Chapter Text
The next day dawned with vibrant colors, the night sky blending into a gradient of purples and pinks, eventually brightening into pure, unsullied blue. Not a cloud hung in the sky, having all followed the storm as it departed, rain running after it like so many little pattering feet. It left the air calm and still in its wake.
Shen Qingqiu held his free hand out the bamboo house’s window, testing the wind with his fingers, and made a satisfied noise, “Travel will be easy today.”
He was seated at his work table, voluminous sleeves secured gracefully at his elbows with little white ties as he returned to writing on parchment with ink Luo Binghe had freshly ground just beforehand.
Luo Binghe stood behind him, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, completely rejuvenated by the prospect of spending time with his Shizun.
Better yet, Shen Qingqiu was finishing what little paperwork Luo Binghe hadn’t yet completed, to make sure everything would be done by the time they departed Qing Jing. This meant Luo Binghe had the privilege of brushing his preoccupied master’s hair and arranging it into its usual style.
It was an easy, familiar thing he had done often over the years.
Shizun was exacting, but also very unhurried. If left to his own devices, they might be quite late. He very much had the air of someone who had once been a young master, accustomed to using tools and provided help to make his day go easier. Of course, Luo Binghe wanted to be used. He was Shen Qingqiu’s best tool, and took his duties seriously.
Shen Qingqiu’s hair was in the low braid he sometimes wore to sleep, coiled over his shoulder like a length of silk rope. Luo Binghe drew it back, using his hands to take liberties, to comb through the dark hair as it was freed from its holding band, strands parting around his fingers like cool water.
His eyes were drawn to the flash of Shen Qingqiu’s nape as it was revealed; the pale, unmarked patch of skin, vulnerable and sweet.
Binghe’s mouth was suddenly parched.
He forced himself to use the brush instead, trying to keep his thoughts respectful. This was a battle he sometimes won and sometimes did not.
“Shizun should ride on Zheng Yang today,” Luo Binghe said, keeping his attention glued on his work rather than straying. “Shang…-shishu’s sword seems too short to carry two people easily. It may be uncomfortable, despite the good weather.”
“This master wasn’t planning on flying with your shishu anyway,” Shen Qingqiu replied. “But Binghe need not trouble himself.”
Luo Binghe opened his mouth to protest.
“This master will use Xiu Ya,” Shen Qingqiu continued, oblivious to Luo Binghe’s mouth snapping shut behind him, brow furrowing down in equal parts petulance and worry.
Regardless of whether the weather was calm or not, it was a risky endeavor for Shizun to take an extended trip on his own sword. Without a Cure could strike at any moment, despite the elixirs and powders Mu Qingfang provided him for treatment. Consequently, if he wasn’t using a carriage, his sect siblings insisted on him riding someone else’s sword - Liu Qingge foremost of them - lest he fall from the sky.
Luo Binghe made concerned doe-eyes at Shen Qingqiu’s back.
“Shizun…”
“Your Shang-shishu is easy to bully,” Shen Qingqiu said lightly, as if that were the issue.
That wasn’t the issue, Shizun!
“He’ll allow it, or else.”
Luo Binghe simultaneously found the ease with which he said this attractive and, for some reason, intensely did not want Shen Qingqiu to be bullying Shang Qinghua. It seemed too… Too…
…affectionate?
Flirty, his mind provided unprompted.
He self-corrected immediately. No, of course it wasn’t.
Luo Binghe frowned at himself, at that unbidden perception and where it had come from. While his Shizun and Shang Qinghua shared a hometown and inexplicably got along, bullying wasn’t inherently affectionate. Binghe knew this well, from his history with Ming Fan and his other shixiong. ‘Affection’ was not a word he’d use with them. Shizun certainly hadn’t been flirty, when Shang Qinghua departed from his room battered and bruised.
But despite his rationale, his heart was throwing up red flags. Damage control, it beat wildly. Run interference. That’s too close.
“Of course, when this disciple informs Shang-shishu of Shizun’s wishes, Shang-shishu will follow proper hierarchy and obey Shizun. However, Without a Cure… Shizun needn’t risk – that is to say, this disciple will gladly host him on his own sword–”
Shen Qingqiu clucked his tongue and turned his head to glance at him.
“And where is the proper hierarchy here, ah? Do you doubt this master’s skill?”
“Never,” Luo Binghe said resolutely, but despite this he maintained eye contact, neither backing down nor pushing.
Shen Qingqiu reached out to pat his fluffy curls. “Binghe is considerate,” he said fondly. “This master will be fine. Liu-shidi cleansed my meridians last week.”
The praise was a little nugget of gold which Luo Binghe tucked away in the rest of his dragon’s hoard of memories, to keep him warm on cold nights. His cheeks faintly pinked, but he squared his shoulders and gave his master doleful eyes.
Shen Qingqiu smiled at him, without his fan to conceal the expression.
A one-hit knockout!
