Chapter Text
Luo Binghe hummed a carefree tune as he strolled up the familiar pathway, passing through the verdant bamboo grove.
The Emperor of the Three Realms, Master of Xin Mo, Executioner of the Four Righteous Sects, walked with easy and unhurried steps—but beneath his chest, his heart hammered with the thrill of anticipation.
It wasn’t the anticipation he’d felt when walking these same steps to face his master’s punishments, and it wasn’t the anticipation he’d felt before burning this wretched bamboo forest to the ground. He knew these steps well. Painfully well. The sound of a disciple, practicing music on the qin, drifted gently down the mountain. Luo Binghe knew the melody by heart, humming in time with each pluck of the strings.
When Luo Binghe opened the door to the bamboo house, his breath almost caught in his throat. He maintained his composure, the image of perfect serenity as he faced the man inside.
The last time Luo Binghe had visited Shen Qingqiu, he’d wordlessly taken his prisoner down from his chains and watched him writhe on the dungeon floor, stained with blood and grime. Shen Qingqiu had squirmed in the dirt like a maggot, choking out pained whimpers through his tongueless mouth.
There’d been a time when the scene had made him giddy with delight.
But ever since his visit to that other world...that strange and mysterious world, where he’d watched that other Shen Qingqiu—that attentive and kind Shen Qingqiu—turn away and...and ignore him, reject him for that other, useless, disgraceful version of himself…
An endless harem of wives filled Luo Binghe’s palace. The entire world bowed down at his feet. And yet, seeing those two defend each other against him...fighting side by side, in perfect harmony...
Seeing the way they looked at each other...
Luo Binghe had stood above his broken prisoner. He’d stared down, as he’d done many times before, at that miserable creature curled up on the filthy dungeon floor. Luo Binghe had stared with eyes as red as blood, his demonic sigil burning on his brow with a hungry fire.
“Why are you here?” Shen Qingqiu asked.
Luo Binghe looked up and smiled. “Is this Sect Master not allowed to visit his shidi?”
“Sect Master Yue can do as he pleases,” Shen Qingqiu huffed, turning his head away. Right now, Shen Qingqiu was seated in the middle of the bamboo house, pristine and untarnished. Sunlight fell through the delicate latticework of the windows, the sheer curtains swayed under a gentle breeze. Shen Qingqiu rested at a low wooden table, holding a cup of tea in his hands.
The room was clean, warm and inviting, but the reception felt cold.
Luo Binghe’s smile twitched. Wasn’t Shen Qingqiu’s greeting rather rude, considering his guest walked into ten thousand arrows on his behalf?
Luo Binghe adjusted his face into Yue Qingyuan’s usual expression, patient and agreeable. With the dreamscape under his command, Luo Binghe could draw on Shen Qingqiu’s own memories to craft a perfect facsimile of the late Sect Master. And in Luo Binghe’s experience, dreamers were susceptible to seeing what they wanted to see. No matter how strange the circumstances, they would more often than not take the dream in hand and follow along, right up until the moment they awakened.
And Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t be waking up any time soon.
Where would be the fun in that?
Luo Binghe sat down at the table. “Might I ask what tea Qingqiu-shidi is trying today?”
Shen Qingqiu snorted. Without bothering to look up, he poured a second cup, bringing it down before Luo Binghe with a clack. “Enjoy this refreshing cup of green autumn tea and then please get out of my sight, esteemed Sect Master.”
Luo Binghe took the offered cup with a polite smile. He blew away the steam, watching the tea leaves rustle and settle into the water. The man in his reflection stared back with a calm and gentle expression.
Luo Binghe wondered what it would feel like to throw the tea in Shen Qingqiu’s face. He almost laughed at the thought. However, he couldn’t break his cover just yet. Winning this game would be more satisfying the longer he played. Luo Binghe needed to get even closer to Shen Qingqiu, to take advantage of his trust in any way that he could.
And besides, Luo Binghe had all the time in the world to do as he pleased—his prisoner certainly wasn’t going anywhere.
Luo Binghe couldn’t afford to be hasty, not right now. Patience was required.
And so Luo Binghe was patient.
He was patient when Shen Qingqiu gave him the cold shoulder every time he entered the dreamscape.
He was patient when Shen Qingqiu hid behind his endless collection of fans, not even bothering to acknowledge the Sect Master’s presence.
Luo Binghe was patient, night after night, dream after dream, as he carefully drew himself further and further into Shen Qingqiu’s sleeping world. He worked at Shen Qingqiu with a delicate touch. Sitting close, but not too close. Offering careful assistance. Brushing past him as they walked together through the bamboo forest.
Conversation was difficult.
“Sect Master Yue, there’s no time in my busy schedule for idle chit-chat.”
“Oh? The Sect Master wants to hear the guqin? Play it yourself.”
“Doesn’t Sect Master Yue have a shidi he can bother on his own peak?”
“I require another tea set. This one must be blue...no, make it green.”
Luo Binghe’s patience was growing thin.
