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what you don't know (we do)

Chapter 5

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(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

So in the end, their ragtag party comes to this: Teng Lixiang, with her hair pulled back in a tight, severe braid and her fine Head Disciple robes swapped for rougher homespun; her two juniors dressed in equally rough clothes; Shen Qingqiu, in slightly nicer robes and allowed a few pieces of ornamentation; and then Luo Binghe and Mobei, who are...

Well.

The only person in the whole of the three realms who could make Luo Binghe feel like some awkward gangly teenager all over again is Shen Qingqiu, and even to Luo Binghe, always anxiously waiting for the next sign of losing his beloved's favor, he seems less disgusted and more... intrigued?

The outfit that the An Ding disciples eventually procured for him mostly fits. It covers the appropriate length of his arms and his legs, and the vambraces take relatively little finagling to sit properly on his forearms. The fabric is rough, though not nearly as crude as what he'd worn in his dimly-remembered childhood.

The issue lies in the chest.

Even now, with the full of his abilities as a Heavenly Demon unlocked, Luo Binghe doesn't particularly enjoy going to the Northern Desert, especially to the palace that belongs to Mobei. Whatever someone might say about the implications of his name, he does not actually like the cold. It boggles him that at his most casual, Mobei will wear robes that deliberately open at the chest.

How? Why?!

And why does he have to dress like this now?? It might be summer now, but it's still chilly more often than not on the Peaks!

His only consolation prize is the fact that Shen Qingqiu keeps glancing at him, always sidelong and fast. It's the way he acts when he is interested, but feels like propriety must take precedence. Luo Binghe is torn three ways: between relieved pride, sullen recognition that he cannot immediately have what he wants, and just plain being cold.

Mobei seems completely unbothered. It's only on the surface level, of course; Luo Binghe can sense the uneasy restlessness pouring from his fellow demon in waves. It actually surprises him more that no one else seems to notice it. Even Shen Qingqiu is only mildly wary of Mobei, in the way he always is (Shizun! Please trust this husband, that if Mobei stepped out of line, Luo Binghe would rip him to shreds and they both understand this!) but not particularly concerned. It might be a human thing, or it might be a familiarity thing.

Or perhaps it's a sympathy thing, though Luo Binghe is fairly certain that both he and Mobei would rather face a horde of enemies fresh from the Endless Abyss than admit this kind of kinship. And yet it is there, even if Luo Binghe is only acknowledging it in his own head. Mobei is only two steps away from simply tearing apart the countryside to seek out this Zheng Chonghao, and Luo Binghe can't say he would do any different, if their situations had been reversed. He's actually a little impressed with Teng Lixiang for able to talk Mobei down... not that he'd ever admit that either, and especially not to that insufferable woman's face.

Without the emotional complication, he can tell that her reasoning is for the best. The fact that Shang Qinghua hasn't already called for Mobei is both telling and worrying. Ever since they resolved whatever nonsense happened between them during Mobei's ascension to the title, it's honestly been harder to get Mobei alone than not. He's even dragged Shang Qinghua along on a few military campaigns, much to the dismay of everyone except for Mobei himself.

Not that Shang Qinghua has been much better in terms of stickiness. There have been multiple times (after Mobei was convinced to stop bringing his human along to the battlefield) where Luo Binghe has seen his eyes go distant for a moment, before he would simply leave--whether or not they were in the middle of a strategy meeting or not--and return some time later, only giving Shang Qinghua's name as an explanation.

So, again, though Luo Binghe hates to give Teng Lixiang any real credit... she's probably right that if Zheng Chonghao is the one holding Shang Qinghua, he's likely taken steps to guard against demons. Perhaps especially powerful ones, because surely anyone stupid enough to grab Shang Qinghua would realize that Mobei would come for him.

(And that Luo Binghe would almost certainly be dragged in, even if he remained lukewarm about that little rat of a man. If it wasn't because of Mobei, it would be because of his husband, because no matter how much Luo Binghe doesn't like to admit it, he can recognize there is a bond between his husband and Shang Qinghua. The prospect of a sad--or worse, a disappointed--Shen Qingqiu is too awful for Luo Binghe to contemplate for long.)

But at least there is some forward momentum in their little quest now. Teng Lixiang is going over a written checklist with Zhou Fa, while Li Wen applies the barest bit of makeup to Shen Qingqiu's face. It makes his face a little more stern, a little older, and brings him back down to earth: less the lofty flawless immortal and more an ordinary--if still beautiful--man.

Not that Shen Qingqiu is anything less than stunning at all times, but Luo Binghe can't say he minds dialing down the impact of his face, especially when they're headed into a potential tiger's lair.

"All right," Li Wen says to Shen Qingqiu. "As long as you don't get thrown into a lake or anything, that should be fine."

"Thank you, shizhi," Shen Qingqiu says dryly, and then as she turns to her fellow An Ding disciples, he crosses to Luo Binghe's side. It takes everything in Luo Binghe to not slip an arm around his waist and drag him in. He's at least mollified when Shen Qingqiu leans in close, so that their arms brush, even if they aren't completely pressed against each other.

"Shidi had better appreciate all the trouble we're going through for him," Shen Qingqiu says in a low voice, meant for Luo Binghe's ears alone. "This master still thinks it would be wiser to involve zhangmen-shixiong in the process."

"We could go right now," Luo Binghe says, equally soft. "While they're distracted."

Shen Qingqiu makes a small disagreeing noise. His gaze cuts over to Mobei, who stands completely still where he'd been left. He's dressed in the same rough layers of cotton and leather that Luo Binghe has, though the outfit gapes open even more at the chest, and is visibly tighter at biceps and calves, with more of his limbs visible. Disciple Chen of An Ding's two older brothers had still been a little too small to match Mobei, but it had been deemed Good Enough. If he just squints, Luo Binghe feels he can see the black cloud of worried, angry impatience floating around him.

"While this master has every confidence in Teng-shizhi's ability to handle the majority of the situations thrown at her," Shen Qingqiu says finally, "he does feel it is... unwise to leave any disciples alone and unattended in the presence of Mobei-jun."

