Chapter Text
It starts on the day that Shen Qingqiu receives the invitation to the Immortal Alliance Conference.
Luo Binghe is basking in the warm glow of his shizun’s undivided attention when Shen Qingqiu straightens, expression turning serious. “Binghe.”
“Yes?” Luo Binghe instinctively straightens as well, realizing his shizun has something important to say.
“Do you want to become stronger? Stronger until you are without rival, until no one beneath the heavens would dare challenge you?”
A spike of glee runs through Luo Binghe at being asked a question that he had long since held an answer for. He doesn’t hesitate to say, “Yes!”
“Even if in order to achieve that, you had to suffer through pain, torment, and countless tribulations, to the point that your body and heart were about to collapse—you would still want to become the strongest?”
The specificity of the question is a bit odd, and Luo Binghe takes a moment to consider his answer. “Binghe does not fear suffering and tribulations,” he says slowly. “I only wish to be strong enough to protect the people and things important to me!”
There is, of course, one specific person he wants to protect. The person who has been protecting and teaching him these past few years, personally taking an interest in his now-prized disciple. Luo Binghe wants to get strong enough to protect his shizun from anything, to prove that he is worth all of Shen Qingqiu’s efforts, and to be able to earn a place by his side as an equal.
Instead of looking pleased by this answer, though, something pained briefly flashes across Shen Qingqiu’s face before he schools it into neutrality. It happens so quickly that anyone other than Luo Binghe—self-trained as he is in the art of analyzing his shizun’s micro-expressions—would have missed it. Shen Qingqiu lowers his gaze, staring into his tea, then quietly says, “Binghe should have more consideration for his own well-being.”
Then, before Luo Binghe can come up with a response, Shen Qingqiu stands and excuses himself, leaving his disciple confused in the wake of their conversation.
This is the first sign that something is wrong.
Luo Binghe doesn’t think much of it at first.
Well, that isn’t true. He does think about that conversation. A lot. One might say he agonizes over it, wondering what was wrong with his answer that he didn’t immediately receive words of praise or that small, proud-yet-shy smile that Shen Qingqiu often gifts him with. The best he can figure is that Shen Qingqiu didn’t like him saying that he doesn’t fear suffering or tribulations; his shizun has, in the past, reminded Luo Binghe not to be reckless in his battles and that there’s no shame in retreating from a fight he can’t win.
But then, why not say as much? Why not chide Luo Binghe teasingly, as Shen Qingqiu has done any number of times on the same topic? Why, instead, did his shizun look almost…sad?
All of this is to say that Luo Binghe does, in fact, think much of that conversation. However, he thinks of it from the wrong angle, placing the onus on himself and his response rather than considering any external factors that may have contributed to Shen Qingqiu’s unexpected reaction.
But then something else happens.
With less than a year until the Immortal Alliance Conference, preparations need to be made. Disciples who are set to compete will take on extra missions and training in order to ready themselves as much as they can. Hallmasters and peak lords regularly take note of and make reports on the progress of said disciples, determining who might excel and who might not make the final cut. Unlike other sects, Cang Qiong Mountain aims to only send the best of the best among the disciples who have yet to make a name for themselves, with the hope that this will improve their chances of coming out on top.
Shen Qingqiu doesn’t make the same preparations.
Well, he does make these proper preparations, of course—Luo Binghe would never dare claim that his shizun neglects his duties—but he also makes…additional ones. Ones that Luo Binghe doesn’t quite understand. He spots Shen Qingqiu, once, writing up a lesson plan, and doesn’t think to question it until he later on realizes that said lesson plan was dated over two years in the future.
Shen Qingqiu doesn’t neglect his duties, but he also isn’t the sort to perform them so well. He has a habit of waiting until nearly the end of the month—and until Luo Binghe subtly reminds him—before sketching out the lesson plans for the next month. So the fact that he is working on such things two years in advance…
Well, it’s certainly odd, and it sticks in Luo Binghe’s mind. He briefly considers asking about it but decides to spare his shizun’s thin face and try to puzzle things out on his own.
Though Luo Binghe doesn’t realize it yet, this is the second sign that something is wrong.
Much to Luo Binghe’s chagrin, the other peak lords start darkening the doorstep of the Bamboo House more and more.
And the worst part is that even though it’s usually Luo Binghe’s job to tactfully chase away the social interactions that Shen Qingqiu would rather not deal with, he can’t do that this time! Because Shizun is the one inviting them over!
