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Chapter Text

“Ahh, this is from the town attacked by the Nu Yuan Chan. How nice... I’ll respond tomorrow,” Shen Qingqiu remarks to an empty bamboo house, eyes scanning the letter in his hand.

It’s the eve of twenty-five months exactly since the protagonist’s ‘graduation ceremony’ and Shen Qingqiu, one of the worst among the many scum villains of “Proud Immortal Demon Way”, putters about his bamboo house on the Qing Jing Peak of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect and drinks over-steeped tea. With one hand he flips through some correspondence that has collected in his time away.

Two years back, Shen Qingqiu, the villain that he is, had pushed the hero down the edge of a cliff, kick, kick, kicking him until he tumbled into the Endless Abyss. In doing so, Shen Qingqiu had granted him a scholarship to the college of ‘How to be a Protagonist’. With his purpose as a villain accomplished, Shen Qingqiu had won himself a measly sum of five little years.

Since then, Shen Qingqiu has perfected the hobby of idling away his time! Teaching his little duckling students once in a while, but mostly spending his days either kneeling before the sword mount erected in the back gardens of the bamboo house, or off the mountain under Liu Qingge’s stern gaze.

It isn’t a bad life. He can’t bring himself to mind that much. Since transmigrating he knew that he would end up in this situation, and cannot blame anyone but himself.

That's not to say he's given up, however! Far from it, in fact. This time, he has plans! This time, he’ll be ready!

The one measly little blessing he can count in his life is that he has a mushroom spore body slowly cultivating to be used whenever his five year time limit is up. Shang Qinghua had planted them somewhere very far away, carefully tucked into some unknown corner to slowly bloom into his emergency escape.

Indeed, this time when the System comes knocking at his door and requesting him to follow the plot, he’ll have a back-up body ready to evacuate into! Then Luo Binghe’s grudge can be settled and Shen Qingqiu can run off and enjoy his measly existence in a quiet corner somewhere, never to cross paths again.

Shen Qingqiu sits and continues sorting through his letters, messily tossing them onto his desk to be sorted by Ming Fan at a later time, or perhaps just to collect dust. Kneeled at his desk, he’s treated to a gentle afternoon breeze, sunlight filtering through the wide sliding doors.

To his left he can see into the back gardens. A small pathway of stone twines between herbs and bamboo, leading out to a small clearing where a sword is planted into the soil. On the ground just before the sword, one can make out the clear imprints of where two knees have been pressed into it. Worn down like a desire path, kneeled in over and over and over again until the earth had been unable to return to its natural state.

Shen Qingqiu gazes out at the sword, until the tea in his hands becomes cold and the shadows of the day grow long. The correspondence on his desk is long forgotten in a disorganized pile that will eventually be added to an even larger pile that he’s collected over these past two years.

It’s almost surprising how fast the time has slipped by. Golden summers and frozen winters have passed by twice over, racing towards when his emergency escape plan must be enacted.

He’ll be prepared!

On this night, his Qing Jing Peak is quiet. It always is, but as the night draws in it seems even more so. There is no soft breathing from his side room, no one clattering around in the kitchen, no one welcoming him in and treating him to tea.

Perhaps Shen Qingqiu does miss when Luo Binghe shared this same roof, but just a bit. Well! Nothing to do! And no point in lingering on the topic. Shen Qingqiu calmly disposes of his cold tea, shaking his head at his own antics.

In his quiet home, Shen Qingqiu sleeps with hardly a worry in his heart, only to wake in the deepest part of the night with a strange premonition in his heart. Before even opening his eyes, he senses something is wrong.

He swallows around a mouthful of saliva and notices only after it’s begun to pass down his throat that the liquid is much too coppery and much too thick to be his drool. The air around him is saturated with the stench of ash and blood.

His eyes fly open.

Under the night pearls’ light, he can see the serene face of Luo Binghe above him, the edges of his face trimmed of all youthful fat, whiter than snow under the thick smears of dirt.

He stands over Shen Qingqiu’s bed silently. His hair is wild and messy, barely pulled back with a fraying bit of green ribbon; his clothing is torn and stained all over with what can only be blood, as if chunks of his flesh had been torn out again and again until the clothing was dyed through with it all; his body is taller and leaner than he recalls, honed to utter perfection from his time in the Endless Abyss.

Groggy, voice thick with sleep, he says, “Binghe, it’s you?”

For a moment, Shen Qingqiu thinks he must be dreaming. It’s only been two years after all. For Luo Binghe to have escaped the Endless Abyss, wouldn’t it have required some insane cheat codes?

Then, Luo Binghe smiles.

In his youth, Luo Binghe’s smiles had always been kind and warm, like the very sun appearing to make buds bloom and dew dry, the winter itself disappearing before him. That kind of smile only draws the viewer in, enticing in its welcoming sincerity. For Shen Qingqiu, that smile had always been among his favourite things.

This is not that smile.

The smile he sees now is the very same smile he had seen on Luo Binghe’s face in the nightmare Meng Mo had sent him, when he had been strung up writhing without limbs and without a tongue to beg for death, with the cold and black-bellied protagonist smiling at his miserable little struggles.

It’s a purely manic, chilling, frightening smile. It looks almost unnatural on Luo Binghe’s face, still dressed in the tattered remains of his disciple’s uniform, looking as if he’d dragged himself from the grave to return here. In that smile, Shen Qingqiu sees his death looming.

[ Hello. System activation successful. ]

[ Universal activation key: Luo Binghe. ]

…

He isn’t a brave man. Ignoring as the System coldly announces its return, he turns and rolls from bed with every intent to flee into the night.

Luo Binghe moves too quickly for Shen Qingqiu, with his mind muddled with fear and his cultivation waning under Without-a-Cure’s whims. Like an animal springing from the ground, no more than a viper with its mouth open and ready to snap shut around the neck of its prey, Luo Binghe lunges.

Even before the Endless Abyss, Luo Binghe had been rapidly rising to meet his level. Given a few more years to properly define those skills in non-stop combat, he’s like a rocket shooting up past Shen Qingqiu’s meagre ability until he’s scraping the very stars themselves! Beyond OP! These are complete and utter game-breaking hacks!

A hand wraps around his ankle and drags him back from the window, and a flick of fingers slam those very windows shut with qi.

Shen Qingqiu aims a blast over his shoulder and is met with an apathetic laugh no more than an exhale of breath, as though his attempt was so feeble, it hardly even befitted an acknowledgement at all.

With the ease one would toss a doll around, Luo Binghe flips him over onto his back, one hand pinning him down on his chest and one hand clasping heavily over his mouth. Shen Qingqiu can see the fresh blood on those fingers, the dark red catching on the night pearl’s light.

He swallows reflexively, a nauseating sensation building in the back of his throat.

That liquid he’d swallowed…

Somewhere deep in his body, he imagines feeling the blood parasites slowly leaching into his bloodstream, multiplying tenfold with each breath. To drink this blood is to sentence yourself to a life more painful than dying, where torture can be inflicted with a single thought.

Shen Qingqiu, oh, Shen Qingqiu, you cannot beg for a good death any longer, can you?

“Shizun.”

It’s the first thing Luo Binghe says to him after two years, after his betrayal at Jue Di Gorge. There is a shade of the boy Luo Binghe once was in that word, a touch of respect. Shen Qingiu can almost imagine a bit of fondness in that word, if just a bit.

But pasted thickly over that warmth is rage, harsh and black, like oil.

Shen Qingqiu’s lungs freeze over. He is going to die. He’s really about to die.

He’s known he’s going to die since the moment he transmigrated into this accursed body bearing an accursed fate. To know it is one thing; to face it is an entirely different thing.

Something deeply animal takes over his brain. He pushes out with both hands, qi surging through his veins with enough force that they ache. Luo Binghe blinks slowly at it, long lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks, unflustered and unbothered.

His fingers form a sword seal and Xiu Ya shoots from its scabbard where it had been situated beside his bed. The sword flies out towards Luo Binghe. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t expect it to land nor is his intention to injure Luo Binghe in any way; it’s simply the hope that a blade flinging towards him will force Luo Binghe to let go.

Without looking, Luo Binghe catches Xiu Ya from the air with a bare hand. The blade creaks in his grip, blood dripping between his fingers onto the white metal.

“Shizun, what are you trying to do?” Luo Binghe asks.

He’s trying to protect his little life!! It’s not as if he’d really meant to slice into Binghe’s hand! He’ll apologize on hands and knees later! He’ll properly kowtow later!

For now, he strikes out again with a flat palm, a fierce hit landing directly over Luo Binghe’s sternum. Luo Binghe actually moves this time, leaning back with glittering eyes and a small, slightly cruel smile.

“Alright. Go ahead, Shizun,” Luo Binghe laughs lightly. “Go ahead. Try and run.”

Shen Qingqiu needs no more permission than that. He turns and blows through the window, leaping through it and over the nearby bamboo grove. His blood pounds in his veins, surging with fright.

Through the bamboo, Shen Qingqiu runs, his face and clothing whipped by leaves. His eyes sting from the tiny cuts and chilly night air. His typical composure and elegance is ripped to tatters. If he manages to survive, he’ll be embarrassed about his unseemly behaviour later.

His mind races, thoughts jumbled by his panic.

Where can he run to? Can he make it to An Ding Peak and inform Shang Qinghua to prepare the mushroom body? Or can he make it to Bai Zhan, and pray that Liu Qingge is home for once, using him to fight back the bloodthirsty protagonist nipping at his heels? What of Yue Qingyuan? Could he fend off Luo Binghe for long enough?

What can Shen Qingqiu do to live?

From the bamboo house, he hears Luo Binghe jumping out after him. The ground crunches under Luo Binghe’s feet and the leaves of the bamboo rustle as he bounds in one long motion after Shen Qingqiu. Just by the sound, he can tell Luo Binghe is only a few seconds off from rushing him down.

Shen Qingqiu’s chest constricts painfully, head rushing with adrenaline.

Fuck! He’s fast…!

Even before the Endless Abyss, Luo Binghe’s martial power had at times surpassed his own due to it being crippled from Without-A-Cure. And now, after enduring his tragically horrific trial in the Endless Abyss, crushed down again and again, surviving until his prowess had condensed to a diamond-sharp peak, Luo Binghe is beyond comparison.

How can Shen Qingqiu dream of outrunning him?!

It’s like a nightmare. No matter how much energy he pours into his legs, no matter how hard he runs, he feels as though he’s moving through sludge, feet sticking to the ground.

His ears strain as they try to parse the sound of Luo Binghe’s footsteps past the rushing of wind, but he can’t hear anything. Luo Binghe can’t have lost his track, can he? He’s stronger, faster, smarter – he is the peerlessly capable protagonist. Chasing Shen Qingqiu down would be child’s play.

He turns his head and scans the forest behind himself. In the blackness of night and through the thickets of bamboo, he can see nothing. With his cultivator’s eyesight, he is only able to see roughly 10 or so meters out. From the suffocating darkness, his brain creates what he believes to be there. He sees something in his peripheral vision staggering towards him. When he turns his head, he sees something stalking him in the depths of the woods.

He has become prey to the most apex of predators.

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes tremble as he stares into the pitch black night. Something within him is convinced Luo Binghe is there, lingering at the edge of where his vision fails, watching him flee for his life…

Shen Qingqiu’s entire back breaks out in cold shivers.

He turns back around and leans forward, bounding faster and faster through the groves. After another few long leaps, he breaks through the forest line into one of Qing Jing Peak‘s grand pavilions. It's situated in a courtyard, ponds full of lilies and koi paired with carefully cultivated wisteria lining the paths.

The pavilion is one used as a schoolhouse of sorts, with some rooms dedicated to housing musical instruments and other such items.

Perhaps if Shen Qingqiu can't outrun Luo Binghe, he can hide.

He dives into the pavilion, racing through the halls until he finds a room full of cupboards and closets, some of them large enough to hide a man. He's been the master of this Peak for some years now; Luo Binghe has been away for two. He should have the home advantage.

He finds an empty cupboard and hurriedly tucks himself inside.

Not five minutes later, Luo Binghe enters the room with a nearly silent tap tap tap of his feet.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe calls out in a sing-song voice. It originates from somewhere on the other end of the room, by the windows. The sounds of him opening cabinets and closets on that side of the classroom sound to Shen Qingqiu like the sharpening of the executioner’s axe. “Shizun, if you come out now, I won’t be angry with you.”

A bead of cold sweat drips down Shen Qingqiu’s forehead. He can barely breathe, both hands clasped over his mouth to muffle the sound.

“Shizu-u -un,” Luo Binghe coos. His voice is sweet and gentle, like a dove's. Shen Qingqiu wants to cry blood from the fear that cuts into his heart at the sound. “Shizun, I've missed you so much. When I last spent time away, you looked at me so warmly when I rushed back to your side. I was a treasured pearl you had polished to perfection and loathed to part from. Is this disciple no longer pleasing to look at?”

He hears the slide of wood on wood nearby, much closer now. Luo Binghe is only a scant few meters away from finding him.

“If I'm not pleasing to Shizun's eye, I'm happy to change. Shall I change my tone? Shall I change my face? Shall I change how I dress?”

Shen Qingqiu silently nods to himself at the third one. Coming back in clothing so soaked through with blood and viscera that white appears blackish-brown, how could he not be freaked out?! Even if he'd been looking forward to seeing Luo Binghe again (which, perhaps, he had been, just a little bit, if only to see how beautiful and charming a fully matured protagonist looks), how could anyone be happy seeing such a horrific sight?!

“Shizun, do you know? When I was young, before Shizun took me into his arms and safely held me against his bosom, I also hid in places like this, just so my shixiong wouldn't hurt me anymore.” His voice is a touch fond, as if recalling some honey-warmed memory.

And what is that about his bosom–?

Right beside him, another door opens. Shen Qingqiu's limbs all tighten, muscles coiling tighter and tighter. His entire body is wound like a spring. Even his jaw is tight, teeth aching from the tension.

“Shizun… ah, my Shizun…” Luo Binghe almost sounds wistful, a touch sorrowful. “My delicate, kind, lovely Shizun. Do you know what my blood can do?”

What a nonsequitur. Obviously Shen Qingqiu knows exactly what that blood can do! The blood parasites of a heavenly demon were an exceptional tool, one that Luo Binghe had used and abused happily throughout the entire something-million words after he'd unlocked his blood.

He'd used them as a method of torture, melting his enemies from the inside out. He'd used them as sexual tools, inciting his wives to orgasm by manipulating their blood and body, and turning the iciest beauty into a sexually aroused nymphomaniac. He'd also used it at times to track down someone who had been unwise enough to consume it.

Shen Qingqiu stops breathing entirely.

He'd used it… to track……!

The door to his cupboard opens. Luo Binghe looks in at him with an expression of fond amusement. He’d known Shen Qingqiu’s exact location the entire time, only searching to play with him, as a cat would with a mouse just before it bit its head off.

Luo Binghe laughs boyishly, almost like a giggle. “Found you, Shizun. I win.”

Shen Qingqiu, braced against the back of his hiding place, lunges to the side of Luo Binghe in a last ditch effort to slip by him.

A hand catches him around the throat and slams him to the ground. All of the breath in him rushes out, his ears ringing, and his back throbbing with the rough treatment. Fingers colder and stronger than steel wrap around his neck, squeezing until the blood struggles to pass through his veins and his windpipe is all but crushed.

Forget being carved down into a human stick. He's going to be choked to death!

“Shizun, it’s late, and if you scream you might wake someone,” Luo Binghe says, clearly enunciating each word, his voice kept low and steady with obvious effort. “If you did that, you would embarrass us, and I might be a little upset. So please be quiet, won’t you?”

Scream? Scream for who?!

There is no one on this mountain from whom he could plead for help. To Luo Binghe, they would be nothing but mere ants to step on. Perhaps those ants could nibble a bit and create an annoyance, but nothing more. If Liu Qingge were near, he might have screamed regardless of that warning, relying on that trap card he had carefully placed back in the Ling Xi Caves.

Shen Qingqiu says nothing. He doesn’t scream. He doesn’t beg. He wraps his hands around Luo Binghe's wrist and vainly attempts to pull it away.

Luo Binghe laughs lightly again, eyes curved into crescents, a horribly black humour visible in the pits of them. “Shizun, were you always so…”

His voice trails off.

… So what? Finish your sentence!

Luo Binghe removes his hand from Shen Qingqiu’s neck, and smiles again when he remains silent aside from his choking gasps for air. That pleasant face is sweetly terrifying.

The more gentle Luo Binghe is when blackened, the more horrific the torture will be that comes after. Each kind word hides another knife to be stuck in your side, each warm glance foretells a fresh bit of skin peeled off, and each helpful favour given will be repaid in a hundred pounds of flesh. These things are absolutely certain.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe croons, gentle as a dove.

Adrenaline makes Shen Qingqiu’s head swim, every muscle twitching with how tightly clenched they are. His breathing is shallow and quick. Cold sweat beads along his forehead and his nape, dripping down his spine.

His appearance must be skewed and dirty, small cuts lining his face from the bamboo and his clothing disheveled from running like a madman and curling into a cupboard. His hair is tangled, his face sweating and pale, and body shivering as if it had been plunged into an icy river. And his throat must be blooming with purpling bruises from the iron grip Luo Binghe had held him in.

Is this the way he wants Luo Binghe to remember him when he kills him? A filthy mess?

Even if he must be tortured, even if he must die, at least he should do so with some pride.

“Luo Binghe, it’s been some time,” Shen Qingqiu eventually manages. “How is it that you’ve managed to return?”

And so damn fast at that!

Luo Binghe stares at him unblinking, his lashes trembling minutely. His voice is soft, and his tone almost melodic with how smooth and pleasant to the ear it is. “Shizun, did you miss me?”

Shen Qingqiu sets his jaw. To be lured into answering such an obviously misleading question, how stupid does Luo Binghe think he is? If he responds no, he will be tortured. If he responds yes, he will be tortured even more. The only correct answer is to stay silent.

Luo Binghe's smile widens, until his teeth show. “Shizun. Shizun. I missed you . I've been waiting for this day to see you again.”

A wicked shudder runs down the length of Shen Qingqiu's back, his entire body breaking out with goosebumps, and all of the fine hairs on the back of his neck sticking straight up.

Should he take that to mean Luo Binghe has been thinking day and night of coming to torture him to death? Becoming so incensed and obsessed with the desire to make Shen Qingqiu suffer for his betrayal and past hurts that he had escaped so much earlier, just to come pay him a visit in their shared home? To say he ‘missed’ Shen Qingqiu, it can only mean that he has sweetly tended to that grudge in his heart until it blossomed into a garden of evil promises he intends to keep.

“So, Shizun, won't you tell me you missed me?”

How can Shen Qingqiu say it? How can he? He has. Of course he has. This house is lonely and quiet without the bright and sweet Luo Binghe tending to it.

But Shen Qingqiu has no face left to admit such a thing. He has no right. The claim on Luo Binghe's companionship had been utterly revoked the instant that he had kicked him down the cliff. That door is shut tight, and no force can reopen it.

The silence between them stretches thin.

“Shizun.” Luo Binghe's smile is more of a baring of teeth now. “It's alright. Whether you missed me, or whether you prayed to never dirty your gaze by laying eyes on me again, it doesn't matter. I have returned to my master's side, as devoted as the day I left.”

Shen Qingqiu is sure that his ‘devotion’ will spell his doom. That devotion paves the way towards only one thing: Shen Qingqiu strung up and hidden away from the world, left in Luo Binghe's hands to do with as he pleases. Weak, helpless, and, most of all, deserving of every last bit of it.

This is Shen Qingqiu's fate.

But he still has a way out. There's one last thing he can do to avert himself from that tragic end. All he must do is keep Luo Binghe calm until Shen Qingqiu can devise some way of fleeing from him, and evacuate into his plant body that is slowly growing under a quiet field somewhere.

He still has the mushroom body, and he is inside of Cang Qiong. Luo Binghe also cannot afford to take a risky step just as much as he cannot, surely.

Luo Binghe stares at him without emotion, face like porcelain. When Shen Qingqiu rises, Luo Binghe rises in tandem with him, and Shen Qingqiu startles as he must raise his eyes to look into that blood-streaked face.

It's strange seeing him now, taller and broader than before, still slender and handsome but honed and sharpened like a weapon. It makes him realize, perhaps for the first time, that he truly had killed the child he has raised. That tender little bamboo shoot of a boy, gone. The realization sits like a weight in his chest, a sour nausea curling deep in his stomach.

“Let's go back,” Luo Binghe says.

They walk together in strained silence back to the bamboo house. Shen Qingqiu doesn't attempt fleeing a second time; the first had been humiliating enough!

Eyes linger on the back of his neck the entire way. His skin crawls and he must fight the urge to glance back, much too frightened to meet eyes with Luo Binghe in the darkness like this again.

Back in the bamboo house, Shen Qingqiu looks at the blood staining the ground near the window of the bedroom, his stomach turning over. Saliva pools in his mouth. He swallows anxiously and waits for Luo Binghe to speak.

“Will Shizun cast me out?” Luo Binghe asks, a small cruel quirk to his lips.

“... I will not.” Actually, it's more accurate to say he ‘cannot’. Luo Binghe would cream him before he could even dream of drawing Xiu Ya a second time. It doesn't matter in any case, as Luo Binghe had thoroughly proven that he could not rely on it, lest he wishes for it to be shattered in Binghe’s palm. “As long as Binghe wishes, as long as I am master here, this Peak shall open its arms to you. The bamboo house is yours as well, to use as shelter, and to warm yourself by its hearth,” Shen Qingqiu says.

“As Shizun says, this house is mine.” Luo Binghe looks at him up and down, and another soft smile creases his mouth. “Yes. It's mine. Mine and Shizun's.”

Well… Naturally. Shen Qingqiu may have given rooming permission to the protagonist – who didn't need it anyways; he would have come and gone as he pleases anyways, so the path of least resistance is best to practice – but he hasn't signed off the lease paperwork, alright! This is still his house too! Don't kick him out on the streets, protagonist, sir!

“Binghe's room is as it was,” Shen Qingqiu says, attempting to seem casual. “Your bed is made and your wardrobe… We will call for new robes in the morning, if you wish. Your previous robes may no longer fit you.”

Even the ones he's wearing now don't fit. Shen Qingqiu had not noticed until then, the way the sleeves are a few inches too short and the way his pants seem a bit too tight. As dishevelled, bloody, and dirty as they are, it hadn't been the first thing to catch his eye.

This is what you get for speedrunning! You don't stop and find new equipment when the stuff you have serves well enough!

Luo Binghe looks away past the room dividing screen, then back at him with a mild smile. “Shizun. Am I stupid?”

Shen Qingqiu blinks. “What?”

“Does Shizun think…” Luo Binghe asks slowly, stalking slowly around him in a small circle, small enough to almost brush shoulders. The stench of blood is overpowering. “... that this disciple is stupid? That I don't know you'll try to run the moment this devoted disciple of yours turns his gaze away? Is my intelligence held in such low esteem?”

Haha. Fuck. Well, it was worth a shot, wasn't it?

“Then where will Luo Binghe sleep? Are you not tired after your long time away?” Shen Qingqiu attempts to reason. Bullshit logic, don't fail him now!

Luo Binghe's mild smile grows wider, chilling and cold, a red light glowing in the black pits of his eyes. His expression is hungry, like a ravenous wolf salivating at the sight of a small rabbit it wants to rip in half. Shen Qingqiu, the rabbit in question, stays quite still.

He finishes another small, circling loop around Shen Qingqiu, his breath hot and expression hotter.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe says lightly, utterly at odds with the intensity of his starving gaze, coming to a stop at his back. His breath warms Shen Qingqiu's nape and sends a riotous cascade of shivers down his spine. “Isn't there a bed right here for me to use?”

A gentle hand rises up and guides Shen Qingqiu's face to the side. They gaze at the master bed together. Shen Qingqiu attempts to do some quick mathematics.

Luo Binghe mentioning the bed + holding Shen Qingqiu like this = ?

…

The only answer Shen Qingqiu comes up with makes his back shudder and face flush. What the hell? Are they little girls about to have a sleepover?? Sleeping together as grown men is one thing, it's not as if Shen Qingqiu has never shared a bed with a friend before, but they are not friends!

The scum villain sleeping together with the protagonist makes no logical sense!!

Shen Qingqiu refuses to accept such an illogical, unscientific, mathematically unsound conclusion. He doesn't like being kicked out of bed so rudely, but if he must, he must! “Then… Luo Binghe may take the bed, and this master will sit.”

Luo Binghe mercilessly steamrolls his feeble attempts at maintaining normalcy. Clearly enunciating each word as if speaking to a child, Luo Binghe says, “Shizun. Lay down.”

Maybe this really is all just a dream. A very realistic, very thorough, very lucid dream. Shen Qingqiu's mind feels floaty and dizzy as he slowly climbs into the bed.

Shen Qingqiu slowly lays back down, Luo Binghe crawling in closely behind him. He reeks of death and blood, of years of viscera lathered on him over and over again. Shen Qingqiu breathes through his mouth and stays stock still as Luo Binghe lays one hand over his throat and squeezes. His palm is large enough now to fit over it entirely, fingertips resting over one jugular while the palm’s heel rests on the other.

Under his breath, as though unable to stop himself, Luo Binghe ceaselessly mutters, “Shizun, Shizun, Shizun…”

A frightened shiver runs down Shen Qingqiu’s back, and he swallows hard under that gripping hand. Luo Binghe’s fingers clench and unclench sporadically, never leaving his throat.

Until the morning sun dawns, neither of them sleep. The whole night long Luo Binghe clutches and squeezes at his throat, laid close enough behind him that his body heat leaches into Shen Qingqiu’s back, muttering feverishly to himself.

“Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun…”

Chapter Text

Sunlight filters through the gauzy window coverings as dawn breaks. Dust motes linger in the air, speaking to the many weeks that have gone by since the last time Ming Fan had come through to wipe down the counters and trinkets.

Shen Qingqiu lies on the bed, exhausted and achy. He'd been tensed up until dawn, shoulders hunched and limbs coiled with fear, waiting for the hand at his throat to relax so he could attempt one more escape, only for that hand to squeeze him like a stress ball all night. He's going to end up with bruises all over! A black and blue necklace, what a wonderful return gift his wayward disciple has given him!

Shen Qingqiu breathes shallowly, expression pinched.

The original goods had a multitude of perfumed sachets hanging from the corners of the bed. After being in this body for a few years, Shen Qingqiu had taken that habit up, replacing them now and then. They all originate from Qian Cao Peak, filled with medicinal herbs to soothe and relax, all intended to reduce the risk of Without-a-Cure from striking.

That comforting, familiar scent of herbs is smothered with the rancid smell of dirt and blood and ash, caked on again and again. No matter how Shen Qingqiu breathes, both shallow and slowly, he cannot stop the scent from reaching him. It feels as if it's seeping into his lungs, curling there heavily like smoke.

At his back, Luo Binghe is no longer feverishly repeating Shizun, and has instead become eerily silent. If Shen Qingqiu couldn't feel the heat of his breath on his neck, he wouldn't have even known Luo Binghe was breathing.

Shen Qingqiu gradually builds the courage to speak. His throat twinges a bit with discomfort, the bruising from being squeezed aching as he speaks. “Luo Binghe.”

After a moment, Luo Binghe slowly sits up, then turns over, moving the hand from Shen Qingqiu's throat to the bed and bracing himself above. His hair, lank and dirty, sweeps down over his shoulder, shielding Shen Qingqiu's face from the sun peeking through the window. He's become a very strange sort of canopy, close enough that his face looms directly over Shen Qingqiu's. Too close! Way too close!!

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe responds, smiling a bit. After hearing it a thousand times over the night, it hardly even sounds like a word anymore!

Pinned beneath him like this, Shen Qingqiu has no choice but to look up at Luo Binghe, taking stock of him properly in the daylight. His face is pale and the skin under his eyes dark with lack of sleep. It hasn't only been one sleepless night for him. Perhaps he hasn't slept in weeks…

Shen Qingqiu's heart pangs a bit in sympathy.

Luo Binghe speaks slowly and carefully. “Shizun, don't act as though I'm a stranger. You don't need to call me by my full name. This disciple is quite content to just be Binghe. Won't Shizun please call me ‘Binghe’ from now on?”

Shen Qingqiu, understanding this isn't a question, nods.

Luo Binghe urges him, “Say it.”

“... Binghe.”

“Good, Shizun, very good!” Luo Binghe coos in the sickeningly sweet baby voice people use for their pets, as if he's a dog who has just performed a cute trick. “Say it again.”

Shen Qingqiu cries in his heart, skin crawling all over. Isn't this too cringey?! If someone walked in on them, wouldn't this look too much like two lovey-dovey sweethearts in bed, saying each other's name back and forth?!

“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu manages through gritted teeth, glancing at the door as if expecting Liu Qingge to walk through and witness his unbearable cringe level. As much as he wants to be saved, he would honestly rather jump onto Xiu Ya’s blade than be seen like this!!

“Good, good, Shizun!” Luo Binghe praises. “Keep trying. We can practice until you say it like you used to. Sweetly. Lovingly. Like a doting father to his precious son.”

It’s such a strange and shocking declaration, Shen Qingqiu finds it difficult to stop his face from scrunching in bewildered confusion. He imagines he must look like he’s on the verge of sneezing. What the hell is that supposed to mean? He’s always said Binghe’s name very normally, alright?!

“If fatherly doesn’t suit Shizun’s taste, would it be more apt to call it motherly?” Luo Binghe wonders almost innocently.

Shen Qingqiu shivers from head to toe in disgust. What the fuck? What ‘motherly’? He's a man! He is firmly rooted in the role of scum villain, not in the role of parent!

Unless this is Luo Binghe’s subtle way of saying, “Thanks for raising me until now, but you can die off now for the sake of the plot!” After all, both of his mothers and even his father had all been fridged…

He tries to ignore his mounting sense of unease.

“You… Now that you're home–” the word ‘home’ slips out before he can stop it, but it isn't untrue. This place is Luo Binghe's home if he pleases. It will also be a burning pile of cinders when he pleases. “– what do you intend to do?”

Luo Binghe tilts his head curiously, humming in thought. “What does Shizun think his humble disciple intends to do?”

Having prior knowledge of the novel, Shen Qingqiu does not need to guess! He already knows exactly what Luo Binghe has meticulously dreamed and planned for the last two years. If Shen Qingqiu needed to simplify it, it would be this – drag Shen Qingqiu’s reputation through the mud in front of the entire cultivation world before doing these steps in order: humiliate, entrap, torture, then finally kill.

He’d intended to live a quiet life for five years and then quietly escape into a homegrown NPC body in order to escape this very fate.

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t say this. Instead he says, “This master dares not guess.”

Luo Binghe’s innocent expression twists into something strange. His mouth curls into a crooked smile and his already black eyes somehow darken more, a bitterly cold storm stirring inside of them. “Shizun… What would you say if I told you I intended to do horrible things to you?”

Wow, what a plot twist. As if. Shen Qingqiu only barely refrains from rolling his eyes. He knows that already!

“Binghe’s anger… is understandable. Your blood is already within my body; I cannot struggle or run. I am at your mercy.”

Luo Binghe’s breathing becomes strained. A light pink colour dusts his cheeks, barely visible under the layers upon layers of old blood. He breathes out a laugh. “Hah…! Shizun is so wise. Yes, that is correct – Shizun is mine. Your body is mine. So stay like this beneath me, docile and calm, and allow me to do as I please, won’t you?”

Shen Qingqiu grits his teeth. Luo Binghe intends for him to go like a lamb to slaughter?

Not a chance.

“This master may be at your mercy, Binghe,” he says ‘Binghe’ with as little fatherly pride or… motherly warmth as he can muster, “but so long as you call me ‘Shizun’ and Qing Jing Peak your home, you will treat me with the respect you swore to serve me with!”

Luo Binghe blinks. The pinkish colour on his face darkens.

[ Protagonist satisfaction points: +50! ]

A touch meekly, Luo Binghe dips his head and lowers his lashes. “Shizun… Ah, Shizun, I like that too. Scold me more, like you used to…”

Shen Qingqiu’s scalp goes cold and an ominous shiver rolls down his back. System, now that you’ve returned and even been upgraded, could you not include the reason for these point increases? Those doe-eyes and that honeyed voice asking to be told off, what happened to the protagonist during those two years?! And why does it feel so perverse?!

At the very least, Shen Qingqiu can be glad Luo Binghe isn’t frothing at the mouth to kill him. The longer he can survive, the more likely it is that he can send a message to that useless author to get the mushroom bodies ready. All he must ensure is that his backup plan is prepared. Until then, he must play along.

And if he must play along, he’d rather not be forced to play house with the stench of death looming over him. His delicate nose…!

Subtly, Shen Qingqiu offers, “So long as Binghe calls this place home, you may take advantage of its facilities. Shall I, ahem, call for someone to bring us water for a bath?”

Frigid fingers return to his throat, Luo Binghe squeezing lightly. He laughs, the sound rumbling pleasantly in his chest. It makes Shen Qingqiu shiver in fright. Of course Luo Binghe catches the small movement, lips twitching in that same, strange smile.

“Shizun, do I disgust you?” Luo Binghe nearly sounds excited.

“Not at all,” he says evenly.

Luo Binghe leans a bit closer to him, breath warming his cheeks and each word ghosting across his face. His pupils are a fathomless black, like the deepest part of a storming ocean. In the very pits of them, Shen Qingqiu thinks he can see the tiniest red prick of light. “Shizun, do you know how many beasts’, monsters’, and demons’ blood I've bathed in? Do you? Care to guess?”

“... I cannot fathom.”

In the original novel, Luo Binghe had killed, killed, and killed some more! He'd also fucked, fucked, and fucked some more! He'd explosively grinded for EXP in his stats until he'd evolved into his final form, over the course of five long years. His body count in both meanings of the word were impressive beyond comparison.

This Luo Binghe, however… What can Shen Qingqiu think? To get out after only two years… How many more had he killed? What violent fervour had overcome him, lighting a fire under him until he rushed through the Endless Abyss just to get back to Shen Qingqiu and make him repay his pound of flesh?

Had he also swept through his various female conquests with the same passion? He feels a bit sorry for all those poor sisters who probably didn’t even get a bit of foreplay before Luo Binghe was rushing off to kill and fuck somewhere else…

Luo Binghe stares at him, close enough to his face that his eyelashes nearly brush Shen Qingqiu’s cheeks when he blinks. “I did it all to come back to you. Even after I had laid at the bottom of the Abyss, broken and bleeding, wishing for it to be a horrible nightmare – wishing for Shizun to come and save me – and realized that I had been thrown out, aborted, I still… did everything to come back to you.”

He remembers seeing those ten-thousand heartbreak points. The notification had come days after the events in Jue Di Gorge.

Now he knows, Luo Binghe had spent those days slowly recuperating, his demonic blood stitching him back together, all while having a childish dream that his Shizun would come to his side and swaddle him in his robes, soothing his aches and petting away his tears.

He swallows, faintly tasting bile. His jaw works, wanting to say something, something, but he finds himself unable to say a word. They get caught painfully in his throat.

“Shizun…” Luo Binghe whispers, lips trembling into a painful smile. “I really… really missed you.”

Shen Qingqiu doesn't know what to believe.

Luo Binghe caring about him, missing him – logically, it doesn't make sense. Shen Qingqiu had betrayed him in the worst of ways, kicking him down a cliff into a place worse than purgatory, after having coddled him like a dearly beloved son for a few years. In some ways, he'd been crueler than the original goods had been.

And yet, Shen Qingqiu's heart aches a bit. He doesn't stop Luo Binghe from lowering his face until it rests directly over Shen Qingqiu's sternum.

Luo Binghe breathes slowly. “Shizun.”

His voice rumbles against him, vibrating in Shen Qingqiu’s chest.

Perhaps because Shen Qingqiu has been too afraid to blink in the case Luo Binghe might suddenly lunge at him to attack, his eyes have become a bit dry. Unexpectedly, due to this, some tears seem to have gathered along the water lines of his eyes. He blinks hard to clear them away, clearing his throat in embarrassment.

Luo Binghe doesn’t budge. He nuzzles closer, leaving streaks of dirt and blood across Shen Qingqiu’s robes. The silk may be ruined. Shen Qingqiu should push him away.

But wouldn't it just be a little too cruel?

Before his sense of self-preservation kicks in, Shen Qingqiu's hand brushes over the knotted, filthy mess that is barely tied back with a frayed, once green ribbon. It's a half-hearted gesture. It could barely be considered kind. Yet, Luo Binghe sighs and melts further against his chest, boneless and warm. A painfully ticklish sensation blooms inside Shen Qingqiu's ribcage, unable to be itched.

Luo Binghe stirs then, lifting his face enough that Shen Qingqiu can see his expression: a mixture of loss and longing. The expression of a man who has been wandering through a deep forest for a long time, unable to find the way back, and seeing a cabin nestled safely in the depths of the dark woods where he can rest.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe says quietly, “would you… please, just tell me if you regr–”

“Shizun, Shizun! It's time for breakfast!”

Ning Yingying’s voice is audible from outside, clear and loud, echoed immediately by a scolding from Ming Fan. They must be at the front door with his watery congee and mediocre tea in hand as they are every morning. Half of the time, Shen Qingqiu turns them away.

Most children when turned down so often would eventually give up and simply go along with their normal duties, waiting to be asked rather than wasting time. What filial children! What honest and hardworking disciples! With their dedication, they have built Shen Qingqiu a heaven sent emergency fire escape!!

“Yingying, come!” he shouts out right away.

Luo Binghe is a heartbeat too late to slap a hand over his mouth, casting him a chilly glare, his previous warmth entirely gone. His eyes are black and cold like flinty bits of stone, the corners of them pinched.

“Coming, Shizun,” she happily chirps.

Yes, his Yingying is here! Good girl!! She is the sole person on this Peak whom he can reliably say is safe from the protagonist's ire. As the childhood love interest who had first kindled Luo Binghe’s heart, she can distract him without arousing anger!

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe seethes, voice strained to keep quiet. His lips twist into something that cannot be called a smile. “Calling for her so kindly? So sweetly? When your most dedicated disciple who would move heavens and earth to serve you is already here?”

Shen Qingqiu looks at him evenly. “Luo Binghe should take care; if he is seen in such a fashion with this master, looking as he does now, his reputation may be ruined.”

A hole is blown through the wood lattice at the head of the bed. It happens so quickly that Shen Qingqiu is unsure of what happened at first. Above him, Luo Binghe's fist slowly retracts from where it had crushed the lattice on impact, splinters falling from his skin.

That type of blow wouldn't just crush wood. Shen Qingqiu is very sure that that sort of hit would easily crush bone too. His breathing comes a bit shallower as he imagines the next victim of that angry fist to be his skull.

The sound must startle their visitors. Ning Yingying scurries to open the front door, making her way inside as Ming Fan calls out, “Shizun? Shizun, is anything wrong?”

Ignoring them, Luo Binghe's lips curl further, looking almost disgusted. His eyes burn fiercely, both cold and hot at once. With a gentle touch, he strokes down Shen Qingqiu's cheek with the same hand which he had just used to violently break the lattice. The only sign that Luo Binghe wants to do the same to him is a minute tremble in his fingertips. Very slowly, he bites out, “You said it again, Shizun. But it's alright. I'll train you well.”

Then he slides off of Shen Qingqiu, bare feet padding across the floor. He intends to directly face Ning Yingying and Ming Fan like this?! Looking as if he'd emerged directly from a horror film?!

Shen Qingqiu rushes after him.

In the main room, three of Qing Jing’s disciples stare at one another, two faces with their jaws dropped open gawping, and one with an air of nobility and otherworldliness befitting a man thought dead returned from the pits of hell itself.

With the light shining into the room, there is a veritable golden halo shining around Luo Binghe's head, softening the shock of blood staining him. Rather than appearing like a horror movie slasher, Luo Binghe instead looks like he's the hero of a war film, returning home to his loving family about to be given a medal.

The protagonist is pretty good at twisting the narrative to his benefit, isn't he?

“It’s you?!” Ming Fan’s eyes are round and wide as platters.

Ning Yingying takes a shaky step forward. Her eyes shine with tears. “A… A-Luo?”

Shen Qingqiu, who had at first been planning to immediately raise a warning flag to them, instead hangs back and watches one of the foremost female leads tearfully meet her returning future husband. He is quite respectful of the genre he finds himself in. As a villain, one must be mindful not to overstep when it comes to the romance scenes of the leading love interests. It isn't every day you get to see such a scene, after all!

“Greetings to you, Ning-shijie, Ming-dashixiong,” Luo Binghe says, bowing with picture perfect posture with both hands clasped in front of him.

Couldn’t you stand to be a little more romantic, Binghe? This is your future wife crying happily about seeing you…

“A-Luo!” Ning Yingying cries, throwing herself at Luo Binghe. What a faithful and adoring girl, ignoring Luo Binghe’s filthy appearance as she wraps her arms around him, clutching at him as if worried he’ll vanish into thin air the moment she lets go. “A-Luo, A-Luo! You’re back!”

They’d had a very similar scene in the novel when Luo Binghe had made his glorious and brilliant return to the cultivation world as the golden child of Huan Hua Palace, finally given the praise and support that he both needed and deserved. She had clung to him, weepy and weak in the knees. They had then, of course, made papapa together, reigniting their childhood crushes with a new adulthood level of passion.

The original Shen Qingqiu must have been choking on blood as he’d watched his most precious flower be drawn into another man’s garden, and for that man to be the reviled Luo Binghe…

The current Shen Qingqiu simply watches the show with a mild curiosity and even a bit of hope. If Luo Binghe goes off to make papapa, it’s good for him! He’ll be on the other side of the jianghu once they’re done making their first child!

Ning Yingying keeps crying. “What took you so long to come back?! Don’t you know how much Shizun missed you?! He’s been waiting for you every day, like he’d lost his very soul!”

Huh? What? What’s this?

Luo Binghe’s head snaps towards him, nostrils flaring. There is a blistering, sinister look to his gaze, like a starved dog seeing a bloody slice of meat. Mild and demure, Luo Binghe asks, “Shizun thought of me so often…?”

He really hadn’t!!

Ning Yingying finally pulls away. She stares seriously into Luo Binghe's eyes. “A-Luo, you cannot leave again, alright? For Shizun's sake, at least.”

Shen Qingqiu wants to vomit blood. “Yingying!”

He swivels his head to Ming Fan, praying for him to notice something is awry. At least the bruises! “Ming Fan, you–”

Ming Fan is glowering sullenly at Luo Binghe. Yet, in his face, there seems to be a lightness to it that Shen Qingqiu has not seen for some time. To Ming Fan, as equally as Luo Binghe is an annoyance and a beastly little shidi to loathe, he is also a reliable caretaker in whose hands he can happily leave Shen Qingqiu.

With only his simple appearance, Luo Binghe has swayed the two most important people of Qing Jing Peak to his side. With these two allies alone he can handily keep Shen Qingqiu under his thumb entrapped within the bamboo house.

His gaze slowly returns to Luo Binghe with a sense of finality and foreboding.

Opposed to Shen Qingqiu’s scandal, Luo Binghe seems quite appropriately chastened as any good shidi would be. He ducks his head and solemnly affirms, “Yes, Ning-shijie, I've been very remiss in my duties.”

He lifts his gaze and turns it to Shen Qingqiu. At that exact moment a crawling feeling, like a thousand tiny insect legs, stirs in his stomach. Though this is his first experience with them, Shen Qingqiu need not guess the source: it's the sensation of the blood parasites writhing around inside of his body.

He swallows a pained sound, his stomach and intestines all twitching. Where the insect legs touch, a trail of fire begins burning. Muscles spasm and clench in a wonderfully horrible mimicry of cramping. Perhaps this is how girls feel while on their period?

Luo Binghe is staring at him, eyes locked onto him with a ferocious intensity. “I swear on my life, I will never again leave Shizun's side. No matter what.”

Then, Luo Binghe smiles.

Shen Qingqiu's bones feel cold just from the sight of it. His vision blurs, sweat dripping down his back. Perhaps he can still save himself? “Ming Fan, go and tell –” The biting of the parasites surges into a frenzy and he barely represses his resulting flinch, sweat dotting his brow. “Urgh – go and tell your Zhangmen-shibo that Binghe has returned. This master is sure he will be pleased at the news as well. Quickly!”

It’s not his prepared trap card of ‘the War God’, but surely the leader of the most preeminent cultivation sect can’t be a slouch!

Ming Fan is in the middle of obediently nodding his head when Luo Binghe smoothly interrupts.

“Ah, Shizun…” Luo Binghe demurs, looking shy, tugging lightly at his own filthy robes as if seeing them for the first time. His brow furrows and a delicate lower lip is pushed out into a modest pout. “How could I dare present myself before Zhangmen-shibo as I am now? This disciple wouldn’t dare bring such shame on Shizun.”

One could easily be fooled into thinking him genuinely distressed. Not Shen Qingqiu! He knows damn well the only thing Luo Binghe is concerned with is having his blood parasites give him the worst stomach cramps known to man!

“It’s fine!” he grunts through gritted teeth. “Just get him!”

“Shizun…” Luo Binghe whispers, quiet and meek. His head is bowed and hands tightly clasped in front of himself, shoulders hunched. Despite standing an inch above Shen Qingqiu now, he looks smaller and weaker than he had even as an abused youth. The very image of ‘pathetic’.

Ning Yingying’s delicate heart is swayed immediately. She spins to Ming Fan, bypassing Shen Qingqiu’s stubbornness with practiced ease, and grabs his collar. “If you run off to Qiong Ding Peak, I’ll beat you up!” She throws Luo Binghe a supportive smile. “A-Luo, don’t worry! Settle in and get clean first! You’ve been away for so long, you must want to sit and speak with Shizun.”

“Thanking Ning-shijie kindly,” Luo Binghe beams brightly. His smile is brilliant and warm and sweeter than honey.

Looking at that charming smile, Shen Qingqiu can’t blame Ning Yingying for jumping to obey any of Luo Binghe’s requests. Any self-respecting girl would be won over! Even Shen Qingqiu himself is disarmed looking at him, wanting to grant his request – before his stomach begins twisting inside out with even more force and he’s reminded of exactly what situation he’s in.

This time, he’s unable to completely hide the effects. He teeters a bit to the side, face pale, sweat dripping down his face.

Luo Binghe reacts first. He appears at Shen Qingqiu’s side, gently guiding him to rest against his shoulder. The stench of blood is rancid and overpowering.

“Ah, Shizun seems to be tired now,” Luo Binghe all but coos, one hand at Shen Qingqiu’s waist and the other holding his cheek as if checking for a fever. His expression is of gentle concern. But in the depths of his eyes Shen Qingqiu can still see that ravenous, feral hunger, like a rabid dog barely leashed.

Ning Yingying, filial girl that she is, asks, “Shizun, are you okay?”

Both Ming Fan and Ning Yingying look mildly concerned, however they stay put, each of them quite happy to let Luo Binghe slide seamlessly back into his role as Shen Qingqiu’s housemaid and keeper. Now that their capable shidi is here, why should they be concerned? Any ailment or discomfort can be quickly and efficiently appeased with Luo Binghe's care. He's heard it a thousand times from Ning Yingying's own mouth, acting as if Luo Binghe is the sole salve to all of Shen Qingqiu's wounds.

“His constitution has become poorer in this disciple’s absence,” Luo Binghe comments, thumb stroking the soft skin of Shen Qingqiu’s cheek. It could almost be called tender, were it not for the insects inside of him feasting on his small intestines. “Now, I've returned to take care of him.”

