Work Text:
Some time ago—years, literal decades by this point—Shang Qinghua wrote something self-indulgent.
Not the self-indulgence Shen Qingqiu accuses him of when Shang Qinghua is pandering to his readers. No, this was actually self-indulgent, for his eyes and his alone: ten thousand words of an injured Mobei Jun forced to rely on the assistance of an unnamed character(/obvious reader insert). This being well after the original Shang Qinghua’s betrayal/death and Linguang Jun’s failed bid for his nephew's birthright, Mobei Jun had been understandably wary, but alas, by circumstance he had no choice but to accept help. The reluctance! The tension! The vulnerability! Obviously Mobei Jun’s charm point is being a stone-cold badass, but there’s some hardcore pathos in someone who, after multiple betrayals (sorry my king), is forced to confront the experience of simply being cared for, and then...
And then...!
He deleted it!
Too self-indulgent! Way too shamelessly self-indulgent! And while some people (Cucumber-bro) would accuse him of having no shame at all, there are just some lines even Shang Qinghua can’t bring himself to cross! Or write! And, okay, maybe—just maybe—the mere possibility of a nameless reader insert hypothetically taking up room in Mobei Jun’s heart was something Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky, at the end of the day, could not and would not abide by, and the half-finished very private side chapter got thrown somewhere in the back of his mind where all discarded ideas withered into obscurity.
So of course he doesn’t remember what is so significant about the Baixue Mountains and its crystal moon snake (or maybe snake of the shards, one of those is probably right) until, after an unfortunate string of shenanigans, he ends up in a cave with a very poisoned and lightly stabbed Mobei Jun.
Stupid author, why aren’t there any developments where someone doesn’t get a grievous injury!? From now on he’s exclusively writing low-conflict slice-of-life where nothing goes wrong and everyone just! Has a nice day! But also, why are his half-finished drafts always fair game for the system, huh!? Unfair!! He’d better not have to deal with some intrusive nameless two-bit side character!!
Luckily, the damage isn’t too bad for now—the something-or-other snake venom is slow-acting, mostly for preventing the stab wound (courtesy of the snake’s razor-sharp tail) from healing rather than for actively poisoning its victim. In its first phase, at least—all the better for long drawn-out heart-to-hearts. Plus, Shang Qinghua actually knows what flower is needed to cure the poison, which is conveniently located in the cave they’re in.
The thing is. He also remembers recycling that same flower for some wife plot or other. With a predictable twist.
The snowdew blossom dispels poison. The frostdrop flower dispels poison and also gets people horny as fuck. It’s very easy to confuse them.
Which brings him to his current dilemma: stuck in a cave with his king, who is lying on the frigid ground, head pillowed by his outer robes, leaving his very well-sculpted and eminently distracting chest covered very lightly by his thin inner robes which are somewhat disheveled from Shang Qinghua having to bandage the wound on his abdomen and for some reason instead of straightening his robes out Mobei Jun just leaves the them loose enough to be falling off his shoulders—
Tread fucking carefully Shang Qinghua, your king’s dignity (and therefore your life) is at stake!
“My king,” Shang Qinghua hedges, glancing over then very quickly glancing away, “do you, by chance, know the particulars of identifying the snowdew blossom? Perhaps you’ve heard about it somewhere, or read it in a book—“
“No.”
What a merciless shutdown! But not unexpected! Why would the great king of the north ever have to memorize trivial details like the number of petals on an insignificant flower. That would just make things much too easy for Shang Qinghua.
“Use your judgement,” Mobei Jun says, just casually placing all responsibility for his life (and, unbeknownst to him, his dignity) into Shang Qinghua’s sweaty hands.
Okay. Alright. He’s pretty sure the distinction was that an odd number of petals meant one flower, even meant the other. Think, Airplane, think! Are odd numbers horny!? Do even numbers have a horny vibe!? Isn’t there a more reliable method than having to psychoanalyze himself!?
