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Liu Qingge looks up in horror, urging is sword to go faster, faster, faster, as Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe stand on top of a building. He is almost there, already reaching out, hoping-
But it's too late.
Shen Qingqiu has already pierced himself onto the blade, that dark, malicious blade and-
There is an explosion, causing the buildings to shake and the blade to be temporarily settled. His former disciple, demon, killer, monster, looks just as shocked as Liu Qingge feels. There is a moment of stillness, of uncertainty and the hope that what just happened didn't.
Then Shen Qingqiu slips off of Luo Binghe's blade and begins to fall.
Liu Qingge catches him. He checks his meridians, hoping that it was just a flare up, Without-A-Cure always has the worst timing, but they are unmoving. Not even the sluggish and slimy river of a flare up meets him. A bad flare up then, even though the blood soaking through both of their clothes is already going stale, he has to try. But no matter how much qi he pours into Shen Qingqiu, he doesn't get back up. His eyes are glassy with death, seeing and knowing nothing, not anymore.
He was too late.
Liu Qingge sits up, his breath erratic and sweat beading his temple. He can feel the aching stretch of his wounds, already wrapped and slathered with healing salve. The bed beneath him is far too familiar these days, Qian Cao sheets ruffled from his erratic sleep.
A memory and, in turn, a nightmare.
He sighs, put up his hair and slips into his Peak Lord clothes. He can already hear Mu Qingfang yelling at him, telling him to rest, to recover, to wait. But he cannot wait, the beast, the monster, still has Shen Qingqiu's body, unwilling to let him rest. It's disrespectful, it's unfilial, it's a horror all within itself.
Shen Qingqiu doesn't deserve it, no one does.
Luo Binghe keeps his body anyways, secreting it away in Huan Hua Palace, where only he attends to it.
Liu Qingge will get Shen Qingqiu and finally lay him to rest, somewhere safe, where no one can disturb him ever again. Where he will finally be respected and where everyone will be able to grieve, not kept like a child's prized possession. And maybe, just maybe, Liu Qingge will finally be able to ease his aching heart, creaking with every breath he takes.
Maybe, he won't feel like Shen Qingqiu's ghost is next to him, haunting him ever since that fateful day. Maybe he can finally sleep without reliving his worst memory.
Maybe.
For now, though, he has to save Shen Qingqiu, one last time.
He fails.
Again.
This time his right arm is hanging on by too stubborn muscles and the slash across his back almost cuts into his spine.
Liu Qingge thinks if he bends he will break, splitting himself in half in a pile of blood and viscera.
He doesn't think he would mind.
But he can't, not yet, not when Shen Qingqiu is still in the monster's hands. He will win, one day, because he hunts monsters, studies their patterns and attacks. Luo Binghe is no different, he didn't come away from their fight unscathed either, going back to his hole and nursing his wounds.
Liu Qingge is beset by Qian Cao disciples and Mu Qingfang, fixing his arm and back to the best of their abilities before being sent back to his house on Bai Zhan.
He opens the door, creaking with disuse, and goes to where he keeps his healing supplies. They're not as good as the ones found on Qian Cao, but they do the job well enough. He opens a jar of crushed blossoms, and goes on to make tea.
The set has seen better days, where it was set out in the sun and used with snacks and stories about the latest monster attacking a village. Given to him on a random day when he returned from one of hunts. He takes it down, hands shaking from exertion, and goes on to start making tea. He doesn't know exactly what the blossoms are called, but they are a dark pink in their dried state.
Shen Qingqiu would know.
He brews the tea, a heating array etched into the teapot itself. Soon, the tea is ready to be poured, so he brings it over to his dusty table to drink it. The set clatters when he sets it down, but he doesn't find it in himself to care. He plops down in his seat and pours the tea, watching as it almost drips down from the rim.
He almost let it.
But he can't, Shen Qingqiu gave it to him as a gift, left over from a plant he had gathered. Liu Qingge had listened to the explanation, he did, about its properties, its name, how to brew it. He has forgotten most of it, lost as all he remembers is Shen Qingqiu's voice and the smile on his face even as he had ranted about it.
Liu Qingge didn't mean to forget, he just did.
He wishes he didn't.
There is a sound, snapping him back to reality. He looks around his house, straining his ears and nose to find out if there is anyone with him. The dust remains the same, everything is where is should be and neither the sounds of life or qi besides his own are inside. Still he waits and waits and waits, but no one appears. His house is empty.
It always is, nowadays.
Liu Mingyan hasn't visited yet and hopefully won't until next week. He might have to miss it, just as he has for the past year, if he hasn't retrieved Shen Qingqiu's body yet. He doesn't want to miss her visiting him, he will spare her a few hours before he goes out again if it comes to it, but he will have to go eventually.