Luo Binghe knew his cheeks were now blazing red. He could feel the heat of them, his vision dazed, needing to glance down with a strangled noise as if he were staring at the sun. He wanted to cradle that jawline and press his mouth to that smile, feeling it curve against his own.
“Still so sweet,” Shen Qingqiu sighed, tone oddly nostalgic. “It’s not an embarrassing thing to be worried for someone, Binghe. But there will come a day when you won’t need to spare worry for this old man any longer.”
Of course, Shizun thought he was blushing because he was embarrassed, and not for the licentious impulses crowding his brain. Luo Binghe thought, if he heard Shizun make another self-deprecating comment (‘old man’? Shizun had the peerless, ambiguous youth all cultivators strived to maintain!), he would really lose it and just kiss him anyway, throwing away his multi-factorial seven year plan in the process.
On the other hand, old man. That implied a certain level of experience, which brought to mind other ways Shizun could teach him. A deluge of images followed, all sorts of ways in all sorts of positions-
Luo Binghe’s back snapped ramrod straight as he felt the blood in his cheeks start racing elsewhere, that elsewhere twitching in interest, never slow to wake up.
Thankfully, Shizun had already turned around, returning to his paperwork.
Binghe grappled with his overactive imagination, which had only become more vivid and invasive as the years went by. Unerringly fixated on the single person in front of him, it was both a sign of his devotion and another thing which made him an outlier, with how strong and centered it was. Since they were not the ascetic peak, the hallmasters had long since informed them of things which young men would have to contend with: the after-effects of puberty, spring dreams, natural processes of maturing. But rather than just dreams, which he could almost fully control, if Binghe wasn’t careful, his libido could dominate his every waking thought.
It was difficult sometimes to stem the heat in his veins. It could be frustrating to deal with.
Binghe busied himself again with brushing Shen Qingqiu’s hair, trying to summon images of the ugliest monsters he had ever fought.
Shen Qingqiu made an involuntary sound when the teeth of the comb brushed his neck, ticklish. Luo Binghe murmured an apology, but so many various thoughts were pacing inside their cage that a familiar one slipped out from between its bars: cute.
It was one of the more innocuous thoughts, so he let it be. Doing these little things, enjoying these domestic moments… Luo Binghe was blessed. His heart, already soft and malleable as kneaded dough, melted further in his chest.
He was a greedy person, but truly, as long as things stayed like this, he could be content for the rest of his days.
Knowing that Shen Qingqiu would not notice anything, since hair had no sensation, and needing to do something with the sentiment overflowing inside him, Luo Binghe took a long, dark lock and lifted the ends briefly to his mouth, brushing them with the barest kiss.
He startled when the door to the bamboo house flung open.
Ming Fan marched in.
“Shizun, this disciple heard that you were leavi- YOU BEAST, WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO SHIZUN’S HAIR?”
Ming Fan looked aghast, pointing a shaking finger at Luo Binghe.
Luo Binghe leveled an unimpressed stare at him, displeased with his intrusion of their space, dark gaze like flint, not moving from his position except to lower his hand a bit.
“Combing.”
“You! You! That’s not-!”
Luo Binghe’s voice was flat as a pancake, “This disciple is stupid, and doesn’t understand what has made Dashixiong so displeased. Begging for clarification.”
“You know exactly what-- I see it in your face!”
“Ming Fan, stop antagonizing your shidi,” Shen Qingqiu interrupted with faint exasperation, not looking up from his paperwork. “Haven’t you outgrown this by now?”
Luo Binghe smiled smugly and preened while Ming Fan wilted.
Ning Yingying popped out from behind Ming Fan, elbowing him in the ribs and causing him to yelp. Luo Binghe looked, if possible, even more smug. His shijie approached, hands clasped behind her back, the two braided loops on either side of her head bouncing with motion.
“Shizun, Shang-shishu is at the rainbow bridge,” Ning Yingying said, but was somewhat distracted by the sight in front of her, hardly ever seeing Shen Qingqiu in his early morning state, with less than his six perfect layers, hair down. She reached out like a kitten tempted by loose yarn, as though to tug their master’s unbound length of hair.
Luo Binghe insinuated the brush in the way to stop her, firmly blocking her hand.
She stuck her tongue out at him, and then continued respectfully, “Yingying wishes both a safe trip.”
“Shang-shidi can wait until I am finished,” Shen Qingqiu replied, although he did look up to grace Ning Yingying with a fond smile. “Thank you, Yingying.”
Normally, Luo Binghe experienced a prickle of dislike when his Shizun’s fond smiles were directed toward anyone else, even his shijie. But with the glut of physical contact and personal time he was being allowed today, the ever-present longing inside him, that voracious appetite, quieted as though satiated.
He felt warmly indulgent.
Two of his favorite people present, and Ming Fan with black lines down his face growing mushrooms in the corner, what could be a better start to the morning? It would surely be an auspicious day.