“Take him to lay down,” Ning Yingying urges. “Ming-shixiong will fetch you hot water for a bath and I'll collect you new robes. Shizun can eat later; he hardly eats these days anyways. He was missing A-Luo too much!”

Please shut up, he begs her in his mind.

“Ning-shijie is wise,” Luo Binghe agrees readily. He all but hefts Shen Qingqiu into his arms, cradling him to his chest as though holding up a fainting violet of a woman rather than his scummy male master. Shouldn’t Yingying be in his arms instead?! “Please bring everything at your earliest convenience. I’ll sit with Shizun in his room until then…”

Ning Yingying is halfway out of the door before she stops and says, “Ah, A-Luo, his medicine is in the white jade container by his bedside. Make sure he takes it, alright? He’s so forgetful, but now that A-Luo is back, we won’t have to be worried anymore. I’ll leave it to you from now on!”

Luo Binghe smiles and nods.

The medicine isn’t given. In fact, Luo Binghe had simply looked at the pillbox with mild interest for only a second or two, before turning to stare wordlessly at Shen Qingqiu, that same mild smile still pasted on his face. Shen Qingqiu, still feeling nauseous, hadn’t wanted to take his medicine anyways, and so said nothing.

Cut forward an incense stick’s worth of time, and the situation is now like this:

Shen Qingqiu stands awkwardly beside the steaming bath that Ming Fan had quickly provided before leaving Shen Qingqiu to his doom with the doting and frightening protagonist. He very carefully stares directly ahead and does not allow his gaze to waver.

To his side, utterly unconcerned, is Luo Binghe. Specifically, Luo Binghe stripping naked.

In calm motions that Shen Qingqiu catches in his peripheral vision, Luo Binghe takes off every layer of filthy clothing and folds them up, placing them on the ground in a small pile. Even the hair ribbon joins it, just a scrap of fabric barely strung together.

Why is he here?! Of course he’d try to escape the moment Luo Binghe looked the other way, but couldn’t he have just been tied up or knocked out or something? Does he really have to endure staying in the same room as another man while he has a bath?

Casually, Binghe says, “This disciple will burn them later.” There’s a beat of silence. “Shizun, what are you looking at so intently? I’m feeling a bit jealous. Shizun, won’t you look at me instead?”

Fuck! Look at you for what?! Great master Luo, this humble man acknowledges your superior masculinity, I’m bowing down to your lady-killing abilities and massive dick, alright?! No need to rub it in my face!

“Shizun.”

That word is spoken against the back of his neck.

Luo Binghe has moved to stand looming over his shoulder so quickly and silently that he almost seems to have teleported. Valiantly, Shen Qingqiu doesn’t scream in shock, his stiff face twitching and his hand strangling his fan until it cuts into his palm.

“Shizun. You wanted to use Yue Qingyuan to run away, didn’t you? You weren’t even trying to hide it. Shizun, do you think he can beat me?” Luo Binghe’s tone is lightly curious, even a touch boyishly peevish, in the same way a grade school boy would sound if his skill at his favourite sport was undermined. “Hey, Shizun…” He feels a light tug on the ends of his hair. “Shizun…”

“What?” Shen Qingqiu grumbles. “Spit it out.”

Luo Binghe crowds in closer against his back until he can smell blood and feel – something against his rear. Something frightening in length and girth that he! Should! Not! Be! Feeling!! “Shizun, did Ning-shijie speak true? Did Shizun mourn for the disciple he’d rejected? Did Shizun… regret what he’d done to me?”

Of course he regrets it – his intestines had twisted into knots with regret and he had paid his due respects to the sword mound day in and day out despite knowing Luo Binghe had not died. It had only been the childish part of Luo Binghe that had perished to his hand. But what could Luo Binghe mean by asking this?

Shen Qingqiu does not have more than a moment to ponder it before that damned Google AI voice pipes up.

[ Please peruse your choices:

Choice A: Yes. This master regretted it from the start. These past few years, there wasn’t a moment that I did not spend racked with remorse, though it was far too late.

Choice B: (A disdainful laugh.) After seeing what you’ve become today, I know there was no need to regret!

Choice C: Maintain silence. ]

What the fuck?! Didn’t you update?! Is this the update, changing the genre of the story into a visual novel or dating sim? And for options, couldn’t you provide something a little more realistic?

Obviously ‘A’ is too fake and unbelievable. ‘B’ would speedrun him into becoming a human stick.

The only option is ‘C’! He stays silent.

At his back, Luo Binghe waits for a moment. When no response comes, he lets out a quiet, dull laugh.

“I already knew what Shizun’s answer would be, yet I asked anyway. This disciple is stupid. Very stupid…” Luo Binghe’s head tilts forward, speaking directly into Shen Qingqiu’s ear, sending shivers down his back. “If Shizun doesn’t regret it, then I don’t forgive it. I’ll make you pay it back to me, every second I spent there, every cruel word you spoke to me.”

Naturally. Luo Binghe is just that type of person. Shen Qingqiu had always liked that part of him, his dedication and determination; his viciousness when it comes to slights against him, his earnestness when it comes to boons granted to him. He would pay back all kindnesses and cruelties a hundred fold.

Shen Qingqiu had granted him some small kindnesses during the few years they’d shared together in the bamboo house. He’d hoped that they would balance the scales somewhat, weighing against the original goods’ cruelties and his own betrayal, but how could it? His sins cannot be forgiven so easily.

Luo Binghe’s hands settle on his hips, rubbing gently. “Shizun, ah, Shizun…”

Against his rear, that extraordinary thing is also rubbing gently. It’s warm enough to be felt through his clothing and of such an exceptional shape that the ridge of the head can be discerned from where it prods against the crease of his ass and thigh.

All of Shen Qingqiu’s hairs stand on end. “Luo Binghe, what do you think you’re doing?”

In an instant teeth latch onto the side of his throat and the hands on his hips dig in until nails shred through his robes. Fear rockets up his spine, eyes flying wide. He’s shoved over by Luo Binghe against the tub, grabbing onto the edge of it to keep himself upright. A guttural growl emanates from the mouth currently chewing on his throat, incisors grinding into his skin over the vein.

He's dead! He's really dead!

As he begins mournfully writing up a soliloquy for himself to be spoken at his funeral, those violent teeth unhook from his neck. His life is spared for a moment longer, his thread of fate untangling from the noose it had formed.

“How many times, Shizun?” Luo Binghe snarls, biting out each word with emphatic force, as if barely restraining that howling wild anger lacing through his voice. “How many times must you forget? You will call me Binghe, and only Binghe. I am Shizun’s Binghe. Do you understand?”

Shen Qingqiu swallows around the thick weight of panic in his throat. “This master understands.”

All around him is the smell of blood in the air, rancid and thick. Hot and moist breaths are huffed against the wet bite mark on his throat. He can feel Luo Binghe's thunderous heartbeat through his chest glued to his back, and even through his god-sent miracle of a cock still pressed threateningly against his ass! What a fucking impressive dick! Shen Qingqiu is so impressed he wants to die!

This situation is too much! Shen Qingqiu squirms a bit in Luo Binghe's grasp, trying to escape the clawing fingers at his hips. When he wiggles, Luo Binghe makes a small sound. The thing at his back swells.

Freezing immediately in place, Shen Qingqiu seriously wants to cry. “Ah, Binghe… If you, ahem, need some relief, I'm sure Yingying would be pleased to see you? Or Liu Mingyan? Or – Or –”

“Why can't I just fuck you, Shizun?” Luo Binghe asks sweetly.

A feeling akin to being doused with cold water rushes over Shen Qingqiu. Is that a joke?

Or…

The protagonist in the novel would never have missed having a tearful and steamy papapa reunion with a female lead. He would never have spent time rubbing off on a man no matter how pent up he was. He would certainly never have joked about doing the dirty deed with a scum villain, least of all with Shen Qingqiu.

He is not an unintelligent man. He is aware of certain tastes that people can have. With all of the evidence before him, it can only mean one thing: Shen Qingqiu has accidentally bent the male protagonist to be a homosexual.

Had he traumatized Luo Binghe so much at the Endless Abyss scene that he'd latched onto Shen Qingqiu sexually?!

At Shen Qingqiu's stiff silence (which originates from his sincere and bone-chilling shock at the realization of Binghe's newfound sexuality), Luo Binghe quickly spins Shen Qingqiu around, pressing their fronts together. The massive slab of meat swinging between his legs pokes frighteningly up at Shen Qingqiu's own much more moderate one.

With a shy glance, Luo Binghe simpers, “I was only playing around with you, Shizun, don't be angry with me. Your Binghe was just teasing…”

Shen Qingqiu is speechless.

“Shizun, Shizun, I was only angry because you kept saying ‘Luo’.” Luo Binghe entreats him again, tugging on the ends of his hair once more. With the reality of his homosexuality setting in, Shen Qingqiu is starkly reminded of a grade schooler tugging on the pigtails of a girl he likes. Only in this situation, a crusty old man is playing the part of that little girl.

That's not the issue at hand, young man!

“Yes, yes, Shizun did wrong,” he replies mechanically.

Luo Binghe gives him a clever glance. “I’ll let it go this time if Shizun helps me bathe…”

Yep. Definitely a gay.

The food is gone by the time Shen Qingqiu returns to the main room. It would have become cold and congealed by then in any case so Shen Qingqiu wouldn't have bothered with it, but he has a small suspicion Luo Binghe is the one who did away with it.

He stretches and flexes his hands, the skin still pruned slightly from having been under water while cleaning his new demonic jailkeeper.

Nothing untowards had happened to Shen Qingqiu while bathing. Luo Binghe had sighed and relaxed and – perhaps some suspicious movements were made by his arm under the water, and some doubly suspicious white cloudy liquid had mixed with the rusty brown water, but what was Shen Qingqiu going to say about that? Nothing! Fucking nothing!

This Luo Binghe… What should he think about him? 

The wild pendulum swinging back and forth between mild mannered and rabid animal – Shen Qingqiu had become quite confident in his ability to read the moods of the young Luo Binghe; this new Luo Binghe is a mystery shrouded in thick fog.

He knows from the novel that the fully matured protagonist is blackened to the core. Kind words hid knives, sweet gestures concealed poison. That omniscient knowledge is his only guiding star, and even that may not be correct, if he's already been altered enough to change his tastes to men!

The door to the back gardens slowly slides shut as Luo Binghe comes back inside. He'd gone out just to clean the tub, leaving Shen Qingqiu blissfully alone for all of five minutes. Now he's returned looking as if he'd seen something horrific.

His face is moody and pensive, shoulders drawn tight to his ears, and body tense. If one were to so much as brush a finger against him, Shen Qingqiu thinks he might snap like a mousetrap.

Shen Qingqiu hesitates a moment, unsure whether he should speak. This new Luo Binghe, handsome and youthful in appearance now that he's free of the blackish-red blood staining every inch of him, appears exactly the same as the way the Luo Binghe from the novel had always been described. The man before him is the protagonist that had been born the moment Shen Qingqiu killed the child Luo Binghe at the edge of the Abyss.

That cruel, icy, cunning protagonist… Luo Binghe had already told him strictly to call him by his given name, but how can Shen Qingqiu dare to address him casually anymore?

Luo Binghe trudges back into the main room, eyes stormy and dark. His gaze flickers with something ugly and heated. He looks at Shen Qingqiu, and then away. Then at him, and away again.

… Alright! Fine! He'll ask!

“Binghe, is something the matter?” he asks politely.

Luo Binghe silently broods for a moment more. Then he turns to Shen Qingqiu and says, “Shizun, the sword mound in the back. That's Zheng Yang, isn't it?”

Obviously. Anyone could look at that bright and slender blade and realize it's the spirit sword of Luo Binghe. Even in his brief period between getting his spirit sword and being kicked down the cliff, Luo Binghe had made quite the name for himself, until he had been recognized by various cultivators at the Immortal Alliance Conference.

And anyways, the blade is Luo Binghe's himself! How can he ask? It's like a mother asking if her child is actually hers or not…

“It is.” Shen Qingqiu then realizes the purpose of his question. Although he has Xin Mo, isn't the first spirit sword always going to be special? In the novel Zheng Yang had been lost. Now, perhaps he can curry some favour by returning it. “You're welcome to have it back. It's yours, after all.”

Somehow, Luo Binghe looks more upset at that. His lips pull back to show his white teeth, canines pointed, and his eyes flash with a rush of emotion. “Shizun, so willing to throw away the last scraps you have of your beloved disciple?”

“What scraps? Isn't that disciple before me now?” Shen Qingqiu wonders aloud. “In any case, isn't it you who still claims to bear that title?”

“‘Claims’.” Luo Binghe turns and glares at the shut doors, towards where the sword mound is erected. “That's right… Isn't it just me claiming to have that connection with you, Shizun? The companionship we shared daily, from morning until night, can no longer be counted. That grave is for the child you adored. The person in front of you now, you despise.”

Outside, Shen Qingqiu gazes at him evenly, cold poker face perfectly in place. Inside, he feels upended and confused.

Is Luo Binghe… upset that Shen Qingqiu kept a sword mound for him? Or is he upset that Shen Qingqiu is willing to disturb the grave to return Zheng Yang to him? Neither idea sounds logical.

“Binghe, be clear with your words. This master intended no offense; if the sword pleases you, take it. If it doesn't, leave it.”

Luo Binghe's moody frown changes into something mild and pleasant instantly. “If I leave it, will Shizun care for it and tend to it daily as he has? Kneeling before it, keeping it company, and always holding it in his heart and mind?”

Shen Qingqiu feels a bit disturbed. That darned Ning Yingying prattling on in front of Luo Binghe! Don't those words sound too eerily similar to when she dabbed a cloth to her teary eyes and sighed over how Shen Qingqiu has lost his soul?!

“... I have no intention of abandoning it, should Luo Binghe not care to take it.”

“Then your answer is yes?”

What are you being so pushy about, Bing-ge? He waves at him flippantly. “Yes, yes.”

Immediately Luo Binghe's expression explodes into purely insane joy, the whites of his eyes visible around his irises. There is a bright laugh in his voice as he asks, “Then, will Shizun do the same if I do take it back? Kneel in front of me, keep me company, and hold me in his heart every single day? Until the floor wears thin and the shapes of his knees can be seen?”

So that's it. Luo Binghe has returned to punish and torture him indeed. Embarrassing and tormenting him within his own home is the first step. Luo Binghe's tastes for men will make it easy to sexually assault and humiliate him.

He has no intentions of blindly and meekly walking into such traps, thank you!

Shen Qingqiu flips open his fan and scolds him, “Kindly refrain from saying such disgusting things.”

All of the insane glee, the smile, the bright laughter, dies instantly. It smooths over into a pristine, empty sheet of white. Luo Binghe's face goes so still and so blank it could almost be mistaken for a doll's face instead, only betrayed by the faintest little quiver around his mouth, as if his lips were almost trembling.

The only other change is that the corners of Luo Binghe's eyes turn a bit reddish, the single hint of colour on his entire face. It almost makes Shen Qingqiu startle when he sees it, wondering briefly for a stupid moment if Luo Binghe is about to cry, but it doesn't make any sense. Luo Binghe doesn't cry . Certainly not over a scolding from his hated master!

Luo Binghe had endured whippings, beatings, starvation, kneeling under a blistering sun until his back split, and more, all without crying. After the washerwoman’s death, Luo Binghe had never shed a tear.

In a tone that seems as if he's trying to be flippant, but is secretly seething, like a bandaid over a rotting wound, Luo Binghe says, “Shizun, you lied earlier. You said I didn't disgust you. Is wanting you to kneel at my feet truly so awful? Do I deserve less than that?” Luo Binghe takes a small step towards him, his eyes growing redder. “Do I not deserve to have Shizun on his hands and knees in front of me, scraping his head on the floor, begging for me to forgive him?”

Shen Qingqiu takes a step back to match. His blood rushes, a vein in his throat throbbing with the sudden flood of adrenaline through his body. He dares not respond.

In that same casual tone that barely masks something ugly beneath it, Luo Binghe smiles, “Shizun, if I want you to kneel and beg, I can make you. Should I?”

He takes another leisurely step towards Shen Qingqiu, lightly grabbing a bit of his sleeve between two fingers. His face is pretty and charming, voice smooth and clear, the perfect image of a youthful beauty. Looking at him, Shen Qingqiu is once again reminded of how Luo Binghe will one day walk amongst untouched snowy peaks, wooing and wedding every lovely fairy in the three realms. Even he, as a man, cannot help but lean towards Luo Binghe’s beauty, as a flower turns towards the sun.

As Luo Binghe continues speaking, the words from that honeyed tongue are anything but. “Shizun, what do you think? Should I break your legs and arms, so you have no choice but to crawl on the ground like an animal, begging me for mercy?”

It’s just shy of being carved down into a human stick. Once Luo Binghe gets his hands on him to break him down, who knows if he’ll stop with that? The world feels as though it inverts. His breath punches out of his chest and his vision wobbles.

“Don’t,” Shen Qingqiu chokes, staggering a bit to the side, head swimming with vertigo. His stomach feels sick, saliva rushing from the back of his mouth. “Don’t.”

Cool skinned hands pet hair away from his face and draw it into Luo Binghe's sweet smelling neck, the scent of lotuses and ginger apparent on his clean skin. One hand wraps around the back of his skull to keep it there, the other pressing in the small of his back to slot their bodies into one another's. It could be called a hug he supposes, but it feels more like he's being consumed, swallowed, taken in by Luo Binghe until he cannot escape.

“Shizun, my Shizun, I won't,” Luo Binghe coos, kissing his temple. “I won't, as long as Shizun calls me Binghe, and treats me warmly, and adores me, and praises me, and does all the things he used to. I'm not that child anymore. But I can pretend. So Shizun, won't you pretend with me?”

Shen Qingqiu says nothing. Luo Binghe holds him for a very, very long time.

Chapter Text

Ning Yingying truly is a faithful shimei. No one comes to the bamboo house during the first few days, not even Ning Yingying herself nor Ming Fan, and certainly not Yue Qingyuan.

The bamboo house, once a home, has become a prison. Shen Qingqiu stressfully idles the days away, walking a delicate tightrope. Luo Binghe’s mood is strained, especially when he sees that his bedroom has been kept exactly the same in his absence, but he obediently behaves as a white lotus as he’d promised. Or, in a rough approximation of that white lotus at least.

Shen Qingqiu, waiting for an opportunity to escape, ‘pretends’ with him: he gives wane smiles when Luo Binghe offers him tea, and lukewarm praise when Luo Binghe comes to him with cookies and cakes; he calls him Binghe; he does everything properly! Really, he tries!

But a man can only take being cooped up for so long.

After a week has gone by and Luo Binghe shows no inclination to loosen the house arrest, Shen Qingqiu becomes irritable. Over evening tea while Luo Binghe idly and happily chatters about the weather, Shen Qingqiu snaps, “Just stop already. If you want to pretend to be as you were, then cease keeping me captive here.”

Luo Binghe looks up at him through his lashes, pausing with his hands on the teapot about to pour another cup for Shen Qingqiu. “Shizun?”

“You heard me. If you’re going to play only half the role, then forget it.” Shen Qingqiu immediately feels a bit guilty at being so harsh and softens his tone. “I only want to go outside. I am the master, and you are the disciple. Is that not true? Surely I can be afforded some freedoms.”

Luo Binghe’s lips twitch into something that cannot be called a smile. It’s more of a grimace or baring of teeth. Red simmers in the depths of his eyes, bloody and feral. He laughs once, short and dry. The tea pot is set down with a clink. “As Shizun says.”

Shen Qingqiu feels a bit of hope bubble up in his chest.

“If this humble one is only willing to play half the role, then I suppose I should stop playing at it at all.” Luo Binghe grits his teeth in that same grimacing smile. “Apologies, Shizun. This Binghe is stupid. I should have known Shizun would not be satisfied with a fake.”

No, no, no. That wasn’t the intended meaning. “Wait, wait,” he coaxes, “don’t be so hasty. You can continue to be as you were, it’s just, ah. Is it so wrong for me to go about my Peak Lord duties? Visit with my martial brethren?”

Another wrong step. At the mention of Shen Qingqiu’s fellow Peak Lords, Luo Binghe’s vision grows redder, a bloody red ring forming around his pupil, and his lip curls up in disgust. The smell of petrichor swells in the air as if Luo Binghe’s powers are crackling, about to explode into a storm. “I may be stupid. But I am not that stupid. How can you ask me that? Just so you can run again?

“Shizun, if my pretending is dissatisfactory, I will endeavour to do better. However, you will not leave my side. Hate me. Despise me. Revile me. But you will stay with me. Understand that.”

Shen Qingqiu distinctly remembers being threatened to have his arms and legs shattered, so he sits with his mouth shut.

Luo Binghe stands from the table, his expression falling into an inscrutable blank slate. He seems to weigh his words for a moment. “Shizun, I wonder what I should do? If you're unhappy with me no matter what I do, should I just take what I want from you by force…?”

Take what? Take what?! Please explain!

Luo Binghe seems to collect himself, shaking his head. With a short bow, he excuses himself and exits to the side room. Even with a door between them, the spectre of Luo Binghe’s presence weighs heavily on Shen Qingqiu.

Has he gone off to sulk? Shen Qingqiu thinks to himself with astonishment. The protagonist, getting angry and running off to his room to stew…! Who would have ever imagined such a thing! Like a rebellious teenager!

Luo Binghe only returns at night to share Shen Qingqiu’s bed again as he has every night so far.

That night, Shen Qingqiu sleeps.

He’s avoided it at all costs until now, understanding exactly how dangerous it is when he’s sharing his bed with a man who weaves dreams with the same exquisite skill and detail a seamstress can weave lace. Sleeping is like begging for death, or worse! The realm of dreams can be used to torture Luo Binghe’s victims beyond human capacity without ever actually damaging their body, pushing them to the brink of insanity over and over again.

As a cultivator, he can survive for quite a long time without sleep. Meditation alone is enough for his body to subsist on for weeks if not months. Though, he’d never pushed it that long as he is, by far, a slave to his own comforts. Despite that, he had fully intended to try until he could escape the bamboo house.

But as he lays in bed, with his neck being squeezed by a grasping cold hand, he blinks a bit too long once. Then twice.

Upon the third time he opens his eyes, he finds himself blinking awake in a dark and opulent room with a high vaulted ceiling. In front of him are his disciples, Luo Binghe and Ning Yingying. They’re young and afraid, each of them looking at him with wide eyes. Ning Yingying’s are full of tears, yet both children’s expressions brighten when he wakes.

“Shizun…!”

Hmm. His body feels a bit chilly.

He glances down at himself and promptly says, “Fuck!”

His body is utterly bare with red cables stretching across it, tying him to one of the large pillars. They’re laced between his legs, spreading them open in an obscene way. His own not-so-heavenly pillar is on full display, not an inch of it hidden. Shen Qingqiu believes he knows this place; it’s the moment he’d been kidnapped by Die-er, the Skinner Demon. But he hadn’t been completely fucking naked!

He’s flashing the children!! Pervert, pervert!

Just then, an unsettling chuckle comes from behind him. A tall, dark silhouette emerges from the pitch blackness. “The great Cang Qiong Mountain? The great Peak Lord of Qing Jing Peak? This is all you amount to…”

Shen Qingqiu tunes her (his?) words out.

This must be a dream. In fact, when he queries the System, it’s confirmed as such:

[ This is the Dream Realm. ]

The only question is this – is it his dream, or is it Luo Binghe’s? He looks back down between his legs and decides promptly that it’s definitely Luo Binghe’s. That’s actually how his thing looks, too, so when had Binghe seen him naked?

…

He doesn’t want to know.

But he’d also like Luo Binghe to know he’s not usually this small, okay? It’s just very cold in this room…

“Die-er,” he says in the middle of her tirade.

He says it in the same way a gamer would press the escape key on their keyboard to skip a cutscene. He doesn’t care. He’s heard it before and as this is the dream realm he has nothing to be concerned about here other than what tortures Luo Binghe has intended for him…

He levels his gaze at Luo Binghe’s childish face as Die-er goes on her rant. “What is this about?”

Luo Binghe blinks wide, trusting eyes at him. “Shizun, what do you mean? Please forgive me for losing sight of shijie and getting us captured! It’s my failure!”

Shen Qingqiu rolls his eyes but also shivers a bit. It’s a touch unsettling hearing the young Luo Binghe’s voice again, soft and strained from a unique mixture of fear and respect, born from when his heart was still innocent enough to excuse the original goods’ actions as the actions of an honest teacher who only bore helpful intentions. What a truly excellent actor he is.

“I’ll do anything to make it up to you!” Luo Binghe promises.

There’s no need, protagonist. Even if it were not a twisted nightmare recreation, the original quest had been instigated by the System in order to show Shen Qingqiu the ropes when still a beginner in order to unlock his OOC function. So in truth it’s Shen Qingqiu who should be making it up to you… To be used as an EXP farm, what could be more insulting?

Luo Binghe’s wide dark eyes beseech him. Ning Yingying and the Skinner Demon have fallen eerily silent at their sides. “What can this disciple do to atone for his weakness?”

“You could let me wake up,” Shen Qingqiu suggests.

Luo Binghe lowers his gaze. For a moment, Shen Qingqiu thinks it might be out of shame or demureness, or something equally innocent. Then he notices where that gaze is aimed.

“Hey!” he barks, face feeling hot. “Eyes up!”

With his legs bound with the Immortal Binding Cables, he’s unable to press his thighs together to hide himself. His arms, equally as bound up, are unable to move to obscure himself with his hands. He is exposed and at Luo Binghe’s mercy which seems to come and go as easily as the breeze.

Luo Binghe had threatened to stop acting like his white lotus self, but Shen Qingqiu could never have imagined this being the result!

“But Shizun,” Luo Binghe says, his voice still wobbling lightly, both afraid and eager to assuage Shen Qingqiu’s righteous anger. “This disciple can offer the usage of his mouth. If Shizun likes it, he can fuck it as much as he wants. I don’t mind, even if I choke.”

A red flush sweeps down his chest and his skin prickles all over in a mixture of shock and something he cannot quite name. Luo Binghe dabs a pink tongue over his lower lip, leaving a shiny wet gleam behind that can be seen from the candlelight playing on it. Shen Qingqiu’s guts twist nervously.

Binghe, you shouldn’t be saying that sort of thing with that face! Have some decorum!

“Even though you’re a man, your skin is so glossy and smooth,” Die-er says, picking back up the scene uninterrupted. She places her palms on his chest.

When this had originally happened, Shen Qingqiu had felt rather awkward about being molested by a demon wearing a beautiful woman’s skin, watching her scarlet nails dragging over his chest. It had been rather embarrassing! He’d never been so audaciously touched, let alone to be touched in such a way while attempting to uphold his pristine and immortal composure.

And now he knows that Luo Binghe, a gay man, is directing it to happen once again! Foolishly, he had not expected Luo Binghe to be quite so forward. The Luo Binghe in the novel had been sensual and charming, but never as crass as this!

He feels doubly embarrassed and harassed, shrinking back, ducking his face to obscure the pale flush beginning to heat the tips of his ears.

Luo Binghe’s breathing becomes strained. “Shizun, ah, how can you look like that when someone other than me is touching you? It’s not fair. You should only look like that for me.”

Becoming jealous over your own dream creations is certainly quite the feat. Shen Qingqiu glowers at him, pressing his lips together. At his bullied look, Luo Binghe’s breath hitches, his gaze sharpening. The black hunger on his youthful, childish face is eerie and out of place.

“Shizun, go ahead,” Luo Binghe entreats gently, gazing at him with that burning look. “Tell her to kill me instead. Tell her that my skin is better. Tell her that, to save your own.”

Shen Qingqiu refuses. He shakes his head.

“If you don’t, she’s going to peel off your skin and then kill us,” Luo Binghe reminds him. Beside him, the dream Ning Yingying whimpers and sobs pathetically.

“I will not,” Shen Qingqiu responds curtly. He doesn’t feel up to playing children’s games! It’s not real! And he doesn’t intend to summon the protagonist’s ire over something as silly as this!

Luo Binghe looks at him for a moment, eyes dark. Then he smiles.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe says, tone sweet and warm, “while you plotted my death, did you know I was looking at you, realizing for the first time in my life what it meant to lust? Even as a boy who knew nothing of what it meant to fuck someone, who felt too frightened to imagine it. When I first pleasured myself later, I thought only of the sight of you here.

“I’ve always thought of you as the father I never had, but maybe you really could be my mother. I adore you as I adored her, after all,” Luo Binghe says, gaze caressing Shen Qingqiu’s chest as it’s bruisingly fondled. Luo Binghe licks his lips again, hot breath steaming in the chilly night air. “I’m no longer a frightened child. Now, I know what I want to do to you. I’d start by sucking on your tits until milk spills on my tongue.”

Die-er grabs his pecs at that, squeezing and kneading at them, tugging lightly on his nipples as if milking a cow.

Shen Qingqiu opens his mouth.

Then shuts it.

He does that twice. Then he inhales a long, slow breath through his nose and ultimately ignores everything after the first few words. “This master did not ‘plot your death’. This master never intended for Binghe to die. I knew, no matter the case, that Binghe would survive. Didn’t I say the same this very night?”

Luo Binghe obediently nods his head. “‘Even if an accident befalls this master, no misfortune will come to you.’ Shizun said that to me. It’s the first time Shizun spoke so warmly to me.”

“Then you understand my intentions were not ill.”

Slowly, Luo Binghe shakes his head. Die-er’s hands stop, resting over him idly, no longer attempting to squeeze milk from his chest. The red cables fall away from Luo Binghe’s body like shreds of confetti and he stands, walking towards the naked and bound Shen Qingqiu in moderate steps as he says, “No. You lied, Shizun. You swore it to me. You promised me. But Shizun, you’re the one who made misfortune fall upon me. You led me to misfortune. You cast me down into misfortune.”

That, Shen Qingqiu cannot deny. The Endless Abyss truly is the worst misfortune to ever have befallen Luo Binghe, crueler than anything else he'd endured throughout the novel.

He kneels down at Shen Qingqiu’s feet, his small palms stroking over his calves and ankles. He’d been so small back then, still innocent and sweet to the world. When those little fingers stroke further up, tickling the insides of his thighs, Shen Qingqiu twitches impotently within his bindings, unable to retreat.

Ghosting those petite fingers over the length of his cock, wringing a strangled sound out of him, Luo Binghe laughs a little. “Shizun, I like you. I really like you. I know – you’ve always been the same. You’ve always picked me, then thrown me away. Over and over. I know that about you now, so it’s okay. I like you anyways.”

It's the original goods who had started that trend, and this Shen Qingqiu had continued it. Had he somehow raised Luo Binghe to be like this because of that repeated push and pull?

“In Jue Di Gorge, Shizun didn't renounce our relationship as master-disciple at that time. Shizun didn't say he regretted the idyllic days spent side by side,” Luo Binghe smiles, fingers almost ticklish as they rub over a vein. “Shizun… Won't you take me back again? I'll be good. You don't have to like me. Just don't hate me anymore.”

Indeed he had not denounced Luo Binghe as his pupil – why should he? It's true, he doesn't regret a single moment spent with him.

Regardless, he'd clearly severed all good will at the edge of the Abyss. Pushing him down is already an unforgivable offense, so why is Luo Binghe still trying to play house with him?

And not just that, but do… things with him?!

It seems he really has twisted the protagonist’s sexuality with the Endless Abyss trauma.

“You shouldn't do this with that face,” he scolds. His throat feels a bit tight and his cheeks are feverishly warm. Is he having an allergic reaction?

“But Shizun, isn't this the version of me you like the best? The innocent one?” Luo Binghe asks sweetly, only just brushing the tips of his fingers around the base of him, toying lightly with his pubic hair. “The one you mourn in the backyard, where you put the sword mound? You liked him a lot. I told you, I'll pretend to be that person again for you. So pretend with me and I'll make Shizun feel good. Just so long as Shizun keeps me. As long as he praises and coddles me.”

“Stop,” Shen Qingqiu warns again. All of this talk of the Endless Abyss, of Luo Binghe feeling hated and thrown away makes him feel rotten to the very pit of his soul. Being punished – isn't that Luo Binghe's heavenly given right? He turns his face away. “This is a farce. That child is dead; I killed him with my own two hands.”

Luo Binghe stops. He looks at Shen Qingqiu evenly, face going placid and still, not a speck of emotion to be seen. “So Shizun can admit that. But he can't say he's sorry.” He stands, staring down, still without emotion. “Is that why Shizun doesn’t like my pretending?”

“What would Binghe say even if this master apologized?” Shen Qingqiu scoffs. “He would happily begin counting each of my limbs as he tore them from my body if I said something so difficult to believe!”

That makes Luo Binghe's expression ripple, turning ugly.

“Always thinking the worst of me. Fine,” he spits. He stands and the scenery begins melting, blurring, colours blending into one another, Die-er and Ning Yingying both vanishing into mist. Even Luo Binghe begins fading into the encroaching darkness. Only his voice remains, sinister and hateful. “As it seems my choice of venue is lacking, I will grant Shizun what he wants!”

Shen Qingqiu falls into nightmare upon nightmare.

He blinks and awakens in a dank, dark cell that reeks of urine, blood, and dead water. Around his waist is an iron clamp, suspending him in midair upon a long chain. His stomach feels bruised to the very core, his guts inside mushed up, like an old fruit about to split open.

He glances down at his body, choking mutely in shock. His arms and legs are gone. When he tries to speak he realizes even his tongue is gone.

Before him stands a handsome youth in all black, his face pale and slender, eyes like starry pools of water. His lips are lush and slightly pink, with a cupid's bow arch to them that no woman could resist wanting to kiss.

It's Luo Binghe, the protagonist.

He smiles. “Shizun. I've come for the last thing I can take from you. That which you always scorned me with. That which you still use to curse me and loathe me with.” His voice is so tender, so sweet, it's almost easy to think that he’s speaking to a lover.

In his hand is a small metal instrument, akin to a scoop one might use to excavate a melon, or perhaps ice cream. He holds it up and presses it to the edge of one of Shen Qingqiu's eyes. The metal digs into the soft part, undeterred by his frantic blinking.

Shen Qingqiu tries to beg. All he can do is moan pathetically, panting and drooling like a dog, wordlessly howling. His rounded amputated nubs uselessly move in the air.

“Hush, Shizun,” Luo Binghe laughs happily, petting his cheek. “Hush, now. There's no one left to save you. Your disciple will take good care of you.”

The last thing Shen Qingqiu sees – the last thing he will ever be able to see – is Luo Binghe's smiling face. Pleasant, mild, a touch adoring. There is a madness to his gaze that cannot be explained in words; to do a thing as wicked as digging the eyes out of a screaming man all while wearing a smile one would have when looking at a beloved family pet.

Shen Qingqiu can only scream.

In the next, he's eaten alive by dogs. Luo Binghe cradles his head and pets his face as his intestines are drawn out and devoured. His expression is rapturous.

Then he's cooked in a large vat of oil, skin sloughing off, his body enduring beyond the point of human ability. Watching him, cooing all the while about hardly being able to wait to drink Shen Qingqiu's slurry of a body down, is Luo Binghe.

Then he's –

When he finally wakes from the dream realm, he finds that the sun has risen and the bed behind him is empty. He turns over and vomits pure bile. His heart, his teeth, and his balls are all aching to death. Senior Meng Mo’s disciple had really put his back into that sequence of nightmares! Truly impressive!

But enough of that! Luo Binghe is gone! His heart leaps into his throat and he rushes upwards to flee.

The moment his bare feet touch the ground, the door to the bedroom slides open. Luo Binghe’s smiling face appears behind it. Something in that smile reminds him of the one the dream Luo Binghe had worn while scooping out his eyes, and his stomach rolls over. He flinches back, unable to stifle it.

Luo Binghe sees it.

“Shizun, are you afraid of me?” His tone barely masks the taunting mirth within, clearly amused at cutting Shen Qingqiu’s escape attempt short. He’d waited until just the right moment to appear, popping his balloon of hope at its peak.

Shen Qingqiu’s skin feels clammy all over. Sweaty, cold, and covered with goosebumps. Of course he’s fucking scared! He’d have to be braindead to not be scared!!

He won’t give Luo Binghe the satisfaction. He scoffs. “Should a righteous man be afraid of wickedness?”

Luo Binghe mouths, wickedness. Something bitter bleeds into his eyes, then drains away. His near-perfect white lotus mask slips back into place. “Shizun, breakfast is ready.”

From behind Luo Binghe a delicious smell filters into the room. It’s warm and homely, the scent of herbal tea and of freshly cooked rice, warm vegetables, and something a touch sweet, like honey.

Unbidden, his stomach rumbles.

Luo Binghe looks delighted, eyes sparkling and hands clasping in front of him like a maiden would. “Shizun, aren’t you hungry? This disciple would be honoured if you would eat.”

He recalls a time when Luo Binghe made him a fresh bowl of congee every two hours in the hopes that when Shen Qingqiu awoke that he would eat the hot and steaming bowl of food slaved over just for him. Of course he had eaten it. And then he'd promised to let Luo Binghe take over that task daily from then on, crafting gradually more intricate meals and desserts with depth and creativity only the protagonist could muster.

After everything, he’s doubly suspicious of Luo Binghe’s intentions. Molesting him, then abusing him, what is he supposed to think? Does Luo Binghe want to fuck him or kill him? He's done neither, yet threatened both!

And now to refuse a meal from the protagonist, wouldn't that draw even more ire?

Despite himself and how he'd emptied his stomach earlier, with the aroma of food floating through the air he finds himself quite hungry…

He sniffs imperiously and walks past Luo Binghe to the dining table, kneeling at it. There is a veritable spread of food, all hot, all of his favourites, all excellently presented. A three Michelin star chef would weep and beg at Luo Binghe’s feet for the honour of being served by him!

Not him! He digs in without fanfare, childishly hoping to get back for all of the nightmares by being a bit rude.

Luo Binghe, not seeming to mind his bland reaction, comes and kneels at the table opposite to him. He rests his face in his hands and watches Shen Qingqiu eat, a soft smile spreading across his face.

“I missed cooking for Shizun,” Luo Binghe confesses. He looks a bit shy, twisting his fingers together and some pale pink spots blossoming in his cheeks. With his delicate face and humble white robes, he perfectly resembles the pure white lotus he had been as a child. “When Shizun eats my food, I truly feel so happy. My heart could beat right out of my chest, that’s how happy I feel.”

Shen Qingqiu smiles into his spoonful of congee. His heart softens. His constant thrum of unease fades into a dull murmur, so quiet he can nearly forget it’s there. He himself had been to one to claim that the little Luo Binghe of old had been cruelly killed by his own hands.

Yet aren’t these the words of the child he had raised so earnestly?

He’s been convinced that the only hand Luo Binghe would show him is a cruel one. That the only fate to be granted him is a bloody one. Perhaps the seeds of kindness Shen Qingqiu had planted back then managed to flourish and grow, healthy and hearty despite his betrayal. Is that wishful thinking?

Luo Binghe himself keeps promising to be kind so long as Shen Qingqiu is kind in turn. If anything he says about liking Shen Qingqiu is true, perhaps it's not such a bad option…

“But Shizun,” Luo Binghe says, looking at him curiously, “aren’t you being brave? Couldn’t this disciple have put anything in your food without your knowing and have you eat it down, as happily and unknowingly as a rat eating poisoned meat?”

Shen Qingqiu’s hand hovers as it rises to his mouth. The remnants of congee still in his mouth suddenly feels a bit off, but he swallows anyway. The only thing he can think of being put in his food is… “Binghe, this master has already drunk your blood. How can I fear that which has already come to pass?”

Luo Binghe gives him a strange smile. “Shizun, this disciple didn’t mean blood.”

“... What else could it be?”

Leaning back, Luo Binghe strokes a sensual hand down his own chest to his groin, rubbing at a very distinct shape beneath his pants. The meaning is utterly clear, and equally as shocking. Luo Binghe had…? He’d…?

In his congee?

His gut twists angrily. A heated rush of humiliation surges through him, turning him red from the roots of his hair all the way down to the tips of his toes.

This level of insult is too much! A sense of utter indignation burns deep in the pit of his stomach, stoked hot and bright with every taunting word. This insincere, black-bellied, two-faced man!

The moment Shen Qingqiu begins to think he understands what Luo Binghe is thinking, the rug is ripped from under his feet. The moment Shen Qingqiu feels his heart softening and begins to feel a bit sorry for this kicked puppy that’s come back yipping at his heels, that puppy turns and sinks its teeth into his hand.

Shen Qingqiu reaches over the table and grabs him fiercely. Uncaring of the dishes being knocked about he throws Luo Binghe down beside the dining table, swinging over to put himself above the blackened man.

Righteous fury flows through him. “Unfilial! Disrespectful! Is this how you treat the one you still call ‘Shizun’?!”

Appearing utterly unaffected by Shen Qingqiu’s scalding words, Luo Binghe smiles smugly at him. It only incenses him further.

Before his common sense can stop him, Shen Qingqiu gathers all of the strength he can muster in his hand, qi building through every spiritual vein until it stops at his palm burning and stinging with the need to be expelled outwards. His control is a straining dam holding back water, barely holding back the swelling rush until the moment Shen Qingqiu allows it free. Though his cultivation may at times be culled by the Without-A-Cure poison, he is still an immortal well-respected amongst his peers and his power is not to be disregarded.

In one vicious movement, he lands a strike at Luo Binghe’s undefended stomach. Part of him doesn't expect the attack to land. After all, the protagonist is beyond comparison, peerless in all martial prowess, excelling beyond both human and demonic capacity.

How could he expect that Luo Binghe would really allow him to vent all of his anger by landing that strike directly into a soft part of his stomach, let alone that Luo Binghe would take the hit without so much as a flinch?

“Shizun, that tickles,” Luo Binghe laughs. It’s so boyish and cheerful, it could almost be called a giggle.

Shen Qingqiu’s face would be burning red in fury if he were a bit less controlled.

Fuck! Taking him so lightly, treating him like nothing more than a pesky little kitten scratching cutely at him, something amusing and light-hearted rather than the self-righteous and decisive strike it had been intended as!

Childishly, Shen Qingqiu throws another punch. Luo Binghe takes it again with another breezy laugh. “Ah, Shizun, this game is fun, but I’m tired of it.”

Luo Binghe snatches his wrists in a bruisingly tight grip and rolls them over. In one smooth movement, Luo Binghe reverses their positions, spreading his legs over Shen Qingqiu’s waist and pinning both of his hands to the ground.

“Shizun, do you prefer this position?” Luo Binghe asks a touch mockingly as he sits heavily on his waist, eyes glittering brightly with flecks of red. He leans down, close enough that Shen Qingqiu can count each long eyelash. “Or would it be better for this disciple to be between your legs instead?”

All of Shen Qingqiu’s skin crawls, a shiver shooting down his body from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. “Are you an animal?!”

Luo Binghe all but giggles again, eyes curving into pleased crescents. They’re redder now, irises almost bloody. He leans closer, hair brushing over Shen Qingqiu’s forehead and cheeks. When he speaks again, his breath whispers across Shen Qingqiu’s mouth. “Oh, Shizun, don’t you know? I’m not an animal, I’m just a little beast. ”

Shen Qingqiu’s scalp prickles in fright. In this position, if he gets any closer they’ll end up kissing!

He puts all of his strength into lifting his head and smashing his forehead directly into Luo Binghe’s nose.

Luo Binghe rears back with a surprised expression, some thick and dark blood dripping down over his lips and chin. It’s striking against his snowy white complexion. Shen Qingqiu admires it for just a moment, before a steely hand clamps around his throat and hauls him upright.

A wild, manic look is painted on Luo Binghe’s face. His lips spread in a bloody smile. “Now, Shizun! Look at the mess you've made. Being untidy isn't befitting a man of your position. Shizun, please clean it up.”

“Is it this master’s fault or punishing an unruly student who has stepped beyond his own proper bounds?” Shen Qingqiu returns sharply.

He’ll be damned before he allows Luo Binghe, in the midst of an earth-shaking tantrum, to scold him!

That hand at his neck squeezes, until he chokes on the pressure. Those fingers are a vice clamping slowly shut. He imagines them becoming claws and ripping out the column of his throat, ending his miserable little life while a spray of warm arterial blood paints the rest of that porcelain-white face red.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe says, very gently, “you shouldn't forget that your other disciples all faithfully follow your lead. As the master of Qing Jing Peak, if you live in filth, so will they. Shall I bring Ming-shixiong here, and request him to observe, so that you might remember exactly what your reputation entails?” Then Luo Binghe laughs quietly, the bloody red spreading further in his eyes. “Though, if Ming-shixiong causes any trouble, this humble disciple may be forced to quiet him down.”

A chill runs down his back. Shen Qingqiu sputters angrily. “Threatening me, so be it. But threatening your shixiongdi?!”

Luo Binghe smiles, mild as milk. “I would not dare.”

Naturally, Luo Binghe could dare to do anything he pleases. If Luo Binghe wished, he could do anything at all. Shen Qingqiu has absolutely no leverage.

“... Fine,” he spits. “Let me up.”

He intends to go and grab a cloth to staunch the bleeding – which Luo Binghe could have done himself, with his OP level healing ability by the way!! – and then wipe up his face with some water, just to be done with it. Luo Binghe doesn't budge. He brings Shen Qingqiu's face closer, until their noses brush.

“Shizun, I asked you to please clean me.”

Shen Qingqiu gives him an odd look. “I need to fetch a cloth.”

Luo Binghe slowly shakes his head. The blood is still thickly dripping down his face, some trailing down his neck. “No need, Shizun.”

This fucking brat. Shen Qingqiu really likes his sleeping robes. They're very comfy and excellently made. He's going to make Luo Binghe repay somehow for their honourable death via bloodstains.

He raises his hand to use his sleeve to wipe away the blood from Luo Binghe's chin, only to feel the parasites in his arm suddenly explode into activity. They writhe and wriggle and chew, surging over his nerves and bones. Then the limb goes numb. It drops to his side like a stone.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe scolds over Shen Qingqiu's ungraceful yelp. “That's not right. Don't you have something else you can use?”

An irritated pulsing begins in the base of his skull. Without a cloth and without his arms to wipe, what the fuck does he expect?!

Luo Binghe clenches his hand in Shen Qingqiu's hair, twisting it painfully as he angles Shen Qingqiu's face to his, until his lips brush the source of dripping blood. It's strikingly warm, and the smell of iron is thick in the air. Shen Qingqiu's stomach drops as he begins to realize exactly what Luo Binghe intends.

“You…! What's wrong with you?!” As he speaks, his lips brush blood. His stomach turns in revulsion and he squirms to get away, some hair ripping from his scalp as Luo Binghe's hand tightens more.

Watching him vainly struggle, Luo Binghe calmly smiles. Then with a clear and sweet voice akin to a tinkling bell, he says, “What's wrong with me? I wonder. But since Shizun seems so opposed to doing what I asked, I have no choice but to punish him. So, I've decided I'll slit Ming-shixiong’s stomach open, draw out his intestines, and hang him with them. Shizun, do you want to see if I can make it last long enough that he begs to die?”

He sounds as casual as one would discussing the weather. Is it that fucking simple for you, Bing-ge?!

Of course it is. This is Luo Binghe, after all.

It feels as if Shen Qingqiu has swallowed a fistful of ice. Something heavy and cold clenches in his stomach.

“I didn't want to, Shizun, but you're making me,” Luo Binghe says, sighing at the minor annoyance of having to mutilate his shixiong.

