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Qinghua was a renowned scholar back in his young days. He was the kind teachers would proudly speak about, the type that won awards for the fastest calligraphy practices and the most passionately written essays defending curious and wonderful topics. Even the higher-ranking officers studying the same disciplines could not comprehend some of his ideas, even when they had become laws, approved by the head of the country.
Such activities though fruitful in the long run were that drop of arsenic within his tea that dropped the intelligent writer from the heaps of fame towards invisibility.
His friends abandoned him quickly after he became just a little too busy to stroll leisurely and drink himself to oblivion every second night. He was not considered worth sending any more attention than he was already getting.
His peers didn’t talk to him because ‘That’s the guy X professor likes. No use talking to him, his head is always in the clouds.’
How could it not be? This existence is pitiful and lonesome, all because his family was so intent in making him one of the best scholars in the country. Having been brought up on a small farm, his interest in books and literature amidst all the goat and duck farmers looked like a rose growing amongst thistle.
As a child, he had nobody to talk to about books.
As a teen, he had nobody to talk to about himself.
As an adult, he had nobody.
When a person has nobody anymore, it’s easy to forget they will forever have themselves as company, so they will never be completely alone. Except, if you have only yourself as company, you end up drowning in self-loathing.
That was enough to make him even more reclusive, buried nose-deep in his work compared to the outgoing, mature men within the emperor’s court. They weren’t people he was particularly envious of, per se.
Just, he really wished he could have someone to lean on.
All the recommendations and praise in the world brought him on a mission to this old, borderline abandoned monastery, carved deep into the foot of Zhao Yang mountain. It was nestled in an evergreen forest, where arctic lakes and frost-covered pines greeted him once his horse cart stopped. The ebony black gates creaked solemnly, making just enough space for a monk clad in blue robes to exit. His head was bald, skin dusted with freckles. Between his bows there was a tattoo of a foreign symbol.
His movements were lethargic, like he had just awakened from deep meditation, speaking with a lag after Shang Qinghua’s greetings.
Long story short, he had explained, this was a monastery that worshiped the all-seeing Northern god, ruler of night and ice. As a clan of cultivators, it was their job to take care of demonic entities when they would breach the border between their world and the human realm.
Shang Qinghua knew that much. It’s why he was here.
That, and because he was being sent specifically due to the legends about its strong spiritual energies, sleeping deep in ice and cocoa coloured earth. Since he looked so stressed, becoming a shadow inside the emperor’s accounting house, his work had become ‘shoddy’. Exact words, apparently from the Master of the land himself.
Qinghua wouldn’t have been working this job if he was so easily fooled, but when the order was handed over to him, he willingly accepted. A good rest was welcomed, since if someone else took up his work for a couple days, it would be splendid for his consistent migraines.
“You’re saying someone dabbled with forbidden arts… to find a new way he can capture demons alive–which is also forbidden? So he stole (again forbidden) a book from your personal library.”
None of this made sense, but it’s the nod the old monk gave Qinghua that hammered that last nail in the frame of absurdity.
They briskly walked down a long corridor–its walls so tall the dozens of glowing candles could not illuminate its ceiling. Given that this was a cave, the scholar felt anxious to raise his voice beyond a certain decibel, lest he awaken the darkness.
He was taken to a simplistic four person bedchamber, connected to a library. Within it yawned an empty fireplace, surrounded by bookshelves made of rosewood. Rows of handbound books in various colors sat straight or lying - a disordered mess of paper that made Shang Qinghua’s head hurt from the sight alone.
Not to mention it smelled of dried ink and dust, like he’d entered an ancient tomb. Obviously nobody visited this spot often enough to even sweep the ashes out.
Qinghua was not famous for his lack of manners, so whatever displeasure he felt on the inside melted in the air like it was never there. With a small smile, he inquired a little more about his task in particular, holding his job description scroll behind his back.
He should give credit where it was due - this old monk had sat down and wrote him the entire story for revisal. Proof in black on white, retelling their story was great for noting down details and discrepancies between versions now and a week later.
Knowing that, he asked away shamelessly.
“What can this humble servant do to aid you, Master?”
The smile on the monk’s face became brighter, his slanted eyes wrinkled in the corners.
“Master Qinghua was sent because we want to find how to break the curse.”
“What did you say the curse was?” He wonders outloud, eyes scanning the titles and authors on the yellowed spines.
‘Doctrine of the Ancients’
‘Handbook on Solo Cultivation’
‘Meanieary’
‘Legends of the Northern gods’
‘Book of Xianle’
‘The Prince Who Ate His Own Heart’
In general, nothing could be called ‘out of the ordinary’ if this was meant to be the personal library of some bored merchant with a daughter whose interests lay in romance. Many of these books were about love, conquering, divination and spiritualism.
Legends, instead of martial teachings. He didn’t know whether to be amused or disappointed.
“Everybody who has touched the book for the last couple of months fell asleep. It seems, not only did they have to hold it in their hands - they had to have read it. That pretty much means anybody who could read is incapacitated, which is why we need a young man from the city to help us read it anew.”
The scholar glanced in the monk’s direction, watching a single thumb count off bead after bead strung up in a beautiful necklace. They were made of some kind of stone - dark as the night sky with sparks that glittered in silver like stars.
Defensively, the man’s other hand came up to wave the unposed question away, “My eyes aren’t as good as they once were. I’ve not read anything for a while now, my students do it for me.”
“I understand. So, how come you say this book holds forbidden arts, yet, how many–ten or so– of your pupils have fallen asleep? How did all of them gain access to it?”
The monk rubbed the back of his head, becoming nervous, “I- Well, these chambers are shared between all of us masters. Nobody is following the contents of the books brought into the library, nor which ones were being taken out. That book used to belong to Master Wu, but since he passed nobody has cleared his belongings. The mourning continues for the next three weeks.”
“My condolences. It’s a pity to hear that a great master has passed.” He nodded, thoughtful, “What kind of person was Master Wu?”
“Oh, he was a talented and brave man. While some of us are more or less masters in the training, he was the kind to take the young ones out to hunt demons together. His martial prowess was intense, his knowledge on the types of demons unlimited. Just like you, he came from the city many decades ago, simply looking for a place to wait out a blizzard.”
And decided to stay. What a heart-warming decision that young Master had taken. Shang Qinghua wondered if he couldn’t do the same. Abandon all that waited back in town, his salary, his tasks. He could stay here and be the rural scholar with nothing to do but eat melon seeds and greet people during his strolls.
Just the idea of having to spend the rest of his life in this claustrophobic place made his throat tighten.
No, thank you!
“Dare I assume he was the one who compiled it? The book?”
The silence following was an answer enough. Though the monk stood still by the door Shang Qinghua could see the shadow falling over his face, saddened at the quick as lightning revelation.
“He did. Which is why it’s also important to find it.”
As if he was blind to the change in tone, Qinghua lastly pondered, “Am I allowed to remain here for the time being?”
“Take all the time you must, Scholar. If you need anything, approach any student and they will help you.”
“Very kind. I will do my best to get to the bottom of the curse.”
The strange monk was halfway out of the door when he stopped, turning to glance back at Qinghua. “Dinner is at nine, prayers are in morning, noon and in the evening. I request you not cause any noise during these times so as to not disrupt the brothers.”
“I will be in my room at that time, no need to worry.” He complies, bowing his head a final time.
With that, Shang Qinghua found himself alone at last. The footsteps disappeared, leaving a heavy silence permeating the little library. First of all, Qinghua needed to tidy up so his poor eyes did not threaten to roll whenever they landed on the disheveled shelves.
That task sadly took him an entire day. He was used to cleaning and tidying as a task that’s not in his job description, but a must he should do himself if he wanted it done right. Ashes from the fireplace were carefully gathered and dropped off onto a disciple who would throw them out for him.
Another one brought firewood. By the time he could sit down on a cushioned chair with the scroll in hand the monastery’s head disciple entered the room after a small knock. It was time for dinner.
After that - prayer.
