Work Text:
It really happens entirely by accident, is the thing.
It is not Shen Qingqiu’s fault that one of Binghe’s subjects, in an apparent effort to curry favor with the Demonic Emperor– presumably to acquire an exclusive trade agreement for the admittedly very high quality Three Horned Plums Of Plenty he peddles– had gifted a very particular plant with the collection of rare treasures that he had procured.
It is also not his fault that that very particular plant happens to be the Blossoming Lotus Of Everlasting Joy, a terribly named plant that blooms precisely once every nine months, and that, when ground into a paste with water acquired from a very specific cave in a very specific mountainous region nearly as far south as one can get in the demon realm, can guarantee a couple can successfully… procreate.
Regardless of their respective… equipment.
With all of the ways to ensure conception that exist in this world, Shen Qingqiu is baffled as to how Shang Qinghua could pull demons having low birth rates out of his ass. Make it make sense, Airplane!
Which means this is Shang Qinghua’s fault, actually. Yes. That makes Shen Qingqiu feel so much better.
And no, Airplane, claiming that you did not know a specific magical item would make it out of your early notes does not absolve you of sin! It was still your mind that came up with all these convoluted and terrible ideas! And Airplane can't even make that particular claim about this specific plant! Because he had, in fact, used this one in a convoluted and terrible plot! Wife 317!
Anyway, none of this is Shen Qingqiu’s fault.
Absolutely none of it! And no one, not Shang Qinghua, nor God (The System) themself, can claim otherwise.
The problem is, after taking the Blossoming Lotus Of Everlasting Joy from the pile of treasures heaped before Emperor Luo and his highly favored Empress, and planting it safely in the small garden he’s started for all the more fascinating but less dangerous plants he’s acquired over the years, Shen Qingqiu can’t stop thinking about it.
It rolls around in his mind, like a pebble in his shoe that he can’t get out. Irritating and present and very much unshakable.
Like a sticky disciple.
Or the sticky hand of a small child, clasped in one’s own, refusing to let go when you drop them off at kindergarten. Or demon daycare. Junior cultivator lessons? Whatever the Proud Immortal Demon Way version of kindergarten is.
Shen Qingqiu spends weeks mulling the thought over.
Luo Binghe, the one in Proud Immortal Demon Way, had boundless descendants. Or, at least that’s how Airplane described it, probably too lazy to come up with an actual number, or names, or even bother to include the vast majority of them in the narrative whatsoever.
Over the years that Proud Immortal Demon Way stretched, Bing-ge and his harem single handedly raised the demon birth rate from decline to stagnation and then to thriving.
Should Shen Qingqiu's Luo Binghe really miss out on the joys of fatherhood (whether Airplane was too lazy to even write much about the actual fatherhood in the novel or not) simply because Shen Qingqiu somehow bent the protagonist and didn’t come pre-equipped with a womb?
It would be unfair of Shen Qingqiu, really.
Yes! So very, very unfair.
Plus! An heir would help cement Luo Binghe’s rule in the demon realm even further. Not that Binghe has had much issue doing that himself, but, well, it certainly wouldn’t hurt, Shen Qingqiu is sure of that much at least.
Also! It would be a pity if Heavenly Demons went and died out after Luo Binghe. A tragedy, really. Shen Qingqiu can’t be responsible for that sort of thing happening merely because he went and changed the plot!
And, oh.
They would be so very, very cute. How could any child of Luo Binghe’s not be?
So, so cute!
It is pure coincidence that Luo Binghe has business to settle with a demon clan stirring up trouble far in the south.
The borderlands clans do tend to aim for rebellion much more than others. Perhaps it’s because they feel as though they’re further from Binghe’s wrath, or perhaps it’s because Shang Qinghua went and made them zero IQ canon fodder in Proud Immortal Demon Way. Either way, it’s a thing. An annoying one.
“Begging Shizun’s forgiveness for bringing him so far from home so that this one may settle a petty dispute,” Binghe apologizes, pressing a kiss to the top of Shen Qingqiu’s hand and then the side of his wrist.
He’s angling for something and that something probably involves Shen Qingqiu, in bed, possibly being made to cry. Shen Qingqiu decides to allow it. Politics and pushing down rabble-rousers must be exhausting. The least Shen Qingqiu can do is give his husband comfort in the form of being allowed to push Shen Qingqiu down as well.
“Ah, this master does not mind following Binghe wherever he may go,” Shen Qingqiu says, diligently pretending to ignore the way Luo Binghe’s mouth is slowly moving higher, brushing over the thin, sensitive skin of his inner elbow, nudging the sleeve of Shen Qingqiu’s robes higher and higher. “And, well, I have heard there’s a rather interesting labyrinth of caves nearby and I was planning to take this opportunity to explore.”
“Of course Shizun already has plans,” Luo Binghe murmurs, scraping his teeth over a spot that makes Shen Qingqiu shiver. “Shizun is very capable.”
“Does Binghe object to my plans?” Shen Qingqiu asks, eyebrow raising as he smooths a hand through Binghe’s riot of curls, tugging gently at the strands.
“I always object to anything that takes my wife from my side,” Binghe says with a blunt honesty that is nearly painful for Shen Qingqiu’s heart to bear. How is one supposed to cope with the protagonist saying such things to them? This is why he had to have so many wives in the novel! One single person simply cannot handle the amount of adoration Luo Binghe has to give. (Though the thought of Luo Binghe with someone else, anyone else other than Shen Qingqiu, does fill Shen Qingqiu with a certain level of annoyance these days.) “However, Shizun shouldn’t have to witness this lord’s work.”
And by ‘work,’ Shen Qingqiu is pretty sure Binghe means ‘potentially making an example of an entire clan of demons by brutally and gruesomely murdering them then leaving them on display for anyone with thoughts of rebellion to see.’
Luo Binghe going full Demonic Emperor is kind of hot. Shen Qingqiu can admit that to himself after several years of being married to the man, but it’s not like he can let Binghe know that.
So, instead, he says “This master is not so sensitive that he cannot handle a bit of violence.”
“Shizun has witnessed enough violence in his life,” Binghe says, and the path of his mouth has finally reached Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder, where he now pushes Shen Qingqiu’s robes down to expose pale skin and drops a light kiss there.
“I wouldn’t have become a cultivator nor would I have married a demon lord if I was squeamish,” Shen Qingqiu says with a haughty little sniff, though its effect is somewhat ruined when Luo Binghe scrapes his teeth across Shen Qingqiu’s collarbone and Shen Qingqiu is unable to keep from letting out a soft little noise.
(Also, perhaps, he is ignoring the fact that he didn’t choose to become a cultivator in the first place. He just sort of… died and landed in the body of one. But he can’t exactly tell Binghe that, now can he?)
“Of course not,” Binghe says in that indulgent tone that means he absolutely does not agree and does, in fact, think that Shen Qingqiu is, in fact, squeamish, but that Binghe, in at least this moment in time, recognizes arguing with Shen Qingqiu about this would be a futile endeavor and it's much easier to just agree with his Shizun instead.
Having a thin face is not the same as being squeamish, Binghe!
“So, I’ll come with you to settle this silly political matter and then you’ll accompany me to the caves,” Shen Qingqiu says– or, well, demands really.
“Of course, Shizun. Whatever Shizun desires is his,” Binghe says with a smile that is far too smug and then leans in to kiss Shen Qingqiu properly, pushing Shen Qingqiu down until he’s flat on his back in the bed, Luo Binghe a welcome weight above him.
Shen Qingqiu is pretty sure Binghe just got whatever it was he wanted. Shen Qingqiu's not even sure where the manipulation even was, but somehow he feels like it's happened.
Ah, well, Shen Qingqiu thinks as he sinks into the kiss Luo Binghe places upon his lips, does it really matter if it’s possibly, kinda sorta, maybe what Shen Qingqiu wanted too?
The caves, just as Shen Qingqiu suspected, are incredible. The sound of gentle running water fills the air with its soft, soothing noises. Glowing, multicolored stalactites descend from the ceiling of the cave, and shimmering stalagmites in all shades of the rainbow grow up from the ground as well. A strange, bioluminescent plant seems to thrive in the space, vines crawling up the walls of the caves and filling the space with a bright, floral scent.
Shen Qingqiu can say what he wants about Airplane Bro’s narrative choices, but the world building really had been some of his favorite parts of the novel when he was still Shen Yuan.
It helps that Shen Qingqiu’s actual favorite part of the book is here beside him, his hand in Shen Qingqiu’s own so that ‘I don’t get separated from Shizun and lost.’
Like Luo Binghe couldn't just follow the whole metric fuckton of blood mites roaming around Shen Qingqiu's body back to him in a heartbeat.
Shen Qingqiu will allow it. Binghe’s hand is really very warm and every once in a while he gives Shen Qingqiu’s hand a firm squeeze that is really very comforting and pleasant if Shen Qingqiu is entirely honest with himself.
Besides, Binghe would pout if Shen Qingqiu shook him off, so he can’t possibly not hold his husband’s hand. Yes. Exactly. That’s exactly how it works. The entire world, including Shen Qingqiu, simply must bend to the protagonist’s whims.
That is simply just how it is and not at all to do with the fact that Shen Qingqiu maybe, possibly, perhaps, likes his husband and maybe, perhaps, wants to hold his hand a little bit. Sometimes. Occasionally. When the moon is right and the planets align and–
Oh, whatever, Luo Binghe has nice hands and Shen Qingqiu likes to hold them! So what?! Sue him for liking his own husband, he doesn’t care! He’s allowed to have a happy, affectionate marriage! He and Binghe have suffered enough to earn that much!
He swings their hands gently between them as they make their way further through the caves, and when he casts a glance at Binghe through the corner of his eye he’s positively beaming, watching Shen Qingqiu more than he’s paying attention to the scenery, something horrifically fond in his eyes that Shen Qingqiu can’t look too closely at lest he spontaneously combust and force Luo Binghe to bring him back to life. Again.
“Is Shizun taking us anywhere in particular?” Binghe asks, pausing with Shen Qingqiu as he looks at yet another of the branching narrow passageways that make up the labyrinth of caves, trying to remember which way is the correct one.
Left. Yes. Shen Qingqiu is pretty sure it’s the left one.
“I’ve read that there’s an underground lake deep in the caverns,” Shen Qingqiu says, leading the way. “The water supposedly has mystical properties, and when used properly can heal a great many ailments. This master would like to collect some and take it back to Mu-shidi.”
Which is technically true. The water can, when prepared correctly, be used to heal, and Shen Qingqiu does intend to deliver some to Mu Qingfang. He just somehow cannot bring himself to mention the other reason for it just yet.
Binghe makes the face he makes when Shen Qingqiu talks about doing things for his martial siblings. Pouty and a little bit pathetic and a whole lot jealous.
“I can heal anything wrong with Shizun, without interference from Mu-shishu,” Luo Binghe vows and Shen Qingqiu huffs out a fond, irritated little noise and squeezes his hand.
“This husband is aware,” He acknowledges, “He is seeking the water for other people. And besides, there are some more… personal uses it may have.”
Binghe’s curiosity is piqued, clearly.
“Oh? What does Shizun mean by that?”
“Oh, nothing much,” Shen Qingqiu says vaguely, waving the notion away with his fan and then his eyes light up at the sight of something skittering up a rock. “Oh! Binghe! Look! It’s a Yellow Tailed Five Horned Dragon! Did you know they’re not even related to dragons? They’re more closely related to the salamander. It likes to make its home in places that have high concentrations of spiritual energy and…”
Binghe lets Shen Qingqiu prattle on about the creature while they walk, making indulgent humming noises and asking well thought out questions about the creatures and saying things like “Shizun is very knowledgeable,” and other such nonsense.
Shen Qingqiu thinks he might like his husband so very much.
He can do this, Shen Qingqiu thinks. He can totally do this! He’s already fetched the required items for if Binghe wants what Shen Qingqiu is about to suggest. Or imply. Or talk around. And the flower will bloom in a matter of weeks.
He just has to thicken his face and bring it up.
Or. Or! He could simply wait, take the blossom when it’s ready, allow Binghe to fuck him, and then, surprise! Nine months later there’s a baby and Binghe is happy and Shen Qingqiu doesn’t have to deal with talking about it.
No. No. He can’t do that. Baby trapping is unethical, isn’t it? He’s pretty sure it is, regardless of the handful of times Bing-ge did it to acquire a wife in Proud Immortal Demon Way.
So, he musters up his courage, and when Binghe is about to pour Shen Qingqiu his tea, he asks “Has Binghe ever considered children?”
The tea misses the cup entirely. Binghe does not seem to notice. Huh.
“Has this Binghe ever considered children how?” Binghe asks, carefully, eyes fixed on Shen Qingqiu instead of rushing to clean the mess like he might otherwise.
“Ah, well,” Shen Qingqiu says, because, perhaps, he had not planned on explaining how he meant his question. Please, Binghe, do not make this husband explain! You know how he struggles with these things! “You know… Children? Um? Babies? Having them?”
Very eloquent, Shen Qingqiu! Worthy of your status as the refined and elegant lord of the scholar's peak!
“Does Shizun want more disciples?” Binghe asks, still oh so carefully neutral. Shen Qingqiu can admit that he is not particularly a fan of neutral Binghe. His husband is very good at it, at forced blankness and a veneer of neutrality, much as he’s very good at basically anything he sets his mind to and many things he has never even needed to set his mind to, but it doesn’t ever feel like it suits him. At least not to Shen Qingqiu. Shen Qingqiu will always prefer his sticky sheep of a husband and his crocodile tears over not knowing what Binghe is thinking.
“No! Well— I suppose that I wouldn’t mind a few more?” He hasn’t taken on a new disciple in quite a few years, first fearing that he’d be dragging some innocent child into an eventual war and the guaranteed decimation of their peak when Binghe returned from The Abyss, then because he was dead, and now because he spends so much time away from his peak with Binghe. And, well, his disciples have all gotten so old! He wouldn’t be surprised if they went and started having cute little buns of their very own sometime soon. “This wife is not talking about having children in that sense, however.”
He puts emphasis on the word wife, even if using the word to refer to himself always makes him want to blush terribly, giving Binghe a meaningful look and hoping this silly, sticky man with a protagonist's IQ will understand what he means and not make Shen Qingqiu say it.
He can barely admit what he’s suggesting to himself, inside his own brain, let alone out loud where anyone could hear.
“Ah,” Luo Binghe says, in understanding, thankfully not forcing Shen Qingqiu to do something terrible and awful and embarrassing to a truly life threatening degree, like engaging in proper communication.
“Yes, ah,” Shen Qingqiu echos.
“Shizun wants to have children,” Luo Binghe clarifies, and Shen Qingqiu makes a vague noise. He hadn’t quite said that! He was just thinking about it. Merely considering it! A lot. Like, a lot a lot. It was becoming a problem. “Shizun wants to have children with– with me?”