Somehow, despite everything, Shen Qingqiu has forgotten that this is Luo Binghe – a blackened man who plays nicely when it suits him, and otherwise cruelly, who is fated to be his and Ming Fan’s and a thousand other villains' wretched ends. The sheep's mask has slipped. He's playing house with a starving wolf that spends every moment waiting and watching for a moment of weakness, toying with its food until just the right moment to lunge in and rip it to shreds.

He's prey. Everyone on this Peak is prey, possibly even Ning Yingying. Right now, the single thin strand to clutch onto and keep them alive is this moment where Luo Binghe expects him to roll over and obey.

So be it. Shen Qingqiu does what he does best and abandons his common sense. He opens his mouth and licks one long stripe through copper liquid.

Luo Binghe moans as if he'd licked his dick instead.

Who'd raised this child to be such a pervert?! In the novel he'd certainly had kinks and fetishes galore, but nothing like this! Filthy. Absolutely filthy.

… He conveniently represses the increasingly relevant idea that he had twisted Luo Binghe's sexuality with trauma.

The taste of blood is shockingly strong. He'd gotten a mouthful of blood now and then when his nose had bled due to cold, dry weather, but that and this are as different as night and day. This is overpowering and the taste is pungent, metallic and slightly bitter.

He swallows, stomach revolting a bit, and forces himself to lick again. With his hands, Luo Binghe guides his face down to his neck, over his chin, all the valleys and planes of his face licked clean. His tongue, Luo Binghe's personal handkerchief, is stained with copper. On the surface of it he imagines he can feel the thousands of tiny little blood mites crawling about, happily burrowing down and making his body their new home.

“ Yes ,” Luo Binghe groans, mouth falling open as he holds Shen Qingqiu's face close. It provides full access to his blood stained teeth and tongue, and the meaning is clear. Ostensibly it's so Shen Qingqiu will lick inside and clean that too. However, isn't it obvious what Luo Binghe really wants?

Hah. So he expects Shen Qingqiu to give him a loving, deep kiss after threatening, humiliating, and forcing him to do reprehensible things? Is Luo Binghe that foolish?

Shen Qingqiu, abruptly angry, spits in that open mouth instead.

How does that taste, Bing-ge?! Your blood, returned to sender!

Luo Binghe's entire body goes stiff. He goes so stiff he doesn't even breathe. Something extremely large perks up between his legs, a dark damp spot at the top of it spreading out, staining the white disciple robes. His eyes are wide, lashes trembling, awed and shaken. 

His body jostles suddenly as Luo Binghe moves, clutching him closer and panting raggedly, sounding like he’s run ten laps around the Peak. “Shizun, you did this to me…! I tried to resist, but I’m going to take what I want now!”

Feverish and clumsy, Luo Binghe guides Shen Qingqiu’s limp hand to that heavy length. He curls Shen Qingqiu’s fingers around it and begins stroking with fervour. It’s an odd angle and his fingers are unable to fit around the full girth of it, yet Luo Binghe whimpers in unbridled ecstasy.

[ (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠✧⁠*⁠。Congratulations on unlocking the achievement “Physical Relationship Advancement”!! ]

Shen Qingqiu feels aggrieved. All I get is an achievement?!

[ Protagonist Satisfaction Points: +500! ]

And what good do those do?! System, refund please!

[ These points are non-refundable. Thank you for your patronage! ]

Luo Binghe’s tongue lolls from his mouth as he huffs and moans. It's a real life ahegao. Shen Qingqiu finds himself looking at it in fascination; such a gaudy expression, yet still somehow appealing on the protagonist’s face. “Shizun, Shizun, like that, it feels good!”

Luo Binghe’s hand stops guiding his. In a rush of sensation that feels similar to the pins and needles one gets when a sleeping limb comes back to life, Shen Qingqiu finds himself in control of his body once again, no longer made heavy and dead under the blood parasites’ power.

“Keep going!” Luo Binghe begs, his words trailing off into a keening whine. He should be pathetic. Shen Qingqiu should feel only pity. Yet, in the furthest depths of his fathomless black eyes is a red, twisting spiral. It is unsettling in a way that Shen Qingqiu finds difficult to put into words. They’re the eyes of the Luo Binghe from the dreams who had watched him die with frightening amounts of pleasure and ecstasy. “Shizun, keep going! ”

If he refuses, will Ming Fan’s death warrant be signed? Or will he be drawn into more nightmares? Luo Binghe’s imagination isn’t so shallow; something worse could surely be on the way.

Shen Qingqiu feels a bit relieved, in an odd way. Masturbating him is relatively inoffensive. At least he’s not being made to roll over and take it somewhere else!

But that doesn’t mean he needs to make it pleasant.

He tightens his hand to bruising. Despite his intentions to hurt, Luo Binghe in return only keens louder in pleasure. As he twists his hand, Luo Binghe yelps and the pillar in his hand throbs happily.

“Touch me more, Shizun!” Luo Binghe whines, humping lightly into Shen Qingqiu’s deathly tight grip.

Shen Qingqiu is astonished.

Had he not only raised a homosexual, but a masochist as well?! The great Luo Binghe, destined to be the one true Emperor of all three realms, turned into a trembling M who equally seeks the affections as well as punishments of his scum villain master… Shen Qingqiu has thoroughly disrupted the novel, and the System has only rewarded his efforts! What fucking outcome is this?!

Luo Binghe’s adoring tone is at odds with his words, “I'm so happy Shizun granted me the gift of his saliva. From now on, I’ll only drink from Shizun’s mouth, alright?”

Shen Qingqiu’s entire scalp prickles in fright. This young man’s tastes are too perverse! “Shut up…!”

Luo Binghe only giggles happily, his cheeks pink and eyes gleaming with arousal, as he digs his fingers in, almost clawing up and down the length of him. “Shizun, you really will do anything I ask, won’t you? I like it. I like you. So long as you touch me, you can touch however you want! If it pleases Shizun, you can hurt me more!”

He wants to fucking cry! Shen Qingqiu cannot help but feel extremely guilty all of the sudden.

Striking the face of someone who had once been so earnest, and had grown such a twisted view of romance and sexuality all due to Shen Qingqiu's own meddling, is much too sad. Luo Binghe shouldn’t feel pain during sex. It feels criminal. And if Shen Qingqiu is at fault, he must take some responsibility.

His hand loosens and becomes gentle. He strokes softly in long movements, akin to what he prefers to do to himself. With all of his heart, he attempts to be comforting and understanding rather than rejecting Luo Binghe outright.

Luo Binghe, watching him closely, sees Shen Qingqiu's face morph from one of soured shame to one of almost fond pity. It strikes him to his core. His mother had looked at him with that same expression when he'd run too quickly and scraped his knee upon tripping, scolding him for being hasty when she'd warned him a hundred times to walk slowly.

“I suppose children will be children.” That's what she'd said each time, sighing while cleaning his scrapes and bandaging them up.

From the tip of his head, to his chest, down to the tips of his feet, a tremble rolls through Luo Binghe's body, a terrifying need splintering through him and sticking into every soft part inside of him.

Voice hushed and strangled, Luo Binghe says, “Shizun…”

Shen Qingqiu glances at him as he rubs his palm at the soggy bit of robe that conceals the brutally shaped head of the heavenly pillar. Without warning his head is yanked close, face all but pressed against Luo Binghe’s. His heart leaps into his throat, but their lips don’t connect. Only their noses rub together, breath mingling.

In his hand, Shen Qingqiu feels rapid twitching, then warmth spreads across his fingers. Semen, viscous and bitter-smelling, seeps through the white disciple's robes, pooling in Shen Qingqiu's hand. He continues fondling and rubbing despite the thick substance clinging to his fingers, easing Luo Binghe through it all. He can't be so cruel as to leave him alone at the very peak, can he? A stallion could get sick from blue balls, he's sure.

They stare unblinkingly into one another's eyes. He’s close enough he can count each individual lash framing Luo Binghe's eyes, hooded and black, filled with starvation – desperation . Somehow, the look in those eyes makes Shen Qingqiu feel a bit sad.

When finally the pulsing and oozing warmth stops, Luo Binghe breathes out against his lips in a shaky exhale. “Thanking Shizun for his kindness.”

Shen Qingqiu does not move. His mind is in a tumult, turning each interaction he'd shared with a young Luo Binghe, unable to find the moment he'd grown such a perverted seed within him.

He keeps his hand held out until Luo Binghe wipes it clean, gently stroking it with a damp cloth, removing all evidence of what they’d done.

For the remainder of the day, Shen Qingqiu goes unmolested, left idle in his room to read and attend to various Peak Lord matters that require correspondence. Luo Binghe, returning to the façade of a white lotus, cleans himself, tidies the house, then quietly and calmly stares at Shen Qingqiu for hours without blinking.

If there’s one thing becoming rapidly clear, it’s that Luo Binghe has gone off the deep end. Entirely. He is split between the desire to act like the little lamb he had been as a child, and the desire to sexually harass and humiliate Shen Qingqiu with all of his heart and soul. If he were just cruel, it would be easy to reject him and flee.

But…

This Luo Binghe is still half-resembling the child he'd raised. Twisted and charred, but there is still a sort of purity to him.

That doesn't change one simple fact: Shen Qingqiu needs out.

He needs to get out of this house, this sect, this entire cultivation world. He's going to run away and become a farmer or something, at least until his mushroom spore body has matured and he can evacuate into it.

If he has twisted Luo Binghe this badly, the only way to repent and repay everything is with his death. Perhaps then Luo Binghe need not obsess over him and can relinquish this grudge, moving on and growing into the protagonist he should be.

But how is he supposed to do that when he can't even get out of the house to talk to Airplane-bro in the first place? He won't know when the body is ready. Risking it not working isn't an option, because he will either really end up dead or something worse.

After all, his chrysanthemum surely won't remain unplucked for long!

Chapter Text

“...un can’t see…”

“...qiu?...”

Some voices are talking in the main room, muffled behind the door. One is quiet and urgent, a bit forceful. The other is brash, uncaring of propriety and respect for his delicate sleep.

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t mind being startled awake. He had been neck deep in a brutal dream where his skin had been turning into flowers – which sounded pleasant only until the roots had grown in his veins and his bones had painfully disintegrated into dirt within his body – only to be awoken by the people talking in his home.

He perks his head up and silently crawls out of bed so as not to alert Luo Binghe.

“No. …this disciple…” Luo Binghe’s tone is clearly aggravated.

That makes him wake more fully. He slinks towards the sliding door that separates his room from the main room, pushing it open just a hair. That sliver allows him to see Luo Binghe’s back, guarding the door. Beyond him, Shen Qingqiu cannot quite tell who is visiting them.

“He is resting and has asked this disciple to turn away all visitors, no matter the reason for visiting,” Luo Binghe quietly argues with their mystery visitor. “Even you, Liu-shishu.”

Shen Qingqiu’s hands nearly rip through the paper of the sliding door. It’s Liu Qingge…! His emergency escape plan! His one trump card waiting to be used!

“Shen Qingqiu’s cleansing is today. I’m here to do it.” Liu Qingge’s tone isn’t nearly as angry. He sounds gruff, but very much with the airs of a stern elder scolding a rowdy teenager. Treating the blackened protagonist as a child, how daring, Great Master Liu!

His heart is a flurry with palpitations like the beating of a hundred butterfly wings, hesitant to burst out and demand Liu Qingge to lay down his life in return for Shen Qingqiu's actions in the spirit caves, yet also hesitant to miss this one god-sent chance. If he dawdles, will he be lucky enough to get this chance again?

He pauses with his hands on the door. Liu Qingge… can hold his own against the protagonist, surely. Right?

Liu Qingge had never appeared in the novel, much too beautiful and too strong for Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky to dare leave alive, and that is exactly why Shen Qingqiu feels he can rely on him to survive a confrontation. Even if he isn’t completely at Luo Binghe’s level, he must be close enough that Shen Qingqiu can flee, right?!

Luo Binghe’s reach is long, and his tempestuous wrath is as deep and boundless as an ocean. In the midst of a hurricane, what man wouldn’t choose to take shelter, even if it results in the destruction of that very shelter? Let the roof be ripped off and the walls torn down so long as Shen Qingqiu can bunker safely inside.

Refusing to budge an inch, Luo Binghe rebuts, “Shizun no longer requires your services……… shishu. Kindly leave Shizun to rest.”

Liu Qingge gives a deep, full-bodied sigh. Then, ignoring Luo Binghe entirely, he bellows into the house, “Shen! Qing! Qiu!”

Still hiding behind the paper door, Shen Qingqiu nearly jumps out of his skin. What an incredible shout! His ears are ringing! Forget Shen Qingqiu, perhaps the entirety of Qing Jing Peak heard him!

To avoid being deafened further, he slides the doors open quickly and scurries out into the main room, watched by two sets of eyes – one set mildly annoyed, and one the other black and simmering with anger. Apologies, protagonist, but Shen Qingqiu is truly innocent this time.

“Finally. Bring your disciple to heel,” Liu Qingge demands.

Luo Binghe doesn’t even look at him. His eyes are icy and burning at once, scalding as they bore into Shen Qingqiu. “Shizun, won’t you please inform Liu……. shishu, that his services are not needed? Shizun, this disciple is enough for you, isn’t that right?”

Shen Qingqiu looks at him. Then he looks at Liu Qingge. Liu Qingge is standing proudly with his arms crossed, Cheng Luan at his waist, his pure white robes unwrinkled and without a speck of dirt. Those robes are a mark of pride for the War God; he is able to defend and defeat so overwhelmingly that the white of his robes never become stained.

Though his face is princely and handsome, everything else about his stature screams ‘merciless warrior’. His faith in Liu Qingge’s abilities is rekindled. Doubt, what doubt?! This is his martial brother! If Shen Qingqiu were to instigate something, he would have the perfect chance to slip away!

He hums. “Well. Liu-shidi, my treatment has always been in your hands as your stable cultivation suits me well.”

Luo Binghe’s expression twitches minutely. Within Shen Qingqiu, the blood parasites explode into a violent frenzy, then go quiet almost instantly. Shen Qingqiu almost laughs. If Luo Binghe’s goal is to have Liu Qingge leave, naturally Luo Binghe cannot make Shen Qingqiu appear even more ill. It may work on simple disciples, but not on a Peak Lord!

“It’s settled,” Liu Qingge says. He begins to try and shoulder his way in, but Luo Binghe rebuffs him once more, scowling darkly.

“As this disciple has returned home, I assure you, I will take care of Shizun!” Luo Binghe all but snarls. His words are anything but comforting. If Liu Qingge leaves now, Luo Binghe will surely ‘take care of him’, in some exceptionally horrible way.

Liu Qingge rounds on Luo Binghe at that. “Hmph! It’s about time you got back, anyways. Where’d you run off to?” Without pausing to allow Luo Binghe to respond, Liu Qingge continues with his severe scolding, “Your Shizun was waiting for you. What filial behaviour is that? He wouldn’t even take a new disciple on. You haven’t been trained well.”

Ouch. Big brother Liu, could you please not call Shen Qingqiu’s teaching shitty right in front of his face?

Luo Binghe’s face goes through multiple complex expressions. He seems torn between disgust and joy, both angered at Liu Qingge’s loose disparagement and assuaged at the reminder of Shen Qingqiu’s persistent attachment to Luo Binghe. So transparent. Shen Qingqiu almost feels a bit fond.

Wanting to defend Luo Binghe’s honour, if just a bit, Shen Qingqiu steps in and responds, “Ah, Binghe had… at that time, he fell into the Endless Abyss which had opened at Jue Di Gorge. This master assumed he had perished, but as you can see, Liu-shidi, he has returned both healthy and whole. It could be called a miracle were it not thanks to Binghe’s natural skill and aptitude. I told you back then, he would definitely become a success. Is it not so?”

Liu Qingge pauses.

All three of them remember this moment in time. Naturally, Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu had participated in the conversation. And Luo Binghe, who had been punished by a jealous Ming Fan because of it, though at that time he’d seen it more as a blessing than a punishment as he’d been accidentally told of Shizun’s high perception of him.

Then Liu Qingge gives Luo Binghe another look. It’s appraising, and a bit more respectful. Rather than looking at him like an unruly child, Liu Qingge suddenly seems to view Luo Binghe as a warrior. “Well done.”

Well done indeed. It is a feat which could hardly be accomplished by any other cultivator in history. If Shen Qingqiu had fallen, he would surely have died in some horrible manner. The protagonist himself had suffered acidic burns, dismembered limbs, monsters attempting to cannibalize him, grasping hands ripping him apart, and even more nightmarish scenarios than that. Everything and anything that Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky could dream up to thoroughly blacken him with.

Luo Binghe doesn't appear at all pleased with the praise. “Shizun, you should go back inside and rest.”

Liu Qingge examines Luo Binghe again from head to toe. His interest in cleansing Shen Qingqiu's meridians appears to have dissipated. “You. Let's spar. I want to see the skills of someone who emerged from the Endless Abyss.”

Shen Qingqiu had been thinking about instigating a fight, but who knew his shidi was so reliable! Being a battle addict as he is, he leapt at the chance without missing a beat! Is this his chance?!

… But, he should stick around and watch a little, right?

Just a little. Just to see if Liu Qingge’s strength is as incredible as it seems.

…

And perhaps he has a strictly scholarly interest in seeing a fight between the two most powerful characters that never had the chance to fight in “Proud Immortal Demon Way”. Shen Qingqiu won’t be able to sleep if he misses it!

Indeed, the fight is impressive. So fucking impressive that it results in a massive chunk of bamboo ripped up by the roots, his garden destroyed, and some of his porch singed.

Luo Binghe had not used a sword, instead relying on his martial prowess. In his desire for a fair fight to settle who is the strongest between them, Liu Qingge also forgoes using Cheng Luan. Their forms had rapidly devolved from textbook to all-out street brawling. Fists flying, knees cracking into ribs, and Shen Qingqiu thinks he sees Luo Binghe even bite Liu Qingge at one point.

In the end, the victor is clear. It isn't close, not by a long shot, in Luo Binghe's favour. The golden finger had not even made its appearance, indicating an even more severe power imbalance between the two of them.

Liu Qingge is left with rumpled, dirty, bloody robes, torn in spots and burned in others. He appears in a way Shen Qingqiu has never seen before, beaten down and left exceedingly human. His War God epithet becomes tarnished.

That lone shack in which Shen Qingqiu would take shelter has already been torn apart.

“Tsk. Not bad,” Liu Qingge begrudgingly allows. His pride is clearly wounded and yet he doesn't seem to mind all that much that he's been defeated. Shen Qingqiu himself feels more upset than Liu Qingge looks! “I must be slacking.”

Luo Binghe is facing away from Shen Qingqiu, obviously standing between him and Liu Qingge, as effective as an impenetrable wall.

“I'm going,” Liu Qingge announces abruptly.

Shen Qingqiu flounders. “What about my meridians?”

Liu Qingge rolls his eyes. “This disciple of yours is stronger. His qi control is good. Let him do it; he wanted to anyway.” He withdraws something from his belt and tosses it clear over Luo Binghe's head directly to Shen Qingqiu. It's a fan, one that Shen Qingqiu had misplaced during their last shared nighthunt. “Stop losing those.”

Then he pulls out Cheng Luan and flies away without a glance back.

… What a dick!

Shen Qingqiu has only a moment to curse Liu Qingge and his dry approach to business when a sinister feeling encroaches upon him.

A malevolent aura seeps out from the white-clad figure standing in Shen Qingqiu’s ruined gardens. Luo Binghe turns just enough for Shen Qingqiu to see the red in his eyes. His gaze tracks down to the fan limply held in Shen Qingqiu’s hand.

There’s a thin black smoke distorting the air around Luo Binghe. It’s almost like heat waves rippling, turning the air liquid and hazy. Shen Qingqiu knows from the novel exactly the source of this malevolent energy. It's from the golden finger bestowed onto the protagonist from the depths of the Endless Abyss’ most cruel place from the belly of a wicked beast – Xin Mo.

Shen Qingqiu still hasn't laid eyes on the sword itself. He might have wondered if Luo Binghe hadn't even found it, had he not known that the Abyss was impossible to escape save for Xin Mo’s powers. In his attempt to pretend to be human, Luo Binghe has kept it hidden, and only now are its effects being shown.

In the novel, Xin Mo was a precocious sword, with a will of its own. It could be controlled with satiating one of two lustful urges: the lust for blood, or the lust for a beautiful woman's body.

As far as Shen Qingqiu has seen, Luo Binghe has done neither. Of course Xin Mo would begin to influence him.

In fact there had been a very long arc spanning hundreds of chapters and more than a handful of decadent women where Luo Binghe was forced to learn how to soothe Xin Mo and prevent a horrific backlash from occurring. That backlash would be so intense, it would probably be enough to wipe out Qing Jing Peak entirely from the world. But surely, the backlash couldn't come so soon. It should still be years away!

“Shizun.” That's the only thing Luo Binghe says. It's said simply, without inflection.

The fine hairs on Shen Qingqiu’s body all rise on end. His lungs feel cold.

Luo Binghe turns fully towards him and takes a single step forwards.

Shen Qingqiu's entire body flinches and he rushes back inside. He can't hide, he knows that already. Luo Binghe could track him down to the ends of the earth without a single misstep. Yet, his animal hindbrain, his instincts, they all scream at him in unison to hide anyways.

It would be as useless as a child hiding under the blankets from the monster under their bed. Only, Shen Qingqiu's monster is very real, and holds a grudge which can only be paid in blood.

A few breathless moments pass and a shadow is cast under the door. With a creak of wood, the front entrance is slowly slid open. Luo Binghe re-enters the bamboo house. His footsteps are light and the way he closes the door is gentle. Somehow, Shen Qingqiu is even more terrified at his gentleness.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe softly says. His face is relaxed. His eyes are black and there is nary a hint of anger on his face. In fact, he looks utterly peaceful. He holds his hand out, lips slightly upturned into a small smile. “That fan. Could you hand it here?”

Shen Qingqiu’s fingers tremble as he holds the fan out.

Luo Binghe takes it and turns it over, examining it. In an abrupt nonsequitur, Luo Binghe asks, “So, Shizun, how many times has he fucked you?”

Surely he’s misheard. “Excuse me?”

“How many times has Liu Qingge fucked you?” Luo Binghe repeats, speaking slowly so that each word can be clearly understood. “For him to have this, you two must be very comfortable with one another. Did you drop it when he took you?”

Shen Qingqiu stares at him speechlessly.

Luo Binghe smiles a bit wider. “Or perhaps you took him. Is that your preference? I don’t mind. Just tell me. I won't be mad.”

That silken-soft smile undercuts his words. The softer Luo Binghe smiles, the gentler he speaks, of course it only means the crueler his intentions. Even if this Luo Binghe is not entirely the same as the one from the novel, he is also not entirely the sweet child whom Shen Qingqiu had raised. It's best to be careful.

“This master resents this line of questioning,” Shen Qingqiu says. “I am clearly not a homosexual. And neither is your Liu-shishu.”

Luo Binghe laughs lightly. “Shizun, don't act stupid.”

What blatant disrespect! Shen Qingqiu feels a bit angry. “Don't use that tone with me again. If I am your master, act appropriately and speak with respect, both to me and your shishu. And what stupidity? Liu-shidi is my martial brother and friend. He isn't like that. ”

“Like ‘that’,” Luo Binghe repeats. His hand tightens around the fan until his knuckles turn white and blue veins protrude from his icy white skin. “Why did you say it with such emphasis? Shizun, if Liu…… shishu is not like ‘that’, then I am. You keep saying I don't disgust you, and then you say these things.”

Shen Qingqiu doesn't know what to say. It's not as if he has practice dealing with gay men! It simply had never been a topic that came up in his first life. He doesn’t have anything against it personally, really!

“Shizun.” Luo Binghe's hand trembles. His lips are pale and his eyes are rimmed with red. It's a rather pathetic expression, one so very different from the frighteningly kind expression he'd worn just a few minutes prior. “Shizun. Tell me the truth. Do I disgust you? Or don't I? Just say it.”

Doesn't it sound as if Luo Binghe is… begging?

Something within Shen Qingqiu's chest feels a bit sore, a tender spot somewhere between his lungs pressed down on.

His hand lifts without his conscious thought, and he finds himself petting Luo Binghe's hair. He's taller now, standing above Shen Qingqiu by a small bit. But right now, clear as day, is that purity which had drawn Shen Qingqiu to the character of ‘Luo Binghe’ in the first place.

Shen Qingqiu feels the ache in his chest subside a bit as he strokes Luo Binghe's hair. He pets and pets until the redness has faded from Luo Binghe's eyes.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe whispers. He huddles in a little closer, hunching his shoulders and ducking his head, making himself small. “Shizun, I like you a lot. Does… Does that make you hate me?”

Shen Qingqiu responds without thinking. “I could never hate Binghe.”

“Even though I'm like ‘that’?”

“No. Never.” It's simply trauma that's made Luo Binghe gay, anyways. Shen Qingqiu knows that. It's his fault. How can he hate Luo Binghe for something he himself did to him? Even if Shen Qingqiu dying doesn't fix his broken sexuality, it will at least give him closure so he can pursue creating a proper harem with other lovely men.

Wordlessly, Luo Binghe trembles.

After that day, Shen Qingqiu never sees that fan again. Instead a new one takes its place in his cabinets without any comment from Luo Binghe. How he'd gone down the mountain and procured one without Shen Qingqiu knowing is a mystery as the trip would take a day at least, but somehow, the act of it touches that same tender spot within Shen Qingqiu's chest.

A few days pass.

Liu Qingge’s defeat is disheartening. He’d thought perhaps that Liu Qingge wouldn’t be an equal match, but would be close enough to put the protagonist through his paces. Clearly, the entire exercise was naught but a pointless endeavour. Saving Liu Qingge hadn’t been a mistake even if the seed planted bore no fruit, but it stings nonetheless.

His mind spins in circles trying to think up a new escape route. As he thinks, Shen Qingqiu goes about his usual tasks – anything to maintain some normalcy – and reads another letter sent to him from a nearby village entreating him for assistance in an infestation of evil spirits. His mail had been silently dropped off by Ming Fan while Shen Qingqiu slept.

Luo Binghe, his constant shadow, sits in a contemplative silence as he folds laundry beside him.

It’s contemplative if only because Luo Binghe is not sitting and staring holes in the side of his head, instead actually completing some chores. Not to say Luo Binghe is lazy – perish the thought! – it is only that his usual method these days is to induce Shen Qingqiu into a coma of dreams and nightmares during which he would attend to such matters as cooking and cleaning. After all, Shen Qingqiu cannot flee while Luo Binghe’s attention is diverted if he is unconscious.

Isn't this the ultimate opportunity?

He keeps Luo Binghe in his peripheral vision. Grabbing his brush and grinding some ink, attempting to appear unperturbed as he normally would when responding to small town concerns, Shen Qingqiu prepares a note for Shang Qinghua.

Airplane,

Big brother Ice is back. I need the mushroom body prepared as soon as possible. I cannot escape without worry, so please confirm the place and time at your convenience. If I die, I will haunt your miserable life and ensure Big brother Ice kills you next.

Yours,

Cucumber.

Good enough. He tucks the coded message to Airplane in English amongst the other letters of response so Luo Binghe will send his note out with them. If it's in an entirely different language, that makes it something even the peerlessly intelligent Luo Binghe cannot decode.

“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu carefully says.

Luo Binghe takes a moment and finishes folding up Shen Qingqiu's socks. Once done, he gives Shen Qingqiu his full attention. It's a heavy, burning weight, his black eyes flecked with red and hot as coals. “What may this disciple do for Shizun?”

Shen Qingqiu cannot ask about sending the mail without raising a red flag. He grabs the stack of mail to be sent out and stands casually, pulling out a missive from Yue Qingyuan as he does. “This master desires to visit with your Zhangmen-shibo.”

Luo Binghe gives him a crooked smile. “Shizun, please, speak your mind. This disciple promises to not get mad.”

The original goods had a frigid face that could endure both sweltering sun and blistering winds, unmoving and unchanging, and surely would have put any master poker player's face to shame! Luckily in possession of that very face, Shen Qingqiu does not so much as blink. “I'll say it again so Binghe doesn't misunderstand me – this master desires to visit your Yue-shibo. Binghe has returned after a long while away. He has not stood before the sect leader since then. It's only proper.”

Luo Binghe's expression, as though carved in ice, doesn't move.

Shen Qingqiu tries again. “As my disciple, it's only proper. Now that you've returned, your fealty to the sect is critical to rekindle.”

Something about that makes Luo Binghe thaw. His eyes seem to come alive. “Shizun will reaffirm his vow to me?”

If it will let him send the mail, of course! He nods his head up and down, bobbing like a chicken pecking grain, grasping his illicit letter in his fist. Once he gets outside and can hand the letters off to deliver, his mushroom body will be cultivated and he'll be safe! Won't he?

Won't he?!

His mail gets taken from his hands and tucked into Luo Binghe's qiankun pouch (which is actually one of Shen Qingqiu's, taken unapologetically) with a mild smile and promises to hand them off to someone else.

Shen Qingqiu's letter is unassuming, and even under an eye of scrutiny it would at best look like the scratchings of a bird, or at worst like the ravings of a madman. So long as it arouses none of Luo Binghe's suspicion it should reach the proper destination.

On Qiong Ding, taken in without an appointment, Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe sit across from Yue Qingyuan. Shen Qingqiu is given a pillowed lounge sofa across from Yue Qingyuan’s more cruel-backed chair, and Luo Binghe stands, hovering behind as the omnipresent shadow.

When a pot of steaming tea and some cookies are brought out, Luo Binghe perks up and goes to serve it. Before he can, Yue Qingyuan gently waves him back.

“Shen-shidi,” Yue Qingyuan smiles, serving the tea for the two of them. He gives Luo Binghe a long, appraising look, then pours a third cup. “Luo-shizhi.”

Shen Qingqiu goes to take a cup of tea in hand. At his back, Shen Qingqiu hears the ominous sound of wood creaking. Luo Binghe's palm squeezes the sofa's backing, his pleasant expression never slipping but his violent urge is clear – if only to Shen Qingqiu. Beyond Shen Qingqiu, no one notes the slip in Luo Binghe's carefully cultivated mask of politeness and deference.

The wood creaks louder when Shen Qingqiu doesn't put the cup of tea back. Even if he could not hear the groaning wood, Luo Binghe's sudden, violent wrath is obvious to him as the blood parasites in his body all simultaneously vibrate in warning before settling into an eerie silence.

So, tea from another person is off limits to drink? Shen Qingqiu scoffs.

He disobediently takes a long sip. Then he grabs a cookie and eats that too. He hears a low laugh from over his shoulder, a laugh which he's heard time and again in his dreams while he's being devoured by rabid dogs, or having his legs chopped into tartar to be eaten on crackers, or some other horrible fate. That laugh makes the fine hairs on his body all stand on end, a frigid sensation rushing down his spine.

“Luo-shizhi, it's been some time,” Yue Qingyuan says plainly. When Luo Binghe doesn't take the tea offered, he takes no offense, and simply sips on his own. “You vanished from us two years back, and Qingqiu suffered for it.”

Shen Qingqiu would kindly appreciate his friendly NPC to not speak for him.

“As Zhangmen-shibo says, Shizun has been poorly,” Luo Binghe allows. His hand strokes past the splintering bits of wood that he'd nearly crushed, gently rubbing the sofa railing behind Shen Qingqiu's head. He can nearly feel those rubbing fingers on his scalp. If they were alone, surely that's what Luo Binghe would be doing. “This disciple was away for reasons beyond his control, and could only return recently. This disciple will endeavour to prove himself to Shizun every day for the rest of our lives. I swear it.”

“And those reasons?”

Shen Qingqiu sits up straight. So the end of flimsy questioning is here! Finally, they can get down to business! He eats another cookie with the air a movie goer would eat popcorn.

“Ah… This disciple fell into the Endless Abyss when it opened at Jue Di Gorge, and was unable to escape until now. My skill is lacking…” Luo Binghe explains. The shame in his voice could almost be mistaken as real, had it not been known amongst all higher level cultivators that the Endless Abyss is for all intents and purposes unsurvivable. To actually return from such an ordeal can only be accomplished by the highest grade of cultivator. It's a feat that cannot be dismissed nor ignored easily.

On top of that, Shen Qingqiu is the real reason that he'd fallen into that place. Indeed, Shen Qingqiu had kicked the boy down into hell himself! He angrily eats a third cookie.

He feels the purposeful glances from both Yue Qingyuan and Luo Binghe, though Yue Qingyuan's seems to have an edge of… happiness.

“Shen-shidi has eaten much less while Luo-shizhi was away,” he says delicately, pushing the plate of cookies closer. “Luo-shizhi, your trial is by no means a small thing to endure. We are simply relieved to have you back. No one has mourned your loss more than your Shizun, however all the same, no one had more faith in you than your Shizun.”

“Oh?” Luo Binghe asks lightly. Above him, he feels as if a guillotine’s blade is hanging.

Shen Qingqiu sweats as he swallows tea to avoid answering any condemning questions. He doesn't need to answer any incriminating questions, okay?! He has rights!

“Indeed. Shen-shidi bet five thousand spirit stones on your utter victory at the Immortal Alliance Conference, that is how strong his faith was in your abilities,” Yue Qingyuan smiles gently. What a warm, brotherly expression! Ah, if only it wasn't aimed at his some-day murderer. “Did Shen-shidi not tell you?”

“I was planning on it,” he gripes, stuffing another cookie down his throat to stop himself from speaking again.

He'd absolutely not been planning on it! How shameless! To know Luo Binghe would win, not just by a little but by a lot, while planning his downfall… What kind of master could accept such winnings after booting him off a cliff?! It's like fixing a boxing match and acting humble after shooting the winner in the knee!

He'd left all of the money to sit and rot. Once Luo Binghe had come to raze down Qing Jing Peak, he could have found the money then and added it to his Empire's treasury. That's all it would be good for then.

“No… No, Shizun never said,” Luo Binghe murmurs.

Yue Qingyuan laughs politely. “Qingqiu never has been the type to mention that sort of thing. It's, ah. Nevermind.” He looks at Shen Qingqiu with an air of playfulness, clearly expecting a reprimand that isn't coming. It's the sort of expression bred from familiarity that Luo Binghe has never seen on the sect leader’s face before.

Shen Qingqiu, who usually wears an extremely reserved expression and speaks little, who once only spared his excess words for Binghe's ears alone, glances at Yue Qingyuan with an equally playful look. He appears then as a spoiled rich young master with an overly doting brother. “Zhangmen-shixiong, please don't worry yourself over the matters between my disciple and myself.”

Doesn't it seem that Shizun and the sect leader are… quite close?

Luo Binghe feels something under his skin itch uncomfortably. It makes him want to rip his skin off so he can scratch that itch raw. He smiles, all his pleasant mood and kindly patience curdling in his veins, thicker and more rancid than the waters of the Endless Abyss.

Sitting there facing Yue Qingyuan, an odd feeling comes over Shen Qingqiu.

It feels a little as though his stomach is slowly turning inside out, the organ writhing and squirming, like a foreign, living creature rather than a part of his body. The sensation is so alien and so strange that he almost doesn’t know what to make of it at first.

Bit by bit, his stomach slowly curls into a tight little ball, as if being crushed down by an invisible fist grabbing at his innards, cruelly prodding and playing about with it. One could almost think of it as a child playing with some jelly, stretching it out of shape and rolling it back into a little ball, over and over again.

He casts Luo Binghe a glance over his shoulder.

Luo Binghe smiles serenely at him – of course at him, as if Luo Binghe ever diverts his eyes from the back of Shen Qingqiu’s head – and the sensation grows stronger.

Reflexively his abdomen shivers as his stomach twists more violently inside of him, a cold sweat breaking over his back as he sways in his seat. Muscles spasm all over his body, bile rising up his throat, until he can no longer speak while trying to swallow it back down.

“Shidi?” Yue Qingyuan asks gently.

Shen Qingqiu is pallid and sweaty. He opens his mouth to wave away Yue Qingyuan’s concerns, before he leans over and vomits violently onto the ground. His stomach twists even more, as though urging it all out, every bite of cookie and sip of tea expelled in a disgusting mess over the dark wooden floor.

Yue Qingyuan’s voice cuts short and he rushes to Shen Qingqiu’s side. “Qingqiu, Qingqiu, what’s happened? Is it Without-a-Cure?”

He goes to touch Shen Qingqiu’s wrist, only to be met with empty space. Shen Qingqiu’s faint, ill self has already been smoothly tugged up into Luo Binghe’s embrace, held at his side with both arms as Shen Qingqiu’s knees fail to keep him upright.

“Zhangmen-shibo, actually it’s this disciple’s fault,” Luo Binghe says mournfully, truly seeming quite abashed. “I knew Shizun wasn’t feeling well but I didn’t keep him home to rest, when he seemed so happy to come see you…”

Yue Qingyuan frets, looking at once like he wants to actually run to Qian Cao himself to fetch medicine and like he wants to tuck Shen Qingqiu into bed himself (even if he has to do it by force). This man really reminds him of his own brother, who really must have been a middle-aged mother of five reborn.

“Has he taken his medicine? He’s always so forgetful, ah…”

Luo Binghe answers right away, extremely dutifully, “This disciple has ensured it.”

Shen Qingqiu throws a sullen look his way. ‘This disciple has ensured it’ – fuck off! Shen Qingqiu hasn't taken a single pill since Luo Binghe has come back!

“Good, good. I’m relieved I can rely on Luo-shizhi,” Yue Qingyuan says. Don’t you sound a bit too happy leaving your precious shidi in the hands of this black-bellied man?!

“Ah, but, if this humble one may, Shizun shouldn't leave the Peak any further, at least until he's stabilized somewhat,” Luo Binghe entreats. “Zhangmen-shibo, kindly refrain from calling on Shizun, just for some time.”

Yue Qingyuan looks shocked to the core. He turns to Shen Qingqiu with a gently scolding tone. “Qingqiu, you’ve pushed yourself too much these days. I knew I shouldn’t have permitted you to go galavanting around, even with Liu-shidi accompanying you… Go home now and rest. I'll look after your duties for now.”

Shen Qingqiu boggles. How is this my fault?!

Fine, fine, Yue-mama, your Qingqiu will go home and lay down, alright? Not like he has a choice, anyways. Not if his demonic little nursemaid has anything to say about it!!

On cue, Luo Binghe gathers Shen Qingqiu closer at his side, pulling his own outer robe off and bundling him up in it. If it ends up pinning his arms to his sides in a strange form of baby-burritoing him, surely this is only by pure happenstance.

… As if!

“This humble disciple knows that Zhangmen-shibo is heavily weighed down with work, so please do not burden yourself with worry for Shizun,” Luo Binghe announces. Is that a heavenly halo surrounding him, or just the protagonist’s aura? “This disciple will bring Shizun back home at once, and settle him down for some rest. If his health takes any turn for the worse, I will fetch Mu-shishu immediately myself.”

Looking at him, you could believe him even if he had said he would reach into the very heavens and pluck out a star for you. The conviction and dedication on his face is really that compelling.

What a good, filial boy! … or at least, that’s what Yue Qingyuan must be thinking.

Shen Qingqiu knows the truth. Beneath that pristine exterior is an oily black interior, a writhing and ugly mess of snakes that cannot rest until Shen Qingqiu has been thoroughly and utterly ruined beyond all recognition.

“Please do, Luo-shizhi,” Yue Qingyuan readily agrees, worried expression smoothing over just a bit. “I’ll leave your Shizun in your care. Please send word to me the moment his condition changes.”

The protagonist’s brainwashing powers are truly impeccable, even to the point where a cultivator of such renown can be swayed with just a few words.

“Of course, Zhangmen-shibo,” Luo Binghe smiles. A veritable golden halo can be seen shining around him, imbuing his expression and words with heroic righteousness. It’s genuinely impressive, this good boy act that he can turn on and off with a switch. If only Yue Qingyuan could see how he acts in private!

Even Shen Qingqiu could have been tricked, had that fake act not dropped the moment they stepped onto Xiu Ya to return back to the bamboo house.

Yes indeed, Luo Binghe had actually boldly grabbed out Xiu Ya from Shen Qingqiu’s side in the absence of Xin Mo, and then hauled Shen Qingqiu onto his own sword to fly them home. Yue Qingyuan’s expression watching it happen had been quite complex, as if caught just before a sneeze.

In the air, Luo Binghe grips his waist tightly, and leans over his shoulder. Their bodies are pressed together from shoulder to hip, Luo Binghe’s leg pushed boldly between Shen Qingqiu's thighs, cheek rubbing at his.

“Shizun, please kindly wait for us to get home before you vomit again,” he murmurs against Shen Qingqiu’s temple. The wind catches the sound, and all Shen Qingqiu can feel are the rumbles of those words through their chests pressed front to back.

Cold sweat beads on the back of Shen Qingqiu’s neck, and his stomach rolls anxiously.

“Isn't that choice purely in Binghe's hands?” he manages, gritting his teeth to hold back the waves of nausea.

Luo Binghe laughs happily in his ear.

In the bamboo house, he's let go. His knees bang against the wooden flooring immediately as Shen Qingqiu’s stomach churns and empties itself again and again, until only thin bitter liquid comes up. The mess spreads in a small pool at his feet. His eyes glaze over with tears. His entire body feels hot and cold at once, feverishly shivering as he expels another mouthful of bile, skin crawling all over.

Under the thin layers of skin, buzzing and crawling and breeding until they fill every crevice, blood mites make themselves at home inside of Shen Qingqiu’s body. Like burrowing animals, they dig troughs through his bones and veins until they reach the marrow. His body is a petri dish within which Luo Binghe’s parasites can explosively grow.

“Stop this,” he gasps. “Just – stop this!”

“How can I? Shizun, you’re the one who keeps pushing me. You’re so warm and so kind to everyone, everyone but me.” Luo Binghe strokes a palm over his hair, undoing his crown and tugging out the ribbon tying it back. “You flirt with every man in front of you, but me. You accept gifts and treats from everyone without suspicion, but me. If I force it out of you, if I make you endure this each time you act so carelessly, won’t you eventually learn to only show that sweetness to me?”

Training him as if he’s a dog. Is that it? Shen Qingqiu wants to spit.

"But still... I'm happy. You could have told them," Luo Binghe whispers. The smile on his face is loving and warm, perhaps the most genuine he's worn yet. Something about it makes Shen Qingqiu's chest feel a bit funny, and he ludicrously almost smiles back. "Either Liu-shishu or Zhangmen-shibo. Shizun could have told them of this disciple's heritage. Of my sins against you. But Shizun said nothing."

That's true. Of course it would have been much simpler to run away had he just stood up in front of Yue Qingyuan and denounced Luo Binghe as a demon. Naturally, as the leader of a righteous sect, and even moreso as the doting older brother-type NPC, Yue Qingyuan would have immediately leaped to his salvation. Shen Qingqiu hadn't even thought once to do such a thing.

Luo Binghe's rise to power requires him to usurp a sect from the inside and provide him a foothold in the cultivation world. If he has chosen to bypass Huan Hua Palace, then isn't the natural conclusion that Cang Qiong has replaced it's purpose in the narrative?

Besides, Liu Qingge has already been defeated, and Yue Qingyuan in the novel didn't fare much better. How could Shen Qingqiu think to rely on them?

"You told me you won't hate me for being this way. For loving you this way. Now that Shizun has defended me and sheltered me with silence, I can even believe it. So, Shizun, endure just a bit more for me, won't you?”

The parasites writhe deeper and deeper still into his body. The sensation of those thousands of crawling legs make nausea surge inside of him, swelling as a growing tide, unable to be suppressed. Shen Qingqiu chokes and gags again.

“Shizun, my Shizun,” Luo Binghe murmurs sweetly, holding his hair back delicately to keep it from the mess. “Let it all out.”

Under the buzzing influence of the mites, his stomach has truly and thoroughly emptied out all over the floor and even onto the hem of his robes. Yet, even that is not enough. Determined to humiliate Shen Qingqiu even until he has well and truly vomited up every last little bit of food, tea, and bile in his stomach, Luo Binghe bruisingly grips his chin and tugs it open. Then he pushes the fingers of his other hand in.

Those fingers hook past his trembling lips and pearly teeth, pushing past the limp tongue in his mouth, until they finally reach the muscles at the apex of his throat that flex and spasm with every wet gag. The sensation of fingertips brushing the back of his tongue makes Shen Qingqiu’s entire body twitch. His shoulders curl inwards and his fingers dig into the wooden floor beneath him, carving burrows into it.

Tears blur his vision until Luo Binghe looks kiln-fired and glassy, only a golden halo back-lighting him with an almost angelic glow. He cannot see the expression on Luo Binghe’s face; he’s not sure he wants to.

Fingertips pet the back of Shen Qingqiu's tongue and dip into the opening of his throat, knuckles pressing into the roof of his mouth as they lightly thrust in and out. Every push in and out makes him choke, the rolling, incessant gags finally make him vomit up another weak rush of bile.

Luo Binghe groans low in his throat, trailing off into a low, pleased whine. His fingers flex at once on his chin and inside his mouth over the root of his tongue. There is an emotion that Shen Qingqiu does not dare name in his voice as he says, “Endure it, Shizun. I need to feel you deeper… Please, endure it.”

How much deeper can his fingers go?! It's already unbearable like this!

Time passes sluggishly, falteringly. Unable to get away, unable to do anything but cry and gag and choke up more burning liquid from the depths of his gut, Shen Qingqiu stays limply kneeled on the ground as his throat is earnestly and cruelly fucked by Luo Binghe's fingers.

Finally, after what feels like hours, it ends. His entire body feels wet and sweaty, his face dripping with tears, snot, and mess from his stomach. He's melting and feverish, shaking, unable to stay upright besides the hand holding him up and nearly cracking his jawbone.

He's dimly aware that he's moaning weakly, pained, small noises, barely audible over the wet sounds of his throat being fingered. Shame rushes over him at his cold and aloof facade being so utterly trampled. What humiliation!

At least if you must be tortured, it should be endured stoically and professionally!

Utterly ignorant of his internal shame, Luo Binghe shushes him gently while stroking inside his throat, kissing Shen Qingqiu's cheeks and eyes. When that's not enough to satisfy his cruel mood, Luo Binghe even goes so far as to kittenishly lap at his tears, warm tongue flattening over his cheeks and eyelids.

“Oh, Shizun, you taste so…” Luo Binghe moans hotly against his face.

When Shen Qingqiu begins to be foolish enough to believe he's seen the depths of Luo Binghe's twisted behaviour, somehow, someway, the protagonist scrapes just a little bit deeper and unveils an entirely new perverted side of him. What sort of blackening did he endure after being forcibly kicked down the graduation cliff?

Whatever kinks Luo Binghe unlocked in the Endless Abyss, Shen Qingqiu doesn't want to participate, alright?! Keep them to the H-scenes with the spicy hot sisters yet to be collected, thank you! Shen Qingqiu is stamping ‘return to sender' on his invitation to these perverted, messed up scenarios!

Luo Binghe draws his fingers back, all sticky with the fluids from Shen Qingqiu’s throat. He spreads them open into a ‘v’ shape and licks up the mess, flicking his tongue up the insides of those two fingers, eyes trained directly on Shen Qingqiu’s face as he does.

It’s an unexpectedly lewd action. Shen Qingqiu’s nose reflexively scrunches in distaste, brow twitching as he tries to restrain his expression.

That cannot taste good! Get that pleased expression off your face!!

