’m attached,” Shen Yuan wailed, clutching his arms around himself like Shen Qingqiu intended to snatch away his physical autonomy right then.
“Yes, but your body wouldn’t be the one being violated.” Shen Qingqiu’s smile hardened into something just a bit mean. “This time.”
The fan came up to cover Shen Yuan’s entire face. Ah, dage! Please pretend that your didi is a pure and wholesome virgin! An innocent and unmelted snowflake! Doesn’t he pay you the same courtesy?
“Binghe would never agree,” he mumbled into the sticks of his fan.
“You think not?” The rich undercurrent of amusement in Shen Qingqiu’s tone said he had reason to believe otherwise. “I remember the way he used to look at us while you remained in blithe ignorance.”
Fuck, he was probably right. Unfortunately, Luo Binghe’s adolescence living in the side room of the bamboo house had left him with a variety of kinks that Shen Yuan had never intended to inspire. Kinks he was quite happy to pretend didn’t exist.
But Shen Yuan had a different secret weapon to deploy against Shen Qingqiu’s reasonable arguments. “And how would Qi-ge feel about it.”
He refrained from crowing in triumph at Shen Qingqiu’s immediate scowl. Which was a missed opportunity as the scowl quickly morphed into something devious and self-satisfied. “You know, I’ve found that guilt can be a powerful lever to move the most obstinate boulders. Works on sect leaders, too.”
Shen Yuan’s shoulders sagged. If Xiao Jiu was willing to turn to dirty tactics to win, there was no hope for any of them. “You’re an evil man.
With a grin of feline satisfaction, Shen Qingqiu sipped his cooling tea. “I thought that was well-established.”
Sighing, Shen Yuan grumbled, “I’ll talk to Binghe.”
***
The problem with trying to wheedle something out of Luo Binghe was that his husband was eager to say yes to anything Shen Yuan asked for.
Actually, that was never a problem, and Shen Yuan shamelessly took advantage of it like the spoiled second-gen young master he’d always been. But in this case, he didn’t want Luo Binghe just agreeing because he asked. He may have gone to the web-drama and stallion novel schools of relationships, but this deserved a serious discussion, not Luo Binghe’s puppy-like eagerness to please.
Possibly, the bigger problem was working up the courage to bring it up. Shen Yuan couldn’t just blurt it out. He didn’t have a thick enough face for that!
So, he needed something to ease the way. Making a nice meal was out of the question, given Luo Binghe’s skill and Shen Yuan’s lack thereof. Staging some sort of intimate seduction scene would just lead to Luo Binghe wrecking Shen Yuan before he could get a word out. And bringing it up in the aftermath wouldn’t work because of the aforementioned wreckage.
Shen Yuan had spent several days dithering over the best approach when Luo Binghe took the decision out of his hands.
“Something is troubling A-Yuan,” he said as he picked loquats from a stall in the market. His mother had promised to teach him how to make sweet loquat soup – which he already knew how to make, but that wasn’t the point – and only the best loquats would do.
“Ah, it’s nothing.” Shen Yuan flipped open his fan even though the day was mild, his gaze flitting across the market crowds. People in the town at the base of Cang Qiong Mountain usually gave Peak Lord Shen and his husband their space, but anyone could be listening in.
A finger caught the edge of Shen Yuan’s fan, lowering it. “A-Yuan.” Luo Binghe’s tone skirted the edge of scolding. After so many misunderstandings and miscommunications, they’d agreed to actually talk when something was troubling them.
Closing his fan, Shen Yuan nudged Luo Binghe’s hand away. “It’s nothing I can talk about here.” He cast a meaningful glance at the other people perusing the fruit-seller’s wares – a maid chatting with the proprietor’s son, a mother with a babe strapped to her chest, a toddler on her hip, and twins tied to her sash with a length of cord. All of them were very conspicuously not paying attention to the immortal cultivator and demon lord in their midst.
With a quick nod to the stall owner, Luo Binghe left his basket and pulled Shen Yuan down the street and through a dilapidated gate. The walled courtyard on the other side must have belonged to somebody – the blossoming peach trees and trimmed peony bushes indicated regular maintenance – but for now, it was empty. It would probably stay empty. Luo Binghe’s protagonist aura tended to work like that unless there was a wife plot afoot.
Luo Binghe settled on a rock jutting out into a small pond speckled with peach blossom petals. More drifted down with every rustle of the trees in the spring breeze. It would be summer soon, the garden dappled with green sunlight and shade, but for now, it was springtime enough for the air to swirl with peach petal snow.
Spreading the skirts of his robe to create a soft and clean seat for Shen Yuan, Luo Binghe patted the ground.
Fine. This was as good a place as any. While Shen Yuan settled himself as primly as a cat finding a sunny spot, Luo Binghe used a sharp nail to section one of the loquats he’d been holding when they left the stall. But when Shen Yuan tried to take it from his fingers, Luo Binghe pulled it away and wouldn’t give it up until Shen Yuan let him press it between his lips.
“Ridiculous,” Shen Yuan muttered, licking away sweet juice and the memory of Luo Binghe’s touch. When had the spring day grown so warm, ah?
“This one is happy to receive A-Yuan’s ridicule,” Luo Binghe said, indulgent smile broadening when Shen Yuan allowed him to feed him another quarter of loquat without protest. Luo Binghe popped the other half into his own mouth, and Shen Yuan swayed toward him like he meant to chase after the rest and claim it for himself.
