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It took a while for Shang Qinghua to be entirely comfortable with all the touching. And the kissing. And the sex. At first, his instinct was to push him away and panic, but Mobei-jun was steady. Consistent.
Above all, the ice demon was so certain—so direct—about what he wanted. It was intimidating, actually. Intimidating how much Mobei-jun wanted him, and how much Shang Qinghua wanted him back. Of course, the author of this story, who’d written Mobei-jun as a surrogate for all of the men he could never have in the real world, would want him. But it was more than just a fictional crush now.
It was real. Mobei-jun was real. And he wanted Shang Qinghua back. When Mobei-jun demanded that they get married, of course Shang Qinghua said yes. In that moment, “no” wasn’t even a word in his vocabulary.
“Your hands are too cold,” Shang Qinghua said, pretending to complain. He always pointed that out whenever Mobei-jun started reaching for him, slipping his palm up into his robes and undoing his sash. He shivered a bit as Mobei-jun kissed down his neck, both from the cold and from the pleasure building in his stomach.
“Or you are too hot,” Mobei-jun’s voice was a low, husky growl. He bit down on Shang Qinghua’s shoulder, sinking his teeth in just enough to draw out a gasp from his partner’s lips. There’d be a mark there when they were done, but Shang Qinghua was used to it. After all, this body had become a constellation of hickeys and teeth imprints. No one would notice one more star in the sky.
“Are you going to try to cool me down?” He’d been writing, like he often did. It wasn’t easy to build a readership in this world, but Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky’s popularity had been steadily growing over the past few months. Especially since he started writing scenes inspired by his own exploits in the bedroom. Apparently, his relationship dynamic sold even better than his good buddy Cucumber Bro’s.
Mobei-jun grunted in acute displeasure. He always pretended like he didn’t like being teased, but Shang Qinghua noticed that he always ended up kissing him a little bit harder afterwards. The demon lord swept Shang Qinghua’s papers and stylus aside before hoisting him up and placing him on the low table.
Shang Qinghua’s back pressed into the smooth wooden surface and his eyes fluttered shut as Mobei-jun started kissing him wildly on the lips. He could barely get a breath out, and yet Shang Qinghua still pulled Mobei-jun closer.
“You’re mine,” Mobei-jun reminded him between kisses. He said that a lot. Shang Qinghua was pretty sure it was his way of telling him that he loved him.
“I’m yours, My Lord,” Shang Qinghua moaned in agreement, and his words were promptly swallowed up into Mobei-jun’s throat.
It was perfect. This life was perfect. Sure, he missed the internet sometimes, and he wondered what had happened to his readers and his author account in his absence. But he didn’t care all that much. Not when Mobei-jun was right here, loving him in his own weird, intense, forceful way.
This moment of bliss was suddenly interrupted by a skull-shattering alarm. Shang Qinghua sat bolt upright, knocking his forehead into Mobei-jun’s jaw. The demon took the hit like a champ, and he didn’t react at all. Instead, he tried to push Shang Qinghua back down.
But he slapped his hands away. That alarm… It was The System, but Shang Qinghua had never heard it make that sound before. There was a large text box floating in his vision, between him and Mobei-jun. It flashed red, and with each flash a giant number counted down.
He was so frazzled that it took him a few seconds to read what it said—Returning to original world in 20 seconds… Returning to original world in 19 seconds… Returning-
“No!” Shang Qinghua leapt to his feet. Usually, he tried not to interact with The System around others, lest he appear absolutely insane. But right now, he didn’t care. He seized the text box with both hands, looking it over for some sort of “Cancel” or “Stop” button. “No! I didn’t ask to leave! Cancel! Stop! Abort! Abort, you stupid piece of shit!”
Mobei-jun stared at Shang Qinghua, rising slowly to his bare feet.
The system spoke like a buzzer in Shang Qinghua’s head, “Our apologies. Due to a System error, this process can not be aborted. Have a nice day.” Returning to original world in 15 seconds.
“Fuck! No. No no no no.” Shang Qinghua couldn’t understand. For years, he’d been dismissing The System’s offer to send him back to his world. He wanted to stay here. He didn’t want to go back to that lonely life. And not to mention, he had no idea what state his original body would be in. For all he knew, he would find himself in a coffin under the earth. Or worse, he’d transmigrate into an urn filled with his own ashes.
The System didn’t listen to his begging. It just kept counting down. 14. 13. 12…
As Shang Qinghua watched his time drain away, unable to do anything, Mobei-jun took his chin in his large hand. He turned his face so that they were looking at each other, and Shang Qinghua felt tears streaming down his cheeks. Mobei-jun wiped them with his rough fingers and stared into Shang Qinghua’s face; intense, deep black eyes searching into his soul.
“I…” Shang Qinghua clung to his sleeve, shaking his head. “I’m sorry… I’m… I have to go away now, I guess.”
“What?” Mobei-jun demanded. His stoic expression cracked, making way for confusion and concern. “Where?”
Shang Qinghua wished that he knew the exact answer to that question. As the numbers dwindled, he tried to memorize the shape of Mobei-jun’s perfect face. He wanted it to be imprinted into his mind’s eye forever. He knew that he would never see such beauty ever again. “I’m… going home.”
The System chimed one more time as it reached 0. And Shang Qinghua’s consciousness was thrown violently out of the vehicle.
⟡⋆●⋆⁺₊❅.●⋆.˚
They were just kissing. They were just together.
Now, Shang Qinghua’s body hung limp in Mobei-jun arms. He’d only just caught him before he hit the ground.
He wasn’t breathing, and his once-sparkling eyes remained slightly open. If they’d been closed, the demon lord might have thought that he was asleep. But this wasn’t sleep. Mobei-jun had seen death enough times to know what it looked like.
He was angry. Furious. How dare Shang Qinghua suddenly leave him like this. He didn’t give him permission. He didn’t say that he could go.
Mobei-jun held the body tighter, desperately trying to hang onto the warmth that was quickly fading out of Shang Qinghua’s skin. Soon, he would be as cold as the rest of this palace.
Someone would have to fix this. He would make someone fix this. Of course, his mind went to the only person he knew who’d managed to die and come back to life.
