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It is always evening when they finally come out. Light summer rain drizzles and pours from the rooftops, down the pipes, to the muddy streets below. Burly black rats scurry about, and Luo Binghe sighs as he takes in the familiar sight.
Shen Jiu waits for him with a fan in front of his face. It doesn't suit the ensemble he's wearing, Luo Binghe thinks. He didn't buy their matching pair of black suits just so Shen Jiu can act like they're still on Qing Jing Peak of old.
Then again, it's not every day his former master can be bothered to descend and join him downtown. The lights blind him, he says. The noise is a strain on his too-sensitive ears, and he hates the smell of leaking oil.
At times like those, Luo Binghe would gently drag Shen Jiu away from the crowd to rest in one of the tea shops. "This place has changed too much," he'd say. "Look at those ugly clockwork buildings."
Luo Binghe chuckles. "But you're made of clockwork yourself, are you not?" Then Shen Jiu would curl and uncurl his fingers as if to assure himself he's still composed of flesh and blood.
The Huli jing lets out a hmph and steals Luo Binghe's osmanthus cake. He doesn't mind so long as Shen Jiu is content.
"Stay still," Luo Binghe growled as he screwed another metal plate on Shen Qingqiu's cheek.
It didn't hurt him, not when compared to the gears that Luo Binghe affixed along his flank and spine. They made him groan and writhe even under the Demon Prince's careful ministrations.
Hah. Demon Prince. The demonkind's mechanic more like.
Luo Binghe ignored his father's gaze as he worked his way through the other parts of Shen Jiu's body. Nearby, Mu Qingfang was tending to Yue Qingyuan's tiger form.
There was renewed hope in the clan leader's half-lidded eyes. "This Master and the rest of the Peak Lords are truly indebted to Luo Binghe and his skillful hands," he murmured.
Tianlang-Jun laughed, "Don't worry. Think of it as a way for me to repay the cultivation world for giving me Su Xiyan."
Only Shen Qingqiu could see the cold glint in Luo Binghe's eyes as he gritted at the mention of his long-dead mother and uncaring father.
"All done," Luo Binghe announced, wiping the sweat off his brows. He backed from the table to provide room for Shen Qingqiu to stretch his body.
Oh, how enthralled Shen Qingiu seemed with his new body! As the fox swished all of his nine tails to and fro, Luo Binghe couldn't help but feel tempted to scratch his metallic neck.
But it'd only embarrass Shen Qingqiu in front of Tianglan-jun. And neither could Luo Binghe shrug away his uneasiness with the Demon Lord present.
Between Shen Qingqiu's irascibility (and the boorish Liu Qingge) and Tianglan-jun's overbearing air, Luo Binghe would rather spend a night with the Huli jing occupying his bed and treating him like a servant.
The night is young, and there are twice as few stars in the sky.
"It's those lamps, I tell you." The Huli jing points at an opulent hotel with lights brighter than the Westerner's garishly illuminated brothels.
Shen Jiu, at least, is careful not to dip his leather shoes in rainwater. The cost of his attire means nothing to Luo Binghe, but Shen Jiu's unintended thoughtfulness gave him no small delight.
"You seem rather out of sorts," his smaller companion quips. "Where's the cockiness?"
At times like these, Luo Binghe should just forget about their mission and playfully tuck Shen Jiu's arm under his own. And do whatever before Shen Jiu's mood sours.
Instead, he puts on a wry smile. It's one he never wears in another's company but Shen Jiu.
"This disciple is just worried," Luo Binghe replies before gesturing to the food stalls nearby. "Should we get dinner before we return?"
Shen Jiu raises an eyebrow but humors his company anyway.
"Just....congee," he answers. He moves closer to Luo Binghe as the latter opens their umbrella. "Something light before tonight's hunt."
The Demon Prince chuckles. "Then coal it is."
Shen Jiu purposefully steps on his boot, and Luo Binghe's face contorts in mock pain.
"And where do you go from here?" Shen Qingqiu inquired Liu Qingge, sleek in his newly fitted skin of armor. "Bai Zhan Peak is no more."
Luo Binghe watched from the shadows as the black panther jumps outside the window and yawns. Like this, the God of War appeared no more formidable than a house cat.
"What else to do but follow the clan Leader?" Liu Qingge answered coolly. "And you, what other business do you have here anyway?"