“Would Shizun like to wear the phoenix guan?” Luo Binghe asked, securing half of Shen Qingqiu’s hair with deft hands. He was already grabbing a zan to pin the guan in place, knowing Shen Qingqiu would say ‘yes’ before he said it.
Sure enough, the praise came: “Binghe knows this master well.”
Luo Binghe almost vibrated, holding back his pleased shimmy.
Ming Fan made a noise of despair. Luo Binghe glared at him until he scuttled out.
The trio set out an hour later on their swords, to make haste.
Whenever they traveled at this height and this speed, Luo Binghe always positioned himself as close to Xiu Ya as he dared. He sailed through the sky below his master, out of sight, needing to carefully appear like he wasn’t paying attention to him, so Shizun wouldn’t scold him for expending so much energy to keep pace.
In the past, Shen Qingqiu spared no mercy in whacking Binghe on the head with his fan when Binghe, having newly pulled Zheng Yang from the rock wall on Wan Jian, tried to keep side-by-side with his master during his first extended trip. He’d managed to keep pace for a bit, only to end up landing half-way, red-faced and panting, energy depleted. He delayed their travel for an entire day at that time, as they needed to rent horses in the nearby town instead.
“Who is the master and who is not? Binghe doesn’t yet have the qi expenditure required to chase his Shizun in the air.” Shen Qingqiu had whacked him again, huffing when Luo Binghe cradled the spot tenderly with both of his hands.
“This disciple was wrong, Shizun,” Luo Binghe whined.
Shen Qingqiu had given him a pointed look. Then he rolled his eyes and smiled, half-wry, the slant to his mouth hiding something within it only he was privy to.
His words came with the steady belief they always did.
“One day, sooner than you think, Binghe will be able to chase this master with no issues. For now, there is no need to rush, ah?”
Luo Binghe had listened faithfully, touched that Shen Qingqiu kept such confidence in him - saying so simply that Binghe would one day have the qi stores to rival a peak lord! Shizun!! - and then promptly made sure he was now just sneaky about doing the same thing he was scolded about.
He couldn’t get in trouble if he wasn’t caught.
Luo Binghe was usually not so shameless as to think like this, beset by guilt if he ignored even one of Shizun’s orders, but all qualms flew out the window when Shizun’s safety was involved. And thanks to the way his prodigious cultivation had grown in these past few years, by leaps and bounds, he was advanced enough today that long trips only made him a little tired.
One thing Luo Binghe was most grateful about was that his master did not hold his poisoning against him.
Any other cultivator in Shen Qingqiu’s shoes absolutely would have, horrified at the thought of having their cultivation crippled through no fault of their own, the cultivation which took painstaking time and effort to advance, layer by layer, fraught with tribulations and trials beyond reckoning. It was not just a lifetime’s worth of effort, but an immortal lifetime’s worth of effort. Who, after having bled through severe troubles to become one of the most powerful peak lords of the world’s foremost cultivation sect, would not have blamed the reason for their cultivation becoming compromised?
But rather than blame Binghe, Shizun seemed to take an open delight in using his reduced abilities. He never let the presence of Without A Cure strip his enjoyment from him. At times, he used qi like a mortal who hadn’t before been exposed to it, as though he were not a venerable peak lord: with playful gusto, and honest wonderment.
It was incredibly endearing.
Like what he was doing now, making little swerves and shapes in the air, slowing down to a proper, deliberate speed when he thought Shang Qinghua was looking at him, then starting up again when Shang Qinghua looked away, just for the joy of feeling the wind in his hair.
Nevertheless, Shen Qingqiu’s at times lighthearted attitude toward being poisoned, his lack of caution when traveling and utter dismissal of any potential cures, caused Luo Binghe no end of grief or anxiety.
“What if Shizun meditated in the Lake of Ten Thousand Cures?” Luo Binghe once asked over a book.
“No. ‘Without a Cure’ is not one of those ten thousand,” Shen Qingqiu replied.
“Shizun, how about the Purple Fig of Bountiful Blessings?” Luo Binghe asked another time, when they were walking in the bamboo grove.
“Won’t work,” Shen Qingqiu went pink, fluttering his fan a little faster, and added, “That’s not the kind of blessing the name means. It increases healing factors, but mainly improves the size and production of– anyway! Forget about that! Especially you, forget about that!”
Luo Binghe frowned, but obediently switched the subject.
Then, later on, “There’s an ancient tome that says the blood of eight virgins, freshly spilt, over a certain ritual circle can reverse disease inflicted upon a person… Shizun, maybe it doesn’t need to be a lot of blood?”
“It needs to be a thimble-full, but that stupid ritual cures venereal diseases only. Also, the ritual is an org- requires all participants to, ahem, participate.”
This time, it was Luo Binghe whose cheeks flushed pink. He sounded somewhat strangled, “Ah. Thanking Shizun for his expertise.”
And on and on it went, every suggestion over the years ruthlessly shot down.