Especially when he has that kind of look on his face. That part, he doesn't say aloud, but the way he glances sidelong at Mobei's slowly growing scowl comes through loud and clear. Luo Binghe is briefly overwhelmed with a surge of deep affection, so much that he leans in closer, and gets stopped with a tap of Shen Qingqiu's fan against his lips.

"Focus," Shen Qingqiu says, and though his voice is gentle, it is clearly an admonishment. Luo Binghe whines, but acquiesces in straightening up, giving them both a little more room.

"If Shizun is so concerned, he could go, and this husband will keep an eye on things," Luo Binghe says.

Shen Qingqiu eyes him sidelong. "But you don't think it's a good idea," he says. There are times when Luo Binghe despairs that he can never make himself completely known and understood to his husband, and then there are times when Shen Qingqiu truly understands him perfectly.

"Begging Shizun's pardon," he says, "but no." It is his turn, now, to look at Mobei, who does not appear to be listening to anyone or anything, glaring into the middle distance with his jaw set in a tight line. Luo Binghe eyes him for a second, then leans again, lowering his voice further. Mobei can likely still hear him, but it is the illusion and effort that count. "If we go and report, he'll want to get involved. That'll only delay our efforts. As much as I don't want to admit it, that woman is right. We probably don't want that right now."

Shen Qingqiu half-opens his fan, just enough to cover his mouth, but there is a pronounced, worried furrow to his brow as he considers. Ah, his husband really is terribly kind. Luo Binghe vows to make sure Shang Qinghua is appropriately thankful after he's been rescued.

"You're right," he says at last, though with clear reluctance. "I suppose the whole thing about it being easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission rings true in this case..."

"As always, Shizun is wise," Luo Binghe says happily. "The wisest, and the kindest, and the best--Shang-shishu should be so grateful that Shizun is consenting to go along with this at all--"

"Binghe," Sheng Qingqiu chides, mild, as Teng Lixiang approaches.

"We're ready," she says. "Having spoken with the great king, we have decided that the best course of action is to let him take us about two hours out from the town where Zheng Chonghao lives. Zhou-shidi has already sent word ahead to our local storehouse, so they should be ready for us shortly after we arrive."

"Two hours out?" Luo Binghe asks, raising an eyebrow. "Why that?"

"We want to sell the illusion that we've been traveling," Teng Lixiang says. "As well as time to settle into character. Normally, we'd fly out there on our swords, but..." She smiles, dimples and all. Luo Binghe is frankly suspicious of that expression. He has been for years. "Since the great king is accompanying us, this disciple thought it would be best to leave that to him."

Shen Qingqiu coughs briefly under his breath, hidden by his fan. Luo Binghe doesn't know if Teng Lixiang even hears it. "You're quite prepared for all of this, aren't you, Teng-shizhi? Shang-shidi is quite blessed to have a Head Disciple such as yourself."

Teng Lixiang pauses. The overly pleasant smile fades from her face into something far more still. It's not the stillness of a predator about to strike or anything--what it reminds Luo Binghe of is the very first time he'd laid eyes on all the immortal Peak Lords of Cang Qiong: people distant and untouchable, far beyond his reach no matter how desperately he stretched his arms.

"...With all due respect, Shen-shibo," she says, "An Ding believes very strongly in being prepared for multiple contingencies. I understand that this may sound peculiar, given Shizun's history with the sect, but his philosophy has always been to be certain that we are ready to adapt when and where it is necessary. We believe in taking care of our own."

Looking at her face, Luo Binghe doesn't think she means the whole of Cang Qiong. From the expression on Shen Qingqiu's face, he also hears that subtext.

There's a pause that is just a beat short of too long, and then Shen Qingqiu nods slowly. "Very well," he says. "This master admits he is impressed by the detail of thought that has been put into this venture, and the implications of the rest."

Teng Lixiang stares at him for a moment, then puts her hands together for a proper bow. "This disciple thanks Shen-shibo for his praise," she says, and then raises her voice, "Shall we get this started?"

Before anyone else can answer, Mobei grunts. His shadows swirl and flare, and then there is a portal in the air where there was none before; he can see what looks like nondescript brushland on the other side. Both Zhou Fa and Li Wen appear to be both anxious and curious about the phenomenon, but Teng Lixiang looks at it without any special emotion, the way one might look at an ordinary open door. Luo Binghe takes Shen Qingqiu's hand. It isn't necessary, but he likes the contact.

"Shizun," he murmurs, and Shen Qingqiu nods, and they follow Teng Lixiang through the portal, with the two other An Ding disciples trotting closely behind.


Shang Qinghua would like to register a complaint with the management. To be honest, he has multiple complaints, but he'll settle for just the one big and obvious one for now.

Hello? System?? Are you listening?!

Of course there's no answer. He hadn't really expected one, but at least a cursory "out of service" or "down for maintenance" notice would be nice. This whole free will thing has some benefits, but listen. He's just one little guy. Sometimes he just wants someone to tell him what to do, so he can dedicate all of his brainpower to that, rather than splitting it between "what should I do" and "how should I do it."

...That probably says something about his relationship with Mobei-jun that he decides not to think about too closely. Knowing his luck, his Cucumber-bro will point it out the first time they argue after he's been rescued.

Which he hopes will happen soon. He'd very much like to be rescued. Just the thought of the paperwork that is accumulating on both of his desks is enough to give him heart palpitations. He might just keel over on the spot.

Or, rather, he would... if it wouldn't be absolutely disgusting to lie down anywhere on the floor of Li Yongrui's room. There are clean patches, but you step on one tacky spot and it just sticks with you. Literally and figuratively.

After that little villain spiel, Li Yongrui had shoved a whole bunch of really weird and gross talismans in his face, babbling nonsense about "the power over life and death itself" and "harnessing the energy of the Endless Abyss for the good of humanity," blah blah blah and all the kind of bullshit that Shang Qinghua, as a once-upon-a-time business major, could recognize as empty buzzwords. It felt a little bit like what he imagined visiting a primary school presentation day would be like: a lot of squinting at things he could barely parse, and making a few encouraging and impressed noises here and there to indicate he was listening.

