Chapter Text
“We humbly welcome the Immortal Masters,” Lady Ruan said as Shen Qingqiu and co entered the main hall of her home. Her servants and household, standing in a polite line before the dinner table, echoed her. They bowed in unison.
She was a mature woman, in that somewhat indefinable age range which could be anywhere between 40 and 60, clad in layers of robes and precious jewels which seemed as though they might have cost the entire village’s coffers. A net of amethysts rested over her elaborate up-do, and a rope of pearls was quite literally embroidered into the collar of her sumptuous, silken lavender robes. More gems sparkled from thin threads woven into the tails of her sleeves.
It was a bit much.
Shen Qingqiu nodded in return, grateful for his body’s natural poker face. As much as he’d been a privileged fuerdai in his past life, he’d never been one for ostentatious, pointless displays of wealth. It came off as tactless, and tacky.
Especially when, well…
Maybe save some of that money for your house, ah? There are shingles falling off the roof.
There was one person in the line who hadn’t spoken in chorus with the others, a lovely young woman standing beside Lady Ruan, with a lowered head.
His eyes naturally drifted to her.
She had an entirely too listless air, as though she were a hothouse bloom left to weather the storms outside, tearing her delicate petals into something ragged. Her hands trembled where they were cupped together.
Recognition instantly hit him. In his mind, a horn was blaring.
Wife plot! This was an early wife plot!
That was wife #18!!
“A-Yue,” Lady Ruan’s mouth threatened to twist into a frown, but she seemed to not want to flash such an ugly expression in their presence at first meeting. She sent them a quick, simpering smile instead. Her voice softened, until it was too low for mortal ears. Unfortunately, mortals often underestimated how keen cultivator senses were.
She hissed into the girl’s ear, “Don’t embarrass us. Greet them.”
The girl’s head barely rose. “Greetings to Immortal Masters,” she said dully.
Shen Qingqiu lit a candle in his heart for Two Coins, feeling as though that stone flower grew heavy in his qiankun pouch.
This was Ruan Xinyue, who would become Luo Binghe’s 18th wife.
He’d thought the name sounded familiar, but hadn’t fully recognized her until seeing her now, thanks to her gray eyes and the distinctive white streak that ran through her straight, hime-cut black hair. Airplane had described her with some purple prose like, “orbs the color of limpid tears, a white lock borne of stress and sorrow, grief indelibly marking her appearance as it had marked her heart”, but clearly that was all bullshit, because she hadn’t yet gone through the event that was supposed to cause her grief in the first place!
Knowing this setting, she likely had some distant spirit or nymph or whatever ancestry that caused anime hair colors instead.
Ruan Xinyue occupied a lesser-seen trellis in Luo Bingge’s garden. Most of his flowers fit into one of two archetypes: the ‘kept their innocence until meeting Luo Binghe, afterward giving up their virginity to him on the spot’-type, the exception being Liu Mingyan, who had never starred in a bedroom scene – and the ‘extremely experienced, worldly woman only ever satisfied for the first time by Luo Binghe’s heavenly pillar’-type.
Ruan Xinyue was neither a virgin when she met Luo Binghe, nor had she an abundance of prior partners. Instead, she’d only had one: a demon husband who had been killed years past, who in the novel remained unnamed.
Unable to return to her human family for the politics which had forbidden their relationship, his death caused her to wander the known realm as miserably as a ghost, spite-filled and sorrow-filled in turns until she met Luo Binghe. He, intrigued by her lack of prejudice and her past as a human who sincerely loved a demon, and she, curious as to how a half-demon had reached healthy adulthood and high status, grew to know one another. Subsequently, he mended her broken heart.
Shen Qingqiu had actually liked the storyline at the time, except for the stupid streak of white hair.
A wife who seemed like an actual person, with past relationships and real grief which allowed her to connect with Luo Binghe on a deeper level, but who didn’t constantly obsess about the scum villain in her only scenes (looking at you, Qiu Haitang). More, please!