And Luo Binghe would let him, which would distract them from why they’d come here, and this was the problem with trying to have any sort of serious discussion with Luo Binghe. At the last moment, Shen Yuan diverted course and came to rest with his face hidden against his husband’s shoulder.
A large hand stroked his hair, following it down the line of his back, before slipping to his chin and lifting it so their gazes met.
“This one is happy to receive A-Yuan’s confidences as well. There is nothing to disturb us here. What has been troubling husband?”
Oh. The clear eyes, the white lotus smile and fluffy hair already dotted with a few peach petals, calling him husband. Those were the big guns. Shen Yuan chewed on his lip, but that only invited heat to enter Luo Binghe’s eyes as they dropped to his mouth. If Shen Yuan didn’t speak, they’d end up papapa-ing in someone’s peach orchard.
He turned his face to the side just as Luo Binghe’s closed the distance between them, feeling petal-soft lips against his cheek. “There is something that Jiu-dage needs. Something that only Binghe can provide.”
With another butterfly brush of lips, Luo Binghe pulled back to a somewhat reasonable distance. “And you fear I will say no?” he asked. Which, if circumstances were different, would be exactly what Shen Yuan feared.
He choked on a strangled laugh at the irony. “No, I’m afraid you’ll say yes. But I promised to ask.”
Luo Binghe made an intrigued sound, a rumble deep in his chest that was just unfairly attractive. It was the sort of rumbly, masculine sound that would make any poor shut-in otaku tingle, so Shen Yuan’s visceral reaction wasn’t because he was a sad and thirsty man, tyvm! Again, that large hand smoothed down Shen Yuan’s back.
“This husband is confused. A-Yuan doesn’t want him to help Peak Lord Shen?”
“No. I mean, yes. Well, maybe.” Shen Yuan caught a peach blossom that had fallen next to his knee and nervously tore it into pieces. “It’s just… It’s… you’d need to… He wants to cure Without-a-Cure.”
Shen Yuan hid his face after blurting out the truth. Luo Binghe’s heavy hand had stilled at the base of his spine, just above the curve of his—
“And he thinks this one can help?”
Oh. Of course this Luo Binghe was ignorant that a cure existed, and innocent when it came to knowing the mechanism. Which meant Shen Yuan was going to have to explain.
He eyed the pond longingly. Or he could cast himself into the water. Extinguish the fire in his cheeks and his misery in one go.
“Binghe is in the unique position of having what is needed to cure the uncurable poison.” He flinched at his phrasing, taking solace in pedantry. “Well. Maybe not unique. I suppose that Binghe’s father could. Or his cousin?” Neither were very palatable as options, but at least it got the point across.
“Ah. So the cure requires a Heavenly Demon. My blood, I assume. I’m surprised Peak Lord Shen is willing to consider such a thing.”
Shen Yuan really was going to spontaneously combust. That was a real thing, right? If not in the mundane world, then definitely here, where qi deviations were common. He fixed his gaze on the peach blossom confetti covering his lap. “Not Binghe’s blood.”
The birdsong sounded loud in the silence that followed, almost drowning out Luo Binghe’s strangled, “Ah.”
Spontaneous combustion and pond-diving were both looking increasingly tempting, but Shen Yuan had come this far. He might as well take the last leap.
“It wouldn’t be him. Jiu-dage. It would still be me. We’ve worked out a way to switch.” The System had been suspiciously eager to help, though it had added a few requirements that Shen Yuan doubted were truly necessary. “Though to make certain there aren’t any accidental switch-backs during the process, I’ll… Binghe will need to use Immortal Binding Cables. I mean use them on me. While I’m in Shen Qingqiu’s body. Tied up. While we do… that.”
The punched-out whimper that followed had Shen Yuan casting a worried glance to check Luo Binghe for some injury – surly such a noise could only come from a creature in pain. And Luo Binghe did seem to be suffering – his eyes clenched tight, jaw set, face reddening like the sun dared to have an effect on him.
“Is it too much? It’s too much. We don’t’ have to. Binghe can say no,” Shen Yuan offered, laying a cool palm over that heated cheek.
All the tension left Luo Binghe in an explosive breath. He opened his eyes, caught Shen Yuan’s hand and brought it to his lips. Kisses to each finger muffled his words. “No. I mean, yes. I mean, of course this husband will help, if A-Yuan is certain that he wants to do this.”
Shen Yuan’s concern soured. So Jiu-dage had been right. It was like that. He might still be naïve about many elements of sexual desire, but he’d been forced to learn some things. And it was clear to him now that the sort of pain his husband was feeling wasn’t something Shen Yuan needed to worry about. Luo Binghe might have been bent from stallion protagonist to devoted househusband, but clearly the underlying template of sex-fiend remained unchanged.
“As long as Binghe is willing, this one has no objections,” Shen Yuan said coolly, trying to tug his hand free before it got slobbered on.
Luo Binghe let him, but only so he had both hands free to bracket Shen Yuan in place as he leaned over him. “Binghe does have one request.”
Ah, this insatiable man! Hasn’t this one already offered to act out all your lascivious fantasies? “What?” Shen Yuan asked as he was pressed back into a bed of fallen peach blossom petals, already resigned to agreeing to whatever Luo Binghe might ask.
Soft kisses tickled up Shen Yuan’s jaw, Luo Binghe planting his request right in the shell of his ear. “While we are doing… that… can this one call you Shizun?”
As though he knew it was coming, Luo Binghe silenced Shen Yuan’s outraged squawk with a kiss.
***
Shen Yuan was nervous.