Maybe it’s time for a contingency plan. Say Shang Qinghua picks the wrong flower. Sure, it’ll be, well, frustrating for his king, having to feel excruciatingly pent-up and enduring the indignity of his lowly servant seeing him in such a state, but Shang Qinghua can find an excuse to rush out into the blizzard and play dumb (his specialty) while giving his king the time and privacy to seek some. Relief. As for Shang Qinghua, freezing his ass off will give him time to reflect on things like what he’s going to write moving forward and what he’s never going to write again and absolutely not what might be happening in the cave behind him. And neither of them ever have to acknowledge it.
“Shang Qinghua,” Mobei Jun says, sounding just a bit (forgive this description my king) pitiful, and oh shit he’s actually looking pretty feverish—that’s phase two of the poison, then, and it’s not a good time! Phase two was the main reason Mobei Jun was pushed to accepting help in the original draft!
Shang Qinghua rushes over, a flower in each hand. “I’m here, my king! How are you feeling?”
“Hot...”
Hysterically (and, thank goodness, silently) Shang Qinghua agrees.
High fevers are, of course, particularly agonizing for ice demons, an unbearable heat like no other (aside from the flames of Xuanyang tinder). It takes a lot to get an ice demon into a truly intense feverish state. Something like venom from a rare beast that only lives on a specific mountain peak. Original draft Mobei Jun had to experience the steady onset of feverish delirium before, after intense deliberation, making his ultimate decision to... hey, why is Shang Qinghua the one who has to decide!? Shouldn't this be someone else's responsibility, for once!?
“Shang Qinghua,” Mobei Jun repeats with a worrying breathlessness, his perfect face set in a grimace of pain, and who could bear such a sight? His king is needlessly suffering while Shang Qinghua... grapples with perfectly reasonable and legitimate concerns, but enough is enough! The time for action is now! Because he has plan B!
Shang Qinghua shoves a random flower into Mobei Jun’s face. “Eat this,” he says, putting an arm behind Mobei Jun’s neck to help him into a marginally upright position. Shang Qinghua offers a flask of water to help Mobei Jun wash down what’s hopefully not a bullshit aphrodisiac.
“What next?” Mobei Jun asks, wiping his mouth.
What next? What next!? How should Shang Qinghua know, he never wrote what happened next!
“If it’s the right flower, your fever should be going down,” Shang Qinghua says. If it’s the wrong flower I need to leave right now immediately, Shang Qinghua doesn’t say. “How are you feeling?” Please mention any unusual and/or unexpected bodily reactions.
“Still hot,” Mobei Jun murmurs, which makes sense given the unnatural flush on his cheeks. It’s rare to see Mobei Jun blush; if it happened in literally any other circumstance maybe Shang Qinghua could appreciate it.
It’s always hard to tell with Mobei Jun’s skin being so much colder, but Shang Qinghua puts his forehead against Mobei Jun’s anyway. Not too warm—not warmer than his own, anyway—so that’s a good sign.
“Qinghua,” Mobei Jun sighs quietly—dangerously?—bringing up a hand to hold Shang Qinghua in place.
Fuck, was that too presumptuous!? It totally was!! How has Shang Qinghua never learned to think before he acts! Mercy, my king, this servant was just checking your temperature! Honest!
But instead of doing anything like headbutting Shang Qinghua into unconsciousness for such blatant familiarity and disrespect, Mobei Jun just keeps Shang Qinghua in place. Leaving Shang Qinghua bent over awkwardly while also kind of cradling Mobei Jun in his arms. Being held so close to Mobei Jun is more than a little uncomfortable for, well, multiple reasons, but also... please have some sympathy for this humble servant's poor spine, my king.
“Qinghua,” Mobei Jun repeats, soft enough that Shang Qinghua has to strain to hear. “You always...”
Always?
Always what?
But instead of continuing that train of thought, Mobei Jun leans up and—
And he—
?!?!?!?!?!!?!??!?
Mobei Jun slumps backwards into Shang Qinghua’s arms, obviously unconscious, like he didn’t, like he didn’t just—
...
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