Unfortunately, as with all but the top ten or so harem members, once she actually entered the harem she became a 2D cardboard cutout, never to be heard from again outside of catty one-liners and occasional intra-harem drama. From Ruan Xinyue, this was directed mostly toward Sha Hualing, for whom she held an inexplicable hatred.
Yet another one of the many dropped plot-slash-red-herrings through the course of Proud Immortal Demon Way. Hello, goodbye.
Shen Qingqiu fluttered his fan lightly, thinking.
So this was that backstory. Her dead demon husband had been Two Coins.
That was… certainly a choice.
He couldn’t help but eye her up and down, lingering on the petite shoulders and small hips, the modest bosom, her proportionally dainty features. She was beautiful, like any of Binghe’s future wives, but…
Wasn’t she a little too tiny? Too soft? Didn’t that hurt?
Two Coins was literally made of marble and rock, and not in a shredded six-pack abs flowery language kind of way. An accidental slip from him could pulverize her bones, or puncture straight through her pelvis.
Yet from what she shared with Bingge, her and Two Coins had definitely, ah, consummated their marriage. Enthusiastically.
Miss, are you okay?
Were all hot people in stallion novels burdened with increasingly questionable desires, as some sort of universe-imposed balance to their looks? Was it enforced by a cosmic directive? No vanilla allowed: the more beautiful you were, the more weird, bizarre things you liked, until the scale was in equilibrium? System!
『 Answering Host: Wouldn’t that mean you also like weird, bizarre things? 』
Of course not. I’m from outside the setting. A.k.a, normal.
『......』
Shen Qingqiu ignored the ellipses.
His newly cemented headcanon was supported by the original text of Proud Immortal Demon Way, with Bingge’s rampant heavy tastes. The most beautiful person in the world outright developed the most kinks.
What depraved fetish fuel hadn’t Bingge participated in, post-blackening? Not a single taste was too heavy. Including: giant vore goo-girls straight from monsterfucker hentai in the Abyss extras, which Shen Qingqiu only purchased to complete his extra-content set and not to read. That link was in his browser history for the monsters, not the smut, thank you!
Whatever. He switched tracks. He didn’t want the reminder of the things Binghe would face - the things he would do, and become - in a few scant months, anyway.
Still, this meeting was a little early.
All women belonged to the protagonist, all loss to the cannon fodder, but Shen Qingqiu would feel quite remorseful if Binghe ensnared Ruan Xinyue’s affection and left Two Coins out in the cold, stealing his woman before he had even died. Two Coins seemed like a sweet, romantic person, if a little timid for the naturally ferocious demon race. He didn’t deserve such a thing happening to him.
Alas, nobody could resist Luo Binghe if they held his attention. It was the natural way of the world.
Shen Qingqiu peered at Ruan Xinyue one more time, then shot an appraising glance at Binghe, to see if she captured his interest.
His fan froze mid-flutter.
Binghe was staring at him instead, gaze skewering through him like an arrow through a hare, loaded with the tension of the bow’s string. Jaw tight and quivering, teeth grit. His eyes were dark pits, smoldering with some internal heat, as though it would take only a small spark to ignite the embers into flame.
Just absolutely glued on him, like he was both the kindle and the match.
Shen Qingqiu felt his pulse ratchet up, adopting a distinct rabbit-quick beat under that intense look.
His face remained as undisturbed as a lake on the surface, but in the waters below:
What the hell! Binghe, why so intense!?
Did he like her to that extent already, to be this upset his master had observed her? That was incredibly fast. Shen Qingqiu experienced a slight pang in his heart.
Outwardly, he lifted a single concerned, questioning brow.
Luo Binghe slid his black, poisonous stare toward Ruan Xinyue. Tension coiled in his shoulders, full of potential energy as though he were about to move forward, his hands flexing and curling into fists at his sides.
Then, he dropped his gaze abruptly to his feet. Sweat beaded along his temples, his chest rising and falling with the kind of mechanical steadiness that came from effort, and deliberate control.