Shang Qinghua weighed practically nothing to him, and Mobei-jun cradled him against his chest. “I’ll make you come back,” Mobei-jun said darkly. He didn’t care what it took. He wasn’t letting him go. Not now.
Not ever.
⟡⋆●⋆⁺₊❅.●⋆.˚
Mobei-jun materialized from the shadows in the corner of Shen Qingqiu’s cottage. He’d caught the teacher locked in the throes of passion with Luo Binghe. Usually, Mobei-jun would have respected their privacy and returned at a later time, but this was not something that he could wait for.
It was a display of horrendous disrespect toward his Lord, but he stepped forward and announced his presence anyway, “Shen Qingqiu.”
His voice lanced through the couple like an icicle, and Shen Qingqiu sat up with a start. He stared, wide-eyed at where Mobei-jun was lingering. Even now that the two knew they weren’t alone, Luo Binghe was still trying to continue.
When Shen Qingqiu’s eyes fell to Shang Qinghua, he fully pushed Luo Binghe off. He quickly slipped out from under the blankets, and Mobei-jun averted his eyes. The last thing he needed was Luo Binghe getting angry at him for “leering” at his husband.
Shen Qingqiu approached, wearing a loose underrobe, and his hands hovered over Shang Qinghua’s body. He flinched away, palm pressing hard against his mouth. Mobei-jun had never seen him so expressive before. He seemed deeply shaken.
“Heal him,” Mobei-jun demanded. He held out Shang Qinghua’s body, and his head lulled to the side. His lidded eyes stared unseeing at the only man he ever considered a friend.
Eventually, Shen Qingqiu removed his hand from his mouth, fingers instead curling against his throat in horror. “He’s dead… How did this happen?”
Luo Binghe had finally snapped out of it, and he was staring at the scene with narrowed eyes. He’d never been fond of Shang Qinghua, but even his expression was serious.
“He said he was going home,” Mobei-jun recounted. He stepped closer. “Fix. Him.”
“I can’t. I can’t. I’m sorry-” Then, Shen Qingqiu seemed to realize something. He hesitated before slowly walking back to the bed. He sat down and placed an absent hand on Luo Binghe’s knee which was hidden underneath the covers. “He really said that he was going home?”
Mobei-jun nodded.
“I…” Shen Qingqiu glanced at Luo Binghe. “I know where he’s gone…”
Mobei-jun’s eyes twitched marginally wider at the news. “Tell me.”
“It will sound unbelievable to you.” For some reason, he was nervous. He kept looking at his husband, and he suddenly didn’t seem entirely like himself. His shoulders were pulled high, almost touching his ears, and the cool mask he always wore was completely gone.
“Shizun,” Luo Binghe said softly, grabbing his attention. They shared a long glance before Luo Binghe pressed, “Where did he go?”
Shen Qingqiu rubbed his forehead and lowered his eyes. Then, he recounted a tale that truly did sound unbelievable. He spoke of another world, of a story, and of an author. He claimed that he wasn’t the true Shen Qingqiu—that he was someone else entirely, sent to inhabit this body instead. He claimed the Shang Qinghua was the same, an outsider from a completely different reality.
Mobei-jun wanted to rip Shen Qingqiu to shreds for spinning such tales at a time like this, but when their eyes met, Mobei-jun realized that the was telling the complete truth.
“This…” Shen Qingqiu sighed. He thought out loud, muttering under his breath, “This must be what happens to our bodies here if we’re sent back to our world. I didn’t think it was possible. The original Shang Qinghua must be long gone since he didn’t reinhabit his body…”
“You’re…” Luo Binghe looked like his entire world had been shattered. But it only lasted a moment. Almost as if ensuring Shen Qingqiu that nothing had changed between them, he leaned forward to place a kiss on the back of his neck. “You have carried such a secret all along…”
Their display of affection made Mobei-jun sick with rage. “How do I get there?” he growled. His mind was made up. If there was even a small chance that Shang Qinghua was alive in that other world, he would take it.
“I don’t know,” was Shen Qingqiu’s unsatisfactory answer.
Luo Binghe placed a hand on Shen Qingqiu’s stomach, pulling him closer. “I wonder if the sword still works,” he mused.
Shen Qingqiu shot him a disapproving glance. “We broke it into pieces and threw into the sea.”
“Sword?” Mobei-jun’s pointed ears perked up.
“Xin Mo,” Luo Binghe explained. “Once, another version of me broke into our dimension using Xin Mo. It can cut through the fabric of reality.”
“Yes.” Shen Qingqiu nodded. “But we destroyed it. There’s no way to find even one piece-”
He stopped talking as he noticed Luo Binghe’s sheepish expression. His eyes narrowed and he turned to face Luo Binghe head-on. “You did discard all of the pieces like I asked. Correct?”
Luo Binghe hesitated, then smiled cheekily. “Shizun-”
Shen Qingqiu raised a hand to silence him. “How much of it did you keep?” He exhaled in resignation as he watched Luo Binghe get dressed in a robe, then fish a shard of metal out from underneath their floorboards.
“I kept it just in case,” Luo Binghe explained. It was obvious that he was trying to be cute, and it was equally obvious that the act wasn’t working on Shen Qingqiu at all.
The piece of sword still emanated Xin Mo’s evil aura, although it was far less concentrated. Luo Binghe walked it over to Mobei-jun, who reluctantly traded Shang Qinghua’s body for the shard.
“I’m trusting you with this fragment,” Luo Binghe told him with an air of reverence, holding the corpse with a surprising amount of respect and care for someone who absolutely hated the man it belonged to. “After all you have done for me, this is your repayment. I hope that it holds enough power to get you where you need to go.”
Mobei-jun loomed for a moment over Shang Qinghua. He petted his hair softly, sweeping it away from his forehead, and placed a kiss on the pale skin. He promised him, silently, that he would see him soon.
He stepped back and brandished the sword shard. It hummed with demonic power, almost excited to be used once more. Mobei-jun imagined Shang Qinghua. He visualized him somewhere in that unfamiliar world he’d originated from. He demanded that the sword take him there.