“Of course with you! Who else?! What kind of question is that?!” Shen Qingqiu snaps, the guard of his fan smacking the backside of Luo Binghe’s head a good few times to express his ire.
And then, much to Shen Qingqiu’s dismay, despite the fact that Shen Qingqiu should absolutely not be surprised by this turn of events, Luo Binghe starts crying.
Roughly a half shichen, many head pats, and some very bitey— despite Shen Qingqiu knowing that Luo Binghe has learned to be less bitey in the years they’ve been doing these things together— kisses later, Shen Qingqiu is armed with the knowledge that yes, Luo Binghe has, in fact, considered children.
Luo Binghe has, perhaps, considered children– and children with Shen Qingqiu, specifically– a bit too much.
After enduring a rundown of Binghe’s former adolescent fantasies about the subject, Shen Qingqiu is convinced that he gives his disciples far too much free time if Binghe had had enough time to dream this sort of stuff up about his dear old Shizun.
Binghe! You were a child back then! Please let this old man force himself into willful and blissful ignorance and convince himself that Binghe only developed an attraction to Shen Qingqiu after Binghe was of a somewhat more reasonable age to be lusting after such an old man!
Binghe, unfortunately, shows no shame when Shen Qingqiu whacks him with his fan and complains about how shameless dreaming of knocking up or being knocked up by your Shizun at sixteen is. Here Shen Qingqiu was, feeling guilty about the fleeting thought of baby trapping his own husband and meanwhile Binghe wasn’t even a tiny bit ashamed of having the very same thoughts years and years ago, and in much more detail!
He, in fact, does the very opposite of showing shame when he nudges Shen Qingqiu backwards and gets his mouth on a particularly sensitive bit of Shen Qingqiu’s neck and says, “Shizun. Wife. We should practice.”
And, well, Binghe’s diligence in practicing is to be commended and encouraged, is it not?
The paste that comes from grinding the flower and mixing it with the cave water is, quite frankly, terrible, both in texture and flavor, and Shen Qingqiu experiences a certain sense of nostalgia for the modern world and mouthwash after forcing himself to swallow it.
“Does Shizun feel any changes?” Binghe asks, mere seconds later when Shen Qingqiu is still smothering the urge to ruin his Calm, Cool, And Collected, Unflappable Peak Lord persona by gagging dramatically.
Shen Qingqiu will be having words with Shang Qinghua about both the terrible taste as well as the frightening similarity in appearance that the flower itself has to women’s reproductive organs. One can always trust Airplane to take the tacky, obvious path with this stupid novel, he supposes.
“Binghe, I don’t think it works that fast.” Frankly, Shen Qingqiu doesn’t actually know how fast it works. The wife plot that had involved this particular flower had been late in the novel and fairly vague when it came to any actually useful details despite it taking a good couple dozen or so chapters to get through.
He suspects at that point in Proud Immortal Demon Way that even Airplane was getting sick of wife plot after ridiculous wife plot featuring characters that would never be seen again barring the occasional cameo from fan favorites, or, on far too many occasions, an appearance for a massive orgy to soothe Xin Mo or beat a particularly horny curse.
“Sorry, Shizun,” Binghe says in that way that means he’s not actually sorry, he just wants Shen Qingqiu to forgive him and dispense head pats.
Shen Qingqiu, despite himself, does lift a hand to pat at Luo Binghe’s fluffy head. It’s not Shen Qingqiu’s fault that it’s very pattable! Blame Airplane for that! Shen Qingqiu's certainly not the one who designed this character!
It doesn’t take long before something happens.
There’s a sort of lurching feeling in Shen Qingqiu’s stomach, a tingling spreading throughout that seems to focus itself throughout his stomach and a little lower, and he swears the temperature in their home has gone up several degrees.
“Shizun,” He hears Binghe say— distantly, muted beneath the sudden pounding of blood in his ears. When Shen Qingqiu doesn't respond right away, Binghe takes Shen Qingqiu’s hands between his own and speaks again, concern blatant. “Shizun? Are you alright?”
Binghe’s big warm hands holding onto Shen Qingqiu’s so gently has a shivery feeling sliding over Shen Qingqiu and— oh, right, of course. The flower guarantees fertility and is also an aphrodisiac.
Because of course it is. It wouldn’t be a goddamn wife plot if there wasn’t an aphrodisiac involved for the sake of papapa. And here Shen Qingqiu is, willingly throwing himself into a wife plot because reasons.
Terrible. It’s all terrible.
This baby better be so fucking cute.
Who is he kidding? Of course the baby’s going to be cute. It’ll be half Binghe!
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Shen Qingqiu says, waving away Binghe’s apparent concern. “It just has a few… interesting side effects, apparently.”
“Ah,” Binghe says, and then, because Shen Qingqiu’s life can’t be easy, “What sort of side effects?”
“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu bristles a bit like an angry cat and wacks at Binghe’s chest with his fan, “What,” whap “sort” whap “of” whap “side effects” whap “is it” whap “usually!”
“Oh,” Binghe says, his eyes suddenly alight. Terrible. Horrible. Shen Qingqiu wants a refund. Shen Qingqiu kind of wants to bite him— he can’t believe he didn’t realize there would be an aphrodisiac quality to this one! It’s not his fault! It’s Airplane’s! Half the time, especially towards the end of the novel, and, weirdly, in a sort of middle stretch where Airplane seemed to lose the plot a little, it was impossible to tell whether the plant or strange artifact a wife had come across even was of the papapa inducing variety or if Binghe was just so attractive and the wives so brain dead that they threw themselves at him immediately and with great gusto.
The thing is, Shen Qingqiu has come a long way from where he was when they started doing these things. Luo Binghe has too, which is to be expected of the protagonist! There was just a bit of a learning curve! Shen Qingqiu is very bad at admitting it out loud, or even really in his own mind, but, well, he even kinda-sorta maybe possibly even sometimes likes it these days.
So, all the stupid papapa inducing plants and crystals and weird mirrors and whatnot that Shen Qingqiu runs into due to being Luo Binghe’s only “wife” are annoying, sure, but it’s not like they wouldn’t already be, well, doing that on a semi-regular basis.
Regardless of how improved Shen Qingqiu’s feelings about their bedroom activities these days are, it is still annoying. Hence Binghe’s minor beating.
Not that Binghe seems to mind. The terrible, horrible, no good masochist that Shen Qingqiu is about to voluntarily allow to put a baby in him.
If only the Shen Yuan in the comments of PIDW could see him now. His head would definitely explode.
“Shizun,” Binghe says, crowding into his space, sounding far too pleased, “Shizun.”
“Husband,” Shen Qingqiu corrects absently, because Binghe is suddenly very close and also very warm, and his hands, where they have moved to squeeze at Shen Qingqiu’s waist without him realizing, are very large. Very large. Very warm. Very strong. Very good. “No Shizun this or Shizun that while you’re knocking me up.”
Boundaries! One has to have boundaries when their husband is so very sticky.
“Wife,” Binghe says, agreeably— which, sure, fine, whatever, Shen Qingqiu’s gotten pretty cool with wife as a term used to describe himself since he married Luo Binghe— and Shen Qingqiu finds himself draping his arms over Binghe’s very nice shoulders.
He feels flushed, his skin overheated, and there’s an ache that he thinks, a bit nonsensically, is being worsened by the fact that they are wearing too much clothing. Really, whose bright idea was it for cultivators to wear so many layers?! Does he really need so many layers of fine silk and artful embroidery and dramatically draping sleeves? Sure, Binghe seems incredibly happy putting them on him every morning, but they’re a real pain in the ass when it comes time to remove them all.
“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu says, dismayed by the slight whiney quality of the word, but Binghe isn’t moving to get this show on the road yet! He’s not even touching Shen Qingqiu beyond the hands squeezing his waist! Does he not know that Shen Qingqiu will literally melt into a puddle of sexual frustration if his husband doesn’t move his ass?!
There's aphrodisiacs involved, Binghe!
This is a medical emergency, Binghe!
“Does this one’s wife need something from him?” Binghe teases, because, apparently, his Shizun marrying him and reassuring him many, many, many times (too many times for Shen Qingqiu’s thin face, really!) that he’s not going to up and leave Binghe or banish him or anything like that– that he really is in this, with Binghe, forever, and even wants a family with him, means that Binghe now allows himself to be an asshole to Shen Qingqiu sometimes.
(Okay. Maybe not an asshole. Shen Qingqiu can’t imagine Binghe ever even coming close to being purposefully terrible to him. At least he can't imagine it these days. Not once the whole misunderstanding each other thing had been resolved. Still! Shen Qingqiu insists it’s mean!)
“Binghe, be nice,” Shen Qingqiu scolds.
“This Lord is being very nice,” Binghe insists, giving Shen Qingqiu’s waist a possessive squeeze, and oh, oh no, he’s on his this Lord bullshit. RIP to Shen Qingqiu’s ass, because this is going to be a journey.
He supposes he should have seen this coming, really.
(Shen Qingqiu nearly calls the entire thing off when Luo Binghe manages to get him completely out of his clothes and they discover that certain parts of his anatomy were, ahem, changed.
“But Shizun,” Binghe says, eyes wide and pathetic, even as he dips his fingertips into the brand new folds that have appeared between Shen Qingqiu’s legs like he’s fucking exploring, “It’s like we get to have our first time all over again.”
And Shen Qingqiu thinks as little as he possibly can about Maigu Ridge, but he thinks about it now, and how terrible a first time it must have been for Binghe as well, and, well, it’s not like there’s any turning back from this now.)
(Some time later, when Shen Qingqiu is boneless and draped against Binghe's chest, Binghe's hands on his hips the only thing keeping him moving up and down on Binghe's cock, having experienced the non-existent refractory period that came with his new equipment, he might, possibly, maybe admit— deliriously and only within the confines of his own mind— that the change, while unexpected, is not, exactly, bad, per se.
He feels, in this moment, a certain level of understanding for the wives who had been particularly thirsty for Luo Binghe in the novel.)
“Bath, Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu demands later, when they have, ah, well, finished. (Multiple times, because Binghe is very thorough.) Or, at least, Shen Qingqiu tries to be demanding. His brain’s a little scrambled and fucked out after everything, so it comes out a little breathier and more like a gentle request than he’d like.
“But Shizun,” Binghe whines, “We have to make sure it takes.”
“It being guaranteed to take is literally the point of the plant, Binghe!”
He throws his fan directly at Shang Qinghua’s head when he sees him next.
Shang Qinghua, because he’s a twitchy little rat bastard, ducks and the fan misses him entirely.
“Bro! What the fuck?!”
“Don’t bro what the fuck me! I should bro what the fuck you! Your stupid fucking baby making plant gave me a fucking- a fucking- it- I have- you fucking hack of a writer!”
“Which baby making plant?” Shang Qinghua asks, confused. Which, for once, is fair. Because there’s about two hundred or so different plants that can result in a child in this world because Airplane was a goddamn menace to Shen Qingqiu’s ability to suspend disbelief.
“The Blossoming Lotus of Everlasting Joy.”
“Remind me which one that is?” Because of course Shang Qinghua doesn’t know his own creations! The hack!
“Wife 317. You were extra tacky with this one and the plant is shaped like a woman's— like a woman's… well.”
“Ohhhhhhh, that baby making plant,” Shang Qinghua says, nodding sagely. “I remember Wife 317, actually! I was a little bummed when no one really gave a fuck about her, actually."
"Maybe try exploring the wives you already had instead of inventing new ones we know we won't see again after the obligatory papapa scene?"
"I thought about making her a man, y’know?" Shang Qinghua continues, like Shen Qingqiu had not even spoken. Asshole. "I was getting bored with all the wives in the middle there. Also I’d just gotten my wisdom teeth out and the pain killers were real good. Like top notch send you to outer space shit. Thought I might introduce a man who disguises himself as a woman to enter the safety of the harem and send my son on the very start of a journey of self discovery to find out why exactly he could collect women like Pokemon and still never be satisfied. But! Y’know! Rent! And the inevitable backlash in the comment section! And rent! It was more important than artistic liberty or the opioid induced urge to be like fuck it we ball so I didn't switch anything up, kept her as a wife, and the rest is history.”
“You told me I bent the protagonist!” Shen Qingqiu seethes, indignant, “And you’re telling me you did it all along?!”
“It was just in an outline! I was only thinking about it! It never made it on the page! It’s still your fault!”
“So much stupid shit from your shitty outlines made it into this shitty world, Airplane!”
“Okay, okay, maybe it’s not 100% your fault. Maybe it’s, like, 10% my fault. 25%. 50% max. Maybe. Hang on. Wait. Wait wait wait–” Shang Qinghua’s eyes suddenly go big and distinctly shiny and hamster-like. “Wait, Shen-shixiong, wait! Did you eat The Blossoming Lotus Of Everlasting Joy? Shen-shixiong, are you going to have a ba–”
Shen Qingqiu cuts him off by slapping his hands over Shang Qinghua’s mouth. The way he’s saying Shen-shixiong is just too much! Sappy and emotional and like they’re– like they’re– oh god, like they’re best friends (eugh!) and Shang Qinghua has an emotional investment in what happens to Shen Qingqiu.
Because they fucking are best friends (eugh!) And Shang Qinghua does have an emotional investment in what happens to Shen Qingqiu. Oh god.
“It’s important for an emperor to have an heir,” Shen Qingqiu says stiffly, staring very studiously at a spot past Shang Qinghua’s shoulder so that he doesn’t have to look at his face because why is Shang Qinghua’s face doing that?!
Shang Qinghua makes a muffled noise and then tugs Shen Qingqiu’s hand off of his mouth to repeat himself.
“Bro,” He says, with so much feeling that Shen Qingqiu considers self-immolation just to get out of this situation. But that might hurt the baby, the one who he has no proof of yet except for a bone deep certain feeling in his soul, and he thinks he might like the baby too much already to risk them just to flee Shang Qinghua’s feelings.
“Bro,” Shang Qinghua says yet again. “Oh my god, Cucumber-bro, you’re going to have a baby!”
“I don’t understand all the excitement,” Shen Qingqiu grumbles. “You don’t even like kids that much.”
“I like kids just fine! Why does everyone think I don’t?”
“Because you once referred to your newest An Ding disciples as tiny meat shields,” Shen Qingqiu says, “Or, maybe, because whenever your overworked senior disciples pass out on the stairs, you leave them there? Or, possibly, the whole lack of guilt over unleashing whole hordes of demons and monsters on The Immortal Alliance Conference, resulting in the deaths of dozens if not hundreds of actual literal children?”
“Okay, the first one was a term of endearment. An Ding is a special place. I also call them my little helper monkeys, do you think I participate in animal abuse too? Don't answer that. The second one is me not coddling my disciples like some people who will not be named but whose name might or might not rhyme with Schmeerless Schmumumber. They need to learn their own limits and how to push past them if they can, or to rest if they need. Me swooping in to save them won’t teach them that! As for the third. Who says I don’t have guilt?! I have guilt, bro! Just because I didn’t spend three years withering away and staring at a sword mound like a grieving widow whose husband didn't return from the war doesn’t mean I didn’t feel guilt! We both had to do things we didn’t want to because of the System!”