He looked like he was trying not to do something. Was he going to vomit? Shen Qingqiu instantly retracted his misgivings, taking a step closer.
Luo Binghe skittered an equal step back.
“Shizun,” Luo Binghe strangled out, “this disciple is feeling unwell and really must– must meditate.”
Uncharacteristically, without waiting for Shen Qingqiu’s approval and before even greeting their hosts, he singled out a servant to lead him to whatever room they would be staying, swiftly departing the hall with his ponytail streaming behind him.
Well then. Fine. Go rest. You clearly need it, look at that sweat, your fever obviously hasn’t broken!
“I didn’t think he could get sick, to be honest,” Shang Qinghua said.
Shen Qingqiu cleared his throat, his gaze lingering on the departing Binghe. He tucked his hands into the loops of his sleeves to hide his worried fidgeting, tapping his fingers on his wrist. Eventually, he turned his attention back to Lady Ruan.
“Forgive my disciple,” he told her delicately. “He has been under significant stress today.”
She dismissively waved a hand tipped with long red nails.
Though the years had robbed her of her youth, she was as pretty as her daughter, her graying hair slicked into a series of tight, elaborate buns, with fine, feathery wrinkles at the corners of her sharp phoenix eyes.
“Of course, cultivators are unlike the common people, and there is a certain degree of eccentricity expected,” she said, which was basically like saying ‘your lot are weird, but you’re higher in stature so what can we do but tolerate any impoliteness’.
Then she smiled at him, courteous but naturally a bit cool, which seemed to be the type of woman she was.
“Come, come, sit next to A-Yue. We can discuss why I have requested Immortal Masters’ help while we eat.”
The worst part of leaving the sect on missions was probably when he had to eat food that wasn’t made by Binghe. Villages like this tended to demonstrate their thanks through meals. While the spread on this dinner table was a little sadder than most, with a stark lack of fresh vegetables, they still clearly had made an attempt for their prestigious guests. Shen Qingqiu wished he could go back in time and tell them it was unnecessary. They were already here to deal with the matter, and inedia meant there was no need for the village to waste their resources.
Also, he wanted to check on Binghe.
But Binghe was the protagonist. Since an illness truly couldn’t do him harm, this was possibly some sort of hurt/comfort side-story where the goal was for him to be tended by the young beauty instead of his old master, so in the end, Shen Qingqiu took a seat.
“The missive said you found an artifact of presumed demonic origin,” he said, picking up the tea bowl set in front of him and taking a small sip. It tasted mostly like hot water.
Lady Ruan made a noise of assent.
“Firstly, where did you find it?”
Clearly, that wasn’t the first question she had expected him to ask. More likely, since they accepted the retrieval quest, she expected them to be like, ‘okay we’re here, where’s the thing, okay bye’.
Her courteous smile faltered in place.
Shen Qingqiu watched her, removed and remote, sipping on his tea. If one waited long enough, usually others would do whatever they could to fill the silence.
Sure enough, reluctantly, she admitted, “Several li up Bailu Mountain.”
That made sense, as it had been where the righteous sects had warred against Tianlang-jun. Battles of any kind left behind items of worth, weapons or other such objects lost in the fray, which scavengers would pluck and sell on the black market.
When there were battles between righteous sects, the unused talismans and spiritually-rich herbs left behind could allow a peasant to live comfortably for months. When it was spiritual forces versus demonic forces, the land itself was scarred. The clash of powers could make an area inhospitable, attracting all manner of yaoguai and evil spirits. Even if evil spirits avoided the place, the remaining ambient presence of all the various, hostile energies that had been used, which lingered and dispersed throughout the vicinity like a drop of ink in water, could be downright dangerous to the unprepared. Doubly so for a mortal.
Such areas were typically monitored for some time, until the land returned to equilibrium, and the oppressive haze of power was more likely to cause static shock and less likely to cause heart attacks. Sometimes, if they were lucky, the land would soak in the spiritual energy and become a natural wellspring for cultivation, as it had on Cang Qiong. Sometimes, it would become barren. See: the borderlands.