As much time scanning each book during the clean-up took, Shang Qinghua was feeling like he did nothing fruitful. That same feeling oppressed him the second day of his stay, in which he chased after a list of pupils, young and teens asking various questions about their shifu.
The answers he got were noted down. Nobody has seen the book, nobody knows how it looked. Everybody missed Master Wu. It’s quite the achievement they didn’t end up somehow losing their heads in battle with how dazed everybody looked. He barely restrained his arms, wishing for nothing more than to wave it in front of their waves while they spoke. It wasn’t a bad bargain about whether or not they would react to it.
Tough luck followed Qinghua on the fifth day as well. He was so tired of reading every waking hour he decided that this morning he would visit one of the temples in which the martial artists prayed.
It was quiet and serene, a spot underground where dozens of holes penetrated the surface of the mountain, shedding blessed light inside. Where the sun touched, fluffy moss grew, painting the gray scene with viridian and tender, blue flowers.
He leaned back with his arms crossed, listening to the monotonous, quiet murmur of various praise and blessings spoken by the head of the clan. The believers clutched their hands together, heads bowed. Shang Qinghua could swear he saw some of them shivering, as if they were crying.
The bizarre scene sent chills down his spine. He really didn't want to be here anymore, did not want to experience this almost intimate moment between praying humans and a deity half-lost to time. He'd spent more than enough coin and faith asking for a better life, and learned long ago that there was nobody listening. Not in his youth. Not now. Never.
As he was exiting the hall a voice, deep and mysterious, asked:
'Do you feel uncomfortable, Qinghua?'
"Wh-?" He glanced around, reminded halfway that his silence was of utter importance. Not a single monk turned back to look at him. There was also nobody standing outside. Who asked that!?
Would this be his own guilt speaking?
In that case, no, of course he didn't feel uncomfortable. People needed something to believe in to move on when their life was tough. Even better if by some miraculous coincidence that belief did bring them to where they belonged. In theory, Qinghua believed that what you desire without a single doubt is what you will achieve. If there was anything looking down at people, it was fed by their own ambitions. It couldn't be omnipotent and it couldn't change fate.
If it could, Qinghua would already be happily married and not forcing his smiles through bitter mornings when the pressure of expectation was the first to greet him.
If that was too much, then, at least he wouldn't mind to have a friend.
Walking into the kitchen just before the giant copper bell in the central cave tolled, Qinghua bumped into a stranger. His hair was long and loose, clothes pristine and teal, unlike the usual monks whose clothes were blue and white.
This stranger's eyes were sharp, features revealed as handsome and elegant once his fan snapped shut. He was just a little taller than Qinghua, but his shadow looked to be twice as high. It was someone… with a lot of self-importance. Just his luck.
"Careful where you're going. Deep thoughts might loose your head at the wrong step."
"Maybe, if this was chess." He bit back, completely level-voices and controlled.
At that his companion blinked, clearly surprised, "Oh, you're not from here?"
"Uh. No? I arrived a couple days ago."
"Oh, THANK the heavens!" He cried, drawing one arm over Qinghua's shoulder, face buried within the crook of his own elbow like a wailing princess, "I'm being driven mad by these dull, emotionless puppets. All they do is pray and eat, and sleep, like they're preparing to never do it again in their lives! Please, tell me you know how to play cards!"
Shang Qinghua was so surprised he didnt even struggle when the stranger pulled him mere inches from his face, eyebrows folded over his dark eyes. He looked in pain from the hope drawn out into a semi-smile at the corners of his lips.
"Go? Mahjong? Checkers?"
"I play! I play!“ He yielded, pushing back the man to gain at least an inch of breathing space. "Though I play fair only against those whose name I know."
Such a sharp reminder sent the man scrambling to snap his fan open again, daring to look anywhere but at Qinghua whose face betrayed utter surprise.
"What's yours?"
The audacity of this…
"Shang Qinghua."
"Qinghua!" He nodded, "I'm Shen Qingqiu. Pleased to meet you, my friend."
It was these coincidences that Qinghua was speaking about! True, he was suddenly very lucky to have found someone he could openly talk to about current affairs, hidden behind the guise of just a random scholar who’d come upon the demand of the Head Monk. Shen Qingqiu looked like a prude and a high-ranking official, but it was all a facade. Once he ate well and was entertained, his opinions were blasphemous, unheard of and- SO VERY TRUE!
He was bold and as loud as Qinghua had never allowed himself to be, re-telling him all the spicy details happening around the court and even getting up in the business of people the scholar knew personally. He would never have mentioned it in the first place if Qingqiu wasn’t as interesting and open as a moonlit cup of baijiu, sitting there all forlorn and silent until his companion arrived night after night.
Naturally, Shang Qinghua ended up conceding to his demands and telling the young lord what he was there for exactly. Upon hearing the story of the twelve sleeping Monks and the lost book he tamed down a little, thoughtful.
He said, “I’m hearing this from you for the first time and we’ve been here for two weeks. Why have none of the other monks extended their need for help? I too have good eyes both for reading and searching. I have a mouth to ask questions.”
“Maybe they didn’t want your fine lordship to burden himself more than needed.” Qinghua teased, earning a swat in the air with a bamboo fan.
“None of this now!” Shen Qingiu groaned, “I’m here studying their culture on behalf of the demon-hunters’ organization. They say that around these parts the veil between the spiritual and the human is very thin. If the monks aren't doing their job at the outpost, someone has to take their place. I’m afraid though, that I can’t give any evidence for the good or bad of it. It’s like… this place is frozen in time.”
Shang Qinghua nibbled on some melon seeds they smuggled out of the kitchen a day ago, relishing the crisp texture for the first time in ages. Back where he worked, munching wasn’t something he was allowed to do as it was unbecoming in front of visitors. If he didn’t do it at day, there was no use storing them for the night when he slept like a log, incapacitated from work.
He wished he could have less work and eat more seeds instead, reckon he deserves as much for all the years spent fasting.
Shen Qingqiu turned to him, resting his chin on the heels of both hands with a smug, oily grin plastered on his face. Qinghua stopped munching so he doesn’t choke on one from how heavy and expecting these green eyes looked.
“Yes?”
“How about we help each other.” The teal youth offered.
“I thought we were already. I play games with you to keep you sane and you take to me to keep me sane.”
“No, that’s what we would do regularly if we knew each other earlier, Qinghua! I’m talking about working together. If I help you find the book, you have to use all the gathered intel to make a proper estimate of whether or not the monks are protecting the border.”
“And how do you expect me to have enough knowledge in that branch of work to estimate rightfully.”
Shen Qinqiu’s fan smacks the heel of his hand, emitting a warning sound worth heeding. His expression had turned to that of a lord who usually got what he wanted, which Shang Qinghua had already seen more than enough times. He knew how to get around it, although as of recently it needed much less effort. They just naturally knew who would give up quicker depending on the circumstances.
Here’s where that one week’s worth of knowing each other would show itself in all its colours.
“Don’t try to weasel out of a good deal. Just. Help. Me. The faster we’re out of here, the better for both, no?”
Maybe, for this venerable Shen, but where was Qinghhua headed after this? Back to his nothingness and his empty rooms and the endless noise of brush strokes upon scrolls, as annoying as if they were drawing over his brain?
No way-
“Sure. Fine. I’ll help you. I’m sure that if you’ve been here before me, you already did research on the monks that are awake. It just means that the weak links might be the sleeping ones. If you don’t find anything on them yourself, you can get a letter of trust from me as a witness.”
“My, my, is Shang Qinghua someone with more power than he reveals?”
Even if he was joking, Shang Qinghua felt that Qingqiu already knew the answer. In such a case, he needn’t speak a single word more. Even if it was going to be short-lived, he sincerely hoped that this amicable relationship would last.
He thought he'd relish the moment even if they do manage to uproot the problem sooner rather than later.
Inside his own room he was reading an old scroll praising the works of Master Wu for how many lines now when something bizarre happened again. His head felt heavier than his eyelids, rested at the knuckles of his left hand. The story was interesting, but so much else was happening inside his head he could not possibly pay attention to the text.