Yue Qingyuan, Qi Qingqi, Mu Qingfang—all of them come over at Shen Qingqiu’s bidding, taking tea (brewed dutifully by Luo Binghe) and eating snacks (cooked no less dutifully but somewhat bitterly, knowing that they would be shared with those less worthy than his shizun) and discussing whatever shared interests Shen Qingqiu has with each peak lord. Liu Qingge is the worst, most frequent offender, of course, and even the peak lords that Shen Qingqiu hardly cared to look twice at in the past are now invited to flatten the grass of Qing Jing Peak and steal up his precious time.
Don’t they all have jobs to do and their own disciples to attend to?!
Even Shang Qinghua stops by, for all that Shen Qingqiu had previously expressed an odd level of disdain for that particular shidi of his. During his first visit, Shang Qinghua off-handedly mentions something about a misplaced shipment of aphrodisiac flowers for Qian Cao and the strange phrase ‘ti em ai’ that Luo Binghe can’t quite parse, but it has Shen Qingqiu straightening up with wide eyes before abruptly dismissing Luo Binghe from the Bamboo House entirely—something that he never does when others visit. At most, he’ll dismiss Luo Binghe to the attached kitchen or the side room or lightly suggest that he go practice his sword forms outside. But even then, Shen Qingqiu will always relent and allow Luo Binghe to stay, so long as he wheedles and simpers. This time, though, he holds fast even when Luo Binghe pouts, and the latter has no choice but to obey his shizun’s command.
Even more surprising is that as soon as Luo Binghe leaves, Shen Qingqiu immediately throws a privacy ward up around the Bamboo House! What could his shizun possibly have to discuss with Shang-shishu that he has to go to such measures? Surely it isn’t about the aphrodisiac flowers, right?
Right?
Worse, it isn’t a one-off occurrence. Shang Qinghua soon starts visiting often enough to rival even Liu Qingge, and his visits are made worse due to the fact that Luo Binghe isn’t permitted to bear witness to what is discussed. Despite himself, despite how unfilial a thought this is to have, Luo Binghe can’t help but wonder if his shizun is…scheming with Shang Qinghua. About what, though, he has no clue.
This is the third sign that something is wrong.
Everything culminates and turns Luo Binghe’s world upside-down due to complete happenstance.
The master in charge of that day’s painting lesson decides to end the class early, and Luo Binghe naturally opts to take that extra time between lessons to visit with his shizun. Later, he’ll consider it a lucky thing that there wasn’t so much time as to warrant him stopping by the main kitchens to prepare a surprise snack, as that might have prevented him from witnessing what he did.
Another lucky thing is that Luo Binghe impulsively decides to test out how good he has gotten at concealing his presence from even an immortal master like Shen Qingqiu. Not for any nefarious reasons, of course, since the only thing on his mind is the idea that Shen Qingqiu will either detect him and tease him for it in that way that makes Luo Binghe’s knees weak, or not detect him and be subsequently impressed by Luo Binghe’s rising skills. A win either way.
So really, it’s through an incredible combination of luck and coincidence that Luo Binghe slips into the Bamboo House unnoticed and manages to stand over Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder for just long enough to catch a glimpse of what he is writing: a letter addressed to Yue Qingyuan.
Zhangmen-shixiong,
This shidi hopes this letter finds you well, even though the circumstances might preclude that. Now that I am gone—
There’s more to the letter, but that’s all that Luo Binghe gets to see before Shen Qingqiu notices him and whips around with a flustered shout of Luo Binghe’s name, quickly covering the missive with his sleeve. Luo Binghe’s blood roars in his ears. It takes him a few moments to realize that his shizun asked what he’s doing back so early.
Now that I am gone.
The words echo in his mind. Luo Binghe opens his mouth to ask, to demand why Shen Qingqiu is writing such a morbid thing, but—
Isn’t it obvious?
Without a Cure’s treatment is going well, but it is still just that. Treatment. Not a cure, since there is no cure. And as flippant as Shen Qingqiu likes to be about his health, there’s no denying that even with the treatment slowing it down to a snail’s crawl, the poison is nonetheless gradually, painstakingly eating away at his cultivation.
The end result is inevitable, but it should also be far, far in the future. So why is Shen Qingqiu taking the time now to draft out a posthumous message to the sect leader?
Luo Binghe recovers himself and cheerily informs Shen Qingqiu of the early dismissal of his lesson and how he missed his shizun terribly—perhaps laying it on a bit thick in order to make it seem like he didn’t see what he saw, but Luo Binghe knows it works based on how Shen Qingqiu visibly relaxes. He chides Luo Binghe for his stickiness but follows it up with the praise for his stealth abilities that Luo Binghe had so hoped for just a few minutes ago.
The praise tastes a bit bitter now.
This is the fourth sign that something is wrong, and the first that properly alarms Luo Binghe.