“I don’t coddle my disciples,” Shen Qingqiu insists, because really, that’s the most easily addressed part of all of that. He’s certainly not touching the last bit, because then he might have to apologize for being a little overly harsh. He makes a mental note to badger Binghe into teaching Mobei Jun another recipe the next time the two demons see each other. Maybe the recipe for the dumplings that Shang Qinghua was drooling over when he visited during dinner last. That'll be an acceptable apology, he's sure.
“Oh, bro, you don’t even realize it?”
“I don’t realize it because I don’t do it!”
“All it takes is one of your disciples to look at you with big, shiny shoujo eyes and suddenly you’re patting their head and telling them mistakes happen, it’s how you move forward from them that matters! You barely punish them at all!”
“I make them run laps around the mountain all the time! And copy stupid calligraphy! They get punished!”
“Calligraphy! Calligraphy is a punishment?! It’s one of the four arts you have to study to be on your peak! That’s not punishment! That's just homework! You don’t beat them even a little bit,” Shang Qinghua says with a sigh, like this is a disappointment. “I wrote a perfectly good, stern and unyielding Peak Lord and you went and took all the bite out of him.”
“You wrote an abusive tyrant of a Peak Lord, you asshole.”
“Well, that’s neither here nor there, considering you undid all his hard work in making his disciples fear him. That's not what's important here though. What’s important is that you’re gonna be a mom.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Sure, sure.” Shen Qingqiu is definitely going to spend the rest of his life being called the kid’s mother, isn’t he? “Wait, you knew it was a baby making flower when you ate it, right? This was, like, planned? This isn't accidental mpreg, right?”
“Obviously I knew. I’m not an idiot.”
“Why did you hit me about it then? You might treat your disciples like pampered pets but you’re so mean to me,” Shang Qinghua complains.
“Because nowhere in your stupid ass wifeplot for wife 317 was it mentioned that I’d end up with– With– That I’d suddenly have a– a– an anatomy change, Airplane!”
“Ohhhhh,” Shang Qinghua says, understanding lighting up his whole face. Understanding and glee. Asshole. “You didn’t realize you’d end up with a pussy.”
Shen Qingqiu hisses. "Crude! Don’t call it that!”
“Oh my god, are you one of those people that’s going to call it their flower? I can’t be your friend anymore if that’s the case. Wait, maybe I'll still be your friend, but I'll definitely never take you seriously.”
“I don’t want to call it anything! I don’t even want to think about it! As far as I'm concerned, it doesn't exist!”
“Oh man, that’s so relatable,” Shang Qinghua says, nodding solemnly. Like this is a feeling he has experience with. Which is impossible. Right? Right.
“...It is?”
“Oh, yeah. How else do you think I’d survive not just one, but two lifetimes of this shit? Repression, repression, repression, baby! If you never think about it then it doesn't exist! That's the Airplane and Cucumber-bro way!”
“Wait- Wait wait wait, are you saying that you have a– That you’re–”
“Trans? Yeah. Did you seriously not know? You’ve seen me nearly naked, Cucumber-bro!”
“I wasn't exactly looking! And I just thought you had a few extra curves! You’re always eating! You having a little bit of man boob seemed to make sense! I didn’t think it was actual boob boob!”
“You know what, I’d take this as a compliment, but you still won’t admit you’re gay, so, like, what do I expect, really?”
Shen Qingqiu ignores that. There is a difference between being attracted to men and being into one specific man. Shen Qingqiu is certain of that.
“Airplane, if you know what it’s like to be treated like a woman, why the fuck do you write your female characters like you do?!”
“Misogyny pays the bills,” Shang Qinghua says, shrugging. “Besides, you’re a man. You don’t get an opinion.”
“I’m just as much of one as you are! So you don’t get one either then!”
Shang Qinghua looks thoughtful for a moment. “I don’t know if that’s weirdly gender affirming for me, or, like, the opposite of gender affirming but aimed at yourself?”
“The first, I think?” Shen Qingqiu says, unsure, and then, a little more firmly, because yeah, Shen Qingqiu is definitely still a man even with the new equipment, and Shang Qinghua is definitely also a man. Only a man could be as stupid as Shang Qinghua is. “No, definitely the first.”
“Aw, bro, thanks,” Shang Qinghua says, all big shiny hamster eyes again. “Anyway, it’s a lot better now, right? Taking the pillar? With the new equipment? Natural lubrication makes all the difference!”
“I’m not talking to you anymore,” Shen Qingqiu says and turns around to leave.
“That’s a yes, right?”
“We're not speaking anymore, Airplane!”
The problem, Shen Qingqiu discovers shortly into his pregnancy, is that he had yet to take into account how this would affect him. And, more specifically, how it would affect his body. And even more specifically, how his body reacts to everything he loves to eat and/or drink.
He’d been a little bit too distracted imagining Binghe holding a cute little baby bun who might have Luo Binghe’s hair or Shen Qingqiu’s eyes to really think about what his body would be going through to make that happen.
Case in point, Shen Qingqiu cannot stand the smell of his favorite blend of tea. He, in fact, cannot stand the smell so thoroughly that he’s ended up on his knees, the taste of bile strong in his mouth after throwing up last night’s dinner, Luo Binghe’s hand rubbing soothing circles on his back as he guiltily- though much less guiltily than Shen Qingqiu thinks is warranted– apologizes and asks what he can get for his dear Shizun to help.
“You did this to me,” Shen Qingqiu grumbles even as he feels his traitorous body settle beneath Luo Binghe’s gentle touch. Pah! Marriage! Look what it’s done to the cold and aloof immortal master Shen! The cold and peerless Xiu Ya sword! It’s made him weak!
Though, really, who could resist the effect of the protagonist’s charms? Certainly not the Scum Villain turned Main Love Interest, Shen Qingqiu!
“I did, I know,” Luo Binghe says, sounding not at all apologetic and also terribly smug. Brat. “This disciple will get Shizun some tea to help settle his stomach.”
Shen Qingqiu shoots Luo Binghe a dark look at the suggestion.
“A different tea,” Luo Binghe clarifies rather quickly. Good. He at least has some fear of his irritable Shizun!
“I suppose that this master might be amenable to some tea,” Shen Qingqiu says and allows Luo Binghe to press a kiss to the top of his head before rushing off with an amount of energy that Shen Qingqiu can’t even contemplate having at this moment.
Ugh, this is what Shen Qingqiu gets for marrying a younger man.
The tea, when Luo Binghe brings it to him, smells of lemon and ginger and is an improvement in that it does not, upon Shen Qingqiu's first sniff, make Shen Qingqiu want to hurl his guts out across their living room.
This is great progress, and Shen Qingqiu happily sips at the replacement for his old tea, allowing the warmth to sink into his very bones with a blissful little sigh.
“Shizun is suffering so terribly for this husband of his,” Binghe says, sounding for all the world like this is something that brings him great and terrible joy. The man acts like Shen Qingqiu has nearly died if Shen Qingqiu stubs his toe in the middle of the night, but Shen Qingqiu suffering, potentially for the next nine months, to bring their child into the world brings about this sort of happiness? Freak. This seems like it’s probably a demon thing.
Shen Qingqiu pulls out his fan, specifically so that he can smack it, just the once, across the top of Binghe’s head. “Don’t be weird about this.”
“It’s not weird,” Binghe complains, even as Shen Qingqiu whacks at him with his fan again and Binghe leans into the beating. “My wife worked so hard to make this possible, and now he’s willing to endure agony all to give this lord a family. My empress truly shows his love for this lowly one so well.”
This lord! This lowly one! Pick which you are, Binghe! Emperor or humble servant! You can’t possibly be both!
“Yes. Well,” Shen Qingqiu says, suddenly finding a painting on the wall particularly fascinating. One of his disciples had painted it for him years ago, a rather abstract depiction of bamboo swaying in the wind. “I would not call this agony, exactly.”
Luo Binghe smiles, sweet and pleased and so full of love for Shen Qingqiu that Shen Qingqiu cannot bear to look directly at him, and does not argue further.
Navigating Shen Qingqiu’s stomach is not nearly so hard once they figure out what sorts of foods trigger his gag reflex and which ones he finds agreeable.
Navigating Shen Qingqiu’s moods turns out to be a fair bit harder.
Roughly two weeks after the throwing up starts, so too do the tears.
Binghe sets his evening meal down in front of him and Shen Qingqiu takes one look at the tray filled with dumplings and hand pulled noodles and perfectly stir fried meats and vegetables and then at Binghe’s face and then, well, he promptly starts bawling.
By Binghe’s reaction, one would think that Shen Qingqiu was dying. Again.
His face turns stricken, and he tugs Shen Qingqiu into his arms, patting him down like he’s checking for sudden mysterious injuries, and alternating between soothing reassurances of “Sh, it’s okay, Shizun, it’s okay, this husband will fix it,” and equally as desperate questions of “What’s wrong? How can this disciple fix it? Is Shizun harmed? What has upset Shizun so terribly?”
Shen Qingqiu, for his part, can not even tell Binghe what, exactly is wrong. He had simply looked at the food in front of him and his husband’s perfect face and been so overwhelmed with emotions that they had no choice but to escape his body in the form of full blown sobbing.
His fan is not nearly enough cover for such a thing, so he curls his hands into Binghe’s robes and shoves his entire face into his husband’s chest. It is, truly, a near-perfect hiding spot.
Binghe, once he’s sure that Shen Qingqiu isn’t dying or qi deviating or something else equally as awful, does seem remarkably adaptable at least. Trust his protagonist husband to get with the program quickly! He smooths a hand through Shen Qingqiu’s hair and rubs at his back and makes nonsense soothing noises while Shen Qingqiu cries like a broken hearted maiden into his robes.
“Does Shizun want to talk about it?” Binghe asks, when Shen Qingqiu has managed to calm himself down somewhat.
“No,” Shen Qingqiu says, mulish, muffled by the damp fabric of Luo Binghe’s robes.
“It’s just that if this husband knew what caused this, he could endeavor to keep from upsetting his wife so terribly going forward.”
“Idon’tknow,” Shen Qingqiu mumbles.
“What was that?” Luo Binghe asks, cupping a hand under Shen Qingqiu’s chin and gently pulling Shen Qingqiu’s face from his hiding spot. “This husband is worthless and didn’t understand.”
“Binghe isn’t worthless,” Shen Qingqiu snaps, feeling the tell tale burn in his eyes and the tightening of his throat like he’s going to cry all over again, just at the mere thought that Binghe thinks himself worthless. He huffs out a soft breath and scrubs at his face uselessly. “I said that I don’t know.”
“Shizun doesn’t know?”
“Is that not what I just said?” Shen Qingqiu feels annoyed. Irrationally. And he’s annoyed even more that it’s irrational! This is stupid.
“Shizun of course said that, this disciple apologizes. It’s just that this disciple is st-” Binghe snaps his mouth shut when Shen Qingqiu levels him with a glare that could freeze him in his tracks as well as any Northern demon could. Shen Qingqiu knows! He’s some sort of strange in-law-adjacent with Mobei Jun.
“Binghe should speak better of himself,” Shen Qingqiu says, doing his best to sound a little less like a neurotic temperamental wreck of a human being. When this kid is born and has higher neurological functioning they will be discussing the havoc the fetus has been wreaking on him so far.
“Shizun,” Binghe whines, eyes going big and shiny in a way that is frankly terrible for Shen Qingqiu’s current emotional stability– which, Shen Qingqiu would like to point out, does not exist because he’s pregnant with Binghe’s child. Emotional stability is a lost concept at this point! Shen Qingqiu might as well not even know the concept of it. He’d ask for a refund, but he’s pretty sure he’s getting exactly what he paid for. “This is how I talk to you! You can’t get mad at me for this.”
“I’m creating life,” Shen Qingqiu says, chin tilting haughtily like he’s not still tear streaked and red eyed and nosed. “I can get mad at you for anything I like.”
“Shizun is correct as always,” Luo Binghe says, and the corners of his mouth are twitching with a hidden smile that he clearly knows better than to aim at Shen Qingqiu.
“Don’t laugh at me,” Shen Qingqiu complains.
“I’m not laughing,” Binghe reassures, kissing Shen Qingqiu’s forehead. “You are correct. You’re doing something very hard right now. You can feel however you want, whenever you want.”
It’s said genuinely, all veneer of formality gone, and Shen Qingqiu can barely stand to look at Binghe’s earnest eyes dead on. What a terrible, horrible, emotionally developed husband he has these days.
Over the course of the next few weeks the things Shen Qingqiu cries about include, but are not limited to:
-
Ning Yingying styling her hair as she had when she was a teenager and Shen Qingqiu realizing just how grown up she is now.
-
Ming Fan asking how the baby is and Shen Qingqiu getting sentimental about how he’d grown into a nice young man who cares for his Shizun and his Shizun’s family. There is quite a lot of blubbering about fire ants that none of his disciples seem to understand, thank the heavens.
-
Shang Qinghua. Just Shang Qinghua. He thinks, perhaps, it might be that he’s happy the man got stuck in this world with him and is his best friend, but like hell is he ever going to say that out loud.
-
Luo Binghe’s face.
-
When he spills tea on his favorite set of robes. Luo Binghe quickly rushes to assure Shen Qingqiu that Shizun shouldn't worry, his Binghe can fix it easily and Shen Qingqiu cries all over again because of that.
-
Luo Binghe’s face.
-
Luo Binghe’s face, again.
-
One of his disciple’s frankly terrible attempts at playing the qin. Ning Yingying intercedes and suggests the disciple try the pipa instead.
-
The migratory habits of Rainbow Crested Heartbeat Finches.
-
Luo Binghe’s face, and the thought of which parts of that face their child might inherit.
-
The actual tragedy that was The Original Goods and Yue Fucking Qingyuan, what the fuck Airplane? He doesn’t even realize he finds their backstory upsetting until he’s crying about it! The only good thing about this is that he blubbers all over Airplane himself and it makes the shitty author so uncomfortable that it’s almost worth it.
-
Luo Binghe’s face, yet again.
-
Binghe tells him that according to one of the books Mu Qingfang had given them, the baby should be about the size of a kumquat right now. This is devastating news. Shen Qingqiu does not recover for hours.
When Shen Qingqiu starts to show it’s like every holiday has come early for Luo Binghe.
Shen Qingqiu thinks he should probably be the one who notices first. It’s his own body that’s changing, after all. Still, somehow, he’s not surprised that it’s Binghe who takes note of it for the first time.
The sun has risen, and they have yet to leave the soft, warm comfort of bed. Binghe, instead of rushing to make Shen Qingqiu breakfast and get them ready for their day, is instead curled around Shen Qingqiu, a broad hand stroking over Shen Qingqiu’s side rhythmically in a way that might coax Shen Qingqiu right back to sleep if not for the press of lips along Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder, warm and soft through the thin fabric of the robes Shen Qingqiu sleeps in.