It seems that even when he had some sort of distraction from his thoughts, they would soon catch up on him when he felt most at peace.
‘Are you lonely now, Qinghua?’
That voice again!
The scholar twisted around, wide awake. Nothing was inside his room but the single flickering candle, throwing wide shadows over the stone walls. His shocked reflection over the glass window was extremely comical, with his lopsided reading spectacles and a part of his hair sticking up. Qinghua scowled towards the outside..
Only darkness spread beyond, needles so thick together it felt suffocating. He had asked for a room with a view just so he could get away from the frigid caves.
This was no better. Might’ve just plain told him he’s being picky.
“Who is there?” He asked, standing up.
No, this time he didn’t hallucinate. He heard it loud and clear.
Nobody spoke back.
…Is this some sort of sick prank?
The next time he heard it, Shang Qinghua was bathing alone in the internal hot springs. The steam rolled off wet blackstone, caressing his skin until it was all covered in goosebumps. This was probably his favorite place out of the entire mountain due to its warm illumination and pleasant temperature.
After a long day, he could come to relax here all alone once the monks had gone to bed. He hasn’t ever showered with anybody in his life and back at home there was the constant fear of somebody walking in on him. It felt relieving to not worry about it for at least a couple baths.
His hair stuck to his back when he stood up, dumping a steaming hot bucket of water over his head. The heat licked down his spine, pooling between his legs and below, washing away the last soap bubbles from his figure.
He wondered, ‘What would my future husband think if he saw me like this?’
He felt full of energy and warmth, so strong it was spreading from his fingers to the tiny nerves at the back of his tailbone. So, very warm and soft, like a sweet fig ready to be bitten into.
The ache that’s been pulsing between his thighs persisted throughout the whole bath. Usually it is never as persistent, since he was way too occupied to think about his body this way. Peace and quiet had been good companions on this trip so he allowed himself to linger in place with water trickling down his firm pecs.
In his hindmind Qinghua was thinking of that special someone who’d reach between the slick folds and sink a thick, careful finger inside, hugging him tightly. He’d let it happen. It was safe there, secure.
Starved of touch and pleasure, his knees would probably instantly buck, but his lover would be there to hold him, feeding him pleasure until he cried and rocked senselessly into the ‘come hither’ motions.
He could feel the slick mix with the water, lower lip wedged between his teeth. He wanted to touch… Almost tempted to do so, one hand pressed against his lips, while the other dipped between his thighs – feeling for the spot that would give him at least a little relief.
‘Handsome.’ The nearest pool said.
“WHAT THE F*CK!?”
His soul almost left his body. The towel he had brought was not big enough to cover his entire body as he pulled it around himself, stumbling backwards from where he assumed the voice came from.
‘Very handsome.’ It repeated insistently.
This one was right behind him! He turned around, but there… there was nobody there again!
“Stop playing with me, whoever you are!” He demanded. No color known to man could describe the shade of redness his face had taken, rage, shame and overwhelming sadness for the lost privacy fighting for dominion, “This is not funny!”
‘This King is content.’
He was already slipping out of the caves, damned be the frosty cave air or the wet patches of his robes clinging to his skin when he dressed mid-movement.
‘You’re perfect, Qinghua.’
…
“You’re sure that’s what it said?”
“Yeah, I was there when it happened.”
Shang Qinghua’s mood was so bad he could curdle the closest pot of milk. He couldn’t blink the entire evening and no work was done during the day because of how persistently tired he was. Such a change in his personality was ignored by the monks, who to this point have only smiled and nodded at him – passing him along the corridor unless he had a request.
His friend Shen Qingqiu gave him a single glance and then pulled him into the closest vacant room for interrogation.
“And you’re absolutely, completely sure you have been hearing the same voice for how long now?”
Qinghua tried his best to concentrate all his brain cells on the answer, before they scattered away like frightened chicks, “Since the same day I met you. I went by the prayer hall in the Northern wing to just watch and listen when it spoke to me. I thought someone was just playing games, but… this thing, or person, they’re following me.
“Do you believe in this Monastery’s deity?”
Shang Qinghua was about to make another smart remark when he saw Shen Qingqiu’s face and thought twice. He looked… very serious. If he wasn’t certain of the opposite, the scholar could even say he was concerned.
“No, I don’t.”
“But you know who it is?” Qingqiu insisted for confirmation.
“The God of the North.”
“The King of Winter.”
Qinghua was not at all amused at the intonation in the young lord’s voice accentuating the word ‘king’, “You’re being ridiculous.”
“Look, all I’m saying is– give it a chance. Go pray a little, be nicer and you might be blessed with the benevolence of a god! Your entire life can change!”
“I don’t even believe in gods!” He sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, “I don’t want to kowtow to something so dishonestly.”
The elegant brows shoot into the other’s curtainous locks, mouth freezing open with silent judgment, “So… none at all?”
“None at all.”
“But he was nice to you?!”
“Aya, one complement and I should play into the ethereal hands of some strange voice?!”
“A god’s voice, who finds you hot as you sit buck naked in a cave–Hey– Don't leave on me mid-conversation! Qinghua! Give it a thought, okay? You’re knowledgeable in mathematics, you be the judge of how much you have to win and lose in this case!”
There was nothing to calculate here! If he really was looked upon by the head deity, then he could win a lot by being a mere believer. So far it looked like every single one from the monks was happy where they were - fed, finely clothed, together.
If he could have the same, it wouldn’t matter how - would it?
Did he care?
Yes, if that meant that he’d also become so… mindless and bound by habits. Get up, pray, eat, pray, sleep, get up- None of that! He was young, and he still had his desires. The most he could win is the chance at something better. He’d lose nothing.
But if it was a joke, he’d need a thousand years to recover from the damage to his psyche. If he could play his cards right, he could guilt trip the culprits. He was well-versed and knew exactly how to twist one’s own words into statements that benefited him.
It would be fine if he played a faithful lamb for a while, right?
So, he did. He requested a scribe monk’s attire and dressed properly. The following morning he ate in the eatery with everybody else instead of having it brought to his room. When they went to pray he moved with the herd and kneeled on a soft little pillow.
The mellow, deep voice of the monk reading today’s prayers almost put him to sleep twenty minutes into his prayers. Fifty passed and he felt his back ache already from the number of times they sat up and kowtowed again.
After an hour and a half the monk next to him had to help him stand up, but as he was walking out two others stopped by to nod and smile agreeably. His cheeks turned red, strangely content but also a little disturbed by the attention. Qinghua spoke to Shen Qingqiu for a little bit just before sleep. He’d arrived at his door particularly to ask if he was feeling alright and if he had heard any new voices.
Shang Qinghua almost closed the door in his face. Almost, because Shen Qingqiu’s foot was in the way.
That procedure was the way he lived the following four days. He was just thinking about how oddly well he slept the night before, with no nightmares or exhaustion following his wake. He didn’t feel in himself any more fateful, but there had been the growing bud of hope that he’d at least hear it again.
‘Are you happy, Qinghua?’
“Are you really a god?” He asked with a couple seconds of lag. In the dark intimacy of his room that voice sounded like it came by his side. He curled up in the warm blankets, nose buried under them when no answer came, “I don’t know. I guess I have been a lot calmer. Why?”
‘This King wants Qinghua to be happy.’
“Why me? You had so many more believers beforehand. Is it because I’m new here and you need more?”
Another bout of hefty silence, before:
‘I’ve been watching you ever since you entered the North. Insincere smiles. Fidgety. Distrustful. Is the world beyond my border that terrible to its children?’
“Not necessarily. I’ve just been unlucky.”
‘Qinghua needs luck?’
The scholar shook his head for nobody.
‘Then, it’s something else…’
Even if his eyes gazed in the direction of the windows he could not see himself nor anybody else in the thick darkness. It felt all the same inside, where he was all alone with himself.
It made him feel even more physically lonely. When was the last time he felt a hand on his shoulder? A hug? A kiss?