As he swept the shard down, it cut through the air, opening up a portal. He couldn’t see past the darkness inside to know where he would end up when he stepped through, but this was a risk that he was going to take.
Before he could proceed, however, Shen Qingqiu called his name. Mobei-jun turned around to look at him.
Shen Qingqiu stood, sliding a hand onto Luo Binghe’s back. “Our world is more different than you can possibly imagine. And when you get there, Shang Qinghua won’t look like himself. He might not have the same name. It could be very difficult to find him…”
Mobei-jun nodded. He appreciated the warning, but he was prepared. “I’ll find him,” he said, confidence unwavering.
Then, he stepped through the cut in reality. He heard it close up behind him—a sort of sucking, popping sound—and he was left standing in complete darkness.
⟡⋆●⋆⁺₊❅.●⋆.˚
Even though it was a bit lazy, Shang Qinghua was the author’s actual name. Sure, a self-insert character might seem tacky to some, but nobody had to know. At least, that was Shang Qinghua’s thought process when he first created the character.
The real Shang Qinghua, the one who’d been born a few weeks too early and then resented by his entire family for the rest of his life, was dead to the world.
Well, he wasn’t technically “dead.” He still had brain activity, so that meant he was still alive, by doctor’s standards. He couldn’t breathe very well on his own, so a machine helped him along. And he couldn’t eat or drink, so he had various tubes stuck into his body in a bunch of different places to do that for him too.
Shang Qinghua—the popular internet author Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky—was two years deep into a coma. The doctors were baffled by his case. He’d been electrocuted, and he should have died. Instead, he survived, and he’d been in this hospital bed ever since. His vitals were steady, but there hadn’t been a single change in his condition since they started his heart again.
It was lucky that he came in when he did. A neighbor heard a loud crash from his apartment and broke inside when Shang Qinghua didn’t answer the door. It was his quick thinking that got the paramedics there in time to save the young man from the brink of death.
His younger sister sat by his bedside—whom he’d affectionally called Li Li before they stopped talking—and she didn’t want to be there. She cared about as much as the rest of her family about her older brother, which wasn’t a lot, but somehow, she’d ended up shouldering his hospital stay all on her own.
Shang Qinghua was an embarrassment. A black sheep. A useless waste of space that left a blemish on her family. She used to think that he was a cool older brother, but that was when she was still young and naïve.
No brother of hers would be so pathetic. No brother of hers would be gay. So, she hadn’t talked to him once since he turned 17 and moved away for good.
Everyone told her that it was wrong to just let her brother die alone in the hospital. So, she’d taken a trip to see him. And then the guy never died. For two years, she’d been staying in an apartment nearby just to wait for the day he finally croaked.
Today was like every other day. She worked on homework for her online college courses. Shang Qinghua stayed unresponsive. He was pretty bad company.
A nurse breezed into the room. She was the same one who always came by to take Shang Qinghua’s afternoon vitals. She also changed out his catheter bag and squeezed some goop into his feeding tube. Li Li hated watching it, so she turned away with a groan.
“Oh my…” the nurse said softly.
Li Li was compelled to look over, and she found the nurse staring at some sort of monitor. She’d attached some weird nodes to Shang Qinghua’s head, and she was just detaching them.
“What?” Li Li asked when she didn’t elaborate.
“His vital signs are changing.” The nurse noted it on her tablet before walking around to unscrew the opening of the feeding tube. “There hasn’t been any difference for so long.”
“Does that mean he’s finally dying?” Li Li asked callously, and the nurse glanced at her with eyebrows creased in the middle.
“His brain activity is stronger,” she explained stiffly. “It’s possible that we’re seeing an increase in activity before he passes away. People sometimes become more alert when they’re about to die. Or, he’s starting to wake up.”
Li Li scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I wish he’d just make up his mind already. I’m tired of sitting in this stupid hospital room.”
⟡⋆●⋆⁺₊❅.●⋆.˚
There was a musty smell in the air, so at least Mobei-jun knew that he wasn’t dead. Of course, he didn’t know what it was like to be dead, but he didn’t think that it smelled like stagnant water.
He took a step forward, and the toe of his boot connected with something wooden. It clattered to the ground loudly, and then a bunch of other things started falling. There was liquid on the ground suddenly, and it all smelled sharply of poison.
Mobei-jun reached out and found a strange switch on the wall. He pressed it experimentally and the area flooded with blindingly white light. He’d never experienced light like this before. It was sickly and unnatural, and he squinted through it with distaste.
He was in some sort of tiny room, surrounded by shelves of bottles and stuff that looked vaguely to him like cleaning supplies. The thing he’d kicked had been a broom, and it lay on the floor amongst an array of other fallen items.
Without thought, Mobei-jun stepped over the mess, shaking his shoes clean of the brightly colored, strong smelling liquids. There was a door in front of him, and he let himself through into a wide hallway.
The lights out there were better than the ones in the room, but they still cast the walls in a cold, strange hue. Shen Qingqiu had been correct about this world being different.
Mobei-jun strode down the corridor, across the slippery white floor, and peering occasionally into open doors. Each room had at least one starkly white bed. There were sick people in those beds, and people in stiff, pastel-colored uniforms cared for them. They darted around with odd chairs on wheels, glowing tablets, and trays of food.
“Excuse me, sir?” someone called to him, and Mobei-jun turned to find a man sitting behind some sort of peculiar desk. It was made out of a material that Mobei-jun had never seen before, and the man sat in front of a larger version of one of those glowing tablets.
They peered at each other for a long moment before the man finally said, “Can I help you with something? Do you have a family member on this unit?” He seemed to be taking Mobei-jun in, eyes flicking up and down his towering form.
“Unit?” Mobei-jun approached the desk and glowered down at the man. He was wearing the same clothes as the rest of the people running around everywhere. Maybe this was some sort of sect, one in which they took care of people who were ill.
“Um… Yes. This is the ICU?” The man maintained his uncertain, yet patient, smile. “Do you know someone who has been admitted here?”
Mobei-jun had no idea what “ICU” meant. Still, this was the only lead he had to finding his missing lover. “Shang Qinghua.”