For the first time in weeks Shen Qingqiu does not want to hurl immediately upon waking, so he’s feeling rather content in Binghe’s affections. He might even consider letting Binghe take his affections further, if his husband shows interest.
Binghe’s hand shifts forward, lower, tracing a path downwards over Shen Qingqui’s stomach, his mouth inching higher and finding bare skin to kiss and nip, like perhaps he is, in fact, angling for something a little more involved than just cuddling this morning.
And then he stops.
His hand spreads over the breadth of Shen Qingqiu’s stomach.
“Shizun’s growing,” Binghe says, and then, suddenly, Shen Qingqiu is on his back and Luo Binghe is hovering over him on his knees, both hands curling over Shen Qingqiu’s stomach– covetous and greedy and so loving that Shen Qingqiu has to look away for a moment lest he burn away in the face of it.
“I’m getting fat,” Shen Qingqiu grumbles, because the alternative is to look whatever he feels about the evidence of their baby beneath Luo Binghe’s hands dead in the eye and that seems like a bad idea this early in the morning. He’s still dangerously close to weeping at basically all times these days.
There’s been a slight swelling of his stomach leading up to this, but now, it’s unmistakably a bump. A baby bump.
“You’re beautiful,” Binghe argues, “Shizun is beautiful. And working so hard to grow our child.”
"I'm not doing that much really," Shen Qingqiu argues, because he's really just a landlord for the little sprout so far. A queasy, overly emotional landlord, but still.
"Shizun is doing everything," Binghe says and dips his head to kiss Shen Qingqiu thoroughly, his hands still warm and big and gentle on Shen Qingqiu's stomach.
Binghe’s excitement only seems to grow.
He dresses Shen Qingqiu like he does most mornings, wrapping him up in layer after layer and touching even more than usual.
After about the fifth time that Luo Binghe pauses in his usual efforts to dress Shen Qingqiu in the finest robes known to human or demonkind, just to run a hand over Shen Qinqiu’s stomach and to kiss him thoroughly, Shen Qingqiu resigns himself to the fact that this will very likely be his new morning routine until the baby is born.
“I don’t understand the big fuss,” Shen Qingqiu complains eventually, frowning and grumpy over it, though he also smooths a fond hand through Binghe’s hair alongside his words, so he’s sure his husband would claim that ‘Shizun is sending mixed messages again’ if pressed. “You can’t even see it under all these layers,”
“I know it’s there though,” Binghe says, his hands gravitating right back to Shen Qingqiu’s stomach, placed in such a way that they pull Shen Qingqiu’s robes taunt and show the evidence of their child. Binghe bends and places a kiss right there, right over the swell of Shen Qingqiu’s stomach– he feels it like a brand, even through so many layers of fabric.
Binghe looks smug when he straightens up again and adds, “Soon everyone else will too.”
Binghe is not wrong. Weeks pass and Shen Qingqiu’s stomach continues to grow.
Binghe catalogues these changes joyously, always touching and kissing and preening with pride at what he’s done to his wife.
Binghe’s hands have always wandered wherever they please when it comes to Shen Qingqiu, at least since the very moment Binghe realized he could get away with them doing so with little more than a whack from Shen Qingqiu’s fan in objection, but it is especially bad now, as though the baby bump is a beacon that Luo Binghe’s hands cannot resist straying towards.
Shen Qingqiu would like to think the fascination will wear off eventually, but somehow he doubts it will.
Shen Qingqiu complains, just a bit, but really, he doesn’t think he minds too terribly. How could he? How could he possibly begrudge his husband this joy? How could he deny himself this happiness? So, really, the complaining is mostly for show, and because Binghe really does seem to enjoy giving insincere apologies while he continues on doing whatever it is he’s apologizing for.
Shen Qingqiu thinks that he might love the man a truly unreasonable amount.
It is a complicated feeling, when the baby starts to show, even beneath the layers and layers of clothing he wears as both a Peak Lord as well as Empress to the demonic realms, and the whole world can see just how much he loves Luo Binghe.
It is a relief, in a way, to watch the cultivators who were still holding onto their skepticism over their marriage lose whatever doubts they had about Shen Qingqiu’s willingness. A pregnancy born of two men normally requires a want for it, after all (at least enough of one to hunt down a potion, artifact, sacred bamboo grove, or whatever other thing could give one a baby) and even when it doesn't, Shen Qingqiu is aware of just so many ways for a cultivator to rid themselves of an unwanted pregnancy or to never even let it occur, and many of those ways involve merely a simple application of qi.
He would not be pregnant if he did not want it. He would not be pregnant if he did not love Luo Binghe. That much is clear, and it shows in the softening of certain cultivators when Luo Binghe sidles into Shen Qingqiu’s space and slides a proprietary hand over Shen Qingqiu’s stomach, and when Shen Qingqiu rests his own hands atop Binghe’s and leans back against his husband.
It is also just so fucking embarrassing for Shen Qingqiu though! Everyone knows that he loves Luo Binghe enough to track down and eat a fucking plant so that he could carry his child! How is he supposed to deal with that?!
And it makes Luo Binghe so happy, to show off his pregnant spouse. Binghe has proof, finally, for the whole cultivation world, that Shen Qingqiu loves him, and that clearly makes Binghe happy. And that, somehow, makes Shen Qingqiu happy, that Binghe is happy, that he has that, that Shen Qingqiu can give him that.
Like he said. It’s a complicated feeling.
What is not so complicated is the fact that Binghe is, of course, even more jealous than Shen Qingqiu could have possibly expected when it comes to other people touching Shen Qingqiu’s stomach. This, Shen Qingqiu should probably take issue with, but as he doesn’t particularly want the entire sect and every random auntie or grandma in any town they wander into to touch him, he finds he doesn’t particularly mind it.
Let Binghe scare anyone lacking personal boundaries away with a look filled with killing intent and a roiling dose of demonic qi. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t mind! He doesn’t want randos touching his stomach either!
He does, however, draw the line at Binghe turning that jealousy onto certain people.
Shang Qinghua, for instance, has already proclaimed himself the kid’s uncle, and is, unfortunately, something kinda sorta possibly maybe like Shen Qingqiu’s best friend, which means that when he sees Shen Qingqiu and says “Aw man, the bun’s making an appearance!” and thoughtlessly reaches out to rub Shen Qingqiu’s stomach with a quiet “Hi there, little bun,” he faces a beating from Shen Qingqiu’s fan rather than from Luo Binghe himself.
It’s not a very hard beating either– possibly the most half hearted beating Shen Qingqiu has ever delivered– though Shang Qinghua behaves as though he’s being brutally murdered anyway. Despite the dramatics, he still darts in for another pat to Shen Qingqiu’s stomach after.
Mu Qingfang, of course, is Shen Qingqiu’s doctor, and must be allowed to touch him when he examines him, no matter how hard Binghe’s eye twitches when he does.
Liu Qingge would be allowed to touch, because he is also, possibly, maybe, kinda sorta, one of Shen Qingqiu’s other best friends. However, he seems to keep a rather wide berth other than to deliver various dead animals and monsters that he insists are rich in qi and will be good for the baby. This is probably good, because Shen Qingqiu’s pretty sure he couldn’t actually keep Luo Binghe from fighting Bai Zhan’s war god if he did anything more.
Ming Fan, as Shen Qingqiu’s third favorite disciple, would probably also be allowed to touch, but his fear of Shen Qingqiu somehow breaking in his 'delicate condition’ has turned the poor thing into a bumbling mess who doesn’t even attempt to touch the bump even though he clearly wants to.
It’s not so surprising, considering he’d once found the poor disciple crying and fretful and convinced that Shen Qingqiu was dying when Shen Qingqiu had been dealing with his morning (and afternoon, and evening, and middle of the night) sickness.
Really, these disciples of his are such crybabies! Shen Qingqiu is not sure how that happened and he certainly won’t be blaming himself for it no matter what Shang Qinghua says.
Ning Yingying, as well, is exempt from Luo Binghe’s jealousy, though Shen Qingqiu suspects that even without the threat of Shen Qingqiu’s wrath, she would be, considering Binghe barely bats an eyelash when Ning Yingying hugs their Shizun and sets a gentle hand on Shen Qingqiu’s stomach to greet the baby.
“This master is not an animal at a petting zoo,” Shen Qingqiu complains, even as he pats at Ning Yingying’s hand and makes no attempt to shrug her off. What is he going to do? Tell Ning Yingying no? An impossible task! Even for the Original Goods!
Shen Qingqiu enjoys his quiet nights with Luo Binghe.
There is something nice about sitting beside his husband, simply sharing space while they quietly read or handle the inordinate amount of paperwork that comes with running a peak or a sect or an entire goddamn realm. (The original novel did not mention how much paperwork is involved in being an emperor! His husband does too much of it!)
It’s domestic, or so Sha Hualing says after stumbling across the scene precisely once and being thrown out on her ass by Luo Binghe promptly after.
Shen Qingqiu suspects she might be right, because if he allows himself to think about it too much, he can remember plenty of nights where his parents did similar. His mother on her laptop, reviewing notes for her next case and his father with his nose shoved in one of the awful books that he loved and that his mother loved to tease him about, their feet tangled together on the couch.
He does not allow himself to think about it too much, too often.
Binghe hums a thoughtful little noise while he reads, his thumb rubbing absently over the knob of Shen Qingqiu’s ankle where his feet rest in Binghe’s lap. Shen Qingqiu thinks he spies a hint of yellow hidden cleverly behind the cover of an ancient text on demonic genealogy.
He pretends he does not see it.
Instead, he turns his attention back to the compendium of flora found only in the far south of the demonic realms and does his best not to contemplate how much his poor hips might suffer later due to whatever Binghe has found so interesting in his book.
“Has Shizun considered–”
“Absolutely not,” Shen Qingqiu cuts Binghe off without looking up from his own reading.
“Shizun doesn’t even know the question!” Binghe complains, turning the full force of his pout onto his husband. Shen Qingqiu is not moved. Specifically, Shen Qingqiu is not moved because Shen Qingqiu does not look at Luo Binghe. Looking is a fatal mistake to make when he can feel Binghe’s pout aimed at him and he's been married to this man long enough now to know that. “He might like whatever this disciple is asking about.”
“If it’s coming from one of the books you read then I certainly will not.” Shen Qingqiu pointedly flips the page of his own book.
“Shizun liked the thing with the wine–”
“Luo Binghe, we do not mention the thing with the wine.”
“Of course not, Shizun. This disciple apologizes, Shizun,” Binghe says immediately, leaning over and into Shen Qingqiu’s space to press an apologetic kiss to Shen Qingqiu’s cheek.
Shen Qingqiu allows it, even tipping his head up just slightly so that Binghe has better access.
After, Binghe settles right back into his seat but abandons his own reading to take one of Shen Qingqiu’s feet between his hands, rubbing over flesh that is sore from being on his feet all day while carrying extra weight, and then digging his thumb right into the arch.
Shen Qingqiu makes a soft noise. For once, Binghe ignores it (or pretends to, at least) to ask: “Shizun, tell this ignorant disciple about what you’re reading?”
Shen Qingqiu blinks down at his book, finding that he had apparently not been paying much attention to the last couple pages. Certainly, he would have noticed sooner that he’d stumbled across an entire section on the Blossoming Lotus Of Everlasting Joy if he had been.
He frowns, taking a closer look at the text.
“Shizun,” Binghe says– whines, really. It’s a tone Shen Qingqiu is familiar with, one that pleads with him to pay attention to him and only him.
Shen Qingqiu frowns even harder and holds a hand up to halt Binghe’s questions, flipping to the next page. This is, to be entirely honest, the most information he’s seen about the Blossoming Lotus Of Everlasting Joy. It’d all been a bit vague in Proud Immortal Demon Way, really, and he hadn’t managed to find too much information on it before he’d decided to go ahead with the whole getting pregnant plan anyway.
He is not particularly pleased by the details laid out in front of him now.
“Excuse me, I need to go beat– I mean speak with Shang Qinghua.” He attempts to stand so that he can go do just that, but Binghe keeps a firm hold on his foot, tugging until Shen Qingqiu has scooted down and is flat on his back.
“It’s already late. Shizun can speak with him tomorrow,” Binghe says, sounding very reasonable, unfortunately, which is not what Shen Qingqiu really wants to hear when he wants to go beat Shen Qinghua upside the head with the book talking about the shitty plant the idiot invented in what Shen Qingqiu knows was probably a caffeine and narcotics addled haze while trying to push out a twenty thousand word chapter before his deadline.
“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu says, and it’s not a whine. It’s not.
“Shizun,” Binghe replies, releasing Shen Qingqiu’s foot only to climb over Shen Qingqiu so that he can cage him in beneath him.
“I won’t be gone long,” Shen Qingqiu tries, reaching up to slide a hand into Binghe’s hair and giving a little scritch to his scalp like maybe if he just distracts Binghe with some nice head scratches then his husband might let Shen Qingqiu slip away. “I just need to see your Shang-shishu, hit him upside the head a little, ask a few questions and then I’ll be home before you know it.”
“Shizun, it’s late. I had plans,” Binghe complains, and Shen Qingqiu makes the grave mistake of looking directly at his pouting husband. He knows better than to look at the pout! “What could be so important that Shizun has to leave tonight to talk to Shang Qinghua?”
“Shang-shishu,” Shen Qingqiu corrects absently, a little distracted by Luo Binghe’s full lower lip and his big, dark, bottomless, sparkling eyes. It’s truly terrible to be subjected to the protagonist’s powers so frequently. No mortal was meant to be subject to so much of this. That's why there were hundreds of wives in the novel! Shen Qingqiu's hand, through no intention of his own, abandons Binghe’s fluffy hair and brushes light fingertips over his perfect cheek, pressing against the corner of his eye where tears are gathering. He tsks. “Crocodile tears.”
“This one is just upset that his wife would go speak with Shang-shishu about what’s bothering him over his husband.” Binghe sounds sad and annoyed and petty and a little bit like a spoiled little emperor and Shen Qingqiu does not even try to resist the urge to pinch his cheek. Binghe leans into it. “Anything you can tell Shang-shishu, you can tell this husband.” He adds, still sounding petulant.
“Of course I can. This is his fault however, so I’d like to yell at him a little bit,” He admits, grabbing at the book and shoving it at Binghe to look at himself.
Binghe obediently reads what’s put in front of him, and Shen Qingqiu really does not appreciate the satisfied look on his husband's face when his eyes run across a couple bits about the plant Shen Qingqiu had consumed to allow him to carry their child.
Binghe, at least, has the grace to not mention any of it, even if his eyes do stray towards Shen Qingqiu’s chest for a moment. Shen Qingqiu is not thinking about it. He’s not thinking about what that book said about those that consume the plant providing nourishment for their children. Because that’s insane. This is not a shitty omegaverse fanfic, Airplane! He was just fine doing the respectable rich person thing and having a wet nurse!