Why did he crave it so bad now?
It felt as stifling as the caves, a stale need inside his chest with no way to go. His hands were shaking, but it wasn’t from the frigid air. Hot tears ebbed around his eyelashes, spilling down his cheeks. There were no sobs left inside his chest, so he just sniffled and sighed, letting the overwhelming feelings take over. Just for now. Just for tonight.
‘Close your eyes.’
He knew there was nobody with him, yet the fingers closing his eyes were real. Qinghua felt the calloused pads caress his brows and eyelids as they closed, raking a pointed claw after. The feathery touch moved down the arch of his nose, over the tip and across his lips.
The motion was so slow and he was so tense in anticipating more he didn’t even feel himself falling asleep. He only woke up the next morning well-rested, tucked into a neat, small ball against the wall with enough space in his bed for another person.
It was none of his business ‘why’ the god of the North was interested in him, he thought after a couple evenings spent in his company. Very often he would just not answer his questions, but Qinghua lost his sense of fear for being ignored completely with the number of times he gave up on asking and started stating his observations himself.
He found out that he didn’t need to be so strict with the regime, since it was not his way of life. The King specifically wanted him to keep wearing what he enjoyed and eating what he liked. It’s a relief, the porridge and roast were starting to get on his nerves so much so he’d skip meals sometimes.
Spending time with the monks and Shen Qingqiu was pleasant. He felt like he was beginning to fit in somewhere. He felt like his purpose was coming back to him, which made the young scholar so much more invigorated to do his research.
If anything, while Qinghua was doing his job, he might’ve added to his mental library the contents of some of the books hidden beyond the Master Monk’s bedchambers. He may not have been a lady whose interests lay in romance, but he was a man with dreams and desires nonetheless. As simplistic and needless as they could be in the long run.
With every such longing wish he made to himself, an unintentional follow-up to those made before, Shang Qinghua felt he couldn’t deny it anymore. What he’d wanted was readily granted to him if he was patient and good enough. It just… worked out like that. He found himself lucky to have the juiciest apple for a snack, or he got his hands on really interesting scrolls. Some evenings he would skip prayer and he’d take extensive walks with Qingqiu explaining the outcome of his prayers of the week.
He read this late afternoon about a pirate captain who was so in love with a mysterious voice coming from one tiny, barely glowing star in the night sky, that he used dark magic to force the sea waves higher each night.
Their unfated love was crippled when a sea witch whose home was threatened to be destroyed by the powerful currents froze the waves mid-air, piercing the ship with a volley of ice.
Shang Qinghua’s eyes had welled with tears, shimmering at his eyelashes but never spilling. His heart ached for such undoubted love, where if one seemed to pass - the other would follow. As tragic as it was, as harsh as it was, if in life their love would not bloom, then it would in death.
Many tropes portrayed that; these books were just too good at convincing him in things he would not usually speak out loud– things he didn’t even personally believe in! What an intricately woven web of words could do to his heart…
“Nothing was impossible in the name of love!” He cheered.
The knock on the door surprised him. He had just enough time to kick his feet off the table and pull a different scroll from the dusty batch onto his lap by the time Shen Qingqiu wound around the bookshelves. Excitement shone in his eyes, needless of the fire, that vibrant green so bright it made him look like a wild cat.
“I found it!” The young lord rejoiced.
When Shang Qinghua peered into the forbidden book he found there the image of a demon. His lips were thin and his gaze was as cold as the Northern winds, the clothes he wore somehow both thick and revealing. He was a true personification of merciless brutality with barren fangs and sharp black claws; inhuman ears jutting from his head as pointed as the demonic tail.
He was sin.
He was enchanting.
The type of enchantment the Monk’s beliefs forbade, the type which they should burn just for cursing their eyes through wicked trickery, leaving a long-lasted reflection of it behind one’s eyelids. He naturally didn’t believe in any of that and gladly studied the book in detail once Shen Qingqiu turned to leave, having gotten his letter of assurance that the Monks were keeping the border safe.
He said he’d be leaving in a couple days.
“Oh.” Qinghua sighed, his mouth a thin line of contemplation.
“Oh? This also marks your work done, doesn’t it? As long as you find the spell that put everybody to sleep and then burn the book, you can go back to your friends and family in town.” The young lord was discontent with that look on his friend’s face. Though he was eager to talk to the Head Monk, it was the middle of the night. Might as well sit close to the fire and talk a little more.
“Shen Qingqiu… There’s something I wasn’t honest with you these days.” Qinghua murmured, nervously tracing the corner of the table. His hands were neatly folded over the edge while his eyes were cast downwards “I don’t really have much to go back to after this. They sent me to get rid of me for a little bit.”
The other man listened calmly, “So, when you go back?”
Qinghua shrugged, “More work, a different bed.”
“What about your friends? What do they think?”
The corners of the scholar’s mouth turned down, “I don’t know. What /do/ you think?”
At that Shen Qingqiu stood up with force. His robes flew in the wind when he stood in front of Shang Qinghua, authority radiating off him, and the taste of malice. The scholar found himself unprepared to face him, so he winced, pulling his arms in defense of his face, “WHA- MY LORD DON’T– DON’T– DO– IT.”
“I can’t take the choice from you, Qinghua, but you better be done with your work by the time I leave. If you’re not going back to where you came from, you’re coming with me.” Breathing deeply, the fan snapped open in front of his face, hiding everything below the arch of his nose from Shang Qinghua’s vision. “If you want so.”
When he left the scholar took a moment to think about it but thought it was way too heavy of a topic to mull it over now. Instead, he pulled the peculiar book towards himself, studying the peculiar text inside. The solution was as clear as day. He needed to perform a small rite of awakening on the sleeping monks and it says here that the spell would be instantly broken. The last word was even underlined and in bold.
He read it twice to make sure it wasn’t some trick of the pages or the ink.
Even after closing the book the thought of it remained inside Qinghua’s mind for hours on end. He had to smuggle it into his own room while Shen Qingqiu was vehemently distracting the Monk.
Whenever he tried to sleep he would find himself restlessly pondering over that specific demon and his attributes. Often, he’d let his curiosity wonder and he’d look at the images painted of him. The Demon of the North. Mobei Jun.
Things like the softness of his skin, or the temperature of it. He wondered what craning his neck to look up at him would feel like, or how rough the hands would be around his waist..
He wanted to know the taste of his lips.
Waking up with that idea was not the sole reason why his hips were shaking, bucking and uncomfortable for a sensation he was unfamiliar with. Even when deep in slumber there was the essence of desire coursing through him, leaking freely where his body craved a foreign man’s touch subconsciously.
He always awoke drenched in sweat just at the height of it, never able to feel that release. Consciously, he was too frightened by the new sensations–the beaded nipples and the ache deep inside his stomach–to want to ever continue what the demon inside his dreams started.
Instead, he pulled on his robes and went to pray.
Shang Qinghua was a virtuous man although his fate was shaky. Deep inside, he knew that he had done something wrong for reading the book. After awakening the monks they didn’t act any different. He received gratitude, then the Head Monk would arrive and lead them out.
This god has helped him figure out the mystery behind the curse and finish his job for a negative amount of time. It had been kind to him, guiding and patient while he eased himself into the monk’s rhythm of life.
It also remained painfully silent now, having forsaken him in situations where he needed guidance the most. It was truly a tortuous experience to be fed hope piece by piece, just to have it slip away when it was dire.
That unfairness, Qinghua thought, was impossible to overcome just through daily prayers. It would need many long years inside this monastery and between heaps of kowtowing in the dead center of the courtyard, where everybody could see him repent, he’d find his answers.
He apologized, again and again for the floating thoughts of another man devouring him.
When Shang Qinghua arrived, he didn’t intend to stay. Now, he dreaded thinking of a life away from this place even if it was under Shen Qingqiu’s wing. Here, he was listened to and was treated fairly. He was not this village kid with heaps of luck that magically snuck among the ranks of rich and smart men for the money alone. Not the man whose luck in youth had diminished so he ended up exhausting his use. A scholar with nothing more to learn.