Who in their right mind could blame him? The late Sect Master had evidently been something of a masochist. Did Yue Qingyuan walk straight to his demise for this?
Luo Binghe recalled the Shen Qingqiu from that other world, and the special intimacy he shared with that other version of Luo Binghe. He briefly imagined what it would be like to take his own Shen Qingqiu in this form, without waiting for permission. He wondered how Shen Qingqiu would feel, having his precious Sect Master throw him down and violently attack him, defiling their relationship and their bodies on the floor of Shen Qingqiu’s own home.
That would be satisfying enough, in its own way.
But Shen Qingqiu’s spirit was lingering on in a precarious state. Meng Mo had cautioned Luo Binghe against trying to meddle with Shen Qingqiu’s memories any more than was already necessary. The strain of it might prove too much for his spirit to handle.
And it was only fair to Shen Qingqiu’s victims that he endure many long years in this world, suffering slowly through what remained of his scraps of life. Luo Binghe couldn’t risk Shen Qingqiu’s spirit falling through the cracks of his shattered mind, slipping away, escaping the rest of his punishment through death.
This kind of game could only be played once.
What Luo Binghe wanted most was worth the wait. It didn’t matter. Even his most willful and stubborn wives had succumbed to him in due time, one way or another.
Playing this long and fragile dance, like a hunter stalking his prey, was a welcome diversion from the daily chores of a demonic overlord. Luo Binghe was growing rather irritated with his courtly duties, which increased in number seemingly without end. Merging the human and demon realms had granted him power, glory, and triumph—and most importantly, calmed down the nagging of his demonic wives—but it had also greatly inflated his bureaucracy. Disappointingly, none of his progeny were yet ready for much in the way of delegation.
And no matter how frequent his trips to Shen Qingqiu’s dreamscape, Luo Binghe’s efforts to get closer to his former shizun were trapped in inertia. It was as if some great and unknowable rift kept Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan divided. Not even Luo Binghe’s mental fortitude could withstand this tortuously slow momentum.
Inevitably, one evening, a part of him slipped.
Shen Qingqiu had been secured away in the dungeons, as always, sleeping his deep and unending sleep, while Luo Binghe suppressed a petty uprising of righteous cultivators. The leader of the uprising had fought with a peculiar weapon—most likely stolen from demons—which he drove through one of Luo Binghe’s hands before meeting a bloody and predictable end. The weapon left an unsightly gash upon its removal, but it was nothing truly serious. With Luo Binghe’s abilities, it would heal soon enough.
After greeting Luo Binghe’s return, Sha Hualing had clung to his arm, careful to avoid the wound even as she teased him about it. She had asked, in that honey-sweet tone, whether the Demon Lord would like some special love and care from his little Ling-er tonight. The Demon Lord had flashed her a charming smile and shrugged her off without a word.
“What’s wrong with your hand?”
Luo Binghe looked up from the tea he was holding.
“What do you mean, Qingqiu-shidi?”
“Don’t give me that,” Shen Qingqiu replied, as if he were scolding one of his young disciples.
Luo Binghe glanced away, annoyed at himself. So his wound was apparent, then, despite the special regard he gave to maintaining the illusion. Was the Emperor of the Three Realms getting distracted by such an insignificant thing? How careless.
“My apologies for troubling you, Qingqiu-shidi. Recently, a band of demons were attacking a local village, and I must have gotten carried away. I will go and trouble Mu-shidi, if you don’t mind—”
“Be quiet,” Shen Qingqiu snapped. Luo Binghe’s face darkened, but Shen Qingqiu had already turned on his heel and marched out of the room. There were boxes of salves and ointments in his arms when he returned, the kinds that strengthened qi circulation and promoted healing.
Part of Luo Binghe wanted to speak again, to find some other excuse to leave the dreamscape and regain a sense of control...but a greater part of him wanted to observe Shen Qingqiu as closely as possible.
Shen Qingqiu stared at Luo Binghe expectantly until he offered up the injured hand.
Seeing his former master like this, healthy and strong, upright and severe, it was...odd. Luo Binghe had torn Shen Qingqiu down from his lofty perch with great relish, ripped him to bloody pieces, ground him into the mud until he was nothing more than a twisted shadow of his former self.
Seeing his former master reach out for him, as if nothing had changed since those days as a disciple...it was almost enough to make Luo Binghe flinch.
Almost.
He really was getting distracted, wasn’t he? Shen Qingqiu’s slender fingers brushed over his hand, shocking against the skin like static. Luo Binghe’s time in that other world...that was the first time he’d ever touched Shen Qingqiu directly, without the intention of ripping off his limbs. Even on the real Qing Jing Peak, Shen Qingqiu kept the young Luo Binghe at a distance, preferring to punish him with hard labor or the crack of a wooden stick.