“Ah,” the man’s expression sparked with recognition. Then, he stared up at Mobei-jun in confusion. “Are you… family? He’s only ever had the one visitor.”
“He’s here?”
“Yes, but he’s in a coma,” he explained. “Hospital standards state that he can’t have any visitors besides family.”
“I’m family.”
“You are?”
“He’s my husband.”
The man’s mouth fell open, and he gaped like a carp for a few moments. “Husband? That’s not- There’s no-”
Mobei-jun placed a large hand on the desk and leaned in. He cast the man in his shadow, glaring down with enough hatred to stop his blood cold in his veins. Ice crackled from Mobei-jun’s fingers, freezing a small portion of the desk. “You will allow me to see my husband.”
The man leaned backwards, turtling into himself. “R-right… Of course.” His teeth chattered as the air dropped suddenly in temperature. His breath puffed out in a cloud. “Room 429…”
Mobei-jun disengaged, letting the air return to normal. The man gasped, holding his heart, and Mobei-jun turned away sharply. He marched down the hall and to the room. It was labeled by a little plaque next to the door. Shang Qinghua’s name was written on a piece of paper underneath.
He was about to walk through the door when he heard voices coming from inside the room. He hesitated, listening through the curtained glass window.
“Honestly, I don’t care if you think he’s doing better,” a woman’s voice said. “He’s basically dead already. I’m the only family here. I’m his sister. So I say we pull the plug.”
“We can’t do that, ma’am,” another woman’s voice argued. This one was a bit deeper, more mature. “He still has brain activity. As far as the law is concerned, pulling the plug now would be murder.”
“This is ridiculous,” the younger voice griped. “No one cares if he dies anyway.”
Mobei-jun didn’t wait another moment. He burst through the door, startling both women. The younger woman stared at him with wide, frightened eyes, and the older one’s shoulders were tensed up to her earlobes. She wore a white jacket, and similar clothes to all of the sect members outside. Maybe she was the leader.
“I care,” Mobei-jun said grimly.
The younger woman crossed her arms. She scanned him, eyes resting for a long moment on his chest, which was exposed by his deep-cut collar. “And why do you have any say in this? What are you dressed as, anyway? You look like a freak.”
Mobei-jun ignored her. His attention shifted to the only bed in the room. Lying there underneath the blankets was a young man. His face was neat and handsome, the sort of face that belonged to someone respectful and kind. He was hooked up to countless tubes and strange, beeping objects.
Slowly, Mobei-jun approached, and he kneeled at the side of the bed. He brushed a strand of dark brown hair away from the man’s brow. He really did look different, but Mobei-jun still saw Shang Qinghua in this person’s appearance. The slope of his eyebrows, The sweet upturn of his shapely nose. His lips, the top one thin and bowed, the bottom plump and full.
“Um, excuse me?” the young woman demanded shrilly. “Who are you? What gives you the right to barge in here?”
“I’m his husband,” Mobei-jun growled. He held onto Shang Qinghua’s hand, gently rubbing his thumb along his knuckles. He looked so delicate.
There was a time when Mobei-jun had been excessively rough with the smaller man. It was the way demons showed their affections. But he’d quickly learned that humans were fragile. He could still be careless at times, but Mobei-jun made an effort to never hurt Shang Qinghua on purpose. Now, he held his limp hand with the softest of touches. He pressed a firm kiss into the back of his fingers.
“That’s…” The young woman shook her head in disbelief. “That’s not possible. That’s not even legal! You’re telling me that, for two years, my brother has had a ‘husband’ who hasn’t visited him once? I call bullshit.”
Mobei-jun glared up at her. She was exceptionally annoying, like a mosquito. He would very much like to squash her. “You’re his sister?”
“Yeah?”
“You deserve to die a thousand painful deaths,” Mobei-jun spoke coldly and the air became sharp with frost, “for trying to kill your own kin.”
She went stiff, and she chomped down fearfully on her bottom lip. After a long moment of sustained eye contact, she flinched away. “W-whatever…” She rubbed at her arms. “If you’re his husband, then you can take care of him. I’m done. I never wanna see him ever again.”
With that, she stomped out, and Mobei-jun muttered a silent curse at her retreating back. He didn’t have the ability to actually curse anyone, but he could still wish harm upon her and hope that it came true.
The doctor said a few words, which Mobei-jun ignored, before hesitantly leaving the room as well. If anyone questioned him staying by Shang Qinghua’s side, he’d kill them. He would raze this entire sect if he had to, if it meant that he could be here. He could sense prying, curious eyes peeping in through the cracked door, but Mobei-jun ignored them. It was harmless, so long as they left him alone.
“I should punish you for leaving without my permission.” Mobei-jun’s tone was glacial and serious, but he kept hold of Shang Qinghua’s hand. He didn’t bother finishing his thought out loud. After all, it looked like Shang Qinghua’s original body had been through more than enough. At the very least, he was breathing, and Mobei-jun could feel his steady pulse when he grabbed his wrist.
There was a window, filling the room with the rich orange light of dusk. Mobei-jun could have turned to look out at the world he was in, but his eyes stayed glued on Shang Qinghua. He sat like that well into the night, unmoving, unyielding. Now that he’d found him, all he could do was wait for something to change.
⟡⋆●⋆⁺₊❅.●⋆.˚
A steady beeping drilled its way into Shang Qinghua’s ear. It was drawing him out of the darkness, buoying him up from the depths of slumber and back to wakefulness.
He wondered if he’d fallen asleep at some point…
His eyelids were impossibly heavy, and it took every ounce of his strength to force them open. He felt so weak, and stiff. His body wasn’t his own—too thin and frail.
When he did manage to open his eyes, he found himself staring up at a familiar face. Mobei-jun was leaning over him, huddled in close. His expression was as dispassionate as usual, but his dark eyes glinted with masked emotion.
“Mobei-” Shang Qinghua’s throat was filled with glass, and his voice was dusty. Trying to say the demon’s name sent him into an uncontrollable coughing fit, and Mobei-jun’s grip tightened on his hand.