Here, he possessed knowledge, he had a good head on his shoulders.
For once, he found a place where he was /enough/ .
Even in his sleep, he felt the hand of his God caress his hair, combing fingers through the dark caramel locks gently. Of course, because they were dreams, and he was being punished by silence, Qinghua knew the hot breath and frosty caress belonged to that demon called Mobei Jun. In the morning it left pretty snowflakes in his hair, meant to melt by the first signs of daylight.
Shang Qinghua was a sinner, because no matter how hard he begged forgiveness, he remained plagued with wet dreams. He walked awake and thought: ‘If that beast stood in front of me and said a single kind word, I’d fall to my knees begging for relief’.
Oh, how the reasons to do so grew. Night and day he thought about that demon's image, and he almost sensed the weight of that cruel hand on his throat, fingers shoved so deep inside his hole he would taste them. He dreamt of his gut full and content no matter the treatment - all because of how bad they both craved his despicable, hot, thick, virile, demonic seed to be shoved as deep as his holes would allow.
The demon was tender, and then rough, then caring in his dreams. He took Qinghua multiple times, multiple ways and he gave everything from himself for pleasure.
Mobei Jun didn’t speak. A detail that’s missed in the art inside his book is that he has a long blue tongue and rows of fearsome, sharp fangs. They only nipped gently at his chest and bit if he asked for it. His teeth were not scary, nor was the tail, which could hold him upright in a series of wonderful positions.
The formation of horns on his scalp protruded from his hair like a crown, a dazzling and impressive way for nature to mark him as a true, pure demon.
All details, which the scholar woke up and wished he didn’t know. Deep inside, those were also hidden away safely, between the pages of the bizarre book – a colorful variation of notes plucked from within dreams.
Two days before Shen Qingqiu was meant to depart, Qinghua had a different dream.
There was darkness at first. Cool air made goosebumps rise over his arms, legs curling closer to his body to retain the previous warmth inside his limbs. There was a weight on his waist that felt comforting and natural at first, pressing him down like a weighted blanket. He turned on his back, stretching long and hard with a yawn.
The wetness between his legs was prevalent as usual, but this time it didn’t feel as sticky and uncomfortable as usual. If anything, he felt in a particularly good mood today.
But that’s where the pleasant delusion of dreams ended. He felt the hands he’d stretched over his head frozen in place, like there was a vice around his wrists holding them together. Qinghua instantly perked up, wide awake. In the middle of the night, he couldn’t see anything, of course, so he could only stare at a random destination boring into the darkness with his pulse up in his throat.
There was something… heavy and cold inside his room, like a presence without its corporeal form. He’d felt it before, so he instantly knew who it had to be. The weight inside his chest dissipated, with a new form of happiness nestling behind his ribs. He wasn't forgotten or ignored.
The weight on his waist slid to his hip, squeezing the flesh there.
“Ah, my King,” He’d wheeze sleepily, the title just he was allowed to call naturally slipping from his lips, “What are you doing?”
Instead of a response, the hand grasping both of his slid over his forearm. He was still being pinned down–a silent demand for cooperation seeing that the pressure of the touch continued over his elbow and further down. The sensation of skin against skin felt bizarre when there was no sound to join it. He almost felt like he’d been caressed by clouds.
In technicality, it might as well have been so. Qinghua shuddered silently where he lay, obedient about keeping his hands where they were.
It re-appeared in the middle of his chest. The claws tugged at his nightshift as they continued along his sternum, slowing to a curious glide over his quickly rising and falling abdomen. Shang Qinghua couldn’t control the way he was shaking even if he wanted to.
Each sensation coursing through him felt like he was tasting divine punishment, for how sweet and sinful his body was - trepid in wait for it to continue; fearing when it could end. He quickly became greedy in his heat, so much so he almost forgot why he kowtowed every hour for the last couple days.
He lunged downwards, half-sitting in bed.
That single hand stopped just over his lower stomach, as if it had sensed his hesitation.
His were right on top of them. Qinghua was touching that which was touching him now, that which he could not see or reach out for before.
The fear of losing that small amount of warmth underneath his cooled palms had him by the throat.
“Please, wait, I– I’m unclean. My King, you shouldn’t–”
‘I know.’
The hand slid between his thighs, pulling away from his like it had been stung. It instead became a heavy cover for the slickness that’s been gathered against his crotch, petting him slowly. His underwear was soaked and it hadn’t yet gotten to his sleeping pants, yet the warmth… He knew…
He knew.
‘Not unclean.’
Shang Qinghua’s hands trembled where they rested, the spot which he’d held the uncorporeal ones, feeling the way a palm was smoothly sliding over his heat with just enough pressure to make the cotton grind back into his sensitive parts.
His legs fell open enough for him to adjust, then closed around the hand. Its movements didn’t still at all–just fanned out between the juncture of his thighs, rubbing a thumb over where his hole was. Even if the touch was not direct, every caress through the fabric was clearly reflected in the small noises the human made. Qinghua whimpered, confused but curious.
The voice this time was deep and alluring, so close to his ear his shoulder and arm hairs stood up. The waft of warm breath had his spine tingling as he listened.
‘Let me in, Qinghua. I’ll be so very gentle with you.’
His King would never say something like that, Qinghua convinced himself.
That left just one culprit who’s been with him ever since he fell prey to the mysterious book. His little sin; the reason it’s the Demon of the North whispering pleasantries to him.
His body was wound like the tight string of a luqin, so hot and thirsty after that first taste he’d had, thinking it was his King. Shang Qinghua had come to terms with himself that if he couldn’t get any more affection from the god, then he would turn to Mobei Jun.
“Will you really?” He asked, trustfully, “And promise I’ll like it?”
‘Qinghua’s body had never felt another’s touch. It deserves only the best as a first experience.’
“Take care of me.” Qinghua whined.
‘I’ve got you.’
The scholar’s thighs fell apart slowly on their own. The grasp on his thigh turned to full-handed caresses, kneading and rubbing his thighs and calves. How many hands were on his body now he couldn’t tell but they held him securely in place, massaging all the good spots on his chest.
If he didn’t think about it, this truly was much like a massage. A very sensual, thorough massage that made his limbs weak and malleable.
Two hands were pinching and rolling his nippled between skilled digits, and two were holding him open. A third hand reached into his waistband, dallying no longer as access was readily granted.
Qinghua’s stomach tensed as the first touch spread his lips open. It was an inquisitive caress beneath the robes, like the demon could marvel at his state through the cloth. His middle finger pressed down on the swollen pearl, eliciting a string of moans from the man as it was rolled about. The scholar’s head tilted away, cheek falling into the gentle cusp of another hand.
He was a barren nerve, crackling with sensations both familiar and bizarre. Qinghua could feel a new, cold sense of dampness coating the entire hand inside his pants. Its texture had become a lot more smooth and as it connected with his tender opening it felt like it had lost some of its previous warmth. That, or he was just burning up on the outside the same way a fever had broken into his insides.
His hips bucked when the first finger slid inside him to the knuckle. It was definitely a secure presence, but it wasn’t painful nor too stimulating at first. Only when it began stirring upwards did Qinghua realize that it really meant to be touched so intimately.
Groaning and fisting at the bedsheets, the scholar’s eyes screwed shut.
“Oh- oh, Mobei.” He whimpered, unsure if he wanted to submit or escape.
He got used to it rather quickly. The second finger that entered him was a tight stretch. Much of the same slick secretion was added to ease the way, and as it was inside he could feel his hips strain with effort to be still.
‘So good.’ The demon praised, ‘This is all you need for now, isn’t it? What do you think? A little too much? Do I move?’
He nodded yes for all the questions so far. It was almost too much but he could get used to it if it felt as nice when the hand moved.
Qinghua saw stars. The slow piston of fingers inside his untouched body was one thing, but that hand at his face quickly came to play with his pearl again. The ravaging sensation of both these spots being stimulated made him sweat, whining into the air and raising his hips to chase the curl against a spot which made him gush shamefully.
