Archive of Our Own

One of the best parts of being a spy was knowing things. He already knew lots of things! He had written the entire world! Everything he could remember was his oyster! But being a spy meant that he could know them without having to explain himself. In fact, explaining yourself and how you knew secrets was kind of a bad thing for a spy to ever do, thanks! You were supposed to not do that! So if he happened to know every major player in the Northern Desert politics for the next fifty or sixty years (So what if he did? His king had always been his favorite! That meant making his life harder! He was sorry now, sure, but that was how writers showed their love!) - well, then, as far as anyone needed to know, he was just very good at his job!

One of the worst parts about being a spy was knowing things. In this case, being a displaced author god wasn’t helpful – he’d written a gap of five years after the Immortal Alliance Conference. Five! His son was supposed to be grinding Xin Mo right now! But the paperwork on his desk was very clear.
For one thing, three of those names he’d made sure to fabricate reports about? Just in case anyone ever asked why he was so certain they’d try to assassinate Mobei-Jun?? Were just dead??? Thanks, unfilial son! If he’d known they were going to get axed off script, he’d have spent like three fewer sleepless nights covering his tracks! Mobei-Jun had him watched just often enough that he didn’t feel safe not putting in the work! And no one but the protagonist could have killed off those high level end-game villains! Especially not when he had other reports, here and here and here, taking up like half his desk, actually, about abyssal vents tearing open. Increased activity, his ass. The vents up in the north were stable, they’d been stable for years! Until one big surge, and now lots and lots of smaller ones. Xin Mo, it had to be, it HAD to be! Rumors and whispers of an upstart claiming the title of emperor were not news to him, thanks.

A good friend would have told Cucumber-bro first. The mushroom bodies definitely weren’t ready yet, it was way too soon.

If the bodies had been ready, he might have.

But they weren’t. If he died, that was it. And dying last time had really, really sucked.

So he told his king instead.

That was why he was here, shivering his ass off, far too far past midnight, in one of the wilder parts of the Demon Realm. They were so far north that only ice demons and insane cultivators who had sold out to said ice demons would ever have reason to be here, if only under extensive protest. His lungs hurt as he breathed, and the snow was too cold to have settled and packed down, so it shifted like sand underfoot. The abyssal vents were blown wide open, streaming heat and wild, kaleidoscopic light. Trying to focus on it made his eyes water and then promptly froze his lashes together, which was fun! The heat boiling from the vents melted the snow around them, which instantly froze back over as well, making them into ice sculptures that reflected the chaos a million-fold. Above them, the sky was warped by an eternal aurora, a reflection of the widely unstable energies dancing here between the Demon Realm, the Human Realm, and the Abyss. The riotous light shifted every moment, making the shadows twist and move, presumably even when the wind and snow were still, if still they ever did.

It was a worthy arena for a boss fight! A perfect ice level for his ice king! Shang Qinghua may have been playing favorites again! A desert this might be, but never one empty of beauty, never one that could be tamed. Always alive with light and color and motion, as beautiful as it was deadly. Mobei-Jun was breathtaking here, entirely in his element. This was why his king needed no other name. No petty, personal name could ever hope to include all that he was, all that this was. Every time he saw it, he wanted to cry – it was so perfect, he’d spent so much money on commissioned art and none had ever been even remotely close to the reality. If he hadn’t been so damn cold that the pain was akin to numbness even after Mobei-Jun had shoved some icy qi into his core to keep him from dying of it, he’d be on his knees already, a god worshiping the glory he’d created. If he wouldn’t get killed for it he’d show that worship in any way he could get away with. Wife who? This humble Peak Lord, that’s who! He’d happily suffer a few of his own wife plots, if he valued his own skin a little less!

But he was very cold, far too much for any such speculation, and besides, for the first time he could remember since they’d met, he wasn’t actually looking at his king.

They were overlooking a rough basin formed by vents and crags, in the center of which there was a young man. He was dressed in dark silks far too thin for the North, carried himself with a beatific smile, and bore a sword that radiated so much darkness that it seemed to dull all of the light around them. Only the man was permitted to shine, with that sword drawing in everything else like a void.

At least, so it must look to anyone not aware of the protagonists halo. Xin Mo was a problem, but far from the problem. Mobei-Jun might be at his best here, the strongest he’d ever be until his father died, entirely in his element, but even the author’s favorite halo couldn’t win him a scripted loss against the protagonist! Besides, this wasn’t what had happened! Almost certainly, it wasn’t! Wasn’t it way too early?

“My king.” he whispered, urgent, suddenly desperate, tugging at the sleeve of the demon he’d followed to this place. Well… no, he’d more or less been kidnapped! Follow implied that he’d wanted to come at all! OG Shang Qinghua had never seen this fight go down! Or… maybe he had, it had never been mentioned either way, actually… “My king, I was wrong, this is… please don’t fight this person. Please, my king.”