There was no reason to be nervous. In some ways, he knew the body he wore now better than the plant body he’d moved into. He’d had years to settle into Shen Qingqiu’s flesh and become comfortable with the flow of his qi. He even had better control over the fluctuations caused by Without-a-Cure than he did with the never-ending rush of power that ran through his plant body. Sometimes he still made mistakes that exploded whatever nearby vegetation he was trying to imbue.
Shen Yuan approached the bamboo house with strides that felt too long, nearly knocked his guan askew when he forgot to dip when entering – because he’d left the pine bough manor on Qiong Ding Peak not only wearing Shen Qingqiu’s taller body, but also his finest robes and most ornate hairpiece. It was an old habit from his earliest transmigration days, when donning the accoutrements of a Peak Lord helped him feel like less of an imposter.
Maybe that was the problem. He wore Shen Qingqiu’s guan and clothes and body, but he was still thinking like millennial gremlin Shen Yuan.
Shen Qingqiu. For tonight, he was Shen Qingqiu again.
Just like that, his agitation settled. His thoughts flowed smooth and clear without the obstruction of Shen Yuan gumming them up. He was just Shen Qingqiu, returning from a meeting of the Peak Lords to find a spread of tea and snacks waiting for him. Sitting at the table, he touched the teapot with a steady hand. It was fresh enough to be warm without the aid of a talisman.
The steam rising from the spout was a fragrant with the faint scent of peaches. Luo Binghe’s work, no mistake. Shen Qingqiu’s fingers itched to uncover the dishes set out to see what other treats had been prepared. So where was his wayward disciple?
“Binghe?” he called, his voice falling flat in the empty room.
Just as impatience goaded him to get up and go in search, the door to the side room slid open, and Luo Binghe stepped out.
Shen Qingqiu took one look at him and said, “No.”
“But Shizun!”
Out came his fan. He thrust it towards the door behind Luo Binghe. “Go right back in that room and change. This mas—this hus—I will not… with you… like this.” He flipped his fan open to hide his face, refusing to look a moment longer, or to acknowledge the part of him that had perked up with immediate interest. He’d worked so hard to establish that he wasn’t a creepy old man perving on his young and impressionable disciple. How could he possibly make a game out of it now?
Plucking at the pale blue and green Qing Jing disciple robes he wore, so different from the imposing blacks and silvers of his imperial robes, Luo Binghe edged forward and knelt at Shen Qingqiu’s side. His fluffy hair was caught up in a high tail with only a simple ribbon. It slid forward when Luo Binghe leaned over to retrieve the teapot and fill Shen Qingqiu’s cup. The ends brushed the hand Shen Qingqiu was using to fan himself a little too rapidly to be refined.
“If Shizun wishes this disciple to change, of course he’ll do as asked,” Luo Binghe said in a fair approximation of his old meekness. It was belied by the flash of red mischief sparking in his eyes and the little, knowing smirk lifting one corner of his smile. Edging closer than that little sheep ever would have, he set his chin on Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder. “Or this one could indulge in just a little insolence. He could ignore Shizun’s protests and stay. If Shizun really wants to stop, he only need say the word.”
The word. Cucumber. Because while Shen Yuan’s knowledge of these sorts of games was mostly informed by trashy web novels, he at least knew about safewords. If ropes and borrowed bodies were going to be involved, it seemed prudent to establish one.
He just hadn’t expected to speak it before they even started.
“Shizun?” Luo Binghe’s voice softened. The coyness dropped away as he drew back. “Husband?”
Shutting his fan, Shen Qingqiu rapped Luo Binghe lightly atop his head. “Insolent! Who is a husband here? My disciple forgets himself.”
Daylight had nothing on the smile Luo Binghe offered him. He scooted back to bow, his brow nearly knocking against Shen Qingqiu’s knee. “This lowly disciple apologizes. He will definitely treat Shizun with proper respect.”
“Hm. Better to treat Shizun with snacks,” Shen Qingqiu said. What? If he was going to play along, at least he could enjoy the perks!
Shuffling closer, Luo Binghe lifted the lid from the stacked boxes and laid out each tier. They were filled with all of Shen Qingqiu’s favorites – osmanthus cakes and grass jelly, even the egg custard tarts that white lotus Luo Binghe hadn’t known how to make. The concept hadn’t even existed in this world until a few months ago, when he overheard Shen Yuan and Shang Qinghua moaning about missing them.
What passed was an hour of odd nostalgia, Shen Qingqiu asking his ‘disciple’ about his studies, and Luo Binghe making a poor effort to hide his infatuation. Had it always been this obvious? Was Shen Qingqiu truly that oblivious? No. Impossible. Luo Binghe had to be playing it up for the game.
And it was a game he was winning. Every time Luo Binghe moved – to serve Shen Qingqiu some new treat, to refill his tea – he drew closer. His hair was fresh-washed, without the lushly scented oils he used these days to tame it. Whenever he turned or nodded or shook his head, the fluffy tail wagged and sent that winsome scent curling around Shen Qingqiu – a lure to draw him in.
But Luo Binghe made no move to pounce, no attempt to push Shen Qingqiu down or move past this bottleneck of domesticity. His reticence was unusual; Shen Qingqiu didn’t know how to respond.
“Binghe?” he said, touching Luo Binghe’s wrist when he would have poured his Shizun another cup of tea. The skin under his fingers was warm and dry – almost feverish – but that was normal for Luo Binghe when he was aroused.
So was ravishing his husband against whatever surface was available, so why…?
He’s waiting for me to initiate, Shen Qingqiu realized. And then wanted to die. How was he supposed to stay in character while doing something like that?