Mobei Jun knew exactly where to touch him to light the spark behind his eyelids; he knew exactly how hard and how fast, and how much Shang Qinghua needed to be reminded that this was good and that he was doing well taking what’s being given.
The tension rolling in waves inside his stomach threatened to escape, to flood his body and wash him away. Such an unfamiliar feeling was reocurring when he woke up, but so as he was alone - there was nothing to do about it, no way to know how to release it for himself.
Now, with the hand which led him so far astray from his normal path slapping wetly against his lips, he knew exactly what it felt like to let that tension peak, tumbling off the edge.
“AH– AH- MOBEI! MO– HAH!”
‘Shh, that’s good. Quiet, Qinghua. Gently...’
His voice was muffled underneath Mobei Jun’s slick hand. It felt just as he expected it would inside his imagination. Knowing that he was safe, Qinghua continued to whimper into it.
Everything was tender, everything was dark and the more his body cooled the more Qinghua could feel that the presence between his legs and inside him hadn’t disappeared. Even when he was feeling sore and tender, he could feel that excitement still there, bubbling underneath his skin like the fizz underneath the wax paper of an elderberry syrup jar.
Mobei Jun felt it too when he removed the hand to let the other breathe through his mouth.
‘Do you want it again?’ He asked, pointedly scissoring his fingers apart.
Qinghua’s body had gotten used to it, so there was no discomfort in the motion. Only a little shame he found himself so insatiable. A little soreness as he’d just climaxed.
Cursed demon…
“Please. Again.”
That morning instead of laying around in bed until lunch time, Shang Qinghua had to stalk each corner he turned, making sure nobody would see he’s risen at five in the morning. His sullied clothes needed washing and he, himself needed an intense scrub-down.
He’d become starved for nutrition by the time breakfast was served, wolfing down his share of congee alongside all the side dishes he could get his utensils on. Shen Qingqiu watched him from the corner of the room, but said nothing; and didn’t approach, seeing as the scholar was deaf and blind to the outside world.
Naturally, he was thinking about very important scholarly things, like how to say his goodbyes to whatever good will the god of the North had for him. All that food going into his stomach was meant to give his brain a chance to think coherently, but it felt like it was entirely a sort of repayment to his body for not giving up on him even after he was a crying mess four orgasms into the morning.
That evening was both the best and worst he had ever had. Even now while he was walking he had to put most of the tension in his calves, so the constant rubbing of his legs together wouldn’t make the burning in his insides worse.
Kowtowing in the furthest corner was relaxing. He had all the time in the world to think about how to approach the topic, so when the wave of half-audible murmurs began rising, he joined.
During his last day in the Monastery, Shang Qinghua was sitting at his desk, reading a book in the waning afternoon light. Deep in the forest, the sun set earlier for the monks, simply because the ancient pines grew so thick and high together, it gave the illusion of a second horizon eating away their light.
He’d just gotten to an intensely romantic part, where the female lead was about to confess her feelings for the dying man in her arms, when a knock sounded against the door.
“Come in.” He called, eyes quickly scanning the following lines, so he wouldn’t be teased too mercilessly over the ending of the scene. It was probablyShen Qingqiu here to remind him about their departure tomorrow morning.
It’s okay, it’s not dusk just yet. He can skip eating tonight in exchange of finally seeing the young maiden embracing the man she’d been loving quietly for so long, pinning in such a tear-jerking way Qinghua could hardly think of anything more dramatic himself.
He finished the chapter, content.
Unlike usually, though, nobody called for him. Nobody entered.
Maybe he didn’t hear?
“Come in!” He said louder.
Still nothing. Did he imagine the knock then? But it was just as audible as the birds chirping outside, or the turning of his pages.
Confused, Qinghua marked his book and stood up, batting down his midnight blue robes.
Glasses still on his nose, he approached the door, reaching out to check whether or not his mind was playing tricks on him.
His fingers brushed against the door handle, but did not further grab it.
There was someone standing outside. It was a subtle presence, like they were waiting to ambush him. At the first notion of it one could describe it as a gut feeling, the type when you know someone is laughing because of you, or when someone was watching you. It brought a one-of-a-kind anxiety!
Shang Qinghua was familiar with this sensation but had forgotten it over the months.
Demonic Qi spilled from under the door, making the hairs over his arms stand. He was not a fighter like Shen Qingqiu had blatantly pointed out, nor did he have any demonic repelling items at hand! This creature must be really intelligent or powerful to pinpoint the exact room of the single monk in this entire monastery who was not prepared for a late visitor.
Contemplating sneaking out the window to warn the others, Qinghua took slow, cautious steps back. Now he knew there was somebody waiting on the other side, because it spoke to him, calling him out by name:
“Qinghua.”
That voice was familiar and just as deep as he had imagined, exactly the type to whisper dirty things into his ear while watching him squirm, stuffed and hungry for the friction all the ethereal hands could bring him.
Mobei Jun’s smile was audible through the wooden door. Unapologetically so, “Where do you think you’re going?”
Qinghua had made a very fine observation the first time he saw it.
Mobei Jun's tongue was thick and a curious light blue colour, which matched the piercing glacial of his eyes well. As it lapped across Qinghua's backside, it felt hot and heady with saliva dripping from its pointy tip. Bent over the desk, the scholar had nothing he could do but buck back into it, holding onto one demon horn with one hand. His mouth was stuffed with the front of his robes, soft and wet from the drool pouring into his mouth every time his wanton cries rose with concern.
He was speared open on it, feeling his tight entrance stretch to allow the appendage safe passage. It was weird at first, having something inside his gut wiggle and swirl with no order or technique. He felt like the wooden part of a bow, being prepped and stretched until he was to Mobei Jun’s liking before being rewarded through debauched, greedy sucking.
Every part of him throbbed, hot where Mobei’s fingers touched and cold anywhere he refused to caress. Qinghua’s legs trembled, taut but soft at the knees. He was holding himself upright with a single hand, balled into fists against the desk.
He didn’t need to open the door to let the demon through. In his dumb stupor he’d forgotten that he doesn’t even lock doors, thus the handle tilted on its own, hinges creaking as it opened.
Taking in the entire entrance was the body he’d studied multiple times - much more impressive in size and height than what he could imagine. That head with a heap of horns was also endowed with a waterfall of long, black hair. Pierced ears stuck from it, inhuman as they come.
Unlike in the art, the only revealed part of this demon would be the scandalous amount of chest he was showing, for someone who was not only walking among cold spaces. His flesh was naturally a color so pale it almost gave off a blue reflection. Even if the light from outside was beaming through the window like never before, his figure was cloaked in deep shadows.
“Don’t come any closer!” Shang Qinghua instantly warned, reaching for the mysterious book written by Master Wu and shoving it inches off the candle’s flame, “I won’t hesitate to turn you to ashes!”
Even if he was surprised by the reaction, nothing showed the change in Mobei Jun’s expression. His arms clasped behind his back, indeed not daring to take a single step, “Are you left with the impression my corporeal form is bound to the book?”
“There can’t be any other reason why you’re here now. You want it back, or you… Want something with me? I’m its bearer and you’ve been tormenting me ! It all leads to facts.”
“Is that how you see it? Torment?” The demon of the North took a step towards the scholar, “Is curiosity such a difficult concept to accept?”
“I- I said–” His hand tilted the book towards the flame. As if it was made of thousand year old parchment, the entire work exploded in flames inside his hand so much he couldn’t even recoil in shock.
The presence inside his room remained. The book lay on his desk - destroyed.
“Qinghua.” Mobei Jun’s head tilts, raising a couple locks of Qinghua’s hair in his hand. The silky locks slipped between his fingers–the definition of softness which obviously pleased the demon, “You’ve caught my interest. I believe that if you allow me to show you I’m not here for your pain and suffering, we could understand each other better. I could give you what you’ve always wanted.”
“But you’re… a demon…”
“Are you prejudiced against those of my race?” Mobei Jun asks jokingly, but despite that Qinghua’s face paled.