Mobei-Jun only snarled at him. “Does Shang Qinghua doubt this king?” he sounded… well, like a spoiled young lord, of course! Like he wasn’t used to the idea that anyone would expect him to loose. Like he was annoyed by his lowly servants fear. Shang Qinghua kind of wanted to cry, but if he did he’d never unstick his eyelids. What could he say? If this world had been a fair place, this fight might not be so straightforward. Cucumber had ripped it to shreds – outraged that Binghe, instead of suffering an interesting loss that felt like a real setback and making an unexpected ally and mentor, had effortlessly walked out of hell with no resources and bested an ice demon in an icy terrain that the demon knew and Binghe did not. He didn’t need reminding that if Cucumber had been in charge, the story would be different! It was already different just because Cucumber couldn’t come to terms with the fact that he was gay!

“I will follow my king forever.” he didn’t mean it to come out as a whimper, but it was still a broken little thing, the words freezing in his throat and his eyes straying to his protagonist. “But, ah… perhaps this servant was the one mistaken! This person may not be worth my Kings attention at all, so please punish this useless one for the wasted time and poor intelligence and let’s just go-”

“No.” Mobei-Jun snarled at him, showing an unhealthy amount of fang. On a good day, when he was warm and not staring down into an ice cauldron filled with the overwhelming aura of a vengeful protagonist, he’d probably squeak and plead a lot at the threat display, then go have some very strong feelings about those teeth in private and discuss them at length with his little airplane. Today was not that kind of day, and Mobei-Jun only looked more annoyed at his lack of anything more than a quick cringe for forms sake.

He was still contemplating the pros and cons of doing a little thigh-hugging (Mobei-Jun ran just as cold as the wind here, so it would be an absolutely frigid experience that might get him shoved off into yet more fucking snow? But sometimes it did get his king to humor him? Especially if he put up with a few beatings?) when his king roughly pushed him back and stepped forward. Mobei-jun managed to make sliding down the crag imperious, to keep his gait measured and his bearing upright. Unfair! Those rocks were slippery! He’d have to scramble a lot and probably fall and hit his face on rocks to keep up! Or he could just… wait. And watch.
Or run. He should probably do that. Really, he should.

Mobei-Jun examined the protagonist with a very small nod. “The demon from the conference.” he rumbled.
“Venerable one.” Binghe gave a little bow. Mocking! Definitely not humble at all! The more innocent he looked the more certainly he was going to kill! That was way worse than their relationship was supposed to go! “I recall, Shizun and I were in your care. Forgive this lowly one for never learning your name.”
Mobei-Jun nodded. “The Northern Clans do not have names. You may call this one the Mobei-Wang.” He did not bow. His stare was actually pretty hostile! Shang Qinghua hadn’t seen that particular non-expression in some time! Not since the conference, actually, dealing with Huan Hua.

Binghe’s smile cracked very slightly, widening into something a little sharper. “And you may call this one Junshang.” His tones were sugar-sweet. “This emperor is grateful for your aid in breaking his seals. Yield, and this needs go no further.”
“The Abyss should have taught you better.” Mobei-jun snarled. “Your blood alone does not entitle you to that title, or to victory.”
“The Abyss taught me to pick my battles, yes. Rest assured, I have picked carefully. Shall I show the esteemed Mobei-wang how much my blood entitles me too?”
Mobei-Jun gave the barest nod, his eyes narrowed and watchful.

Just like that, they both exploded into motion. Xin Mo howled, a scream of hunger that echoed over the wastes, and tore the air like a chisel, a portal gashed into the world by brute force. Mobei, slipping into shadows, was already gone, and the shifting snow and ice was suddenly a million blades of white, mingling with the frozen black ice that his king so easily produced. It seemed like there was nowhere to run, that even taking a breath would fill the lungs with shards. Any sane person would have fled, or tried to, rather than be shredded.
Binghe only smiled wider. “Shizun does that trick with leaves instead.” he purred. “But what is blood to a Heavenly demon? What is pain to someone who has survived the Abyss?”
He let the ice come, laughing. The cuts were deep, but healed visibly, and quickly. The blood, however, remained in the snow around him, staining the pure white with deep, almost black red. At least for a moment – Binghe could, of course, control his parasitic blood outside of his own body. He whipped the bloody spray towards Mobei-jun, spinning forward through the storm as if it were nothing.
“My king!” Shang Qinghua screamed into the winds. “Don’t drink it! Don’t swallow!”

At the very last moment, whether he heard the wail or not, Mobei-Jun shadow stepped away, into the thickest part of the storm, till his shape was lost in the clashing dark and light. Binghe’s eyes narrowed, and Shang Qinghua winced and wondered if it wouldn’t be better to just bite his own tongue off and be done. His king might not even have heard him, but Binghe had for sure! Fresh out of the Abyss and used to paying full attention to the world around him for even the slightest sound, he’d probably heard even a few shuddering breaths, never mind a scream. For one absolutely horrifying moment, he turned, his gaze resting heavily on the rocky outcrop that Shang Qinghua had been left upon.