And sometimes, objects bathed in that ambient power and emotion would take some of that energy into themselves. Since it wasn’t a deliberately created tool, whether it would become useful or cursed was a bit of a coin toss.
Therefore, it was highly illegal for non-cultivators to scavenge for loot in cultivator battlegrounds. Ostensibly this was for their protection, but also because cultivators were prideful and didn’t like things which they considered theirs stolen from under their noses. Huan Hua was especially like this, and considered Bailu Forest - the lush, healthy forest which surrounded Bailu Mountain and bordered Huan Hua Palace itself - to be their territory, with several nearby cities under their protection.
Shen Qingqiu was actually quite surprised they had managed to scavenge anything there at all, without accidentally tripping into Huan Hua’s maze arrays. Or that there was even anything left to scavenge, that Huan Hua hadn’t picked it clean!
But then, it had been the site of a Heavenly Demon taking on a high number of righteous cultivators, including Yue Qingyuan. The pressure of qi atop that steep mountain must have been intense, and was only alleviating now that many years had passed. Being deep in their territory, perhaps Huan Hua had figured nobody would be ballsy enough to yoink anything.
Even so, he said skeptically, “You found it?”
“Hm, well, of course I had help. The townspeople-”
“Two Coins found it,” Ruan Xinyue interjected quietly.
Her mother colored red. “A-Yue.”
Ruan Xinyue said resolutely, “Two Coins found it. He’s a demon, and he risked his life at my mother’s behest.” She lifted her head to make eye contact with Shen Qingqiu for the first time. “All so he could earn himself safety and security in town. That’s why, immortal master, when you encounter him, you mustn’t hurt him!”
“A-Yue, that’s enough!”
“This master was never planning on hurting him,” Shen Qingqiu said gently.
“He’s harmless! Helpful, even–” Ruan Xinyue continued at first, then faltered. “You… you weren’t?”
“You weren’t?” Her mother echoed after her. Her ‘but why not?’ was drowned out by Ruan Xinyue’s bewildered, “When did you even meet him?”
Shen Qingqiu said dryly, “He’s selling trinkets on the road outside.”
Silence.
“I told him to make himself scarce while cultivators visited…” Ruan Xinyue mumbled.
He doesn’t seem the brightest bulb of the bunch. He has ‘dumb but well meaning’ emblazoned on his forehead, young lady!
Shen Qingqiu sipped his hot water.
Several emotions flitted across Ruan Xinyue’s face, exasperation at Two Coins, then relief, followed by cautious hope. There was a canny glint in her eyes as she peered at him. “Mother told me all cultivators dispense justice and eliminate evil.”
“Cultivators should,” Shen Qingqiu acquiesced. “Is he evil?”
“No.”
“He’s a demon,” Lady Ruan seemed to have found her voice again. “Evil is in his blood. If he has not committed evil yet, it is only a matter of time before he does. They’re not like you or me!”
Yes, yes, you’re racist, we get it. Shen Qingqiu was suddenly glad Binghe had fallen ill, so he could avoid hearing this kind of vitriol, the kind of prejudice so ingrained it became declared as fact, coloring every word with casual contempt. He knew Binghe had heard its ilk before, with how commonplace it was in society for demons to be feared and hated.
But the more one heard the same things, the more one tended to believe them. It was simple psychology. Shen Qingqiu’s old words, no one is intolerable to the heavens, was only a single voice against a stream of many.
He didn’t want Binghe to internalize this other-ing of his demon blood, even if he knew Bingge had embraced it, wielding it as another weapon in his arsenal: that when he shed his human guise, people expected him to do monstrous and terrible things.
But Shen Qinqiu would have to use this rhetoric too, wouldn’t he? He had to have some sort of reason when he pushed his sweet lamb into the Abyss.
His disquiet made his words sharper than he intended.