“Shizun?” Luo Binghe’s breathless question broke him out of his panic. Those wide eyes were so luminous and trusting that Shen Qingqiu couldn’t help but take confidence from it.
Initiate. He could do that. That was totally doable.
Stuffing away his pride so it wouldn’t cause him to cringe and second guess himself, he turned Luo Binghe’s hand over and ran his fingers along the pulse point. The meridians underneath surged with qi – spiritual and demonic – a powerful river that could wash away any poison and cure any plot device.
It gave Shen Qingqiu an idea. “Binghe has always been so helpful to this master.”
“This disciple is happy to serve—” He fell silent when Shen Qingqiu tapped his wrist in reprimand.
“There is another way Binghe could… service this master.” The touches lengthened, a gentle slide up and down Luo Binghe’s arm. There was no mistaking them for anything but a caress now. Luo Binghe’s lashes fluttered against his cheeks, his breath puffing soft and fast between parted lips. The weight of responsibility for his happiness felt heavy on Shen Qingqiu’s shoulders, but it was a weight he was content to bear.
Just as Luo Binghe eagerly tended Shen Qingqiu’s happiness. “What does Shizun need?”
Ah, he loved this ridiculous man so much.
Feeling too full and afraid all of it would show if he let it, Shen Qingqiu turned away to dig in his sleeve for the cords he’d brought along.
He set them across Luo Binghe’s knees. “This master has an affliction that only dual cultivation can cure.” It wasn’t the most graceful or realistic way to move things along, but the fact that Shen Qingqiu managed to utter the words at all without combusting was a victory.
Luo Binghe shivered, touching the red cords before raising his gaze to Shen Qingqiu. “And Shizun would choose this one for the task?”
“There could never be anyone else,” Shen Yuan answered softly, forgetting roles and games under the heat in his husband’s eyes.
Uncoiling the cords, Luo Binghe yanked them taut with a snap that Shen Qingqiu felt along every nerve. “Tell this one what to do.”
Shen Qingqiu had spent too many sleepless hours fretting about logistics and positions and how much he could endure without his qi to help. There may have been diagrams. He was grateful for that preparation now as he instructed Luo Binghe to tie his wrists in front of him, using the sleeves of his inner robe as padding against the chafing cords.
The abrupt cutoff of spiritual energy left him reeling. He sagged forward, his head landing on Luo Binghe’s broad shoulder.
“Shizun?” The word brushed Shen Qingqiu’s brow, tangling in his thoughts. Ah, he felt kitten weak with his qi blocked, but Luo Binghe’s care made him powerful. Shen Qingqiu could order him to do anything, and Binghe would.
“Kiss me,” he said. It wasn’t that daring a command, but Shen Qingqiu wasn’t the sort to make any demands during intimacy. He let Luo Binghe lift his chin, eyes fluttering closed as softness brushed down his brow, his lids, his cheeks, before settling on his lips. It lingered, dry and close-mouthed – the chaste testing of a first kiss. Shen Qingqiu tasted the barest tremor of a smile before Luo Binghe pulled away.
“Like that?”
Growling impatience, Shen Qingqiu said, “This master will have to instruct Binghe, it seems.” He tugged on the bonds, dragging Luo Binghe close for a proper kiss. He brought everything he’d learned about kissing to bear on the man who’d been his study partner. Luo Binghe’s lower lip teased him with its existence, so he caught it between his teeth, sucking on it like a berry. When his mouth parted on a moan, Shen Qingqiu drank in the sound and followed it to its source.
Rising on his knees, he bore Luo Binghe back until the table rattled and something crashed to the floor. Shen Qingqiu couldn’t be bothered to worry what they’d broken because he was trying to figure out how to crawl into Luo Binghe’s lap without his hands to steady him. Somehow, he managed it, and the press of his half-hard cock to Luo Binghe’s was bliss.
Luo Binghe dragged himself out of the kiss, head falling back. For once, he was the one gasping for breath, and wasn’t that a lovely sight? Almost as lovely as the bare neck exposed by his ponytail, all tender, flushed skin waiting to be mapped.
Shen Qingqiu explored it, fingers twisting the front of Luo Binghe’s robes as though he’d ever try to flee this. He tasted each desperate noise that was born in Luo Binghe’s throat, opened his mouth over the pulse point and sucked as though he could draw heavenly demon blood through the skin. His bound hands trapped between their bodies made it impossible to tug the robes open, but he managed to expose a collarbone. It wasn’t nearly enough.
“Binghe… Binghe…” he murmured, sucking another in a line of bruises.
“Yes. What…” Luo Binghe’s throat bobbed as he swallowed another gasp. “What does Shizun need of this disciple?”
The question reminded Shen Qingqiu that they were still enmeshed in the game. He pulled up to scold his husband – weren’t they past the conceit? – but the bruises he’d worked so hard on had already healed, leaving Luo Binghe fresh-skinned, red-cheeked, and mussed.
And still firmly in the fantasy of a disciple being despoiled by his master. An indulgent warmth filled Shen Qingqiu, banking the fire of need that had flared up.
“More ropes,” he said, and delighted at the shudder that ran through Luo Binghe at the words. “Binghe is so sweet, this master can hardly control himself. He must definitely be tied up, or there’s no telling what advantages he’ll take.”
Lifting his bound hands, he pressed fingers to Luo Binghe’s parted lips. “Will Binghe do that for me?”
“Yes.” The word dredged up from the depths of Luo Binghe’s gut, ragged and raw. “Yes, Shizun!”