“No, I– Just the physical pleasure isn’t what I want though, otherwise I wouldn’t mind if… but…. It’s not what I want.”
At the back of his head, such words sparked an epiphany. Has Mobei Jun been sent by the King of the North, his kind god, as some sort of realization of his most sincere wish for a relationship? He couldn’t remember right now what he’d exactly thought about or when! His thoughts were vile and unclean sometimes, while they could be pure and unassuming in others.
Did he bring this on himself?
Mobei Jun’s intelligent eyes narrowed down at him, a smile appearing finally to change that cool, collected expression tattooed on his face, “No, it’s not. I’ll be taking you as my husband instead.”
THIS IS GOING TOO FAST FOR HIM TO FOLLOW.
Husband.
Husband!
There was no way to avoid or escape this scenario other than through the door, which was painfully obviously yawning open behind Mobei Jun. Qinghua rarely had the kind of luck powerful heroes from books did. He would only make an idiot out of himself for ducking and trying to be elusive, so he let his arms hang by his sides in defeat.
He asked, “What do I have to do to know if this is true?”
“Lay under me as an ultimate test of our compatibility. My vulnerability for yours. Once we are wed, you’d have my title, my kingdom and my bed. You could have my heart even if you’re willing to give me yours.”
Qinghua isn’t hearing these words for the first time. Previously, they were the stuff of his dreams. Hearing it now, he couldn’t miss his chance, could he? Should he?
Did it really matter to him - god or demon, if they were this ready to follow his beck and call?
Thus, here he was - a mere human pinned down and taken just the way an incubus–the manifestation of lust–would take anybody. It was defiling and wretched, it should have been. He should feel violated but he still hasn’t caught up with the current events. So, true to some inexplicable wish he’d made, or a goal he had set, Shang Qinghua’s mate for life was a fearsome demon spoken about only in one lost book from dozens of years ago.
That demon was so beautiful and kind to him he even held his hand now, bringing it against the desk when a particularly strong suck against Qinghua’s clit almost made him crumble apart.
His stomach tensed whenever the snake tongue flicked inside him, poking into spots where numbness and pleasure bloomed. Knowing he was still sore from the night before, his mouth never strayed, pushing into him until he shivered bodily. The joy of being eaten alive this way felt like hot water was poured over Qinghua’s battered body, healing invisible bruises and mending the deformed beacon of wax he called ‘soul’.
Mobei Jun’s rhythm wasn’t too fast, but not at all considered slow. His right hand held Qinghua by the thigh, rubbing soothing circles on the inner side. Qinghua’s cheeks were parted by the other, a tight squeeze searing into his flesh to keep him frustratingly open.
It’s like Mobei Jun enjoyed seeing him vulnerable.
What sort of demon played with their food so much, so often?
Mobei Jun’s tongue slipped out of him, admiring how Shang Qinghua’s hole clenched, begging to be stuffed again. The musky scent, the alluring taste. It was all over the incubus’ lips, around his mouth and all the way to his chin. He was content to watch just how honestly the sweet human reacted, dripping with slick.
On the other hand, Qinghua was not happy. He fought with himself to push back onto pleasure, choking on his sobs. The pleasure he’d been writhing for was so close he could taste it in the numbness in his gums. Now it was cooling within him–churning that amalgamation of feelings once again inside his chest.
Mobei Jun had watched countless humans be taken by his underlings, whimpering in languages and accents from near and far words of pleasure. He’d learned all the ways he could make someone scream just for this moment alone, so he could tell his favorite words.
Even with cloth inside his mouth, he could watch Qinghua rocking back and forth, praying ‘More. Please. Again. Again.’
The two moved to the bed, where somehow within two steps Shang Qinghua’s clothes had melted off his body. They lay in pools on the floor, down to the very socks he wore.
For the first time in his life, somebody was seeing him without his clothes. Even if it used to be a big deal before, having felt this specific person’s mouth, fingers and lips on every single part of his body made the ball of anxiety start off small, almost miniscule.
Shang Qinghua found out Mobei Jun was just as naked when he climbed into the bed, taking in the entire space. The man’s body was so big he could barely fit within the frame, cold enough to make gooseflesh prick where they touched. They could make-do, what really mattered was how nicely his face fit in the crook of the scholar’s neck, breathing in his scent.
The scholar’s smell was sweet–like ripe fruit, with just the hint of pine and old paper. It was the sort of smell Mobei Jun would connect to the scent of home, to the scene of Qinghua reading peacefully by the fire, wrapped in furs; of him taking strolls and admiring the architecture - ever oblivious to being watched.
The hesitant fingers just barely brushing his arms trembled once he sat up again to stare at Qinghua.
Inside his head everything was blank. The man knew only the feeling of another’s skin on his, the sheets underneath his bare back and hair, lots and lord of dark hair pooling around his chest like the tendrils of an ancient sea creature. A minor distraction from the barreling heartbeat just below his ear.
Mobei Jun was handsome, beautiful even. The wide shoulders and tapered waist leading down to narrow hips… This demon was big. Words escaped Qinghua’s lips faster than he could bite them back, spilling out worries faster than an upturned vase would spill water.
“Too big.”
“Just enough.” Mobei Jun answered in a heartbeat.
“You’re going to kill me with that.”
“I’ve been preparing you patiently, Qinghua. I’d never let this body hurt you.” Mobei’s much larger hand drew Qinghua’s towards his lower half, allowing the trembling fingers close to his member, “Here, touch me.”
This warmth! The first time the esteemed scholar had ever touched anything so soft, yet hardening, daring to wrap his fingers around it just to find one hand was not enough to grasp its circumference…
Qinghua’s brain was about to melt, feeling it throb and harden to half-mast in seconds.
“Are you reacting like this because–of–”
“Mmn, your hand feels good on me.” The demon purrs, combing his paw through the other’s hair. His claws felt good caressing down his scalp, sending a bone-deep sensation of comfort along Qinghua’s spine.
“Okay,” He says finally, determined, “If you think it won’t hurt, I’ll let you.”
“Thank you.” Mobei Jun whispered, cheeks flushed the softest of pink. Whether it was for the consent or the persistent touches, Shang Qinghua didn’t know.
Though it was tiring to lean his entire body on one elbow, he couldn’t possibly retract his touch from the curious object. Mobei Jun’s penis was not at all shaped like a human - carrying all kinds of weird protrusions which twitched and trembled underneath his fingers. Qinghua thought they would be some sort of scary hooks and pins that are meant to stick into him, piercing his insides in some evil, perverse way, alas they were soft. Tender.
The thought of how they’d feel inside pulled his lower lip between his teeth, chewing on it nervously. He may have been staring way too intensely, touching too much than he was allowed, because by the time he realized clear precum oozed from the tip over his fingers.
Qinghua’s dark eyes met with Mobei Jun’s seconds before they embraced passionately. Their lips slotted together wetly, devouring the other’s taste and content sighs with a hunger that would borderline that of starving beasts. The demon licked into the human’s mouth, giving him just a small flavor for how that much longer tongue could pleasure him.
The scholar was still nervous though, so he shied from letting it slide in too deep. His gasps sounded loudly in the small space between them, bodies naturally finding a comfortable position in which to lay against each other. Mobei Jun’s shaft rested against his lower stomach.
That wetness that was gathered between his feet isn’t enough, Mobei Jun stated, coating his length in a thin layer of moisture. Qinghua’s legs fell open, eyes trained strictly where their bodies aligned.
The push was slow, easing each muscle into relaxing around his girth. Even if he was stretched to his limit, Qinghua felt a sort of delight in his yielding that he’d never thought he might feel in his life.
So long he waited, he worked and suffered in the suffocating loneliness that this moment he wanted frozen in time. Same moment in which Mobei Jun and him were completely one, as far as they could be.
He felt weak, and happy, and full, and ill; so very vulnerable.