“Perhaps Lady Ruan ought not assume the worst of Two Coins when she profits off him herself,” He set the tea down and snapped his fan out, unfurling it to hide his frown. “Did you think we came here without doing research? This is not the first time you’ve scavenged. You’ve sold numerous items on the black market, and tried selling this artifact too, before requesting cultivators’ aid. What, not enough buyers?”
Thank you, quest-like mission scroll which Yue Qingyuan handed out before every expedition!
“You obviously wanted to sell it, but you couldn’t. Something about the artifact made that impossible, so you asked for help from the cultivation world to dispose of it neatly. Cang Qiong answered the call. You expected the righteous cultivator sent here to easily kill Two Coins, seeing only a demon to exterminate, and tie up that loose end.” Shen Qingqiu concluded.
And, likely, to end Two Coins’ burgeoning romance with her daughter. It was a cut-throat plan that could have worked - would have worked, knowing Ruan Xinyue’s backstory in the OG webnovel - had Cang Qiong sent anyone but Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua.
Each word hit the mark with unerring precision. Lady Ruan blanched, the color running from her face like water down an open drain. Shen Qingqiu closed his fan with a decisive click, pointing the end of it at her.
“Lady Ruan, stop wasting our time and show us whichever cursed object you want to get rid of, and why you could not get rid of it yourself.”
Luo Binghe sank his nails into his palms as he staggered down the hall. He squeezed his hands shut so tightly he could feel wet blood welling between his fingers. A hot line dripped down his right wrist when he wiped his sweaty forehead. The sensation was like drops of water on a sizzling pan; it sparked and frazzled along his already oversensitive nerves.
Every breath burned. Everything hurt. He dug his nails in tighter to ground himself. Part of him knew he shouldn’t injure his sword hand, but part of him also knew his entire body was tense, like one clenched fist. If he released the tension to any degree, the flood gates would open, and something bad was going to come pouring out. He couldn’t loosen his grip.
His head pounded horribly.
He was so hot he felt like his breath was steaming, though he knew that to be false. There was no vapor in front of him, just the slight panting of someone on the verge of hyperventilation, drawing in unsteady, shaking intakes of air.
Oh. That was him. He was the one panting.
He’d almost been unable to stop himself in the main hall. That girl, Ruan Xinyue… Shizun hadn’t caught it, but when she’d been bowing with the rest of her household, her face had slightly tilted upward, staring daggers toward Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua. Animosity swirled around her.
Barely settled from their encounter with Two Coins, every protective instinct in Luo Binghe’s body had sharpened, blaring in alarm and aggression.
They demanded he get rid of the threat, as insane as that was regarding a frail mortal with no cultivation roots. He quickly considered that maybe she had a hidden dagger, or some other nefarious plan which his subconscious was picking up on. Or maybe she hadn’t had the means with which to do anything, and Binghe’s reaction was just because he hated the idea of anyone even looking at Shizun. Looking at Shizun – looking at Shizun with unsavory intent.
He’d been off-kilter all day. The impulse to hurt her seemed almost rational in light of that, especially when Shizun had started looking back at her, like Binghe wasn’t even there.
Like - like - a buyer sizing up a choice cut of meat.
Then the threat she represented had turned into a different kind of threat, no less intolerable to him.
He wasn’t sure what he had been about to do, only that Shizun would have disapproved, which stymied his movement forward. But he had realized he could feel his demonic qi lurching inside of him, in a way that was never supposed to happen without him coaxing it out. Not with his cradle seal in place.
Searing pain began stabbing his upper dantian. He choked out some excuse, fleeing before Shizun could sense what was amiss inside him.
Binghe’s vision was growing hazy, tinted red. He stumbled into a bedroom, grunting out a dismissal to the servant who had brought him there. He hoped he dismissed them, at least. He could barely grasp his own thoughts. The grains of them slipped from his tightened fists like sand.
The bed flew up to meet him, faster than he expected. He was falling.
Luo Binghe shucked off his consciousness like one would shuck off a coat, entering the inner sanctity of his dream realm before his head hit the pillow.