Not because he was, of course, but because he was under threat! Whether it was the tears of small children and the anger of parents and/or teachers, or the potential of being gutted by a man who clearly had no qualms about murder, it was all bad! No thank you!!

Eventually, though, Li Yongrui seemed to run out of things to babble about. He cast around for a few more seconds, then sighed and tied him to a ring embedded in the wall. From the way the plaster was chipped and damaged, Shang Qinghua doubts it was initially part of the room's decor. He'd also added another loop of rope around Shang Qinghua's neck, so while he can move a short distance away from the spot where he's tethered, he's tied by both his hands and his neck. (That's another point against just falling over, too: the rope around his neck has enough slack to allow him to bend, but not to sit or lie down. He doesn't particularly want to choke himself, even as a grand gesture to the System and the sheer unfairness of his current situation.)

He is also, currently and thankfully, alone in the room. Li Yongrui had made noises about "speaking" with their host about having new accommodations for Shang Qinghua, but he's been gone for long enough that the light filtering in through the barred window has gone from bright to hazy gold. It would be nice if he could reach the window to open it (or break it, whichever), but he has to guess that fresh and proper air circulation isn't high on Li Yongrui's list of priorities.

Also, if the windows were open at all, surely someone would have already noticed the smell. For all the complaining and gossip Shang Qinghua heard from the servants, none of them had mentioned anything like this.

So for now, Shang Qinghua is on his own, and after a few cursory attempts to see how far his leash would allow him to move, he sets to trying to free his wrists. He'd watched plenty of "how to escape from a kidnapping scenario" tutorials online in the past, but his memories of those details are (understandably, he'd say!) hazy at this point. And most of them hadn't involved rope--plain rope, thankfully, and not Immortal-Binding Cables. Either Li Yongrui assumes that whatever else they did to stifle his qi was sufficient, or he was too cheap to shell out for the Cables.

Either way, Shang Qinghua is an opportunist. He's all about seizing beneficial opportunities for himself, and right now the most beneficial would be having his hands free. He can pretend to still be bound, if Li Yongrui comes back unexpectedly soon, but if his hands are free...

"Someone owes me for this," he mutters under his breath. A vacation, a bath, a raise, he'll take any of those options. (But the vacation needs a guarantee that he won't come back to even more work, the bath needs to be hot, and the raise needs to be substantial. Sometimes, he thinks he's the only person in this ridiculous world that understands what a true reward is.)

His wrists ache. He can feel where the skin has been chafed raw; too much more effort, and they'll start bleeding. And while he knows plenty of people who would accuse him of stopping because of the pain, he pauses because he doesn't think Li Yongrui wouldn't notice blood on his hands. From the way Li Yongrui has been acting, he seems like exactly the sort of weirdo who'd want to do something like lick the blood off Shang Qinghua's wrists.

Which, ew. He's not against bloodplay, but at least if it's going to happen, he wants it to be with the right person! You must be this tall and your chest must be this big to participate!

So he gives up (for now), and leans one shoulder against the wall. It's the best he can do right now, since sitting or lying down is out of the question. Maybe when Li Yongrui comes back, he'll whine about it until he can have a chair or something. And preferably a clean one, because Shang Qinghua really isn't into the decorating scheme of this room.

He lifts his bound hands to his chest, fingering the jade pendant. Li Yongrui hadn't noticed it either, which is a comfort, but now really would be a great time for the thing to actually work the way it was supposed to! Maybe he should wheedle at Shen Qingqiu to have Luo Binghe make a new one for him. All hail and beware the protagonist's halo! And if you're not the protagonist or being railed by him, still take shameless advantage of it where and when you can!

As he's contemplating the best method to convince Shen Qingqiu to help him out, the door slams open. He jumps with a yelp, dropping the pendant, which bounces to the outside of his clothes, instead of resting hidden against his skin. "Whatever it was, I didn't do it!"

Li Yongrui stalks into the room, a scowl setting his generically handsome face into a rictus. It makes him look more interesting, though still not exactly someone Shang Qinghua might remember after a couple of days. The man is practically seething; even without the vast amounts of careless power that Mobei-jun has, one can nearly see the restless, angry energy pouring off of him in waves.

Almost. Too bad, Li Yongrui! You're not even an antagonist that gets a whole week's arc dedicated to you. You're just a filler villain, what do you think about that, ah?!

"Shixiong," Li Yongrui growls, and Shang Qinghua quails back regardless of his defiant inner thoughts. He's glad he managed to keep his inside voice inside, this time, on account of how tied up he still is, but that's not going to do him any good if Li Yongrui decides to get stab happy, the same way he has with his other victims. "Shang-shixiong always surrounds himself with such interesting people, doesn't he?"

Shang Qinghua blinks. He looks around the room, at the dead bodies that are still just lying carelessly around (seriously, not even demons are this untidy! at least not with human bodies, which probably would have long since been eaten or carted away for storage), and then at Li Yongrui. "Present company included?"

Li Yongrui's face contorts even further. It's kind of impressive, actually. Shang Qinghua hadn't known that a human expression could twist that far.

While he's considering that, though, he almost misses Li Yongrui pulling a dagger out of his robes. But thankfully he does, and he immediately switches into survival mode, pulling at his bindings and cowering away as best he can. It means pressing up against the filthy wall, which, ugh, but beggars can't be choosers! Shang Qinghua has always been a coward for his life, even before he had anything else to really grovel for! 

"Li-gongxi, really," he says, his voice pitching up into his most pathetic tone. "It's not as if this one has had much choice with the company he's kept in his life! He's only a lowly servant for so many of the people he knows. He has no say whatsoever in how they choose to conduct themselves, please, mercy, mercy--"

Li Yongrui cuts the rope that binds his throat to the hook in the wall, and then he ties the end of that to the bindings on his wrists. Again, the kind of kinky that Shang Qinghua is not terribly interested in doing with non-Mobei-jun-shaped people. He whines in a protest and gets a sharp cuff to the side of his head for it. Which is honestly better than expected, since it was also with the hand that Li Yongrui holds the dagger with.