Shen Qingqiu, shaky and ill, is drawn into a broad, strong chest. Two equally broad, strong arms wrap around him, cradling him so gently one would think he's more precious than jade and more delicate than a flake of snow. Luo Binghe leans down and presses a chaste kiss to his cheek, uncaring of the sweat and tears – or perhaps, if his kinks are as they appear, delighting in them.

“Shizun, my Shizun,” Luo Binghe murmurs sweetly, “don’t ever eat or drink someone else’s food again. Alright?”

Fuck, Shen Qingqiu thinks with feeling.

Shen Qingqiu finds himself nursing a low grade fever over the next few days. He lays in bed, joints swollen and back achy. It's wretched and reminds him of his illness from his first life. Nothing life threatening, just annoying.

Perhaps because he's irritated, he happily blames his flare up on Luo Binghe's casual usage of the blood parasites either to make him nauseous or paralyzed.

If he refuses to eat, he's made so nauseous he becomes chilly and sweaty. If he so much as looks like he’s attempting to escape or plot to run away, his nerves are bitten into numbness and he collapses into a living doll while Luo Binghe raves and rants about how he simply wants to at least pretend to be as they once were.

When Shen Qingqiu plays along, only then is Luo Binghe remotely calm in return.

The one thing he knows he can take to soothe his aggravated innards is the medicine Mu Qingfang had prescribed him. It's a small pill that eases fevers, opens his spiritual veins, and even reduces indigestion! Quite the miraculous pill! He'd been instructed to use it when Without-a-Cure acts up, but this is close enough.

He grabs the white jade pillbox beside his bed that Yue Qingyuan had gifted to him the moment he had medicine to put inside of it. Upon removing the lid, he finds something a bit shocking.

It's empty.

He's sure he'd still had five or six pills left to take before he needed to have his prescription refilled at the Qian Cao pharmacy. Though he detests taking medicine and had defaulted on his treatment more than once, he'd tried to be a bit more conscientious of Mu Qingfang’s efforts. Otherwise, Yue Qingyuan would be bashing down his door to force the pills down his throat.

As he stares into the empty pillbox, Luo Binghe pokes his head into the room. “Shizun, are you coming for breakfast?”

Shen Qingqiu attempts to look casual as he puts the jade pillbox away. Luo Binghe catches his movement and glances at the small box, appearing utterly uninterested. Whenever Shen Qingqiu manages to secure more medication it would be best not to advertise it, lest it be used against him.

“Coming,” he says mildly, getting up and heading out.

With what seems to be no influence from Luo Binghe, he winds up vomiting his breakfast over the ground. Luo Binghe puts on a masterclass performance and frets over Shen Qingqiu's hunched back as he violently upends his stomach.

Without-a-Cure has never gotten this bad. It’s never had the chance. His flare ups are always managed immediately by medication and meridian cleansing. With his pillbox empty and no way to see Mu Qingfang without Luo Binghe’s permission, and with Liu Qingge so utterly rebuffed from treating him, he is left with no recourse.

And after the humiliating scene he’d endured not long back after visiting Yue Qingyuan, he dares not request seeing Mu Qingfang. If Mu Qingfang checks his meridians, would Luo Binghe accuse him of trying to seduce him too?! As if his wrist is something licentious that must be hidden!

All he can do is meditate and hope for the flare up to fade on its own.

At the very least, Luo Binghe, for the next few days, is as close to a pure and doting white lotus as he’s ever been. Enthusiastic nearly to a fault. It’s nearly enough to forget that this is the blackened protagonist before him, but Shen Qingqiu refuses to be duped again. This is no white lotus. This is no innocent child. This is the blackened and charred remains of that child simply wearing that old skin.

“Shizun, may this disciple be of assistance?” he asks, kneeling beside Shen Qingqiu at his desk. In his hand is a cup of freshly steeped tea and a small freshly baked sugary snack, already being slid onto the table.

Shen Qingqiu, who is feeling quite petty and had been about to scold Luo Binghe thoroughly for not giving him his mid-afternoon tea, scowls. Can’t he even be allowed to complain?!

“Clean the floors,” he says, just to be spiteful.

“Done, Shizun!” Luo Binghe obediently says. He bows and rubs a cloth over the floor before raising it up for Shen Qingqiu's appraisal. Somehow the floor is so clean, the cloth itself is even more brilliantly white than it had been before wiping the floor. “Is there anything else?”

“Organize the room! It's a mess!”

Luo Binghe leaps to his feet and putters about the room with a critical eye, straightening a wall scroll that has already been straightened, tidying some cabinets that had already been tidied, and dusting some tables that had already been dusted.

His expression is focused and pleasant, as though the only concern in his entire world is the cleanliness of Shen Qingqiu's little bamboo house. In a way, it's almost wifely. Indeed, it's the expression best befitting a newly wed wife who least of all wishes to let down her mother-in-law, and so endeavours to surpass her every desire before the desire can even be voiced.

Shen Qingqiu, the bitter mother-in-law, grumbles as he snacks on cookies and tea, unable to find a flaw.

When Luo Binghe is like this, playing at being his white lotus self, Shen Qingqiu finds that he quite likes his company. It's easy and comfortable, not to mention convenient. His companion from dawn till dusk is well spoken, an exceptional cook, and quite competent when relied upon to wash their clothes and tidy up the house.

He's promised to be like this so long as Shen Qingqiu treats him nicely. Though the list of rules has only become longer and longer. It’s expanded to: so long as Shen Qingqiu says his name kindly, does not show similar affections to other people, and does not eat another person’s food.

Honestly it's a little tempting to play along.

But his message should have gone to Shang Qinghua. Now all he must do is await a response and then he can orchestrate a wonderful death that will finally repay all of his past misdeeds and pave a way for Luo Binghe to become the person he had always been destined to be. Strong, independent, and free from the shackles of his past.

Shen Qingqiu had been the one to make him this way. He must be the one to unmake it.

Chapter Text

One day while Luo Binghe is in a good mood and scrubs the floors out in the main rooms, Shen Qingqiu upturns his entire bedroom, searching every drawer, nook, and cranny for where he might have lost the pills. He knows he has some handful left in his jade pillbox, and that they must have been somehow displaced.

Yet, no matter how hard he searches, he cannot find them.

When he finishes looking beneath the bed, his chest is tight and pained as he tries to breathe. His entire body aches as he stands from the ground, staggering as he does. His body feels exhausted down to the very bones, Without-a-Cure sapping strength from his veins. The poison has gradually worsened as his meridians stagnate and his medicine remains missing.

He needs to see Mu Qingfang. But how can he? Luo Binghe would never let him go out by himself, and frankly, Shen Qingqiu is not excited to see what crazed horny punishment would be lying in wait for him should he be examined in depth by another man. Even if that man is a doctor.

Shen Qingqiu chews on his bottom lip and rests heavily against the bed frame.

If this is his current situation, then he must get to the plant body, and soon…!

He leaves the bedroom and heads into the main area where Luo Binghe is still faithfully cleaning away, his sleeves and hair pulled up to stay out of his way as he scours the floor until sparkling. It strikes him once again as very wifely behaviour, at odds to the vicious and horny behaviour that Luo Binghe otherwise displays. If only he acted as this maidenly type more often, perhaps then Shen Qingqiu wouldn't mind being cooped up by him so much.

Attempting to not rouse suspicion, Shen Qingqiu makes his way to his desk. There are piles of paperwork organized by Luo Binghe’s hands: correspondence from the other Peaks, letters from outside requesting aid, and various reports from the teachers on Qing Jing regarding the disciples’ progress.

Subtly, Shen Qingqiu attempts to find any response letter from Shang Qinghua. He shifts through the piles once, then twice. Yet no returning note has been sent.

He rubs at his chest and breathes out a pained wheeze, not yet fully recovered from crawling around his bedroom floor.

“Shizun, is anything the matter?” Luo Binghe asks from behind. He’s stopped scrubbing the floors in favour of watching Shen Qingqiu’s efforts.

Shen Qingqiu feels he shouldn't ask. If he asks about Shang Qinghua, what would prevent Luo Binghe from going to him and squeezing that little wimp of an author until he squeals? If his plant body is destroyed, what will save him? It's solely the Sun-Moon Dew Mushroom that's giving him hope of finally escaping Luo Binghe's wrath.

The Little Shen they've planted will bear a hearty crop, he's sure of it, but not if a certain blackened demonic disciple goes and spreads weed killer over the hill!

“No, nothing.”

“Shizun looks so concerned,” Luo Binghe says, shuffling a bit closer. “Is there anything this disciple can help Shizun with? Your faithful and obedient disciple is at your command.”

Faithful? Obedient? Shen Qingqiu wants to laugh!

“Is Shizun hungry? Tired?” Luo Binghe asks. After a beat, he adds, “In pain?”

Shen Qingqiu carefully controls his expression. It is improper for the villain to go about whining about his maladies and aches, especially to the person who made it so in the first place. Therefore, Shen Qingqiu simply says, “Nothing’s wrong.”

Luo Binghe watches him, giving him a long moment of silence to change his answer. When nothing more comes, he smiles; the expression is twisted and bitterly cold. He tugs out a small slip of paper from his waistband. “Kindly pardon this humble disciple's forwardness, but Shizun, were you actually looking for this?”

Shen Qingqiu feels cold. It’s his note. He can read the word Airplane distinctly at the top in his own brushstrokes. There are some small scribbled words around as if Luo Binghe had attempted to decode it. But that can’t be possible, can it? To understand an entirely new language with no guide?

“That…” Shen Qingqiu doesn’t know what to say. He seals his lips.

“Shizun, this notice was for the An Ding Peak Lord, was it not?” Luo Binghe says. His tone is innocently curious, like a child’s. “This disciple was simply so curious, I couldn’t help but take a look. Imagine my surprise at this indecipherable language. Shizun, what does it say?”

Alert! Alert! Massive alert!!!

“This master’s personal correspondence is not for Binghe’s eyes,” he scolds rather than answer. “What disciple would dare peruse their Shizun’s mail?”

“This one,” Luo Binghe responds boldly. He leans forward with that same cold smile playing on his lips. “Is Shizun surprised? Does Shizun still expect this disciple to trust Shizun’s intentions?” His smile becomes a bit crueler and his fist closes around the note, crumpling it. His knuckles are white and his fist shakes with how tightly he does so. “Shizun, I know it can’t be that you still have so much faith in me that you truly believed I would not check. If that were so, why would you obscure it with some type of cipher?”

Well… That’s true. He used English exactly because he was suspicious this exact scenario would happen.

“You don’t trust me, and I don’t trust you. We’re even,” Luo Binghe says. He opens his hand and offers the crumpled note back to Shen Qingqiu. “Go ahead. Take it back. If you try to do this sort of thing again, Shizun, I’ll become very angry with you.”

Shen Qingqiu hesitates to take it back. If he reaches out, will his hand be broken? Or perhaps worse, will Luo Binghe do something perverted?

Luo Binghe’s expression becomes worse, crueler, more bitter. In his eyes, flecks of red seep into the black like blood into ink. The pits of them are icy and burning at once. “Shizun. Take it.”

Quickly, as quickly as he can make his body move with his cultivation strangled, Shen Qingqiu obeys and takes back the slip of paper. He hides it in a small pocket within the breast of his robe. Already, his mind is racing to come up with a different way of contacting Shang Qinghua.

Sitting there, still as a stone, Luo Binghe sets his jaw and stews.

Shizun reviles him. If it is already so, then why shouldn’t Luo Binghe take what he likes?

Shen Qingqiu’s dreams that night are blurry.

The city he's in is grey and lifeless with empty storefronts and faceless bodies moving past him. Everything smears together like smoke and water paint, all details mixing together, unable to be discerned.

Wherever he looks, he cannot find Luo Binghe, and nothing comes to attack him, so he assumes this is truly his own dream realm. It's a rarity these nights. He endeavours to enjoy this rare bit of peace and quiet, strolling through the dismal city. A light drizzle of rain weeps over the streets. The hems of his robes become damp and his hair sticks to his neck from the frigid wet droplets trickling down his back.

Very depressing. If this is the state of his mind, should he be a bit concerned?

As he contemplates how to cheer himself up, a small hand tangles in his robes and tugs lightly, bringing him to an immediate stop. He glances down and sees a charming little youth clutching at his wet skirts, his large dark eyes turned up at him beseechingly.

“Shizun?” the small child says, voice and lips trembling.

His heart feels split in twain! Shen Qingqiu holds his hand fan out to block the rain from dripping onto the poor child's head. “Hello. Are you lost?”

The child nods. His skin is fair if a bit pallid from malnourishment, and his hair is well-groomed into a low ponytail, held back with a colourless ribbon. Something about his face is a bit familiar, but not so much so that he can figure out where he's seen this child before. His clothing is a white disciple's uniform, and he'd called out for his Shizun, so he is evidently from a sect. Shen Qingqiu looks left and right, but no other cultivator is apparent on the road. Perhaps they'd ducked inside to find shelter and left this child behind?

Or, well, that would be the logic in the real world. In the dream world, who knows what his mind has concocted for the reason? Perhaps there's an evil man-eating rat scurrying about, or something even more ludicrous.

“I was with Shizun, but I lost him,” the boy cries, clinging to Shen Qingqiu until his knuckles go white.

He truly aches for this young child. He scoops him up in one arm, the boy's body thin and light enough to feel like a feather. Shen Qingqiu opens one side of his outer robe and tucks the child into it, holding the robe shut around him. It's easy to fit him in as the child had barely reached his knees.

“Well, your Shizun didn't take very good care of you,” he says brusquely. He tucks his fan into his belt and gently sweeps some hair out of the boy's face, ensuring he's tucked properly under the robe to keep him warm.

The boy clutches at his chest, nuzzling into his collar. “Shizun is nice. But daozhang is nicer. Can you be my Shizun? You'll never let me get lost, will you?”

Shen Qingqiu fights down a flattered smile. The honesty of children could either bring the greatest compliments or the cruelest of insecurities. He flicks the boy's nose. “You shouldn't be so willing to throw out the vow you made with your Shizun. You're not that type of boy, are you? One who disregards your responsibility?” He squeezes the boy's cheek, turning it pink. “No, you're not a naughty boy. I can tell just by looking at you.”

The boy turns bright red and tucks his face down into Shen Qingqiu's chest. He can't help but laugh a bit, enjoying teasing him.

“But what if… What if it's Shizun who threw me out?” the boy murmurs. His shoulders shiver; Shen Qingqiu cannot know for certain if it's from tears or from the chilly rain.

Shen Qingqiu coos and ruffles his hair. “Who could throw someone like you out?”

All of the passersby stop abruptly. Even the rain stops. Every little drop of it freezes in midair, smearing like strokes of paint when Shen Qingqiu moves through them. When he looks over his shoulder, he sees that the passersby haven't just stopped, they've all stopped with their blurred faces turned to him.

In his arms, the boy speaks again, his voice thin and cold as a lightning strike. “But it was you who did, Shizun. You threw me away.”

A wicked shiver runs over his entire body. He glances back at the child in his arms again. Then he shouts and throws him back when he sees burning red eyes and a blistering hot zuiyin throbbing in the centre of the boy's face. The child – Luo Binghe – only laughs as he's tossed into the mud.

“Shizun, don't run,” Luo Binghe entreats playfully, peering up at him with bloody red eyes, glowing in the dim light of the overcast day.

At those three words, the entire street swarms Shen Qingqiu. He takes some of the spectres out with his fan and some palm strikes, but this is Luo Binghe's dream realm. In this realm Shen Qingqiu holds no true power. Within the blink of an eye he is held down, legs pinned to the ground by grasping hands and his arms bound behind his chest.

Doesn't this position look a bit too familiar? He hasn't signed up for another Skinner Demon replay, alright?!

If he couldn't guess it already, Luo Binghe's intent to sexually harass him becomes obvious when the spectres rip his robes open, exposing his front. Shen Qingqiu sternly looks past Luo Binghe into a middle point far away, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“Shizun, you really like me when I'm young and innocent. When I'm a fresh and soft bud, malleable and pure, when only the purest dew can rest on my leaves. Whenever I expose my demonic side, all of your sweet words and admiration for me turn sour and poisonous. Shizun, why is that?”

As he speaks, Luo Binghe advances towards him, stepping between his legs then kneeling down over his naked waist. One of the faceless townspeople roughly grabs Shen Qingqiu's hair and shakes him until he finally flicks his gaze to the child Luo Binghe. In this position, they can meet gazes equally.

“You're the one who told me that there is nothing unforgivable under the heavens,” Luo Binghe says, his voice tiny and choked. How impressive! He truly sounds like a bullied and abused child. “Why is it only me who is the exception?”

The Luo Binghe from the novel is a master manipulator. When it's Luo Binghe in front of him, it’s only natural to conclude this entire scenario has been contrived purely to drag his face through the mud and humble him.

To his question, Shen Qingqiu cannot say a word of denial. Luo Binghe certainly cannot be spoken of as any other demon, and Shen Qingqiu cannot treat him as he would any other man. And this is because Shen Qingqiu knows how the story will end.

His sins are greater than Luo Binghe's by a hundred-fold. But, even as guilt twists in his gut shaper than a dozen knives, he also knows that without that betrayal Luo Binghe could never succeed in his role as protagonist. He needs to be crushed, again and again and again, until every part of him is pounded into diamond-like strength, until he gleams and glistens like the purest of white steel, until no man nor demon can ever stand against him. In the end, whether Shen Qingqiu had done it himself or not, Luo Binghe would have fallen.

Isn't it better that it was him? To give Luo Binghe a target with which to vent all of his anger, and finally triumph over?

Of course, his efforts failed, and instead Luo Binghe has become unsettlingly fixated on him. This, too, is Shen Qingqiu's sin.

Luo Binghe's robes are wet and rough against him as he curls against him in a mimicry of how Shen Qingqiu had been carrying him. “Shizun…”

A small hand gropes his bare chest in a distinctly perverse manner.

Without thinking, Shen Qingqiu automatically scolds, “Luo Binghe–!”

Teeth sink into the swell of his chest around his nipple on one side, and the hand on the other grabs and twists in milking motions, the way one would a cow. Luo Binghe bitterly chews on his nipple, teeth small and sharp, eyes hateful.

Shen Qingqiu grimaces, twisting in the multitudes of hands pinning him down, unable to find an ounce of give. “Fuck!”

Horror, and some emotion just as hot and intense that Shen Qingqiu cannot quite name, explodes in his gut, and he renews his struggles. Isn't this what Luo Binghe had all but promised to do to him last time?! To suck on his chest until– until–!

“Stop!”

Luo Binghe sucks again, igniting more burning sparks of that nameless emotion, before popping his mouth off with a lewd, wet sound. His nipple is already reddened and swollen, the peak of it hardened and only becoming harder in the cold air after having been teased by a hot mouth.

“Shizun, why should I stop?”

Shen Qingqiu is astonished. “I’m a man!” Then he remembers he's turned the protagonist gay, and instead says, “You cannot draw blood from a stone, nor can you draw milk from a man!”

Luo Binghe frowns. “Shizun, is that true?”

Is fucking what true?!

Something deep in his body writhes.

Suddenly, an ache begins in the already tender part of his chest. The ache throbs and pulses with his heartbeat, intensifying with every breath. It's a dull and burning pain at first, like a low grade sunburn, but not on his skin. It's in the meat of him, and it grows and grows. The burning becomes a painful tingling. It feels as it does when a limb has been sat on for too long and has gone numb. When that limb finally awakens it hurts as the sensation comes back to it.

He shouts when Luo Binghe's small hands knead at his chest like dough, the pins and needles crackling through him. Each prod of fingers on him makes the pain double, then triple.

His eyes roll and his brain goes white with pain. His chest– it hurts! It hurts! Luo Binghe cruelly continues pawing and groping and squeezing, thumbs rolling over his nipples and making him choke down a scream.

“What– ngh – what are you doing?!”

Luo Binghe single-mindedly stares at Shen Qingqiu's chest, digging his fingers in and massaging them about. It would have hurt less if he'd just sliced the skin off. “Shizun should have given birth to me.”

What?

“What?” he says dumbly.

“Shizun should have grown me in his womb, sheltered me, given me his milk,” Luo Binghe says bitterly, as if deprived of something he wished for more than anything, a feverish look coming across his face. It's an odd mixture of terrifying and something very sad, harrowed and hungry, made all the more pitiful on the face of a child. “Shizun should have been my mother. I'd have drunk milk from your breasts until they grew heavy and swollen, never returning to normal, your teats always dripping, knowing your hungry child will come and drink them dry.”

… Are these the words of a gay man?!

That hysterical thought is swept away as Shen Qingqiu is sent reeling by another vicious tugging at his breasts, as that's what they are now. He looks down and sees the swell of his chest has grown more defined, his nipples more pronounced and swollen, growing from the flat toned planes of a cultivator’s body into the bosom of a fecund maiden. Between small fingers he sees a pearly white droplet.

As he examines the droplet, Luo Binghe laughs, the unhappy sound of it dissonant and unsettling through a child's mouth. “But it wouldn't change anything, would it? My birth mother abandoned me too, just as Shizun did. She hated me too. Even if Shizun gave birth to me… Nothing would change.”

Shen Qingqiu's heart hurts a bit. His hysteria settles. It had disturbed him at first that Luo Binghe presented himself as a young boy while doing such things to him, but with those sad words, Shen Qingqiu cannot help but see him as a child. A hurt, abandoned, lost child.

“Binghe…”

Luo Binghe delicately takes the pearly drop to his mouth and sucks it from the tip of his finger. Looking at his expression, one would think it to be ambrosia, befitting a god's tongue. He appears rapturous, and then ravenous. The hurt child image fades as he hungrily eyeing Shen Qingqiu's mutated body.

“Mother,” he says, “Shizun, Mother…”

Shen Qingqiu blankly stares at him. He'd like to wake up now…

Luo Binghe latches his small mouth around his leaking nipple and sucks, drawing milk from him. It's a bizarre sensation. It hurts, like a bruise being pressed on, but that hurt begins to feel somewhat good, each mouthful of milk drunk from him relieving the brittle pins-and-needles pressure. He feels the warm liquid drip onto Luo Binghe's tongue as it presses and laps like a kitten at a bowl of milk.

… Is this also his fault? He'd never encouraged this kind of thing. But clearly his psychosexual trauma attachment has bled into some deeply buried issues over his birth parents…

System, what kind of story arc are we in now ?! he wails to the unfair entity that put him in this position to begin with.

[ Due to the user's actions, the current story arc is on HOLD. Please achieve the required number of B-Points to unlock future arcs.]

Fuck!

He had asked and been answered! Indeed, this all surely seems to be Shen Qingqiu's fault somehow. The novel's Luo Binghe was not like this. He wasn't into things like this. He didn't do things like this, least of all to Shen Qingqiu. What had he done so differently?

There is one option: he had raised Luo Binghe differently than the original goods, but he had pushed him down the same. To suit the scenario, perhaps he should have said something different to Luo Binghe before shoving him down. With this sort of hot-cold behaviour, isn't it natural that Luo Binghe ended up like this?

If he could do it again, he would do it differently.

A man abandoned in the desert for days would not have drunk as feverishly at an oasis as Luo Binghe drinks from his breasts. He oscillates between each tender and swollen nipple, grabbing and tugging to urge milk down his chest to pool in the lines of his abdomen and his bellybutton. It's thoroughly messy and wet.

Ah, what an unruly child! Mother this, mother that! If he'd actually raised Luo Binghe as his own, he would have never allowed such untidy table manners!

Luo Binghe detaches, eyes glazed and lips pink and slick with milk. Shen Qingqiu pales in fright at his expression. “Ah, Shizun, if you birthed me, I wouldn't let you have any other babies. I'd be the only one. I'd have to cut your womb out. Or maybe I'd simply have to fuck it until it's just a ruined, loose mess that could never hold another child, even if you tried. It's mine, it's where I came from, so I can do it, can't I? Shizun.”

His entire scalp feels like a block of ice, all of his hair standing on end. Shen Qingqiu wants to cry. If he has to be part of an incestuous fantasy, couldn't he at least be the father? If Luo Binghe's track record holds up, his next nightmare will be that very frightening scenario! After this experience Shen Qingqiu is absolutely positive, whatever Luo Binghe wants he can have in this realm.

“Shizun…”

Luo Binghe's little fingertips stroke down his belly through the milk droplets, until they rest over his lower belly. Something unnatural twists low in his body.

Shen Qingqiu feels faint.

“Wait! Wait, please, just wait a moment,” he coaxes, his words trembling slightly with a very understandable fear about having his body modified yet again. “Just – finish this. Don’t do anything else. Please.”

Pausing to look at him, Luo Binghe's eyes spark with something frightening. “So, Shizun can beg. Well done.”

Obligingly removing his hand from where he’d absolutely been planning to remodel Shen Qingqiu’s body into housing a womb, Luo Binghe returns to suckling, staying there until the dream finally fades.

“Shizun, you look pale. Are you feeling alright?”

This question again. Shen Qingqiu casts his ever-present shadow a baleful glance. At his side, Luo Binghe kneels patiently, hands folded in his lap, eyes trained on Shen Qingqiu unblinkingly. Though his expression seems earnest, surely it only hides some vengeful glee at Shen Qingqiu's sorry state. He’s asked if Shen Qingqiu needs assistance at minimum thrice a day.

Always probing for weakness, aren't you, Bing-ge?

Of course he doesn't feel alright! Without-a-Cure is not a simple poison. It lingers forever. Without treatment, it only grows worse. His veins feel tender. The ache of the poison has steadily grown until even his bones feel sore.

After his first attempt at reaching Shang Qinghua had failed, he's been working himself into a tizzy trying to find another way to contact him. Waiting for someone to come to the bamboo house again, or for him to have another call to come out from Yue Qingyuan, something. All of his paper based communications are being read, even the essays and poems from the students he marks.

He used a talisman just once, to see if he could have a communications talisman fly out to An Ding, but it was caught and burned before his eyes by an array Luo Binghe had set up at some point during his now months long stay.

There must be a way.

“Shizun?”

Shen Qingqiu scoffs bitterly. Backed into a corner he may be, but he is not so wretched yet to beg his torturer for mercy.

“This master is fine.”

Luo Binghe’s lips thin. He silently stares, fisting his hands in his lap.

Over the next few weeks, cloistered alone in his home save for Luo Binghe’s constant supervision, Shen Qingqiu’s health steadily declines.

It begins with a low fever, flowering into aches deep in his bones. Barely able to stand on his own, let alone walk, Shen Qingqiu lays about in bed. His days pass by in a blur with him laid in bed, his appetite shot and his mood poor.

All the while, Luo Binghe sits at his side and watches.

Shizun is sick. He’s bed bound.  He has been for a week now.

Luo Binghe wrings out a damp, warm cloth, and dabs it across Shen Qingqiu's forehead. This is a very practiced motion, one he'd done what feels like a thousand times as a child while tending to his ailing mother.

Towards the end, his mother had also been bed bound. Her feet had become swollen and black, her knees creaking and sore, both unable to hold up her weight.

However, Shizun isn’t dying of malnutrition. He’s dying of a poison inflicted while Shen Qingqiu had protected Luo Binghe without sparing a thought for himself, the same act which made Luo Binghe’s eyes truly open for the first time in his life. When he’d realized what it meant to love and be loved back by anyone other than his mother. When he’d realized what he wanted most in the world – more of Shen Qingqiu.

An insatiable desire. A ravenous hunger that could not be sated. He’s been starving for it since his mother passed, someone to fill that hole in his heart.

Of course there is some disgusting little part in his heart that thrills at seeing Shen Qingqiu laid low, suffering as Luo Binghe suffered for two years. There is an even bigger, even more vile part of him, that cherishes how sick and frail his Shizun has become, needing Luo Binghe for every little thing. Eating. Bathing. Dressing. Everything. Without-a-Cure has gifted him this.

At the same time, it is Without-a-Cure that can rip Shen Qingqiu away from him.

Seeing his person – his person – slowly dying in bed in a way so eerily reminiscent of his mother… It makes Luo Binghe sick to his stomach.

The pills he’d taken from the white jade pillbox sit heavily in his pocket.

Shizun. Ask me for them.

Shizun, just ask.

Luo Binghe mechanically dips the cloth back into the basin of cool water and wrings it out before dabbing it across Shen Qingqiu’s sweaty and feverish forehead once more. Shen Qingqiu’s eyes blearily blink open, unable to focus on his face. “Shizun. Shizun, do you need help? Shizun, just ask, and your Binghe will provide.”

Ask me. Ask me. Ask me.

When his mother had laid on her deathbed, asking for only a bite of congee to eat, Luo Binghe would have done anything to get it. He endured humiliation and abuse just for that one miserable little bowl, only for it to accomplish nothing.

If Shizun were to just ask him, just accept him, he would do anything.

Shen Qingqiu shakes his head. Rather than submitting to Luo Binghe’s care, he instead tries to turn over and climb out of bed, only for his limbs to fail. He collapses back with a pained groan, and simply waves his hand weakly. “This master needs nothing from you.”

– ‘from you’.

On your deathbed, wouldn’t you accept help from anyone? There is no mistaking it; Shen Qingqiu is rapidly approaching a point of no return, where his body will simply collapse from under him. And yet Shen Qingqiu will not accept help from him.

All that Luo Binghe can see in that rejection is his own powerlessness.

Luo Binghe need not falsely praise himself; he knows exactly how adequate he is. After two years away, he has learned all of Meng Mo’s tricks and powers. He has surpassed even the legendary ‘War God’ of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect in terms of martial prowess. He has complete and utter control over Shen Qingqiu’s body thanks to his blood mites.

Despite all of those skills, all of his talents, he has no control over one thing: Shen Qingqiu’s heart.

With that heart, Shen Qingqiu – his Shizun, his person – rejects him with all of his might.

But Shen Qingqiu cannot survive like this forever. His time grows shorter and shorter, a candle burning down to the wick, with Luo Binghe’s hands curled around that little flickering flame ready to steady it.

Luo Binghe bitterly smiles to himself. Eventually, Shizun will have no choice but to accept him.

“Shizun, would you care to have any tea?” Luo Binghe helpfully asks, finishing his self-imposed task of massaging Shen Qingqiu’s aching waist, his delicate touch somehow soothing the pain rather than emboldening it.

When someone had touched his swollen joints in his past life, it caused nothing but pain. Of course, as befitting the protagonist, Luo Binghe has a magical touch that soothes when he wishes.

That is one blessing to count – with him laid up in bed and unable to move about without assistance, Luo Binghe doesn’t seem inclined to bully him anymore.

In fact, with him like this, Luo Binghe is utterly pleasant and mild, so painfully like when he was younger. He speaks politely with an undercurrent of playful coyness, almost teasing. No sexual acts have been forced onto Shen Qingqiu during this bedridden period. All Luo Binghe does is tend to the house, sit with Shen Qingqiu as his nursemaid, and cook very light and simple meals, only gently pestering him to eat with concerns for his health.

The ‘pretending’ game they’re playing has only gotten more and more real, until Shen Qingqiu wonders when the pretending ends and the real Luo Binghe begins.

The source of his physical aches is obvious – Without-a-Cure has run rampant. Without medication and without having been visited recently by anyone to cleanse his meridians, the disease has flourished within his spiritual veins, clogging them more and more until they could not flow, and in turn disrupted his bodily wellbeing.

“Binghe, this master must go out of the house,” Shen Qingqiu replies, ignoring the offer of tea. He'll get permission to leave and head to Qian Cao. Then, he'll be treated, and all will continue as normal.

Luo Binghe gazes at him evenly. “Jasmine or white tea?”

“Perhaps Binghe misheard me. This master must go out as soon as possible,” Shen Qingqiu emphasizes. He labours to sit upright, even that small movement enough to knock the breath from his lungs. “Binghe, I am unwell. I need to leave the house. Just for a day.”

Luo Binghe’s lip curls a bit, his eyes simmering with discontentment and something vile, rage-filled. The white lotus act slowly unfurls in front of his eyes, unveiling the black centre rotting within. “Shizun, are you so discontent with this disciple's tender care? Shall this disciple fetch Ming-dashixiong instead?”

“That won't work anymore,” Shen Qingqiu barks. At his blunt words, Luo Binghe seems taken aback and retreats a few steps. Shen Qingqiu, sick and tired and properly outraged, continues, “I'm bored to death with your idle threats. Do it! See what happens!”

Luo Binghe blinks. “Shizun, how heartless. You really want me to kill him?”

Shen Qingqiu grabs his fan and throws it at Luo Binghe's head. It misses by a mile and Luo Binghe hadn't even bothered dodging; that's just how severely Without-a-Cure has eaten away at his limbs and strength. His poor throw infuriates him even more. Luo Binghe rubs salt in the wound and picks the fan up, returning it carefully to him. Shen Qingqiu throws it again, once more missing Luo Binghe entirely, and knocks a vase off a shelf.

“Shizun!” Luo Binghe fetches the fan again and brings it to Shen Qingqiu.

Frustrated beyond belief, Shen Qingqiu wants to throw it again, but Luo Binghe catches him. He wraps his hand around Shen Qingqiu’s, fingers curling, then presses it down into the bed. “Shizun, that’s enough.”

“You won’t allow Liu-shidi into my home to cleanse my meridians. You won’t let me go outside to see Mu-shidi and get medicine. Are you intending to just let me die like this?” Shen Qingqiu asks bitterly. He does not allow his voice to waver.

Having an annoying, persistent disease which could be managed by medication and some other occasional non-invasive treatments isn't new to him. In fact, he's quite the professional at it. Having that necessary medication and treatment refused to him, however, is quite new and quite frightening.

Luo Binghe watches him without speaking. The fingers holding his hand down twitch ever so slightly.

The death afforded to the original goods had also been long, enduring torture which humiliated as much as it hurt. Can he be surprised at this turn of events? Shen Qingqiu’s chest aches deep inside, panging hollowly. He looks down at his wretched, decaying body, and laughs without humour. “I see.”

“Shizun.” Luo Binghe says nothing more than that. His voice is small and strained.

When Shen Qingqiu looks back up, he sees the rims of Luo Binghe's eyes have gone red. There's a touch of wetness to his lashes, appearing on the verge of tears. It's shocking enough that Shen Qingqiu nearly stops feeling angry. What does he have to cry over?! Shen Qingqiu should be the one crying!

“Shizun…” Luo Binghe says with a shaky inhale. He crumples over a bit, almost over Shen Qingqiu, as if too weak and shaky to stand. He's half-seated on the bed, back curled in and head drooping. He looks up at Shen Qingqiu through his bangs, his face painted with misery. “Shizun, why do you only say you want to leave me? Why won't you just ask me?”

Shen Qingqiu blinks. “What? Ask you what?”

“Why won't you just ask me for help? Why won't you ask me to cleanse your meridians? Even Liu Qingge told you to let me. But you won't even ask.” Luo Binghe's voice is choked and thick, almost a whisper.

While slumped over, Luo Binghe looks strangely weak, vulnerable in a way Shen Qingqiu has not seen since his return. Even as a young man prior to the Endless Abyss push, Luo Binghe had always maintained an upright appearance and detested appearing weak. This change… It's almost unsettling. Shen Qingqiu's palms itch with the desire to prop Binghe back upright and smooth his expression so they can return to their normal routine.

Luo Binghe's lips tremble as he speaks, “Shizun, why won't you just ask? Ask me to help you! I've offered, again and again, only for Shizun to avoid me at every turn!”

What is this sudden turn in the narrative? Shen Qingqiu has only just come to the conclusion that Luo Binghe has done all this purposefully to torture him, only for it to be revealed that Luo Binghe wanted to help the whole time? Bullshit.

Naturally Luo Binghe asked if he was in pain. How else could he enjoy the suffering he caused?

“Why would you help? Whatever would lead me to think you would?” Shen Qingqiu wonders, tone a touch sardonic. “Is Binghe not the one who took my medicine away? Is Binghe not the one who abuses me, both in our dreams and in the waking world?”

The number of horrific things he has endured in the Dream Realm cannot be understated.

Eaten by dogs. Eaten by Luo Binghe himself. Carved down until he cannot even be called a ‘stick’. Turned inside out and licked all over by Luo Binghe. Turned into flowers and plucked to decorate Luo Binghe's hair. Drowned in the blood of the sect’s cultivators. And most recently, forced into a woman’s body… The list of nightmares is neverending.

And when awake, the sexual harassment never ceases! Only being bed bound by Without-a-Cure has freed him from it.

What salvation can come from someone who salivates over torturing him so?

With miserable red-rimmed eyes, Luo Binghe looks at him. His breath hitches wetly in his lungs, and his expression twists with frustration and pain. “I… Yes, Shizun, I want to hurt you so badly. I want to have you scream and beg me for mercy and to hurt you despite that. I want you to understand even a fraction of how I hurt for two years. If hurting you is the only way to touch you, then I'll hurt you, again and again.”

Shamefully, in a hushed whisper as if he almost wants Shen Qingqiu not to hear it, Luo Binghe admits, “Sometimes, I grow aroused from hurting you. Most of all in the dreams you make where I rip your arms and legs off, I… want to take you by force, to pleasure myself with you while you beg me to stop.”

Shen Qingqiu quails in fright.

What the fuck! If he's going to be pierced by Luo Binghe's dick, which is as long as the heavens and as wide as the seas, then at least let him be in one whole piece please!

Luo Binghe grabs at his own head, mouth trembling with pain, brow furrowing. His entire body is shivering, a feverish sweat building on his brow, and he slumps over further, collapsing on Shen Qingqiu's legs. “That desire makes me sick. I hate myself for wanting to do such horrible things to you. I hate it. I want to be gentle with you, and worship your body, not destroy it. Shizun, I really like you so much.”

Luo Binghe looks truly helpless. He gazes at Shen Qingqiu with the same desperate urge a starving man would look at the first meal he's seen in weeks only to be denied it. “But I can't help myself. Shizun, don't I deserve to hurt you?”

Shen Qingqiu isn't sure if he should laugh or cry. Why is he asking permission now? Hasn't he already done as he likes?! It's a bit late to start wondering if he deserves it or doesn't!

In any case, even if Shen Qingqiu doesn't like it, as the villain it is his role to endure the protagonist's torture. “It is your right. This master told you before: I am at your mercy. Whatever cruel things you wish to do, you may do. I cannot stop you.”

“But, Shizun, even if I want to hurt you, why would I ever want to kill you?” Luo Binghe wonders, a tinge of desperation in his voice. His fingertips turn to claws as he grabs at his own head, digging in until blood trickles from those ten spots. His eyes are wild and wide, the whites around his irises showing. “Shizun, I told you that day when I came back, I came back for you. Only you! The thought of returning to your side was my warmth in that place! You're the reason I'm alive!”

Incredible. Luo Binghe is the first and only person to praise his teaching abilities so openly! To declare Shen Qingqiu and his mentoring as the only reason that Luo Binghe survived, it almost warms his heart!

Sadly, that isn't true. Shen Qingqiu knows that the System and the entire narrative structure of the novel is why Luo Binghe, the protagonist, cannot die. He is the heart of this entire world. His blood is the world's blood. The narrative will always protect him, as without him, there is no story. Even without a single proper lecture, without even a proper cultivation manual, Luo Binghe would have survived.

The lack of response in his face must finally break something within Luo Binghe.

In a rush of words, spoken as if they burned Luo Binghe's tongue just to admit to them, he says, “When Shizun rejected me, I tried to die.”

Shen Qingqiu takes a moment to try to understand those words, but he fails. The protagonist – his Binghe – trying to… He must have misunderstood. “You… What do you mean?”

Luo Binghe chews his lower lip until bloody, clawing at his face again. Long stripes of blood cross down his forehead and cheeks, healing as soon as he does, leaving behind only red droplets. His words are almost hysterical, “I tried to die again and again, by my own hands and by others’. I let my limbs be ripped off. I let my skull be caved in. I craved death, so that I could stop dirtying Shizun's world.

“But I couldn't die. The closest I came to death was ripping my own heart out of my chest. Shizun, did you know that even once torn out, a heart continues to beat?” Luo Binghe laughs dully, staring at the blood under his nails. “Somehow, as my heart regrew inside of my chest and I watched the old one slowly die, that's when I realized. I am alive because Shizun is alive. My life is Shizun's. I had to come back to you. I am alive – for you.”

Shen Qingqiu doesn't speak for a long moment.

Half-slumped over the bed at his feet, Luo Binghe makes an extremely pathetic figure. With red-rimmed eyes full of unshed tears and his face bloodied from healed scratches, his skin appears even paler than normal, almost sickly. With his shoulders drawn inwards and rounded, he seems younger and smaller than he has in a very long time, comparable to the young him from the dream realm.

The protagonist does not cry. He is the epitome of masculinity and power; why would that sort of person ever cry?

Shen Qingqiu startles at the reality he sees before him – this is no longer the protagonist. This person is something different. At the edge of the Endless Abyss, Shen Qingqiu changed him fundamentally. In parts, he is very much like that ‘Luo Binghe’ – vengeful, with a tendency to be cruel, wishing to repay hurts against him a thousand fold. But in others, he is very distinctly the child Shen Qingqiu has perverted and distorted.

He has ruined the story so thoroughly to do such a thing? His mistakes, his actions, his faults – they’ve reduced Luo Binghe to such a miserable state?

That Luo Binghe had fallen into such despair he’d tried to take his own life, only finding some salvation, some tiny hope, in Shen Qingqiu, the person to have done it to him to begin with…

If this is Shen Qingqiu's fault, shouldn't he take responsibility for it? At least until he can fix it. The System promised that the story would resume once he's gathered enough B-points, of which he has been passively collecting throughout his house arrest.

With pity, Shen Qingqiu’s heart melts, like wax under fire, spreading out until that warmth seeps into his limbs. He reaches out his hand and barely manages to reach the crumpled mess at his feet, swiping his thumb beneath Luo Binghe's eye to dab up a tiny little tear that escaped his lashes. 

Luo Binghe, with his red nose and wet clumped lashes, raises his head to look at him. His expression is incredibly miserable, like a soggy kitten kicked out in the rain, almost afraid at the gentle touches. Before Shen Qingqiu can think to stop, Luo Binghe leans into his hand, subtly scooting himself closer.

Obligingly, Shen Qingqiu strokes his palm over Luo Binghe’s weepy face to wipe away the blood, then his hair to tuck it back behind his ears. As he does, another tear runs down Luo Binghe's cheek, catching the sunlight.

Fussing, Shen Qingqiu gently scolds, “Ah, Binghe, aren’t you too old to cry now? Hush, hush. Don’t cry. You're a grown man now.”

“ Shizun ,” Luo Binghe cries, burrowing his face into Shen Qingqiu's palm to hide his weepy eyes.

It's unbearably endearing. Shen Qingqiu still feels a touch angry, but it's deep, deep inside. Rather than being an open, aggravated wound as it has been, it is instead the tiniest thorn piercing his side, easily smothered by a rush of warmth towards the child crying for Shen Qingqiu to coddle him.

“Binghe… Ah, come here, Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu soothes. His weak chest and sore joints twinge a bit as Luo Binghe slowly clambers into the bed beside him, resting half on him to hug him from the side. “There, there. Don't cry.”

“I'm sorry,” Luo Binghe says. He looks at Shen Qingqiu's soft expression and lenient behavior, and cries more.

“Silly boy,” Shen Qingqiu chides without heat in his voice.

To Luo Binghe's ears, it sounds sweeter than honey, and exactly as Shen Qingqiu's tone was in his childhood. In a swelling rush, he suddenly understands how to beguile this side of Shen Qingqiu that has eluded him, so he cries openly, forcing tears to his eyes, and clings like a baby would to its mother.

“A-Ah! Just– calm down, hush, hush,” Shen Qingqiu says, panicked. The more he soothes, the more upset Luo Binghe becomes, and the more he clings onto Shen Qingqiu's side like a limpet on a rock.

He is still weak and frail, so he cannot hide the flinch of pain as Luo Binghe sticks to him too tightly. Right away, Luo Binghe’s arms loosen enough for him to breathe easily. “Shizun… Shizun, this disciple…” He watches Shen Qingqiu’s face closely, with inky eyes that look like a night sky dotted with stars, each tear a different sparkle within them. “Shizun, it’s the truth.”

While it's difficult to believe to say the least, Shen Qingqiu has realized now that this really is still the child he's raised. This bitter, angry child, who simply wants to be treated well and treat him well in return, disturbed by his own vengeful nature.

If Luo Binghe says that Shen Qingqiu is, somehow, the only thing that has kept his spirits up, then…

“Shizun, I’m sorry,” Luo Binghe whispers, burying his face into Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder. He presses a kiss there. “Shizun, I don’t want to hurt you anymore. Won’t you please ask me? Ask me to help you. Ask me. Just… don’t push me away. Don’t reject me.”

How can Shen Qingqiu say no to such a heartfelt request?

“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu gently says, “Binghe, won't you please send for your Mu-shishu in this master's place? I'll stay here, at home. Binghe may cleanse my meridians for me while we wait for your shishu to arrive.”

“... I’ll get him,” Luo Binghe finally says after a long moment, his voice still a bit waterlogged. “I’ll bring Mu-shishu here.”

“Now, shixiong, kindly ensure you take your medicine,” Mu Qingfang emphatically says. Despite addressing Shen Qingqiu, he hands the medicine to Luo Binghe with a meaningful glance, as if to say I've done what I can, now I'll leave it to you.

Really, is he so poor at taking care of himself that everyone in the entire sect has all colluded to hand his care over to Luo Binghe without a second thought?! Since the first day with Ning Yingying, it has been silently said that Luo Binghe is the caretaker, no further questions asked.

Shen Qingqiu grumbles and gives the doctor a reproachful look. Mu Qingfang looks utterly unperturbed and simply raises a brow.

… So he forgets sometimes! Sue him! This time it really wasn't his fault… Sort of.

As Mu Qingfang discusses the dosages and timings of the medication with Luo Binghe, Shen Qingqiu thinks about the note for Airplane-bro. It's still hidden away in the pocket of his robe. He could easily make some kind of excuse, come up with some reason to pass it along to Mu Qingfang before he leaves. Then, perhaps finally he'd have a way of contacting Airplane and having his mushroom body prepared.

That thought sits with him. His eyes slide over to Luo Binghe's face. His expression is earnest as he attentively listens to every single word Mu Qingfang says. Earlier that day, he would have thought that it to be a farce. That, no matter what, Luo Binghe would continue to degrade and torture him.

Now…

Shen Qingqiu picks at his robe where the note is hidden. Now is his chance.

Somehow he can't stop thinking about Luo Binghe crying on him, thrown into abject misery at the mere thought of a dead Shen Qingqiu. Luo Binghe who has been so changed by Shen Qingqiu's own hand, hurt and convinced that their lives were entwined, that he needs Shen Qingqiu.

What would Shen Qingqiu dying do to that kind of person…?

He drops his hand. The note stays tucked away. Perhaps the mushroom body will not be needed after all.

Packing up quickly, task done, Mu Qingfang hurries out the door with the explanation that some sort of crisis has been discovered nearby and Yue Qingyuan needs his immediate attention. The allure of a mystery entices Shen Qingqiu, but there is nothing to do – Luo Binghe keeps him tucked into bed bundled up tighter than a burrito.

Shen Qingqiu, stuck in the blankets, looks at the medicine in Luo Binghe's hand. Then he looks at Luo Binghe's cold expression. Just waiting for Shen Qingqiu to forget everything they've just discussed.

What a silly child…

“Binghe, could you please fetch me water and set out my medicine for me?” Shen Qingqiu requests. Though polite, he says it in the tone of someone who expects it to be done, exactly as a martial master would use with a close disciple. As the Shizun, obedience is expected and demanded. Luo Binghe loves this exact type of play, doesn’t he?