—
“It’s about time you showed up!” Meng Mo roared.
As Luo Binghe materialized, the pain he felt in the waking world faded away. He retained a cursory awareness of it - he’d learned early on to keep a surface line to his real self, so he could sense if something happened - but it was as though it were trapped behind glass. He could tell his physical form was in discomfort, but couldn’t really feel it anymore.
The ability to control perceptions was one of the most powerful things about dream magic.
His emotion was still roiling in his chest, though. A hot, seething anger with questionable beginnings and no outlet. He pressed one bloodied, open palm over his heart to keep it in place.
“Tell me what’s going on,” he ordered.
He was already stalking toward Meng Mo’s voice as he spoke, the world around him defining itself further as he brought his mindscape to fore. The endless white horizon darkened to an overcast sky, the landscape into craggy rocks dotted with the occasional bamboo forest. It wasn’t quite as barren as it had been when he was younger.
Meng Mo was in the center, his amorphous form like coils of smoke, struggling to contain a gleaming ember of shifting red.
Luo Binghe stopped in place, blinking in shock. It was the first time he’d ever seen what his seal contained so clearly, but he knew instinctively what it was. It was like - someone had ripped a hole into thin air, a ragged edge in the open canvas of his mind, splitting the space into two seams, pulled apart unevenly. What rolled between the two seams could only be the tempestuous flow of his demonic qi, visualized as a rushing river of red and black.
It was startling. The tear was small, maybe the span of his hand. He’d almost expected it to be larger, with how much it hurt. But demonic energy was naturally corrosive, and his body was unused to anything more than a trickle of it. It was also likely that he looked different with the form he’d been born with than he had with all of his demon-ness locked away.
The sudden return to his ‘natural’ state, inside his meridians and outwardly as well, would definitely cause pain.
He hoped right now that he looked the same as he always did. He had to. He wouldn’t be able to explain away any differences. This tear - it wasn’t a full break, so surely he looked the same, right?
“What’s going on is that you need to calm down,” Meng Mo barked. “Your fear and anger are making the turbulence worse - urgh!”
Meng Mo’s form swirled around the tear, buffeted by lashing tendrils of qi.
“Can’t tell what kind of demon you are, but you’re definitely the spawn of some bigshot noble. This power is obscene for such a small crack in your by-the-cradle seal.”
“So it really has cracked,” Luo Binghe said, unable to stop himself from stating the obvious.
The dawning realization of how badly he’d messed up was bearing down on him. His brain kept tripping over what he was seeing, like a janky spirit mirror recording skipping back to the same scene, over and over again.
His face was blank, but the sky above blackened and thundered.
“Calm down! Unless you want it to crack more!”
That was easier said than done. Luo Binghe could taste panic on the back of his tongue, but he did what he thought Shizun would have. He swallowed it, shoving it down so he could function without becoming a mess.
Brusquely stepping forward, Luo Binghe studied the visual manifestation of his cracked seal, and tried to assert his control over the tendrils of qi trying to escape.
Meng Mo moved aside. “This elder has been warning you,” he complained as Luo Binghe forced the leaking demonic qi back into place. “Demonic energy responds to emotion, your seal has been naturally decaying with age, and this topsy-turvy glut of feelings finally gave it a crack. ‘Shizun’ this, ‘Shizun’ that. You should have had a year more, at least.”
Luo Binghe shifted his gaze aside, giving Meng Mo a black stare.
The second his attention strayed, demonic qi surged forward through the crack again. He stiffened, clamping down on it.
“Brat, be grateful for my guidance. If you hadn’t cultivated the demonic path, even this much control would be beyond you.”
“It won’t stay put.” Every time he loosened his conscious control, it started rushing out again.
“There’s a hole in your seal, that’s why.” Meng Mo ghosted further away at Binghe’s answering snarl, lifting his hands placatingly. From elbows-down, his arms had no definition, turning to wisps. “You’re not used to this much demonic qi. It’s like trying to catch a geyser with a cup. And your seal is only torn, not completely gone. Theoretically you should be able to patch it with your spiritual energy. For obvious reasons, this elder can’t do that for you.”