As they flew, Shen Qingqiu above and Luo Binghe under him, Luo Binghe’s five senses were all trained on him, in case Without-A-Cure flared up and sent his master plummeting to the ground. It hadn’t happened yet, Shizun’s martial siblings honestly didn't let him fly solo often, but there was always that chance. And so Luo Binghe was always watching.
If he could catch him, he would. If not, Luo Binghe would at least break the fall with his own body.
That was why, when Shen Qingqiu stuttered mid-air, jerking briefly on the wrong curve of whatever air-shape he was making, Luo Binghe immediately noticed.
In the blink of an eye, Binghe banked on a current, shifting all his forward momentum into climbing upward so steeply he was nearly perpendicular with the sky, a yawning blue maw which filled his entire vision.
His entire vision, except for the figure of Shen Qingqiu in the center, like a speck in that backdrop, rapidly growing larger as he gained altitude, the clearest thing Luo Binghe had ever seen in his life.
Adrenaline thundered through him.
Only his qi kept him balanced on Zheng Yang as gravity and wind-shear attempted to knock him off his sword’s thin ledge. In his periphery, he saw Shang Qinghua - useless, oblivious to Shizun’s state - jolt as Luo Binghe suddenly rocketed up to their level from below, using so much qi it was visible to the naked eye as a bright comet-tail in his wake.
Luo Binghe braked harshly next to Shen Qingqiu, already reaching out.
This time, Shen Qingqiu did not scold him - because as he went to open his mouth, he pitched forward, Xiu Ya having abruptly dropped from beneath his feet.
There was a frozen moment as his eyes connected with Luo Binghe’s, wide with the beginnings of startlement, which died half-spawned in its birthing bed to make way for a resigned sort of fear, that sort which edged into acceptance.
It was the worst expression Luo Binghe could ever imagine, the worst he had ever witnessed on that face. Terror rose in Binghe’s throat like gorge.
That face then smushed lightly against Luo Binghe’s robes, because Luo Binghe had grasped him and pulled him toward himself and onto Zheng Yang with such hasty speed, gravity hadn’t yet begun forcing his descent. Shen Qingqiu’s hair fluttered like loose black ribbons around them, caught in the eddies of movement.
Xiu Ya twinkled in the sunlight as it rotated repeatedly in its plummet, eventually out of sight.
“Shizun!” Luo Binghe shouted, gathering Shen Qingqiu in his arms, caging them around him, hauling the man to his chest. His pulse rushed in his ears, louder than the drumbeat before a funeral.
Luo Binghe felt Shen Qingqiu tremble hard, just once, pressed so closely against his torso it was as if the tremble transmitted directly to Luo Binghe’s heart. Then Shen Qingqiu forcibly relaxed, with that preternatural ability of his to assess situations and compartmentalize. His hands, clinging to the lapels of Luo Binghe’s robes, dragging tension grooves into the cloth and drawing them taut across the broader surface of Luo Binghe’s chest, abruptly let go.
Luo Binghe did not let him go.
Like this, Binghe realized for the first time that while they were the same height, Shizun - who always had a presence to Binghe which was larger than life - was actually more slim than him, easily encased. And in contrast, where before Binghe had been focused on a razor’s edge of mental clarity, only now that his Shizun was safely in his arms did he have room for frantic worry, edging on panic, to move in. It set up tents and made an expansive camp, crowding the air from his lungs. He loosed a hoarse gasp into Shen Qingqiu’s fragrant hair, clutching him tightly.
How easily could that slim figure have gone tumbling head-first like Xiu Ya, flipping over itself again and again in its descent below?
Luo Binghe was shaking. He knew because he felt Zheng Yang rattling beneath him.
“Binghe-”
Keeping his hands a steadying grasp on Shen Qingqiu’s waist, Luo Binghe reared back just far enough to look at his face.
Binghe’s eyes were wild at the edges, the deep black of them surrounded by wide whites, like a wolf penned in on all sides by a group of saber-wielding men. He could see himself, with that hunted, stricken look, reflected in Shen Qingqiu’s green gaze.
Shen Qingqiu’s brow furrowed.
“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu repeated, freeing one arm from Luo Binghe’s clutch to stroke his back. He was concerned enough to drop honorifics, “Take a deep breath. You’re alright. I’m alright. In, one, two, three…” he waited until Luo Binghe began mimicking him, “... and out. The blockage has already cleared, see? I would have been fine.”
To emphasize his words, he held his hand out, and a sluggish starburst of pale qi manifested in his palm.
Luo Binghe latched onto the even cadence of Shen Qingqiu’s voice and his breathing.
“Why would Shizun fly so recklessly?” he rasped out.
“It’s alright, Binghe, truly.”
“Shizun could have-- he could have-”
Luo Binghe couldn't even finish the sentence, for the overwhelming depth and breadth of how it would have ruined his life.
“Do you think something as small as this drop would have killed me?” Shen Qingqiu asked lightly, but his brow creased again when that didn’t seem to soothe Luo Binghe any. Perhaps because they were so high in the air the treetops looked like broccoli on a dinner plate below.