Shang Qinghua rolled away, desperately trying to stop his hacking. As he did, his gaze shifted, and he realized that he wasn’t in the ice fortress anymore. He wasn’t even in the world of Proud Immortal Demon Way anymore. This was a hospital. A modern-day hospital.
He’d returned to his original world like The System promised. But somehow, Mobei-jun was here with him too. Now, he was sure that he was dreaming. Or dead. Probably dead, with his luck.
His coughing attracted a nearby nurse, and when she saw him, she let out a very unprofessional gasp. She called frantically for help, and a bunch of doctors and other nurses filed in to check on him. They were poking at him, reading his vitals, asking him so many questions that it made his head spin.
For the whole, disorienting ordeal, Mobei-jun kept ahold of his hand.
“What’s your name?” one stately woman in a white coat asked.
“W-wha?” Shang Qinghua squinted up at her. “Shang Qinghua? What… Happened?”
“You were electrocuted.”
Right. Shang Qinghua knew that. He remembered dying, and then awakening in the other world as an infant. But he must not have actually died. It had been so long ago… He was probably a wrinkly old man in this body by now.
“There’s no easy way to tell you this,” the doctor said. “But you have been in a coma for two years. Once we’re finished evaluating you, we will begin on your recovery.”
Two years? Shang Qinghua wanted to sit bolt upright in surprise, but his body was far too weak. Only two years… He’d lived an entire life back in Proud Immortal Demon Way, but only two years had passed in this world since he transmigrated?
He decided that it wasn’t normal to respond to this news with a cheerful, “Oh, that’s not as long as I expected.” So, he just frowned up at the ceiling and nodded solemnly.
Eventually, everyone left him alone. He was still hooked up to a heart monitor and an IV, but they’d removed his catheter (not an entirely pleasant experience), and his oxygen intake was normal enough to take him off his ventilator. At some point, someone raised his bed up to a sitting angle so that he could look around at the room better.
His head lulled to the side so that he could stare at Mobei-jun. “Are you real?” A nurse had handed him a big cup of water with a straw to sip on and told him to be careful not to overwork his voice.
“I came for you.” Mobei-jun brushed a bit of hair behind Shang Qinghua’s ear. It was a little long, but not as long as it had been in the other world.
“How?”
“Xin Mo.”
“Even though it’s in pieces?” Shang Qinghua asked in surprise. He sighed and let his head fall back against his pillow. “I really overpowered that thing…”
After he’d said it, he realized that if Mobei-jun was here… Did that mean he knew the truth about everything? Shang Qinghua glanced over at him anxiously.
Mobei-jun held his chin and looked him over. Apparently, he knew exactly what Shang Qinghua was wondering. “You have been lying.”
“So… You know? Did Shen Qingqiu tell you?” It was the only explanation, after all.
Mobei-jun nodded. “You created me.”
“I’m sorry,” Shang Qinghua croaked. “Are you angry?”
“You’re the only Shang Qinghua I’ve ever known,” Mobei-jun told him firmly. It was rare for him to be the chatty one, but Shang Qinghua needed to hear him say that. “I’m only angry that you left me.”
“It wasn’t on purpose…”
“I know.”
They sat in silence for a long time. Someone left a cup of Jello for Shang Qinghua to try as his first solid food after waking up, and he took the lull in conversation as an opportunity to eat. He was too shaky and weak to peel back the lid, so Mobei-jun took it and did it for him. He went a step further too and fed Shang Qinghua slowly and carefully.
Mobei-jun used his rough thumb to swipe Shang Qinghua’s lips clean between bites, pausing only after he’d finished. The cold pad of Mobei-jun’s thumb rested softly on Shang Qinghua’s bottom lip, tugging his mouth open slightly. “You look different.”
“Different bad, or different good?” Shang Qinghua asked, suddenly self-conscious.
When he’d transmigrated he’d actually been surprised by how much the character Shang Qinghua looked like him. He didn’t think he’d made such an obvious surrogate for himself, but his reflection had many similarities. Of course, it was different enough that they looked like two different people—cousins, instead of brothers.
Mobei-jun considered him, turning his head from one side to the other. He scrutinized him silently before kissing him. “Still you.”
It wasn’t really an answer, but Shang Qinghua felt himself relax. He wasn’t completely settled on that matter, but he was too tired to think about it anymore right now. They kissed one more time, and then Shang Qinghua took another delicate sip of water.
“Finish up,” Mobei-jun said, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. “Then we will go back.”
Shang Qinghua choked on his water slightly. He cleared his throat before glancing up at Mobei-jun’s face. “I… I can’t go back with you. I thought you’d just come to check on me.”
“I won’t leave without you,” Mobei-jun insisted. “You belong to me.”
“Right… I get that.” Shang Qinghua set his cup to the side. He massaged at his temple with two fingers. “But I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one, my body is weak.” His throat was already straining. He had to take a few seconds to rest it before continuing, “If I went back, I would just be a normal mortal. All of my cultivation would be gone. I can’t fit into a world like that… Not in this body.”
“You have no need to fit in,” Mobei-jun insisted. His grip tightened into a vice on Shang Qinghua’s wrist. He wasn’t going to let go. “You are mine.”
“Of course I’m yours…” Shang Qinghua’s voice cracked, and he failed to hold back his tears. As they started to fall, Mobei-jun took his face and got to work wiping the streaks away, scowling all the while. “I’m… Just afraid, I guess. I won’t be the same.”
“We will be.”
Shang Qinghua sighed. He knew that it was useless arguing. After all, Mobei-jun always got what he wanted. Shang Qinghua always wanted to please him, not as a ploy to stay on his good side like before, but because he really, truly loved him. Mobei-jun belonged to him too, and Shang Qinghua wanted to stay by his side.
“Alright,” he agreed. Quickly, he added, “But not now.”
“When?” Mobei-jun questioned irritably.
“After I recover.” Shang Qinghua was already too tired to hold his eyes open completely. “We have to be patient. If I go back like this, I’ll probably die. I need modern medicine to get me back to normal.”
There was a lot of cool magical medicine in the world he’d created, but he knew enough to understand that nobody was equipped to deal with a post-coma recovery. It was fantasy, but he’d still based it off of a time period where people thought arsenic was good for you.