Luo Binghe wanted to wring the oversized cat by the scruff and ask him what business he had going after Yue Qingyuan. But fair is fair, Luo Binghe supposed. Let the old cat settle down with and live the rest of his life in peace with his remaining martial brother.
"Send my regards to Mingyan, then." Luo Binghe chimed in. He didn't include don't you dare come back at the very end.
The black panther morphed back into a handsome man and disappeared into the night.
Shen Qingqiu, still in his fox form, slinked back inside and came to heel at Luo Binghe's feet. For a second, the former disciple expected him to nuzzle his ankle like a cat.
But he didn't. Instead, Shen Qingqiu lept onto the high table where Luo Binghe's other creations sat.
The fox was a marvel to look at — Shen Qingqiu's luster outshined that of his other trinkets.
"What, now?" Luo Binghe flexed his aching muscles. "Shall we begin our hunt, Shizun?"
Shen Qingqiu ignored the nickname and turned his eyes outside the window. And toward the sparkling city below.
He could almost make out the shape of their targets: burly foreigners with their top hats and canes and fat pockets lined with notes culled from the ruin of Cang Qiong Mountains.
The spirits of Qing Jing Peak sang revenge, and Shen Qingqiu carried it in his veins.
"Patience, Binghe." He admonished. "Give them time to pray and cower before we pluck them off one by one, just like what they did to our kind."
Us. Ours. Luo Binghe nodded as warmth blossomed in his chest.
Luo Binghe, Mobei-jun, and Sha Hualing have barely any relations with the shapeshifters of Cang Qiong Mountain. His sire would often jokingly refer it to as "our holiday palace's future site."
But then the sallow outsiders came rolling in to make way for their ivory houses and brick complexes. None was spared: from Qing Jing's bamboo thickets to Bai Zhan's sparring grounds.
The Four Sects, previously a bastion for all shapeshifters, were no more. And the fall of Cang Qiong Mountain was the final nail on their gilded metal casket.
Luo Binghe certainly didn't know what to feel upon setting foot in the obscenely decorated halls of Tianlang-Jun's business associates. The occupiers preserved Shizun's gardens, but not the woodshed and not the bamboo house.
(Luo Binghe would later find a familiar piece from the house in a restaurant within the Governmental quarters as an 'artifact.' It very nearly sent Luo Binghe into a livid frenzy.)
So, he vowed to take revenge with his own automatons. His Lord enrolled him in the best academies their money could offer. Luo Binghe was even set to inherit the Demon's Lord steam empire —to reclaim the lands stolen from under their noses.
Luo Binghe didn't know it then, but his newfound resentment had ousted the festering bitterness he nursed while crossing the Endless Abyss. Gone was his ambition to set the shapeshifting immortals' realm ablaze as revenge for his misery under Shen Qingqiu. His fangs now turned to the Westerners and their steam behemoths.
(" Why?" Sha Hualing questioned. " They razed the immortals' beloved home for you. A-Luo should be more thankful."
" That's why," he answered).
Even after a long soak in a tub filled with fragrant water, Shen Jiu still reeks of oil and blood.
Luo Binghe winced as he witnessed his lover furiously scrubbing away at invisible stains on his pearly skin. Even as he patted his neck and chest with a towel, Shen Jiu still muttered, "Fuck, I can still feel that poor sod kissing at my neck, right here."
Had there been any marks left, Luo Binghe would've taken it upon himself to skin and dismember the asshole. But instead, he placed butterfly kisses on the side of Shen Jiu's neck, tender and worshipful.
"It won't happen anymore," Luo Binghe whispered in turn. "The bastard will never soil you with his hands any longer."
Somewhere, an arm is carried along the drainage, far away from its sad sack of an owner. Luo Binghe had grinned in delight as Shen Jiu pierced and hacked away his victim with abandon. Silver has never looked so good, drenched in red.
The pair then feast. First on plum wine, then each other. Luo Binghe will wake tomorrow with the smell of coal in his hair and scratches on his back that he wants to wear like a trophy but can't.
And Shen Jiu will lazily perch by the windowsill, pipe in one hand and fan in the other. Luo Binghe will smile and kiss him relentlessly as he gathers the fox into his arm.
The fox's claws yet dry, and the police have just gathered around the mangled corpse of the railway company's lawyer.