No, Shen Qingqiu would never have deigned to physically touch his most loathsome disciple. Or at least, not this Shen Qingqiu. That Shen Qingqiu had fondly combed his hands through Luo Binghe’s hair, had held him close throughout the night, had yielded to his every touch…
Luo Binghe remembered the look of anger in that other Shen Qingqiu’s eyes when he somehow realized that Luo Binghe wasn’t his Luo Binghe. Just remembering that look sent shivers up and down Luo Binghe’s spine. There was a flicker of disgust in that other Shen Qingqiu’s expression, but it wasn’t just disgust at Luo Binghe for what he’d done...no, Shen Qingqiu was disgusted at himself for enjoying every moment of it.
It really was a shame that their playtime was interrupted. Luo Binghe remembered the feeling of that long and beautiful leg, caught in his hand, gripped tight as he dragged Shen Qingqiu down beneath his body. Shen Qingqiu had tried to escape, twisting beneath him, but there was no way out. It was too late, because Shen Qingqiu had gladly delivered himself right into Luo Binghe’s arms, and then he—
Shen Qingqiu rubbed a warm salve onto Luo Binghe’s hand. His touch was light and delicate, but he still glared at Luo Binghe as if he were dealing with an annoying pest. As if Shen Qingqiu had been browbeaten into assisting the Sect Master, and would much rather be doing anything else. Not a word was spoken between them.
Shen Qingqiu’s lips were drawn into a thin line. Luo Binghe’s eyes narrowed as he recalled kissing those lips, in that other world. Nipping at them, pushing past them with his tongue, chasing them down until they were panting and breathless...
The hands on him stalled.
“What is it?”
“Hm?” Luo Binghe looked up. Shen Qingqiu stared at him as if he were a dimwit. It seemed that Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t continue until Luo Binghe spoke. Had Shen Qingqiu noticed Luo Binghe looking at him? Had he realized...?
No, no he couldn’t have. Though clearly, Luo Binghe’s concentration was failing him today...
“You’re always blathering on and on, I can never get you to shut up. Now you act like your tongue’s been cut out. If it hurts, say something!”
Luo Binghe stared blankly. So had Shen Qingqiu not been glaring at him, but rather, watching him for signs of discomfort...?
“It doesn’t hurt. It was only a minor wound,” Luo Binghe replied.
Shen Qingqiu scoffed. “I’m sure with Sect Master Yue’s cultivation, any wound is quick to heal, isn’t it?”
Shen Qingqiu returned to rubbing the salve across Luo Binghe’s hand, glaring down resentfully. With practiced subtlety, Luo Binghe leaned forward.
“Sect Master Yue is grateful to Shidi for his help,” Luo Binghe said in a low voice, close enough to ensure that his breath ghosted past Shen Qingqiu’s ear, but distant enough for propriety’s sake. Shen Qingqiu blinked rapidly, only then realizing how close they were to each other.
“If the Sect Master is grateful,” Shen Qingqiu said, leaning away, “then he should try being less clumsy next time.” Shen Qingqiu’s words were curt and rude, yet his touch remained gentle, the cool sensation of the medicine a relief on Luo Binghe’s skin.
Of course, the medicine was unnecessary. They were in a dream, after all.
But what would be the point of all this, if Luo Binghe didn’t pay strict attention to the details? When crafting the dreamscape, Luo Binghe had made absolutely sure to perfectly transmit the sensations of their physical bodies. The closer the dream felt to reality, the sweeter Shen Qingqiu’s reaction would be, once the curtains were finally pulled back.
Luo Binghe studied Shen Qingqiu’s face carefully. He was near enough to see Shen Qingqiu’s eyelashes flutter as his eyes glanced furtively away. It was almost as if Shen Qingqiu were hesitating, or possibly embarrassed about something. It was almost as if…
Luo Binghe’s fingers twitched. “My apologies for worrying Shidi,” he said.
“Who’s worrying?” Shen Qingqiu snapped. But his words had none of the bite that Luo Binghe remembered from his youth, the bite of real hatred. Shen Qingqiu’s real hatred felt much, much different.
Luo Binghe knew that hatred better than most. He remembered a much different expression distorting that elegant face.
Had Yue Qingyuan known the difference?
A scene resurfaced in Luo Binghe’s memory—it was one of the many times Shen Qingqiu had chased Yue Qingyuan off of Qing Jing Peak. The inciting argument had barely lasted more than five sentences between them. The noble Sect Master had scurried off the mountain with stooped shoulders and heavy sighs, like he’d been defeated in a hopeless battle.
Luo Binghe looked more closely at Shen Qingqiu’s expression now. He noticed where its sharp edges began to smoothe over, to quietly soften.
Had Yue Qingyuan known what Luo Binghe, as a young and foolish disciple, wouldn’t have given to catch even the barest hint of that expression?
Luo Binghe’s heart itched with impatience, resentment simmering under his chest. Shen Qingqiu ignored him, lost in concentration. Unlike previous visits, Shen Qingqiu made no move to drive Luo Binghe away from the bamboo house, even when Shen Qingqiu had finished tending to the wound on his hand.
Luo Binghe left the dream anyway.