Luo Binghe went silent.
Fixing a seal without knowing the array which had created it in the first place was the definition of a patch-job. There was an entire Peak on Cang Qiong dedicated to the mastery of seals, arrays and barriers, whose disciples - through many years of dedicated study - could identify a seal based on the residuals, and adjust an array as easily as recognizing the flow of energy within it. He avoided that Peak out of caution, on account of not knowing whether or not they’d be able to look at him and just… see what he was. In Qing Jing, he only had a cursory education on this.
But he didn’t have a choice, did he?
Luo Binghe was a decisive person. He set aside his worries, and closed his eyes, concentrating.
By the time he opened his eyes again, uncertain as to how much time passed, he was sweating faintly, exhausted despite being asleep. Half a thought dispersed the sweat into nothingness, and he checked on his spiritual qi stores. They were mostly depleted.
What a waste, he thought. There was no way he should have used that much qi, but much of it had been lost to inefficiency during his task.
He chanced a glance in front of him. That rip in the seam of his reality was frosted over, as if someone had stitched a layer of voile over it, the same way as one could patchwork a different kind of cloth into a trouser tear.
“You really are a genius,” Meng Mo observed, satisfied at his good fortune securing such a powerful host. “I had my doubts you’d get even that much.”
It was thin, and transparent, but it worked. Luo Binghe allowed himself a sense of tired triumph, before he became preoccupied again, clenching and unclenching his fist. Unease rippled through him.
“I wanted to hurt her.”
“Hm?”
He stared down at his palm as the blood and half-moon marks faded away. “That girl. Ruan Xinyue.”
“You wanted to pluck her eyeballs from her head,” Meng Mo agreed. “Bet it would have been satisfying.”
Luo Binghe shuddered lightly, but didn’t deny it. He wet his dry lips.
“That’s what triggered all this?”
Meng Mo loosely shrugged.
“You’re a demon, kid.”
“Part demon,” Binghe interjected.
“Part, he says. Pah! Whether it’s a quarter, a third, a half - you think something as measly as a human parent can dilute the blood of the proud demon race? Why do you think part-demon children are hunted from infancy, by everyone from cultivators to scared neighbors? In the end, the demon blood always wins out. It’s a dominant trait.”
“Part demon,” Binghe insisted.
“You’re a demon,” Meng Mo rolled his eyes. “Lust, greed, possessiveness, envy, clawing for power and stature, we’ve never been shy about this. It’s part of what makes our race great. Our emotions are strong and passionate. Cruel. Savage. Like what you feel for your Shizun.”
Luo Binghe reared back, eyes round and wide. A touch of defensiveness entered his voice, “I’m not savage toward Shizun. I wouldn’t ever be.”
“You’re smitten with him, and that’s the problem. No demon worth their salt opens themselves up to that level of attachment. It can drive us mad.”
Luo Binghe inhaled deeply, biting harshly on his lower lip.
He was smitten with Shizun, not just in the soft, adoring meaning of the word. He was smitten with him in the sense of to smite, the alternate definition struck. He was stricken by the violence of his love, the powerful affliction of it. It was lightning inside him. It was the kind of love that could reduce things to dust.
Meng Mo swirled closer, waving a smoky arm toward the patched-over hole of his seal.
“That there is the result of ‘love’ mixing with demon instinct. Brat, expect volatility to become commonplace as your seal breaks. You won’t have the tempering influence of your human guise when it does. You’ll be a demon, through-and-through.”
Luo Binghe turned around and forced himself to awaken.
Meng Mo’s dark words echoed in his ears as he slowly peeled open his eyelids. His heart pounded. Dazed, he stared up at the ceiling, so high and distant that in the low-light of the candles it almost looked like a void. His entire body was sore, as if he had just run a marathon.
He stared up at the abyss, and it felt like it was staring back.