“Apologies, Shizun, but this one is too stupid to see how Shang-shishu is responsible for the effects of a somewhat rare demonic plant?”
“He just is,” Shen Qingqiu insists and snatches the book back from Binghe before Binghe can reread the passages and get too worked up about them. Shen Qingqiu can already feel the pillar stirring against his thigh, okay?! He can’t get the book very far, however, when he’s still trapped beneath his giant heavenly demon of a husband, and Binghe plucks it right back out of his hands.
“Will Shizun ever explain to this husband of his just how he’s so sure that Shang Qinghua is responsible for so many of the things in life that irritate him?” Binghe asks, setting the book aside carefully and then sitting up, tugging Shen Qingqiu up and into his lap as he does.
Shen Qingqiu is not into the casual manhandling. He’s not.
“Absolutely not,” Shen Qingqiu says, settling into Binghe’s lap with his hands over top of Binghe’s where they’ve automatically come to rest over Shen Qingqiu’s stomach.
He has, once or twice, in the last couple years, thought of telling Binghe at least a little bit. Just a smidge of the truth. Not because he feels some deep, terrible desire for Binghe to know who he was or anything else so sentimental with regards to his past life, but because he’s pretty sure Binghe deserves it. He deserves to know that the man he loves and is married to and is now expecting a child with, is not, in fact, the same man who abused him terribly when he was young. That those years with the Original Goods were not all some convoluted, fucked up test like Binghe has decided it was in the years since.
Any time he gets close to saying anything, however, the System wakes up from its semi-dormant state to scream about that not being allowed and Shen Qingqiu getting deported if he divulges his status as a transmigrator and blahblahblah. Shen Qingqiu is certainly not risking deportation, okay?! He likes being alive and not back in his long dead original body! And he’s really not going to risk it when he’s pregnant.
Binghe would be devastated.
“My wife has so many secrets,” Binghe complains, but he softens it with a kiss.
“It’s a good thing my husband will have so much time to figure them out for himself then, isn't it?” Shen Qingqiu says, and he fully expects Luo Binghe to do exactly that. In fact, when he says things like this, he’s practically giving Luo Binghe explicit permission to try.
Shen Qingqiu might not be able to tell his own secrets because of the shitty System, but he has argued the System into admitting that it can’t actually do anything about Luo Binghe’s protagonist IQ figuring it all out! Luo Binghe might not ever get all the details. It’d be impossible for him to do such a thing all on his own. But he’s sure whatever assumptions Binghe has made or eventually will make about Shen Qingqiu’s secrets are at least five or six parts out of ten the truth.
Hell, he already sounds so very skeptical and, perhaps, a little bit judgemental when the subject of Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu being ‘from the same home town’ comes up. So, really, he’s probably halfway to figuring a few things out already.
“Forever,” Luo Binghe says, sounding so horrifically sappy about that and looking at Shen Qingqiu with such adoration that Shen Qingqiu nearly has to look away.
“Yes, yes, forever,” Shen Qingqiu agrees and then grips the front of Luo Binghe’s robes. “Now, I believe my husband said something about having plans for the night?”
The next morning, Luo Binghe arranges for Mobei Jun to ferry them away to the Northern Ice Palace and drops Shen Qingqiu off in front of Shang Qinghua’s office.
The two demons disappear to do whatever it is that they do when they’re together (Shen Qingqiu would really like to think it’s something cool and befitting of the protagonist and the author’s favorite character, but he’s relatively certain they spend about an incense stick's worth of time discussing demon politics and then spend the rest of the time gossiping about him and Shang Qinghua and maybe getting mocked by Sha Hualing as some bizarre form of sport if she manages to track them down) while Shen Qingqiu barges directly through Shang Qinghua’s door without so much as knocking.
Shang Qinghua yelps when the door slams, jumping in his seat and spilling ink all over his paperwork, which, if Shen Qingqiu were in a better mood, he might be a little bit sorry about. He knows how much paperwork it takes to run a demonic empire.
“What. Is. This?” Shen Qingqiu demands, focusing on reigniting last night's righteous fury at the hack author and shoving the book in Shang Qinghua’s face.
“Uh, a dusty old book?” Shang Qinghua asks, and then, when Shen Qingqiu growls, “I don’t know bro! Gimme a second to read it?”
“Read faster,” Shen Qingqiu orders, but takes a seat across from Shang Qinghua to wait.
“This is about the plant you ate to get knocked up, right?” Shang Qinghua asks, skimming through the first bit and then squinting at the next. “So I see why you might be upset.”
“Are you at the part about the changes being permanent or the one about how I’m gonna produce fucking milk, Airplane?”
“That’s kind of convenient though, right?” Shang Qinghua asks, distracted and still reading what’s in front of him. “That way you won’t have to find a wet nurse? That was probably the logic I was rolling with when I came up with it.”
“Convenient or not, it’s gonna be fucking weird, Airplane!” Shen Qingqiu insists. “And Binghe’s gonna be weird about it! Like, am I gonna end up with tits? He’s definitely gonna be weird if I end up with tits, Airplane! You wrote a weird fucking guy, bro! You’d be weirded out too in my place! You’d be weird about possibly growing boobs too, Airplane!”
“Listen, you made him weirder. I only laid the foundation there, bro. Also, I literally have boobs! Real lady boobs, grown through, like, puberty, not ones grown by a stupid flower I thought up while high!”
“Bro, you can’t call them lady boobs. That’s gotta be super messed up, like, to yourself, I think?”
“Thanks? I think?” Shang Qinghua says. “Also, I don’t think you’re gonna grow actual boobs. You’re so skinny it’d probably just be mosquito bites even if you did.”
“Excuse you, I could have a great rack!” Shen Qingqiu insists, suddenly a little offended actually. He could have great tits, Airplane! You don’t know!
“I mean, do you want to?” Shang Qinghua asks, suddenly eying him up and down appraisingly. Shen Qingqiu shifts uncomfortably and pats at his bump to soothe himself. “You do refer to yourself as Junshang’s wife an awful lot,” He adds, thoughtfully. “And you tend to get really pissed off about things you actually kinda like but are deluding yourself into thinking you don't? If there’s something weird and gender-y going on there, you know you can talk to me right, bro?”
It is… surprisingly well meaning, actually. Misguided, but, like, kinda nice that Shang Qinghua, you know, cares?
Still deeply embarrassing though.
“I don’t want to be a woman!” Shen Qingqiu squeaks– squeaks! What the fuck Airplane?! And then, with a lot more confidence, because in this instance it is actually the truth and Shen Qingqiu isn’t deluding himself. “I’m a man. I’m not, like, confused or anything. I’m just a man, having a baby, who lost his dick, apparently forever, and who might end up with boobs. That’s totally a thing, right?”
“That’s a thing, yeah,” Shang Qinghua says, weirdly reassuring. “Men have babies all the time. Especially here.”
“Yeah,” Shen Qingqiu agrees, because it’s not untrue. There’s sure to be other men like Shang Qinghua living in this world, and outside of even that, Shang Qinghua had invented so many fucking plants and talismans and sacred bamboo groves that could give a cultivator a child that the world has ended up a helluva lot more gay than Shen Qingqiu had ever noticed until he, himself, ended up marrying a man. “I’m still pissed at you that I’m apparently not getting my dick back after this is all over though.”
“It’s literally called the Blossoming Lotus Of Everlasting Joy, bro. Everlasting. I don’t know why you thought it’d be temporary. Actually, now that I think about it, you should probably invest in some contraceptive tea if you don’t want my son knocking you up again as soon as this kid’s born.”
Shen Qingqiu has mostly calmed down from his rage. This does not stop him from throwing the book at Shang Qinghua’s head. If he misses on purpose, then that’s between him and God (The System.)
“Oh,” Shen Qingqiu says, nearly dropping his tea when he feels it.
Binghe’s attention is suddenly on him, honing in like a particularly focused blood hound, paperwork forgotten in a heartbeat as he crosses the room to Shen Qingqiu’s side. “Is Shizun okay? Should this husband fetch Mu-shishu?”
“No, no, this master is fine,” Shen Qingqiu says, waving Binghe’s worries away with a flap of his hand. It happens again, the feeling, and he turns the hand he’d just waved about over, holding it out to Binghe. “Give me your hand.”
Binghe, who will never turn down an opportunity to touch Shen Qingqiu, does so promptly. Instead of lacing their fingers together, like Binghe clearly expects, Shen Qingqiu directs his husband’s hand to his own stomach, right where Shen Qingqiu had felt it.
“Patience,” He murmurs, when Binghe looks at him quizzically.
And then it happens again. A feeling like a nudge, inside of him– a kick. So much more than the little flutters Shen Qingqiu’s been feeling for weeks now. So much more than the ones that had devastated his poor husband over the fact that he couldn’t feel them as well.
Judging by the way Binghe’s eyes go wide he can certainly feel this.
“Oh.” Binghe’s voice is barely a whisper, awed in a way that Shen Qingqiu is not quite sure he’s ever heard from the man before. He bends, hunching over to press close to Shen Qingqiu’s stomach, to rest his forehead there and speak unbearably softly to the baby. “Hello, little one.”
Shen Qingqiu settles his hand into Binghe’s hair, stroking through the soft curls once before he simply rests it there atop Binghe’s head.
The baby kicks again, beneath Binghe’s hand, and Binghe seems to almost startle for a moment before his hand presses a little more firmly into Shen Qingqiu’s stomach, chasing the feeling.
“Already so strong,” Binghe says, the fondness in his voice making Shen Qingqiu’s heart feel two sizes too big. “A-Niang is taking such good care of you, isn’t he? Letting you grow big and strong so that we can meet you soon.”
“Not too soon,” Shen Qingqiu says, absently rubbing the side of his stomach.
He does not address the A-Niang allegations. He’s given up on it already, the same way he’s given up on fighting against being called Binghe’s wife, or his empress. Besides, it’s probably more convenient this way. They can’t both be A-die, can they? It’d get too confusing! And a lot of children grow out of using baba eventually so they can’t go the ‘one of them is A-die and one of them is Baba’ route, and Fuqin feels… too formal, somehow. Shen Qingqiu and Binghe both appreciate the veneer of formality, certainly, but he's not so sure either of them want their child to ever be quite so formal with them.
“No, not too soon,” Binghe agrees, “Baobao has to stay put for a while longer yet.”
He kisses Shen Qingqiu’s stomach, easy as anything, the way Binghe always seems to be easy with affection for Shen Qingqiu and now their child, and then sits up properly again to kiss Shen Qingqiu himself this time.
He’s glad. Shen Qingqiu is glad, now, that Binghe is so sticky and affectionate. With Binghe around, their child will never lack love and affection, even if Shen Qingqiu himself still struggles to show it sometimes.
“Binghe is happy?” Shen Qingqiu asks, when Binghe takes his hands between his own and raises them to kiss Shen Qingqiu’s knuckles, like Shen Qingqiu is so very precious and has given him something equally so.
He radiates happiness through every inch of him, and yet, Shen Qingqiu still feels the need to ask.
“This one–” Binghe starts and then stops, sighing softly, his breath fanning out over Shen Qingqiu’s hands and making him shiver. “I– You– Shizun gives me the entire world and still he asks if I’m happy?”
“It’s a yes or no question,” Shen Qingqiu grumbles, just a bit, softening the complaint by bringing their joined hands closer and brushing his lips over them ever so softly. “Is it too much for this husband to ask for reassurance?”
“No. Never. My husband could never ask for too much,” Binghe says, untangling one hand from Shen Qingqiu’s so that he can curl it over Shen Qingqiu’s cheek. “I am so very happy. I’ve been given more than I could even dare to dream of. I am happier than I ever imagined I could be.”
“Good. That’s good,” Shen Qingqiu says, and he’s going to blame the way he leans into Binghe’s touch like a housecat on his pregnancy hormones. They’re very convenient when it comes to blaming things on them. “Binghe deserves to be happy. That's all this husband wants for him.”
Shen Qingqiu is restless.
It’s the middle of the night, and Luo Binghe lays fast asleep beside him, arm draped comfortably over Shen Qingqiu, one large hand spread protectively– or possessively, Shen Qingqiu’s not sure which but it's probably a bit of both– over Shen Qingqiu’s stomach.
He could turn in his husband’s grasp and shake him awake, make him soothe whatever this restless ache inside of Shen Qingqiu is. Except Shen Qingqiu is not quite sure yet what will soothe it.
He slips, quietly and carefully, out of the bed, waiting with baited breath to see if Luo Binghe wakes up. His husband does not, snuffling in his sleep and scooting further into the warmth Shen Qingqiu left behind, as though searching in sleep for his beloved husband.
Shen Qingqiu does not feel soft about that. No. Not at all! If he stands for a long moment, watching his husband sleep and memorizing the sight of it, well, that’s between him and the night and no one else.
He slips on a set of Binghe’s outer robes over the soft inner robes he wears to sleep and tugs on a pair of boots before wandering into the outside.
Binghe would probably fret if he were to realize his pregnant husband were wandering around outside in the cold while Binghe sleeps soundly in their bed, but Shen Qingqiu does not think he could sleep right now for anything, not even for Luo Binghe.
He traces the well worn paths of Qing Jing Peak, the twists and turns of his home known to him like the back of his hand after all these years. He’s sure, somehow, that he knows these trails better than he ever knew the streets of the city he’d grown up in.
The night is quiet, the moon sitting low and just shy of full in the sky. He pauses in his walk, rubbing soothing circles along the swell of his stomach where the baby seems just as restless as he is tonight, murmuring soft nothings about the world around them to his stomach like the baby can understand.
“Shizun!” A voice calls, and Shen Qingqiu whirls around to take in the sight of his disciple, her hair thrown into a sloppy ponytail and her robes rumpled.
“Ning Yingying,” Shen Qingqiu greets, reaching out to straighten Ning Yingying’s ponytail and to smooth out the collars of her robes when she reaches him.
“We should get you back to bed before A-Luo wakes up and realizes you’ve snuck out,” Ning Yingying says.
Shen Qingqiu suspects that her rumpled state paired with her words means that someone had seen him wandering and sent the disciple known to be one of his favorites to corral him back to bed.
These sticky little sheep that he’s raised have been so overprotective the last few months.
(These sticky little sheep that he’s raised have been overprotective for years.)
“I don’t need to be corralled about like a child,” Shen Qingqiu grumbles, even as he lets Ning Yingying loop an arm around his currently non-existent waist and turn him around to lead him back the way he’d come.
“Ah, but there is a child involved, isn’t there? So that means that this Yingying can be excused for her worrying just this once, can’t she?” Ning Yingying says, smiling up at her Shizun.
She’s grown so much since the day Shen Qingqiu arrived in this world. She’s an accomplished cultivator in her own right, and Shen Qingqiu doesn’t acknowledge enough how instrumental she was in keeping the peak running during the years that Binghe was in the Abyss and then after when Shen Qingqiu was… Well. Unavailable.