Qiu Haitang sat waiting for him under the shade of a tree, surrounded by bushes of begonias. The wind gently caressed the loose strands of her hair, teasing them into the light of the setting sun.
When had they last dual-cultivated together? Luo Binghe couldn’t remember. She’d been the hall master of an irrelevant sect, and she’d never given him a son, so Luo Binghe had stopped giving her much thought shortly after she’d entered the harem. Even so, her beauty hadn’t yet lost its appeal.
Luo Binghe, in a rare moment of whimsy, had asked Qiu Haitang to view the blooming of the Blood Heart Begonia with him. It was said to open its petals only once every one thousand years, in the light of sunset. Qiu Haitang watched the flower bloom with rapt attention, her normally jaded expression giving way to awe as the large red petals unfurled before her.
However, something in Qiu Haitang’s manner was different from before. She kept some distance between the two of them, looking at Luo Binghe with less...open adoration, compared to the newer additions to his harem.
Had the passage of time affected her feelings in some way? Only a few scant years had passed since his last visit.
Luo Binghe’s tongue tasted bitterness, but he made sure to flash Qiu Haitang his most disarming smile. Eventually, after the usual romantic gestures and overtures, she fell into his arms eagerly. His talents with women never failed.
Luo Binghe held her passionately in the darkness, underneath the soft glow of the Blood Heart Begonia, its light flickering with ephemeral beauty. He smelled the sweet scent of delicate flowers, kissed at Qiu Haitaing’s pink lips, and remembered the taste of someone else’s mouth. Qiu Haitang looked up at Luo Binghe with an alluring curve to her eyes, but when Luo Binghe closed his own eyes, he saw a different pair staring back at him. Those eyes staring back at him were as sharp as a knife, and black as pitch.
“Is this what Sect Master Yue brought me to see?”
Luo Binghe held his hands behind his back. “The flower blooms once every one thousand years, Shidi. Have you heard of it before?”
“Of course I have,” Shen Qingqiu said.
That was a lie. Luo Binghe was the first person to find the rare flower in ten thousand years, the first to uncover its true name. Luo Binghe chuckled to himself.
“They say that the Blood Heart Begonia had humble origins. That it owes its existence to a penniless beggar.”
Shen Qingqiu sighed, waving his fan about with disinterest, not bothering to give a response. But he kept his gaze on the flower’s shimmering light.
Luo Binghe continued on without concern. “The story goes that the beggar had a wife, and that this wife came down with a strange sickness. No matter what the beggar did, his wife’s condition continued to worsen. I’ve heard different variations on the story, but they’re all similar—
The beggar finds a stranger and asks him for help, and the stranger takes the beggar’s coin in exchange for a cure. In each case, the cure turns out to be fraudulent. The beggar keeps trusting others, and keeps getting swindled...so the story goes.”
Shen Qingqiu seemed as though he was barely listening.
“But the beggar never gives up hope. He never loses faith in his fellow man. Finally, a daoist priest takes the last of the beggar’s coin and promises him that a cure grows at the peak of a nearby mountain. The beggar climbs the mountain as quickly as possible, almost dying from exhaustion in the process. And what does he find at the top?”
“The Blood Heart Begonia?” Qiu Haitang had guessed.
“Absolutely nothing,” Shen Qingqiu answered.
“You’re right,” Luo Binghe replied. “The beggar had been tricked yet again. When he descended the mountain and returned to his wife, she was already dead. Without a friend to help him, he carried her body up the mountain by himself. He set her down next to a bush of begonias, her favorite flower.
Then, he slit his own throat, and died with her. Their blood seeped into the roots of the begonias, and the first Blood Heart Begonia was born from the remnants of their undying love.”
“How tragic,” Qiu Haitang had sighed.
“How foolish,” Shen Qingqiu scoffed.
“Yes,” Luo Binghe agreed. “The beggar was a foolish man.”
Of course Shen Qingqiu, of all people, would understand the true lesson of the tale. He was one of Luo Binghe’s many teachers, after all. Luo Binghe could almost laugh.
Luo Binghe learned this story’s ending long before he’d ever heard it.
He’d learned long ago that mercy didn’t exist, that others couldn’t be trusted, and that nobody would come to save him. Luo Binghe had learned that unless he wanted to succumb to tragedy like the beggar in the story, he would have to take this merciless world by its neck and bring it to heel.
Luo Binghe could admit that, at times, true innocence might occasionally exist in the world. But innocence was foolish and fragile. It was easily tricked by swindlers into buying fake medicine for its wife, fake jade pendants for its son.
Luo Binghe had learned his lesson.
He knew now that there existed only two kinds of people in this world: those that would support him, and those that would stand in his way.
And whether ally or enemy, servant or scum, Luo Binghe would give them both their due.
He looked at the elegant man standing next to him, bathed now in the dim shades of twilight.