He’d need physical therapy, and an extended hospital stay. He wouldn’t ever be able to recover in the other world without his cultivation.
Mobei-jun huffed angrily, but he didn’t voice his irritation. Instead, he started roughly brushing Shang Qinghua’s hair back with his fingers. “I will help.”
Shang Qinghua felt a smile stretch across his sleepy face. “You being here helps.” It was sappy, but it was true. After a moment, his expression pinched, and he gazed at Mobei-jun’s clothes.
“But if you’re going to stay here,” he started thoughtfully, “you’ll need to know how things work in this world. And… You should probably buy some normal clothes…”
⟡⋆●⋆⁺₊❅.●⋆.˚
There were a lot of arbitrary rules in this world. Mobei-jun had to wear a shirt at all times, and most men only ever wore pants. They were uncomfortable pants too, made out of some kind of stiff blue fabric. But when Shang Qinghua saw him for the first time—wearing a knitted black sweater, those fitted blue pants, and leather boots—he practically swooned out of his hospital bed.
So the clothing wasn’t entirely terrible.
It had been weeks since Shang Qinghua woke up, and his recovery was full of bumps. He became fatigued quickly, and he was having a hard time handling solid foods. He had to eat a little bit at a time, or else he risked wearing himself out even more when he got sick afterwards. Whenever he did vomit, Mobei-jun rubbed his back to help him get it all out.
Every morning, Mobei-jun forced Shang Qinghua out of bed, ignoring his protests, and supported him as they took a walk around the hospital. Apparently, this wasn’t a sect at all, but rather a massive infirmary, filled with hundreds of patients and physicians. This one building put Qian Cao Peak to shame.
After their slow walk, Shang Qinghua had to go do what he called “physical therapy.” He spent a few hours a day just relearning how to move his body. It didn’t always listen to him, but Mobei-jun could see him improving day by day.
Eventually, the hospital gave him the all-clear to go home. However, they said that Shang Qinghua would still need to come back every week for physical therapy for a few more months. Mobei-jun wanted to murder the doctor who told him that, but he held himself back. This was what Shang Qinghua needed to return home with him. So, he would do everything in his power to make sure that the recovery went smoothly—even if that meant sticking around in this horrible world for a few more months.
Here, Shang Qinghua was a bit squeamish about affection in public. He’d explained that people weren’t as tolerant of their sort of relationship. Mobei-jun didn’t care, and he promised to kill anyone who offered their unsolicited opinions on the matter.
But despite the ups and downs, Shang Qinghua did reach the end of his hospital stay. The two sat side by side in what Shang Qinghua called “a car.” There was a stranger driving, and Shang Qinghua had his head resting on Mobei-jun’s broad shoulder. He looked asleep, but Mobei-jun thought that he was probably just resting his eyes.
Eventually, the car came to a stop in front of tall building. It was taller than the hospital, and glass windows climbed high, high, high into the sky. Mobei-jun jostled Shang Qinghua and escorted him out of the car.
“This is it…” Shang Qinghua sighed. He didn’t seem particularly happy to be home.
Mobei-jun helped him to the “elevator” and listened to Shang Qinghua’s nervous chatter as they made their way deeper into the building. “I’m glad I set up automatic rent payments… I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t come back here.”
“How long did you live here?” Mobei-jun asked.
“A long time. It never felt like mine, though.”
They reached the front door, and Shang Qinghua unlocked it. He switched on a light, bringing the apartment into view. It was a mess, likely mostly untouched for the past two years. Dust had accumulated on the shoes by the door, and there were stacks of books strewn about in places where books probably shouldn’t have been.
“I forgot how messy I left it…” Shang Qinghua said sheepishly. He asked for Mobei-jun to take him to the couch and settled into the cushions with a sigh. He looked at his surroundings and he seemed lost, like there was a disconnect between himself and the apartment.
“Are you tired?” Mobei-jun asked. He kneeled in front of the couch, so that he could look up at Shang Qinghua’s face. Without realizing it, Mobei-jun had become doting. This situation made him want to be delicate, to fight his nature and be someone soft. It’s what Shang Qinghua needed, and it was something that Mobei-jun was willing to give.
Shang Qinghua smiled and shook his head. “I’m okay, I think.”
“Hungry?”
“It’s weird when you’re not glaring at me,” Shang Qinghua said gently. He patted Mobei-jun’s shoulders with both hands. “I’ll be alright. I’m not going to die or anything.”
Mobei-jun frowned, and Shang Qinghua wrapped his arms around his neck. “Let’s just sit,” he offered. “We could talk. We haven’t had a chance to talk much…”
Mobei-jun nodded. He sat next to Shang Qinghua, bringing him into his lap. He was shorter in this body, by a fairly significant amount. He’d always been small in comparison to Mobei-jun, but now he would probably just be considered small by everyone. Mobei-jun liked the way he could fold neatly into his body.
In the hospital, there was no privacy for him to explore this new version of Shang Qinghua. He wanted to get to know every inch of his skin, and to experience all of the ways he might react differently to his touch. Now that they’d left, it was only a matter of time—as soon as Shang Qinghua’s body could handle it, Mobei-jun planned to stake his claim.
Shang Qinghua nuzzled into the hollow of his throat and sighed. “You’re sure that you want to stay with me? I’ll be okay on my own…” He kept offering weak platitudes, but Mobei-jun could tell that he was lying. If the way his sister spoke about him was any indication, it was clear that Shang Qinghua didn’t have a life here.
Mobei-jun wanted him to stop trying to push him away. It would never work. He growled, frustration mounting, “Do you want me to leave?”
“No!” Shang Qinghua said quickly. “No… I’m glad that you’re here. I still can’t believe you did it. Xin Mo is dangerous, even broken into a million pieces.”
“I would do it again,” Mobei-jun answered firmly. He held onto Shang Qinghua’s waist possessively, wishing that he could merge with him and keep him attached to his body forever.
“Because I belong to you?” Shang Qinghua joked lightly.
“Because I love you.”