Shen Qingqiu still looks at her sometimes and sees the sweet-faced and, perhaps, a little bit naive youth from years ago. He somehow doubts that will ever change, no matter how much she grows up.
“Indulge this old man and walk with your Shizun for a while, hm?” Shen Qingqiu requests, the restlessness he’s felt all night edging into a sort of nostalgic melancholy when paired with the quiet night on the peak and one of the disciples he's raised standing in front of him. “Enjoy the peace and quiet with this master. Heaven knows this peak won’t be so quiet soon.”
They end up arm in arm on their stroll, heads tucked close together as they chat and wander— both the chatting and the wandering equally as aimless as the other.
He listens carefully as Ning Yingying rambles on about the progress of some of the junior disciples in their sword forms— Though, these days, even the junior disciples are not so junior.
“You’ll have to attend the next selection ceremony with me.”
Ning Yingying, like most of Shen Qingqiu’s disciples, is well versed in the art of conversation with Shen Qingqiu and the way he can jump from subject to subject.
“Shizun’s going to let this disciple choose some more shidimei to spoil then?” Ning Yingying asks, smiling easily. She doesn’t bring up how long it’s been since Shen Qingqiu took on more disciples and Shen Qingqiu is ridiculously grateful for that.
He does not quite know how to explain why he hasn’t taken any on in far too long, or why he suddenly feels like it’s a good idea now.
“A-Ying does have a knack for choosing,” Shen Qingqiu says, unable to resist the urge to pat the top of her head fondly.
"Shizun flatters this disciple too much," Ning Yingying says, and then,“Shizun is happy,” because of course the disciples of Qing Jing Peak are just as adept at running from subject to subject as their Shizun is.
“Ah, of course I’m happy,” Shen Qingqiu says, a little surprised by the statement, “What reason could this master have not to be?”
“It’s just–” Ning Yingying sighs, clearly trying to find the right words. “Shizun was unhappy for so long, and then he was gone— and so much happened to Shizun. It just makes this disciple happy, that Shizun is finally allowed to be happy, after everything.”
“My disciples should worry more about their own happiness than this old man’s,” Shen Qingqiu says, shaking his head at Ning Yingying.
“This disciple apologizes,” Ning Yingying says, not sounding even a little bit sorry, “But she’s always going to worry about her Shizun. Shizun is welcome to punish this disciple for her disobedience, if necessary.”
Shen Qingqiu scoffs. “How did I teach so many of my disciples to apologize so insincerely, hm?” He asks, unable to resist the urge to pinch Ning Yingying’s cheek and give her a gentle little shake. “Ah, well, if the height of Ning Yingying’s disobedience is to worry for this master when he says not to, then I guess that’s not so bad, is it?”
Ning Yingying beams so brightly that Shen Qingqiu is sure that if she was still filling a love interest role, she’d have shojo sparkles around her. Or gently fluttering cherry blossoms. Or something.
He is never quite sure what he’s done to elicit such a reaction when this kind of thing happens with his disciples. He thinks simply going with it is the correct response to it, however.
“Not so bad, no,” Ning Yingying agrees as they turn and the bamboo house comes into view. Shen Qingqiu realizes, just then, that their aimless wandering had, perhaps, not been quite as aimless as he’d thought.
He might feel a bit more betrayed by this if Luo Binghe weren’t waiting at the top of the steps, looking soft and warm and still a bit sleep mussed.
Ah, he does love his husband something terrible, doesn’t he?
Still, he turns to Ning Yingying and points a finger at her accusingly “My disciple has betrayed me,” He laments, sighing.
“Shizun was going to start missing A-Luo any moment now,” Ning Yingying says, without the decency to even pretend to sound guilty.
“We are not so attached at the hip that we start missing each other after so little time spent apart,” Shen Qingqiu insists, because really, that’s too much for Ning Yingying to say! He’s very normal about Binghe and misses him a very normal amount when he’s gone!
“Yes, we are,” Luo Binghe disagrees, having descended the stairs to meet Shen Qingqiu and Ning Yingying at the bottom of them. “This husband misses his wife if he’s gone for even a moment.” He turns to greet Ning Yingying with a polite nod. “Ning-shijie.”
“A-Luo,” Ning Yingying returns with a polite nod of her own.
There is a beat that passes, a mere moment, and then both disciples are grinning at each other, like they’re in on some joke together.
Shen Qingqiu had worried, for a time, after everything that happened, that Luo Binghe had not seemed to have friends, exactly. Binghe had, in fact, insisted that Shizun was the only friend he needed despite any scolding on the matter from Shen Qingqiu.
Thankfully, over the last couple years, or since he and Binghe were married at the least, things between Binghe and his martial siblings– but especially Ning Yingying– have been steadily mended.
And then, with the baby coming, it was as though Luo Binghe had suddenly realized that they were both rather limited when it came to family.
If they wanted their child to have much of a family, something Luo Binghe sorely seemed to want for them, they would have to rely on their respective martial siblings (and, somehow, on Sha Hualing and Mobei Jun, who have both shown a frankly bizarre amount of interest in being honorary aunt and uncle to the child.)
It is as though that realization had spurred Luo Binghe to mend that final broken bridge between him and his shijie.
It makes Shen Qingqiu feel something that he can’t possibly look at too closely, lest he fall victim to the tears that have plagued so much of his pregnancy all over again.
“Shijie has brought this A-Luo a gift,” Binghe says, gesturing towards Shen Qingqiu.
“He’s prone to running away, but it’s all this poor Shijie could come up with on such short notice,” Ning Yingying jokes, giving Shen Qingqiu a firm but gentle nudge in Binghe’s direction. “Hopefully the Emperor likes him anyway.”
Binghe snorts, a completely inelegant sound, and wraps his arms around Shen Qingqiu, tugging him in close.
“This Lord is rather fond,” Binghe says, squeezing Shen Qingqiu as tight as he dares these days with Shen Qingqiu so round with his child. “Many thanks to Shijie for such a thoughtful gift.”
“A-Luo is most welcome,” Ning Yingying says, cupping her hands and bowing oh so dramatically. Somehow, the bow seems sarcastic.
“Ridiculous,” Shen Qingqiu mutters, feeling far too fond of these disciples of his.
“A-Luo should get Shizun back inside where it’s warm,” Ning Yingying says.
Shen Qingqiu would probably gripe about how he can decide where he should and should not be and that as a cultivator the cold does not actually bother him that much, but, well, it’s Ning Yingying, and Luo Binghe is already leading him back inside the bamboo house while bidding her goodbye and promising to have tea with her tomorrow, so, really, there’s no point in arguing anyway, is there?
If pressed, Shen Qingqiu would say that he maybe, possibly, in a way, overreacts. A smidge.
Shang Qinghua, who bears the brunt of this, might— and does— claim Shen Qingqiu got downright hysterical but Shen Qingqiu would like to remind the world that Shang Qinghua is a coward and a rat and a dirty rotten liar, and— most importantly— a terrible novelist and therefore his opinion does not count.
Really, it’s Airplane’s fault anyway. He just had to fully embrace genre conventions! Trust Airplane to choose making money by appealing to the lowest common denominator instead of keeping artistic integrity.
(“Dude, that’s easy for a rich kid to say. Some of us weren’t spoiled and had to pay rent. Artistic integrity means jack shit if you die of starvation.” Shang Qinghua has started saying some variation of when Shen Qingqiu gets “too mean” about it.)
Anyway, Shen Qingqiu gets a little freaked out. Just a little bit! Because he knows the tropes, okay?! He and the protagonist are a mere matter of weeks away from becoming parents and Shen Qingqiu knows what happens when the protagonist has kids and suddenly the world turns into a sequel.
Or worse, a spin off.
Something terrible is going to happen.
Something terrible has to happen.
How else will the poor kid get a tragic, character building past?! Future main characters don't get to have nice, well adjusted, happy childhoods with two parents who love and support them and stay alive!
“If I die because of this I will come back and haunt you,” Shen Qingqiu tells Airplane very seriously one night while Luo Binghe and Mobei-Jun are having what is ostensibly their Biweekly Demon Lord Meeting.
Airplane’s narrative choices don’t exactly seem to allow for the mother of a main character to live often. And why wouldn’t Binghe’s child be a main character? It’s not even like in this version Binghe has hundreds of wives and children to bear the burden of tropes! It’ll all fall on Shen Qingqiu and this one child!
Is he going to have to pop out more kids just to spread the tropes around a little bit? No, that'd be insane. That's an insane reason to have multiple children. Although... Well. It's not like Shen Qingqiu didn't like growing up with siblings in his old life. His da-ge might moaned and groaned about wishing to be an only child, but as the second youngest, Shen Yuan had certainly liked having his older brothers and his little sister around.
Shen Qingqiu imagines, for a moment, Luo Binghe with a child hanging off of each arm and one clinging to his leg. Then he promptly tucks that thought away for further examination much, much, much later.
Airplane flails in surprise. “Dude! What a way to be morbid. Aren’t you supposed to be excited for the kid you’re growing or whatever? I’ve heard excitement’s supposed to be a thing. You’re at the very least supposed to be more excited than me, the uncle of the kid.”
Because that’s apparently a thing. Uncle Shang Qinghua. Future Jiujiu, Shang Qinghua.
(“You’re the mother,” Shang Qinghua had reminded him, mercilessly, when Shen Qingqiu smacked him with his fan and insisted the correct term would be Shushu.)
“I would be more excited if I hadn’t remembered that you’re a hack author and would absolutely embrace the trope of fridging the main character’s mom in a shitty sequel!” Shen Qingqiu perhaps, possibly, sounds a little hysterical. Maybe. His voice has definitely gone pitchy and a little shrieky.
“You’re not getting fridged! I may be a sellout, but I wasn’t going to be the sort of sellout who wrote a boring ass spin off about one of my son’s kids!”
“Liar! Chapters 4276 through 4318 were a backdoor pilot, you absolute hack!”
“I never went through with it!”
“Only because people didn’t like it because it somehow sucked more than your usual shit! Like, you could really tell you don’t like kids that much, Airplane. Seriously, what did children do to you, bro?”
“Okay, rude. I like kids just fine! We’ve been over this! Writing them is just a whole other thing entirely. Who the fuck understands the mind of an eight year old? You try writing kidfic if you know so much, Cucumber-bro! And also! I never planned for the mom of Luo Jiahao to die. So, like, you should be fine actually. I barely killed any wives after a while, anyway, and most of the ones I did kill off came back later, so I don’t know why you’re so freaked out.”
“Because I’m the only wife!” Shen Qingqiu shrieks, and oh, there it is, the pressure behind his eyes, like he’s going to cry. Again. Pregnancy is a fucking rip off. Shen Qingqiu hasn’t cried so much since he was an infant. He doubts he cried this much even then! His mother always said he was a very pleasant, quiet baby in fact! He was so easy to handle as a baby, in fact, that he apparently tricked his mother into having one more, Shen Tang— who was, as far as Shen Yuan remembers, the biggest menace of a baby that the world has ever seen. He blinks rapidly because he is not going to fucking cry right now.
“Which means all the wife plots fall on you, yeah, yeah, I get it,” Shang Qinghua says, physically waving Shen Qingqiu’s concerns away. (Shen Qingqiu is secretly grateful that he doesn’t bring attention to the tears that have welled up in Shen Qingqiu’s eyes. He will, undoubtedly, bring it up later, but by then Shen Qingqiu will be composed enough to be the right level of mean over it. Friendship is so fucked up, he can’t believe Shang Qinghua understands him and gives him, like, time to emotionally process or whatever.) “That also means you’ll have to live a whole lot longer than the ones I did fridge to get through them all.”
“Oh,” Shen Qingqiu says, frowning and hiding his face behind his sleeve for a moment to sniffle without getting caught out at it. “I hadn’t thought about it that way.”
“Yeah, I figured,” Shang Qinghua says, “Considering you were just having a panic attack over the thought of dying on your kid. Which is fair, I guess. I did kill off a lot of moms if you think about it. Two of them for one character, even, if you count both of Binghe’s moms.”
“I wasn’t having a panic attack,” Shen Qingqiu insists, dropping his arm from in front of his face so that he can glare properly at Shang Qinghua.
“Pretty sure you did. You probably tossed and turned all night and woke up my poor son with your panic about leaving your poor little bun without their precious A-Niang.”
“I fucking hate you so much, Airplane.”
“Love ya too, Cucumber-bro,” Shang Qinghua says and pats at Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder like that’s not a one way ticket to losing his hand.
Shen Qingqiu allows it, and reminds himself of just how many wife plots Shang Qinghua could have come up with between the main story, the outlines, and any bonus scenes. Enough, surely, to keep him around until he reaches a ripe old age, even for an immortal.
Forget the size of a house, Shen Qingqiu feels as though he’s the size of a goddamn mountain.
He waddles– waddles!– his way through their little home on Qing Jing Peak, one hand curled over his stomach and the other pressed against the small of his own back like it might somehow offer support to the poor overworked body part. Binghe's child is simply too big.
“Aren’t you running out of room in there yet, Baobao?” He asks his stomach, or rather, the little one still residing there. “It must be getting cramped with how big you’ve gotten by now. Aren’t you ready to come out so that A-Niang’s poor back can have a break?”
Binghe trails after him, deserting whatever he’d been doing before Shen Qingqiu had abandoned his own reading, and, because he’s Binghe, the more overprotective husband in all the realms, fretting. “Shizun should really be resting…”
Realistically, expecting a demon to not fret over his extremely pregnant spouse, one who is expected to give birth literally any day now, is, perhaps, a lot to ask.
“This master can decide whether he needs to rest or not himself,” Shen Qingqiu says, waving Binghe’s concern away.
“Of course,” Binghe says, promptly, even as he falls into step with a hand on the small of Shen Qingqiu’s back, hovering as Shen Qingqiu makes his escape from the little bamboo house. “Shizun knows himself and his limits best, of course.”
It would be a little more believable if Binghe didn’t sound like he was chewing on glass to get the words out, like Shen Qingqiu knowing his own limits is an unfathomable concept to his husband, actually. Which, okay, perhaps the multitude of times Shen Qingqiu has died or nearly died could leave that impression! But Shen Qingqiu’s gotten better about it, really! He knows himself!
Mostly. Maybe. Kinda.
Okay, whatever, moving on!
“Mu-shidi has said that gentle exercise might help bring the baby a little sooner,” Shen Qingqiu says, giving the explanation that Luo Binghe has yet to outright ask for.
The demon doula that’s been working in tandem with Mu Qingfang had confirmed his Mu-shidi’s words, but had also offered up that dual cultivation could also work.
(“Have Junshang fuck you, Empress. That often does the trick.” Had been the demon doula’s actual words, but Shen Qingqiu prefers not to think about that. There’s just something too awkward about having a wizened old grandma of a demon telling you to have– to do– to do that– with your husband!)
(It had not helped the state of his face when the wizened old grandma of a demon had added "And make sure Junshang finishes inside," and caused Shen Qingqiu to choke on his tea so horribly that Binghe had rushed into the room, frantic.)