"Come on," Li Yongrui says flatly. "I'm dealing with this."

"Dealing? Ah!" Shang Qinghua trips, and that's not entirely an affectation, either. As soon as he's free from the wall, he's being dragged off by Li Yongrui, and the pressure on his throat leaves him wobbling. Serves the man right, really, with how he treats people. "This one is afraid that he doesn't understand--"

"Zheng Chonghao is a moron," Li Yongrui says. It sounds like he's speaking through gritted teeth. "I warned him and I warned him, but did he listen? He didn't. Because of his greed, now I have to be the one to take care of everything. All he needed to do was spend a little bit of extra money on proper precautions, but instead he just wanted to show off. If he brings the whole house down, that will be no one's fault but his."

And that'll serve the both of you right, Shang Qinghua thinks, as he stumbles along. He's a little grateful that Mobei-jun had never really leashed him after that first unfortunate meeting. But that still doesn't tell me anything about what's actually going on. Come on, Li Yongrui, you're just a two-bit villain! Not even a midboss! Drop some hints so that I have some idea of what we're walking into!

Aloud, he whines, "Li-gongxi, is this really necessary? Look at me, I'm completely bound. I can't even use my own spiritual energy, as weak as it is. What good am I going to be in any kind of scenario right now?"

"You're going to be a hostage," Li Yongrui says, as casually as breathing. "Not that I intend to hand you over at all. But your presence will be used to barter our escape."

"What, seriously?" Shang Qinghua has to dig his heels in a little at that. Seriously? For real?! Li Yongrui, do you have some kind of death wish?? "You know that's a terrible idea--"

Li Yongrui chuckles. He tugs hard on the rope still around Shang Qinghua's neck, yanking him in so close that their bodies press together. It makes walking a great deal more awkward, but every time Shang Qinghua tries to dig his heels in, it just tightens the pressure over his throat.

"Not to worry, Shang-shixiong," Li Yongrui says. "This one has already considered the matter. So long as this one holds onto his Shang-shixiong like this, there's very little your rescuers can do, right? If they strike at me, they will inevitably strike you, too."

You say that as if Teng Lixiang wouldn't want my head on a platter after this, Shang Qinghua thinks, but manages to not say. If rescue has found him as quietly as this, then his Head Disciple is surely involved. She'd probably throttle him herself, all without ever losing that wide-eyed fake innocent expression on her face the whole time. And if it's not her, then...

...

Well, he doesn't really think that Mobei-jun would revert back to the levels of violence from early on in their relationship, but he also knows that his king has a tendency to overestimate how much a human body can actually handle. Which is actually kind of Shang Qinghua's fault, but sometimes you're just really into being bullied in bed--which is hardly the point right now. Mobei-jun wouldn't hurt him if he didn't ask for it, not on purpose, but Mobei-jun also hates when anyone else touches his things. Li Yongrui's theory is sound, but it only really applies for people not Shang Qinghua, whose most important people aren't prone to being extremely dangerous at the drop of a hat.

"You should have gone for Shen-shixiong instead," he tells Li Yongrui, as they shuffle awkwardly down the hall. "Junshang is a great deal more careful with him than anyone is with me."

"You might be surprised, Shang-shixiong," Li Yongrui says pleasantly, though it's through his teeth now. He peers around the corner, like he's trying to make sure that no one is going to ambush them in the most clumsily obvious way possible. Shang Qinghua itches with the desire to critique, but there are, in fact, times when he knows to keep his mouth shut. This is surely one of them.

But luckily for Li Yongrui, the hallway must be clear, because they start moving again in that same odd shuffle. Shang Qinghua is not terribly fond of this "being used as a human shield" thing, to be honest; he'd been opposed to the idea in principle before this, and now that he's living the experience? No way. 0/10, -10/10, absolute bottom barrel worst. If this is really the kind of scenario where he's being held hostage so some creep can use him as a bargaining chip for escape, then--well, it'd be great to use in a story later, but he's first got to get out of this alive.

...and also he's going to have to figure out how to learn to write with his other hand, or perhaps invent some kind of dictation spell, or maybe he'll have to fall upon Cucumber-bro's tender mercies, because this is the world of <<Proud Immortal Demon Way>>, even if the plot had long ago diverged from the original canon! There's no such thing as an incurable illness or an unfixable injury! It's just a matter of remembering what's needed, which is why he'll need to rely on Shen Qingqiu's stupidly encyclopedic knowledge--and really, what the fuck, Cucumber-bro, how the fuck do you remember all of these stupid details? The power of the hater is truly impressive!

As he's mulling over this, though, Li Yongrui jerks to a stop, yanking at the rope around his neck so hard that black sparks at the edges of his vision. Before he can say anything in protest, though, the temperature drops so suddenly and precipitously that he still can't breathe a second later.

He looks up, and ah.

There he is! The great king himself! Dressed in--oh, those plain robes don't suit him in the slightest, he looks so awkward and gangly in those clothes. Are those his ankles showing?? And his wrists?! That's so scandalous!! Teng Lixiang, what the hell were you doing with your master's king, ah?!

(He's still hot, though. Of course he is. If Mobei-jun can be stupidly hot covered in the blood and viscera of his enemies and dressed so that only a sliver of his chest is visible and Shang Qinghua knows he'll have to wash the mess out himself, then of course he's hot like this too, completely clean and showing so much unexpected skin.)

"Shang Qinghua," Mobei-jun growls, and Shang Qinghua has to bite down hard on his cheek to keep from doing something embarrassing, like fainting or popping a boner. Jeeze. Not the time, self!

"My king," he says faintly. Mobei-jun's eyes are glowing, the irises gone almost pure white, only banded in by a ring of blue so dark it's almost black. He's practically radiating killing intent, enough that Shang Qinghua can feel Li Yongrui trembling against him. The natural human instinct of fight or flight goes straight out the window when it comes to a furious demon lord, and it simply becomes freeze, instead.