Lifting him as though he weighed nothing, Luo Binghe carried him to their bed. Shen Qingqiu’s bound wrists were strung up to the frame, his sash undone and robes pulled open like layers and layers of tissue wrapping. As Luo Binghe worked, a net of cords and knots crossed Shen Qingqiu’s chest. The pale jade of his skin made the red seem more vibrant, like some erotic dream of wedding robes.
Shoving shame down to worry about later, Shen Qingqiu said, “With all this red, isn’t it almost like Binghe is preparing this master for marriage?”
Luo Binghe’s face was hidden as he bent over the complicated strappado he’d constructed. Shen Qingqiu could only see the fluffy top of his head and rise of his ponytail. But he felt Luo Binghe’s reaction as a punched-out exhalation against his abdomen and a tremor in the hands tying the knots. And he heard it in the desperate whine of, “Shizun,” that followed.
“Ah, but who would want to marry this lonely master?” Shen Qingqiu mused, and was rewarded for his teasing with a growl and a glare.
He wanted to pat that fluffy hair. Or grab it and drag Luo Binghe up for more kisses.
“Shizun.”
“Hm?” Since his hands were bound, he could only caress Luo Binghe with his gaze. He let his mask fall away, let him see the fondness and affection that he usually kept hidden. “Does Binghe have a suggestion? Perhaps Binghe hopes one day to become this master’s husband?”
“This disciple wouldn’t presume,” Luo Binghe whispered, hands dancing over the knots, and then lower to the tie at the waist of Shen Qingqiu’s pants. “He isn’t worthy.”
A laugh bubbled up from Shen Qingqiu’s gut. As though Luo Binghe wasn’t made of seven parts presumption and three parts guile. Wasn’t he the best, most worthy person in this world?
“Isn’t that for this master to decide?” Shen Qingqiu asked, like he hadn’t already chosen Luo Binghe again and again in every iteration, from white sheep to black lotus.
But that wasn’t this game. Rolling his hips, he said, “Perhaps Binghe can prove he’s worthy. Go on. Show this master how Binghe would treat him if we were married.”
This was a fantasy that Shen Qingqiu could easily fall into – and did, as Luo Binghe lowered his head with a reverent, “Yes, Shizun.
His hot mouth pressed to already damp fabric to tease out the shape of Shen Qingqiu’s cock underneath. Broad hands pressed his hips to the bed when they would have bucked up against the pressure. The heat was followed by cool air as his pants were pulled off, then heat again, wet, direct, and mind-shatteringly good.
Shen Qingqiu yanked against the ropes, falling back into the helplessness of sensation as Luo Binghe swallowed him down with all the eagerness of a young disciple and all the skill of a really-were-not-married man. Luo Binghe’s moan rocked through his cock, dragging an answering cry from Shen Qingqiu.
Pressing his unbound feet to the bed, Shen Qingqiu pushed up against the hands holding him down – to no avail. They were as firm and resolute as the cords. Without any qi to bolster his strength, Shen Qingqiu could only lie back and feel.
And talk. Which he did for lack of any subtler way to urge Luo Binghe on. “Ah, this master is impressed with Binghe’s…” he lost language in a full-body shiver as Luo Binghe dipped lower to suck gently on his sac. “Enthusiasm,” came out as a long sigh in time with the tongue licking up his shaft.
Ah, he wanted that mouth lower, wanted fingers and lube and that ridiculous heavenly pillar that Shen Qingqiu sometimes feared but had come to secretly crave.
All feelings he almost never put into words – too embarrassing! But he could come at it sideways, sometimes, when the need was great. Like now, with Luo Binghe idly tonguing his slit and glans with no apparent intention of doing anything else for the rest of his life. Shen Qingqiu struggled to pull himself up and…
Oh. Wasn’t the view down his torso a sight. Past the stripes of red and the pinkening skin underneath, Luo Binghe was a lovely mess. His hair was wild save where it stuck to his face in sweat-damp strands. His eyes were heavy and hooded. Smug. As was his swollen-lipped grin. Watching Shen Qingqiu watching him, the grin curved deeper. His tongue flicked out against flesh that was much too sensitive for such teasing at the moment.
Shen Qingqiu dropped back down with a shiver.
“But surely this isn’t the only thing Binghe would do,” he nudged.
More teasing licks followed, and then a slide of heat that made Shen Qingqiu hide his face against his upstretched arm.
And then cold air. Again! And more licking. “Mm. this disciple would see to all of Shizun’s needs.”
The teasing glide of fingers slipped lower between Shen Qingqiu’s legs – at some point, Luo Binghe must have broken out the unscented lube that the System finally sold him in place of the strawberry-scented monstrosity. He rubbed circles around a hole that flexed and fluttered in need of more.
“Yes,” Shen Qingqiu gasped. “Needs.”
“Mn. He would prepare Shizun’s baths and set out his clothes. Arrange his papers and cook his meals. Anything Shizun needed, this disciple would provide.”
Ah, Binghe! Why are you mistaking this master? That’s not what he was asking for, and you know it!
Well, if Luo Binghe was set on teasing, Shen Qingqiu could tease as well. He forced himself to be still, lifting his chin and looking away with a sniff. “Is that all? This master could just as easily demand such service from another. Like Ming F-ah!”
“No.” Luo Binghe’s finger slid inside, past the outer rim to tease at the inner ring that hadn’t yet loosened to his exploration. “This disciple will be the only one to serve Shizun.”
“Yes. Yes, okay!” Shen Qingqiu said, tension easing and eyes sliding shut as he got what he wanted. “Only Binghe. Didn’t this master already say only Binghe would do?”
