Chapter Text
A warm smile.
An accommodating voice.
Gentle hands, combing through his hair, mischievously tying a little braid, and stroking his skin.
And those eyes…
He looked up, trying to meet the warm gaze he knew would be—should be—awaiting him, but the person simply laughed and shook their head before their face started splintering.
The cracks snaked out like branches, and soon the world was splintering too. Then everything around them began shattering. As he reached out for that person's hand, the darkness swallowed them both before his eyes snapped open.
This time, it wasn't darkness that greeted him but sunlight, warm and bright like molten gold on his skin. Yet inside his mind, everything remained dark, with a void growing and churning as he reached desperately after the cobwebs of what was just another fading dream.
He bolted upwards, drawing in sharp breaths. That dream again. He squeezed his eyes shut and shoved a hand into his hair, leaning forward with a shudder. His breaths shook slightly as he tried to recall that face one more time.
Luo Binghe had long since mastered the dreamscape. He had surpassed his own master and could easily craft faces on the people in the background and could pluck anyone out of his memories to relive any moment from his life.
So why couldn't he ever seem to capture this face?
A face that he'd once hated with every fibre of his being. A face that had hated him right back, sneering with narrowed eyes. But now he could only think of that time that face had been so kind, so caring, so loving. The owner of that face had loved him…
But it hadn't really been him that that person loved.
Letting out a low growl, Luo Binghe turned around and became almost startled to see that he wasn't in bed alone. The body that slept beside him was voluptuously curved like a porcelain vase, with fair, smooth skin and dark, raven hair that framed a small, delicate face.
The person stirred and awoke, her lashes fluttering as she glanced up at him. "Good morning, my Lord."
He grunted in response, getting out of bed and beginning to get dressed.
"My Lord," she tried to say, sitting up with a furrowed brow. "Is something the matter?"
"It's nothing." He turned away from her, tying his sash. "Sha Hualing, you are dismissed. Feel free to ask the chefs to prepare you breakfast. I have work to attend to."
For a moment there was nothing but silence, but it was a tense silence, as he sensed she wished to argue. Finally though, she huffed almost imperceptibly and clambered out of bed, throwing on her red gauze and leaving the chambers.
Luo Binghe breathed in deeply after she was gone, his shoulders rising and falling with its release. He could now remember that last night, in another desperate attempt to somehow avoid a repeat of the same dream, he'd invited Sha Hualing into his bedchambers and played with her until nearly sunrise, but still he'd fallen asleep.
He let out another disgruntled sigh through his nose before washing up. The entire time he kept thinking back to those last few shards of his latest dream, another pile of broken puzzle pieces scattered at the foot of his own mind. They'd been building up for months now, jabbing at his brain and coming back up at the most inconvenient moments.
But every time he tried to put the puzzle back together, he couldn't find all the pieces. When he entered his own brain, he could see countless reflections of that smile, those hands…but nothing ever of those eyes.
Always broken, always fragmented. Never whole.
The same way he sometimes felt.
Luo Binghe ignored the thought and seated himself before the mirror, grabbing a comb and tugging it through his hair. There were the messy remnants of a braid there that he'd done his best to keep, but enough time had passed that it had untangled quite a bit.
He touched it gently.
Those hands, with slender fingers, deftly and playfully tying the braid into his hair, brushing through his locks, patting him on the head. That voice, lilting and kind, with that face…
His comb snagged on a knot.
Luo Binghe tried to calm himself. But now everything inside him felt just as knotted and he suddenly couldn't get enough air and there was something boiling deep within him—
Frustration spiking, he picked up a dagger and violently jabbed it into the wall.
Almost immediately, a servant rushed inside. "My Lord, is everything alright?"
"Everything's fine." He flung the words out brusquely. "Get breakfast prepared as soon as possible. I have a long day of work ahead of me."
"Umm…" The servant stared at the blade poking out of the wall. "About this…"
"My hand slipped," he interrupted flatly, a hint of a snarl underneath the surface that warned against any more discussion. "Fix it."
"Yes, my Lord." They bowed, and he left.
Stalking down the ornate hallways of the Huan Hua Palace, Luo Binghe made his way toward the dining room.
While the servants prepared his breakfast, he waited on the balcony. His wives and children would be eating somewhere else, closer to their own chambers. He'd be dining alone.
Luo Binghe glanced down at the gardens and noted the carnations now blooming below. He'd wondered for a while after that encounter with the man in his dreams if he should try growing some bamboo, but at the same time, the idea hurt a little. He wasn't sure how he would feel, seeing green stalks that reminded him of Qing Jing Peak.