On cue, Luo Binghe's cold face thaws and becomes pink, like flowers blooming after a long frost. He blinks and looks away, too shy to hold Shen Qingqiu's gaze, his lips curling into a little smile more delicate than snow. “Yes, Shizun!”

His medicine is provided without a single further complaint. And when he outstretches his arm, requesting his meridians be checked and cleansed, Luo Binghe shyly does that too.

It's that simple. Ask, and he shall receive.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe says as he slowly probes through Shen Qingqiu's damaged veins, “it made me very happy you asked me for help.”

Shen Qingqiu can't help but feel a bit fond. Is it that simple to please you, Bing-ge? Or, if the masculine protagonist would be Bing-ge, wouldn't this weepy-eyed maiden instead be Bing-mei? It's a fairly ridiculous thought, but it cannot be denied. What would Airplane-bro think if he knew?!

A buzzing begins deep in his veins. It isn’t strong enough to rattle him, only enough to feel warm. It’s akin to the level of a massage wand at its lowest setting, all throughout his body, from the crown of his skull down to the lowest parts of his body. The blood parasites.

Shen Qingqiu feels reflexive disgust. How many times has nausea reigned over him thanks to these insects that have nested within every blood cell he has?

But they don’t bring nausea this time. Rather, the warmth slowly coalesces throughout his limbs and deep in his stomach, building like a gentle wave. That sensation slowly coils through him, and he flushes with shame as he feels his body react to it. The coiled tension becomes pleasure and his cock stirs. He starts to feel warm all over and kicks off the blankets smothering him, hoping to cut through the heat.

“Shizun, won’t you let me make you happy too?” Luo Binghe murmurs, staring at him through his lashes. “I can take you in my mouth. I've always wanted to.”

Shen Qingqiu remembers the Skinner Demon dream where Luo Binghe had earnestly offered his mouth to use, but this is no longer a dream!

His fingers slowly slide up Shen Qingqiu’s wrist, the pads of his fingertips stroking the thin skin on the underside of his wrist. Where he touches makes the blood within his veins hot. Up and up Luo Binghe strokes, dipping his hand past the hem of Shen Qingqiu’s robe. Between Shen Qingqiu’s legs, his cock only grows harder, spurred on by the thrumming blood mites within him.

“That… That’s enough,” Shen Qingqiu weakly protests, squeezing his thighs together to hide his shame.

Luo Binghe doesn’t let him hide. His one hand curls around Shen Qingqiu’s wrist and pins it down to the bed, the other reaching to the rising tent in his pants. His touch there is gentle too, even as it dips past his pants’ waistband to touch his skin. Shen Qingqiu’s abdomen flinches as Luo Binghe’s fingertips pass through the thin patch of hair and brush the base of his cock.

“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu warns once more, “that’s enough…!”

“Shizun.” Luo Binghe’s eyes are black and hungry, his face painted with a light pink flush. His lips quiver and his brow is pinched, his expression strained as if desperately holding himself back, just on the cusp of devouring Shen Qingqiu whole. “It’s not enough. It’s never enough. Shizun, I swear I won’t do anything else to you, so won’t you let me make you feel good?”

“Why won’t you just…” Shen Qingqiu’s words trail off as Luo Binghe’s nose suddenly gains a slightly reddish tint and his eyes become suspiciously wet, as if barely suppressing tears.

Luo Binghe’s lips tremble over a miserable little, “Shizun…”

Really, he cannot be anything but ‘Bing-mei’, Shen Qingqiu thinks, staring at the sad moue on Binghe’s face when told he can’t suck Shen Qingqiu’s dick. His pouting lips look quite soft, and very pink.

He stops resisting, feeling oddly guilty. When a gay man is so sincerely asking to blow you, and that same man has been traumatized by you, don’t you owe him a blowjob or two?! He’s promised not to do anything worse – Shen Qingqiu’s chrysanthemum is spared for another merciful day – so what’s really so bad about just… letting him?

Sensing his mood shifting, Luo Binghe seizes the opportunity and tugs his pants down just enough to expose his groin. He’s fully erect, hard enough that his foreskin has pulled back and his tip is already a touch wet, obviously due to the blood parasites crawling around inside of him. That heat within his gut, the shivering anticipation running down his back, it’s all thanks to the parasites! That's it!

One of Luo Binghe’s hands curls around Shen Qingqiu’s length at the base. On the more sensitive skin of his cock, he can vividly feel the rough calluses from Luo Binghe’s training, rough without being abrasive. His palm is cool, an enticing contrast to Shen Qingqiu’s heated body.

Despite himself, Shen Qingqiu feels his dick twitch within Luo Binghe’s grasp. He can’t help it, alright?! He’s still a virgin! He’s never gone beyond kissing and a bit of heavy petting with a girl…!

Luo Binghe leans down. His hair brushes the exposed tops of Shen Qingqiu’s thighs, and his gaze never leaves Shen Qingqiu’s face – his eyes are whorls of black and red, his tears gone and replaced with feral and unrestrained lust. He pauses with his mouth an inch away from the tip, close enough that his hot and humid breaths caress it.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe murmurs. His tone is so full of adoration that it makes Shen Qingqiu feel strange, his cheeks warming. Then Luo Binghe bows his head and presses those soft, pink lips to his cockhead in a lewd mimicry of a kiss.

It’s warm and wet and – 

Luo Binghe opens his mouth and lowers his head down to swallow the upper half.

“Oh, fuck,” Shen Qingqiu chokes out. He’s melting. Is he melting? It feels like it. Despite it only just starting, with an abrupt jerk like a hook tearing from his stomach, he feels his orgasm surge – then it stops right at the cusp, teetering painfully on the edge. “Fuck, why – Binghe!”

Luo Binghe glances up at him, sucking wetly. His hands toy with the base of his cock and his balls, massaging softly at both areas, inciting more pleasure from all three points of contact. It’s mind-numbing. Shen Qingqiu’s hips feel weak and his brain feels hot and foggy.

He’s so close. With that one touch, he’s already hard enough to burst, confused why he hasn't come already. He’s dripping precome in small spurts, every drop swallowed down Luo Binghe’s willing throat.

Inching down, Luo Binghe gradually swallows the rest of him, pressing Shen Qingqiu’s cock deeper in his mouth. As Shen Qingqiu brushes the entrance to his throat, Luo Binghe chokes wetly, the hot and tight muscles there clamping down on his cockhead and drawing out another desperate spurt of precome. Luo Binghe holds himself there, gagging on his length, more tears springing to his eyes and drool escaping from the corners of his mouth to spill down Shen Qingqiu’s balls.

“Binghe, ah, stop – you’re hurting yourself,” Shen Qingqiu urges. Without thinking, he buries his hands in Luo Binghe’s mane of hair and tries to pull him off.

A low, whining keen spills from Luo Binghe's mouth as he pulls roughly at his silken black hair. The sound vibrates the soft palate within Luo Binghe's mouth and through his dick, making Shen Qingqiu jolt and shiver. He tugs harder, and Luo Binghe happily moans. Pulling against Shen Qingqiu's hands, Luo Binghe grinds his nose into the pubic hair at the base, choking noisily on Shen Qingqiu's cock again.

Masochist! A true masochist!!

More saliva dribbles down past his balls between his legs, becoming moist and hot. Sweat builds in the dip of his back. His face is hot and inside his stomach is a melting, shivering mess pooling at the base of his cock and begging to be let out.

Shen Qingqiu can't deny it with how much his dick is crying – it feels really fucking good. It's inexpert as Luo Binghe works his head back and forth, tongue curling and licking, extremely wet and just on the edge of pain as his pleasure mounts and mounts with no end in sight.

Electricity builds on his skin, like static shock, sparking sharply with every brush of Luo Binghe's bangs on his legs and every touch of lips to the thatch of hair on Shen Qingqiu's groin. It builds under his skin, pulsing angrily within his veins, until his entire body is hot, sizzling – his brain melting in his skull from the bright white shocks of pleasure, dripping down his spine until everything within him is centred solely at the point where he and Luo Binghe connect.

He wants. He wants to come. He needs to. That becomes the only thought left in the soupy mess in his empty skull.

He grabs blindly at Luo Binghe and with whatever weak strength he can squeeze out of his exhausted, aching body, he rolls his hips to meet Luo Binghe's suckling mouth. The motions are rough and sloppy, seeking only his own pleasure. He fucks into Binghe's mouth the same way he'd have used a pocket pussy in his first life, purely selfish.

There's only one reason he wouldn't have reached the apex yet, and it's the very same reason he's gotten hard in the first place: the blood parasites. Somehow, they've bitten down on the inside of his body and prevented him from orgasming.

“Binghe, Binghe, ah, I'm – ah – I need to… Let me, you said you would be nice if I asked, so please…!” Shen Qingqiu babbles insensibly. He would normally not dare be so bold, certainly not about something as embarrassing as sex, but his restraint thins with every second that passes without relief.

Luo Binghe gags wetly around him in response, choking with every thrust in. His eyes glitter with tears as Shen Qingqiu grinds his cock into the clasping entrance of his throat, yet he seems utterly content with his treatment. 

Without-a-Cure’s influence is still present. Aches begin to spread throughout him, the pain edging in and mixing with the maddening pleasure-pain already present. It stirs his mind further until his vision blurs and darkens at the edges, his lungs unable to expand properly and his hands aching from gripping Luo Binghe's hair. He weakly humps against Luo Binghe's face as what little strength he has wanes.

“Binghe…!” Shen Qingqiu all but pleads.

He's really melting now. He feels sweaty and wet all over, Binghe's drool running down his cock and thighs. His cock leaks incessantly down Binghe's coaxing throat, enough that it feels as if it's broken, like a leaking faucet. Every muscle in his abdomen is locked tight, twitching with every weak little roll of his hips he can give as his body begins to fail. He needs he needs he needs–!

A sound he will never admit to crosses his lips, pitiful and close to a sob.

The hands massaging him twitch. Then squeeze, hard. It feels like his entire body is a bruise that Luo Binghe is eagerly pressing down on. Within that moment, when arousal and aching pain coalesce into a suffocating pressure, the invisible barrier holding him back suddenly breaks. He comes hard enough that his vision sparks bright white.

In a long unbroken chain of thick spurts, Shen Qingqiu utterly empties himself down Luo Binghe's throat, directly shooting down into his stomach. The bright-sharp-pain pleasure makes his toes curl, the sensation so powerful it feels bruising, as if having been kicked in the stomach where the sensation will linger for hours. His chest heaves with shallow gasps, his extremities trembling.

Luo Binghe sucks the rest out at the head, and then pulls off with a lewd wet sound. Suddenly so tired he swears he could sleep for a week, Shen Qingqiu can hardly pry his eyes open to watch as Luo Binghe licks his lips clean and sits upright. Between his legs is a dark spot with some whitish fluid leaking through. He'd come just from sucking Shen Qingqiu off.

“Shizun, thank you,” Luo Binghe purrs. His voice is rough, his throat thoroughly fucked, and his pretty pink lips have turned dark red and swollen, shining with spit and come.

Shen Qingqiu’s exhausted dick gives one last valiant twitch. With that mental image to accompany him, Shen Qingqiu immediately slumps bonelessly and passes out into the deepest and most restful sleep he's had since transmigrating.

A nightmare-free sleep comes.

When he wakes fully rested feeling healthier than he has in months, with Luo Binghe at his back hugging him and Shen Qingqiu taking the place of his dakimakura, Shen Qingqiu lays there and thinks for a while.

He's been sorely tempted to play along already; now, he truly has no reason not to slot himself back into a daily life with Luo Binghe. He will be given medicine if he asks. He will have his meridians cleansed if he asks. He can even get a complimentary blowjob thrown in, which no reasonable man would complain about.

Shen Qingqiu isn't foolish enough to believe that everything will go smoothly from here on.

It will take some weeks before he is fully healthy again after such a long absence of treatment. Xin Mo is still present and may at any time produce an unexpected issue. Luo Binghe's anger rises easily, and it seems his traumatic attraction to Shen Qingqiu is distorted with pain and blood. Shen Qingqiu can soothe and pamper right away, but it may not be effective so long as Luo Binghe craves him in violent ways as well as sexual. Even if he plays along, should he attempt to step outside or should any man come near the house, who knows what Luo Binghe will do?

His number one quality is his ability to adapt. It isn't a big task to be fed, cleaned up after, and otherwise doted upon. He can endure some torture so long as Luo Binghe also treats him well. His heart has settled, his thoughts have cleared.

The System has continued updating his point scores, giving him more the more pleased Luo Binghe becomes. It told him clearly that when he achieves a certain amount of points, the plot will progress. Though the System hasn’t been clear on exactly what the score he needs to fix things is, regardless, once the adequate amount of B-Points are collected, then Luo Binghe should be healed and reverted back from this mess of a child into the true protagonist of the story.

Earning points is no big deal! He's been suffering with that bullshit task since the first day! His goal upon transmigrating was to fix the plot holes and senseless story; instead he ruined it further. Shen Qingqiu will grind up his highscore, reach the leaderboards, and finally fix this fucked up hentai he's gotten himself stuck in.

System, dear, you're my only hope, Shen Qingqiu solemnly thinks to himself.

Until that time, he supposes he can settle for a domestic life with Luo Binghe.

Chapter Text

“Shizun, is this outfit suitable?”

Shen Qingqiu looks over at the clothing picked out by Luo Binghe’s careful hand. The layers are a cascade of pleasant creams and pale natural colours to represent Qing Jing’s motif of evergreen, lush bamboo forests. The top robe is an iridescent shade of lustrous green, silver embroidery shimmering throughout it.

It’s quite ostentatious, boldly announcing Shen Qingqiu’s wealth and refined taste. Very in character! Well picked, protagonist! Even Shen Qingqiu himself could not have chosen so well!

He inclines his head. “Mn. That will do.”

Despite the lukewarm response, Luo Binghe clearly reads his satisfaction and smiles pleasantly. “Then, please excuse this disciple’s intrusion.”

Shen Qingqiu allows himself to be dressed by Luo Binghe’s hands. He keeps his limbs malleable, repressing the shivers when Luo Binghe’s fingertips brush across his ribs and down into the dip of his back. It’s unbearably intimate. Half of him expects to be jumped by Luo Binghe at any moment, but beyond a few ticklish touches, nothing too outrageous happens.

It isn’t beyond the pale that a disciple could help their master dress, he supposes. Shen Qingqiu is a tad less able at the moment, just having come off a rough round of Without-a-Cure.

In the past week, he’s seen that if he accepts his role and behaves accordingly, Luo Binghe is calm and at times downright adorable, just as he once was. The nightmares relent somewhat, only coming once every three nights. Even the sanctity of his chrysanthemum has remained intact!

Luo Binghe gathers up a handful of Shen Qingqiu’s hair and draws it out from between two layers of robes. His motions are gentle, ensuring not to snag on anything. He holds the bottom tips of Shen Qingqiu’s hair, unable to let go, rubbing the silken hair between the pads of his thumb and index.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe murmurs. He stands close behind. Even with the gentlest touch on the tips of his hair, it feels heavy, trapping him in place. The heat of his body leaches into Shen Qingqiu, even through the multiple layers of silk. “Shizun…”

Rather than being oppressive, his new understanding of Luo Binghe makes the closeness feel akin to a clingy child clutching to his mother’s coattails. An insecure and needy child, that is the Binghe he’s dealing with.

“Now, now, your shibo will be here soon,” Shen Qingqiu soothes. “Don’t fret. Soon, it will just be the two of us again.”

The heat behind him hovers, then steps away.

Yue Qingyuan arrives not long after he’s done being dressed. The most shocking part is that Luo Binghe lets him through the front door! He comes with a solemn expression, his heavy brows furrowed, his youthful face full of lines.

As the last week has allowed him some amount of recuperation, Shen Qingqiu sits with him in the main room at the low table. He’s dressed up in his full attire and his hair is put up thanks to Luo Binghe, who had been almost insulted when Shen Qingqiu tried to do his hair himself. Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu kneel at the table together, and Luo Binghe sets out tea for them. Shen Qingqiu has to consciously stop his jaw from dropping at Luo Binghe’s servile behaviour, fearing for when the other shoe will drop.

“Shen-shidi, how are you faring now?”

Shen Qingqiu rips his eyes away from Luo Binghe in the background preparing snacks for the two of them. “This shidi is well. Thanking shixiong for his concern.”

Yue Qingyuan’s eyes are warm and he inclines his head slightly. Then the warmth washes away, replaced with the firm and composed look that speaks to his years of experience as the leader of a great sect. Reflexively, Shen Qingqiu sits upright, schooling his own features into a stern mask.

If Yue Qingyuan looks so serious, it can only mean one thing: some hot gossip has been freshly delivered to his doorstep!

“Shen-shidi, I unfortunately have a secondary purpose for coming here today. A recent finding has been made during a regular inspection of our boundaries.” Yue Qingyuan pauses, then shakes his head. “Rather, it could be said that the finding was completely by chance. A fresh disciple got lost and went the wrong way back up the mountain, and discovered what can only be called a mass grave.”

A mass grave? Is this the ‘crisis’ that Mu Qingfang had mentioned during his visit?

“Who was in the grave?”

Yue Qingyuan’s shoulders slope down, weighed heavily with the answer. “Just over a dozen of our sect’s disciples. Three from Qiong Ding, one from both Qian Cao and An Ding, and eight from Bai Zhan. They are in various states of decomposition, but it is difficult to determine how old the bodies are. They have been disfigured in an attempt to obscure the details.”

A chill sweeps up and down Shen Qingqiu’s arms. He can’t stop his eyes from flicking over Yue Qingyuan’s shoulder to the shape of white in the back with a tray of cookies in hand.

Luo Binghe, standing in the small kitchen, looks back at him. His eyes are like flint. They reflect no light, flat black holes in his face, staring at Shen Qingqiu.

He swallows, throat dry.

Yue Qingyuan continues, unheeding of Shen Qingqiu’s attention being diverted elsewhere. “Their qi systems were completely shattered. Mu-shidi found traces of demonic qi within their bodies. It appears that, somehow, we’ve been infiltrated. This is a courtesy to inform you, so that you may direct your disciples as you see fit. Leaving the mountain may be dangerous, or perhaps staying may be dangerous. It is difficult to say.”

Luo Binghe doesn’t move. He watches over Yue Qingyuan’s shoulder without blinking.

“Does Mu-shidi have any idea of what sort of demon the culprit could be?” Shen Qingqiu asks delicately, meeting that black gaze.

Yue Qingyuan’s frown deepens. “No breakthroughs have been made yet, unfortunately.”

So, they don’t know anything.

The culprit is standing behind you, Yue-gege, did you know that? Can he say that? Can he?!

Shen Qingqiu cannot even be surprised at this turn of events. He knew something like this would inevitably happen from reading the novel.

The sloppy method of disposing of them is a bit disconcerting, but Luo Binghe does not have an excessive amount of free time. He cannot travel far beyond Cang Qiong Mountain itself due to his obsessive need to observe Shen Qingqiu at all times of day. Even with Shen Qingqiu trapped in nightmares, Luo Binghe could likely not reliably leave for more than at most a day at a time.

The novel’s Luo Binghe, even when dual cultivating and slaughtering his enemies, still needed to hunt down strong cultivators to equalize his qi every full moon. Xin Mo is a voracious sword that requires multiple methods to soothe and control it. Now, without having papapa with every willing woman around and without murdering wantonly, Luo Binghe can only rely on qi transfer.

Who else would he utilize to transfer his qi other than the sect’s disciples? It would be easy enough to track down any disciples leaving the sect on long term missions and use them as his qi receptacles.

He finally drags his eyes away from Luo Binghe. “Does Zhangmen-shixiong require any assistance from this shidi?”

Yue Qingyuan’s brow lifts then, assuaged by Shen Qingqiu’s offer. “Do not trouble yourself overly with this issue. I would advise you to ensure your students have regularly scheduled check-ins. However, considering Qingqiu’s condition, perhaps leaving this task to your head disciple might be…” Yue Qingyuan gestures vaguely, awkwardly smiling.

Right. Because Shen Qingqiu is such a frail butterfly, he cannot even manage to keep track of his own students. He feels rather proud of himself when he refrains from rolling his eyes. Luckily, he is very well accustomed to dealing with an overbearing and well-meaning older brother.

“This Qingqiu appreciates your advice. Please rest assured, I will not excessively apply myself,” Shen Qingqiu replies rather politically.

Luo Binghe hasn’t moved. It’s becoming rather eerie.

Shen Qingqiu waves him down. “Binghe, come. Shixiong, Binghe has cooked some cakes to take with tea. They're not too sweet. Try one while we discuss more pleasant matters.”

Moving at his command, Luo Binghe mechanically comes into the room with his head down and lips curved into a pleasant and yet – to Shen Qingqiu’s eyes at least – a very fake, affected smile. He hands out the dishes with a polite bow then melds into the background, acting as a pale washed out shadow, white and black, simply watching them mutely.

Shen Qingqiu cannot help but smile a bit at his behaviour. Is it because Shen Qingqiu knows him so well now that he can tell Luo Binghe is radiating guilt, even while upholding a sweet and innocent countenance?

“Shizun, wouldn’t it be easier to reveal my demonic heritage in front of him?” Luo Binghe asks delicately. He busies himself with tidying up the table and removing Yue Qingyuan’s cup, not looking up at Shen Qingqiu’s face.

Shen Qingqiu looks at him. “Easier in what regard?”

Luo Binghe silently wipes the table down again. He doesn’t look up.

“Easier to get rid of you? To make you leave?” Shen Qingqiu guesses. When Luo Binghe’s only response is to mutely glance up at him with a withdrawn expression, he knows he’s guessed right. His heart feels a bit tender. “Binghe. Ah… A horse doesn’t eat the grass that it has already passed. Unpleasant things that have happened in the past are best forgotten.”

Luo Binghe’s face becomes soft and the harsh lines of his shoulders ease ever so slightly, like the first frost of spring melting in the midday sun. “So… Shizun accepts it?”

“I do not accept what you’ve done in the past to fellow sect members,” Shen Qingqiu firmly corrects. “What you’ve done to those disciples cannot continue. You should feel blessed for your foresight to not commit such crimes to your Qing Jing shixiongdi, else I would not be so merciful.”

Luo Binghe’s head snaps up, a worried expression scrawled across his face. “Shizun, I would never!”

Shen Qingqiu presses his lips together.

One day, when the protagonist is fully bloomed, won’t he do much worse than just kill a few disciples here and there? He will simply raze the sect down and water the bamboo with blood, instead.

Yet, even knowing that, Shen Qingqiu cannot allow such acts to occur beneath his roof. If Luo Binghe insists on being a disciple, then he shall act in the sect’s best interests. It’s rather simple.

“Your wrongdoings against the sect shall cease now. Should you require a method of controlling your demonic traits, then meditate, or seek another… ahem, ‘method’.” Shen Qingqiu is not nearly bold enough to simply suggest Luo Binghe go off and have a rowdy orgy, nor stupid enough to believe Binghe would. “Do you understand?”

Luo Binghe obediently dips his head. “This disciple understands, Shizun.”

Though his admonishment could not truly mean anything, Shen Qingqiu nods. If Luo Binghe is earnest in his desire to please Shen Qingqiu and treat him with respect, then he will stop and not another life will be taken. If not, then he will at least learn to hide it better. Whatever the case, Shen Qingqiu will not hear of it again.

The dream that night is a once again familiar scenario.

He is in a throng of people, many disciples of varying ages around him. When he looks to his left, he sees Ming Fan. The next few faces are also distinctly defined, all disciples from various peaks. They are in a wide circle, all facing inwards towards a hulking demon and a boy still tender in age.

It’s Luo Binghe and Elder Sky Hammer. The scene begins in the middle, where Luo Binghe has already been nearly beaten down under the imperious strength of a demon three times his size. Even managing to dodge every two swings still means the third will land. For a yet developing disciple, such a task would clearly be too much to bear. Even some members of the demonic force seem to feel a bit sorry for the child.

Of course, only Shen Qingqiu knows – “He will win.”

That’s what he’d said that day. As of now, he’s unsure what the purpose of such a dream is, so he obligingly plays his part. At the very least he’s not strapped up nude! One should be grateful for the small mercies in life…

Seemingly in response to his words, Luo Binghe’s tired form perks up and solidly wallops Elder Sky Hammer into the ground.

Shen Qingqiu watches, entranced by the show despite knowing the ending; even when the fight had originally occurred Shen Qingqiu had known that Luo Binghe would absolutely win. It’s the law of nature for the protagonist to win. While the path is difficult and the climb seems at times impossible, the protagonist will inevitably reach the summit.

The counterattack results in Elder Sky Hammer collapsing, only to be met with harsh abuse by Sha Hualing, both with words and with slaps. Only able to endure the shame, Elder Sky Hammer stares hatefully at Luo Binghe. If Elder Sky Hammer must die to repay the shame he’s brought on Sha Hualing, then naturally he would vow to bring Luo Binghe into the afterlife with him.

Everything has gone so normally, Shen Qingqiu comes to the tentative conclusion this is not a purposefully made dream. Perhaps Luo Binghe has lost control of his dream powers and gone down a trip through memory lane, reminiscing on simpler times?

Shen Qingqiu sees the movement of Elder Sky Hammer as clearly as he did the first time. He’s about to rise up and attack Luo Binghe.

When he goes to step between them, Ming Fan stops him. “Shizun, don’t go.”

That had not happened the first time. He’s so surprised that he actually does stop. “What?”

“You don’t have to go,” Ming Fan says. “If you go, you’ll be hurt. That beast is a demon anyways. Without-a-Cure doesn’t affect demons, so it’s alright. Let him be struck.”

The disciple to Ming Fan’s side wearing the colours of Qiong Ding nods. “Luo Binghe is a demon. Let the demons settle their own business.”

At his back, a gaggle of Qing Jing disciples whose names he’s never bothered to remember all chime in at once in an eerie symphony of voices. “Shizun, if you go, your cultivation base will be ruined. Your immortal life will be severed. Why should you surrender what you’ve worked so hard for? Luo Binghe will be perfectly fine. He cannot be poisoned.”

That’s true. In fact, Luo Binghe is more than resistant to Without-a-Cure, he is the very cure itself! He has to wonder – does Luo Binghe know that fact now?

“Stay, Shizun,” Ming Fan entreats. His hand reaches out and curls into the crook of Shen Qingqiu’s arm, fingers digging into the sleeves. “Leave him. He’s not like the rest of us. He’s impure.”

Shen Qingqiu gives him a strange look. All of the creations within here are made by Luo Binghe’s mind; if they’re not directly controlled by him then they’re reflections of his own thoughts. Neither possibility seems to bode well. Either he thinks poorly of himself, or he believes Shen Qingqiu does.

When his eyes flick back to the scene in the middle of the circle, Elder Sky Hammer has begun his charge towards Luo Binghe, his eyes filled with hatred. Despite the overcast sky, the needles covering his armour glint. On the tip of each one is poison. Elder Sky Hammer doesn’t know Luo Binghe is immune. He fully intends to kill Luo Binghe.

Luo Binghe isn’t looking at the danger. He’s looking out at Shen Qingqiu with wide and trusting eyes, shining with burnished pride, tentatively waiting for Shen Qingqiu to praise him for winning his match. Whether this is the conscious Luo Binghe or merely a representation of his younger, more innocent self is impossible to determine. This could simply be a ruse dreamt up by his blackened self.

And yet…

Something deep within Shen Qingiqu jerks. It’s the same impossible, uncontrollable reflex that one gets in their stomach as they approach a steep drop, as if the ground beneath their feet has fallen out.

Following that reflex, before he can think about his actions, he sharply shakes Ming Fan’s hand off and rushes forwards. In one long bound, he forces himself between the young Luo Binghe and Elder Sky Hammer. He barely feels the prickle of needles in his hand as he shoves Elder Sky Hammer away.

Guided out of harm’s way by Shen Qingqiu’s arm lightly looping behind his back, Luo Binghe looks up at him. His eyelashes quiver, his lips dropping into a surprised ‘o’ shape. “Shizun…!”

The emotion within Luo Binghe’s eyes is turbulent. It is not exactly positive. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t have time to ponder on it as the dream suddenly inverts, and he is forced from the dream realm.

They wake. The morning sun is soft, its golden touch warming them as they lie in bed together.

Luo Binghe’s hand at Shen Qingqiu’s throat, a by now familiar weight, squeezes tightly. As he’s laying behind Shen Qingqiu, his expression cannot be seen. Binghe’s voice rumbles through into Shen Qingqiu’s chest. “Shizun, why would you do that? Again? ”

Shen Qingqiu wonders how he should respond. It’s not a very serious thing. It had just been a dream, and it isn’t as if his life has been made too difficult by Without-a-Cure’s effects. It’s been quite manageable. And actually, if he could rewind time and make the choice again, he would prefer killing Elder Sky Hammer right away rather than waiting to be struck by poison.

He hums. “I made my choice before. That’s simply how it is.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Luo Binghe says. “You can make a different choice. I gave you the chance to make a different choice. Why wouldn’t you let it happen?”

“That’s enough, Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu chides, reaching up to peel the squeezing hand away from his tender throat. He turns over just enough to get a glimpse of Luo Binghe’s face, sickly and white, full of bitterness. “Whether you’d be poisoned or not, my body simply reacted. I don’t regret what happened that day. I won’t regret it even if you ask me to.”

“‘Regret’,” Luo Binghe repeats with a short laugh.

Luo Binghe moves suddenly, both arms wrapping around Shen Qingqiu’s chest and waist. Sticking close to him like burning caramel, hot and painful, Luo Binghe’s hands claw into his side. He bitterly spits, “My heart’s desire is to return to how we were once, when you loved me and I loved you in turn, but I cannot forget what you did to me. You don’t regret saving me, and yet you don’t regret forsaking me, either. I cannot forgive you, when you don’t even regret that. At least if you regretted saving me, I could understand why.”

Shen Qingqiu does regret that day at the edge of the Endless Abyss. He does. He’d felt absolutely sick to his stomach for months until he learned to stop thinking about it.

But when he opens his mouth, the words don’t come out.

Luo Binghe clings to him. His voice, which had been strong, even a bit vicious, abruptly weakens. “Shizun, why won’t you just tell me you regret pushing me? Even if it’s a lie, just tell me. I’ll be happy even with a lie, so, pl–lease– please tell me you’re sorry.”

That one ‘please’ is broken with a tearful hiccup.

Shen Qingqiu cannot endure it. As a rushing flood finds its way around boulders, his words find their way around the blockage within him. “There are many things that this master… That I have done which I regret. Things which I wish I could change.” He pushes at Luo Binghe’s shoulder until he rolls back just enough for them to meet eyes, and the sparkling tears within obsidian black makes his heart ache. “Binghe. I wish I could change the things I have done. I think of these things often, so often that you might not believe it. Binghe… To you… I wish I could have done only kind things.”

It isn’t exactly the apology that Luo Binghe is seeking. It isn’t the one he deserves. But they’ve both done things to one another that cannot be truly apologized for. Shen Qingqiu has made mistakes and so has Luo Binghe. In a way, it could be said that they’re ‘even’.

When Luo Binghe looks at him tenderly, speechless, Shen Qingqiu doesn’t care if they’re even.

He cradles Luo Binghe in his arms with the gentleness one would hold a baby bird as it flutters its wings for the first time. A warm flush of adoration fills him, from the tips of his toes to the crown of his head, rushing through him so powerfully that he cannot help himself: he presses a constellation of kisses across Luo Binghe’s cheeks and forehead, expressing all of that energy out.

He does seem to like Luo Binghe, a bit.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe whispers. The fingers digging into his sides flex.

Shen Qingqiu kisses him again, accidentally a bit close to the corner of his mouth. Luo Binghe’s breath shivers. His head turns, just a hair’s width, and pauses there with the edge of his lips touching Shen Qingqiu’s. Not forceful. Waiting.

Shen Qingqiu waits for a moment. When the inevitable push for more doesn’t come and Luo Binghe only quivers, clutching at him, Shen Qingqiu finds himself feeling very fond.

What a good child.

He turns his head until their mouths meet. Just a chaste little touch. It’s almost funny – despite all of the filthy things they’ve done, all the ways Luo Binghe has perverted their relationship and pleasured himself with Shen Qingqiu’s body, this is the first time they've kissed. Although it’s not Shen Qingqiu’s first kiss, it makes his stomach flip in an odd way it never has before.

Luo Binghe breathes out the smallest sound against his lips. A splintering, needy noise, almost like a wounded dog being shown a kind hand for the first time.

“It’s alright,” Shen Qingqiu says against his mouth. He strokes a hand down Luo Binghe’s back, patting gently. “It’s alright, Binghe.”

“Shizun.” Luo Binghe’s breathing intensifies. The fingers digging into his sides quiver, and Luo Binghe squeezes him tighter, drawing him deeper into his broad chest until they’re melting together. “Shizun… Don’t be too kind to me. Or else, I don’t know if I can help myself.”

Shen Qingqiu kisses him again.

In the next breath, teeth latch onto his lips, chewing and biting. Luo Binghe’s eyes flare red, beginning as a tiny pinprick in the centre of moonless black until it burns brighter, larger, until the entirety of his irises are a pulsating blood-red wound. Luo Binghe rolls him onto his back, still stuck to him head to toe, connected by biting teeth and clutching hands, determined to consume him whole, to tug Shen Qingqiu inside of him.

“Gently,” Shen Qingqiu gasps, muffled as Luo Binghe digs his teeth into his lower lip. “Gently, gently!”

Luo Binghe’s ‘gentleness’ is the hot pass of a tongue over the indents left by sharp teeth, searing across the skin where swollen bruises are already blooming. Every chewing bite at his mouth is paired with the lave of a tongue, first the bright prick of pain and then the dull ache of hot pressure over it.

“Shizun, Shizun, I warned you,” Luo Binghe pants. He rubs their bodies together artlessly, needily, through their clothing under the sheets. They’re both so warm that Shen Qingqiu half wonders why they’re even bothering to stay clothed anymore. “I warned you – I can’t help myself. Not when you’re like this. Not when you…”

He trails off, words failing to come to his tongue. His irises are so red Shen Qingqiu almost expects them to start bleeding. Then he surges down to bite at Shen Qingqiu’s mouth again, catching part of his cheek, then his chin, biting everywhere and licking after, until it’s a bruised and drool-soaked mess.

“Don’t tell me to stop,” Luo Binghe pleads between bites. “Don’t. Don’t make me. Please.”

Shen Qingqiu strokes his back again, feeling so warm his head becomes fuzzy, as if soaking in a hot spring for hours. “Shizun won’t tell you to stop. Just be gentle.”

“I will,” Luo Binghe agrees readily. Then he bites Shen Qingqiu’s lips hard enough they bleed. Luo Binghe licks the blood, a burning, stinging sensation radiating out, then whimpers as if he’d been the one hurt. “I’ll be gentle, Shizun, so don’t… Don’t tell me to stop…”

Shen Qingqiu pets his hair, his cheek, his back, and lets his legs drop open for Luo Binghe’s writhing body to fit between. They’re interlocked like this, their arms wrapped around one another’s bodies and Luo Binghe grinding their hips together. Something aches between Shen Qingqiu’s legs. It feels good when pressed down on, so he hooks his legs behind Luo Binghe’s back and squeezes them closer together.

“Gently,” he coaxes once more, all while clenching his legs tighter, drawing Luo Binghe’s body down onto him with more force.

His lips part for Luo Binghe’s eager tongue to dip into, licking up his saliva. Then, Luo Binghe purses his lips and spits onto his tongue. The sensation is foreign and extremely perverse. That ache between his legs intensifies in a frightening manner, becoming so overwhelming he nearly feels as if he’ll burst out of his skin.

With another forceful grind downwards of Luo Binghe’s entire body atop his, he feels something within himself splinter, break, and unravel. He helplessly orgasms into his sleepclothes. It feels as if every last bit within him is squeezed out by Luo Binghe’s weight bearing down on him, until sparks crack white and hot behind his eyes, until his blood feels boiling within him, until he’s writhing and sweating from the pressure.

“Too – too much,” Shen Qingqiu gasps. He presses his hips backwards into the bed. Luo Binghe follows, grinding down on him almost angrily, punishing him for trying to escape.

“Shizun, you’re the one who seduced me,” Luo Binghe accuses. “I warned you… I told you not to be kind to me…!”

Shen Qingqiu pets his back and whimpers as Luo Binghe humps him viciously into the bed. The inside of his head feels warm, full of sticky sugar dripping from the back of his skull to the pit of his stomach. Let Luo Binghe do as he likes. He’s made his decision.

“From now on – ahh, ah – Shizun will be kind, so don’t – mn! – don’t fret, Binghe.”

Luo Binghe’s eyes flare. His zuiyin appears on his forehead. He presses their mouths together forcefully enough their teeth clack, then sucks on Shen Qingqiu’s tongue. Small, lewd sucks, as if taunting him; he’s felt those lips around his cock before. Then Luo Binghe bites down, not quite hard enough to pierce flesh.

The prick of pain travels straight from his tongue down to his aching dick, small electrical shocks pulsing with every heartbeat. He comes again, just a small squirt of liquid adding to the wet stains at the front of his robes. Luo Binghe bites again at his lips, then at his cheek and chin and everywhere his teeth can gain purchase. It hurts. It feels good. His cock, too – pain and pleasure whirling around in a mad mixture, stirring his brain into a mess.

“Binghe!” he wails, body writhing. Everything is wet – sweat and tears blur his vision, drool and blood dripping from his lips, his groin soaked through with his mess. “Binghe, oh Binghe, I–!”

Before he can beg, before he can even decide what to beg for, two fingers slide into his mouth and press down on his tongue.

“Shizun, I promise, I’ll be more gentle, so don’t stop me,” Binghe pants, licking at the bite marks he’s left across Shen Qingqiu’s chin.

Then Luo Binghe’s other hand slides between their bodies and tears at their clothing, shredding their sleepclothes at the waist. The mess Shen Qingqiu has already squirted out makes his skin slick enough for Luo Binghe to fuck against. The protagonist’s cock is by no means meagre. It’s weighty, twice Shen Qingqiu’s own size, searing hot. He’s held it once, masturbated it, but feeling it pressed against his body, lined up on him to where he can feel it and know that, if Luo Binghe were to put it in him, it would reach all the way inside of him up to his bellybutton.

Fuck. Fuck fuck.

His limp cock twitches. Something inside of him breaks with a snap . White explodes behind his eyes. His melted slurry of a brain boils. He chokes around Luo Binghe’s fingers as his soft dick squirts out more liquid.

It’s all so wet, everywhere.

“Shizun regrets it,” Luo Binghe says dreamily, hips jackrabbiting against his. It’s utterly artless. It’s sloppier and messier than a teenaged boy rolling around in the sheets for the first time, completely juxtaposed to the sexual genius from the novel, yet another black mark clearly separating the child Shen Qingqiu has somehow raised apart from the one intended by the plot. “Shizun…! Shizun, Shizun! Shizun, can you imagine how long I’ve been waiting to hear those words?”

“Nngh,” Shen Qingqiu moans.

Luo Binghe licks at the seam of Shen Qingqiu’s lips stretched around the second knuckles of his fingers, lapping up the frothing saliva. “Every day, every night! Until I went mad dreaming of it, until I thought I could be satisfied with those dreams!”

The weight rubbing against his stomach stiffens. The veins protruding from it swell, obvious enough that he can feel them when Luo Binghe ruts against his sensitive, limp cock.

“Shizun…!” Luo Binghe’s eyes tremble. “Tell me again!”

The fingers withdraw from his mouth. Shen Qingqiu’s mouth feels numb, his head scraped empty and stirred up, his stomach aching from coming so many times. “I wish – ohh, fuck – I wish I could… have only done kind things–”

Luo Binghe grabs his chin and drags him into a filthy, deep kiss, swallowing the rest of his words. His tongue delves into the depths of his mouth, curling and licking like a dog, happily lapping up his burbling spit. Against his stomach, the hot weight pulses, and liquid pours across him. There’s enough of it that it spurts up his chest and drips down between his legs. The smell of sex drenches the air, thick, heady, enough to make his head spin.

“Shizun… Shizun… Shizun…” Luo Binghe kisses him between each whisper.

Shen Qingqiu barely feels it when Luo Binghe finally pulls away from him, their fronts sticky, their clothing ruined. He’s half asleep from exhaustion. His face hurts, his dick hurts, his stomach hurts, everything fucking hurts! After all of the biting, he must truly look like he’s been mauled by an animal. Next time, he’s going to muzzle Binghe!

‘Next time’… Would this happen again?

His stomach flips over at the idea, not altogether unpleasantly.

After a moment, Luo Binghe comes back with a damp cloth and fresh linens. He has enough sense to look sheepish and shy, just guilty and apologetic enough that Shen Qingqiu stifles his complaints and simply allows Luo Binghe to clean him. Every wipe of cloth is paired with a reverent kiss to his cheeks, his lips, his shoulders, wherever Luo Binghe can reach.

Luo Binghe’s mood shifts after that. The darkness that lingered in his eyes lifts. After four nights come and go without nightmares, Shen Qingqiu can hardly dare to hope. And yet… He hopes.

He watches Luo Binghe walk with a spritely lightness to his gait. When they speak, it is without hidden barbs tucked behind every word. The bamboo house itself seems brighter, as if the shadows have been chased out.

When Shen Qingqiu steps out to enjoy the afternoon sun in the gardens, Luo Binghe doesn’t leap at his throat to pin him down. He’s allowed that small bit of freedom. He sits on a small stone bench and observes the little pond nestled in among camellias, lilies, and young sprouting bamboo. The thought of running crosses his mind just once, then he turns his head and watches Luo Binghe folding some laundry, his brow furrowed as he expertly works out any creases.

It's a rather homely sight. Luo Binghe appears as a housewife would, tending to her duties as her husband lays about listlessly, fussing over simple things.

Running away from Luo Binghe when he's like this is an impossible task not even worth wasting time thinking of. Shen Qingqiu instead settles onto the bench, leaning against the lattice on the side and falling into a comfortable catnap, warmed by the sun and lulled by the sounds of pond water and of Luo Binghe quietly tidying up.

He awakens a bit later in the afternoon to Luo Binghe gently waking him with one hand on his shoulder. Blearily blinking the sleep from his eyes, he feels that same gentle hand brush across his cheek, tugging a strand of hair out of the drool at the corner of his mouth. “Shizun. Your neck will ache if you sleep outside like this.”

“Mmph.” Shen Qingqiu sits up.

Luo Binghe stands over him with a small smile, shadowing him from the sun. “Did Shizun enjoy spending time in the garden?”

He wonders if there’s some hidden meaning beneath those words. Just a week ago, there would have been a chasm of depth, waiting for Shen Qingqiu to trip into it and make himself the target of some bizarre, sexually charged torture scene. Waiting for Shen Qingqiu to admit that he enjoyed being outside more than he enjoyed being with Luo Binghe and deserved punishment for it. That’s the type of immature, clingy child he’s been dealing with.

The Luo Binghe in front of him now…

He reaches out with one hand and entangles their fingers together. “Binghe. Take a walk with me.”

Luo Binghe’s lashes flutter. His mouth twitches. “... How far?”

“If we’re together, does it matter how far?” Shen Qingqiu gently squeezes Luo Binghe’s hand and represses the shudder down his back at the cringe.

Fuck! What is he?! A teenage girl?!

Despite the unlimited cringe factor, Luo Binghe actually blushes, the tension in his face melting away like sugar into tea. He obligingly steps back as Shen Qingqiu stands, and blushes twice over when Shen Qingqiu guides him away with their hands still intertwined.

Their destination is not very far. It’s at the back of his property, down a small path through the garden towards the edge of the bamboo groves. In the clearing, there is a mound of dirt. Pierced into the mound is Zheng Yang.

Shen Qingqiu needs to tug in order to bring them to the edge of the grave; Luo Binghe’s steps drag and he becomes reluctant to move forward. This is still a rather sore spot for him it seems. When Luo Binghe had first returned back, he’d discovered this grave.

“That grave is for the child you adored. The person in front of you now, you despise.”

Shen Qingqiu pulls Luo Binghe to stand side by side with the sword mound. His expression is a bit frosty, but the dip in his brow and the taut set of his shoulders belies his anxiety, just like a child waiting to be scolded and trying to act tough. Shen Qingqiu has half a mind to pet his head and comfort him, but that can be saved for after.

The dips in the earth have not recovered. The shapes of his knees imprinted in the grass have not regrown. He visited this spot innumerable times over two years, carving himself into the ground, and he fits right back into place as he kneels down.

Luo Binghe watches silently, the only movement in his body being the dilation of his pupils. He doesn't even seem to breathe.

Abruptly embarrassed, Shen Qingqiu averts his eyes and stares at the sword mound. Words come slowly and with difficulty. “Binghe… You… I envisioned a different future for you. Not one here. Not one with me. You are…”

Words fail him. How can he express his guilt? It's one thing to kick the protagonist off of a cliff knowing that it's for the best and he will one day accomplish wonderful things. It's another entirely to do something that cruel and have it result in nothing. Luo Binghe should have his foot on the neck of the world, forcing it into submission, claiming what he pleases and destroying what he doesn't.

Instead, he is trapped here. Unwilling to abandon Shen Qingqiu and this bizarre relationship. Incapable of moving on. Binghe has barely stabilized, and for how long will that last?

He's sorry. He's truly sorry.

Shen Qingqiu wants to say all of it. His throat closes the moment he opens his mouth.

“Shizun.” A hand brushes against Shen Qingqiu's forehead, stroking over the curve of his head, fingertips trailing through his hair. It rests lightly at the back of his skull, barely enough pressure to feel. “Shizun, look at me.”

Shen Qingqiu raises his eyes halfway, stopping roughly at Luo Binghe's chest.

Luo Binghe huffs an amused laugh. “Shizun… I remember asking you if you would kneel in front of me. If you would keep me company, and hold me in your heart, just as you did for Zheng Yang. You said it was disgusting. And yet, here you are. Kneeling in front of me. Idly keeping me company. Caring for me. Thinking of me.

“Shizun, it's alright if my life isn't as you expected. I would be content with nothing else but a small home and a quaint lifestyle. With you… It doesn't matter how far I must walk, so long as it is with you.”

“You don't know,” Shen Qingqiu mutters. “With your power, you cannot begin to dream of the heights you could reach.”

“Such dreams are useless.” Luo Binghe's other hand joins its pair, curling behind his head. His hands are broad enough that the palms can cup his head and fingers can interlock behind as both thumbs stroke at the soft skin behind his ears. Those two broad hands tilt his face further, forcing Shen Qingqiu to raise his eyes a bit higher, to Luo Binghe's chin. “The only thing I could ever dream of wanting is already within my grasp.”

Shen Qingqiu doesn't know what else he can say. He flicks his eyes up to meet Luo Binghe's. As their gazes meet, he realizes just what position he's put himself in: kneeling at Luo Binghe's feet, his head in a rather questionable position at Luo Binghe's waist, with hands clasping his head and angling him just so… Something blisteringly hot slithers down his spine and coils low in his stomach.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe whispers. “You cannot imagine all the things I wish to do with you.”

Oh.

While the area near the bamboo house is typically given a wide berth by disciples, particularly the sword mound area of his property, it isn’t impossible for someone to visit without sending prior notice. Even Yue Qingyuan or Liu Qingge could drop in. Put simply, it’s far from private. Who in their right mind would choose this place for a blowjob?

And yet, what else could Luo Binghe be talking about?!