That assurance seemed to wash away the vinegar Shen Qingqiu had doused him with. Or so Shen Qingqiu assumed as Luo Binghe eased in further, and one exploring finger became two, scissoring him wider, then three. The lube slicking Shen Qingqiu’s ass and thighs filled the bamboo house with lewd and liquid sounds with each thrust of Luo Binghe’s hand. It should have been too embarrassing. Instead, it made Shen Qingqiu moan and drive down harder, demanding more with the arch of his body, the curl of his toes, the stream of babble that consisted only of yes, and so good, and more, more, Binghe more!
Crawling up Shen Qingqiu’s body, Luo Binghe swallowed his begging in a needy kiss.
“Why?” he whispered against Shen Qingqiu’s desperation.
“Eh?” Shen Qingqiu chased his mouth, barely paying attention to useless things like talking.
Words, so overrated!
“Why will only this one do?”
“Binghe knows the answer to that,” Shen Qingqiu dismissed. The hand between his thighs had stopped moving, fingers sitting still and heavy in his ass, and that was not acceptable. Then Luo Binghe’s question penetrated his haze of need. He opened his eyes to see his husband looking down at him with pinched brows and a pensive frown.
“Binghe… does know, right?”
“I…” Binghe shook with the unsteady breath he dragged in, hand slipping free of Shen Qingqiu’s body to brace against the bed. His mouth worked to form words that wouldn’t come.
And most disturbing of all, his eyes glimmered with tears that he blinked back instead of letting fall.
This crybaby husband of his, holding back tears?
“Cucumber,” Shen Yuan whispered.
Luo Binghe tensed. As quickly as they’d formed, the tears dried. Jerking into action, he lunged for the rope holding Shen Yuan’s arms above his head. His lube-slick fingers fumbled over the knots until he impatiently wiped them clean on the towel they kept nearby for such things.
When the cords fell away from Shen Yuan’s wrists, Luo Binghe moved to the decorative ones crisscrossing his chest. Sitting up, Shen Yuan pushed his hands away in favor of tugging Luo Binghe into his arms and his lap.
“Ignore those. It’s fine. Binghe, it’s fine. I only needed to hold you. Come here.” There wasn’t much here left, with Shen Yuan holding him so tightly, but Luo Binghe nestled further into his embrace, snuggling close and making his larger frame as small as space would allow.
Shen Yuan stroked Luo Binghe’s mussed ponytail until he felt the tension singing through him give way to a boneless lassitude almost as worrying.
“Binghe?” he called softly.
“This one is sorry, A-Yuan. It…” Choking off whatever answer he’d been about to give, Luo Binghe nuzzled further into Shen Yuan’s chest, head shaking.
“Binghe has nothing to apologize for. I was the one who asked to stop.” In retrospect, perhaps they should have agreed on a word for Luo Binghe, too. Except Luo Binghe would never use such a word if he thought it meant disappointing his husband – another issue to address later. “What was it that troubled you?”
He felt more tears, hot against the skin of his chest. Luo Binghe spoke between hitched breaths as though he’d been running. “I feel so much for A-Yuan. It was overwhelming.”
Shen Yuan’s brow furrowed as he nuzzled the hair tickling his chin. That sounded reasonable for this sticky husband of his, but…
“Does Binghe know why this husband loves him?”
The rough breaths ceased. An even more disturbing thought curled through Shen Yuan’s mind. He tugged Luo Binghe up, framing his face and forcing their gazes to meet so neither of them could hide from this discussion. “Does Binghe think it’s because of all the things he does? Do you think I’ll stop loving you if you don’t serve me?”
Dread roiled in his gut. He knew himself to be lazy and demanding and spoiled. Had he made Luo Binghe think he cared about nothing but being pampered like a useless harem member?
And this thing he’d asked him to do. Shen Yuan had been worried that Luo Binghe would agree to please him. Had he been right to be concerned?
“No! No, I enjoy taking care of A-Yuan.” As though he needed to prove it, Luo Binghe slid the pin free from his guan and removed the elaborate headpiece that had started to hang askew and pull on Shen Yuan’s hair with all their exertions. His fingers rubbed circles into Shen Yuan’s scalp, massaging away the lingering discomfort. “It’s A-Yuan who has done so much for me. He cared for me. He protected me. He gave his life for me. He brought back my A-Niang. He chose me over any other. How could any of that be repaid?”
More tears chased down the tracks laid by the previous ones. Shen Yuan thumbed them away and then, feeling that was too inadequate, kissed the cheeks stained with them.
“Is it about debts and repayments between us?” he asked, resting against Luo Binghe, brow to brow and nose to nose. It was too close to comfortably look into each other’s eyes. Shen Yuan bore the discomfort for Luo Binghe’s sake. “Would Binghe feel better if this one listed all the things Binghe has done for him?”
Luo Binghe’s laugh tasted bitter on Shen Yuan’s lips. “Snacks and trinkets can hardly compare.” He drew back with a pout when Shen Yuan pinched his cheek in reprimand. “A-Yuan!”
“Binghe doesn’t even know. What was Shen Yuan before Luo Binghe?”
The words slipped out before he could consider them. Oh. Was he doing this? Now, when they were half dressed, fully aroused, and he wasn’t even in his own body? He studied the widening of Luo Binghe’s eyes, the lip buttoned between white teeth, holding back all the questions that Luo Binghe said he didn’t need to ask. No, Luo Binghe would give Shen Yuan anything he wanted – including the space to stay silent, even if it left Luo Binghe swimming in doubts.