He will, of course, not be mentioning this to his husband. Not unless he gets truly desperate.
Waddling along with his back and hips aching worse than they ever have, even after a night when Binghe had gotten particularly exuberant, Shen Qingqiu worries he might actually reach that level of desperation if this whole pregnancy thing isn't over very soon.
“The baby will come when they’re ready,” Binghe says serenely, parroting what everyone else has been telling Shen Qingqiu for the last two weeks or so, ever since he decided that he’s miserable actually, and would like this tiny demon out of him.
Shen Qingqiu pinches Binghe in the side, hard. It’s dulled through several layers of robes, and Binghe is a heavenly demon who has been through much worse than a little pinch, but he still makes a pathetic face like Shen Qingqiu has grievously wounded him.
Shen Qingqiu rolls his eyes.
Binghe looks even more pathetic, if possible.
“Menace,” Shen Qingqiu says, giving into fondness and reaching up to pat at Binghe’s curls. “This master is well aware that a baby comes on their own time and no one else's, but–” He cuts off, huffing out a little noise, and Binghe rubs a hand over Shen Qingqiu’s back soothingly.
“But Shizun is ready to be done,” Binghe fills in for him.
“I am ready to be done,” Shen Qingqiu agrees.
Binghe hums his understanding and draws Shen Qingqiu in closer until he's tucked neatly into Binghe's side. Binghe is a warm presence against and around him, a shield from the cold that has fully settled over the peaks in the last few weeks. "Shizun suffers much for this husband's sake."
"Tch," Shen Qingqiu makes an offended noise even as he presses closer into Binghe's side, "My husband acts as though this is some noble sacrifice. As though I was not the one who came up with this. As though I did not want this child before I ever even brought it up to you."
Binghe tucks his face into the top of Shen Qingqiu's head and Shen Qingqiu can practically feel the smile spread across his husband's face at the reminder that Shen Qingqiu wanted this. That this was all Shen Qingqiu's own terrible (wonderful) idea.
"The only thing Binghe should be feeling guilty about is that his child has clearly inherited Binghe's stickiness and seems in no hurry to arrive."
"Can we blame them?" Binghe asks, lifting his head again so that Shen Qingqiu is forced to look at him and to endure the full depth and breadth of Binghe's happiness. "If this Binghe could tuck himself away inside Shizun and never leave— if this one could be carried around by his heart always, he would."
Which is… weird. Okay. It's a little bit weird! But it's sweet, and the thought of keeping Binghe safe and protected like that does have a certain appeal to it.
"It'd be very impractical," Shen Qingqiu points out instead of thinking further on whether or not he himself would like to tuck Binghe away within himself where no one could ever harm him again, not even Shen Qingqiu himself. "My disciple would be distraught when someone else had to fix this master's breakfast."
"Shizun is right as always."
"And imagine your horror if I had to prepare my own bath!" Shen Qingqiu teases, just to watch Binghe's face darken at the mere thought of it.
"You never add enough oils when you do it yourself," Binghe complains, like this is the true tragedy of his life. Really! The man suffered through years of abuse, the constant torments of Endless Abyss, as well as years of trying to revive Shen Qingqiu from literal actual death, and Shen Qingqiu's blasé attitude about his baths is what bothers him these days!? "And you get distracted and let the water grow cold before you ever get in and seem to forget that you can simply heat it up again."
"Well pardon me for not wanting to waste expensive oils! And a lukewarm bath is just as effective, Binghe."
"But Shizun likes to soak," Binge argues with a hint of a whine, eyes wide and bright and pathetic. "And nothing could be a waste if it's for Shizun."
"Binghe wants to spoil this master."
"Yes," Binghe says, the pathetic act fading as quickly as it came as Binghe turns smug. "What reason was there for anything I've done if I'm not allowed to spoil the person I love the most."
"There must have been other reasons than me," Shen Qingqiu argues, mostly for the sake of it.
"Shizun…" Binghe says, looking at Shen Qingqiu much like one might look at a very stupid, very pathetic, very beloved animal. Shen Qingqiu narrows his eyes at him and Binghe does not even have the grace to look guilty. If anything he looks even more fond!
"There must have been," Shen Qingqiu insists, pausing in their walking and turning to face Binghe properly.
"There were not," Binghe says, taking Shen Qingqiu's chilly hands between his own warm ones. "There were no better reasons, to this disciple, than Shizun. At least not after Shizun changed. All this disciple wanted, after that, was to please Shizun. To be worthy of Shizun. To show that this lowly one's heritage didn't matter and Shizun shouldn't have—"
"I know," Shen Qingqiu says, when Binghe cuts himself off and looks away, as though his husband had not meant to say quite so much. Binghe has spent years being very good at allowing Shen Qingqiu to not talk about many things, and it's good, because Shen Qingqiu's can't explain, not really, but there are things that it is, perhaps, best to say at least once before their child arrives. "Binghe is worthy. Binghe has always been worthy. Anything this master has said or done to tell Binghe otherwise were untrue, and this master will regret them for the rest of his days."
"Shizun—"
"Binghe is loved. By this master," Shen Qingqiu continues, haltingly, feeling his face flush from more than just the cold air outside, stirring up the urge to untangle his hands from Binghe's and reach for his fan to hide behind. It's just too embarrassing to say such things to his husband, straight to his face! Who just goes and tells people they love them?! Like it's easy?! Luo Binghe does, that's who! Certainly not Shen Qingqiu! Not normally! Shen Qingqiu normally relies on Luo Binghe's unique ability to read what Shen Qingqiu says without him having to actually say it it for Binghe to know. "I am aware that I am not always the best at saying such things— certainly, I am far worse at it than my husband is, but Binghe should know that every part of him is loved. Even the parts of him that Binghe might have once thought I found... distasteful."
"This husband knows," Binghe says, and squeezes Shen Qingqiu's hands with his own. "My wife may not be able to say it often, but it has been a long time since this husband has had any reason to doubt. Shizun of course knows that he is loved by his husband as well."
"Good," Shen Qingqiu says, a little faintly when Binghe raises Shen Qingqiu's hands to his mouth and brushes his lips across Shen Qingqiu's knuckles. "That's— That's good. As long as Binghe knows."
Later, when Shen Qingqiu has been successfully corralled out of the cold and back into the bamboo house, Luo Binghe draws him a bath with the insistence that he must warm Shizun and the baby up.
His husband's stickiness has only been increased by Shen Qingqiu's 9 month house guest, and he sits beside the tub, arms folded on the edge and his chin resting atop them, starry-eyed like watching Shen Qingqiu soak away the aches and pains of pregnancy is the highlight of his day.
"Let this husband wash your hair," Binghe says, and Shen Qingqiu hums thoughtfully like there is any chance he might deny Binghe this request. Binghe, predictably, sensing even the possibility of a denial, resorts to begging before Shen Qingqiu can even get a word out. "Shizun. Let this husband take care of you. Please."
And, well, now Shen Qingqiu has to protest, even if the thought of holding his arms up long enough to wash his ridiculously long xianxia hair fills him with absolute dread.
"Binghe's hands will wander," Shen Qingqiu argues, because, well, it is true, and that is a concern. Shen Qingqiu is much too pregnant and tired to be getting up to activities in a bathtub!
"They will not," Binghe argues right back, lying like the unfilial disciple that he is.
"They will too. This one knows his husband too well."
"This husband promises." Binghe insists, practically pouting.
"Well if my husband promises, then his hands will definitely wander."
"Shizun," Binghe whines, and Shen Qingqiu can't help but laugh and lean up, just a bit, until Binghe reads his request and leans in just enough that Shen Qingqiu can kiss him briefly on the mouth.
"Ah, Binghe knows this one is only teasing. As if I could truly stop my husband from doing as he pleases."
Taking that as the permission it is, Binghe gathers up everything he needs to attend to Shen Qingqiu, ties the sleeves of his robes up, and perches himself on a stool behind him.
Binghe washing Shen Qingqiu's hair is an event in itself. His husband's hands are large and strong and he always takes his time to really scrub into Shen Qingqiu's scalp until it's less washing Shen Qingqiu's hair and more giving Shen Qingqiu a full blown scalp massage.
Not that that's something Shen Qingqiu has any interest in complaining about. It is, in fact, one of the many perks of marrying the overly talented protagonist. All the talent required to take care of hundreds of wives has been focused solely on Shen Qingqiu!
It's after Shen Qingqiu hair is clean and soft and he has gone boneless and relaxed under Binghe's ministrations, that Binghe speaks for the first time to say something other than murmured instructions to tip his head this way or that.
"Shizun," Binghe calls, gently, and Shen Qingqiu blinks his eyes open, unsure when he ever even closed them in the first place.
"Mmmh?" Shen Qingqiu hums, sinking back into Binghe's hands when they abandon his scalp and land on his shoulders, digging into the knots there.
"This disciple has a question," Binghe says, and Shen Qingqiu suddenly feels as though he is a rabbit who has wandered into a trap. "Or, well, perhaps it's more of an observation that this disciple would like clarified."
"And what observations is my disciple seeking this master's wisdom for?"
"When Shizun changed, all those years ago—" Binghe starts, and Shen Qingqiu goes very very still. Binghe, ever attentive to his husband's changing moods, leans so far into the bath in his effort to wrap Shen Qingqiu up in his arms that Shen Qingqiu worries he's at risk of tumbling in. "Shizun does not have to talk about it, if he does not want."
"Binghe is referring to after this master qi deviated, is he not?" Shen Qingqiu says, refusing to address the last part of Binghe's words. If Binghe wants to discuss this then they will. Shen Qingqiu isn't letting Binghe let him brush this off!
"Mh," Binghe confirms, "After that, Shizun was suddenly… kind. To this disciple. It was confusing, at the time."
"I can imagine." Shen Qingqiu had not thought about it much then, too focused on hugging Binghe's thighs and saving his own skin, but knowing Binghe as he does now, it must have been confusing.
"This disciple— I thought—" Binghe starts and stops, starts and stops again, and lets out a little huff of breath that Shen Qingqiu feels against his neck.
"What did you think?" Shen Qingqiu asks, turning as much as he can to catch a glimpse of Binghe's face. He's relatively certain he knows what Binghe thought, but he'd still like to hear it from Binghe himself. "When I started treating you a bit more kindly?"
Luo Binghe laughs, something small and somehow breakable, that has Shen Qingqiu reaching at quite an awkward angle to pat soothingly at Binghe's hair. "'A bit more kindly' Shizun says, like Shizun didn't give this one medicine, or a place in his carriage, or a home. Like Shizun didn't seem to forget the very existence of his punishment whip after that day."
Shen Qingqiu winces at that but does not say anything to agree nor disagree with Binghe's words.
"I thought, for a time, that you had changed your mind about me," Binghe says, "I thought that you had decided you must have been wrong about me, or that I had somehow proven that you were wrong, that I had earned it, finally—"
"You were a child," Shen Qingqiu says, sharper than he intends it to come out. "Children don't earn basic human decency."
"I know that now," Binghe says, petting a hand soothingly over Shen Qingqiu's side, a bit like he's calming a particularly easy to startle horse. "This husband has been thinking on it lately."
It makes sense that Binghe would be thinking on these sorts of things. They have, at most, a week or so before the baby is here. Their child could be here quite literally any day now. It is only natural that they would be thinking of their own childhoods in light of this fact.
"Help me out," Shen Qingqiu says, because the last time he had attempted to heave his body out of this bathtub without Binghe's help he had nearly tripped and brained himself on the tub's edge and also sent Binghe into near qi deviation from the panic his poor husband experienced in that moment. It had been a whole thing. Shen Qingqiu had thought he was going to have to call Mu Qingfang over it! At Binghe's frowning confusion over the request he elaborates. "I can not continue having this conversation naked and in a bathtub, Binghe."
"But Shizun's enjoying his bath," Binghe says, just a hint of a pout on his pretty face.
"Yes, and then this master's husband decided that before our child is born he wanted to have a long overdue discussion about the past."
"We don't have to discuss anything if Shizun doesn't want to," Binghe says, even as he helps Shen Qingqiu out of the tub and wraps him up in a towel. Shen Qingqiu is not exactly sure if fuzzy bath towels are anachronistic, because the bulk of his information about vaguely ancient China comes from his older brother rambling about ancient tea trees or some other nonsense, reading web novels and, well, living in a web novel, but they feel anachronistic.
He allows Binghe to think that Shen Qingqiu is letting Binghe let Shen Qingqiu drop the subject for long enough that Binghe can dry him off, rub oils and lotions into his skin and wrap Shen Qingqiu up in the single layer of inner robes that Shen Qingqiu wears to sleep then brush and comb and set about braiding his hair for bed.
And then, sat in front of the bronze mirror in their bedroom so that Shen Qingqiu can watch the little furrow of Binghe's brow as he concentrates on carefully sectioning Shen Qingqiu's frankly ridiculous amount of hair, Shen Qingqiu brings it up again.
"If Binghe has been thinking on such things, what are his thoughts?"
"This disciple thought Shizun didn't want to speak about it?"
"No, this master's husband assumed that this master does not wish to speak about it, which—" Shen Qingqiu sighs, "I don't. Not really. However," He continues quickly, before Binghe can rush all over himself to insist that Shen Qingqiu need not do anything he doesn't want to, especially not now, Shizun! "I am mere days away from bringing your child into the world. I think that I can handle one little conversation."
"Exactly," Binghe says, like Shen Qingqiu has just made his point for him. "My wife is mere days away from bringing our child into the world, he shouldn't have to do anything he doesn't wish to do."
"What I wish to do is to be able to sleep peacefully tonight, something which I am already struggling to do these days and that I will very much not be able to do if I'm lying there, contemplating what you have been thinking about and what nonsense excuses my husband has decided to make for his master's previous terrible behavior!"
"They're very good ones. I think Shizun will be impressed with this disciples creativity," Binghe says, and Shen Qingqiu can see the curl of a grin on his face in the bronze mirror.
His husband is a little troll. Apparently if you give the man a little bit of time to grow comfortable with his place in his husband's life, he reverts back to that same teenage disciple who would teasingly ask his Shizun if he finds him pleasing.
"What have I told Binghe about being creative?" It never spells good things for Shen Qingqiu's hips, nor for his peace of mind.
"I thought my wife liked this husband's creative ideas," Binghe says, pouting just a little as he abandons doing Shen Qingqiu's hair to pull it all over one of Shen Qingqiu's shoulders and kiss the exposed side of his neck. "He always reacts so nicely after a little bit of convincing."
"Shameless man," Shen Qingqiu scolds, swatting at Binghe's arms where they've wrapped around Shen Qingqiu now. "Stop changing the subject."
"It's difficult," Binghe admits, sobering and tucking his face into Shen Qingqiu's neck in such a way that all Shen Qingqiu can see of him in the mirror is the top of his great big fluffy head. "To talk about."