Luo Binghe let his tense, rocky silence speak for him.
Shen Qingqiu cleared his throat.
“Well, it didn’t. All is well,” he pinched Binghe’s cheek, “It won’t be this master’s time for some years yet.”
“Please don’t do that again,” Luo Binghe begged, around Shen Qingqiu stretching his cheek like taffy. “Don’t do it. Leave the flying to me, I’ll carry Shizun.”
“This master is not an invalid, for Binghe to need to tote him around. Your Liu-shishu insists often enough.”
“Shizun-!”
Shen Qingqiu donned his unruffled, unflappable exterior like a downy cloak, and that stubborn subtle glint in his eyes was a well-known one. He often wore it around others when he disagreed, but didn’t want to cause a scene about it. He let go of Luo Binghe’s cheek, then patted it. While he didn’t try to escape Binghe’s grasp fully, he did move away a little, as far as Zheng Yang’s length would allow.
The beginnings of a growl tried to rumble from the base of Luo Binghe’s throat, stifled almost instantly by human vocal cords. It made for quite the pathetic sound. Luo Binghe barely noticed, wrestling with his fear-heightened indignation. He yanked Shen Qingqiu back to him.
Surprise flashed over Shen Qingqiu’s face. He leaned closer again, studying Luo Binghe’s features.
“Is Binghe actually mad?” he wondered aloud with what seemed like genuine shock.
Mad? Mad!? While Binghe respected his master’s autonomy, right now he felt like he could spit nails!
But the adrenaline was starting to fade, leaving something vaguely sick and queasy in its place.
Oi, brat.
He slammed the lid shut on Meng Mo’s unwanted voice so harshly he almost gave himself whiplash. It did give him a pounding, pulsating headache behind his temples.
Shang Qinghua coasted over. “I think Xiu Ya fell, like, five thousand meters, bro.”
“... This master supposes we are close enough to walk the rest of the way,” Shen Qingqiu acquiesced.
They gently descended to the ground, landing in an overgrown forest. The canopy which stretched overhead blocked out most of the natural light, leaving the world beneath somewhat shadowed and gray, serene. The soft susurrus of wind rustled through the leaves, and chirping crickets filled the empty space after it. Shen Qingqiu seemed to lose the last of his tension, his shoulders relaxing as they began down the mossy dirt path. Ahead, in the far distance where the woods turned to stony plains, were the low rough-hewn walls of a small town, constructed of rock and plastered mud. The smoke of kitchen fires could be scented on the breeze.
He formed a sword seal. Xiu Ya, not worse for wear, came whistling through the trees and slid itself back into its sheath with a metallic whisper.
Luo Binghe, still pale and peakish, hovered at his master’s shoulder, unable to pull himself away and unwilling to attempt it. His fingers caught the edge of Shen Qingqiu’s sleeve, beseeching.
Shen Qingqiu glanced back at him. Whatever he saw on Binghe’s face made his own features soften. He turned forward again, gently detaching Luo Binghe’s grip, and folded his hands inside his long sleeves, hiding them from sight.
“Shizun…”
Shen Qingqiu’s green eyes peered up, toward the canopy. He pursed his lips ruefully, debated his words, then spoke.
“The mortal realm has hundreds of flavors,” he said. “Chang’e takes the heavens’ magical elixir, yet feels jealous of what’s left below. Perhaps acting more distant from worldly matters is more proper for a righteous cultivator, but knowing what I have lost and might still lose, I cannot help but partake in the little joys and tastes that this life has to offer. Despite, or perhaps in spite of, the dangers or tribulations to be found.”
A hint of wistful humor entered his tone.
“This is what you have termed ‘reckless’. It is why I like flying. Binghe, this master hopes you will not begrudge him for that.”
Luo Binghe studied his master’s graceful, elegant profile intently, cataloging the wistfulness of his voice, every microexpression that crossed that beloved face.
Then his eyes fell to the arm that had been struck by Without a Cure, tucked in the loop of Shizun’s sleeves.
What I have lost and might still lose.
He bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood. As Binghe suspected, it was still his fault in the end.
His own arm, half reaching out still to Shen Qingqiu, to comfort or to simply reassure himself of his presence, fell limp at his side. He gloomily stewed while Shang Qinghua made a noise of disbelief beside them.
“‘The Human Realm Is Not Worth It’, bro?” Shang Qinghua asked, for some reason making it a question and adding air quotations.
Shen Qingqiu’s placid demeanor slipped away as he gave him a waspish, sidelong glare. “You’re the one who added it here. It’s your fault it exists.”
His master was a learned scholar and well-versed in poetry, so naturally what he told Binghe referenced a few stanzas of a famous song. It was unclear what that had to do with Shang Qinghua. Binghe was unsure of the exact age of his master’s generation, so he supposed it wasn’t out of the question for Shang Qinghua to have influenced the poet who wrote it…
But it seemed highly incongruous with his sleazy-looking, rat-like shishu.