(In theory, this would probably apply to Luo Binghe and Sha Hualing and the others of their tier, but Shang Qinghua has always thankfully been far away from Luo Binghe at the worst of his rages, and he's never seen Sha Hualing be this angry before. Also thankfully.)

Mobei-jun doesn't move or say anything else, but there's a new pressure at Shang Qinghua's neck now: a sharper one, the edge of a pretty little dagger that Li Yongrui had produced from somewhere.

"S--stay back," he says. All of his bragging arrogance has evaporated; there's only a whining, terrified worm left in the man's place. Shang Qinghua almost feels pity for him, but it's his own fault that he's choosing bravado over cowardice. "If you take one more step, I'll cut his throat. Don't think I won't."

The room goes even colder. Shang Qinghua's breath rattles painfully in his lungs. They've reached the kind of cold that is actually hazardous to human health, the kind of thing that would kill a non-cultivator in mere minutes, and even for a cultivator, the struggle to keep one's body functioning is real. Even for Shang Qinghua, who has been fed small doses of Mobei-jun's blood for months now, it's deeply uncomfortable.

"I w-will," Li Yongrui wheezes. "I'll do it. If you try to k-kill me, I'll take him with me."

"Li-gongxi, you should probably just let me go," Shang Qinghua says. He's proud of how there's no chatter in his words. "You'll definitely regret it if you don't."

"Shut up," Li Yongrui snarls in response. The blade at Shang Qinghua's throat digs in, deep enough to draw blood. It freezes immediately in the cold air, and honestly the chill means that Shang Qinghua feels no pain. It's not as effective as it was probably meant to be. Li Yongrui, however, is entirely focused on Mobei-jun, which is probably the smarter gesture. "I mean it. I-if anything happens to me, I'll cut his throat. E-ear to ear. J-just try it, demon, and you'll see."

What's with this crappy villain monologue, huh? This isn't something you can blame on me, Cucumber-bro! I threw the reins away long ago. People just talk like this without any input from me. I don't think I wrote anything about Li Yongrui in my original text, even, so you extra can't blame this on me.

But Shen Qingqiu isn't here. There's just the King of the North, the living personification of that unending, unyielding cold, staring at Li Yongrui like he's less than a scrape of mud on the bottom of his boots.

Mobei-jun takes a step forward. The ground trembles with the weight of it, ice cracking and snapping up around him in jagged sharp spikes. Li Yongrui whines. There is for a split second the sharp smell of urine in the air, and then that's gone too, frozen and crystallized, and Shang Qinghua spares maybe half a second to say a sympathetic prayer for the poor bastard's dick. It probably doesn't feel good to be wrapped in iced fabric right now, especially with an angry demon lord bearing down on him.

"I'll do it," Li Yongrui hisses, his voice going even higher, louder, sharper with its desperation. "I'll do it if you don't, don't, stay back, I'll--"

"Shang Qinghua," Mobei-jun says. There is a wealth of meaning in the weight of the syllables of his name, a thousand questions and concerns and even apologies. Once upon a time, Shang Qinghua would have only read anger and disappointment in it; now he knows better.

"My king," he says in acknowledgment. He lets his body go entirely limp, the whole of him--he might not be a tall or bulky man, rippling with abs on top of more abs, but he isn't short, and this body is in a lot better shape than the last one he'd had. He's got some muscle along with padding, and Li Yongrui is already shaking and distracted by both cold and fear. He isn't prepared for a sudden eighty-five kilograms of weight to slump into his arms, which means that he drops both the knife and his grip on the rope around Shang Qinghua's neck.

Shang Qinghua falls gracelessly to the ground--forgive him, knees! it's too cold! please understand!--a moment before a huge spear of black ice shoots up from the ground, spearing Li Yongrui from behind. The edge of it grazes Shang Qinghua's cheek, and the blood again freezes before it can start flowing.

Li Yongrui looks down at the mess in his chest. One shaking hand comes up to touch the bloody chunk of ice, and then his eyes dim and his whole body goes limp.

"Huh," Shang Qinghua says, as he tugs at the rope around his neck, willing his stiff fingers to work the way he wants, to loosen it so he can get the thing off. "Anticlimactic."

To be honest, he's a little disappointed. After all that posturing? The mess? Li Yongui had been set up to be the kind of villain who was nothing more than a temporary power-mad creep, but this was still kind of pathetic, even for the type. Shang Qinghua hadn't even gotten to find out what exactly had made Li Yongrui latch onto him, specifically, and he can't help but feel cheated by that. Not that he regrets being saved, because for all that the death was fast, it had been gratifyingly brutal. His king knows how to make a man feel special, it turns out.

He blinks, and then Mobei-jun is crouched before him, one hand already on his neck. He holds still at the silent command, letting Mobei-jun slice through the rope with careful claws, and then gather him into a suffocating embrace. He leans into it for a second, then frees an arm to pat Mobei-jun's back, in what he hopes is a comforting sort of way.

"My king, ah, my king," he says. "Don't worry, see, your loyal servant is just fine. A little bit of a mess, but when is he not? Nothing that a hot bath and some sleep won't fix--ah, though, we might need--"

"This king has your fingers," Mobei-jun says. Shang Qinghua more feels the words than hears them, rumbled where his cheek is mashed against Mobei-jun's chest. "They are being preserved in unmelting ice in your chambers."

"Gross," Shang Qinghua says happily. "Ah, my king, my great king, you're truly the best that this world has to offer. This humble cultivator is truly fortunate to be in your service."

For some reason, though, Mobei-jun's face darkens. He's no longer radiating so much killing intent, but his expression goes more solemn, something still and cold. Broad hands settle on Shang Qinghua's shoulders, pushing him back from his favorite place to be and then taking his injured hand gently. The pain that he'd mostly been ignoring in all the excitement, gives a sudden fresh throb.