Yes. Apparently, he was doing this.
“He was a sickly young master whose family had no time for his many illnesses,” Shen Yuan said, focusing on untangling the ribbon from Luo Binghe’s curls so he didn’t have to meet that avid, hungry gaze. “He lived in a world where people could go days – weeks – without seeing another person. And he did. He spent all his time holed up in a dark room, reading about people and places more interesting than he was, trashing the efforts of the authors who wrote those stories because it was all he could do. He didn’t have a story of his own worth telling. That Shen Yuan… he was such a coward.”
Luo Binghe made a noise of protest, but bit back whatever he wanted to say when Shen Yuan tugged his hair. He wasn’t done, and he was only doing this once. Luo Binghe would just have to deal.
“He wasn’t much different from Shen Jiu, when you think about it like that. He was cruel because it was easier than being vulnerable. He hated people for taking chances that he would never dare, and for being more than he could ever be. The only thing he was good for was trashing stories when they didn’t fix everything he hated about himself. Especially one story, the most terrible story, with the best protagonist. A protagonist who definitely deserved a better story than the shitty one he was stuck in.”
“That…Shizun means… me?”
“Mn. Haven’t I said that Binghe was always my favorite?” Shen Yuan smiled sadly, thinking of his obsession with a two-dimensional stallion protagonist who, really, was nothing compared to this incredible husband of his. “And then, one day, this petty young master… died.”
Luo Binghe’s arms tightened almost to the point of pain. Shen Yuan hugged him back. “Aiyah! Might die for a third time if Binghe keeps squeezing so hard.”
“Sorry.” The embrace loosened – barely – Luo Binghe searching Shen Yuan’s face for some reassurance he didn’t know how to give. Instead, Shen Yuan patted that head, those cheeks. Ah, what good had he ever done in that previous life to deserve someone like Luo Binghe looking at him like this?
“He woke up to a new life. Strong and healthy, powerful and respected. Nothing he’d earned or worked for. Nothing he deserved.” Shen Yuan’s fingers strayed from Luo Binghe’s hair to the collar of his disciple’s robes. The meaning they held for Luo Binghe was so different from the meaning they held for Shen Yuan. Perhaps that was why the fantasy of being served by his disciple wasn’t nearly as alluring as the reality of being loved by his husband.
“The first thing I ever did that was truly worth anything was to protect Binghe – stopping the beatings, treating him well, training him properly. This person who had only been a character in a story to me, I changed things for him, gave him a better story. Gave him a better life. Made him mine.”
“Shizun… A-Yuan… Shizun…” They were both petting each other’s hair now, Shen Yuan’s story told between kisses and tears. He wanted to drag Luo Binghe down atop him, but there was one last chapter to cover.
“When the story demanded that I kick you into the Endless Abyss, I thought I would die again. I was willing to do it. You’d become so important to me. My most important person. And I wanted your happiness and success more than I cared about my own. So I refused.” He couldn’t stop kissing Luo Binghe’s face – his tears, his lips, his cheeks all so hot under Shen Yuan’s mouth. “You let me be the hero of my own story, instead of the spectator to someone else’s. You showed me how. Binghe is so amazing. The best. Everything about Binghe makes this Shen Yuan want to be a better person – so that I can be worthy of you.”
He forced himself to set Luo Binghe at arm’s length. He needed to make certain his stubborn husband wasn’t taking some other meaning from this. “Now does Binghe understand why?”
The answer came in choked sobs, more tears, and frantic nods, but it was enough to satisfy Shen Yuan. “Good. Now don’t ever make me speak of this again.”
Luo Binghe’s shaky laugh cracked through the bamboo house. He tackled Shen Yuan back onto their bed in a hailstorm of kisses. “Never. A-Yuan never has to do anything he doesn’t want.” The storm gentled into a single kiss that lingered until they were both breathless.
“And if he wants his husband to fuck him?” Shen Yuan asked when they parted for air.
Luo Binghe’s hand drifted down to part Shen Yuan’s slick thighs. They hadn’t talked so long that he’d had a chance to tighten up; Luo Binghe’s finger slid inside him, only a little uncomfortable from the dryness.
“This husband will get more oil,” Luo Binghe whispered against his mouth.
Not even more lube could entirely banish the discomfort. Luo Binghe entered him slowly, both of them adjusting to his old body – how it was tighter, how the stretch made Shen Yuan hiss and catch his breath, how his prostate didn’t seem to be anywhere they could find no matter how Luo Binghe angled or Shen Yuan squirmed.
“Ah, this disciple will never regret the fantasy,” Luo Binge whispered to Shen Yuan as they clung to each other, fucking with too much care and not enough power, “But A-Yuan is the one he wants. A-Yuan’s is the body he prefers.”
Of course he did. Didn’t that plant body have System-designed upgrades?! Wasn’t it literally made for the protagonist and his ridiculously huge cock?
“This husband prefers it too,” Shen Yuan said, because that at least was true. He dreaded to think how challenging their sex life would have been if they’d had to learn what they were doing using Shen Qingqiu’s body. “How else can he appreciate all of Binghe?”
“Mm. Perhaps like this?” Fingers tangling in the ropes that still bound Shen Yuan’s chest, Luo Binghe hauled him upright to straddle his lap. The shift in angle made the slide easier, and being on top gave Shen Yuan the control to decide when and how to sink deeper and oh! There was his prostate! Hah!
Burying his hands in Luo Binghe’s hair, Shen Yuan used the leverage to ride him to a completion that was both less shattering and more profound than any of the orgasms they’d shared before. And then, still rocking with the last echoes of his own pleasure, he held Luo Binghe and whispered praise with each shuddering pulse of his climax.