“Yeah,” Shang Qinghua admitted unrepentantly, “But I don’t quote memes and pretend like that’s deep– ow!”
“It is deep,” Shen Qingqiu hissed like a particularly irate goose, whapping Shang Qinghua again with his fan. “What, because the ‘net made it famous, the message can’t be good?”
“It’s kind of poser-y–”
Their bickering faded in Luo Binghe’s ears as they further traversed the dirt road. Feeling unwell and unsettled simultaneously, it seemed like the very air was weighing on him, as if he were wading through something thick and syrupy, prickling like static shock, raising the hair on his nape. It was their proximity to the rift that separated the realms, he thought. Since he’d started cultivating the demonic path, he’d been hypersensitive to demonic energy, able to sense it from far away.
Like truly did call to like.
This was perhaps one advantage demonic cultivators had over spiritual cultivators. Spiritual qi tended to repel or repress demonic qi, meaning the average righteous cultivator needed to be well-trained or use talismans to detect demonic qi. However, demonic qi tended to attract demonic qi, blaring out its presence to those of its kind like a foghorn. His keen sensitivity usually helped on missions, especially tracking missions, but was not doing him any favors right now.
He circulated spiritual qi around his upper dantian, hoping to alleviate his headache and smooth out the odd ebbs and flows in his meridians that had come from his panic earlier. It was not anything close to a qi deviation, but unchecked and allowed to fester could eventually lead to one, the way most heart demons could.
His meridians straightened without issue, but the headache continued pounding away, not alleviating in the slightest.
Luo Binghe exhaled slowly through his mouth, hovering at Shen Qingqiu’s back, resolving to meditate properly once they were situated where they would be staying at the village head’s house. For now, he couldn’t think too closely on what had just happened; just the memory made his heart pound again.
They passed through the village entrance without incident. There was one simple main road that ran through the town, with thatched huts on either side that gradually changed into more permanent, established buildings the closer they grew to the center square. The village head’s house sat on a rolling hill overlooking the square, and was only distinguishable as the village head’s house by its lofty height above the others, certainly not through looks. The paint varnish on its gate was chipped, the yard overgrown in places, as though too large for the household that took care of it.
Luo Binghe cataloged the poverty of the place with a single sweep of his eyes and a neutral expression.
It wasn’t unlike the town he had grown up in along the banks of the Luo river, only without even the natural bounties that place had. The grass here was straggly and sparse, the forest behind them the last to be seen for another thousand li or so. The borderlands made a distinct biome, with nutrient-less earth leeched of its vitality by the proximity to the demon realm, poor for farming or animal-rearing.
Border villages bartered primarily in mined goods or in people instead.
There didn’t seem to be any traffickers here now, in the small square where merchants hawked their wares. Perhaps it was the off-season. Whatever the reason, Luo Binghe was glad for it.
“Haha! Tug his tail again!” A child’s voice rang out. The giggling of another followed.
“Oh,” Shen Qingqiu tapped his fan’s guard against his chin, peering ahead. “How curious.”
Luo Binghe followed his gaze, and then lurched forward before he realized he was moving. Today was not his day for surprises. His hand clamped around his Shizun’s forearm as he situated himself half in front of him, his other hand landing on the pommel of his sword, defensive. The alarm which hadn’t quite died down from before roared back to full strength.
There, behind a merchant’s table, calm as you please, was a fully grown demon.
This was an odd enough sight on its own, border-towns being notoriously anti-demon, but what was more odd was that Luo Binghe hadn’t sensed its presence at all.
It was short and stout, built like a brick house, and ugly as sin too, with flat features and no nose, just two holes for nostrils, craggy gray skin like pockmarked stone. Its head was bald. In place of hair was a smooth surface of dark granite. Sweeping behind it, slow and ponderous, was a spiky tail the same color and texture as the rest of its skin. Two human children in ratty clothing were taking turns tugging its tail, which would sweep to one side as though to knock them off their feet. Then, dodging and laughing, they would run to the other side, trying again.
The scene was shockingly harmless, but the demon was a black void to Luo Binghe’s perception, as if he did not exist at all.
No, as if he didn’t have any demonic energy at all.
Judging by the noise of interest Shizun made next to him, he had clocked the same thing. Shen Qingqiu started forward, but was halted in place by Luo Binghe’s iron grip.
“Binghe,” That tone was definitely miffed, “Let go.”
He tried to release Shizun’s arm, grip spasming, but could barely get his body to respond over the blaring klaxon of protect in his head, rattling around like cymbals. It bullied its way to the forefront, buoyed by his stress.
It didn’t seem acceptable to let Shen Qingqiu approach first. Binghe needed to assess the situation. This was a threat of unknown ability, which couldn’t be allowed near his vulnerable ma– master. An obvious truth. But also wrong. Shen Qingqiu was a powerful peak lord, and wanted to talk to this demon. Luo Binghe was an obedient disciple.