Shang Qinghua twitched, then turned to stare up at him in surprise. Mobei-jun smoothed his hand over his hair soothingly. “You love me?” Shang Qinghua asked, a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips.
Mobei-jun pinched his cheek, interrupting his coy smile. “I married you.”
“That’s true.” Shang Qinghua chuckled. He said that he wasn’t tired, but his eyelids were starting to droop. His chin dipped into his chest. “Just… You never said it before.”
“That was before you left.”
Shang Qinghua’s smile softened as his eyes shut entirely. As he nodded off, he breathed, in a near-whisper, “I love you too.”
⟡⋆●⋆⁺₊❅.●⋆.˚
Watching Mobei-jun experience the trappings of the modern world was the only good thing about being forced back into this body. Shang Qinghua took every opportunity he could to expose him to new things, and Mobei-jun endured each activity with varying degrees of disdain.
Of course, they couldn’t get up to much. Shang Qinghua struggled to walk long distances, and he was still malnourished from being asleep for so long. His doctor prescribed him these special protein drinks to help him put on weight, and it seemed like it was working. Still, he was tired a lot of the time. And besides, when he did live here, it wasn’t like he was the most social.
In fact, he was a shut-in. He ordered his food. He ordered his books. He sat at his computer all day, skin growing more and more gray and his back more and more curved until he was basically a gargoyle enslaved to his computer.
But it was enough to share certain things with Mobei-jun, like pizza, and movies, and television, and video games.
Tonight, Shang Qinghua wanted to watch one of his favorite movies. It was some B-movie kung fu film—one of the many that loosely inspired Proud Immortal Demon Way before the story took on a life of its own.
Shang Qinghua was realizing that the film was a lot less exciting after having lived something like it for years. The one good thing about it, though, was that it featured the quintessential actor who made Shang Qinghua realize that he was gay. He was eleven, and he saw the character shirtless one time, and it all exploded from there.
Just as he was thinking about this, the character sauntered onto screen, his hair long and onyx black, his fingers sharp with demonic, talon-like fingernails. Shang Qinghua turned a deep shade of red as he realized that the man on screen was a near 1-to-1 model of Mobei-jun.
Shang Qinghua glanced up at him sheepishly and found Mobei-jun staring right back at him. The demon lifted an eyebrow at him. “Inspiration?”
“Don’t talk about it!” Shang Qinghua protested. He was cringing so hard, he felt like he was going to cringe right off the couch. He hid his face behind his hands. “Shouldn’t bother you that you’re a figment of my imagination?”
“I’m real.” Mobei-jun peeled his hands away, leaning in close until their noses were nearly touching. “I don’t care if you made me up.”
Shang Qinghua bit his bottom lip. “Okay…” He glanced briefly back at the TV. “Is it really that obvious?”
“Yes.”
“Fantastic…” Shang Qinghua couldn’t deny that he had a type. He made Mobei-jun in that image. He was literally the ideal man for him—maybe without some of the violent demon tendencies, but he’d kept those in check lately.
Sometimes, Shang Qinghua worried that the only reason Mobei-jun liked him was because he’d somehow subconsciously written that attraction into his character. Of course, it was clear that this version of his character, and of all the characters from the current story, were not what he’d originally created. Shen Qingqiu’s meddling changed everything so drastically.
Shang Qinghua liked it better in a lot of ways, especially since it meant that Mobei-jun wasn’t going to kill him.
Still, Shang Qinghua couldn’t help but wonder. He peered up at Mobei-jun’s face. “By the way…”
Mobei-jun returned his eye contact. He started rubbing circles on the back of Shang Qinghua’s shirt. His hand left a chill on his skin.
“Do you find me attractive too?” It felt silly to ask like that, but it was the only thing he could think to say. He wanted to know. It was painfully obvious that he thought Mobei-jun was the hottest person (so to speak) alive, but how Mobei-jun felt was unclear. He knew that he was attracted to his body in the other world, but now he had this body… This skinny, 162 cm tall body. He’d unconsciously written the character Shang Qinghua to be a more attractive version of himself, even though the character ended up being canon fodder. Honestly, the fact that he met such a vicious end originally was probably a testament to what Shang Qinghua really felt about himself.
Mobei-jun stared down at him, mouth set into a hard line. He didn’t utter a word, and Shang Qinghua found himself suddenly panicking.
“I just mean- this body,” he explained haltingly. “I was only asking because, well! It’s not as good as the other one. It’s smaller, for example.”
Mobei-jun suddenly secured a strong hand over Shang Qinghua’s mouth. He got in close, placing his lips next to his ear. “Smaller is better.” Suddenly, he bit down on Shang Qinghua’s earlobe.
“Ah!” Shang Qinghua let out a surprised yelp and tried to push Mobei-jun away. The demon held his wrists fast, then scooped him up into his arms.
He started walking with him, toward the bedroom door. Shang Qinghua held his neck, fighting the urge to try and talk Mobei-jun out of wanting him. There was no way he found him more attractive like this… No one in their right mind would.
When Mobei-jun tossed him down onto the bed and bore down on him, Shang Qinghua placed his hands on his chest to keep their bodies separated by a few inches of air. “B-but! My face. It’s not-”
Mobei-jun didn’t let him finish his self-deprecating declaration. He kissed him, forcing his mouth open with his tongue. They hadn’t been together like this since Shang Qinghua was forced back to this world. He felt lightheaded as Mobei-jun left his lips behind and started biting brutally at the thin skin of his neck.
“You don’t want me…” Shang Qinghua mumbled uncertainly.
“You don’t know what I want.” Mobei-jun seemed dead set on proving him wrong, and Shang Qinghua wasn’t going to stop him. If he didn’t know, then he really wanted to find out.
Mobei-jun made short work of Shang Qinghua’s pajama pants, stripping them off viciously and tossing them aside. He lifted Shang Qinghua’s legs up, exposing his small, rounded buttocks and the waiting hole between them.
Because of some wishful thinking soon before his accident, Shang Qinghua had purchased some lube online. He was hoping to go out and actually bag himself a boyfriend, but he’d been struck comatose before it could happen. Now, he directed Mobei-jun to the bottle in his bedside table’s drawer, and he gasped as Mobei-jun’s long, slick finger slipped into his opening.