It’s already been four nights since they’d humped like teenagers. The full-bodied protagonist required at least a few rounds every single morning, afternoon, evening, and night. Isn’t it about time for him to push Shen Qingqiu down and make him take it?

Shen Qingqiu anxiously licks his lips, eyes darting around. He cannot sense anyone nearby.

Perhaps… If they were quick about it…

The object hidden beneath Luo Binghe’s robes, the great weapon which could topple empires and soften the hearts (and other parts) of even the most frigid maidens – Shen Qingqiu has felt it in his hand once. Broad enough to span his wrist. Thick enough his fingers could not completely enclose it. Masculine, heavy, and hot. Can he swallow such a thing?

Even if he cannot, would Luo Binghe be ‘gentle’, and force it down his throat regardless?

The warmth in his stomach sizzles, crackling like a freshly stoked fire. It spreads out into his limbs, his thighs aching, his arms twitching impotently with a half-hearted desire to push away from Luo Binghe.

Luo Binghe is unblinking, unwavering, his voice quiet and yet distinct amidst the rustling winds threading between the stalks of bamboo. “I wish to feed you all of your favourite foods. I wish to sleep next to you every night for the rest of our lives. I wish to dress you, and bathe you, and learn every corner and crevice of your mind. I wish to dye you in my colour, and by dyed in yours in turn.”

What. What’s with the cheesy romantic lines?

“That’s what you meant?” Shen Qingqiu says, unable to stop himself from glancing at that hidden heavenly pillar.

There is a small pause. Then, Luo Binghe makes a small noise in the back of his throat. His handsome face curls into an innocent little smile. “Shizun. What were you thinking of?”

Embarrassment makes his face burn. He scowls. “Nothing!” If he’s just going to be made fun of, that’s enough of that. He goes to stand, half up on one knee, when his face is pulled forward against Luo Binghe’s groin. He blinks, lashes catching on the cotton fabric of white disciple’s robes. His face is –

“This disciple would never dare disappoint,” Luo Binghe coos. His hips rotate in a small circle, something beneath his robes growing stiffer as he does.

Shen Qingqiu inhales sharply; the smell is a mixture of clean linen with something musky and masculine lingering beneath. There is something pressed against his face, from his forehead to his cheek, swelling into hardness as he breathes against the cloth.

His face is –

When Shen Qingqiu finally comes to his senses and tries to squirm away, Luo Binghe firmly holds him in place and begins to lightly hump his face. Every gentle thrust highlights the growing erection hidden under the stark white, the length of it growing longer, wider, hotter. With a happy sigh, Luo Binghe rubs off on him, simply using him without a care in the world.

Shen Qingqiu lightly pushes at Luo Binghe's thighs again, trying to find some leverage to move away, but he finds his fingers numb and limbs heavy. His head feels stuffy, growing fuzzier and dizzier with every inhale of Luo Binghe's masculine smell.

It's easier to not fight it. Doesn't he already know that Luo Binghe will win when it comes to strength? And besides, it's really his own fault for not expecting this. Bringing Luo Binghe to a secluded spot, kneeling in front of him when he hasn't come in days, what else could it be called but outright seduction?

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe coos, sweeter than sugar, “shall I dye you in my colour, as I wished? Shall I paint your body, your face, white with me, until it cannot be washed away?”

Said plainly, he’s planning to come on his face.

A bolt of burning, crackling electric arousal shoots down Shen Qingqiu’s spine, a hook catching behind his stomach and jerking. His lips pliantly fall open. Luo Binghe rubs himself still clothed over his open mouth, pleasuring himself with the muted warmth, before quickly undoing his pants just enough to expose his cock.

Until now, it’s remained mostly out of sight. He’s stroked it and felt it between his legs, but never seen it up close. It's every bit what Shen Qingqiu thought.

The head of it is a ruddy colour, partially hidden by thick folds of foreskin at the tip. Veins, deep blue and swollen, run down the sides from the base hidden by a thatch of thick hair. The size of it is monstrous, far beyond a normal man’s. Indeed, it is so heavy that it cannot stand upright under its own girth, curving down towards the earth.

The scent is stronger with it unveiled. He breathes it in and immediately becomes lightheaded. Luo Binghe holds him close, pressing him closer in, until his nose rubs at the swell of his balls.

His vision wavers, seeing the world distorted as if through a heatwave. The only distinct thing is the cock in front of his face. Luo Binghe slowly guides his head back against it, and slides his naked cock over his face. The skin is hot, soft, velvety. The head is warmly damp and leaves streaks of liquid across his chin and cheeks.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe says gently, with a particularly filthy grinding motion against his face, the swelling cockhead rubbing over his cheeks, “I'm going to take your mouth now.”

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t answer with anything but an open mouth.

The first touch brushes against his lips, blisteringly hot. It smears a pearl of precome on his lips as it dips further in, pushing in and in and in until it’s pressing at the back of his throat and rubbing at his soft palate. The taste is heady and thick, a unique flavour unlike anything he’s tasted before.

Then it pushes further. Shen Qingqiu shallowly breathes through his nose, his vision crossing as he sees the thatch of hair at the base approach his nose, as Luo Binghe slowly sheathes his cock inside of Shen Qingqiu’s throat. His jaw aches and his throat pulses uncomfortably at the intrusion, spasming uncontrollably around it. The width is so much that he fears his jaw will lock trying to stretch open so far to accommodate it.

As the thickest part of it at the centre finally pushes into his mouth, Shen Qingqiu can feel his teeth catch on one of the protruding veins, skimming it just slightly. It must hurt. Yet, rather than recoiling in pain, something within Luo Binghe seems to unlatch. His gentleness becomes ragged at the edges. He doesn’t quite fuck Shen Qingqiu’s mouth like a cocksleeve, but it’s close.

“Shizun, there– right there,” Luo Binghe groans, rutting in and out to feel the teeth at his most sensitive part. Masochist. How did Shen Qingqiu raise him like this? “Feels good, right – ahh – right there!”

Fingers twine into Shen Qingqiu’s hair, nails scraping his scalp, dragging him forwards until that large swell catches on his teeth. As it does, Luo Binghe twitches and whimpers audibly. The cock in his mouth seems to thicken more, stretching his jaw until his teeth press harder into the velvet flesh. Then he’s pulled back again to have the salty, weeping head rub at his tongue.

Forward, back.

Shen Qingqiu has no say in it. He has no control over it. His brain is a thoughtless, stupid slurry, and his body feels both too hot and too shivery, as if struck with a brutal fever.

He doesn’t need to think. He only needs to kneel there and be used.

Luo Binghe fucks into his mouth again and again, until the back of his throat becomes tender, until his eyes become hot with tears and his face becomes wet with snot and drool and precome. His muddled mind can’t focus on anything except the smell and taste of cock. His tongue and mouth move impotently, licking and sucking weakly.

Limply hanging off of Luo Binghe’s cock, his brain pounded into come-addled mush, Shen Qingqiu doesn’t know how long it takes until it finally ends. But after what could be minutes or hours, Luo Binghe stiffens.

“Shizun, Shizun, Shizun,” Luo Binghe mindlessly moans, his motions becoming choppier. “Shizun, on you – on you, I’m going to–!”

Shen Qingqiu’s numb fingers find enough strength to grab onto Luo Binghe’s belt and hold him still. He swallows around the object piercing his throat; it’s tight, tight enough he feels he could choke. As he drinks down the precome dripping from it, Luo Binghe nearly doubles over, grunting at the sensation.

“Shizun!” With a whimper, Luo Binghe comes.

The first spurt goes directly down Shen Qingqiu’s throat, well past his gag reflex. Binghe gently pushes him away, just enough that the rest of his spurts come out in his mouth, strong enough that Shen Qingqiu chokes and feels it come back up through his nose. Burning, stinging, and yet it doesn’t end.

He’s held in place, crying and gagging, until Luo Binghe pushes back at the last moment so one final stripe is painted across Shen Qingqiu’s face, catching in his hair and lashes. Only then does he finally stop coming.

He can barely see, barely think, when he’s let go. Every sense is overwhelmed with Luo Binghe – smell, taste, feel…

His mouth limply drops open and one thick strand of come drips down his chin.

“Don’t spit it out,” Luo Binghe pleads, voice ragged. “Let me see first.”

Fuck, Shen Qingqiu thinks.

There's enough of it that it's spilling from his lips and dripping from his nose. The intense bitterness of it is overpowering, making his mouth drool, saliva mixing with the thick come. His brain feels fuzzy, as if swaddled in cotton, suffocated by the heady masculine taste and smell of Luo Binghe fucked into him.

Fingers clumsily tug at his mouth and pull it open, unveiling the semen within, as if prying open a clam to show pearls. Fingertips glide through the thick mess in his mouth and a thumb swipes across the area between his nose and lips; Luo Binghe licks them all clean, tasting himself from Shen Qingqiu. Those fingers delve in again, stroking his tongue and rubbing the taste of come into it.

“Oh, Shizun,” Luo Binghe breathes. His cock swells into half-hardness. It's still coated in clear, sticky come. Binghe hitches his hips forwards and grinds the side of his messy cock in Shen Qingqiu’s hair, wiping it off on him like one would use a cheap tissue, or perhaps more akin to how a dog would mark territory. “Shizun, you cannot imagine how handsome you look like this. Shizun. Shizun. This face, all for me. You let me do this to you. You wanted me to do this to you. You really… like me.”

Shen Qingqiu closes his mouth sharp enough to bite the tips of Luo Binghe's fingers, glowering at him petulantly. Feelings this, liking that, shut up!

It isn't about wanting anything. Shen Qingqiu – he's a man; why would he want this? It's only that he doesn't really mind doing it for him, so long that Binghe is gentle about it.

Luo Binghe's lashes flutter, his eyes swirling with something black and hungry. He slowly licks his lower lip, tasting the remnants of salty come mixed with Shen Qingqiu’s saliva. “Shizun… Angry at me, but still not spitting it out. I'm very happy.”

A crackle of heat begins at the crown of Shen Qingqiu's head, his scalp tightening, then rolls down his back, his chest, down to his gut where it makes his blood boil. Being praised for obediently holding Luo Binghe's come in his mouth – what kind of peerless immortal master is he? Like this, he should feel filthier than a used brothel whore. It should be disgusting.

Rather than disgusted, he feels…

He sticks his hand between his thighs and rubs the flat of his palm against his aching cock, close enough that the rough fabric creasing against him feels so good he nearly comes right then and there.

Luo Binghe drops down, his pupils blooming in a whirling mix of red and black. His breathing is ragged and a deep blood red flush spreads over his face. His half-hard cock twitches, hanging heavily between his thighs.

“Shizun, Shizun, do you like how it tastes?” Luo Binghe asks shamelessly, bringing their faces closer together.

Shen Qingqiu makes a pitiful noise in the back of his throat. The taste is still as powerful as it was to begin with: salty, bitter, tasting of something almost earthy, the perfect epitome of masculinity. Were this fucked into a woman's womb, she'd have no choice but to fall pregnant with Luo Binghe's child. In fact, in the novel, women would fight for the chance to suck on Luo Binghe's precious cock. It could never be called disgusting. That's why – Shen Qingqiu rolls his tongue through the thick mess, feels it slide between his teeth and pool in the back of his throat – that's why it tastes… a little good.

“Shizun.” Luo Binghe grabs his face and presses at the hinge of his jaw, forcing it open. “Shizun.” Luo Binghe opens his mouth too, and tilts his head, lowering himself just a bit. “Spit it out right here.”

Fuck. How can he? How dare he? Spitting into the protagonist’s mouth is one thing. He did it once already in the midst of anger. But to spit Luo Binghe’s own come back into his mouth, to dirty him like that, to dirty this place – in front of the grave for Zheng Yang...

Shen Qingqiu's hand hasn't stopped rubbing, and it increases speed. “Mmn.”

Luo Binghe licks a long, slow stripe across his chin, moaning obscenely at the taste of drool and semen. It's filthy. “Shizun, I know you wouldn't dare dirty this place. You can use me. Please, Shizun, use your most loyal disciple – your Binghe.” He moves back into place and extends his tongue. “Ahh…”

Shen Qingqiu feels ready to explode. He hesitates just a moment more, then purses his lips and spits a thick mouthful of come into Binghe’s waiting mouth.

Luo Binghe groans, guttural and deep, eyes fluttering. His tongue curls through the liquid, savouring it, treating it like a delicacy.

He waits for Binghe to swallow, then spits again, and again, until his mouth is empty. There is still a film across the roof of his mouth, over every tooth, and sticking on his tongue. It’s drenched into him, soaked in thoroughly, until he’s sure he’ll taste it with every swallow for days. He rubs his tongue against his hard palate, half-heartedly trying to scrape the taste from it, only to spread it further.

Whether he shuts his eyes, Luo Binghe will be with him. Whether he sleeps, whether he eats, whether he sits across from one of his martial brothers or stands before one of his disciples – Luo Binghe’s taste will be in his mouth.

When the pungent flavour begins to fade, will Luo Binghe take his mouth again?

Shen Qingqiu twitches, then doubles over as he comes.

It lasts for only a few moments, then his body relaxes, and Luo Binghe is there when he comes to. In a way that could be chaste were it not for the taste of semen, Luo Binghe kisses him. “Shizun… I’m so happy right now. So happy I almost fear it is a dream of my own creation that I have tricked myself with.” He looks at the grave. “Shizun. You don’t miss him anymore?”

Shen Qingqiu sighs. He pats Luo Binghe’s head. “Silly child. How can I miss him when he’s right here?”

Luo Binghe’s lower lip quivers. He bows his head and glances at Zheng Yang from the corner of his eyes. Something lurks deep within the blacks of his irises. Shen Qingqiu pets his head more firmly, and that unnamed something sinks deeper, until it cannot be seen at all.

That night, as they lay down for sleep, a small notification box pops up with grating fanfare:

[ Hello. Notification: Satisfaction point threshold has been reached. A new plotline is available. This is a timed event; kindly use the Deluxe Scenario Pusher before the expiry period. ]

Subsequent to the notification, a timer begins counting down from 5 minutes.

Shen Qingqiu very consciously keeps himself from shouting in victory. Finally getting that notification is more satisfying than reaching Grandmaster in League of Legends. Yes, yes, yes!

[ Would User like to activate the unlocked Deluxe Scenario Pusher? ] 

Shen Qingqiu slams the ‘yes’ button repeatedly in his mind. What kind of question is that? Of course he wants to activate it! This is what he’s been waiting on this entire time! The way to cure Luo Binghe and put him back on the correct path!

While they have finally reached an equilibrium, this is still not the proper story. His one goal assigned by the System upon entering this damned bullshit novel was to fill plot holes, expand character depths, and achieve a satisfying ending. In reality, he has done nothing but regress the protagonist into a shaking chihuahua who would bite at his hands and feet at the slightest inconvenience and then howl the moment Shen Qingqiu stepped out of sight.

[ ‘A long night is fraught with dreams’ has been activated. The System will be down for maintenance until the scenario is complete. ]

The world darkens abruptly.

When Shen Qingqiu comes to, he’s standing in an open field, his body achy and blood sitting at the back of his throat waiting to be vomited up. There is a powerful and overwhelming stench of demonic energy that burns in his nose. Sparkling shards of ice float through the air, frostily reflecting the red and black light surging out from a yawning wound in the earth a few meters away.

Just in front of him is Luo Binghe. Young, just on the cusp of manhood, dressed in bright white, covered in dirt and blood. He looks dazed, and on his forehead is a bright red zuiyin. It looks like a fresh wound.

This – this is the climactic scene at the edge of the Endless Abyss. This is Jue Di Gorge. This is where Shen Qingqiu fucked everything up.

Shen Qingqiu looks at Luo Binghe, a delicate sense of hope growing within him. Just a small seedling, but hope nonetheless. This Deluxe Scenario Pusher for which he scrimped and saved so many points for… Has he really been sent back in time?

He nearly laughs. This is certainly no rip-off! Very good quality for his money!

Now – now – finally he can fix everything!

Still collapsed on his knees, Luo Binghe silently turns his face and looks at him.

Chapter Text

The System is eerily silent.

But Shen Qingqiu knows it’s listening. After all, it’s the thing that sent him back here, to correct what he’s done wrong.

Shen Qingqiu has thought long and hard about what he would change here, as the basic essentials of the end result should remain the same – Luo Binghe being kicked down the cliff and given his scholarship to protagonism – but the details are tricky.

Somehow along the way, Shen Qingqiu had altered the storyline to such a degree that Luo Binghe, even with that very same scholarship in hand, had refunded it and returned back to the bamboo house. When his fate lay beyond the gentle bamboo of Qing Jing Peak, Luo Binghe had spurned it and run back to his normal day-to-day life. And this could not stand.

Shen Qingqiu’s self-brainwashing is eminent above all else. His ability to adapt to any situation without peer.

And he has already long-since decided that Luo Binghe must be pushed down into the Endless Abyss. That is the only way that Luo Binghe will someday stand above all others, climbing atop a sheer, skyscraping mountain, and be the governing hand that moves the heavens, hells, and even the earth itself.

After all, hadn’t these been his very thoughts the first go around?

“Without enduring the bone-chilling cold, how could fragrant plum blossoms hope to bloom? Without three years’ training in realms below, how could a demon king over worlds loom?”

To be pushed from the nest is a trial by fire. Only then will birds fly. His Luo Binghe must fly too, soaring above every other soul.

He’d like to imagine the goodwill he’d farmed up is the thing that has kept him from being too horrifically killed off… He’s even dodged his sticking until now. But that same goodwill cannot be what stops the protagonist from achieving greatness.

Shen Qingqiu’s flaw had been his weakness.

Though he’d recited all kinds of cruel words at the edge of the Endless Abyss shamelessly borrowed from the original goods, he hadn’t made their situation perfectly clear. Somehow, Luo Binghe had still clung to his coattails and childishly held onto their peaceful life. When he should have evolved and become a blackened, cruel overlord, he had somehow become a studious, devoted homemaker.

This is what the System had sent him back to fix: ensuring Luo Binghe does not make himself up to be some kind of demented housewife, shuttered away in the bamboo house with only Shen Qingqiu as his companion.

Luo Binghe is destined for greatness.

He is not destined to be Shen Qingqiu’s live-in maid.

“Shizun, you said before that just as people can be good or bad, demons can be good or evil,” Luo Binghe says, looking at him with shaking eyes and quivering lips. As if staring at something both wonderful and awful, revolting and enticing. “That in this world–”

Shen Qingqiu already knows these words. He recites them at the same time as Luo Binghe: “–there is no one intolerable to the heavens.”

He’s thought about this night once or twice, while sitting in front of the sword mound. Perhaps he’d thought about it out of nostalgia for the last time he’d seen his precious little sheep. These words, the trembling hitch to them, Shen Qingqiu has memorized it all.

Really, this moment is the last time that fluffy sheep will ever be seen, because Shen Qingqiu will kill him with his own hand.

The childish Luo Binghe must die.

Without Xin Mo, Luo Binghe will never become so strong that no one could dare question him.

Without his experiences in the Endless Abyss and demonic realms, Luo Binghe will not cultivate that skyscrapingly high level of skill that will allow him to conquer all kingdoms.

Without seeding himself into Huan Hua Palace, Luo Binghe will not have a foothold in the cultivator world in which to inevitably cause its downfall.

It’s for Luo Binghe’s benefit.

This time, Shen Qingqiu does not go on about how heavenly demons are a different breed, and how calamities rise around them as the sea tides rise at the whims of the moon. There is no point. He knows the outcome of this conversation now, that Luo Binghe will still run back with his tail between his legs, knowing that Shen Qingqiu will accept him by hook or by crook.

Because he will. He will take Luo Binghe back. Even if it must be under duress, he will. He will, every time.

And the most shameful part is that Shen Qingqiu is actually, perhaps, a bit happy about it – that Luo Binghe had rejected his fate of becoming the one true Emperor in order to stay at Shen Qingqiu’s side.

He cannot be selfish and hold Luo Binghe back from what he deserves. And Luo Binghe deserves so much. He deserves to be doted on by a thousand women, as many as he wants, so many that he'll never feel an ounce of sadness or loneliness again. He deserves to have the power to remake the world as he sees fit. He deserves to achieve heaven, and conquer hell, and become the ultimate Emperor in the realms.

This is his error to fix. Luo Binghe is a clingy child, but he is still reasonable. He will grow. He will understand, eventually.

“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu says, softer than a feather. “Binghe, you are a brilliant pearl among common stones. To have you as a disciple, regardless of your heritage, is a blessing that I have taken for granted for too long. Your future is a blank sheet waiting for your hand to dictate it; nothing is off-limits for someone as capable as you. I can no longer restrain you from your future.

Binghe, as of this moment, you are no longer my disciple. I rescind our master-disciple relationship. You may pretend that our tea ceremony never happened. Be free.”

Luo Binghe makes a sound as if he’d been struck, the air rushing out of his lungs, his body doubling over and nearly collapsing. “Sh… Shizun… You… What…?”

Shen Qingqiu wants to cup his face in his palms and cradle him like a child. But, he no longer has the right to do so. He’s made his decision.

“Luo Binghe.” Saying his full name feels a bit wrong now, after having been so thoroughly trained out of it, but it needs to be said. They no longer share that close, twisted relationship. “Luo Binghe… You will do so many great, awful, wonderful things. When you’re seated on the throne of the world, you will understand – perhaps you may even thank me. This is my greatest kindness to you.”

Mumbling, his words slightly slurred as if spoken past numb lips not quite able to form the words, Luo Binghe simply says, “Why is this happening? Why do you always…? Why…?”

“I know,” he consoles. “I know it will be hard. You have a gentle soul, and a heart capable of loving so much and so deeply.”

One person… How can it be enough for his Binghe? How can he be enough? Luo Binghe is able to love so many people, and be loved by them in turn.

No matter how much Shen Qingqiu adores him, he cannot stifle Luo Binghe’s capacity for love and power yet to fully bloom within his youth. If he must push them apart and sever their relationship, he will do so. A bit of pain now will be worth it. It’s the same as the pinch of a needle delivering a vaccine; uncomfortable and perhaps a bit frightening, but necessary.

This is his burden to bear.

Since the moment Luo Binghe arrived back at the bamboo house, Shen Qingqiu has single-mindedly sought a way to fix him. To heal him. To set him on the correct path.

This moment here is where he’d fucked everything up. This is the exact moment he’d twisted Luo Binghe’s sexuality, warped his mind, and ruined his future. He must do things properly.

“You must go away for a while, Luo Binghe.” Shen Qingqiu nudges him slightly backwards, towards the torn and bleeding edges of the Endless Abyss. From the horrific blackness, ghostly hands reach out, waiting to snatch the trailing edges of their robes. It’s nightmarish, but within that nightmare is the cradle which will bear Luo Binghe’s immense rise to power. “It will be hard. But I know that Luo Binghe can usurp anything. Afterwards, when you escape that place… I know Huan Hua Palace will happily accept you. The Palace Master there will surely take you as his disciple.”

Luo Binghe’s eyes are blank. No light reflects within them. “Shizun – Shizun is Shizun. I cannot have anyone else but Shizun. I cannot obey anyone else but Shizun.”

His tone is almost robotic. Solid and blank as unblemished slate.

Shen Qingqiu gently rests his palm over Luo Binghe’s heart. He almost thinks he can feel the beating of Luo Binghe’s heart beneath the white fabric, and something fond uncurls within his own chest at the sensation. “You don’t need to obey. In fact, I am sure that in short order Huan Hua will obey you. Binghe… Don’t look so sad. It’s alright. In the future, once you have become everything you deserve to be, perhaps we can meet again.”

“No,” Luo Binghe whispers. “No… No. No. No.”

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t waste breath on cruel words.

Lightly, barely more than a nudge, he pushes forward to tip Luo Binghe back over the edge of the Abyss.

Luo Binghe looks at him, his expression rippling, contorting.

The world collapses under Shen Qingqiu in a way that distinctly did not happen the first time. 

At the end of his arm, his hand has somehow melded in with Luo Binghe’s body, robes falling away and flesh entangling with flesh. There is a strange, hot, wet feeling clenched around his hand, as if Shen Qingqiu has shoved his fist between Luo Binghe’s ribs, between his lungs and heart.

It’s revolting.

Rearing back in fright, Shen Qingqiu only manages to bring Luo Binghe’s body closer to his, close enough to see a writhing mass of black deep in Luo Binghe’s eyes. It’s like churning snakes, black and oily, angrily twisting and turning in the pits of them. The smell of ash and sizzling flesh becomes overwhelming this close.

The scene around them bleeds, scenery smearing into a bloody mess, like gore running down his eyes until everything is red. Only Luo Binghe in front of him stays corporeal and real.

It’s a dream.

Shen Qingqiu realizes this much too late.

“Shizun… Shizun, how could you?” Luo Binghe says, voice breaking. His lashes are trembling and his eyes are shining, almost wet.

Is he crying?

In the novel, not one single tear had ever been shed since the washerwoman’s death. Little Luo Binghe had wept and wept until his eyes had no more tears left in them, so how is it that he’s drudged up a few more tears to shed?

Luo Binghe’s horrible black gaze consumes him, sucking all of the light into their depths, like a black hole dragging him in. “Shizun, how could you?”

Fear overwhelms Shen Qingqiu, almost as much as guilt does. He tries to pull away once again, wrenching his hand back.

This time, his hand comes free. It pulls through Luo Binghe’s chest with a wet, sucking noise, blood gushing out around it. Some veins and flesh catch on his fingers and wrist as he rips it out, making his stomach roll with nausea as they snap around his forceful recoil.

In his hand he holds the bloody, beating heart of Luo Binghe.

He’s become somewhat immune to killing demons and spirits, much more accustomed to it than when he’d first transmigrated and been put in a position to kill the Skinner Demon. Seeing that woman’s body fly back broken and mangled, like a weighted bag being thrown about rather than a person, had been a bit perturbing back then. Without much choice, he had happily brainwashed himself and gotten over it.

But this is…

This is his Binghe, looking at him with a broken heart and crushed spirit.

How can he accept it? The blood, the pain – how can he possibly accept having done this to his Binghe?

Luo Binghe’s chest crumples inwards. The world warps around it, as if the bloody core of him has become a singularity, a black hole. Shen Qingqiu’s vision narrows, his body cracking and ripping apart as he’s drawn into the pulsing bloody hole. Inwards, compacted down further, further, until he’s become melded in and taken the spot where the heart had once been.

Then –

He wakes from the dream.

Shen Qingqiu’s stomach heaves and his body crawls all over, echoes of pain making him shiver and feel bruised all over. He flails and kicks off the sheets, throwing himself over and on his back, eyes rolling wildly as he takes in the room around him, waiting to see if the walls will bleed as the world in the dream had.

Next to him on the bed, Luo Binghe turns over and looks at him.

All at once, Shen Qingqiu feels a fear so bone-deep and terrifying it’s almost amusing he’d ever thought himself to be frightened before now.

While they had slept, the bloody zuiyin had crept like ivy over Luo Binghe’s forehead, growing until the red mark covers the entirety of his snow-white face, even spreading down his neck. His eyes, normally kept so carefully black, are bright red, the colour even seeping out into the whites of it. A thick black miasma of qi swirls around them, biting cold and burning hot all at once.

“Shizun, I knew it. You really would choose it again. You said you wished to do only kind things to me, yet you chose the same thing again. You almost tricked me, but I knew it.” The gentleness and warmth in Luo Binghe’s voice makes his skin crawl. Luo Binghe brings his face closer, a feverish, immense heat radiating off of him. Tears drip in thick tracks down his face. “I can withstand you casting me away, shuttering your windows and doors against me. But to denounce me even as your disciple…”

Luo Binghe laughs, a frightening sound.

“Shizun, pretending to like me. To care for me. But to Shizun who can accept any demon as long as they are not me – who can find goodness in any person as long as they are not me – Shizun, you truly… Truly hate me. Did you enjoy it? Did you like me allowing you to rip my heart out? Does it make you happy that you could break me open and take out my beating heart with those two hands of yours that once held me so gently?”

“Binghe, I – I…!” Shen Qingqiu stammers. His mind is spinning. Unable to speak, he has no choice but to gaze helplessly at this angry young man.

Luo Binghe's mouth trembles uncontrollably, as if smiling is so painful he can hardly keep one on his face. He turns over and straddles Shen Qingqiu's waist.

“Go ahead, Shizun.” Luo Binghe pulls open his robes and grabs Shen Qingqiu’s hand, thrusting it towards the centre of his chest with a violent motion, nearly crushing the bones with how tightly he presses Shen Qingqiu at him. “Go ahead and rip it out!”

“Binghe, I don’t want to–”

“Don’t want to kill me?” Luo Binghe laughs, eyes bright red, hot, and burning with something awful and ugly. “Don’t fret, Shizun. In any case, I can’t die, so just do it!”

Shen Qingqiu is speechless. His normal brainwashing and bullshitting skills, the very same he’s relied on faithfully for years, fail him.

It hadn’t just been any dream. It hadn’t been the System allowing him to change things. It most certainly hadn’t been a chance to correct his wrongdoings. It had been Luo Binghe’s dream realm that Shen Qingqiu had confidently strode into as if he’d known anything, an utter fool to the bitter end.

And he’d pushed him down. Again.

And he’d told him… so many cruel things.

Luo Binghe had wept.

As they lie there together, a droplet of water, hot and salted, hits his cheek.

Luo Binghe –

He’s still crying.

Suddenly, the ferocious, tumultuous face above him looks a bit sad. This poor abused boy who had clung onto him like a child to their mother’s thigh, only wishing to be held, to be kept, and yet still cruelly kicked off twice over. If Shen Qingqiu has already made him like this, what’s wrong in just keeping him?

Isn’t that all Luo Binghe’s wanted since the start? For Shen Qingqiu to just keep him?

Shen Qingqiu swallows thickly. He drops all pretense. “I’m… Binghe, I’m sorry. For everything. I couldn’t say it before; I was frightened. You deserve to hate me. But I’m sorry. I regret it. I have regretted it every day. If I knew how much it would have made you suffer, I would never have made that choice again!”

“How could I not suffer?” Luo Binghe asks gently, tears cutting hot streaks down his face.

“No, I – I wished – I wanted to be gentle. This time, I wanted to let you be free, to grow, to become the person you’re meant to be,” Shen Qingqiu explains, rambling, tripping over his tongue. “Binghe. It was for you. It – everything – I… I wanted to be gentle.”

Luo Binghe only laughs lightly. “I won’t be tricked anymore.”

He doesn’t know what to say, skin going cold and tight all over in fear at the expression Luo Binghe makes, both empty and overwhelmingly angry. His lips feel numb and his fingers twitch in terror, unsure if he should flee or fight or simply beg for mercy.

“Shizun, is what I am really so wrong?” Luo Binghe asks, grip tightening until Shen Qingqiu nearly cries out in pain, the bones in his hands grinding together. “Not only a demon, but one who craves you, who lusts after you, who adores you? When all you have wanted all these years, whether gently or cruelly, is to be rid of me? Is that really so wrong, after all?”

“I’m sorry,” Shen Qingqiu weakly says again. “You’re not wrong. It was me; I’ve been wrong this entire time.”

“I won’t listen to that anymore!” Luo Binghe shouts.

Though Luo Binghe has refused his apology, something in him is swayed. He relinquishes his grip just enough for Shen Qingqiu to worm out from beneath him and crawl off the bed, knees knocking into the ground as he mindlessly flees. His body is still weak from Without-a-Cure, unable to bear the stress.

Luo Binghe watches him, slowly rising up and stalking after him with silent steps.

Fuck! Enough with the horror movie serial killer vibes, please!!

“It’s what I thought was best for you,” Shen Qingqiu explains with panic. He wants to believe it as much as he wants Luo Binghe to believe it. “I was wrong. I was entirely wrong.”

Luo Binghe stares down at him. His face is still tattooed with red lines, spreading from his forehead and writhing like living things, pulsing violently in time with his erratic heartbeat. Then, Luo Binghe smiles.

“Not at all. Shizun is so wise,” Luo Binghe says, smile showing just a bit too many teeth. “After all, if your disciple had not been pushed down, then how could he have ever dreamed of having enough power to do this to you? If your disciple had not unlocked his demonic heritage, how could he have ever dreamed of having enough power to keep you, even when you wish to rid yourself of him?”

To think Shen Qingqiu would ever want to be rid of Luo Binghe. What a joke. Only, it’s not funny.

“Shizun, shall I perhaps dirty my hands so much, enough that you can never wash the feeling of me away? Until I stain you so thoroughly that my touch will be branded on you forever?”

Luo Binghe advances towards him, steps staggering.

There is a thick, evil miasma growing in the air, so intensely powerful it seems tangible, turning the air cold. It pulses and surges, rising in choppy waves that crest in sprays of dark qi that mist throughout the room. The fluctuations are nauseating, sharp increases and decreases, making the air thin and difficult to breathe.

At the centre of the maelstrom is Luo Binghe, pale, sweating, with red lines crawling across ivory. He takes another step, limbs limp and head rolling. Only his eyes stay still, locked onto Shen Qingqiu.

In the novel, there had come a section where Xin Mo’s influence became so strong that Luo Binghe’s mental and physical states had slowly unravelled and gone out of control. In order to subdue the sword, Luo Binghe had gone on a journey hundreds of chapters long in which he gathered up priceless artifacts and gorgeous women alike. Only then had he managed to regain control.

“Binghe… Calm down! Your qi is becoming unstable!”

Luo Binghe’s face stretches into a wide smile. It looks jagged and sharp, as if cut into his face with a knife. “Don’t worry, Shizun, I’m very calm.”

A terrifying chill shoots up Shen Qingqiu’s spine. Goosebumps burst across his body, hair rising on end.

Without fanfare, the System suddenly notifies him: [ Use key item Fake Jade Guanyin? Please note: This item may only be used once. ]

Relief floods him.

The key item!! The pendant gifted to Luo Binghe by his birth mother, the one thing in the novel that would return Luo Binghe’s humanity without fail. The one ultimate salvation, the thing he’s held onto for years, so long that he had even forgotten about it!

Yes, yes, use it!

The System pauses. Then, [ User point totals are insufficient to activate to key item. ]

… What?

He’d had so many points! Where had they all–

Shen Qingqiu’s stomach turns to ice.

The Deluxe Scenario Pusher. The System had exchanged his satisfaction points in order to unlock that scenario. Not only an hour earlier he’d been praising the System for its great value, only for it to be spat back in his face at his greatest time of need.

“Shizun…”

Luo Binghe is at his feet, kneeling down and crawling towards him. His expression is almost sweet, almost gentle, and more terrifying than anything he’s seen before. Shen Qingqiu worms away until his back hits a wall and he has nowhere left to run; Luo Binghe follows after on his hands and knees until his fingers brush Shen Qingqiu’s ankles.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe smiles, red marks across his face glowing brightly. “I hope that this modest attempt is enough to truly stain you with me.”

Two hands wrap around his shins.

“Wait,” Shen Qingqiu says. “Wait a moment, Binghe. Wait–”

Loud snaps echo out, like two dry sticks snapping.

Shen Qingqiu’s world bursts with an unimaginable pain – red flares in his skull, electric bursts sparking behind his eyes like plugs forcibly pulled from sockets. His entire body convulses, writhing to get away from the twin sensations in his legs, and then – his mind collapses inwards to protect itself.

His world darkens, and he blacks out.

A few days pass in a feverish haze of pain. He comes to once or twice as they travel. Luo Binghe took him, a few small items, and left Cang Qiong. Perhaps he’d used Xin Mo, or simply flown until they reached somewhere near along the borderlands going by the odd sizzling sensation of demonic energy lingering at the edges of his senses.

Their new home is a cavern which Shen Qingqiu can only presume to be situated as far from the righteous sects as Binghe could manage. Every breath is dry and hot. Small sandy particulates float lazily about, tinting the air red. He can only conclude that they’re near the southern borders of the demon realm.

When he blinks awake, his vision is blurry, the world appearing kiln-fired, but Luo Binghe is still distinct. He watches as Luo Binghe rants and raves to himself, clawing at empty air and arguing with the walls. Xin Mo is host to many spirits and can induce hallucinations to its current user. It is quite the mercurial sword requiring many methods to soothe it.

Sex? Not with Shen Qingqiu, which means not at all.

Murder? Hardly, unless killing Liu Qingge’s pride counts.

Qi transfer? Only a few disciples here and there, which could hardly account for even a drop of Luo Binghe’s endless well of demonic energy.

Three methods, three failures.

“Stay away from him!” Luo Binghe shouts at nothing, swiping his hand at nothing. Qi shoots from his palm, blasting away some rock and expelling a miasmic wave of energy that crawls across Shen Qingqiu’s sensitive body like a wave of biting ants. “Only I am allowed to touch him!”

Shen Qingqiu’s head spins. “Binghe…”

At his weak voice, Luo Binghe’s head swivels towards him. For a moment, he looks back and forth between Shen Qingqiu and the invisible force, before finally settling on Shen Qingqiu. His pupils seem to glow eerily, the blacks of his eyes backlit by red. His steps stagger, feet dragging across rock. Luo Binghe’s lips jerk into an unsteady smile. “Shizun, you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

His voice is soft. It could almost be called melodic, were it not for the undercurrent of… something black lurking beneath. A dark shadow surging just below calm waters.

Gradually Shen Qingqiu takes stock of himself. His throat feels ragged and dry. When he swallows, for some reason the ache in his throat is echoed in his legs. Something is very wrong. His skin, his veins, even his bones – each of his legs below the knees throb in pain.

His entire body feels like a tender, fresh bruise. Mushy yet tight, an overripe fruit’s skin fit to burst open, as if his legs would simply split if Luo Binghe so much as brushed a finger against him. It hurts. Everything hurts. The more awake he becomes, the more pain he feels, everywhere.

His legs spasm in a small, uncontrollable movement, and his world whites out.

There’s a ringing in his ears. His eyes roll in their sockets, his chest constricting in violent motions, bile coming up his throat. He can’t breathe. It’s as if there’s a fist clenched around his lungs, squeezing. Every beat of his heart makes hot needles of pain shoot through him, splintering out from every vein into his legs, back, head, everywhere.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

Dimly, as if from a distance, he can hear an animal wheezing and whimpering in pain. Like a pitiful dog. It startles him to realize the sounds are coming from his own mouth.

A gentle hand presses down on his forehead, pushing away sweaty, matted hair. “Shizun, shh, shh, don’t fret. I will only let it hurt for a while. Just a little while. Then, I’ll make sure you feel all better.”

Shen Qingqiu fights through the haze of pain making his mind murky. “Binghe, ’m sorry.”

The hand on his forehead drops and covers his mouth. Luo Binghe’s smile twitches. His zuiyin surges, appearing on his white skin like red bloody wounds. “Shh, shh. It’s alright. I don’t want to hear those words anymore, Shizun. So be quiet and suffer for a while.”

He tries to speak again, but the hand stays clamped over his mouth, muffling his words.

Eventually, the pain is too much to bear, and he falls into a fitful half-sleep full of nightmares.

Time passes in disorienting lurches. 

Deep in the cavern, neither day or night can be seen. His sense of time is only maintained by Luo Binghe waking him gently to feed him, and he is bathed every other day by cloth from a water bucket.

Special care is taken to maintain the stiff wrappings around each of his shins. Luo Binghe strokes the wrappings, kissing around them, licking at the blackish bruises that peek past the edges of fabric. His legs are healing poorly. The blood parasites have reduced the swelling and pain, constantly swarming around within him, yet they have decidedly not healed him.

The reason why is quite obvious –

“Now, Shizun can’t run away,” Luo Binghe sighs happily, nuzzling against his legs. “Shizun is just for me to adore, and take care of. No one else…”

It’s extremely simplistic. Broken legs = no running away. In a way, it’s so childish that it can almost be called cute. Like a child plucking the legs off of a bug to keep them from skittering away.

Rather than deploy brute force, the novel’s Luo Binghe would have carefully eradicated all trust in Shen Qingqiu. Shen Qingqiu’s image would have been slowly dirtied, sullied in clever ways, until not a single person would believe his word above Luo Binghe’s, not even the kind big brother NPC Yue Qingyuan.

Once his intelligence was held in low enough esteem, no one would have batted a single eyelash had he been forcefully sequestered away, for his ‘health’. Would anyone have noticed his absence after a month? A year? Luo Binghe, with his silver tongue, could easily weave lies to extend their medical absence for a long, long time.

As he recovers, he has plenty of time to contemplate things.

Firstly, he seems to have made quite a big mistake. He re-traumatized Luo Binghe and shattered his delicate, barely rebuilt mental state, and subsequently set off an explosive tantrum.

Secondly, Luo Binghe’s qi is still fluctuating and he talks to the air as much as he talks to Shen Qingqiu. Xin Mo’s influence is gradually deepening and will eventually lead to a meltdown which could be big enough to wipe a city off the map. Luo Binghe would (probably) survive, but Shen Qingqiu obviously wouldn’t.

Lastly, and most importantly, Shen Qingqiu living is likely no longer an option. Very soon, he will die. Either Luo Binghe will kill him during a qi deviation, or he will have to self-detonate to quell the deviation itself.

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t feel negatively about it. He’s known his death would come since the first moment he opened his eyes in this body. Only the exact manner had been uncertain.

The plant body has been sown and carefully raised for some time now. Neither he nor Shang Qinghua can be considered green thumbs, but with the combined knowledge of the author and his number one hater, he has very high confidence that it will succeed in properly resurrecting him.

Only if it’s matured to the right stage, however. It was initially set to mature in five years, and the timeline for the seedling will not change based on Shen Qingqiu’s situation.

Without a way of contacting Shang Qinghua, Shen Qingqiu will die for real.

Shen Qingqiu looks at Luo Binghe, still curled around his broken legs. Then his eyes drift to the corner of the cramped cavern. It’s shadowed, but within the dark shadows is something glowing. Xin Mo. The dark, malevolent aura pouring off of it is so thick it looks like smoke, and some tendrils of it reach out, latching onto Luo Binghe. Those tendrils form a leash, similar to that between a dog and their master.

In the novel, that relationship was quite clear – though it was a transactional relationship, Luo Binghe distinctly controlled Xin Mo. Here, that dynamic couldn’t be further from the truth.

Shen Qingqiu’s heart settles as he makes peace within himself. If it’s for Luo Binghe…

For Luo Binghe, he thinks he doesn’t mind dying a second time. If it comes to it, he will self-detonate.

“Shizun, say ‘ah’,” Luo Binghe coos. He’s holding a steaming bowl of congee.

Shen Qingqiu opens his mouth and takes the spoonful of congee, already cooled by Luo Binghe gently blowing on it. His lips feel numb and the food has no taste, but he swallows it down regardless, his stomach curling in on itself with hunger. It settles heavily in his stomach in a way Binghe’s food never does.

Forget about talking to shadows! The sudden steep drop in cooking skill is proof enough that the protagonist’s mental state is suffering!

Where Luo Binghe had even gotten cooking implements and rice from to begin with, he hasn’t a clue. In the past few weeks, he’s been dropped into troubling dreams frequently, whenever Luo Binghe needs to step outside or do anything more strenuous than stare unblinkingly at Shen Qingqiu for hours straight.

And he does a lot of that. Staring.

In fact, he's doing it now. He spoons in a mouthful of steaming yet unappealing congee, then sits silently and stares at Shen Qingqiu’s face as he chews and swallows. When a small dribble of congee drips down his chin, Luo Binghe immediately spots it, swoops in, licks it up, and spits it back into Shen Qingqiu’s mouth.

While he eats, Shen Qingqiu looks at Luo Binghe with pointed intent.

He’s committed to dying if he must. But there is still a chance to reel him back in from the edge. The only chance he has is to restabilize Luo Binghe’s mind and qi.

And… Well, in this world, the most obvious, straightforward, and effective way is to – ahem – papapa. He’s taken it in his mouth, he’s had his own thing in Luo Binghe’s mouth. Heavens above, they’ve even kissed! What’s a little bit of penetration after all of that? Can he afford to be shy anymore?!

“Binghe, let's h-have… s… ah… have s…….”

His bravado immediately fizzles out.

Luo Binghe pets his head. “Yes, Shizun? Have what? Sweets?”

Shen Qingqiu stares at the jagged cavern overhead and wishes to fucking die right then and there. Why has he raised such a cute sheep? Where is the fierce and sexually attuned ladykiller from the novel, who could understand with nothing more than a glance when one of his wives wanted to be bent over and taken raw?!

“.......... Sex……….” he bites out, his entire face burning so hot he genuinely wonders if he'll burst into flames. That would be less painful.

The bowl of congee drops onto the ground and rolls away.

“Sh-Shizun…? Ah, what was that…?”

What’s with that fucking virginal, maidenly tone?! He slaps his hands over his face and explosively shouts, “Sex! Sex!! Did you understand that?!”

Luo Binghe makes a small sound. “Oh.”

Shen Qingqiu wants to crawl into a little hole in the ground and just die. Please, what’s with the lukewarm response? Can you show a little excitement, protagonist, sir? Sure, he’s no buxom babe, but that hasn’t been a problem yet, so what’s the deal now?!

“But, Shizun, how will you fuck me if your legs are like this?”

…?

Fuck… him?

“No, no,” Shen Qingqiu quickly replies, holding his hands out in denial. “Not me. You take me. Obviously.”

Luo Binghe’s mouth quirks into an amused smile. He leans forward, resting his chin on his palm, his other hand reaching out to trace indistinct patterns on Shen Qingqiu’s chest in an overtly coquettish manner. “‘Obviously’. Shizun, you’re always like that. Talking as if you know what I want. Do you even understand anything about me?”

Lately, Shen Qingqiu has been quite rudely informed that he doesn’t understand a thing. In any case, the last thing he should do now is reject Luo Binghe’s desires, even as confusing as they may be, considering his delicate mental state. If he wants to take it, let him. What does it matter anymore?

Brainwashing completed, Shen Qingqiu shrugs and says, “Alright. If that’s what Binghe wants, get on top of me and do the work.” He gestures to his legs with a half-hearted gesture. “It isn’t as if I can do much for you in this state.”

Luo Binghe’s brows rise and his smile widens, a delighted laugh bubbling past his lips. “Shizun!”

“Are you unwilling?” Shen Qingqiu challenges.

Lids lowering, Luo Binghe gives him a hot and sultry look. He passes his tongue over his lower lip, as though he can taste Shen Qingqiu’s body just from a single glance. The touch of that tongue is familiar, and he can imagine it on him. He hadn’t really been in the mood yet, but the thought of that tongue licking him makes his stomach squirm in a pleasant way.

“How could this disciple dare be unwilling? If my master so desires, I can do nothing but submit,” Luo Binghe says demurely.

He's naked in the next instant, his clothing so smoothly discarded that they seem to melt off of him. His body is toned without appearing too rugged, his pecs shapely but not to a feminine degree. His waist is thin and his skin is snowy white and blemish free all over, save for one little scar – a scar in a distinct spot on his chest.

When Shen Qingqiu sees that scar, his stomach drops. “Binghe, that… You can heal from anything. Why would you leave that?”

Binghe strokes the puckered scar with a tender finger, gazing down at it adoringly. “This is the last thing Shizun gave the childish me prior to introducing me to the Endless Abyss. How can I discard any gift from my master? This is very important to me.”

In other words: it's a reminder of how much Shizun adored my pure self before, and how much he wishes to throw the current me down.

First Zheng Yang, now this. Tallying up what was kept, what was given, how much Shen Qingqiu likes this or that Luo Binghe… Is it healthy to be so jealously fixated on your own self?!