Now that he knows what to look for, Luo Binghe notices that Shen Qingqiu seems to work on similar posthumous dealings rather often—whenever he has a spare bit of time where Luo Binghe is guaranteed to be out of the house. Shen Qingqiu also seems to be more on guard now that he’s aware of Luo Binghe’s stealth capabilities, and the latter never manages to be able to read over his shizun’s shoulder again. The closest he gets is a few times where he steps into the house and finds Shen Qingqiu somewhat belatedly shoving the papers away.
Obviously, Luo Binghe is more than concerned about his shizun’s behavior, but he doesn’t want to drum up an unnecessary fuss. Without a Cure is already a sensitive subject for multiple reasons, and Luo Binghe would sooner die than cause Shen Qingqiu more trouble over the matter. As such, he investigates in secret. First, Luo Binghe subtly asks Mu Qingfang about the treatment plan, worried that something has perhaps gone wrong on that front to make Shen Qingqiu so sure of his impending death. Mu Qingfang only waves off what seems to be a sticky disciple’s worrying, saying that there’s nothing wrong other than his shixiong’s usual blasé attitude towards his health. Nothing about Mu Qingfang’s words or demeanor indicates any sort of lie.
Next, Luo Binghe tries to find these secret letters in hopes that further reading will make sense of the situation. But his shizun must have an exceptional talent for hiding things, because his searches bring up nothing even when Luo Binghe all but turns the Bamboo House upside-down. Under other circumstances, Luo Binghe might take pride in how his shizun is so talented in matters of discretion.
Right now, though, it only concerns Luo Binghe more that Shen Qingqiu thought to hide them so well.
Luo Binghe’s last-ditch effort is one he wishes he didn’t have to make. For one, he really doesn’t enjoy invading Shen Qingqiu’s privacy, nor is he too fond of the plan he must enact in order to do so. Still, no one will be hurt, and his concern for his shizun overrides any qualms Luo Binghe has.
Luo Binghe sets a fire in the peak’s main kitchens.
Just a small one. No one else is in the kitchens, and it’s more smoke than anything. Still, a fire is a fire, and Shen Qingqiu’s desk is angled towards a window that technically faces the kitchens, even though the swaths of bamboo make it so that one can’t really see them from there. What he can see, though, is the smoke rising in the sky. Naturally, Shen Qingqiu immediately abandons what he’s doing in the haste of what may be an emergency, leaving everything as-is in his rush.
Luo Binghe, home early from a mission that he wasn’t due to return from until tomorrow, slips inside the house shortly after Shen Qingqiu leaves. He makes his way quickly and quietly to the desk, already on alert for Shen Qingqiu’s return even though he should have at least a few minutes. When he catches a glimpse, Luo Binghe nearly falls to the ground because this letter—
Is addressed to him.
Luo Binghe—written out at the top in his shizun’s impeccable script. Clear and undeniable.
This master has no way of knowing what circumstances you will be in whenever you receive this letter, but hopes that it finds you well regardless. I always want you to be well. If Binghe is reading this, then that means that this master has met his end.
I’m truly sorry for the way in which it has happened, and hope Binghe can forgive me for it. The thing that brought about my end is a fickle beast—one that would prefer I cause harm to you in order to selfishly save my own skin. That shitty Sys But I refuse to continue living my life bending to such capricious demands, and thus things have come to this. My choices are my own, and I would much rather die on my own terms than sit around waiting for something slower and more painful.
Bearing witness to my d This master’s only regret is that he did not have more time to continue teaching you and spending time together as we have. These past few years have been well worth the price, and I hope Binghe can look back on them fondly no matter what the future brings. Binghe is truly—
The letter ends there, half-written and full of scribbled-out sections that Luo Binghe can’t parse. A small, distant part of him rails at his own timing, wishing he had waited a mere two seconds longer to start the fire so that Shen Qingqiu might have finished that last sentence.
He stands there, frozen with shock, eyes flitting across the words over and over as if they will say something different each time. A tear falls and lands on the desk, narrowly missing the parchment itself, and it’s only that which brings Luo Binghe out of his stupor to frantically wipe the evidence of his presence away.
This letter…it’s not just a message meant to be read in the vague ‘whenever’ after Shen Qingqiu’s possible death. It speaks of something inevitable and imminent, and worst of all—
I would much rather die on my own terms.
Luo Binghe had been terrifyingly incorrect. Shen Qingqiu hasn’t simply been writing posthumous messages.
He’s been writing suicide notes.
Shen Qingqiu—Lord of Qing Jing Peak, the Xiu Ya Sword, and Luo Binghe’s treasured shizun—plans to end his own life.
Something is deeply, horribly wrong.