It didn’t take long for lassitude to pour through Shen Yuan like thick honey, especially without his qi to draw on for the stamina that allowed his husband to wring multiple orgasms out of him. Luo Binghe helped him sink back into the bliss of afterglow, using the ropes to ease him down – keeping him safe, keeping him together.
“A-Yuan?” The bed creaked, skin brushing against over-sensitive skin, as Luo Binghe crawled up his body and dragged a blanket over them. His sweat-wild hair veiled them from the rest of the world.
“Hi.” Shen Yuan was certain his dopey smile had no place in Shen Qingqiu’s repertoire. He didn’t care.
Luo Binghe kissed the edges of it. “Hello.”
Raising a limp hand, Shen Yuan plopped it atop Luo Binghe’s head in a vague attempt at his usual pat. “Binghe did well. This master will definitely marry him one day.”
Chuckling, Luo Binghe tugged the hand down and kissed each finger before nestling it and his head under Shen Yuan’s chin. His whisper was a last caress sending Shen Yuan off to sleep. “This disciple looks forward to it.”
***
“So, how does it feel?” Shen Yuan asked his Jiu-dage over tea a few days later, watching him examine his limbs, turn his hands over in the sunlight streaming through the bamboo grove to warm the garden outside his house.
There’d been a delay in exchanging back to their original bodies, and surprisingly it wasn’t because they needed to wait for Shen Yuan to recover from being wrecked by Luo Binghe’s heavenly pillar. Once Without-a-Cure had been cured, Shen Yuan had easily used his cleansed spiritual energy to dissipate the aches and bruises the next morning. And the next afternoon. And for the two days that followed until Shen Jiu returned from wherever he’d absconded to with Shen Yuan’s body.
“Good. Everything is running smoothly. It seems you were very… thorough,” Shen Qingqiu eventually said, lowering his hand to tap his fingers restlessly against the rim of his teacup. His mouth was tight with inexplicable irritation, and his gaze flitted across the garden without ever settling on Shen Yuan.
Shen Yuan bristled at the apparent disapproval. They’d only been that thorough to kill time while waiting for Shen Jiu!
Well, as he’d confessed to Luo Binghe, Shen Yuan had been a petty bitch long before he inherited one for a brother. “Perhaps if dage had returned sooner, Binghe and I wouldn’t have had to find ways to pass the time. Where were you, exactly?”
He knew Shen Jiu hadn’t been pursuing similar distractions in Shen Yuan’s body. Neither he nor Yue Qingyuan had any desire for that sort of thing. But they had been gone for three days, and nobody knew where. And when they returned late last night, they were disheveled, drooping with exhaustion, and close-lipped in response to all questions.
“Ah. I… may have gone on a small night hunt.”
That made sense – hadn’t they devised this solution because Shen Qingqiu said he missed night hunting?
Still… “Small?” he goaded. He couldn’t very well share what he’d been up to. Shen Qingqiu owed him a good story at the very least! And now that he thought about it, didn’t the red tinge to Jiu-dage’s ears indicated that this wasn’t disapproval?
It was embarrassment.
“Didi’s meridians are… remarkably efficient conduits for spiritual energy. It turns out that a little goes a very long way.” Shen Qingqiu sipped his tea as though that was the end of it.
He flinched when Shen Yuan burst out laughing. “Ah, did dage accidentally blow up a few leaves?”
Shen Qingqiu’s mumble was lost against the rim of his cup.
“What was that?”
The cup lowered. “I said, it was a forest. Bailu Forest. Well, the western half of it that sits on the border.”
Shen Yuan coughed on his tea, which at least had the benefit of making Shen Qingqiu smile. A vicious and cruel smile, but they all looked like that on the surface. “You…” he sputtered, once he caught his breath.
“And we were seen.” Shen Qingqiu huffed as though being caught was worse than destroying an entire biome. “Qi-ge and I spent the last few days making sure a war didn’t break out. The humans in the area thought the demon emperor’s consort attacked his former sect leader, and the demons in the area thought the sect leader ambushed the consort to take him out.”
Ah. So maybe being caught would have been worse.
“Thank you, Jiu-dage,” Shen Yuan said. Even though Shen Qingqiu had only been fixing his own mistake. Even though a war would be objectively bad for everyone. Because Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu had shared a mind and body for a long time. They didn’t need words for Shen Yuan to understand that the surly mood and red ears weren’t for the loss of control or the days of diplomacy, or even the awareness of what his body had been used for while he was off on his adventure.
For Shen Yuan, knowing Shen Jiu was as easy – and as impossible – as knowing himself.
Out came Shen Qingqiu’s fan, spreading open to show a fall of autumn leaves that Shen Yuan had painted. “Well, I could hardly return your body with a damaged reputation, could I?”
“Mm.” Shen Yuan sipped his tea.
“After all, I’m the scum villain of this trash story, not you.”
“Mn?” Another sip.
“Stop smiling like you know something I do not,” Shen Qingqiu said, snapping his fan closed for emphasis. “Brat.”
“Jiu-dage?”
“What?”
“Thank you.”
For accepting me, for sharing your life with me, for cooperating so that we could both become better than we were. He could say any one of those things, or all of them. Luo Binghe had needed to hear Shen Yuan share his feelings. Shen Qingqiu would murder him if he tried.
Keeping his silence, Shen Yuan refilled their cups.
With a twitch of his lips, Shen Qingqiu accepted the tea. “You’re welcome.”