Luo Binghe was an obedient disciple.
Luo Binghe had to make sure it was safe–
Shen Qingqiu gave a questioning tug of his arm again. Luo Binghe squeezed his eyes shut, wincing at the conflicting impulses.
“I’m trying,” his voice was small. “Shizun, my head hurts.”
A cool palm landed on his sweaty forehead. Binghe swayed forward.
“You’re burning up,” Shen Qingqiu’s hand brushed his bangs out of the way.
Luo Binghe squinted blearily, the corners of his eyes tight from pain.
“How did you catch something so quickly? Did you use too much qi before?”
Luo Binghe started shaking his head, for his qi stores were overall untouched, but halfway through turned it into a nod. His thoughts felt disordered and jumbled, but he still knew enough to not outright state what he suspected. Meng Mo’s warning about the pressure he was applying to his cradle seal, apparently without knowing, hovered in the back of his mind. Could it throw him into a qi deviation?
He really should leave and meditate. But the idea of leaving Shen Qingqiu behind, in an unknown situation with a potential threat, no matter how innocuous on its surface, no matter how briefly, seemed unfathomable.
“Aiyah, what am I to do with you?” Shen Qingqiu murmured.
A flicker of spiritual energy streamed in from the hand stroking his temple, like cool river water on a blaze. Luo Binghe shuddered, making a sound of discomfort. His master’s qi was usually refreshing, but currently it was so cold it almost hurt. Nonetheless, some sense returned to him. He leaned back, only now able to release his fingers from their hold.
“Sorry, Shizun,” he forced the words around a thick and clumsy tongue.
Shen Qingqiu gave him a thorough once-over, fussing and probing his meridians through a light touch to his wrist, but was unable to find anything amiss. There was no impending qi deviation, meridians smooth and unkinked. Luo Binghe was prone to sometimes over-dramatizing his ills so he could be doted upon, and he knew by Shen Qingqiu’s frown that his Shizun was questioning if that was happening now.
It was only the small ills he over-dramatized for affection. True ills – big ones – ones he couldn’t control or, rather, control the perception of, seemed too daunting to allow in open view. Luo Binghe took in a deep breath, stubbornly swallowing down his unsettlement.
“This disciple is fine, Shizun,” he insisted.
Shen Qingqiu shook his head, clearly deliberating on what to do. But his curiosity won out in the end, and with the knowledge that nothing serious was wrong with Binghe’s cultivation, he started his way toward the demon’s stand.
“What’d I miss?” Shang Qinghua’s unwelcome voice grew closer, munching on some newly-purchased melon seeds. “Your disciple doesn’t look too good, bro. Kinda gray. Like – Holy shit, is that a rock demon? What’s he doing in a human town?”
“I was going to ask, but I think Binghe expended too much qi when I fell. Endure a little longer, Binghe. You can rest soon.”
Luo Binghe winced again, dogging Shen Qingqiu’s steps like a faithful hound.
Everything in Luo Binghe wanted to shoulder his way to the front, blocking view of his Shizun, especially when the demon finally noticed their approach, its wide golden eyes going wider. He reined in the impulse as though it were a rowdy horse, bucking its bridle before being wrested under control, just barely.
Looming behind Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder instead, his white-knuckled grip bit into the metal of Zheng Yang’s hilt.
Fear-scent trickled into the air. Luo Binghe’s nostrils flared.
“Immortal masters,” the demon said, shrinking into himself. He had a surprisingly mellow, boyish voice, at odds with his stout and powerfully muscled figure. The two children beside him squeaked and darted away, one of them shouting an, ‘you’re in trooouble!’.
The rock demon looked about ready to bolt after them.
“T-this one will depart at once-”
“Peace,” Shen Qingqiu raised a slender hand, “The townspeople do not seem alarmed by you, so this master will not take offense where none is given. Are these your wares?”
The demon eyed him, then gave a hesitant nod. On the table before him were various figurines and objects carved from stone.
“Well-crafted,” Shen Qingqiu complimented. “It must have taken some time to learn.”
“Two Coins has been practicing for four years.”
“Two Coins? Is that your name?”
The demon nodded again, this time shyly, “When Two Coins was born, his parents said his eyes looked like two big coins.”
Shen Qingqiu’s placid expression twitched slightly, “Mn. Demon naming conventions.”
For some reason, he used that moment to swat Shang Qinghua’s arm with his folding fan, interrupting the other man’s slightly vacant face as he munched melon seeds like a grazing farm animal.
“Ow! Bro, what the hell, is this your new favorite pastime or something?”
“And Immortal Master is…?” Two Coins asked.
“This master is Peak Lord Shen Qingqiu, of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect. This is my shidi, Peak Lord Shang Qinghua,” Shen Qingqiu donned a regal posture again, gesturing toward Shang Qinghua, who stopped cradling his arm just long enough to offer a limp wave, “And my disciple, Luo Binghe.”
Luo Binghe said nothing, keeping his black, burning gaze fixed unerringly on the demon.
