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Again about the author and his creation

Summary:

He thought of this when he found himself in his world; in a place where he had created both people and their adversity; he thought that one day he might find himself on the other side of Xin Mo, with his protagonist, his son, incensed with rage against him and wearily asking him: why?

What a good question, — Shang Qinghua thinks... no, Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky.

Notes:

English is not my first language.

This scene just won't get out of my head.
Actually, it's supposed to be part of that "Crumbs Of Black" fic of mine, but gods don't even know if I'll get to it, so here goes.
A little bit of dark!Shang Qinghua. He's apathetic and depressed, you can see it in him here.

Just a conversation between the Creator and his Creation, as usual.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

He thought of this when he found himself in his world; in a place where he had created both people and their adversity; he thought that one day he might find himself on the other side of Xin Mo, with his protagonist, his son, incensed with rage against him and wearily asking him: why?

What a good question, — Shang Qinghua thinks... no, Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, without the fear he really should have, but he doesn't. He feels familiarly empty as he looks at Luo Binghe, his Luo Binghe; the emperor, the victor, the most beloved and loneliest man or demon he has created.

His Creation unmade by anyone else.

"Answer me", Luo Binghe orders, and the black sword presses down on his neck; the blood runs hot on his cold skin; Airplane still can't find it in him to be afraid.

Luo Binghe, on the other hand, looks betrayed.

I wonder what it's like to know that you were first created to suffer and then to satisfy the demands of perverts by recruiting an endless harem; some part of him thinks Cucumber-bro is little different from all the others who paid him money to do this, his friend loved not his son's wives but his own, but is there any difference when you look at it from the Airplane's point of view? Actually, no.

"You don't want to know the answer", he says instead, his throat moving, the blade sinking in a little deeper; it's strange, he feels no pain; as if this is happening to someone else.

The beautiful face of his creation distorts into something more human, more ugly in its malice in its contempt.

"Oh, you're the one who knows exactly what I need, right?" venom drips from his words bitterly enough for him to actually see him as Shen Qingqiu's disciple, Shen Jiu, and not someone else."Don't decide for me, shishu, god, or whatever you are — I don't care. I want to know", and his actions are drenched in pain, lingering and primal; his wives should have patched those wounds, but maybe the mere realization that all this time your life never belonged to you, that all your troubles have a man-made man, opening wounds along the lines of scars, "why did you give me such a cruel life if you could have not?"

Oh, that arrogant bratty boy.

Airplane begins to realize slightly that it wasn't exactly his shixiong that he could feel for this kid; after all, they're all his children.

"You call me cruel", he begins, thinking of everything he knew himself and nothing at the same time; his mind is frighteningly blank, "you say I've given you a terrible life, that I'm to blame for all your troubles, but, in that case, the opposite is true, isn't it?" Xin Mo first trembled beside him as he looked at his protagonist; he partially wondered what Luo Binghe could see in him to flinch. "If I gave you pain, I also gave you joy, if I took your mother from you, doesn't that mean I gave her to you? If I gave the cruel shizun that threw you down into hell itself, doesn't that mean I let you come back from there stronger than you were?" he feels his lips stretch into a smile the more he spoke; a misplaced laugh resting behind his ribs. "You say I took something from you and you want me to answer for it, but you don't want to thank me for giving it to you in the first place?" he does laugh; it's not a bad laugh, almost a real laugh even. He can't believe his creation could be so stupid. "You stand here with righteous anger and the power I gave you and claim that I'm heartless, that I'm a terrible creator when, you know, I created a world where everyone has or had someone to love them", he's relaxed, he's angry, he's thinking about how inattentive his creations are. "You won't find a single person or demon in this world who hasn't known love, no matter how long or short that moment may have been. You had your mother, kind and understanding, and you act as if you don't realize what a blessing that is", his silly-silly son, how could Luo Binghe forget that not all people are equal, "even your shizun had Yue Qingyuan, even 'Shang Qinghua' had a little sister who adored him", something dark and repulsive inside him rears its head; he thought he had buried it deep-deep down at the bottom of himself; he didn't want to see that part of himself again; his smile is apathetic and impersonal, "don't think every child knew what love was, out of my world".

Is he really such a cruel god that he let someone learn what it is to love before taking it away?

He hasn't known that all his life.

Luo Binghe looks at him with gravity, with sorrow, with tears.

"Do you want to kill me for what I took from you, Luo Binghe?"

Strange, he's not afraid of death if it's from his Creation.

"Then thank me first".

For everything.

Luo Binghe lowers his sword.

"I hate you", tell him quietly and weakly, extremely tiredly. "I hate you", he repeats with more force.

That's okay, — Airplane thinks, — so do I.

Notes:

People of self-pity have gathered here.
Also Airplane: you can't hate me more than I hate myself, boy.
Orig Luo Binghe: I'm done. /retreated to his own world/

I like to talk about moral and ethical issues, yes. And here I'm just raising some fun questions: is it possible to blame Airplane for all the troubles in this world, yet not thank him for all the good things in this same world? It's either both or nothing.

And yes, is it really cruel to let someone know what it's like to be appreciated by someone and know that feeling before, somehow, you lose it? Isn't a life where no one ever wanted you more cruel? Tough question, think about it at your leisure. (Yes, I'm making you think about it today, sorry.)

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