Luo Binghe takes Shen Qingqiu's hand and places it atop the scar. The skin feels rough on the edges, a bit bumpy where the skin reattached and healed. It's a strange texture. The only scar Shen Qingqiu had ever had in his previous body was a white dent on his knee he'd gotten falling out of a tree. In this body, only the faintest pricks can be seen on his palm where he'd repelled Elder Sky Hammer’s armour to protect Luo Binghe. The rest of the minor cosmetic damages came from the previous owner so he discounts those.

Best he not bring the Elder Sky Hammer topic up, else he'll start the feud between child-Binghe and adult-Binghe anew…

“Shizun, please excuse my intrusion,” Luo Binghe says politely.

He smoothly seats himself on Shen Qingqiu's waist, his hands tugging Shen Qingqiu's simple robes apart so their skin touches. With Luo Binghe’s legs spread across his waist, everything between them is visible.

Down from his trim belly and thatch of dark hair, the heavenly pillar juts out heavily. It's a dusky colour that pairs nicely with his pale skin. It's heavy enough to droop downwards until the hooded head of it smears wetly across Shen Qingqiu's belly button. His balls are large and plump enough to settle on his stomach, clearly full.

And even further past those is a hidden spot that becomes unveiled as Luo Binghe leans back, splaying his legs out and cupping his balls in one hand. It's a strikingly lewd pose. Between his legs, his small virginal hole can be seen.

A frisson of energy shoots up Shen Qingqiu’s spine. It feels like he stuck his finger into an electric socket, his skin tingling all over, his muscles twitching, all of his hair standing on end. Under Luo Binghe he can feel his own cock stiffening up until it slots in the curve of his ass.

Fuck. He tries to move, only for his legs to crackle in pain. The inner parts of his shins feel stuffed with broken glass, each movement ringing sharply, but it's not enough to make him go limp.

Luo Binghe sees the pinched expression he makes, and smiles deviously. Ever so slightly, Luo Binghe rocks himself up and down against Shen Qingqiu's cock, just enough for him to feel how pleasantly soft the skin of his ass is but without the pressure to relieve him.

“Shizun, please, allow this disciple to do everything,” Luo Binghe simpers. His tone is that of a subservient slave, utterly obedient and respectful, wishing to do nothing but serve his master.

Acting as if he’s an obedient puppy with no ulterior motives – how fucking fake! Shen Qingqiu is truly helpless. His dick jerks when Luo Binghe bears down on it again playfully, rubbing it against his ass, arousal sparking low in his gut.

Luo Binghe leans up enough to stick his fingers unceremoniously into Shen Qingqiu's mouth. “Shizun, kindly assist me, won't you?”

His fingers plunge deep in, mimicking the way he'd fucked Shen Qingqiu's throat when he made him vomit all across the floor. They push deep, flexing and twisting, stroking his tongue and brushing the roof of his mouth.

He gags, saliva pooling and his stomach turning.

In, out, in, out – fucking his mouth and watching him choke on them with burning, hungry eyes.

His stomach heaves once and Luo Binghe rips his fingers out, hastily bringing them between his legs and shoving inside. He puts both in at once, hissing in pain.

“Ahh, ahh, Shizun,” Luo Binghe whimpers, fingering himself in rapid motions. “Inside me… Shizun’s taste inside me… Feels good…”

Fuck. Fuck. His thighs twitch, his stomach tensing. He can't even blink as he watches Luo Binghe's fingers plunging in and out of his once pristine, right hole, desperately fingering it out of shape. Crooking them, spreading them out, drawing them to the rim to rub Shen Qingqiu's saliva into it and then shoving back in again.

Embarrassingly enough, if the pain from his legs hadn't tempered his arousal, he'd likely have come just from watching.

At least he's not alone. Luo Binghe also looks unbearably turned on. His balls have drawn up, appearing swollen, and his cock is twitching hard in the air with every thrust of his fingers, drooling from the tip all across Shen Qingqiu's stomach. It's so much , and the smell of it is bitter and masculine, strong enough for Shen Qingqiu to breathe it in with every inhale. He feels dizzy and cottonmouthed, stupidly watching as Luo Binghe anally masturbates in front of him.

“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu manages through his dry throat.

Blinking, Luo Binghe seems to remember he's there. He draws his fingers out and shoves them into Shen Qingqiu's mouth again. The taste is bitter and earthy, and his hips buck as he comes–

Only, he doesn't.

Within him those writhing little parasites nibble and chew and bite until his orgasm stops in its tracks. He breathes out through his nose, his vision becoming blurry as his head rushes with blood. The fingers spread across his tongue, rubbing rubbing rubbing the taste of Luo Binghe in.

Luo Binghe coos at him. “Does it taste good?”

“Mmh.” Shen Qingqiu can't think right. He pants harshly through his nose and sucks on Luo Binghe's fingers until the taste is gone and all he can taste is skin. Luo Binghe needn't even do anything this time; Shen Qingqiu's tongue curls and licks eagerly enough to coat them with his drool.

When the hand withdraws, thick strands of saliva go with it, snapping off and dripping down Shen Qingqiu's chin. Slick and shining anew, Luo Binghe shoves them inside himself, fucking himself on them with increasingly wet, filthy sounds.

Luo Binghe arches back and spreads his fingers harshly open, stretching his hole wide until the insides can be seen: dark in colour, wet, and soft. Shen Qingqiu's head spins, his breath catching in his throat. That little hole fucked open by Luo Binghe's own fingers – he's going to be inside it soon.

Playfully, still stretching himself open for Shen Qingqiu to see, Luo Binghe asks, “Shizun, if you like it so much, next time shall I make you lick me there yourself?”

It feels as if lightning strikes the top of Shen Qingqiu's skull. His head feels suddenly very empty, the only thought rattling around in it being the idea of having Luo Binghe sitting on his face, grinding on his tongue, making him eat his ass open until he's permitted to fuck it.

A little, desperate squirt of liquid shoots out of his cock. It's not an orgasm, far from it. But it makes something within him splinter. His stomach feels lined with needles, the pleasure so immense that it hurts. So immense that he needs to come.

“Binghe, please, please…!”

Luo Binghe's eyes are dark. A black hunger writhes in the depths of them. It's a promise to consume him, to devour every last scrap of him, to turn him inside out and lick him clean down to his bones. Shen Qingqiu is willing, just let him come.

“I like that, Shizun. When you beg me. It's very good. I continue to be astounded by how sweet your voice can be, how much I can like you.”

If he likes it, have more! “Please, hurry, please, I can't wait any longer!”

Luo Binghe mercifully, blessedly, takes him in hand. He toys just for a moment with the cherry red head of it coated in clear liquid, just to hear him moan and beg once more, then presses it to his loosened hole and sits slowly down on it.

Oh, the feeling of it–

Shen Qingqiu's vision blacks out. He thinks he must be moaning, but his ears are ringing so loudly he can't hear. It feels so good, but he's already so hard and so close that it almost hurts.

Inside of Binghe is blisteringly hot. The remnants of saliva aren't enough to properly slick the way, making the deeper parts inside dry and constricting. His cockhead strokes something hard within and Luo Binghe jolts, clamping down tightly until it feels like he wants to crush him.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe hisses, rocking his hips just slightly to make Shen Qingqiu rub against that bump again. “Yes, yes, that spot–! Nngh, oh, oh, right there…!”

Shen Qingqiu cracks his eyes open, watching Luo Binghe ride him. Sweat stings them and his heart pounds in his throat. His stomach is taut with tension, shivering painfully with every twitch of his cock.

“Shizun, I dreamed of having you like this so often, so often. Every night in my youth living beside you in the bamboo house, just a door away from you, having spring dreams of you fucking me, using me, making me a hole to stroke your cock and feel good with,” Luo Binghe says, lifting himself up to the tip and dropping his hips heavily down. He finds a smooth rhythm and squeezes the depths of himself as he swallows Shen Qingqiu back down to the root, the pressure dizzyingly sweet.

And the things he says – Shen Qingqiu guiltily feels his cock throb at the thought. It's wrong. He would never have…

…

He shakes his head to banish the thought. In any case, the inverse is true. It's Shen Qingqiu who is just there to be used as a toy. His cock is a convenient plaything for Luo Binghe to get himself off with, with no relief to be had.

It's so… It's just so…

Shen Qingqiu feels his eyes grow hot. He can't tell if it's sweat or tears dripping down his cheeks. “I need to– Binghe I need to come! Please, please–”

Luo Binghe stares at him. His breathing becomes disordered and heavy. He stills for a moment, then his movements begin again, increasing in pace twofold. His hips slam down onto Shen Qingqiu's with every downward thrust, grinding at the bottom to get every last little bit inside of him. At the top, he lifts almost enough that Shen Qingqiu fears he'll slip out, just enough that his sticky hole stretches just a bit around the flared ridge of his cock.

Happily, Luo Binghe coos, “Shizun, be more pathetic for me! Beg me! Cry, and be pitiful!”

Fuck! Is this not enough?!

He grabs Luo Binghe's stupidly big dick flopping against his stomach and squeezes it with both hands. Pitiful, who? Pathetic, who? With a vicious twist of his hands, he milks the length of it, squeezing harder when Luo Binghe nearly shrieks.

“Shizun– ah! It hurts!” Then, ever the masochist, “It feels so good!”

“Let me come, now,” Shen Qingqiu says again, this time no longer begging. He can cry and look like a mess, but he is still the master, alright?! Bow down and show some respect for your elders!

Luo Binghe looks at him, lips popped into a pretty ‘o’ shape. He breathes out a long whine, and stiffens.

Then his cock pulses, long ropes of thick pearly semen striping Shen Qingqiu's chest and up his throat. Some of it splashes against his chin. It's hot and smells bitter. His mouth waters reflexively, remembering the taste of it.

In the next instant, the blood lock chaining his orgasm down shatters. He doesn't have enough time to brace himself, and he comes, his body locking up and curling inwards. His legs spasm. Pain and pleasure mix in a confusing blend but it doesn't stop him from seeding himself as deeply into Luo Binghe as he can.

It takes a long moment before they both finish.

In the afterglow of having a wonderful orgasm, Luo Binghe slowly relaxes. His expression is quite good: pink, warm, and unguarded. Even his zuiyin seems to have faded somewhat.

Even better, the System sends a notification:

[ Protagonist Satisfaction Points +500~! Amount left to unlock the key item: 9500. Keep up the good work! ୧⁠(⁠ ⁠˵⁠ ⁠°⁠ ⁠~⁠ ⁠°⁠ ⁠˵⁠ ⁠)⁠୨ ]

Shen Qingqiu, whose orgasm was not quite so nice, still feels a bit satisfied. His legs might be in poor shape, but his core is finally on the mend! Without-a-Cure has been ejected from his body and eaten up by Luo Binghe's instead, alongside his semen – hehe. And Luo Binghe is looking even better than he is.

What a success!

His insides feel pure and clean. Where once there were dams, muddy blockages stoppering up his veins and making his qi flow unnaturally, slowly, struggling to pass through, now his meridians flow in a steady stream. It feels as if cool water has been poured throughout his body. Refreshing and healing.

His core is a bit bruised feeling, a fledgling yet to properly spread its wings. But it's strong. His previous strength won't take long to recover.

With this, he will surely be able to fix Luo Binghe!

Luo Binghe takes a moment to revel in his bliss. When he slowly lifts himself up, Shen Qingqiu shivers from the feeling of his soft cock being stroked by the lax muscles. Frothy semen dribbles out around him, slowly sliding down in thick tracks, catching in his pubic hair. It'll be a terrible mess to clean up, but perhaps he can convince Luo Binghe to do it with his tongue before it dries. Isn't that a nice thought?

“Good boy, very good,” Shen Qingqiu lazily praises, half-heartedly rubbing the crown of Luo Binghe's head.

Luo Binghe all but purrs, arching up into his palm with a self-satisfied smile.

Then, Shen Qingqiu stretches his power a bit, and flows their qi together through Luo Binghe's scalp down to his spine, tracing his prime meridians and feeling how much damage he must undo. It will be a hefty task, but one he's quite prepared to undergo.

Luo Binghe stills. “Shizun. Your qi… It feels…”

“Indeed, you're astute. As it turns out, your heavenly demon blood has become quite the boon for me, as your body naturally withdrew the Without-a-Cure poison from mine, consuming it entirely.” Shen Qingqiu pets his head harder, scratching his scalp like he would a pampered kitten. He smiles warmly. “Thank you, Binghe. You've cured me.”

Luo Binghe cocks his head, his expression falling flat and empty. His complexion, which had begun to regain its normalcy and healthy hue, abruptly pales. The corners of his eyes become red and a muscle within his jaw jumps.

Something seems wrong. The air feels thin, and the stench of malicious, hateful demonic energy thickens around him. All of the fine hairs on the back of his neck rise on edge and his back breaks out in a cold sweat.

Luo Binghe slowly blinks.

Then –

Inside his skull, two icy hands grip his brain, nails sinking in and digging into the soft folds until they pierce all the way down to the stem.

The world goes dark and he is sunk into his own mind by sheer force.

Nightmares.

Nightmares upon nightmares upon nightmares–

They’re formless, melding into one another in nonsensical ways, a whirlwind of madness.

Luo Binghe’s dream realm is typically well defined, with detailed faces, exquisitely crafted textures, and distinct boundaries. He can craft an entire Peak full of disciples, each with a face, a voice, a personality. He can sculpt a forest of bamboo, a thousand blades of grass, the sun and the sky, with only a thought. His mastery over the dream realm is as easy as breathing.

But this is nothing like that. This is a soupy mess of sensations, twisting dreamlike forms, and pain. The ground beneath him is formless. It bends and melds with the sky. It’s messy. It’s artless.

The Endless Abyss forms from the ground beneath him, ripping reality apart, fire and black lightning sparking wildly. The reaching tendrils of demonic energy catch on Shen Qingqiu’s skin.  Hands reach out from the darkness, ripping fistfuls of skin from his body. He is dragged further and further and further in.

Forming from nothing, a wild bonfire surges around him, sizzling in his veins and cooking him from the inside out. The stench of burning flesh permeates the air. He burns. He burns until his bones are scorched. When he opens his mouth to scream, fire crawls down his throat into his lungs, until the only thing that comes up is frothing, boiling blood.

He is torn apart by wild beasts that merge with one another. All manner of creatures – dogs and snakes and spiders – all twisting together into a horrific creature with too many limbs, too many eyes, and too many teeth. An unceasing feast. The scraps of whatever is left of him is eaten by insects, his body and mind kept alive and conscious even as he is slowly consumed and digested by a thousand biting mouths.

He is forced to walk even when he wishes to stop, puppeteered forwards by invisible threads that pierce his flesh and anchor themselves into his bones. The sun is blistering and his scalp burns, his back turning red, his feet cracking and bleeding as he crosses an unending plain. He walks and walks and walks unceasingly.

When rain comes, no relief comes with it. It’s acidic. His skin sloughs off under the pelting rain with no shelter to be seen. And so he is forced to continue walking as his bones are exposed and bleached white by the rain and his soft parts – his eyes, his tongue – are washed out of his skull.

He dies.

His body reconstitutes.

He dies again, each death bloodier and crueler than the last.

Sometimes, the creatures that rip at his flesh seem somehow familiar. Distorted, blurring into one another and the dream world itself, yet he knows them. He’s read about them. These are monsters of the Abyss as described by the novel, only seen through a warped mirror.

Are these Luo Binghe’s own nightmares?

His experiences in the Endless Abyss had been brutal and needlessly harsh, all to induce pity and anger in the audience, incite the readers to support Luo Binghe’s blackening and cheer when he inevitably usurped and tortured his enemies. Only, not even the novel had described things so cruelly. Many things had been swept over and left to the audience’s imagination.

Even with mastery over the dream realm, plucking the minds of dreamers as harp strings, Luo Binghe is still human in part. He still has fears. Indeed, though he has the strength to reshape the world, conquer lands with the wave of his palm, and define the future itself, he is still a tender-hearted child at his core. A thorned rose, refusing to bloom.

The nightmares last so long he fears he will never wake again.

But wake he does.

When he comes to, Luo Binghe sits beside him, leaning over in a long, dark curtain of hair. In his hands, he holds a small vial and a thin needle.

“Shizun, did you sleep well?”

Shen Qingqiu blinks away tears. His eyes feel sticky and hot. He’s likely been crying in his sleep the entire while. His body hurts, fuck, even his hair hurts!

Luo Binghe doesn’t wait for a response and takes Shen Qingqiu’s left hand into his lap. Pale, cold fingers curl around his, stroking at the reliefs of his knuckles tenderly. The touches are gentle as the lapping of waves at a shore. It’s so distinctly loving that the exhausted Shen Qingqiu cannot quite muster any anger.

When he tries to speak, his throat is so dry and ragged from screaming in his sleep that the words dissipate into a pained rasp.

“Mm. It’s alright, Shizun. This won’t hurt for long,” Luo Binghe assures while smiling.

He pierces the needle into Shen Qingqiu’s palm. He does it a few times, almost creating a pattern, as though choosing those very specific spots for a reason. It’s not pleasant, but it’s still not as bad as the dreams, so he shouldn’t complain.

When he looks at his palm, he sees a bloody constellation pricked atop of old scars.

“Like this. You should be like this,” Luo Binghe says, kissing the marks. “This is the Shizun who loved me. This is the proof.”

A strangely cold sensation begins to gather in his palm. His hand suddenly feels weak and heavy, as though the energy in it were being sapped away. The weakening chill spreads up his arm, to his elbow, then his shoulder. His veins, pumping blood to his heart, then back out, carry the chill with them, until it’s reached his entire body.

First, his limbs become leaden. Then his skin becomes cold. His head feels tight, caught in a vice-like squeeze, and it abruptly becomes hard to focus his eyes. His spine hurts, his gums hurt, even the beds of his nails feel tight and achy.

Deeper within, his meridians stutter and stall. His core becomes swallowed by a thick, muddy ooze, stifling and suffocating it until he can barely feel it.

Speaking through the pain in his dry throat, Shen Qingqiu extremely calmly asks, “Binghe, that vial – what’s in it?”

He needn’t ask; it’s such a familiar sensation by now that he could name it even in his sleep. But he wants to hear it said aloud.

Luo Binghe smiles. His expression is so warm and gooey, so distinctly loving and without malice, that it’s difficult to feel mad. “Shizun, don’t be angry. It’s only that, for me, that day is when I felt the happiest in the entire world. That day is when Shizun truly opened my eyes and showed me how much he loved me and wished to dote on me, to protect me.

Anyways, I can always fuck Shizun again to cure it, right? And then Shizun can prove his love all over again, and again, and again, with this!”

He shakes the vial with a cute little grin. The sound of liquid can be heard within, more than enough to coat the needle a few dozen times more.

It’s so pitiful. It’s just… so miserable.

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes drift shut, the lids heavy as iron, and his head pounding with the oncoming fever induced by Without-a-Cure. Two arms wrap around him and gently cradle him as he succumbs, rocking him to sleep as though he were a doll in a child’s arms.

He dreams of blessed nothing.

The next time they dual cultivate, Shen Qingqiu is taken. He’s flipped onto his back and his legs are spread, everything below his knees twinging with a deep pain. That pain is echoed in his ass and stomach as they’re forcefully pried open.

“Shizun, Shizun, ah,” Binghe happily chants.

He’s inside of Shen Qingqiu, large enough that the shape can be seen through the lower part of his belly, distended. His hips are pumping in rough, choppy motions.

Shen Qingqiu bites his tongue and bears it. Through their point of connection he soothes Luo Binghe’s fried qi points, snaking his own thin and fading qi through to rebalance his demonic and human energies. As long as he has access to his core, he can still heal Luo Binghe and draw him back from the edge he seems so determined to careen across.

At least for now, he needn’t die yet.

Luo Binghe fucks him, drooling into his hair and cooing sweet nothings into his ear.

“Shizun, you’re so warm inside.”

“Shizun, I’ll ruin you until you’re only suitable for me.”

“Shizun, I like you so much.”

Half of the words are humiliating and filthy, the other half like the sweet confessions they’d shared in front of Zheng Yang. It's a dizzying mixture of emotions that stirs him up inside.

Gradually the pain of the penetration eases into something bittersweet, both painful and pleasurable. He feels like an animal, gasping and panting, writhing under Luo Binghe's body. Every thrust gets deeper and deeper and deeper until it begins to knock at something else within him. It's tight, almost like a second hole, that explodes with a shocking pleasure as Luo Binghe's weighty, thick cockhead presses harder and harder against it.

“Fuck,” Shen Qingqiu gasps. It's the first word he's said during their tryst. “Binghe, ah, fuck, don't–”

Luo Binghe's nostrils flare and bright red light flares in the pits of his eyes. With the flash of teeth and the way his body flexes, he has the countenance of a tiger preparing to pounce on its prey. Yet, his tone is still gentle and pleading as he begs, “Shizun, Shizun, I need to. Ah, please, let me in. Take me deeper in your pussy, please.”

Shen Qingqiu's gut jerks as if he's been kicked. Everything inside clenches, but it doesn't prevent Luo Binghe from grabbing his hips and bearing down on him until the tip penetrates that tight spot. Little by little, he pushes until the flare of his cockhead slips in.

Shen Qingqiu's eyes roll back, his broken legs twitching uselessly. His hands claw into the long tangled hair curtaining around him, tugging mindlessly, the world spinning as he's gently and excruciatingly impaled.

It hurts to have it pierced, yet it feels so good he feels as if he's melting into a puddle. Just a gooey, wet mess for Luo Binghe to fuck, like a well-worn cocksleeve, being fucked out of shape until loose. Every thrust into that tight ring makes it feel as if Luo Binghe's cock is pushing into Shen Qingqiu's brain, pounding him senseless. It takes every bit of self-control to keep his stream of qi steady as it spools through Luo Binghe's meridians.

Luo Binghe buries himself as deep in as he can, twitching hard enough that it feels his cock is tugging Shen Qingqiu's innards out of shape.

“Shizun, I'm fucking your womb,” Luo Binghe groans, low and deep, right into his ear.

Shen Qingqiu, in the midst of unknotting one of the meridians along the wood line in Luo Binghe’s body, comes without so much as a finger touching his cock. His face turns hot in shame as the mess puddles on his stomach, as yet more of it is pushed out with every thrust.

Luo Binghe pushes his hand against the shape of himself distending from Shen Qingqiu’s belly, and strokes roughly, masturbating himself from the outside using the mess of semen as lubricant. Filthy. Absolutely filthy.

The task of repairing Luo Binghe's meridians falls a bit to the wayside as Shen Qingqiu gets his brains fucked out for the next few hours.

[ Current point stat: 750/10000! Keep it up! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ ]

What the hell? Half the point increase for Luo Binghe topping? What is this unscientific nonsense?! Please explain!

The System simply sends another cutesy kaomoji.

Once done, he's poisoned again. His palm is pricked in the same spots, and he falls into the same fever, cradles in the same way until he sleeps.

Innumerable days pass in this way.

They’ve swapped places many times, enough that Shen Qingqiu cannot be sure which way they prefer. Luo Binghe seems to come more often when he’s taking it, but he equally seems unable to resist plowing Shen Qingqiu into the ground. If Luo Binghe could contort himself to take it and give it at the same time, he surely would.

At the end, once they’ve both been wrung out dry, he is re-poisoned with Without-a-Cure and cast into a spiralling fever that takes days to recover from. First three days, then four, until finally it takes a week for him to resurface.

What must be months in, when Luo Binghe brushes his hair, a large clump of it comes out. They stare at it together.

“Shizun… You… What is this…?” The words are tremulous, frightened.

Shen Qingqiu hums thoughtfully.

Has he become so far gone that he doesn’t recognize that Without-a-Cure is killing his beloved master? If so, then Luo Binghe’s mental state is so fragile that even one more blow might result in him finally losing his mind. His soul could possibly be consumed by Xin Mo and the resulting explosion from his qi deviation would end Shen Qingqiu’s life, and the lives of any others who may be nearby.

His satisfaction points have been growing quite steadily with every orgasm Luo Binghe has, so the key item will soon be within his grasp. Until then, Shen Qingqiu must coddle him a bit.

Rather than respond, he turns over and pushes Luo Binghe down. After a sloppy blowjob, Luo Binghe rides him, and happily forgets about Shen Qingqiu’s obvious illness. A few hundred satisfaction points are gained.

[ Current point stat: 7250/10000! Good luck! (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ ]

A spoon is pushed at his lips. The lukewarm food dribbles down his chin when he’s too dazed to open his lips. Nausea rockets through him as his head is tilted upwards by two cold fingers at his chin. Even that small movement is enough to make him feel dizzy, as if stuck on a rollercoaster that won’t stop taking steep drops.

The Without-a-Cure poison is certainly no joke! The first dosage had been bad enough, but repeated exposure has only increased its effects.

“Shizun, ah…” Luo Binghe shivers. His voice is indistinct through the ringing in Shen Qingqiu’s ears. “Shizun, I really like it so much. That you’re like this. Unable to run, unable to lie, unable to do anything but be mine.”

“You don’t,” Shen Qingqiu whispers, barely opening his lips. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet, fearful of puking up what little food Luo Binghe has managed to make him keep down. “I know you. You don’t like this.”

The fingers under his chin tremble faintly. “I do. I have to.”

It’s not true. How can the tender-hearted young man who gently wished to know all of Shen Qingqiu’s thoughts, to dress him, to feed him, to sleep next to him, to make all of his favourite foods – how can that same person ever want Shen Qingqiu like this?

Luo Binghe craved doing violent things to him, that is true. To hurt him as he’d been hurt in the Abyss, to satiate all of his resentment, to relieve all of his grudges. Shen Qingqiu is willing to admit to that, and even submit himself to his punishment. It’s only fair.

But, no matter how angry he was, Luo Binghe never wanted him like this. He’d even broken down and begged to help when seeing Shen Qingqiu in the midst of a Without-a-Cure flare. Luo Binghe adores speaking with him, listening to him, and sharing their daily lives together attached shoulder to hip.

This is not Luo Binghe’s desire. It is Xin Mo’s.

Shen Qingqiu lifts his hand and loosely wraps it around Luo Binghe’s wrist. “You don’t need to pretend.”

Luo Binghe sits for a moment, staring at their hands. Then he pulls away sharply, his face drawing inwards with pain, teeth bared and brow furrowed. Through his teeth, he repeats with pained aggravation, “I have to. If I don’t have you like this… If… If I don’t… Then I can’t have you at all, can I?”

The words are as hollow as they are pitiful. It’s just so pitiful. Something bittersweet clogs his throat.

Before Shen Qingqiu can speak, Luo Binghe switches his attention to the bowl of watery congee. “Shizun, if you can’t eat by yourself, shall I feed it to you?”

His tone is mischievous and light-hearted. He spoons the mixture into his own mouth, then with those two fingers his gently pries open Shen Qingqiu’s lips. He bends over, chews a bit, then spits it onto Shen Qingqiu’s tongue.

The food has become warmed by Luo Binghe's body heat, and thinned more by his saliva. It's a strange consistency. Congee is already somewhat smooth, but to have it already chewed by another person and then baby-birded to him… Even the taste has taken just the slightest hint of Luo Binghe's flavour, something a touch spicy, like ginger.

Shen Qingqiu doesn't fuss. He swallows the mouthful and parts his lips without urging for the next. Luo Binghe almost spills on himself as he eagerly scoops more up to chew and spit. The wet noise of him chewing feels a bit dirty. His stomach clenches uncomfortably, something shameful coiling in him that he feebly attempts to pass off as simply nausea.

It should make him feel ill! What sane person wouldn't feel ill at something like this?! Yet it strangely helps the food go down easier.

Binghe spits in his mouth again, more saliva than congee, and watches him swallow it down with unrepentant aroused joy. His breathing is disordered, coming in rough pants through his nose. The way he looks, the intensity, the sharp hunger as if he wants to eat Shen Qingqiu alive and bloody… It's the same when they make love.

It must be hot in here. His collar suddenly feels a bit sweaty.

“Shizun, I know you feel ill, but I really… really…” Luo Binghe groans pitifully, hunching his shoulders and rubbing his legs together. He's hard enough that the thick shape of him can be seen through his robes.

If Luo Binghe fucks him now, he'll definitely puke. It wouldn't be the first time he'd have been forced to vomit for Luo Binghe's pleasure, but it would certainly be a mood killer, that's for sure.

Shen Qingqiu licks his lips and tastes Luo Binghe's saliva. Perhaps being so sick has thickened his face a bit, as he finds himself saying, “... Why don't you touch yourself and come? Come right there, and then together with the congee, you may feed me the rest.”

‘You may', as if he's giving permission! How fucking kind of you, Shen Qingqiu!! Drop dead!!!

Luo Binghe squeaks. It sounds almost like a hiccup, small and shy. He toys with the edge of the bowl with uncertain fingers. “Here? Right here?”

Oh, god, please don't make him say it again. Please let the cave collapse and crush them both right now.

Binghe's maiden-like shyness melts away like flakes of snow on a hot palm. Voice lowering in register, Luo Binghe taunts, “Shizun, you want to eat it? You liked it so much the first time, now you want to have it again? Were you sad you didn't have the chance to swallow it before?”

He shuts his eyes, ostensibly to soothe his nausea. Definitely not so he doesn't see Luo Binghe part his clothing and begin to stroke himself. Quiet, slick sounds can be heard as the foreskin is drawn back and forth over the fat head of Luo Binghe's cock. Each wet noise makes Shen Qingqiu's stomach turn over in an anxious, giddy way. He's not even looking, but he knows how Luo Binghe gets when he's turned on. It's stupidly hot, and right now he's too sick to get horny.

“Shizun, why won't you look? Don't you like it? This part,” Luo Binghe says, taking Shen Qingqiu's hand and loosely wrapping it around something velvety and hot. He gently squeezes his fingers and feels the thick veins, the way it pulses with Luo Binghe's heartbeat. “This part, you've always looked at it with such lust in your eyes. I'm a bit sad that Shizun never took advantage of it when I lived under his roof as a boy. Is that why Shizun whipped me? To purify himself of how much he wanted my cock, even then?”

Shen Qingqiu's throat clicks as he swallows. His eyes drift uneasily beneath his eyelids. “No. I never… I would never have…”

Whipping him or touching him, Shen Qingqiu isn't sure which he's denying.

“I wish you would have,” Luo Binghe says. He leans in and presses a dry kiss to Shen Qingqiu's temple. His lips whisper against his hairline. “I wish Shizun would have fucked me every night, morning, and day. After whipping me. After beating me. After starving me. It would have been worth it so long as you fucked me after.”

“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu groans through gritted teeth. He's trying very hard not to get horny here, alright?! Stop! Stop! Pump the breaks, please!

“Shizun, it's alright,” Luo Binghe soothes. He draws their entwined hands with more force up and down the length of him. They pass their palms over the head of him and slick them with his drooling precome, enough that his entire shaft gradually becomes soaked with it as they rub it in. “Shizun, I'm happy. Even if there's nothing else you like, you've always liked this part, so I'm happy.”

Shen Qingqiu shakes his head, swallowing a rush of saliva when the movement makes his nausea rear its head. “I like… everything about Binghe. I… I think I rather like Binghe… very much.”

“Don't lie.”

Shen Qingqiu pries open his eyelids then. He turns his face just enough to meet Luo Binghe's unamused gaze. “I like you.”

Luo Binghe's lashes flutter. They're close enough that he can count each one, see the shadows they cast on his eyes. His cheeks grow more pink, his lips parting around small, shallow breaths. His pupils tremble. “Shizun, please. Please don't… Don't say such things anymore.”

“I like you,” he says again with more force.

Luo Binghe blinks. When he opens his eyes, they seem a bit shiny, and his lower lashes have clumped together with liquid. Luo Binghe looks at him with an expression at once miserable, like that of a soggy cat, and yet hungry, making him seem a bit feral, as if he hasn't seen a kind hand in his entire life and wants to bite the first one that tries to pet him.

Despite that, in their hands his erection has stiffened up, weeping unceasingly until it drips over their knuckles and wrists. “Don't… Don't…”

Shen Qingqiu fists the cock in his hands as hard as he can, dragging his hand from the root to tip. He kisses Luo Binghe's cheek, and says, “Binghe, I like you.”

With a pained whimper, Luo Binghe drops his head heavily onto Shen Qingqiu's shoulder, and comes. He barely has enough sense to bring the bowl of congee to his waist and empty his balls into it, plentiful stripes of thick pearly white settling atop the cooling mixture. It's distinct, yet when Luo Binghe stirs it lightly with the tip of his cock, it mixes in easily until it can barely be seen.

Luo Binghe looks at him, then stands to let Shen Qingqiu lick the mess off his dick, which he does without complaint. He suckles on the head of it until the taste of come and congee have gone and all that's left is his natural musky taste.

As an appetizer, it's not bad.

“Shizun, you really…” Luo Binghe trails off.

Without another word, Luo Binghe scoops some into his own mouth and chews it up, watching Shen Qingqiu with hooded eyes. He leans in, and spits into Shen Qingqiu's open and waiting mouth, then licks the seam of his lips when he closes them to swallow.

After another spoonful, they rapidly devolve into a messy makeout. The bowl is topped up with more come and sloppily shared between their mouths until it is eventually eaten up.

It takes another month for the status quo to change.

Shen Qingqiu wakes from a slurry of wild, confusing, and upsetting nightmares, to Luo Binghe scooping him up and unceremoniously carting him through a torn slit in the fabric of reality. They exit into a different cavern, this air damp and the walls shining with bioluminescent moss. That’s the only light that can be seen, so deep into this cavern that the exit out is unable to be discerned.

Before he can fully take stock of the new living quarters, he’s carefully laid down into a bed of rumpled clothing and sheets, whatever Luo Binghe had managed to bring with them. Ever thoughtful, even in the midst of chaos.

“Wha’happen?” he mumbles, barely properly awake.

“I already know!” Luo Binghe yells. He’s not looking at Shen Qingqiu. He’s shouting at the wall again.

His face is white as snow, his zuiyin unfurling and burning red. There are deep shadows under his eyes, dark enough to nearly be mistaken as bruises. A faint tremor runs down Binghe’s body, the hand wrapped around Xin Mo shivering, the blade twitching.

Luo Binghe looks extremely ill. His qi is barely restrained, whipping wildly. The air becomes hot with the power leaking from him. A faint hiss can be heard as steam rises from the damp ground.

“It doesn’t matter! Let him call them! Let him see – just let him see what I’ll do to them!” Luo Binghe shouts, haphazardly swiping Xin Mo through the air.

Call ‘them’? With that emphasis, can’t only mean one thing – that Cang Qiong Mountain Sect had somehow tracked them down and forced Luo Binghe to retreat? He doesn’t appear bloodier than normal. Hopefully that indicates that the ground had not been watered with blood, and that his martial brethren remain intact.

His heart rushes into his throat.

Shang Qinghua. He still has a chance of contacting him.

If they’ve found them once, they’ll find them again. Shen Qingqiu sticks his hand slowly into his robes. Luo Binghe had scooped up only a few robes when kidnapping him. Among those chosen had been his favourite robe to wear while relaxing in bed, and within the inner pocket of it is a crumbled note, the very same one he’d stashed away in it when Mu Qingfang had visited.

He thumbs over it – 

Airplane,

Big brother Ice is back. I need the mushroom body prepared as soon as possible. I cannot escape without worry, so please confirm the place and time at your convenience. If I die, I will haunt your miserable life and ensure Big brother Ice kills you next.

Yours,

Cucumber.

It’s somewhat faded now but the words are still distinct.

When he glances over, Luo Binghe is muttering to himself, stalking back and forth at the mouth of the passage that must lead out of the cavern. In the darkness, lit by the bioluminescence and the shining from his forehead, Luo Binghe appears like a strange ghost. An eerie spirit outlined in red and blue.

His eyes, coloured a seeping, wounded red, flash back and forth, settling on Shen Qingiqu only once every few seconds. His hair is becoming limp and greasy from lack of care. Even his protagonist-granted good looks are failing! What a calamity!

Shen Qingqiu holds the note, the paper rustling quietly between his fingers. When Luo Binghe looks away, he quickly turns over and stuffs the note behind a rock. Only the tiniest corner of it sticks out. If you didn’t know to look for it, it wouldn’t appear out of place.

“Don’t you dare touch him!” Luo Binghe roars suddenly, slashing Xin Mo at nothing. He carves out a large chunk of the wall opposite him. “Hold your tongue, or I’ll rip it out!”

Wow. What a sight to see: Luo Binghe vs. Luo Binghe's brain. Who will win?!

Shen Qingqiu slaps himself. This is no time for jokes! Luo Binghe is in serious danger of deviating! If that happens, all of his effort will be discarded as easily as a woman's common sense in the original novel.

To prevent any further issues, he throws his robes off and spreads his legs. “Binghe. Come here.”

Luo Binghe, ever obedient, stops his ranting and looks over. As if struck by lightning he jolts, eyes flaring wide. He stops and stares for a second. Then a healthy colour returns to his face as he flushes a pretty red, somewhat shy looking despite all the filthy things they've already done together. What a maidenly face!

If only the thing between his legs were maidenly, then it wouldn't be so troublesome taking all of it inside with force the moment Luo Binghe's brain starts working again.

As they make love, Luo Binghe bursts into a crying fit on top of him, bawling his eyes out and begging Shen Qingqiu not to leave him.

Shen Qingqiu holds him tightly and accepts him inside until they're so deeply entwined it feels as though they meld at the seams, two bodies becoming one, so tightly pressed into one another that their hearts beat in time together.

The second time, Shen Qingqiu is awake for their quick escape. He has enough time to take a quick glance at the moss beside his makeshift bed and spy the little scrap of paper sticking out from behind a conspicuous rock. The deeply ill Luo Binghe hasn’t noticed it, but a group of high-class cultivators searching for every clue surely would.

They will find it. Eventually, it will make its way into Shang Qinghua’s hands. It will. It must.

Luo Binghe is erratic and absent-minded after they flee.

With his thoughts so scattered, he frequently forgets to induce Shen Qingqiu’s coma when he leaves to track Cang Qiong’s movements. He flits in and out of their home with glazed over eyes and his lips constantly moving around silent mutters to himself and the spirits haunting him.

It’s often enough that Shen Qingqiu has time to slowly carve out an array on the ground, etching the intricate lines gradually whenever his nausea and fever passes enough that he can see straight. When done, he covers it with the only threadbare blanket they still have, with most of their belongings having been left behind the three times they've relocated now – once from Cang Qiong and twice from their cavernous homes.

With every line of the array he carves, he carves his own gravestone. It’s a bit macabre, but he’s been quite emotionally prepared for this for some time.

How long will it take for the plant body to mature?

Had Shang Qinghua even actually read the note?

Will this rudimentary array even allow his soul to be transported to begin with?

There are a thousand questions, but the answer will only be seen once he commits to his plan. Perhaps he’s a coward, but even as he watches Luo Binghe spiral, he waits. Even just another day, another hour, another minute, just so Shang Qinghua has more time.

He isn’t allowed much time to be a coward, in the end.

After another two weeks, Luo Binghe bursts back into the cave with wild, red eyes. From the pupils and irises to the whites, all of it looks wild, red and insane. He hasn’t slept or eaten in days. Every waking moment is spent talking to the shadows on the wall or roaming beyond the cave where Shen Qingqiu cannot reach; his legs have recovered enough to walk short distances but the pain of every step on his poorly healed shins puts him off trying to go very far.

“Why, why, why…?!” Luo Binghe asks, half-mad. One hand loosely holds Xin Mo and the other claws at his own forehead. His nails dig troughs into his skin that heal sluggishly, over and over in a criss-crossing pattern until blood pours down his face. He speaks through gritted teeth, as though every word must be forcefully plucked from deep within him. “Why do you keep… keep calling them? Why do you keep bringing other people here…?”

Shen Qingqiu feels quite wronged. He’d left a note for Shang Qinghua, but beyond that he’s quite innocent. “Binghe, I wouldn’t–”

“I know,” Luo Binghe interrupts. His expression is pained, veins standing starkly out from his forehead, his brow furrowed and his teeth bared in a semblance of a smile. He laughs. It’s a cold, empty, defeated sound. “I know it’s you. Again and again. You… They were right. The only way… The only way I can truly keep you forever… is as a corpse.”

At those words, Xin Mo vibrates in Luo Binghe’s hand, and vile blackish red light emanates from it in pulsing, sickening waves. A shrill ringing sound echoes deep within Shen Qingqiu’s ears; vertigo shoots through him and his vision spins, darkening at the edges.

Abruptly, a sinister thought crosses Shen Qingqiu’s mind.

Has Cang Qiong truly zeroed in on their location, or is this just another paranoid delusion caused by Xin Mo? Have they ever located them? Or has it always been Xin Mo poisoning the well, sowing seeds of chaos in Luo Binghe’s mind?

Has all of his plans – the Sun Dew Mushroom, the note, the array carving hidden just below him – has it all been for nothing? Has he failed? Will his death truly be meaningless in the end?

Something chilly sinks into him. It seeps into his lungs and heart and bones, turning them into cold iron. It’s heavy. It makes him feel so exhausted.

He’s never been an individual who needs to win at everything. He’s quite content with coming in tenth place, so long as eleven people are competing. No one can blame him for coming this far and surrendering at the end.

Would it not just be better to let Luo Binghe kill him and be done with it?

Luo Binghe staggers towards him with a pitiful, pained face, his hands trembling as they hold Xin Mo out to carve him down into a bloody stump and kill him off. His eyes look wet, and tears run down his pale cheeks. He's crying again. Barely able to speak over his hitching, trembling breathing, Luo Binghe begs, “Pl–ease don't– don't leave me… Please, Shizun, pl–please, I can– endure anything but that.”

What a pitiful face. It makes Shen Qingqiu's heart ache to the core.

As the desire to coddle that pathetic child overwhelms his nihilistic thoughts, Shen Qingqiu blinks. A fog that had settled over his brain, which he had not even noticed, suddenly thins.

… What the fuck is he thinking? Let it be said that Shen Qingqiu has done many stupid things, that much he won't deny, but rolling over and giving up at this exact moment in time would be the stupidest among them. The crown gem of stupidity. He has not done everything to stop at this. How can he finish tenth if he doesn't even cross the finish line?

With great force, he focuses and repels the dark pressure influencing his thoughts. The ringing in his ears lessens and he casts Xin Mo a dirty look. He hasn't even touched the damn sword and he'd been taken under its influence. That isn't playing fair.

System, now would be a very good time to unlock the key item, Shen Qingqiu pointedly thinks.

[ Current point stat: 9500/10000. Please continue to work hard! (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠) ]

If Shen Qingqiu could, he would wrap both of his hands around the System's neck and throttle it. He hasn't been able to have sex with Luo Binghe lately as his mentally unwell little sheep has been running around too much to sit down in one place and be seduced. It only makes sense for his points to be lacking, but to only be lacking this much? Just his fucking luck.

With only 500 points left to go, who cares if Cang Qiong is knocking on their door or not?! He needs to fuck Luo Binghe this very instant! It's life or death!!

He stands, valiantly suppressing the pain that shoots up from his legs. A bit of pain now will mean nothing in a few minutes.

“Binghe,” he says warmly, opening his hands palms out to show he means no harm. “Binghe. Come here. Let Shizun hold you.”

“Sh–i–izun,” Luo Binghe sniffles, his hand holding Xin Mo shaking. He’s barely holding onto the sword, but his fingers seem frozen in place, unable to let go. “My h–head hurts…”

Shen Qingqiu shushes him, approaching slowly with his palms still held out. Luo Binghe twitches bodily, but doesn’t raise his sword. “I know. Come here. I’ll kiss it better.”

After another few careful steps, Shen Qingqiu is able to come close enough to cup his hands around Luo Binghe’s, gently prying them away from Xin Mo. Luo Binghe’s fingers tremble and shake uncontrollably, and his expression twists into horrific pain, his zuiyin surging out and crawling over his skin.

“You’re trying to trick me again,” Luo Binghe gasps.

Shen Qingqiu decisively shuts him up by kissing him. There’s a bitter, metallic taste on his lips from the blood he’d drawn earlier, and past that there’s an even more sour flavour like ash and something rotting. Xin Mo’s corrosive energy is killing him from the inside out. A lesser being than he would have already collapsed, their meridians collapsing in on themselves and their heart exploding.

As the protagonist, Luo Binghe has every right to a golden and undying body. But immortality isn’t all it’s cracked up to be if you’re damned to being slowly consumed by an evil sword.

“Binghe, be a good boy, and let Shizun take care of you.” He keeps his tone soft and soothing, and presses harder at Luo Binghe’s hands, pushing them away from the sword. “Just let go for a moment, alright? Be good.”

Luo Binghe’s obedience is often affected. It’s roleplay. But even that play-acting is based on truth; Luo Binghe is still his disciple, and craves his approval. If his master gives him an order, like a child he wants to obey and be praised for it. In this way he is finally convinced. Luo Binghe drops Xin Mo and follows Shen Qingqiu backwards towards the hidden array, his eyes glazed over and feverishly bright.

The sword clatters noisily to the side, toppling back and landing beside the array.

Shen Qingqiu guides them atop the thin blanket, rubbing their noses together and murmuring soothing nothings. It’s easy to convince Luo Binghe to take the receiving position. They roll over with grasping hands pulling at clothing, Shen Qingqiu settling in between Luo Binghe’s thighs.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe whimpers pathetically. His lashes are clumped wetly together and his nose is red from crying. His zuiyin seems to almost throb, stretching deeper and deeper down his neck and collar. “Shizun. My head hurts…”

“I know.” Shen Qingqiu kisses him. “It won’t hurt, very soon.”

He doesn’t bother with preparing either of them. It will hurt, but Luo Binghe can come despite that. Luo Binghe’s skin is clammy and cold, slick with sweat, but between his legs is still warm. It yields as Shen Qingqiu presses himself in, slowly pushing into the dry heat.

The shape of Luo Binghe’s insides is intimately familiar by now. It takes him in, trembling and clenching down on him.

Luo Binghe claws desperately at his back, clutching him to his chest, until their hearts beat against one another. He doesn’t allow a single inch between them. He presses his face into Shen Qingiqu’s neck and cries quietly. “Shizun, please… Please don’t leave me…”

Between their stomachs, Luo Binghe’s cock is fully erect. With their bodies pressed together like this, Shen Qingqiu can only grind into him, not quite thrusting, rubbing circles until it becomes hot and sticky inside. Their bellies grow slick with precome and sweat. At his neck, with Luo Binghe’s face buried against it, his hair and throat become soaked with tears and sticky remnants of blood.

He doesn’t know what to say. It’s necessary to part for a time, but he cannot say that now.

He focuses instead on moving his hips, stirring his cock within Luo Binghe, rubbing deep inside to stroke the pleasurable spot there. Each brush against it makes Luo Binghe shiver and bear down on him.

To know another body like this, in and out – his old virginal NEET self would have dropped dead in shock!

“Please don't leave me… Please don't leave me…”

“Binghe, ah.” Shen Qingqiu smiles helplessly. He pets Luo Binghe's hair softly, stroking it soothingly. He's wrapped up in Luo Binghe's arms and legs, clung to like a child clings to their mother, gently soothing him as he fucks into the tight spot between his legs. “Binghe. Shizun will take care of everything. Just feel good.”

Luo Binghe makes tiny whimpering noises against him. His hips undulate, his legs hooked behind Shen Qingqiu's back and squeezing. His thick cock swells and drips with every motion.