Had there ever existed a greater example of scum than Shen Qingqiu? Murderer, traitor, backstabber, pervert. Qiu Haitang made the mistake of offering Shen Qingqiu kindness and love, and she’d paid the price for it with her family’s blood. She wasn’t even the only one of Luo Binghe’s wives that had the blood of her kin on Shen Qingqiu’s hands.
Luo Binghe marveled at how he used to revere his former shizun as much as he feared him, at how he’d hopelessly wished for his regard. That Luo Binghe had once bowed low for him, endured his petty anger and harsh punishments without ever knowing why...the thought of it made his gut churn with blood.
As a disciple, Luo Binghe had done everything that was asked of him, like some foolish and desperate beggar. And in the end, he was rewarded with nothing but rejection and the Endless Abyss.
Only now was everything as it should have been all along. Outside of these false dreams, Luo Binghe sat strong and proud on his throne, while Shen Qingqiu was strung up in the dungeons, gifted only the slowest of deaths, living out the remnants of his worthless life in darkness and disgrace. Shen Qingqiu couldn’t hurt anyone else, not anymore.
But it wasn’t enough.
It was never enough.
You could only come this far thanks to me, why don’t you show me your gratitude?
Those were the words Shen Qingqiu had spoken as he mocked, laughing even as blood seeped from his wounds, staining the dungeon floor.
Luo Binghe’s jaw clenched. Shen Qingqiu’s pain would never be enough to satisfy him. There were only so many pieces of Shen Qingqiu’s body that he could tear away. Luo Binghe would have to reach into his chest and tear his heart out.
It wasn’t fair.
What had Luo Binghe done to deserve this Shen Qingqiu?
Ever since returning from the world with that Shen Qingqiu, Luo Binghe had felt pangs of hunger return to him, twisting in his gut. It was as though he were once again a starving child, desperate for scraps. He wasn’t a child anymore, he was an Emperor. Emperors didn’t starve. They shouldn’t starve.
Come with me.
Those were the words Luo Binghe had spoken, to that other Shen Qingqiu.
Luo Binghe shut his eyes. The vision of those two was burned into his mind. He recalled them perfectly, their silhouettes framed by tall stalks of bamboo. Touching each other, holding each other. Looking at each other with care and concern.
Even now, the image of them together still ached like an old wound. Like an empty stomach.
Pathetic.
“The wife.”
Luo Binghe opened his eyes. “Ah, Shidi?”
“The beggar’s wife was the foolish one,” Shen Qingqiu said. He was standing like a statue in the darkness, stoic and unmoving as he watched the unfurling of the Blood Heart Begonia. The flower’s shimmering lights danced in his deep black eyes.
“What made the wife foolish?” Luo Binghe asked, only half expecting an answer.
“She was foolish to wait for him.”
Shen Qingqiu continued to gaze at the flower as if he was looking at something far, far away. His words were heavy with meaning. It was a meaning that Luo Binghe couldn’t even begin to guess at.
What reply was Shen Qingqiu expecting from Yue Qingyuan right now? What was he thinking about, underneath that distant gaze? If Luo Binghe cracked open his skull, what would he find?
Luo Binghe remained silent and turned back towards the flower.
No more words were said between them.
Luo Binghe bit at his lips as the advisor droned on and on about some tedious affair. It had to do with provinces, or jurisdictions, or something of that nature. Luo Binghe was quickly discovering that ruling an empire was much different from conquering it. Taxes needed to be collected, ministers needed to be put in their place, wives and children needed to be regularly placated.
Luo Binghe went down to the dungeons to cheer up his mood.
He decided to pay a visit to Shen Qingqiu.
Luo Binghe found it almost meditative, watching that miserable figure as it dangled from its chain. Luo Binghe’s cloak was decorated with special talismans, designed to shield him from the rancid and pungent odor of the space. Shen Qingqiu was even more inhuman like this, asleep and unaware, hanging like a dead insect with its appendages torn off.
Luo Binghe smiled.
He thought back to their last conversation, and wondered if it might be time to take a peek at Shen Qingqiu’s memories.
Luo Binghe had never bothered to search through Shen Qingqiu’s older memories, not even the ones that featured Yue Qingyuan. For one, he didn’t need to. Not only were Luo Binghe’s own memories of Cang Qiong sufficient, not only were his acting skills honed to perfection, but the gaps in his knowledge of Yue Qingyuan’s mannerisms were helpfully filled in by Shen Qingqiu’s own recollections, projected through the stuff of his dreams.
And besides, Luo Binghe didn’t want to see Shen Qingqiu’s memories. He recoiled from the thought of touching the darker corners of Shen Qingqiu’s mind. It wasn’t because of fear, of course. He merely avoided Shen Qingqiu’s memories out of revulsion—he didn’t want to dirty himself.
But the gap separating Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan was wide, and Luo Binghe was, when getting right down to it, extremely bored. It wouldn’t hurt to pull up a few memories of their shared past, quickly look around, and see if he might find anything worthwhile.
Luo Binghe found himself looking down a long, dilapidated alley.