"Ah, my king," Shang Qinghua stammers. He doesn't really know what to make of Mobei-jun's expression--him! the certified expert in all of his king's most subtle microexpressions!--but something about it makes him feel small and squirmy, and not even in a bad way. It's a weird feeling, to feel so utterly seen and known, and not feel like he's in danger as a result. "It's... I mean, it hurts a lot! I'm worried about what this will mean for my paperwork, but--but honestly, there are probably ways to fix things, right, and Junshang could--"

"You will be healed," Mobei-jun says shortly, and then he sweeps Shang Qinghua up into his arms like he weighs absolutely nothing at all. He squawks as his battered body is jostled, and then he puts his good arm around Mobei-jun's neck, keeping the bloodied one pressed to his chest. He sees a twitch in the clench of Mobei-jun's jaw during a long second of contemplation, and then he turns and strides down the hallway.

"My king? Where are we--"

"Shang Qinghua's students are waiting," he says. "As is Consort Shen."

Shang Qinghua blinks. If Shen Qingqiu is here (he's here?! what the fuck?? he wants to know how that happened!), then that means Luo Binghe is too, which means... well.

Poor Zheng Chonghao, rest in pieces.

He doesn't laugh about it, but he hides a grin in his bloodied hand as Mobei-jun carries him to meet the others.


As far as the situation goes, things start out relatively boring.

Luo Binghe watches Teng Lixiang simper and coo at the guards to convince them to let her in, and at the servants to gain an audience with the master of the house. It is impressive in the way she can adjust herself, like the seven-colored winged chameleon, to adapt to any situation, but he still doesn't have to like it. He mostly keeps an eye on Shen Qingqiu as they're ushered in, admiring the way his husband glides through the halls with all the elegant grace expected of the First (and only!) Consort of the Demon Realm, despite the middling quality of his robes and the middling quality of their surroundings. This Zheng Chonghao had decorated his estate like a child who had once caught a glimpse of an imperial sedan in passing and had grown up trying to extrapolate from that faded memory how the truly rich and powerful might style their homes. Gaudy statues and tapestries are thrown around everywhere, a testament to fleeting wealth.

They're led to what is clearly meant to be a waiting room of some sorts, and then left. Teng Lixiang makes a quick gesture to her juniors, who fan out along the room, examining the walls with unexpected thoroughness. Luo Binghe doesn't want to ask, but Shen Qingqiu inclines his head curiously to her.

"We're looking for any sort of passages," she tells him. "It's unlikely he would be so stupid as to put them here, but you never know."

"Also, it's good to catalog the value of the furnishings," Li Wen says happily. "Once we get Shizun out of here, we'll be claiming everything of value Zheng Chonghao has, as recompense."

"Assuming anyone would want something like this," Zhou Fa mutters, nudging at a tapestry that depicts a man--assumedly Zheng Chonghao--standing as a god upon a mountain, with various roughly-dressed peasants bowing around him.

Eventually, though, the doors open, and in a heartbeat, both Li Wen and Zhou Fa are standing behind their shijie, perfectly composed. A man with a completely forgettable face stalks in, giving them all an irritated look.

"Get out of here," he says. "Zheng-gongxi is busy for the rest of the day."

Teng Lixiang smiles, and it's all steel despite the appearance of her deadly dimples. "Unless Zheng-gongxi himself comes to speak with us, sir, this one is willing to wait."

"Did you not hear me, you silly little chit?" The man draws himself up taller, all hot air and self-importance. "We are busy. You may ask again for an audience tomorrow."

She continues to smile, putting her hands together and bowing low. It's a beautiful presentation of posture and poise. "This humble one will wait."

The man starts to snarl again, when there's a sudden burst of commotion outside, followed by the sound of multiple people screaming. Luo Binghe glances over at Mobei, meeting his eyes, and sees the acknowledgement in his second's eyes. As small as it sounds, there is definitely some kind of conflict brewing. They both shift to move to the front of the party. Teng Lixiang gives him a frown that he ignores.

A moment later, a servant bursts in, palefaced and tight-lipped. He rushes to the man trying to shoo them out, grabbing for his sleeve.

"Honored cultivator, please, you have to help," he wheezes. "The master is, he went to check on the prisoner, and he opened the door, and that thing got out--"

The man's eyes go wide. "That idiot," he snarls, before he smacks the servant aside and bolts out the door. The servant staggers, then looks wide-eyed at the party, finally registering their presence... and the fact that he mentioned there was a prisoner at all. To his credit, he recovers remarkably quickly, babbling something about how his master is currently dealing with an emergency and cannot see them today; if the honored young miss could return later? Perhaps in a week? Of course the master sends his deepest apologies, but there is simply nothing to be done--

"Oh no," Teng Lixiang says sweetly. "That's too bad. Get out of the way."

She doesn't shove him, but she does simply just step around him, headed for the door in spite of his sputtered protests. Luo Binghe will give the An Ding disciples some credit, at least: instead of running away from the sound and its obvious source, they're headed right to it. None of them have their swords--it would have ruined the disguise, all three of them insisted--but it wouldn't surprise him if Teng Lixiang, at least, didn't have some kind of knife up her sleeve, and maybe another in her boot. She seems like the sort.

Past the meeting hall of Zheng Chonghao's estate, there's only chaos. An older man, unremarkable in almost every way, lies sprawled on the floor, one hand lifted as if he could protect himself with that alone. Judging from his robes, which have the same sort of gaudy, overly flashy quality as the decorations, Luo Binghe knows that it's Zheng Chonghao himself.

More concerningly--and far more interesting--is the thing looming over him.

It's been many years since he'd stumbled upon the Ever-Empty Seeker's nest in the Abyss, but he still remembers the way the things had looked, with their shroudlike robes and the unnatural stiffness of their movements. It doesn't look at them, completely focused on the cowering Zheng Chonghao. From a part in the folds of its facial covering, a long thin appendage snakes out. It winds and weaves like a tentacle might, but there is a handlike protrusion at the end.

Luo Binghe holds an arm out before Shen Qingqiu can come any closer. He knows very well that his husband's curiosity can and will get the better of him sometimes. And while in most cases, Luo Binghe is more than willing to let him indulge--there is nothing, after all, that could truly be a threat to Shen Qingqiu when Luo Binghe is around--he doesn't particularly want to draw that thing's attention. He's far stronger now than when he had first encountered an Ever-Empty Seeker, but...