The demon stiffened slightly, shooting Luo Binghe a quick, darting look. “Immortal Master Shen must be the one whom Lady Ruan called upon.”
“You know about this, too?” Shen Qingqiu sounded mildly intrigued.
Two Coins peeled his attention away from Luo Binghe, bashfully looked down, and shrugged. The motion made a rasping noise, like two boulders rubbing against the other. “It’s a small town. Everyone hears everything, and this one is only here through Lady Ruan’s, uh, kind graces.”
How utterly bizarre, growing more bizarre by the second. From all Luo Binghe had read, and he’d devoured the entire Qing Jing library, demons had two modes when confronted by something new: fight and fight, or fight and flee, with the former more common than the latter.
Shizun said that if there could be bad humans, there could be good demons, but - this one seemed entirely too meek when approached by three cultivators. It was unnatural. It set his teeth on edge. Or maybe that was just his headache, which wouldn’t let him think straight.
“Why can’t I sense you?” Luo Binghe asked bluntly, “This close, spiritual cultivators should still feel your presence.”
Wide golden eyes swung to him. Two Coins hesitated for another moment, before offering a timid smile, “Two Coins was born with only enough qi to be alive. Near the border, the ambient qi cloaks him.”
“That is a very rare disorder for demons,” Shen Qingqiu leaned forward, expression bright with interest. “This master was under the impression it was deadly.”
Two Coins blinked. Then, despite the fact that his skin was literally made from rock, he blushed.
Luo Binghe bristled.
“Two Coins is alive, so he doesn’t think it is deadly. But, other demons usually dispose of others like him when young. This one's mother tried, but his father stopped him. Two Coins is shamefully weak. If Two Coins was around his clan often, they would probably try to kill him again.”
The implication seemed to be, ‘When you’re weak in the demon realm it’s natural to get hunted down and killed. Baby? Not a baby? Doesn’t matter!’. This was well known, but also awkward to hear stated so matter-of-factly.
“Humans are weak too,” Two Coins continued, “Almost all humans are born like Two Coins, except without the ability to crush rocks or sprout rocks or eat rocks! It is much safer in the human realm.”
He glanced between them, then amended, “Um, mortal humans are weak. This one isn’t challenging Immortal Masters.”
His gaze darted to Luo Binghe again, and he shuffled back a bit, tilting his head so the vulnerable, softer patch of not-quite-stone of his throat was revealed.
Something in Luo Binghe unclenched at the sight. The outright hostility in his body language which he had been trying to tamp down but knew was present took a step back, those raised hackles smoothing down.
His ears pricked at the sound of Shen Qingqiu chuckling beside him.
Shizun’s eyes were curved into delighted crescents, wrist loose as he fanned himself lightly. “This master is glad to see a demon who appreciates the softness of our realm. Not all things between our races need to be a fight to the death, ah?”
“No,” Two Coins said quietly. “No, not all things.”
Shang Qinghua nudged Shen Qingqiu from his other side. “Not to stop the touching conversation, but we’re expected at Lady Ruan’s place sometime this week.”
Shen Qingqiu started guiltily, clearly having lost track of time as he usually did.
“Binghe does need to rest,” he said apologetically. “This master hopes we can talk more tomorrow, Two Coins. Perhaps you might describe where you grew up…?”
“Two Coins would not mind talking with Immortal Master Shen, but only if… only if…” the rock demon clenched and unclenched his fists, then blurted out, “Only if Immortal Master Shen will give this to Lady Xinyue!”
He thrusted out a stone flower, hand trembling. He wasn’t entirely oblivious to the fact that he was a demon asking this of a righteous cultivator, at least.
“This lowly one isn’t allowed onto Lady Ruan’s grounds any longer, but her daughter, Ruan Xinyue - Two Coins just wants her to know he is thinking of her, that is all,” he finished a little lamely.
Shen Qingqiu lofted a sword-straight brow, clearly a little taken aback at being asked to be an errand boy, but if Luo Binghe knew his master at all, he knew he would find it charming all the same. Shizun seemed to love the idea of romance, often teasing his disciples about who had a crush on who, yet painfully oblivious to who liked him.
It wouldn’t matter to him one iota if it was a cross-species romance, terribly taboo and not to be spoken of in polite company. Shizun was not prejudiced like that. And as long as this Lady Ruan did not try interfering with his master for facilitating it, Luo Binghe could care less.
He was very deliberately not-caring, entirely neutral. He had no idea who his birth parents were, so he couldn’t even begin to draw parallels. More like than not, with the ways of the world, it was not an innocent courtship. Besides, it had no bearing on him in the current day.
And yet…
Luo Binghe glanced at his Shizun from the corner of his eyes, to see if he would accept the task.
“This master supposes it is a fair enough trade. I will pass this along, and you’ll tell me about your people in the demon realm.”
Shen Qingqiu reached out to take the stone flower, tucking it into his qiankun pouch.