There is a whisper.
It sounds like Shen Qingqiu.
It isn't real, but if he closes his eyes he can almost imagine that he is here, safe and sound and living. The whisper comes again, wordless, urging him, concerned and sounding so much like Shen Qingqiu it hurts. Hurts worse than the wounds that litter his body, the bite of them less then the memory of what was.
He drinks the tea.
He loses, again and again and again.
Some days he does better.
Most days he does worse.
There are wounds that never fully heal, reopening and others that healed wrong, twisting into his skin like thick ropes. Luo Binghe's blade digs deep into him, even on the most shallow of cuts, leaving faint scars. He stops going to Qian Cao, it's too far away compared to Bai Zhan, a few minutes wasted when he should be fighting.
Mingyan stops by more often, but her visits are much shorter. She doesn't say much, if she says anything at all, but when she does she quietly pleads for him to not go, and if he does then to return.
"I don't want to lose you." She says, and when he looks into her eyes he knows that she is already grieving the loss of him.
"You won't." He promises, but all he can feel is the ashen lie on his tongue.
Mingyan looks at him and knows that he cannot keep that promise, just another one that he will break.
He leaves because he can no longer stand looking at her and knowing that he is already dead.
That day the whispers seem louder, pleading in Shen Qingqiu's voice for him not to go, to stay and rest for just a little bit. He cannot, because if he does he may not get back up. He cannot wallow in his pity, there is a monster, a beast, he must defeat and Shen Qingqiu deserves to rest after so many years. The voice doesn't know that, cannot know that, because it is only the shape of his doubts in a form that no longer lives.
The voice, the whispers, scream when he faces Luo Binghe once more.
His leg is broken and so are a few of ribs when he is dropped off at Bai Zhan. His uniform is more red than white, barely hanging onto him as it is filled with cuts from Luo Binghe's vicious sword. He drags himself to his healing supplies, hands unsteady and vision blurry from blood loss. He gathers the salves and gauze, plopping down onto the floor to bandage his wounds.
He starts to slowly take off his clothes, careful to not stretch open his slowly healing wounds. It's hard to do with one hand, but he's used to it.
"I wish you wouldn't do this." The whispering voice says. "I wish you would stop. Shidi, I know you can hear me, I want you to stop."
It sounds like Shen Qingqiu, it always does.
He went to Mu Qingfang when the voice became clear, but he couldn't find anything, not a parasite or demonic qi, nothing but his own mind. He said that sometimes, when people are grieving, they hear the sounds of the one that they had lost. The memory of them still clinging in the minds of the living, the grief so great that it causes hallucinations. Heart demons often follow and qi deviations in cultivators are common.
He avoids Qian Cao.
The voice pleads for him to go.
"Shidi?" The voice pierces through his mind, sounding so much like him, like Shen Qingqiu, that he almost cannot bear it. It's the only piece of him that Liu Qingge has that is in some way living, even if only he can hear it.
"Mn." Is all he says in return, not really acknowledged it, but it could be seen that way. Sometimes the voice is the only conversation he has these days.
His eyes drift over the shelf.
He shouldn't have.
Shen Qingqiu's fan sits there, dusty but safe. Liu Qingge remembers that he had dropped it, or left it in his room in Jinlan. He meant to give it back, at first, the next time they saw each other, then, during or after the trial and now-
It sits on his shelf, never knowing that its true owner is long dead.
He grabs it with his still bloody hands, wanting something, anything, to hold onto. It hold the barest scent of Shen Qingqiu, the incense that he like to burn and the smell of Qing Jing bamboo. He opens the fan, flowers blooming in front of him.
Everlasting Sun Rays great him, their golden petals shimmering in the light that comes through the house windows.
There is something gasping in his house and his vision is getting blurrier. His chest hurts, his leg hurts, his back hurts, his heart hurts, he hurts.
Oh.
He's crying.
Ragged air is forced out of his throat, burning his lungs and shaking his body. It feels like dying, ripping out his own heart and tearing it into bloody pieces. His vision gets spotty, blood drips onto Shen Qingqiu's fan, staining it a bright crimson. He clutches it to his chest, wanting, desperately, that it was his love instead.
The voice is shouting, but he cannot hear it over the ringing in his ears. He can feel his blood seeping out of him, can see it dripping onto the floor. He wishes that Shen Qingqiu was here, to hold him, to talk and laugh and play on the qin. To listen to the talks of monsters and flowers and the latest book that had caught his shixiong's attention. He wants to feel the sun on his skin with children playing in the background as they walk through a bamboo forest.
"I love you." He chokes out, wanting to hear an answering call. "I miss you."