A gang of bedraggled youths surrounded a young child on the ground. They hit and kicked at him, calling him a brat and a mongrel. They cursed him out for daring to steal their food.
Something about the scene felt familiar.
Luo Binghe couldn’t see the child’s face through his disheveled hair. The child was dressed in tatters, smeared with dirt and filth. Someone new appeared at the end of the alley and shouted, warning the youths about the approach of nearby guards.
The youths swore to themselves and scrambled away, bumping into each other as they raced out of the alley. The child on the ground slowly sat up and dusted himself off, calmly straightening his belt, as though he were used to this sort of thing.
The one who’d yelled the warning, an older child, waited until the youths were gone. Then he ran down the alley to help the younger child to his feet. The older child gently chastised the younger child for stealing from other beggars, while looking over the younger child’s wounds and wiping away any blood. The younger child’s face was bruised and swollen, but his eyes were cold and piercing. He showed no regrets.
The younger child took out two brown buns, hidden beneath his shirt, and shoved one into the hands of the older child. He scolded the older child for being a crummy liar, saying that the youths would soon realize that no guards were coming, that they would come back and beat them both to death.
The two children held hands as they ran out of the alley together. They ran past Luo Binghe, completely unaware of his presence. They were only the figments of a distant memory, after all.
Luo Binge watched those two small figures as they ran away and disappeared into the fading edges of remembrance.
This visit was pointless and unnecessary, Luo Binghe decided.
He left Shen Qingqiu’s memories, and didn’t come back.
Luo Binghe still attended meetings with droning advisors. He still bickered with ministers, grappled with bureaucrats, and wrestled with the intrigues of his chaotic harem.
He still desperately sought a distraction of some kind, before all of it drove him to madness.
Perhaps it was time for a change of setting.
The dreams had previously been set in a sweet and unending springtime. Even Meng Mo had never created as masterful a mental cage as this. It was the kind of illusion that dulled the waking mind of even the sharpest cultivators, lulling them into complacency. The setting was timeless and pleasant.
But spring was over now. Instead, Luo Binghe walked through the crisp air of a chilly autumn evening.
The stones under his feet led to the hot springs on Xian Shu Peak, open to men only at select times of the year. Shen Qingqiu’s mind would supply its own reasoning as to why he’d decided to visit the hot springs this late into the night, when only a high ranking Peak Lord would be permitted entry.
Luo Binghe met a few his wives at this time of year, after some oddly convenient misunderstandings about the hot springs scheduling. Why not draw inspiration from life?
Luo Binghe followed the echoes of the dreamscape as they led him to a steaming spring, and standing at the edge of that spring, his prey. He masked his presence, letting himself fade back into the thick forest of trees.
Shen Qingqiu was in the middle of undressing. He looked carefully at his surroundings before letting his robes spill down around him, unveiling the smooth expanse of his skin. His figure was even more pleasing to look at, without all those expensive layers of robes to hide it away.
Luo Binghe’s eyes raked over those long and shapely legs. It really was a pity he’d sent both of them away.
Shen Qingqiu, fastidious as always, folded his robes carefully before stepping into the spring. His movements were hesitant, almost skittish. He gathered his hair and piled it atop his head, revealing the smooth and slender line of his neck. A dark mole peaked out, just below the hairline.
Luo Binghe watched with predatory hunger as Shen Qingqiu lowered himself into spring. He saw Shen Qingqiu’s bare skin disappear beneath the water—saw him lean back against the stones, finally relaxing into himself, complacent and vulnerable.
Luo Binghe wanted to ambush Shen Qingqiu that very instant, but he also wanted to stay quiet and watch the show. During his visit to that other world, his fun with that other Shen Qingqiu had been rudely interrupted before any clothes could be removed. In his own world, he’d only seen the bare parts of Shen Qingqiu’s body while ripping it to pieces.
Hidden away in the shadows, Luo Binghe didn’t need to avert his eyes and pretend at respectability. How could he waste this opportunity to fully appreciate the view?
Then again, Luo Binghe was tired of waiting.
“Oh, Qingqiu-shidi, I didn’t see you there.”
Shen Qingqiu almost jumped out of his skin, sending ripples through the water as his body jerked around. His face reddened—clearly as angry at his own reaction as he was at the interruption.
Luo Binghe smiled gently. “Mu-shidi suggested I come here to enjoy the healing properties of the springs, before Xian Shu closes the area to men. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have startled you. ”
Shen Qingqiu bristled at his words. “I wasn’t startled.”
Luo Binghe made sure to step between Shen Qingqiu and the folded robes. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said, slowly undoing his own belt. He carefully noted Shen Qingqiu’s reaction as he stripped himself down, layer by layer. He let the cloth drape artfully over his own body as it fell, revealing his firm shoulders, the taut muscles of his chest and arms.
His face, his skin, his figure—those parts all came from Yue Qingyuan.
The rest of him, though...
Shen Qingqiu turned his head away before Luo Binghe could reveal what was between his legs. He’d been looking forward to seeing Shen Qingqiu’s reaction. What a shame.