Shang Qinghua's legs tremble, threatening to close around Mobei Jun as if he was trying to fight the pleasure carving a path through his tight heat like it has always belonged inside him. The fragile cold of the demon's skin melted within him, warming and sucking the blazing fires of oversensitivity that had come upon being entered for the first time.
Qinghua has been the type to run from pure pleasure, Mobei Jun noticed through their dream-like trials. The human was afraid of pursuing it once because he felt undeserving. Love, after all, came with passion and when he had no love, he had no need for passion.
Then, once he felt what passion was like, he had refused to indulge, for it was a shameful act of the flesh one should repent.
His legs subconsciously fought with giving in entirely, which Mobei Jun found adorable.
Shang Qinghua thought he could get away with just feeling a little full, milking his cock rhythmically through the untrained, unknowing muscles contracting around his width.
He wouldn't have that.
The scholar sighed, knees parting reluctantly when Mobei Jun pressed them back insistently. All four of his limbs were stretched apart, giving the most liberty of movement for when the demon could rock flush against the other.. Beneath the warm patch of creamy skin, his flat stomach had bulged from the intrusion. It was just a small bump, but it was enough to show Qinghua how well he could take the demon.
"Look at me, Qinghua. Into my eyes.” Mobei Jun pointed, lifting the handsome man's chin upwards, “Do you feel the way I'm made to bring you pleasure? Your body yields for me so good, it should be rewarded."
Those filthy words spilling from the pretty blue tainted lips made Shang Qinghua clench dangerously.
As the demon said, he could feel every curve of his appendage, tissue wrapped around itself and ribbed around the head. Bumps the size of fine pearls ran up each individual line, growing bigger closer to the root.
When Mobei Jun slid out, they stimulated a spot just a couple millimeters beyond his irritated entrance. He’d never been opened this wide before, but the initial discomfort faded with the next push.
It felt so good he wanted to tear himself apart and wail, but the ingrained fear of showing that pleasure couldn't be beaten by just staring at the looming monster, here to steal his virginity and pass onto him the promises whispered countless times inside his dreams.
‘I’ll make you mine.’
‘My good consort. Accept me and everything I have can be yours.’
‘Become my husband. I’ll take care of you.’
‘I’ll take care of you.’
The mark of the King of the North hanging overhead, the shapeless statuette from his desk. All those figures are the ones that felt blasphemous, not the gut-shifting bringer of bliss holding his waist with both hands, so big they easily encircled him.
Qinghua needed to rid himself of them. They felt upsetting, repulsive even as a reminder of hell within heaven. He couldn’t even remember when he’d brought them into his room and what they were for when he was clearly a sinner in the middle of the monastery.
His hand bumped Mobei Jun's shoulder to stop his movements just when the bulbous tip caught his rim on its way out. Qinghua could see from the light streaming between Mobei Jun's kneeling legs how all his slick had coated the demon's cock to the pubes, creating a fine sheen along the length.
He wanted it inside him again so bad he could cry.
"Remove the holy symbols." He weakly pleaded, "They must be offensive. Don’t let my God see. Please, Mobei."
Mobei Jun's smile grew wide. Wider than Shang Qinghua had ever seen.”
"Why would I ever want to erase myself from your holy life, my dear servant? Though I see you quite fine, do you see me?"
Qinghua's eyes opened wide, mouth gasping with words just waiting to spill innumerable questions towards the blue-tinted creature. Not a single one could leave, for just as slowly as he'd pulled out, Mobei Jun sheathed himself back into the devotee's warmth. This time it was so much more intense since he'd been given more than enough time to accommodate. The ridges and ribs fit just right against all his sweet spots, throbbing with restraint.
"Moo-beiii-" He cried, sinking his short nails into the meaty shoulders, "Ahh, fuck -"
That curse followed a steady grind, pushing his entire lower half into the mattress. The legs forced open against the bed shook, toes curling as that low-burning desire inside his womb turned to something more vicious, dreadfully primal with a single need.
"Nobody ever told you what this monastery was for, did they?" Cool breath whispered against his ear, prickling goosebumps over his own hot skin, "You've been such a good, unquestioning lamb, Qinghua. I heard your every prayer and your growing love. You begged for forgiveness about some wavering faith, yet I'm here now feeling the full weight of your devotion. This god is content. So good. Good Qinghua. Look where we connect undeniably. Look how you take it willingly."
Shang Qinghua could barely see at all, empty again after another slow exit.
His lower lips were swollen and the bud that he felt so ashamed to touch when when it ached every single morning these days was engorged to the size of a pea. Wet. Everything was sticky with juices, from his labia to his inner thighs. He could even feel that moisture gather and seep between his cheeks to soak the bed.
When his attention was back on himself, Mobei Jun eased back inside. It was a smooth, easy slide, filling out the physical emptiness in a way he’d never been filled before. Even the spiritual hands could not compare to the girth. It was mesmerizing how easily it happened. Like the body wasn’t his.
“So I’m not being punished? Ever since the start you were giving me what I longed for to warm me u-NGH?!”
Only the last two inches were brutally rammed inside him, punching a surprised, high-pitched yelp out of his red bitten lips.
He felt it now, the way Mobei Jun's tip kissed the space just outside his womb, not quite touching it but feathering its throbbing affection against it.
Qinghua didn't know he was crying until a thumb caressed a stray tear off his cheek.
"Mmn, I’ve given Qinghua luck. I must give him love now. Right here I could plant my seed to show it. You enjoyed seeing that in our dreams, didn’t you? You begged for this demon god’s seed."
His thumbs rubbed over where they united, where the imprint of his blue lips had been when he fell to his knees to eat Qinghua out. They caressed just below the belly button before sliding over where the bulge in his stomach ever so tenderly rose.
“It’s– You” He whispered hoarsely, clinging onto Mobei Jun’s arms and writhing longingly, “You’re the god and the demon. It’s been you all this time…”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell Qinghua, filling him with all kinds of unhappy thoughts.” He whispered, forehead pressed against the human’s, “This one was selfish, watching you want me in my entirety even if you didn’t know.”
“I want you…” The scholar responded, rocking his hips when Mobei Jun’s had stopped moving. It all clicked. He was played with a little, but he was not mad. He was relieved and desperate. “I want you. Mobei… I want you… Please, take me. My King. Again. Again.”
Mobei Jun shuddered in his entirety, grasping the body underneath him with bruising strength. His teeth were barren in a pleasure-stricken grimace, panting through his nose during their passionate love-making. With no reason to hold back he littered the pale skin underneath with bites and kisses, mouthing at the delicious nipples so readily arched into his face.
Qinghua cried, clawing at his back and chasing that quickly rising wave he’d become addicted to.
Their passion calmed only after multiple hours and rounds spent talking- honestly and freely, face to face for once. What Qinghua heard was enough to satisfy him, until they were not fit to talk anymore and instead indulged in that long-awaited union as many times as the fading sun allowed them.
Spent and thoroughly used, Qinghua couldn't control the way his insides contracted even if he tried. That cool sensation dousing the fire of passion in his stomach felt heavy, like thick cream that's been pumped into his holes so far it could never be washed out again.
Mobei Jun's cum slid out of his anal hole first when he pulled out, followed with discontent whispers bubbling inside the scholar’s throat. Qinghua's hand reached between his thighs and plugged the creamy contents back into himself only for what was inside his pretty cunt to come gushing out from the contractions as well.
He wasn't himself within this mist of lingering pleasure and satisfaction. It was sin to waste the potent seed just like that. He has to make sure that it catches, that it marks him completely as Mobei Jun's most devoted.
His hands were removed, pressed down against his sides with a command to stay still.
"What are you fussing about my Qinghua? Let me watch you leak, loose and warm from my cock." Like a dog hearing their favorite word, Shang Qinghua's pussy clenched, pushing out even more of his spent. The puddle under him grew until he was so exhausted from being good, he fell silent and sleepy.
A gentle hand caressed his face, brushing hair out of it "Just like that, what a good boy. This god is so pleased he thinks he should reward you again." Incapable of holding back, he pecked Qinghua's lips, whispering his promise of marriage there again and again.