But he is alone and Shen Qingqiu is dead.
Liu Qingge flies back to Cang Qiong, from Huan Hua and Luo Binghe. There is a slash across his chest, barely missing his heart. He wishes that it was hit, then maybe it would stop aching all the time.
But he still has to keep going, just until Shen Qingqiu can be laid to rest.
His qi is almost depleted, he will have to rest before he can fully make his way up Cang Qiong. He spots a small clearing and descends to it. The trees sway in the soft breeze and the sun shines bright in the clear sky.
It's a bad day.
There are cuts along his legs, small but numerous enough to be a hindrance, his hair is shorter then when he left and his hands are slick with blood. It isn't the worst defeat he has had, but that doesn't mean he still doesn't feel tired. It's all he feels these days, all he has felt for a long time and wants to complete his last mission so that he can finally rest.
Torn boots touch soft grass, dried blood flaking off.
He's so tired.
The whispering voice disappeared a week ago, leaving him truly alone in years.
There is the sound of a branch snapping behind him. He swings Cheng Luan around, covered in nicks and blemished, ready to defend himself from any oncoming attacks. He searches the tree line, though his vision is blocked by the blood from his head.
"Show yourself!" He yells, brandishing his sword.
Then, the person reveals themself.
He is wearing slightly dusty robes and a weimo on top of his head. When he lifts his head, Liu Qingge is struck by the similarities he has to Shen Qingqiu, even through the veil. There are some differences, the color of his eyes, a bright green compared to inky black and there is some stubble on his face. He looks at Liu Qingge with sad eyes and a fan clasped in his hand.
Shen Qingqiu never mentioned a sibling, but then he was secretive when he wanted to be. Or maybe he didn't know and now never will.
He lowers his sword, but doesn't put it away. Not yet, when it could be a demon in disguise or even just a human who wants to say that they were the one to kill the Bai Zhan War God.
The man starts to walk towards him, eyes wide and hands clenched tight. The man walks like Shen Qingqiu, even trips over his feet when he is rushing like he does. But it is not him, even if the way he grips his fan is familiar and the way the eyes look at him when he pulls up the veil-
"Shidi?" The ma-Shen Qing-
"You dare-" Liu Qingge spits, raising his sword once again.
"I wish you would stop." The voice says, the man says-"I wish you wouldn't do this." Shen Qingqiu whispers.
The eyes, those so familiar eyes and painted fan and clutching hands. The voice that was with him for so long now has a face again.
He gasps, his wounds reopening with every inhale.
The man-Shen Qingqiu, for who else would come closer so that they could hold him so gently, wraps him in his arms, dirtying his robes. His weimo slides off and onto the ground, both of them uncaring.
"How did-how are-" Liu Qingge chokes out, scarred and bloody hands scrambling against Shen Qingqiu, Shen Qingqiu-in his arms again, safe safe safe.
"Later. I'll tell you later." Shen Qingqiu grips him back, careful of his wounds, of his broken body that may be beyond repair. "I'm here now. I'm here."
"You're here." He sobs, eyes clenched tight, hoping that when he opens them again his love will still be there.
"I missed you." He stutters in between his cries.
"I missed you too shidi." Shen Qingqiu sniffles, pressing his face into Liu Qingge's shoulder.
"Come back to Cang Qiong. Please. Please." He begs, pressing ever closer to Shen Qingqiu.
"I will, I promise."
Liu Qingge doesn't say anything else, as he devolves into sobs racking his frame, suddenly so much smaller than it was the last time they saw each other. He doesn't know how long they stay there, in that clearing at the bottom of Cang Qiong, but by the end of it they are both left breathless.
They pull away from their tight embrace, but their hands are still clutching onto each other's clothes, not wanting to fully let go. He left blood on Shen Qingqiu, soaking through his robes and streaked across his skin and hair.
His love runs a hand through his ruined hair, picking out large flakes of blood. His hands flutter around him, trying to fix what is torn and broken.
"I love you." Liu Qingge says, because he has to, before it is once again too late.
Shen Qingqiu pauses in his fussing, reaching for his fan and flicking it open to cover his face.
"This master…I love you as well." Shen Qingqiu says, face flushed and eyes darting away, embarrassed.
Liu Qingge feels happy, happier than he can ever imagine being and reaches back out to crush his love against his chest, uncaring of his wounds. Shen Qingqiu pulls away shortly thereafter, going back to fussing and worrying. He makes noises at his injuries and scars, never letter where he has clasped their hands together.
"Come shidi, let's get you cleaned up." Shen Qingqiu starts to tug him towards the entrance of Cang Qiong, where Qian Cao disciples wait for them to return.
Liu Qingge follows, tired and aching, finally able to rest at last after five long years.