It's really a fantastic cheat code to earning points. The protagonist can last for years when putting it in, but when taking it? He's a quick shot.

“That's right. Feel good. Binghe, let's come together.”

Luo Binghe nods into his neck, his breathing growing shallower and quicker. His motions become sloppy and the force with which he presses them together almost hurts, but the clinginess is just so cute that Shen Qingqiu couldn't dare tell him to stop. They messily press themselves together until finally something unravels.

With a relieved groan, Shen Qingqiu empties himself into Luo Binghe. Between their chests, warm liquid shoots out, seeping against their stomachs and up to their pecs, making the slide sticky and hot. It's a distinctly filthy sensation. Shen Qingqiu finds he likes it quite a bit.

Luo Binghe gasps in pleasure, panting and mewling. “Shizun, Shizun, Shizun–”

Then, the thing Shen Qingqiu has been waiting for finally happens.

[ 10000/10000 points achieved! ⁽⁠⁽⁠◝⁠(⁠ ⁠•⁠௰⁠•⁠ ⁠)⁠◜⁠⁾⁠⁾ Key item now unlocked. Would user like to deploy the key item: Fake Jade Guanyin? ]

Shen Qingqiu will kill someone if he has to see another kaomoji. Shut up. Just give it to me now.

[ Loading key item… ]

Finally. No more bastard scenario pushers, no more tricks, no more playing around with this System. He gets the jade Guanyin, fair and square.

As an added bonus, his core is refreshed, the heavy burden of Without-a-Cure lifted once more. His ailing body is thin, aching, all but falling apart, but with his core cleansed and accessible he feels stronger than he has in a long time. He soothes himself with the knowledge that this time will be the last.

Shen Qingqiu cradles the back of Luo Binghe’s head, holding him closer. He kisses the lank and sweaty hair. “Binghe, listen to me. Are you listening?”

Luo Binghe nods, sniffling miserably.

“Binghe. In the south-east of the jianghu, there is a forest with high spiritual energy. In that forest, there is a clearing, surrounded by thousand year old trees. In that clearing, that is where you will find me.”

Luo Binghe stills.

“Shizun. What does that mean?”

The loading bar completes. Shining dully in the low light of the cavern, a green jewel can be seen tucked into the folds of the blanket just beside Luo Binghe's head. Shen Qingqiu plucks the cord connected to the jewel, a jade Guanyin, and quickly ties it around Luo Binghe's neck. It settles comfortably on his chest.

It's been years since it's sat in its proper place around Luo Binghe's neck, but the weight is immediately familiar. The stone, at first cold, quickly adapts to his body and warms. The dull colour seems, in that moment, to be as bright as starlight.

Luo Binghe's eyes turn round as coins. The pulsing red on his face fades, the swirling violent lines of his zuiyin softening and disappearing into his skin, like blood seeping beneath the ground and being covered by fresh snow. His irises fade into smooth black. His breathing stutters, and two tracks of fresh warm tears streak down his cheeks.

“It's my… Shizun, you kept it? All these years? Like Zheng Yang?”

Shen Qingqiu lays his hand over it, pressing it against where he can feel Luo Binghe's heart beating. A warm, fond feeling fills his heart until it spills over, full enough to burst. He stares at Luo Binghe's face, clean and clear of the dark insanity that's slowly eaten him away for the first time in months. Right now, he looks exactly like the precious child he loves. “Remember what I told you, Binghe. I don't know how long it will take, but wait for me there. If… If I don't wake, then live a good life. Find someone who will take care of you. Be a good boy.”

Luo Binghe seizes him around the shoulders, clinging to him with a frightened look. “Why do you keep talking like that? Whatever you're doing… Just stop!”

The thing Luo Binghe fears most is being abandoned.

His birth mother had died. His adoptive mother had died. He'd never known another kind hand, never felt truly special to anyone. When he dedicates his heart, he dedicates it in full.

Shen Qingqiu hasn't treated that heart very well. That is his own cross to bear.

It's almost a little funny. When he'd read the novel, he had been excited to see Xin Mo, the same as all the other dudebro commenters. He'd enjoyed seeing how powerful Luo Binghe became with it. The small tease of world building Xin Mo brought that Airplane Shooting Toward the Sky half-heartedly threw in, as if that would be enough to make up for the rest of his bullshit. He would never have imagined someday finding the sword so reprehensible.

An immortal life chained by something evil, something that can twist an innocent child's desire to be loved into something vile, is not a life at all.

Shen Qingqiu turns and quickly snatches Xin Mo from beside them. It burns his palms down to the bone. The energy within it writhes, serpentine and wild, thrashing and biting and burning into him. It is cold and boiling at once, freezing his veins and melting his meridians.

“Shizun, stop–!”

Holding Xin Mo close, before Luo Binghe can say another word, Shen Qingqiu self-detonates.

Chapter Text

“You there, sir! Come, I’ll give you a good deal! Freshly harvested herbs and summer fruits–”

“Fresh catch of the day, half a pound of snapper for five hundred yuan–”

“Sir, sir, need new boots? Very cheap, very good quality!”

In a town known as Jiao Xi City, tucked alongside a long winding river which is the heart of their trade, there is a thriving market. Hosted every day, beginning from the first chirping of birds until the sun sleepily settles behind the vast forest of ancient trees to the east, the market bursts with activity. Every corner is bustling with vendors and customers alike haggling, a constant thrum of voices fighting down to the last cent.

The smells of steaming bao, vegetables still covered in the dirt they were pulled from, rich perfumes, and the sweat of many working men and women mix into a strange medley. Mixed with the smell of the lakeside and fishmongers hawking their wares, it has a comforting scent. Simple and humble.

The sun is at its zenith, bearing down on the canvas-covered stalls and milling crowds. While the summer has come into full swing, the cool breeze coming in from the river cuts through the heat.

Two figures in the crowd stand in front of a stall selling a housewife’s homemade perfume sachets made by flowers plucked from her garden, dried, and tied into pouches she and her daughters had sewn and embroidered by hand. Between the two, a small and rehearsed argument is taking place.

“We need new ones. I have always kept four or five strung by my bedside. I’d like to refresh them.”

“I’ll make them for Shizun. You don’t need this… tsk… gracious… woman’s cheap–”

“Binghe, be polite.”

“......... Kindly allow your most dedicated disciple to prepare Shizun sachets instead.”

“Quiet, Binghe. Excuse me, madame, might I please have three of those with the calamus and chrysanthemum?”

The shopkeeper, Li Xiang, who had been watching with a bland expression waiting for the typical dance and song to be played out, comes to life. Accustomed to the strange behaviour of the two oddly beautiful men who walked so closely together they could almost be confused as one person, she simply pulls down the requested sachets.

“Here, Master Shen.” Li Xiang turns and takes down an extra item, throwing in a silken lucky knot tied around a small pretty stone. “My Xiao-Lan tied these; she requested one be given to you if you came by today.”

It’s a very modest gift. For a cultivator of high status, it would be almost insulting to be given a trinket of such low value.

The man standing before her is not such a cultivator. The man standing before her is indeed tall, handsome, and holds himself in a manner befitting a rich young master – yet he lives modestly, haggles like an old housewife over a cheap loaf of bread, and spares a kind hand to every man, woman, and child around him.

Only the man clinging to him is not so kind, though he is indeed twenty times more handsome than any man that has ever stepped foot in their town before.

They are entwined from top to bottom: the devastatingly handsome man behind Master Shen all but standing on his heels, arms clasped around his middle, head resting on his shoulder. When one man moves, the other moves in tandem. After a year of witnessing this, everyone has learned to become blind to their act.

Shen Qingqiu takes the lucky knot with a happy smile. He passes the sachets to the limpet hanging off his back, both he and the stallkeeper ignoring the mumbled complaints with ease. “Oh, Rulan has gotten so big? My, how time flies past us, as surely as the birds do above. We will happily accept this gift. Please tell her thank you from us. We sincerely pray we will see her next week. Don’t we, Binghe?”

Luo Binghe sullenly stares at the little luck knot in Shen Qingqiu’s palm. “... Of course, Shizun.”

He pats the fluffy head on his shoulder. “What a good child.”

That’s enough to mellow him. A pleased sound rumbles through Luo Binghe’s chest into Shen Qingqiu’s back.

They move to the next stall, standing before a cobbler.

“Hmm. My boots are beginning to wear a bit thin,” Shen Qingqiu contemplates, eyeing the smooth leather.

The merchant perks up and begins sifting through some of the soft cowhide and bestial leathers he has strung up, showing them off to Shen Qingqiu’s appraising gaze.

Speaking quietly, Luo Binghe urges, “Shizun, I’ll make you new ones!”

“Binghe is surely talented, but I don’t believe shoemaking to be one of those talents.”

“... I’ll learn. So Shizun doesn’t need anything from here.”

Shen Qingqiu patiently pats the hands squeezing his waist. “While I would happily wait, I do not suppose that my boots will happily wait with me. So, until the day Binghe masters this new skill, I shall purchase a new set so that I need not wander around barefoot. Fair enough?”

Silence, sour as black vinegar, meets his question.

Luo Binghe tends to hide himself from view, submerging the worst aspects of himself as deeply as he can, too frightened to reveal them to Shen Qingqiu. It could once have fooled him. However, Shen Qingqiu has seen him at his absolute lowest point, crazed, violent – a boiling pot overflowing.

The fact is this – Luo Binghe is extremely clingy. He can only handle a certain length of time before his desire to sequester Shen Qingqiu all for himself is unable to be subdued. Their pouches are full of purchases won from a long morning of haggling already. Honestly, Luo Binghe has lasted much longer than expected.

Tension vibrates through the tendons and muscles in the arms around his waist, and the grinding of teeth is audible in his ear even as Luo Binghe attempts to subdue it. Usually complacent, Luo Binghe shifts back and forth on his feet. He radiates an uneasy energy, heart thumping quick as a rabbit’s against Shen Qingqiu’s back.

Luo Binghe would never dare say himself that he needs to go home. To deny Shen Qingqiu his favourite activity of wandering around looking for a sweet deal, it goes against everything the current Luo Binghe believes in: to pamper Shen Qingqiu, fulfill his every desire, and never say ‘no’ to him.

If he cannot tell Shen Qingqiu ‘no’, then Shen Qingqiu must take the lead.

Shen Qingqiu holds up a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. The merchant quietens immediately in the middle of showcasing his finest cowhide leather.

“Apologies, sir. Ah, ahem. Ahem. Oh, no. It seems I have taken cold. It seems I have no choice but to return home,” Shen Qingqiu says, coughing lightly into his fist, creating an extremely obvious opening to run home and snuggle with his little cuddlebug. His roleplaying experience certainly comes in handy. Where is his Golden Rooster?!

Luo Binghe springs into action. He scurries around to Shen Qingqiu’s front, holding the back of his hand to Shen Qingqiu’s forehead. “Shizun, you’re warm. Here, here, lean on me.”

The merchant, forced to eat dogfood, watches Shen Qingqiu faint against Luo Binghe’s side with the bland expression of someone who’s seen the same episode of a show a dozen times.

Without another word, Luo Binghe pulls out Zheng Yang and they hop on. Cool wind rushes through their hair and billows in their robes. It’s a refreshing balm to the summer heat.

Luo Binghe embraces him tightly from behind, head buried in his neck. Feather lashes and trembling breaths tickle his nape. Occasionally, lips press open-mouthed kisses at the pulse point on the side of his throat, as if wanting to swallow each beat of his heart down.

“Feeling better?” Shen Qingqiu asks.

Luo Binghe makes a small sound, as if he attempted to speak but the words were choked off and died within his throat before they could emerge. He carefully tightens his embrace, holding Shen Qingqiu as gently as one would fine china.

In truth, he’s done quite well. He’s lasting longer and longer when they go out.

The only true cure for Luo Binghe’s maladies is resting at home. Shen Qingqiu knows and accepts this, so he simply focuses on flying.

The absence of Xiu Ya is notable to Shen Qingqiu every time they fly. A spiritual sword is a reflection and extension of the self, therefore the loss of it aches as deeply as if he’d had an arm severed.

Naturally Luo Binghe had not been able to bring the shattered remains of it with him; it splintered within its scabbard back on Qing Jing Peak when Shen Qingqiu self-detonated, and subsequently entombed with his corpse when it was brought home. He misses it. Of course he does. But he and Luo Binghe are of one heart now. Sharing a spiritual sword is acceptable.

They clear the town in five minutes, though their journey in full takes nearly an hour. They cross the wide river and head through the vast forest of massive trees. The spiritual energy of the forest is lush and dense, revitalizing to all who pass through.

In the middle of the forest, there is a clearing. In the middle of the clearing are multiple things:

A house constructed, not out of bamboo, but of wood from the spiritual trees carved so purposefully to resemble bamboo. It does not quite completely succeed, but in some parts it is indistinguishable from a certain house atop the tallest part of the Qing Jing Mountains. Perhaps two-thirds similar, and one-third a unique creation, an inverted mirror of his own new face – one-third of Shen Qingqiu’s original face, and two-thirds something else.

It is a falsehood. But even false things can bring joy. Fake jade can be more precious than an entire empire’s fortunes, and a replicated bamboo house can be more welcoming than the real thing ever was.

Surrounding the house is a garden lush with fruits, trees, flowers, and more, with a pond carved out and water lilies growing within it. There is a small pathway leading through it and stone benches lining that path. The feng shui of the garden is relaxing and healing.

And a small divot in the earth where it appears something had been dug up. It is six feet deep and six feet long. Around the edges of the hole, grass has begun to grow back in, reclaiming the bit of earth.

That divot – that hole – was the Sun-Moon Dew Mushroom body’s cradle. Luo Binghe had refused to allow him to fill it back up once he’d crawled out, and even occasionally climbs into it himself. To ‘feel what Shizun felt’, ‘see what Shizun saw’.

How morbid. It’s enough to give a man chills.

Shen Qingqiu lands in front of the recreation house. They step off Zheng Yang in tandem and step inside of the house. Luo Binghe doesn’t part from him as he leads the two of them to the settee. Akin to the weighted blankets that his meimei had been so fond of, Luo Binghe lays atop him with a satisfying heft.

“Settle yourself,” Shen Qingqiu says. He passes long strokes over Luo Binghe’s silken hair, petting him until the frantically beating heart pitter-pattering against his chest slowly calms.

The sun passes slowly outside of their little paradise, their false bamboo house. Crickets chirp, birds sing, the breeze sighs gently as it passes through the trees and across the pond’s surface.

Gradually becoming boneless and warm against him, like a melting puddle of sweet caramel, Luo Binghe exhales a long breath and relaxes. He turns and nuzzles his face into Shen Qingqiu’s neck, butting his head against Shen Qingqiu’s chin like an overgrown cat. In a somewhat embarrassed tone, he haltingly says, “Shizun… Shizun… I…”

A generous mood overtakes him. Without waiting to hear his apology, he hugs Luo Binghe against him and agreeably says, “My good child, taking me home when I fell ill. What an attentive disciple I have. How lucky can one man be?”

“Shizun…!”

Without a care in the world, the two little lovebirds cuddle happily.

It’s almost enough to make a man embarrassed… If anyone were to witness Shen Qingqiu all wrapped up with the stallion protagonist, he’d probably die for a third time. Luckily, the chances are almost nil this far away from civilization. The only person who might know their location is Shang Qinghua, and he is much too cowardly to dare entangle himself once more with the protagonist. Let him clean up the mess of a story by himself. Serves him right, the dumbfuck author.

Shen Qingqiu pats Luo Binghe’s sides and rear; they’re pleasantly plump. The chest and legs atop his are padded and soft. After Shen Qingqiu woke, he’d spent many months fattening Luo Binghe back up. His labours have paid off, bearing full fruits. He reaches down and squeezes both ‘fruits’.

Luo Binghe squeaks, blushing girlishly as his rear is fondled. Right away, a stiff object swells within Luo Binghe’s clothing and presses into Shen Qingqiu’s thigh.

Shen Qingqiu pulls his hands away and gazes at them in astonishment. What a power these two hands hold! Press button, receive erection!

But more important matters come first. “Binghe, prior to, ahem, ‘exercising’, it would benefit us to have a small meal. Be a good boy, won't you?”

As always, being a bit coddling is the key to his heart. Luo Binghe squirms a little, then he sighs. He sits up, his mood seeming lifted by the playful touches and having a task set before him. “Yes, Shizun. I'll go prepare some food. Anything in particular I should make?”

“Ah, egg drop soup. Good child.” Lazily watching Luo Binghe head off to do his housewifely duties, Shen Qingqiu relaxes on the settee. Perhaps he can sneak a quick nap in…

In the kitchen, Luo Binghe lays washed vegetables out for dicing.

Preparing the dishes, dicing the scallions and cabbages harvested from their own garden, is a methodical act. The knife flashes between each cut, his hands moving in a well-practiced manner. In his life, he has wielded a kitchen knife more often than a sword. His hands, so loved by Shen Qingqiu, always held so gently by him and kissed by soft lips, are more suited to a homemaking task than a martial one.

The preparations are meditative.

Without something to occupy his thoughts, he falls into a trance, his thoughts drifting.

It’s difficult to subdue the memories.

When Shen Qingqiu died, it took thirty-seven days for Cang Qiong Mountain Sect’s Peak Lords to find them. They discovered Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu entwined in a horrific manner.

Luo Binghe supine, clutching at the corpse of Shen Qingqiu atop and inside of him, sweating and sickly from pouring spiritual energy into the body in a pale attempt to keep it from decaying. In the muggy heat, the body had rotted. Hair fallen out, skin peeling away to reveal blackened flesh beneath, the nauseating rancid smell of rotten meat distinct.

None knew what to say. Yue Qingyuan collapsed to his knees and buried his face in his hands, unable to speak, his lips soundlessly repeating just one thing again and again – Xiao-Jiu.

It was finally Mu Qingfang and Liu Qingge who approached. Mu Qingfang delicately assessed Shen Qingqiu’s soft and almost melted body away, accustomed to dealing with bodies after death, while Liu Qingge examined the shattered remains of a sword that bled noxious and evil energies.

None could tell what occurred in that cave.

It was impossible to determine who was the aggressor and who was the victim – Shen Qingqiu clearly pushed his disciple down and had his way, however he was the one who had died. Both men’s qi systems were damaged beyond a normal human’s capacity to endure, Luo Binghe somehow surviving despite everything. A cursed artifact was found in the cave and Luo Binghe’s nonsensical rambling revealed that Shen Qingqiu’s final act was a self-detonation.

Separating the two men was impossible. Luo Binghe’s incoherence became violent, hands clawing at whoever came close, only subdued by the fact that too much jostling severely damaged the corpse in his arms.

They were taken back to Cang Qiong still entwined.

The entire way, Luo Binghe stayed clutched to the body as a child would hold onto a favoured stuffed toy.

It took days for them to be pulled apart. Finally it was Ning Yingying who managed to draw Luo Binghe away, crying as much as him, sitting with him as Shen Qingqiu’s body was finally prepared and, after rushed ceremonies, entombed. Despite wishing to keep the body and return it someday to Shen Qingqiu, revive him and restore him, the body had rotted too severely, putrefying from the inside.

On a marble plaque carved by Yue Qingyuan himself, Shen Qingqiu’s name is engraved to mark his final resting place amidst many previous generations who made up Cang Qiong Mountain Sect’s illustrious history.

Shen Jiu, courtesy name Shen Qingqiu, of the Qing Generation

Lord of Qing Jing Peak

“Climbing the western tower alone in silence, the crescent moon is like a hook.

In a dark courtyard, kept captive, a quiet lonesome wutong tree in the pure, autumn breeze.”

Yue Qingyuan found Luo Binghe in the bamboo house some weeks later. Luo Binghe laid in Shen Qingqiu’s bed, not having bathed, eaten, or slept.

“Luo Binghe.”

The body on the bed – Luo Binghe – appeared more of a corpse than a living thing. He did not move an inch when Yue Qingyuan spoke. He wished to be dead.

“Luo Binghe. You… have suffered a loss. The sect as a whole has. Qingqiu cared deeply for you, but you… What did you do to him? Mu-shidi was disturbed after inspecting him. His body… And who is it that decided to flee from the sect? Luo Binghe, tell me, what did you do to him?”

Luo Binghe did not move.

Yue Qingyuan waited. “Luo Binghe. If your innocence cannot be proved…”

“I’m not innocent,” Luo Binghe responded. The very idea disgusted him. His skin crawled with the desire to tear it off, rip off the thin veneer of humanity covering the writhing black sin beneath, expose his wretched self to everyone. “Shizun… killed himself… for me.”

“Then it is true. The shattered fragments we found, that sword. He destroyed his core to subdue the curse within it. It was yours, was it not?”

Luo Binghe inclined his head.

Terse silence stretched between them. The bamboo house felt cold and empty without a familiar elegant voice, without a flash of green robes and a fluttering fan, without the warm smell of paper and ink that always trailed behind Shen Qingqiu. It was no longer a home. It was a crypt.

Yue Qingyuan laughed, a short and bitter sound. “Perhaps… Perhaps Qingqiu-shidi would hate me for this. I will pray for his forgiveness. But, Luo Binghe, as your sect leader, I expel you from the Cang Qiong sect. You are no longer welcome here. Take your belongings and leave this place. I will allow you three days.”

Luo Binghe didn't care. Yue Qingyuan meant nothing. The sect meant nothing. The entire thing could burn down into ashes and it wouldn’t make any difference to him. The only thing that mattered – that had ever mattered – was Shizun.

After two days, Luo Binghe finally moved. He took whatever he could, both his own and Shen Qingqiu’s items, filling qiankun pouches with trinkets, clothing, and more.

Before he left, Ning Yingying came to him. She carried Zheng Yang with her, the one thing he had been too frightened to touch. How could he? Not only disturbing that precious grave, but sullying the one thing that still connected Luo Binghe to the innocent youth Shen Qingqiu had adored so deeply…

Only having caused Shen Qingqiu’s death was a greater sin.

“A-Luo, take care of yourself. For Shizun’s sake.”

It was similar to what Shen Qingqiu had said in his dying words: to wait for him to wake, but if he didn’t, then Luo Binghe was to move on and find someone else to ‘take care of him’. What a worthless order to give. To his last breath, Shizun still hadn’t understood a thing about Luo Binghe.

Until Shen Qingqiu woke, Luo Binghe was a dead man walking.

After a few days of travel, he found the site Shen Qingqiu had mentioned, easily detecting a nest of spiritual energy growing beneath the grass. It pulsed slowly, like a beating heart. Shizun’s beating heart.

Luo Binghe stood vigil at that spot.

Winter came, and passed.

Then spring.

Summer.

Fall.

And winter again, embracing the world in snow and chill.

The sun rose and set without fail, and the days went on. The world did not cease turning for the death of one man.

As time marched forward, Luo Binghe set himself to work. Being idle never suited him. Too much time to think, to have only his own loathsome self for company. Even if he wished to be idle, what would Shizun think if he woke and found Luo Binghe empty-handed? Shizun required a home, a pleasant garden to nap in, pretty trinkets to look at, books to read, and more.

So, Luo Binghe began with the home. He split wood by hand, whittling it down into boards to construct the floor, the walls, the roof. From the base he recreated as closely as he could the domestic, simple, elegant bamboo house that he had shared for so long with Shen Qingqiu. He decorated the home with the few items he took with him from Qing Jing Peak: an assortment of folding fans, manuals, hair pins, vases and statues, and a painting.

It was a paltry effort.

Living within that lie, Luo Binghe made up a bed that would one day be for Shen Qingqiu, and slept on the floor beside it.

In the second year, he planted bamboo in the clearing. When he ran out of bamboo to plant, he tilled the earth and sowed seedlings of fruit trees, of herbs, of flowers.

Every year it grew. Every year he collected more and more and more seedlings, plants he knew Shen Qingqiu admired, plants that existed within the pages of Shen Qingqiu’s favoured botanical books. Rare plants that bloomed only every thousand years, planted so that one day they might see it bloom together.

The third year, the flaws of the false bamboo house became too grating to ignore. Luo Binghe tore it down to the baseboards and began anew. Shizun deserved perfection and nothing less.

The fourth year passed in a lurching, terrible slowness. Each day drew out longer and longer still, each second taking an hour to pass.

On the fifth anniversary of Shen Qingqiu’s detonation, Luo Binghe lay atop the patch of earth he knew Shizun to be growing within. He stroked the ground, digging his hands into the dirt, and stayed there.

When it rained, he stayed there. When it snowed, he stayed there. When birds pecked at him, insects crawled over him, and scavenging hungry animals chewed away at him, he stayed there.

He did not move for years. Until his mind slowly stopped thinking and the plants and earth began to subsume him. He was worthless for anything but becoming fertilizer for Shizun’s growing body.

He wished for death. He stopped cultivating. He stopped practicing inedia and allowed his body to consume itself.

Even when his bones showed, his body didn’t die. For others, all nightmares eventually ended. Through the darkest night, a shining star could yet be seen. For Luo Binghe, the nightmare existed for as long as his body did, and his curse was that of a body undying.

Winters, springs, summers, and autumns passed.

Season

after

season

after

season

after

…

…

…

…

…

…

On the eleventh spring, after the ground thawed from winter’s frigid touch, surrounded by flowering camelia bushes and blooming plum blossom and magnolia trees, Shen Qingqiu finally, finally, awoke.

A sharp sting wakes Luo Binghe from his reveries. He looks down and sees the knife pressed into the flesh of his fingers. Blood seeps from the cut, spilling onto the cabbage and chopping board. When he slides the knife out, he watches the wound sluggishly bleed. He doesn’t allow it to close.

It barely hurts. He flexes his fingers and sees more dark red bubble to the surface. A papercut would hurt as much. The knife glints in the light as he turns it.

Idly he considers that he’ll have to dispose of the cut up cabbage and wash the board, all without Shen Qingqiu seeing. Shizun doesn’t like him hurting himself, though surely accidents cannot be counted. But he can bleed for a while. It feels proper.

He must suffer.

There exist monks who achieve spiritual purity by flagellation, whipping themselves to punish and cleanse their souls. Through enduring deep pain, only then can a man ascend beyond himself. The dark blood dripping down is his penance. This meager cut may only be a drop when he needs an ocean full of blood to clean his soul, but he has the rest of his immortal life to purify himself.

From behind him, a sleep-rough voice asks, “Mmh, Binghe, what’s for dinner?”

Luo Binghe lays a cloth over the cutting board to hide the mess. On his finger, the cut heals seamlessly – only Shizun is allowed to leave a mark. Not his filthy self. His stupid self. Piteous and hideous self.

“Simple dishes, Shizun. I have a broth brewing to make–”

“Is that blood?” All hints of sleepiness have vanished from Shen Qingqiu's tone.

Luo Binghe slides the cloth-covered knife further behind his back. He hadn’t had time to wipe it clean, only hoping that the crimson liquid could be overlooked amidst the mess on the counter. It seems his effort was too poor. His pulse rockets in his throat. “It was an accident.”

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t respond immediately. He carefully comes up to Luo Binghe with a neutral expression.

“Shizun. It is the truth. It was an accident. I – this disciple apologizes."

“Don’t apologize if it was an accident.”

“I – I apologize,” Luo Binghe says again.

It fascinates him how easily Shen Qingqiu can make him feel cowed, a child spurned and scolded, with only a few words.

Luo Binghe has always had a gilded tongue, capable of spinning gold from lies, sweet nothings from barbed words. That same tongue lies dead in his mouth. His throat feels tight. Rather than decrease in speed, his pulse has only become more rapid. The rushing blood makes his heart feel too small and his head throb.

He’s causing problems again. What a wretched creature he is. He swore to never cause Shizun another ounce of discomfort again, yet here he is once more, with the fault laid at his feet.

Bile pools in the back of his throat.

Gentle hands gather his together, long and fair fingers stroking over his palms. Pink seashell nails lightly press against the veins and knuckles on the backs of Luo Binghe’s hands. Delicate, soft, adoring – that is how Shen Qingqiu touches him. Undeserving as he is, Shen Qingqiu treats him as though he is unsullied, as if blackened sin has not dirtied him to his core.

The loving touches ground him.

“Come to bed,” Shizun murmurs, thumbs drawing idle circles into Luo Binghe’s skin. He slides his hands further up, loosely wrapping around Luo Binghe’s wrists, pads of his fingers resting over the pulse point. “Smother the fire and leave the food. We’ll clean it up later. Right now, I think that I… would rather like Binghe to, ah, ahem, relax with me.”

It wouldn’t do to leave Shizun hungry, but with love, even water is enough.

Luo Binghe moves forward after him, a twitch of his fingers dousing the oven’s fire, helpless as a moth to a flame before his master.

Shen Qingqiu sighs to himself as he manages to get the two of them naked and into bed.

What a moody child he’s reared!

Honestly, when he’d begun cooking his own meals during college Shen Qingqiu had nicked himself on knives more often than he’d like to admit. And that was only chopping green onions to throw into his ramen to pretend he was eating healthy. Green = healthy. Very scientific.

In any case, Luo Binghe’s self-harm wouldn’t be something as mild as a tiny little cut.

His would be dramatic, showy, and bloody. The worst was when Shen Qingqiu had freshly awoken and Luo Binghe had, in the middle of making love accidentally bitten hard enough to draw blood.

The blood in the mushroom body was of a strange consistency, thick and sap-like, but the pain was quite human. Luo Binghe had noticed immediately, and all but gutted himself (with Shen Qingqiu’s dick still in him!!!!!) while begging forgiveness. They hadn’t been able to wash out the blood from the sheets and were forced to buy a new set in town.

The worst part was, to calm Luo Binghe down, he’d had to even confess being bitten felt…………… good. Not that Luo Binghe dared do it again after anyways.

Luo Binghe’s mental state, while quite a bit more sturdy than it was prior to his self-detonation, is still quite delicate. Now, rather than a flake of snow that melts at the brush of a finger, it is akin to glass that can shatter with a sharp jolt. Just as rivers do not freeze within a single day of winter, Luo Binghe’s mind will not stabilize within a single year’s work.

Nothing to do but get to work, Shen Qingqiu!

They kiss, slowly and chastely at first. Then tongues entwine, hands grasping at skin, their bodies lined together from head to toe.

Though Shen Qingqiu looks different than he had before, Luo Binghe’s desire for him is still as distinct as ever, if not stronger than before. The adoration for him is not skindeep. It goes deeper, deeper, burrowing into his bones, digging troughs into his veins until it is marked upon the core of his being. This false skin of his – this new skin of his – means nothing to his disciple.

Shen Qingqiu kisses Luo Binghe until his head swims from lack of air, tasting the back of Luo Binghe’s mouth with the same urgency as the hands that stroke at the small of his back and curl at the nape of his neck.

Sex for them now is not for survival. Perhaps it never was, not purely. It’s good. It feels good.

A warm – hot – feeling builds low in his stomach, burning in his legs and spine, the heat boiling until it spreads throughout his entire body. His core feels itchy. It wants to be scratched with something thick and long, desiring to be split open, penetrated deeply, fucked into until it melts and softens and exhausts him until he can no longer stand.

He turns them over so that he is on the bottom, and spreads his legs to allow Luo Binghe’s body to settle between them.

Luo Binghe freezes in place.

Since they’ve begun this simple domestic life, Luo Binghe hasn’t dared penetrate him once. His expression is turbulent as he stares down at Shen Qingqiu.

“Binghe, it’s alright. You may take the lead tonight. So why don’t you just… just…” Shen Qingqiu starts.

He quits in the middle of his pitiful attempt to convince Luo Binghe, sighing and rubbing a hand over his face. What a wilful child. Honestly, being on top is just fine for Shen Qingqiu. He has not complained for a year. Men are simple creatures and he has been satisfied to leave things as they are so long as it feels good, and it certainly does for the both of them. But, speaking the truth, his dick is tired!

It has been in and out of Luo Binghe’s mouth, backside, chest, thighs, hands, and more, all for the past year every few days. Can he complain? Dare he complain?!

Some men die of thirst, and some men drown. Throw him a life raft, Bing-ge! This humble pilgrim has visited the untold holy land of the protagonist’s chrysanthemum more than enough times, he’s ready for a break!!

What's more, if the protagonist has such a negative complex about being on top, then he might eventually wind up with some health issues… Erectile dysfunction affects men of all ages. It's quite serious. If Shen Qingqiu breaks the male stallion protagonist’s dick, even self-detonating won't be enough to fix things!

“Go ahead,” he says again, gesturing lamely to himself.

Luo Binghe decisively shakes his head. “Shizun, it’s too big, it will hurt you.”

Shen Qingqiu stares contemplatively at the ceiling. So, he understands his size properly. Very good. “I’ve taken it before.”

“I was not good to you before.”

Frankly speaking, towards the end, the sex had been the only good part of what Luo Binghe did to him… Can he say that? No, no, it would only upset this delicate child’s heart.

“Then prepare me properly,” Shen Qingqiu says.

Luo Binghe can take his dick dry to his heart’s content, and in fact this trembling M of his prefers it, but taking Luo Binghe’s dick dry is a monumental task. A little lube goes a long way. He takes the neglected jar of unguent from their bedside table and thrusts it into Luo Binghe’s hands before settling back against the bed and spreading his legs. He gives Luo Binghe a get to work sort of look.

Luo Binghe’s face is troubled. “Shizun…”

“So, will you deny me?” Shen Qingqiu challenges. It’s a rather low blow, but he knows Luo Binghe’s desire to accommodate his every whim is the only leverage he has.

They stare at one another for a moment. As expected, Luo Binghe is the first to blink. He sullenly takes the little jar. “... This disciple would not dare reject Shizun.”

Thus begins the longest fingering session of Shen Qingqiu's life.

At first, it feels good. Luo Binghe's fingers are long and clever, searching out every pleasurable spot. He curls them into every wrinkle and curve within him, rubbing until the entrance warms and softens.

Two fingers, then three, then even four, crooking deep within and making him quiver with desire. The protagonist is extremely attentive and sucks him off twice, letting Shen Qingqiu's cock empty itself down his throat as Luo Binghe unrelentingly teases his prostate.

After half a shichen, Shen Qingqiu's pleasure evolves into boredom and his dick can't get hard anymore.

“Look. It's enough. When are you coming in?” Shen Qingqiu asks, resting his face in his hand. His ass is fucking numb already.

Luo Binghe slurps loudly at his soft dick and pops off of it. After so much sucking, his lips have grown red and plump, and there's a few loads of semen across his face and chin. He smiles cutely, yet that faux-innocence blending with his debauched face only makes him appear more lewd. “Shizun can no longer get hard, it seems, therefore this disciple must humbly suggest we stop here. How could I dare take pleasure when my master cannot?”

Is Luo Binghe determined to give himself erectile dysfunction…?

He kicks Luo Binghe lightly in the stomach. He puts his most severe expression on, borrowed from the original goods. Strictly, he says, “Luo Binghe, if you don't do me this instant, I won't allow you to cuddle me in bed anymore.”

The expression on Luo Binghe's face is horrified, as if he'd threatened to kill a puppy in front of him. It's almost enough to make him feel a bit guilty.

Silently, Shen Qingqiu arches a judgemental brow.

“Shizun, don't be angry,” Luo Binghe rushes to say. He rushes to grab the little vat of unguent to spread a handful of it on himself. “Wait, wait, I'll do it. So don't say hasty things.”

“Good boy,” he replies simply.

Within a minute, Luo Binghe is hastily settling himself between Shen Qingqiu's thighs. His cock is so slathered with the sticky lubrication and Shen Qingqiu's hole has been so thoroughly fingered open that he nearly doesn't notice the head of it penetrating him. It isn't until the flared ridge of it pushes within that he feels it.

“Oh,” he gasps, sucking in through his teeth.

Luo Binghe freezes, breaths small and panicked. “Shizun…?”

Shen Qingqiu rocks his hips lightly, enough to feel the sticky tug as his hole stretches around the ridge of Luo Binghe's cockhead. Tugging, tugging, until it pops out with an obscenely wet sound. Then, bearing down until it pops back in. That's it – that itch he'd been feeling, finally being scratched.

He jerks his hips up and down a few times until the tugging sensation isn't enough anymore.

“Nngh… Deeper, Binghe, deeper,” Shen Qingqiu moans, clawing at Luo Binghe's back to draw him closer.

Luo Binghe makes a wounded noise low in his throat, and does as bid.

Half of the length slides in until just before the swell in the middle of it where the largest part is, and Luo Binghe stops. He pauses there, then recedes. When he begins to fuck Shen Qingqiu, it is with those half-hearted and shallow motions.

Beside Shen Qingqiu's head, Luo Binghe's hands claw into the bedding, tearing at it. Luo Binghe's jaw is taut and the tendons of his neck and arms are distinct. When he brushes his mouth against Shen Qingqiu's throat, his teeth lightly graze the skin. Where once Luo Binghe had bitten him til bloody, now his bites are no more than a gentle ghosting of teeth. After each light nibble, Luo Binghe kisses the spot, as if apologizing for even that.

A lion with its jaws pinned around the neck of a sheep, subduing itself, refraining from consuming its prey whole with only its inner will.

“It's alright, Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu soothes. He hooks his legs behind Luo Binghe's back and squeezes them together. It jolts Luo Binghe's hips forward enough that the thickest part begins to pry his hole further open, stinging pleasantly. “Ah, there, there, like that.”

Luo Binghe trembles bodily. He shakes from the tips of his fingers down to his toes. “Shizun,” he chokes out. “Shizun, please, I'm trying… I'm trying to be gentle. I won't hurt you. I won't.”

“Be a good boy,” Shen Qingqiu coos. He turns his face to meet Luo Binghe's and rubs their noses together. Luo Binghe's eyes are wet with tears, his expression bullied and miserable, lips drawn down into a cute moue and brows pinched. “Don't fret. What master would I be if I could not handle something so simple? My disciple is so good to me. Be obedient, and do your work properly.”

Unwilling to hear further complaints, Shen Qingqiu squeezes his legs tighter. Luo Binghe gradually relents and, bit by bit, inch by sweltering inch, sheathes his cock fully within Shen Qingqiu's body.

His rim stretches, further and further, spasming and clenching beyond his control when Luo Binghe pierces into it. Rather than pushing the intrusion out, it feels as if his body is sucking it deeper, stroking it with every shivering spasm. His hole penetrated and pried open, useful only for making Luo Binghe feel good.

When Luo Binghe settles himself at the root, he grinds his hips upward, pushing his cock up at an angle and distending Shen Qingqiu's stomach slightly. The memory of Luo Binghe grabbing that bulge and masturbating himself through Shen Qingqiu's stomach flashes in his mind's eye and his body jerks inwards with a sudden jolt of arousal.

Fuuuck. Shen Qingqiu twitches, his belly trembling.

It does hurt. Even with all of the preparation, with Luo Binghe's immense size it's impossible for it to not hurt. But even that pain cannot subdue the satisfaction of taking it inside, of feeling full to the brim, impaled and spread open. Every nerve within his body tingles and sparks hotly, electric and crackling, until the sensation of pain becomes pleasurable.

It doesn't matter if Shen Qingqiu is hard or if he's soft. Pleasure is pleasure. Shen Qingqiu relaxes in the bedsheets, happy to lay there and be fucked into a pleasurable oblivion.

Luo Binghe makes a pitiful attempt at keeping a smooth rhythm. It lasts for all of five thrusts before he devolves into rutting into Shen Qingqiu like a dog, humping him. The sounds of their coupling are filthy – sucking wet as Luo Binghe pulls out and he plunges back in, and the slap of his balls against Shen Qingqiu's ass is audible with every deep thrust. Between their hips is a sticky and wet feeling, a mixture of frothy semen, unguent, and sweat.

It feels good. Even the kittenish nibbles feel good, even if he wishes Luo Binghe would just bite him properly. Who knew he'd actually miss being treated like a dog's chew toy?

So yes, it’s good. It’s very good. Even sloppy, messy, and unpracticed as it is, it makes his toes curl and his vision swim. Luo Binghe’s cock is thick enough that when it pushes in, the broadest part of it brutally pushes on his prostate, his limp cock dribbling clear fluid across his stomach with each thrust.

It’s good, but…

Something is missing. He wants to feel Luo Binghe thrust to the depths of him, the way he had before, breaching that tight inner ring, that place Luo Binghe called his ‘womb’. The issue is that Luo Binghe is too frightened to be forceful and risk hurting him, so he dares not press deep enough to reach that spot.

If Shen Qingqiu were on his front, perhaps, giving Luo Binghe more room to move…

Shen Qingqiu holds up a hand to say ‘stop’. Before Luo Binghe can even begin a spiralling meltdown worried that he’s done something wrong, Shen Qingqiu gets off of his dick and flips onto his stomach. “Go ahead.”

After a beat of silence, Luo Binghe grabs him around the waist and flips him back over. “Happily, Shizun.”

Shen Qingqiu holds his hand up once more. He turns onto his front. Luo Binghe flips him back with the same ease one would flip a pancake on the stove. They do this once more until Shen Qingqiu explodes. What is this fucking comedy act?!

“Binghe! Stop that! Won’t you just–?! Damn it,” Shen Qingqiu curses, covering his face with both hands. Unruly brat! Listen to your elders! “It gets deeper that way! Alright?!”

Luo Binghe actually does stop then. Embarrassed half to death, Shen Qingqiu doesn’t dare peek at his expression. Even with his eyes covered he can envision the delighted smile when Luo Binghe coos, “Oh? It is so… Shizun is truly wise. This disciple has neglected his duty to pleasure Shizun, it is only that Shizun’s expression was so charming I became distracted.”

Luo Binghe dips down and kisses Shen Qingqiu’s knuckles. “Shizun, Shizun, I humbly apologize… Shizun, won’t you show me that charming face you make once more? Just once, then I’ll be satisfied.”

Kisses pepper across the backs of his hands. Little brat.

“Shizun, won’t you look at me? Shizun, don’t be shy.”

“Shameless,” Shen Qingqiu hisses, peeling his fingers away. His face feels ready to explode into flames.

Luo Binghe kisses him right away, eyes open and watching. Even embarrassed as he is, Shen Qingqiu can't quite seem to break his gaze as they kiss open-mouthed. Saliva dribbles down their chins as Luo Binghe licks his teeth and tongue; the entire kiss they keep their eyes on one another, Luo Binghe's eyes black and hungry, and so deeply, unrelentingly adoring it makes Shen Qingqiu feel a bit fond.

Ah, he's gotten soft in his old age. It seems that he really likes this clingy child of his.

Luo Binghe licks the mess of drool from his chin then spits it back into Shen Qingqiu's mouth. When they finally part, Luo Binghe sweetly says, “Shizun, lay on your front now. I'll fuck you as you wish, until your womb is full of me.”

Shen Qingqiu's little trooper of a dick gives a very valiant twitch, but it is unable to stiffen. Silently he turns over, and Luo Binghe stuffs his cock back in, pushing harder and harder until it knocks against that rigid spot.

“There,” Luo Binghe groans happily. That spot twitches and bends under the pressure, but he doesn't push quite hard enough to pierce it. “Ah – it's so tight, Shizun. It will hurt you.” Then sullenly, as if wronged, Luo Binghe says, “Shizun, why are you so small and tight? Shizun, if you like it so much, why don't you fit me properly?”

Scolding him for not being a good fuckhole. Shen Qingqiu buries his face in the sheets and tries to ignore the way his guts squeeze around Luo Binghe's cock with fresh, trembling arousal. If he'd been erect, he'd likely have spurt then and there.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe whines. He fucks in and out a few times, knocking lightly at that place. Then casually he suggests, “Mm… Next time, shall I loosen this place too? Shizun’s flower took the rest of me so well when I used my fingers to soften him.”

To reach that deeply inside, Luo Binghe would need to…

…

– his arm, inserted within Shen Qingqiu to the elbow, his fingers crooking within that secondary hole and fucking it open. His muscular forearm pressing the walls of his ass wide, his hand pushing deeper and deeper until it's fisting that second hole wide and loose and –

Shen Qingqiu's limp cock squirts hot, wet liquid out, his stomach clamping down with arousal and his head swimming. His vision darkens. It feels as if someone has roughly ripped out a plug from a socket, electricity sparking violently through his skull and down his spine. It hurts and feels hot. It feels unbearably good.

His ears ring with the blood rushing through him and he's melting, sweat and tears and thin clear liquid pouring out of him. Shen Qingqiu's eyes roll back as he wets himself, more of it pushes out with every deep thrust of Luo Binghe's cock against the deepest part of himself.

“Shizun, I'll do that for you,” Luo Binghe promises, murmuring into his ear. “I'll do it gently, and take my time. Slowly opening you over and over until your womb takes me, until your body is shaped for me. I'll do anything you like.”

Unable to stop picturing it, Shen Qingqiu whimpers wordlessly.

Luo Binghe seems just as excited. He begins panting, his motions becoming choppier. “Shizun, Shizun, Shizun…!”

Within him, Luo Binghe’s cock pulses. Grinding his hips in without pulling out, Luo Binghe seeds Shen Qingqiu’s deepest part, deep enough that none of it slips out.

Shen Qingqiu’s lids flutter, pleasure and exhaustion curling in twin sensations throughout him. Heat radiates in his belly from the semen poured inside, heavy and thick. With Luo Binghe at his back, around him, inside him, he feels… quite satisfied.

He grumbles wordlessly and Luo Binghe, immediately understanding, scoots them back until they're out of the mess Shen Qingqiu made. He'll feel embarrassed about it in the morning. For now, he's too tired to feel much of anything beyond a sleepy satisfaction.

“Good child,” he praises, blindly patting behind him at the fluffy head resting on his shoulder.

“Shizun…”

Arms wind tightly around him. Tighter and tighter, until just shy from pain. Of course less than pain; Luo Binghe wouldn’t dare hurt him, never again. His hands are greedy, and the way his body feels against him is sticky, scalding body heat like burning caramel poured down his back.

Luo Binghe’s pillar is still pierced within him. It’s half-hard, which is as limp as he can get when he’s entwined with Shen Qingqiu. With how tightly he’s squeezing Shen Qingqiu to him, it’s doubtful that he will pull out until morning.

The idea of sleeping with Luo Binghe inside makes something low in Shen Qingqiu’s stomach tingle excitedly. Fall asleep with his cock and semen stuffed inside, share a long night with him in the dream realm, then wake and probably be fucked again.

And then – even better – be pampered in bed and fed some delicious food. Hehe. How lucky, Shen Qingqiu!

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe mutters, burying his face into Shen Qingqiu’s neck. “Shizun, Shizun, Shizun…”

Even when Luo Binghe’s voice quietens, Shen Qingqiu can feel his lips moving, repeating that word again and again. It unsettled him before, but he’s grown accustomed to it. In a way, it’s a cute habit. Some children suckle pacifiers to calm themselves. In the same way, Luo Binghe repeats ‘Shizun’ to settle his nerves and ease his mind.

“Let’s sleep now,” Shen Qingqiu yawns.

Luo Binghe hums, and the veil of dreams slides over them.

It is said that a bad beginning leads to a bad ending.

Shen Qingqiu’s luck with Luo Binghe was certainly not good; in their first beginning he was strangled by the OOC lock and wound up shoving him down the Abyss, and in their second he was strangled by his belief in a character that no longer existed and forced to self-detonate to resolve his crimes.

The Sun-Moon Dew Mushroom has granted them a heaven-sent third beginning. It is gentle. It is sweet. Their ending is not yet written. But it is clear – this flourishing domestic life of theirs has a long and blissful road yet to walk, the ending of which Shen Qingqiu will happily walk towards hand in hand with Luo Binghe.

So long as they’re together, it doesn’t matter how far the journey.