That reminded him of that man.
"My Lord, breakfast is served."
Luo Binghe turned around and sat down to eat, shoving any more regrets under the rug as he placed an emotionless mask on his face, readying himself for the rest of the long, long day.
"Enough!" he roared, slamming his fist down on the armrest of his chair.
The two demons arguing before him immediately dropped into bows, their heads lowered and fists raised before themselves.
Luo Binghe glared down at them. "Take the damn miscreant and deal with him. I don't care how you two do it, but make sure he dies for what he's done."
"Yes, my Lord."
As they slowly left, Luo Binghe sank into his throne and sighed.
For a long time there was only silence in that darkened, large, empty room, but he himself finally broke it to call, "Mobei-jun."
"Hm."
"Go follow them. I don't trust those idiots."
"Mn." The ice demon began leaving, but he paused briefly in the doorway.
Luo Binghe could sense him standing there. "Well, what is it? I haven't got all day," he muttered.
"My Lord, there is one more waiting to see you."
Finally, Luo Binghe opened his eyes. Sure enough, a small mouse-like creature nervously walked into the room.
"Speak," he commanded, just as Mobei-jun left.
"Umm…m-my Lord," the demon began, nervously rubbing his hands together. "I was hoping to seek your assistance. There have recently been some human rebels ruining our crops by Cang Qiong Mountain."
Hearing the name, Luo Binghe stirred and frowned. Cang Qiong Mountain sect had long been destroyed by him, their ashes swept away by the winds. But rogue cultivators continued to roam the area, causing trouble.
He couldn't help but think of that man again. They'd met once, among the charred remains on that mountain.
"I will handle it," he said coolly. "You are dismissed now."
"Many thank you's, my Lord!" The demon bowed profusely.
Luo Binghe nodded once and shut his eyes again. He could feel a headache incoming, causing him to rub his temples with one hand.
"My Lord…"
"What is it now?" he snapped, blinking open his eyes.
The demon flinched. "I-I simply wished to suggest you…rest," he said. "I can sense you are tired. R-Retiring early may help."
Luo Binghe was quiet for a few seconds. Then he rose, speaking slowly. "Are you suggesting I am not in the right mind to be handling my duties? Do you think you have any right to be telling me what I ought to do?"
"N-No, I-I am nothing but a humble peasant…"
"So do not speak out of line." Luo Binghe summoned demonic energy into his palm and released it at the demon. He grinned angrily. "If you do so again, I will not show you this amount of mercy."
The blast had missed him by only centimetres. He was trembling before he collapsed and kowtowed three times, crying, "I beg forgiveness, my Lord! I was too arrogant. This servant deserves to die."
Luo Binghe stared down at him. He was shivering, his vision glued to the floor. Despite his apology, Luo Binghe felt no satisfaction in his terror. He turned away. "You are dismissed. I will handle the human rebels. Now leave."
"Yes, my Lord! A thousand thank you's, my Lord!"
The peasant blubbered onwards as he left. The heavy doors slammed shut behind him, and Luo Binghe was alone once again.
His shoulders fell. In truth, he simply didn't want to sleep.
What good would it do? It'll just be the same goddamn thing waiting for me again, he thought bitterly, fixing his robes and walking to the balcony. Once again he stood there, staring at the striped carnations. They appeared different, washed in moonlight.
Subconsciously, he reached out as if he could touch them, but he soon drew his hand back in. Still, I wonder what he is doing right now. Could he be looking at the moon as well? Or could he be asleep already?
He paused. Did they grow carnations where they are too?
He imagined that man, asleep in bed. When he had first met him, he'd witnessed his sleeping form. He himself had been injured at that time, and the man had held onto him, passing him spiritual energy through the night.
Luo Binghe's grip on the railing tightened. He longed to be back in that bed in that small, bamboo cabin, a cabin currently nothing more than ashes here—but most of all, he longed to be back with that man.
He isn't mine.
He growled, turning away and walking back inside. He left the throne room and wandered down the hallway, counting his steps.
With each month that passed, he'd thought of the man more and more. The pain wasn't as raw anymore, but the longing only grew. It was even more frustrating knowing how futile it all was.
He isn't mine, but he should be.
As Luo Binghe thought this, he glanced down and noticed that it was no longer carpet beneath his boots, but lush green grass. Starting, his chin jerked upwards.
He was definitely outside. Bamboo stalks surrounded him, green leaves dancing in the wind as the sun shone down on him. When did I succumb to the dreamscape? he wondered, looking around. It had been months since he'd let himself sleep so early.