Which does explain, a bit, the rather circular nature of this particular conversation. Still, though: "You come to this husband with the most outlandish bedroom activities with absolutely no shame to be found, yet this is difficult for you?!"
"If Shizun doesn't like a sex thing, he complains about it in a very particular way that is different than the way he complains when he does like a sex thing but won't admit it and we do not do it again. If Shizun does not like emotional vulnerability, he jumps out of windows." It is a scathing critique of Shen Qingqiu's personality and Shen Qingqiu laces a hand through Binghe's curls and gives them a little tug to show his husband just what he thinks of the assessment.
"Give this husband more credit. I have not run from Binghe in a very long time. Besides, I couldn't jump out of a window right now if I wanted to. Just think of how things could have gone if you'd only realized a little sooner how easily you could keep me in one place if you simply knocked me up," Shen Qingqiu teases.
Binghe huffs out a laugh, the small puff of air tickling the skin of Shen Qingqiu's neck, and Shen Qingqiu gentles the hand in Binghe's hair, petting now instead of tugging.
"Shizun has already established that children don't earn kindness from adults, but it is fact that Shizun did change how he treated this disciple. So this Binghe can only come to the conclusion that Shizun didn't change his mind, he just changed."
"Binghe is very clever," Shen Qingqiu says. Never let it be said Shen Qingqiu's husband isn't smart!
"This husband just doesn't know why Shizun changed," Binghe says, lifting his head to look at Shen Qingqiu in the mirror, his chin pressed into Shen Qingqiu's shoulder.
"I'm sure my husband has some ideas. You did say I'd be impressed with your creativity."
"The qi deviation," Binghe says, thoughtful. "But that's far too simple for Shizun, and everyone has always assumed that was the reason."
"Ah, yes, the 'the qi deviation made me forget something that was causing heart demons' theory. I've heard that one before." Shen Qingqiu's pretty sure he wasn't supposed to, but his martial siblings aren't that subtle.
"It was related to the qi deviation though, wasn't it?"
"Like I said, my Binghe is very clever."
"Shizun can't simply tell this husband, can he?"
Out of the corner of Shen Qingqiu's eyes, he can see the blue glow of the System, how it has sparked to life. He's treading the very edge of what's permissible with this conversation— he knows it, and so does the System. It makes sense that it would appear to watch him like a hawk.
'I'm not confirming or denying anything. I'm within the bounds of the rules! Even you agreed that I can't be punished if he figures it out himself!' Shen Qingqiu tells the System.
[……] The System somehow manages to seem judgemental, just with some little dots.
"He can not," Binghe answers his own question himself, sounding very sure of it. "No matter, this husband will figure it out himself."
"Mh," Shen Qingqiu says, neither a confirmation nor a denial.
There's quiet, for a moment, Binghe mulling it over, and then:
"The other me," Binghe says, "That other world."
"Mh," Shen Qingqiu says again.
"In that world, the other you was dead," Binghe says, frowning at the mere thought of it. "Killed. By me."
"The other you did that," Shen Qingqiu corrects, "You and Bing-ge are not the same."
"I know," Binghe assures, "I know we're different. Does Shizun know why, though? Why I'm different than that other me? He's terrible, Shizun! He killed his own Shizun! He merged the realms and destroyed the sect that raised him! He has a palace full of wives and children and I doubt he knows even a quarter of their names!"
For Binghe, who Shen Qingqiu knows already adores their child and has spent what feels like every moment of Shen Qingqiu's pregnancy excited to know them, that last bit must seem incomprehensible.
Shen Qingqiu hadn't thought much of it, all those years ago, when he'd read it in Proud Immortal Demon Way. Of course Binghe didn't know all of his children, they were innumerable— boundless, was the term Airplane used— and Binghe was an emperor! He had more important things to do than know the names and hobbies of son number 153 or daughter number 87! But now? Well, Shen Qingqiu can hardly imagine that sort of life for his Binghe. He cannot imagine his Binghe being okay with that sort of life, either. For a man who yearned for a family so desperately, to then not care too much either way about his own is really very illogical, isn't it!?
He'll have to remember to yell at Airplane about that later.
"He really did seem quite miserable, didn't he?" Shen Qingqiu says, thoughtful.
"Shizun!" Binghe cries, a little desperately. "Do not feel sympathy for that man! Shizun is always too good, giving people who don't deserve it his sympathy and guilt and care."
"His life was different than Binghe's, I'm sure of it," Shen Qingqiu says. And Shen Qingqiu would know, wouldn't he? He'd read every word of it. Bing-ge had spent longer in The Abyss. He had never experienced kindness from his Shizun. He had filled his life with wife after wife after wife, none of them loving him. Not really. Not like Shen Qingqiu loves Binghe.
Bing-ge had finished the novel never having truly attained the things he sought so fervently at the beginning. A tragedy. Shang Qinghua had written a tragedy masquerading as a trope filled smutty stallion novel.
"His Shizun never changed," Binghe says, almost thoughtfully, watching Shen Qingqiu's face closely in the mirror, his fingertips stroking absentmindedly over the curve of Shen Qingqiu's stomach. "His Shizun never changed. He didn't have the qi deviation? Or, no, the qi deviation didn't change him? So that version of me's Shizun never became kind. That's why he was so interested in you. Because you're different than whatever version of Shizun he experienced. But what makes someone kind like that? It's not simply losing memories, Shizun, is it? Shizun became practically a different person after—"
Binghe cuts off, sliding his hand up to rest over Shen Qingqiu's heart.
Shen Qingqiu's eyes flick, once more, to that blue light of The System. It's not Shen Qingqiu's fault that the protagonist is figuring it out, okay?! The System should have known that after a few years of marriage this would happen! The genre changed! Shen Qingqiu's the only wife! There's nothing else for Luo Binghe's big brain to focus on but Shen Qingqiu! And isn't it more narratively satisfying like this?!
The protagonist learns the long withheld truth! And he even uses his OP giant protagonist brain to do it! That's a whole entire extra on it's own!
It should not be possible for The System to more or less sigh, and yet, it seems to give that impression.
[…Begging Host to at the very least not disclose The System's existence.]
"If that other version of me could traverse worlds, could it not then be possible that another soul could come all this way and need a body?"
Shen Qingqiu makes a vague, noncommittal noise. It's apparently enough for Binghe, because his husband wraps his arms tightly around Shen Qingqiu, squeezing him tight and nuzzling into the side of Shen Qingqiu's face.
"Shizun came all this way just for this disciple."
"Presumptuous man," Shen Qingqiu chides, swatting at Binghe's arm.
"Shizun has cared for this disciple since the very first day we met," Binghe continues, shuffling backwards and tugging at Shen Qingqiu until he's turned around to face Binghe. Somehow, despite the fact that Binghe is not that much taller than Shen Qingqiu is, and Shen Qingqiu is currently roughly the size of a house, Binghe manages to fit an entire peak lord in his lap.
"Obviously," Shen Qingqiu says, settling his arms about his husband's very nice shoulders. He has, at most, about ten minutes sitting in this position until he gets incredibly uncomfortable, but for now it allows him to look down at his husband's big starry eyes and he can't quite find it in him to complain about it currently.
"What is Shizun's name?"
"Shen Qingqiu," Shen Qingqiu responds rather automatically.
"Shizun," Binghe whines, his eyes particularly large and pathetic and beseeching.
"Well it's certainly not that, even if Binghe continues to use it like it is." Shen Qingqiu hardens his heart against Binghe's big, sparkling eyes and willingness to deploy crocodile tears to get his way. If he tells Binghe his name, Binghe will use it, and Shen Qingqiu simply cannot deal with that right now. For multiple reasons.
Perhaps, in a few years, it'll be a nice reward for a wedding anniversary or something.
There's a fresh blanket of snow on Qing Jing Peak when Shen Qingqiu goes into labor.
Delivering the child is the sort of thing where Shen Qingqiu feels as though the less said about it, the better.
Suffice to say, it is not the best experience of Shen Qingqiu’s life. Perhaps not as bad as dying, and he certainly has enough experience with that to make the comparison, but certainly not ideal.
Binghe better be happy with this child because Shen Qingqiu will not be doing this again. At least not until he does that thing that many mothers seem to do where they brainwash themselves into forgetting just how traumatic the whole endeavor was and willingly do it all over again.
In the aftermath, Shen Qingqiu’s entire lower half hurts worse than it ever had in those early days of being married to Binghe when Shen Qingqiu used to complain so very vocally.
Mu Qingfang had said the word tearing at some point and Shen Qingqiu had decided to fully tune him out after that unless it was about the baby’s health specifically. He does not need to know what damage delivering this child has done to his body. No thank you. He feels the same way he’d felt after Maigu Ridge when Mu Qingfang had wanted to go over his injuries then. Frankly, they’re none of Shen Qingqiu’s business! Luo Binghe’s blood parasites will heal him anyway, so, really, it’s none of Shen Qingqiu’s concern! Leave all the worrying about Shen Qingqiu's health to his sticky husband! Shen Qingqiu doesn’t want to be a part of it. Even if it hurts like a bitch now.
All of it is, he thinks, perhaps, possibly, maybe, a little bit worth it however.
Binghe is staring at the newborn held in his large hands with a soft, adoring look in his eyes.
“She’s so small.”
“Well, she certainly did not feel small coming out of me,” Shen Qingqiu says and Binghe makes a noise that sounds like he can’t decide whether to laugh or to sob.
Ah, his sticky not-so-little crybaby of a husband. What will Shen Qingqiu ever do with him?
“Come here,” Shen Qingqiu demands, holding an arm open until Binghe presses in close, the baby tucked between the two of them. “Ah, my crybaby of a husband.” He tsks, smoothing gentle fingertips over Binghe’s cheeks and wiping tears away, like his own eyes are not suspiciously wet at the very sight of his husband and child. "Who's the one who should be crying here, hm? The baby or my husband?"
"Your husband," Binghe says decisively.
"Baobao," Shen Qingqiu tells his daughter very seriously, stealing her out of Binghe's arms and back into his own. "Do you hear your A-die? Do you see what a ridiculous man he is?"
His daughter, being only hours old, does not respond other than to blink unseeing eyes up at him.
Binghe clings close, tucking his chin over Shen Qingqiu's shoulder to look down at their daughter together. "Shizun did so good," He says softly.
"Ah. Well. That's. It's really not that big of a—"
"Shizun did something so very incredible," Binghe says, a little more stern this time. His husband?! Stern?! Fatherhood is already changing him! "He should not try and deny that fact."
Shen Qingqiu hums noncommittally. He has much better things to focus on right now than arguing with his husband about such matters. Things like counting his daughter's tiny fingers and toes and staring at her perfect round little face.
"Ah, perhaps Binghe is right," Shen Qingqiu says, feeling, inexplicably, like his chest is so full that he cannot possibly contain everything he's feeling right now. "We really did do something wonderful, didn't we?"
His daughter is one hundred days old and Shen Qingqiu is radiant in the opulent robes he'd allowed Luo Binghe to dress him in for the celebration, their daughter held safely in her mother's arms.
Luo Binghe sits close by, watching his husband and child and peeling orange after orange to give to Shizun whenever he has a break from being greeted and listening to people sing their daughter's praises.
One of Shizun's more annoying martial siblings— one who is quite frankly not important enough for Luo Binghe to have ever learned their name— is, blessedly, interrupted when Shang Qinghua swoops in.
"Alright, alright, move along," Shang Qinghua is telling the other peak lord, gesturing for them to scram in a way that feels, somehow, like it was stolen from Mobei Jun. Or, perhaps, Mobei Jun had learned this mannerism from Shang Qinghua and neither of them have noticed? As far as Luo Binghe can tell, the An Ding peak lord and Luo Binghe's demon underling have known each other for quite a long time. Certainly long enough to pick up certain habits from each other. Luo Binghe does not think he cares enough about it right now to consider it too deeply. "This lord is claiming his favorite Jiujiu privileges. Hand over the little bun."
Luo Binghe does not love the level of familiarity displayed from Shang Qinghua, but he reminds himself that children generally like growing up with families and this man is, actually, far more useful than he looks. He's not a bad… jiujiu for his child to have.
There are certainly worse relatives in the world for his child to have. Tianlang-jun, for instance, who showed up despite very much not being invited, has already had his turn with his granddaughter, and spent the entire time he held her insisting that she inherited any good traits from her mother (which, Luo Binghe unfortunately must agree with,) and that if she got bored she could 'come visit yeye' and have adventures.
"You'll drop her," Shizun says, shaking his head at Shang Qinghua. "I know you will. You've always seemed like the sort of person who would drop a baby on their head."
"C'mon," Shang Qinghua whines, pleading. "I've held plenty of babies! Cucumber-bro, Shixiong—"
"Don't Shixiong me," Shizun grumps, and Luo Binghe is aware that Shizun has already lost this battle. Shang Qinghua will be getting his grubby paws on Luo Binghe's daughter. Binghe is honestly surprised that Shang Qinghua is one of only a few guests to hold their daughter so far and that Shizun didn't break about seven little old demon popos ago and completely lose their first child to the arms of both the well wishers and the political upstarts gathered here today.
Luo Binghe has had to quietly turn down no less than seven offers to negotiate an arranged marriage, as though the entire world is not aware that Luo Binghe's own marriage was a love match.
"I could call you gege instead," Shang Qinghua teases, making little grabbing motions at Luo Binghe's daughter.
"Absolutely not. You're an old man compared to me," Shen Qingqiu says, holding strong for a brief moment against Shang Qinghua. He will cave. Luo Binghe can always tell when Shen Qingqiu is going to cave.
"Oh-ho, so it should be didi then?" Shang Qinghua asks, grinning when Shizun hands the child over, presumably justifying it to himself as merely an attempt to shut Shang Qinghua up.
Luo Binghe does not appreciate Shang Qinghua calling his Shizun didi of all things, but it does make him wonder exactly how old his husband even is. How old was his Shizun before he came here and ended up as his Shizun?
His husband has always acted a bit like a spoiled young master at times. Has he been one this entire time?
Luo Binghe will have to wheedle the answers out of him one day. Even if Shizun refuses to confirm anything, it really only takes some well placed guessing and watching Shizun's reaction to figure out which guesses are correct.
"Do not call me that," Shen Qingqiu snaps, "And support her head, idiot, and you should— yes, hold her just like that."
"See? I told you I know how to hold a baby," Shang Qinghua says, beaming down at Luo Binghe's daughter. It's good, Luo Binghe knows, that so many people care so deeply for her already. "What did you name her?"
"Ruixue," Shizun says, "Luo Ruixue."
"Hello little Xuexue," Shang Qinghua tells the baby in his arms, and the baby coos back. Luo Binghe could melt, just hearing the sounds his daughter makes. "That name wasn't…" His gaze flicks over towards Luo Binghe and then back to Shizun, who shrugs. "I never named any of the children that, did I?"
"No," Shizun says, and he's smiling, something so small and pleased and devastatingly soft that Luo Binghe thinks he may never recover from. "She's someone entirely new."