Luo Binghe entered the hot springs slowly, making sure that he was still placed between Shen Qingqiu and the rock where their robes sat folded together, side by side.
Shen Qingqiu kept his head turned away, his skin flushing pink under the heat of the steam.
They sat in the quiet together. Shen Qingqiu shifted uncomfortably, glaring at a bird that dared to alight on a nearby branch. His gaze flitted about, landing on everything but the man sitting quietly next to him. After a few moments, Shen Qingqiu cleared his throat, but had nothing to say. It was almost painful to watch.
After letting him simmer for a few moments more, Luo Binghe finally decided to have mercy. He recalled something that one of his wives once told him, a wife who’d trained at Xian Shu Peak—he couldn’t remember her name.
“Supposedly, these springs collect water from the roots of spiritual herbs at the peak of the mountain,” Luo Binghe said. “The water helps strengthen one’s spiritual energy and regulates the flow of qi.”
“Ah, how kind of Sect Master Yue,” Shen Qingqiu said, without turning to look. “Still concerned for his poor shidi’s inferior cultivation, after all this time.”
“I was merely voicing a passing thought. Qingqiu-shidi’s cultivation is already impressive.”
“Don’t patronize me,” Shen Qingqiu said, irritation in his voice. He seemed a little relieved at having found something to complain about. “Sect Master Yue, you’ve never known any setbacks, your comforting words mean nothing to me. Isn’t it just as your Liu-shidi always says? From the outset, my foundation was too weak.”
Shen Qingqiu chuckled bitterly before frowning. “A prodigy like you wouldn’t know what it’s like, wanting something that stays just beyond your reach.”
Luo Binghe stared at him.
Shen Qingqiu crossed his arms, shifting his body with agitation as he sat in the water, his pride not allowing him to leave.
He can turn any comment into an insult, can’t he? Luo Binghe thought.
Shen Qingqiu truly displayed an impressive ability to keep Yue Qingyuan always at arm’s length. Why did Yue Qingyuan put up with the disrespect? Why did Shen Qingqiu lash out at the one person willing to indulge him?
Luo Binghe recalled the image of those two dirty beggar children, holding hands as they ran away together.
He wondered what would happen if he used that name? He’d been eager to try it out, ever since this whole game began.
“Qi-ge meant no offense,” Luo Binghe said.
Shen Qingqiu startled at those words, glaring with displeasure. “I don’t know anyone by that name!”
Luo Binghe suppressed a smirk. The only reason he knew that name was from hearing Shen Qingqiu speak it himself.
“Sect Master Yue should never bring up that name again,” Shen Qingqiu said, turning away.
What messy strings tied these two disparate men together? What kept them revolving around each other, but never touching?
“Qingqiu-shidi,” Luo Binghe said in a low voice. He decided that it was time to act boldly. To stop all this skirting around and hiding away behind politeness. He wanted to grab at the pieces of this broken cup, to see where the shards fit in place, even if the edges cut at his hands.
“Why won’t you let me get close to you?” Luo Binghe asked. “Why do you always reject me?”
From the look on his face, Shen Qingqiu hadn’t been expecting those words.
Luo Binghe couldn’t stop thinking of those beggar children.
He couldn’t stop thinking of that name.
“Xiao Jiu…”
Shen Qingqiu’s expression immediately twisted into fury. He abruptly stood up, splashing the water around him. “How dare you use that name?”
An interesting reaction.
“I know you’re angry with me,” Luo Binghe quickly said.
“Perceptive, aren’t you!” Shen Qingqiu snapped, already moving to leave the spring.
“You have every right to hate me,” Luo Binghe tried, going after him with tentative steps. “But you know I’d do anything to make it up to you.”
Shen Qingqiu sneered at him. “Forget it! You can assuage your guilt by staying as far away from me as possible. Stop pestering me, stop visiting me, stop coming to Qing Jing Peak!”
Luo Binghe had more questions than answers, and Shen Qingqiu was angrier than he’d ever been. But Luo Binghe wasn’t worried. He already knew that it didn’t really matter. None of this mattered.
Luo Binghe grabbed Shen Qingqiu’s arm, his grip gentle but firm.
“You—!” Shen Qingqiu blurted out, shocked. “What’s wrong with you?” Shen Qingqiu, despite the fury in his tone, made no move to shake off Luo Binghe’s grip. Luo Binghe lowered his head apologetically—yet he made sure not to release Shen Qingqiu’s arm.
Shen Qingqiu’s whole body tensed. Something pained crossed his features.
“You’re useless, you know that? When I wait for you, for years and years, you don’t show up. And then, when I don’t want you to come, you always...when I don’t want you to come back, you...you...” Shen Qingqiu’s words faltered, as if he were slowly receding into his thoughts. As if he were just now distracted by the haunting echo of a distant memory—something painful and traumatic, hidden beneath a veil of dreams.
It wasn’t time for that yet.