"Please," Zheng Chonghao blubbers. "Please, didn't I tell you? You have to be patient! You have to just--just wait, please--"

It's a fairly standard stream of babble, as far as pleading goes. Luo Binghe turns his head when he feels Mobei shift, making eye contact.

"Junshang," Mobei says.

"Go on," Luo Binghe tells him. "Try not to take too long."

The corner of Mobei's lip lifts. It might have been a sneer, a smile, or both. He does incline his head once, briefly, then turns and strides away. As he does, Teng Lixiang sighs, the sound aggrieved.

"After all that work, it's come to this," she said. "If he ends up burning this place down..."

Li Wen says something to her softly, sounding like comfort, but Luo Binghe returns his attention to the Seeker, still looming over the hapless Zheng Chonghao. The wriggling hand tentacle touches the man's cheek, and once the contact is made, there is a wet sticky noise. Zheng Chonghao's words dissolve into full-fledged screams. In between one heartbeat and the next, his skin goes white, then gray, then begins to shrivel and sink, going unpleasantly tight over his bones. His hands, clawing at the tentacled appendage, begin to stiffen and then slow in their movements--a few sharp jerks, and then he's completely still.

The screams fade into a gurgle, and then into silence. The Ever-Empty Seeker's hand flexes, and then Zheng Chonghao's body drops to the ground with a dull thud, sucked to a completely desiccated husk.

For a moment it stands there, looking down at the body of its victim, and then it lifts its head to look at the gathered An Ding Disciples. Teng Lixiang has placed herself in front of her juniors, and for the first time she looks tense, uneasy, her jaw set and her eyes hard. There is in fact a dagger in her hand now, but Luo Binghe knows--and he suspects she must, as well--that it won't do any good. If a single touch is enough to drain a human like that, her knife won't do more than buy her a single second.

That might be enough, though. An Ding is not a peak of warriors, but they're far sturdier than he had thought, before all of this had taken place. It's probably a credit to her, that she's willing to take the fall to let her juniors get away.

The Ever-Empty Seeker makes a low gurgling noise, exactly like the sound of an empty belly, and lurches forward. Zhou Fa and Li Wen both flinch away, and there is a single wild moment where Luo Binghe considers leaving them. It's hardly safe for Shen Qingqiu like this, and no matter what, Luo Binghe will always, always prioritize his beloved shizun. Surely Shang Qinghua would be upset at losing his Head Disciple, but he's certainly still alive; the estate would be frozen over by now if he was dead. He could always choose another.

But then Shen Qingqiu moves towards the disciples without thinking--always with that instinctive, gentle desire to protect. This is why he's a great man and a great teacher, and Luo Binghe loves him wholeheartedly... which means also loving that kindness. He could face Shang Qinghua's ire without any concern, but Shen Qingqiu's sadness and/or disappointment is utterly abhorrent.

So before his beautiful, beloved, brilliant, baffling husband can do anything, Luo Binghe draws his own sword, darting forward to lop off the Ever-Empty Seeker's tentacle as it darts out again, aimed directly at Teng Lixiang's heart. The impact feels odd, like he's slicing through particularly thick gelatin and not muscle, but he spares it little thought, immolating the severed limb with a gesture before it hits the ground. The Ever-Empty Seeker shrieks, a carrion bird's screech, and turns its attention to Luo Binghe. He wishes he had the attention to spare for Teng Lixiang's face. She's surely annoyed at being saved by Luo Binghe, and he intends to grind that in her face later. It serves her right for her rudeness to his shizun.

Then there's a sudden sharp flare of cold pain that shoots from his ankle up, and he nearly staggers, looking down. The severed tentacle piece has wrapped itself around his ankle, wriggling and thrashing; he can feel how his own defense systems have kicked in to counteract whatever venom the thing is trying to inject into him, but he can also tell the damn thing is going to slow him down.

As he takes a stumbling step back, trying to decide how best to cut the thing off, there's a sudden flare of gold-edged teal light around his feet, a sensation of foreign energy, and it goes completely limp. He glances back to see Teng Lixiang now crouched on the floor, her hand on a talisman. There is a grim smile on her face as she meets his eyes, something that says we're even now.

"Be careful," Shen Qingqiu hisses at him, but he's already moving to herd the disciples out of the way, keeping them behind him as much as possible.

"Of course, Shizun," Luo Binghe says. Freed from the distraction, he refocuses on blocking the Seeker's advance, the next blow, and the next, and the next. The thing fights like it feels no pain, and he's fought demons like that before, but they usually pair that with some amount of invective. They swear, or they taunt, or they do something that indicates a weakness somewhere, but the Ever-Empty Seeker just keeps coming, and coming, and coming, and the room is beginning to stink of burning flesh now. Teng Lixiang is surely going to run out of talismans soon, and he'll have to adjust his approach.

Just as he's considering whether or not cutting the thing's head off (if it really is a head) will work, the room's temperature drops. Mobei strides in, over to the An Ding disciples, who cry out for their shizun--who is cradled in Mobei's arms like some particularly bloody and filthy princess. He's got his hand cradled to his chest, and is making absolutely revolting doe eyes at Mobei's face.

"Junshang," Mobei says. It's an I would like to leave now, and I know you would as well, so how shall we do this? Luo Binghe appreciates his ability to layer meaning into his words.

"We can't just leave this here," he says, as he cuts through another attempt to get a sucker hand on his face. "Shizun would never let me hear the end of it if we did."

"I'd have some complaints too," Shang Qinghua says, and Luo Binghe ignores him. Teng Lixiang mutters something that sounds like a threat, and Luo Binghe ignores her too.

"So I think our best option," he says, as if simply continuing the thought with no interruptions, "is to drop this somewhere else. If you open the portal, I'll drive it back."

Mobei nods. He lifts a hand, and at the same time, Shang Qinghua leans up to whisper something in his ear. Disgusting, absolutely disgusting. Why can't Luo Binghe get Shen Qingqiu to do that for him?

Whatever Shang Qinghua says, though, it makes a positively mean smirk cross Mobei's face. He nods, and he makes the gesture that opens the portal. Luo Binghe can't make out what's on the other side--he's at the wrong angle to see clearly--but it looks like some sort of building. That might be people he sees, moving in the distance.