Another finger joined soon after, working Shang Qinghua open, until he was stretched loose and tender. Shang Qinghua wasn’t used to the noises of pleasure from this particular voice. It was slightly higher pitched, a bit whiny. For whatever reason, as he let out a high, strangled groan, Mobei-jun seemed to go wild at the sound.
He removed his fingers after introducing a generous sheen of lubrication. He undid his buttons, producing his erection from his pants. Then, he seized Shang Qinghua by the waist—his hands nearly encircled the entire circumference—and eagerly pressed his cock into the twitching pucker.
The shock of it sent Shang Qinghua’s head grinding back against the pillow. It became alarmingly clear the moment Mobei-jun sunk inside just how much smaller this body was. It made for a tighter sensation as Shang Qinghua’s body desperately struggled to accommodate Mobei-jun’s unbelievable girth.
“My Lord!” Shang Qinghua gasped, choking on a moan.
Mobei-jun began to move, thrusting back and forth, hitting a knot of pleasure each time he reached the deepest point inside. Electricity zinged through Shang Qinghua’s entire body, sending his legs twitching, and his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Tears of pleasure clung to his eyelashes, and he stretched his neck out long as Mobei-jun nipped and licked at his collar bones and throat.
Shang Qinghua’s hands found purchase in Mobei-jun’s muscular shoulders. He clenched down, curling into his hard flesh as his back arched. Mobei-jun slammed into him vigorously, turning Shang Qinghua’s brain to mush.
One, long, gasping moan punctuated Shang Qinghua’s orgasm. He left a splatter of white mess on his own stomach, and Mobei-jun was still going, getting to his finishing point. He’d always had more stamina than the human Shang Qinghua. As he kept working, forcing himself in and out, Shang Qinghua came three times more.
Finally, Mobei-jun pulled out, cum trailing from Shang Qinghua’s insides and onto the top sheet. The demon rolled off of Shang Qinghua, keeping one hand resting softly on his bare thigh.
Once Shang Qinghua’s body relaxed, overtaken by fatigue, Shang Qinghua rolled over to face Mobei-jun. He ran his fingers across the landscape of his muscular stomach. “You know… This body never had sex before now… You took my virginity twice.”
Mobei-jun just grunted in response, and he engulfed Shang Qinghua in his strong arms.
⟡⋆●⋆⁺₊❅.●⋆.˚
Even after all of these months, it was surprising that Mobei-jun was willing to cook for him—that he wanted to. And that he was actually pretty good at it. When he found out that Shang Qinghua’s diet in this world consisted of approximately 85% instant noodles, he took it upon himself to change that.
Shang Qinghua sat at the kitchen table, happily slurping down some light seafood soup leftover from the night before. His appetite came back soon after they moved into the apartment six months prior, and he’d gained back some of the weight he’d lost while he was in his coma. He actually felt alive again.
Mobei-jun came in from the other room, wearing his sleepy face, as well as nothing but a pair of loose, airy pants. It was summer, and he’d been on the verge of melting for days. He ignored Shang Qinghua and beelined to the fridge. He threw open the freezer and leaned inside, lingering for a long moment before reemerging with an ice pop.
“Are you overheating?” Shang Qinghua asked.
Mobei-jun glared over his shoulder at him. He would never admit that he was regretting agreeing to stick around, but that expression said it all. He probably wanted to be back in his ice palace, away from the oppressive humidity and heat. He hated this world so much, and the fact that he was enduring it made Shang Qinghua love him that much more.
They’d made a decent house out of this apartment. Mobei-jun begrudgingly cleaned it up, making sure that they weren’t drowning in books and trash and dirty clothes. It wasn’t perfect, but it was livable. It was, ironically, considering who Shang Qinghua was living with, warm.
“I was thinking…” Shang Qinghua started with a smile. “I’m feeling a lot better, and my physical therapy is over.”
Mobei-jun’s glare softened around the edges—ice melting to slush.
“I think I’m ready to go home.”
Mobei-jun didn’t say a word. He put his still-wrapped ice pop back in the freezer and swept around to the other side of the table. Mobei-jun grabbed both sides of Shang Qinghua’s face and kissed him deeply, pushing his head back.
“That’s a yes?” Shang Qinghua managed to say after pulling away from the kiss.
“Yes.”
“Great…” Shang Qinghua patted Mobei-jun’s chest a few times. “I’m just gonna gather a few things. I really missed my books over there.”
Mobei-jun nodded his agreement, and Shang Qinghua went off to pack a bag. He piled it full of books. As many as he could possibly carry—new ones he hadn’t gotten the chance to read, old favorites, print-outs of his own works. He hoped that they would last him a while.
He didn’t bother telling anyone that he was leaving and never coming back. He’d turned off his rent payments, and all of his stuff would be tossed in a few months once the landlord realized that he’d dropped off the face of the Earth. No family would care. Shang Qinghua preferred to fade into nothingness—to disappear permanently from this world and reemerge anew in the next.
When he came back into the kitchen, dragging the duffel bag of literature across the floor, he was surprised to find Mobei-jun wearing the clothes that he’d come here in. Shang Qinghua realized how much he missed it. The jeans were nice, but Mobei-jun belonged in dark, billowing robes, low neckline exposing his strong, marble-like chest. It drove Shang Qinghua crazy.
Mobei-jun noticed him struggling and took the bag. He hoisted it onto his shoulder like it weighed nothing and stared down at Shang Qinghua with a glimmer in his eye. It was clear that he was happy, even though it didn’t show on his face.
“I’m ready.” Shang Qinghua exhaled. He was still nervous. All of his doubts about returning still worried at the back of his mind, but since being back in his original world, he knew that this wasn’t where he belonged.
Mobei-jun produced the piece of Xin Mo, in all of its dark, foreboding glory. They’d kept it wrapped up in his robes, burying its ire until they needed to use it again. Mobei-jun cut a rift large enough for both of them to step through.
They found each other’s hands, entwining their fingers together, and stepped back into the other world—back into the life that they’d built with one another.