Luo Binghe quickly let go of Shen Qingqiu’s arm and instead grabbed his hand, holding it tightly between his palms. “You’re right. I’m useless,” he said, rubbing Shen Qingqiu’s knuckles with his thumb.
Shen Qingqiu still seemed on edge. Was it merely the physical contact, or could he sense that something was off? Luo Binghe made no more sudden movements. Instead, he looked beseechingly at Shen Qingqiu while taking a moment to feel at the strings of the dreamscape, tugging at the edges of his control to test their strength.
To Luo Binghe’s relief, just as he’d thought, the strength of the dreamscape hadn’t faltered. The veil remained firmly secured.
“Your shixiong is useless,” Luo Binghe soothed, drawing nearer, imbuing his tone and posture with contrition, “but he won’t leave you waiting ever again.”
“Aren’t you tired of making empty promises?” Shen Qingqiu replied, closing off his expression.
“I know you can’t trust me, after the promises I’ve broken. But Shidi should know…guilt isn’t the reason his shixiong always wants to see him...” Luo Binghe’s voice trailed off, as if he were suddenly overcome with embarrassment. His eyes subtly drew attention to their current predicament—standing naked in the water together, enveloped in gently wafting steam, touching each other through the bare skin of their hands.
Shen Qingqiu’s eyes widened. He paused only for a moment before floundering out of Luo Binghe’s grip, pushing awkwardly past him towards where their clothes were folded. Luo Binghe couldn’t keep the smile from creeping up his face. Shen Qingqiu tried to hide it, but Luo Binghe caught the flicker in his eyes—there and gone in an instant. The widening of his dark pupils, almost imperceptible within that inky blackness. The delicate flush rising high on his cheeks.
In spite of Shen Qingqiu’s anger, in spite of his biting words, his numerous attempts to drive off the Sect Master...after killing Yue Qingyuan, Luo Binghe uncovered Shen Qingqiu’s closely held secret.
When Luo Binghe had lured Yue Qingyuan into the deadly trap that finally defeated him, he’d had good reasons to do so. Yue Qingyuan couldn’t be confronted head on—much to Luo Binghe’s bitter frustration—and Yue Qingyuan would pose a threat to Luo Binghe’s dominion as long as he lived.
But besides that, Luo Binghe had relished the opportunity to take down Shen Qingqiu’s only ally. The only person who would dare to call themselves friend to such trash, who would dare to answer his letter of blood. Yue Qingyuan hadn’t been Luo Binghe’s enemy, not at first, but he’d certainly never been Luo Binghe’s ally. Not even when Luo Binghe was a disciple.
There were only two kinds of people in this world, after all.
Luo Binghe had ensured that Yue Qingyuan’s destruction would be as complete and wretched as possible. He’d annihilated every last trace of him with thousands upon thousands of poisoned arrows, until the noble Sect Master’s body dissolved into a bloody smear. Not even a measly scrap of cloth was left for a proper burial.
Luo Binghe was magnanimous enough to concede that, perhaps, his actions were...just a bit excessive.
But Yue Qingyuan’s grisly death was Shen Qingqiu’s own fault. It had all been for his sake. Luo Binghe had been starving for some kind of reaction from Shen Qingqiu, any kind of reaction at all. Shen Qingqiu numbed too quickly to the pain of physical torture. Luo Binghe wanted to finally reach his former master, the way he’d always wanted to, the way he never could before.
And yet, despite his plans, he hadn’t been prepared for Shen Qingqiu’s actual response.
Luo Binghe could still hear that manic and unsettling laughter, ringing off the walls of the dungeon. He remembered the look in that solitary eye as it stared down at the broken shards of Xuan Su—as it reflected at first confusion, then horror, then despair...
It was disorienting, the idea that Shen Qingqiu could value loyalty to such a degree. That he had the capacity to grieve. When Luo Binghe tore off Shen Qingqiu’s final limb, it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as he’d had anticipated. And he still heard that pitiful, frustrating cry for “Qi-ge” long after he’d ripped that tongue from its mouth.
The name echoed through the corners of his mind. Sometimes, it felt almost inescapable.
But Luo Binghe wasn’t much disturbed by it. He had no reason to fear any of his heart demons resurfacing, not after mastering Xin Mo. He’d used that demonic blade to conquer and crush his own pathetic weakness, leaving no heart demons blocking his path to the highest levels of cultivation. In the end, he stood tall as the one and only master of his heart.
Shen Qingqiu, on the other hand, shouldn’t have even had a heart. He shouldn’t have been capable of love—or at least, not any real or selfless kind.
But the truth of it was inescapable. It stung like sour acid at the back of Luo Binghe’s throat, as Shen Qingqiu refused to acknowledge him, as Shen Qingqiu gazed at the shards of Xuan Su with his one remaining eye. Luo Binghe had unwittingly dragged Shen Qingqiu’s secret into the light of day beneath a rain of poisoned arrows, behind the falling shards of a broken sword.
Shen Qingqiu loved Yue Qingyuan.
The only question now was—how much?