"Shizun," Teng Lixiang says, sounding exasperated. "Are you serious?"

"I deserve this, Xiao Xang," Shang Qinghua says, turning his nose into the air, crossing his arms, which jostles his bad hand. This appears to be a mistake, because he pales immediately, and she smacks his knee, ignoring Mobei's grumble.

Well, it's not any of Luo Binghe's concern. He focuses on pressing his own attack instead, forcing the Ever-Empty Seeker back, step by step, until it trips over the border of the portal and goes toppling backwards. It doesn't make a single sound the entire time.

Mobei closes that portal with a gesture. As soon as he does, Shen Qingqiu rushes over to Luo Binghe to fuss, which is perhaps the best part of this entire day. He even uses his own sleeve to mop Luo Binghe's face, and that makes it the best day he's had in quite some time. Luo Binghe leans into the touch with a happy noise, only half-registering the sound of Shen Qingqiu's voice as he fusses and tuts over the minor injuries that he sustained through the fight.

But alas, all good things must come to an end. Shen Qingqiu finally pulls back, though he doesn't go far, and as Luo Binghe opens his eyes to pout, Shen Qingqiu says, "Where in the world did you send that thing?" He sounds concerned, because of course he does. He's always so kind like that.

"Nowhere," Shang Qinghua says in obnoxious singsong, at the same time Mobei says,

"My uncle's primary estate."

There's a pause. And then Shang Qinghua says brightly, "Like I said! Nowhere!"

"He won't think that when the complaint reports come in," Zhou Fa whispers to Li Wen, who giggles, but sounds a little manic as well.

Shen Qingqiu rolls his eyes. He makes a motion like he's imagining smacking Shang Qinghua upside the head with a fan, but he doesn't have one in his hand right now. "You're an idiot," he says, and then he seems to catch sight of Shang Qinghua's bloody hand, with its missing fingers, and he pales. "And don't argue with me--we should get you home immediately. Mu-shidi should take a look at that."

Shang Qinghua makes a face, but Teng Lixiang says, "Shizun," as a threat, and he sighs, sinking a little lower in Mobei's arms. He looks like he's trying to pout, but he's still too smug in his position for it to really work.

In spite of himself, Luo Binghe thinks he's a little relieved that that little rat's spirit isn't broken by what happened.

"Fine," Shang Qinghua says. He kicks his feet and sighs, exaggerated, but he also looks relieved under that. "Let's go home."


An Ding is the peak of logistics, and a peak of secrets.

Some of the secrets are open, with their knowledge allowed to bleed out in drips and drops to other members of Cang Qiong. Only the meatheads on Bai Zhan are interested in challenging the two demon lords who come and go, and that's less a matter of cultivator versus demon, and more "Bai Zhan has more muscles than sense and getting their asses kicked is their idea of a fun afternoon. This is enrichment to keep them from going after fellow disciples on other peaks."

There are some secrets that are kept solidly within An Ding itself. These are things that could make or break fortunes, and lives, and no disciple who reaches the inner senior rank would dare betray what they know to anyone else. Once the peak that had seen the most attrition in its numbers, An Ding now boasts a solid wall of loyalty among its disciples. When questioned on why, an An Ding senior disciple usually only smiles and demurs in their answers. It's usually a variation of I appreciate being somewhere that understands the value of hard work.

And then there are the secrets that only the Peak Lord and his Head Disciple know: how to find the exact lockbox that has the ability to summon the King of the Northern Desert, how to write a replacement talisman when one has been burned, and where all of the bodies are buried.

Teng Lixiang finishes writing her report--tailored, of course, with the salient details gently edited so that the sect leader won't question too deeply, if he reads the thing at all. (She has her doubts.)

She writes about a rogue cultivator gone mad, who'd convinced a failing merchant to dabble in things beyond their ability to handle. She writes that because An Ding had been investigating the merchant's business on suspicions that he'd been attempting to branch into the black market, of course the Peak Lord had gone to handle everything himself. In the end, they'd found the place ransacked, the servants dead or fled, and the merchant and cultivator both dead through their own folly.

(She doesn't write that Mu Qingfang had been horrified at the state of Shang Qinghua's hand, but had reluctantly agreed to the complicated surgery that reattached the missing fingers. She doesn't write about the obvious and near-tearful relief in her shizun's face when he'd heard that he'd be able to write again, after some time to recover.)

She writes that the merchant's only son, a young man who had long since left his family home in pursuit of becoming a monk, had willingly signed over the remainder of his family's assets to An Ding, as he had no desire to reclaim the mess his father had left him.

(She doesn't write that the young man in question had actually been dead for nearly a year--that he'd been part of the reasons that Zheng Chonghao's fortunes had begun to take a turn, with his drinking and gambling, and that the story of him becoming a monk had been a spin from his father, when he'd been found drowned in his own vomit one morning. She doesn't write that there was no one who wanted to claim anything from the "cursed" estate at all. She doesn't write that it wasn't actually cursed--just unfortunately handled by a man too greedy to temper himself, and whose only son had been too similar to his father in temperament to pull out of that spiral. They managed to make a tidy profit from what they sold to unknowing buyers, despite the sheer tackiness of some of the objects confiscated.)

She writes Shang Qinghua's name as the signature on the report, and she puts it into the pile to send off for later.

(She doesn't write that Shang Qinghua has been at the Northern Kingdom for nearly two weeks at this point, convalescing and likely involved in things she would very much like to not think about. She doesn't write that if the great king does not return her shizun in the next week, she will be making an appearance to drag the man home--by his ear, if necessary.)

And then she sees it is xu shi, and Teng Lixiang sits back and cracks her knuckles and her back, and she thinks she's quite satisfied about the beauty of a job well done.

Notes:

Thank you so much to everyone who read and kept up with this story! And especially to everyone who took the time to let me know they enjoyed Teng Lixiang. I do have some plans to utilize her in future stories where appropriate. Your comments and kudos have all been deeply appreciated. ❤️❤️❤️