He could taste something bitter in his mouth as an uneasy premonition arose inside him. It's going to be the same damn dream again. He's going to appear, and I'm not going to be able to see him or talk to him.
This dream—
"Binghe."
—Is still just going to shatter.
"Binghe, come here."
He stopped. Part of him desperately wanted to look, but he forced himself not to. He knew the consequences of trying to see that man's face.
There's going to be nothing waiting for me if I do. I should just—
"Yes, Shizun!"
What?
This was new—and by that, he meant that it was actually old. Because that voice—it was young and youthful. It was happy—and it was his.
Luo Binghe whirled around and stepped forward, staring in amazement at the scene before him. It was a place that was entirely familiar, and the breeze rustling through his hair, causing emerald leaves to scatter, left him with a confused sense of nostalgia that he wasn't sure he liked. But what truly captured his attention was the two figures before him, with the taller one watching as the smaller one ran towards him.
"Shizun!" the boy chirped, pouncing immediately.
To Luo Binghe's amazement, the man did not scowl or berate the boy for hugging him. He simply rubbed his head—the gesture seemingly affectionate—as he smiled calmly. "Did you finish your laps?"
"Mn, I did!"
"Good. Now let's try again, okay? Get into position."
Luo Binghe felt as if a needle was stabbing at his heart, and even with the years of walls he'd built up around that heart, he couldn't help but feel each brick suddenly tremble.
"Loosen your back," the man instructed.
"Yes, Shizun!"
"And lower your shoulders. Good. Now try again."
The boy punched forward before doing a spinning kick, pulling out his sword and swinging.
The man's face was half-covered by his fan, but his eyes were shining. "Very good!" he praised. "Let's try a couple more before resting. It's almost time for dinner."
"Mn! What would Shizun like to eat tonight?"
Now he lowered the fan, and Luo Binghe could make out the very real smile that graced his lips. "Whatever you wish to make will be fine. I'm sure it will be delicious."
This isn't fair. He ignored the pain as anger began to swell, his fingers curling into fists by his sides. This isn't how it's supposed to go.
His memories drew up images of this man, who was currently teaching with a tone that could even be considered gentle, never giving him the time of day. When he did, it was nothing but angry snarls and glares, with a cold voice denouncing his every move. He was never referred to as anything more than "Bastard," and most of the time, he didn't even get that. The words were instead whispered to and then delivered by his dashixiong, Ming Fan.
And the beatings… All directed by this man, who watched his suffering with wintry eyes.
But this scenario was undeniably that man and him—a younger version of him—a happy version of him. And this—
"Binghe."
The warmth of the sudden, new voice coming from behind him ripped him from the whirlwind of thoughts forming, causing him to jerk his head to the side.
He nearly choked on thin air.
The same man from this dream scenario—his shizun—Shen Qingqiu—stood before him, and he was using the same accommodating tone he'd been dreaming of for months now.
Not only that, but he could see Shen Qingqiu's face without the dream shattering, and that face was smiling. At him.
He wasn't prepared for this. His mind began to flounder. When he finally found his words, he sounded weaker than he would've liked: "Sh—Shizun?" He had to stop himself before he said "Shen Qingqiu," switching quickly, but he nevertheless faltered.
The other man tilted his head. "Hmm?" His tone remained amenable, but he also appeared to be distracted, his gaze wandering to the master-disciple duo chatting in the background. Shen Qingqiu then opened his fan and giggled.
Luo Binghe felt like his heart was going to stop. He giggled. His shizun was giggling.
"Binghe, ah, Binghe," the man said, grinning slightly. "You really like these memories, don't you? Always dreaming about them."
"I—this disciple—" He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing with difficulty. "They are…happy memories." That much is true. They may not have belonged to him, but even he could see the joy radiating from that younger version of himself.
"This master is glad they hold such a place in your heart." Shen Qingqiu reached out and patted him on the head. "I am also glad to be making new ones with you now."
His walls were beginning to crumble. Luo Binghe felt like his throat was closing up, but he grabbed the other's hands before he could let go.
Shen Qingqiu furrowed his brow. "Binghe—"
"Shizun," he repeated, and then he didn't want to stop. "Shizun—"
"Ow, Binghe, you're hurting me." The man frowned, wrenching his hand away from his, and Luo Binghe grasped at empty air when his warmth slipped away.
You can't let him go. The voice snaked into his head almost immediately, a frustration and anger pulsating beneath its surface. You can't let him leave you again. You deserve at least that much. Make sure he cannot escape.
Luo Binghe snatched his hand once more, the action so sudden he yanked hard, causing Shen Qingqiu to stumble forward.
"What's gotten into you?" he yelped.
"Shizun," he said, forcefully bundling him up in his arms. For a moment, he only frantically searched his face before he managed to whisper, "Shizun, is it really you?"
None of this felt real. He was almost afraid he was simply dreaming a mirage of him again, but his dreams had never been this kind. They had never provided him with new interactions with this gentle, loving Shen Qingqiu—much less giving him a Shen Qingqiu with a face he could see. So this must be real. But if it is…how?
"Binghe!"
At that annoyed, commanding tone, he instinctively let go almost immediately.
"What is going on tonight? What are you grabbing this master so tightly for?" Shen Qingqiu scolded him, wagging his fan. "Of course it's me! Why are you wailing like I might disappear?"
Luo Binghe stamped down on the impatience and irritation that briefly leaked out of his heart. Instead, he said, "It's no big deal if I grab you, is it? Don't I grab you all the time?"
"You—!" Shen Qingqiu raised his hand, and Luo Binghe steeled himself, expecting a hit, but it never came. Instead, he felt a light tap on his forehead.
His shizun's—if he could call him that—expression was exasperated as he tapped him again with his fan. "You silly child. This master is already used to your clinginess and indulges you to this degree. You don't need to be so rough."
Luo Binghe swallowed. "Shizun…" He reached out, but when Shen Qingqiu flinched slightly, he lowered his hands. "This disciple is…sorry." He was still having difficulty speaking. "Did I hurt Shizun?"
"No, it's fine." Shen Qingqiu sighed, the tenseness leaving his own shoulders as he let Luo Binghe take his wrist, where red marks were visible. "I just didn't expect you to grab so tightly."
As he massaged the other's skin, his eyes trailed over his shizun's body. He still remembered many, many years ago, ripping this same arm off this same body, with that same face set in a grimace of pain but also holding an arrogant glare filled with nothing but resentment. Luo Binghe himself had felt nothing but disgust and equal resentment in turn.
Once again, he was suddenly finding it hard to breathe.
He slowly lifted Shen Qingqiu's hand, inspecting his palm. This shizun felt solid. Physically, he felt real. But it really didn't feel real. So hesitatingly, and very softly, almost afraid he would hurt him again and arouse suspicion, he bent down until his lips pressed against Shen Qingqiu's knuckles. He let the kisses climb up, and when his gaze slid upwards, he momentarily stopped as the air left him.
Shen Qingqiu's cheeks were flushed, his eyes half-lidded as he bit his lips, and Luo Binghe was suddenly aware how long his lashes were.
Have they always been this long? he wondered, lifting his head. He trailed a few more kisses along Shen Qingqiu's arm and neck before landing on his mouth—first soft, before growing rougher, as if he were a ravenous beast leaping on its unsuspecting prey.
Originally capable of keeping up and reciprocating, Shen Qingqiu now tilted his head back slightly as he gasped, "Binghe—"
But Luo Binghe cut him off with a nibble on the lips, refusing to let him go. He didn't want to hear that scolding voice again. He didn't want to be told to stop. As much as he desired to keep his true identity a secret, he had no qualms about this. You deserve this, the voices in his head whispered. He owes you at least this.
When he finally let them pull apart for air, Shen Qingqiu leaned his head against his chest and muttered, "You're extra clingy tonight, aren't you? And here I thought you were satisfied with all my coddling of you today."
Don't talk about that other version of me. He didn't want to know what the two had gotten up to during the day. Luo Binghe pushed the thought out of his mind. At least here and now, you belong only to me. He buried his face in the crook of the man's neck, mumbling stubbornly like a petulant child, "Did Shizun not miss this disciple?"
"Binghe, we see each other everyday. You practically never let go of this master."
He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. This disciple missed Shizun."
"Alright, alright." Shen Qingqiu reached out and cupped his face with his hands, standing on his tiptoes to give him a peck on the mouth. "This master missed you too, okay? Happy now?"
Luo Binghe's eyes widened. He hadn't expected the other to make a move.
Once more he felt a clawing at his heart, but he resisted the urge to devour this man whole. He caught Shen Qingqiu's hand before shifting his face to kiss his palm, mumbling into it, "Tonight, Shizun is mine, and mine alone."
He seared Shen Qingqiu's face—every detail—from his sparkling gaze, filled with nothing but love and warmth, to his unguarded smile—into his memory. His grip tightened on him as his heart ached painfully in his chest.
Shen Qingqiu patted him on the back. "Yes, yes," he said, chuckling as he was swept into the Demon Lord's arms. "Tonight and forever, this master is yours."
Oh, how he wished that statement were true.