Mobei-Jun appeared directly in front of Binghe, slamming him down into the snow. Binghe stumbled back half a pace, the weight of his opponent backed by the wind and momentum of charging through a portal. His grin stretched even farther at the strike.

“Not bad.” Mobei-Jun offered, his claws still sheathed in ice, and the midnight black shards still gathered around him, clearly a cage, now, freezing Binghe to the ground and trapping him instead of slicing away. “But not enough to be Junshang.”
“Hm.” Binghe hummed, and his qi burned, shattering the ice around him. “Not bad, indeed. You insulted Shizun, but clearly it’s hardly your fault. No one has ever been able to teach you manners before, is that it? This humble one is hardly worthy as an instructor, but I will happily pass on what I was taught.”
Mobei-Jun’s temper was bad, but he wasn’t the kind of fighter who lost control when he lost his temper, either. If anything, most demons enjoyed a good fight, and Mobei tended to dismiss unworthy opponents rather than drag things out. So he only raised his eyebrows slightly, perhaps amused as well as annoyed, and slid away again, leaving walls of ice behind him to box Binghe’s movements in.

Shang Qinghua had written nearly as many fight scenes as he had papapa scenes, really, even if people tended to forget it. He’d always idolized powerful exchanges of blows, the over-the-top drama of xianxia battles blazing with powerful qi and ludicrous abilities that were more about breaking the special effects budget than being actually feasible. He’d imagined those scenes like a dance, mapped out to show the protagonist at his best, hair and robes floating in the wind as he effortlessly carved through all resistance.
He’d learned to fight, in this world. He wasn’t great at it, but even he could produce a sword glare and fly on his sword! It was showy, and badass, and the stuff of really cool action sequences, a lot of the time.
But the reality of it was that plus a lot of other stuff as well. Stuff like how your heart pounded so hard with the exertion and stress that it was a prolonged ache in his chest, like how you sweat even as a peerless immortal, and got grimy, how fast it all was, the cool moves lasting mere seconds. Arrays would blaze to life and then be done and gone, blink and you miss it, and half the time you were so busy trying to avoid dying that you missed all the good bits! Or you were so deep in a reflexive, memorized flow that you barely appreciated the good bits!

Binghe and Mobei-Jun’s fight was worthy of a whole multi-episode arc, had been worth several chapters of gratuitous prose. Rippling muscles! Bared chests! Proud bearings! His king's tits and Binghe’s forearms! Dramatic poses and casual yet cutting banter! Binghe’s mental and physical prowess on full display! Mobei-Jun’s dry yet sharp wit a perfect counterpart, his few words perfectly chosen to give the protagonist a perfect stage on which to display all he’d learned in the Abyss! It averaged out to several paragraphs per second of real time!

In real time, it had been less than a minute. And now Binghe’s qi was blazing, unleashed, the fiery heat burning through the ice that would have held him back, so blinding that there was no good way to describe him at all, to even see him! The view was kind of hard to make out, with all the flying snow and burning light and blazing energy and so forth! Shang Qinghua honestly felt a little cheated by that! And a lot worried! It was like Binghe was deliberately hiding all the action!
Or… deliberately hiding from someone trying to help Mobei-Jun, That was… that was probably it, actually.

Mobei portaled in for a heavy blow, using the storm and slush to play on Binghe’s terrible footing. He was clearly trying to avoid shedding more blood, and Shang Qinghua knew first hand that his fists were no joke, he heard both the ice and Binghe’s bones crack and winced a little in sympathy. He’d clearly expected the terrain to matter more, to slow his foe down. Instead, Binghe grinned like a shark.
“You know, Mobei, it’s true my blood won’t survive long outside me, not without entering a living host. But you’ll have to take the chance on cutting me down eventually. I can heal from anything less.” Binghe’s voice was clear enough. “Unless you’re hoping your little friend will feed you some other ideas?”
That made his king snarl audibly, and try for another blow, his fist moving fast enough that it was a blur. Unfortunately, Binghe had been waiting, and countered with his sword.

It was a trap for both of them, Shang Qinghua realized. If he called out now, he was in direct line of a sword glare. His voice might also distract Mobei-Jun for a few seconds, possibly enough for blood to enter his mouth – a warning was a clear danger to them both.
If he didn’t call out, his king would almost certainly close with Xin Mo, and the swords constant thirst for yin energy to balance its incredible yang. His king more or less was yin energy.
Had they really fought this seriously? Xin Mo wasn’t a weapon that could pull punches! This didn’t look like a scuffle of teeth and claws to prove supremacy! This looked serious!
Xin Mo arced, it’s hunger a tangible thing, it’s glare far, far too hot for an ice demon to withstand.

“My king! Avoid the blade!” he wailed, and then pressed himself into the ice and snow as deeply as he could, waiting for the sword glare’s burn.
It didn’t come. Instead came a silence that was much, much worse.
The storm stilled.
His king was laying sprawled in the snow, bleeding heavily.
The wound wasn’t deep enough to have come from Xin Mo itself, the blade of which was now covered in a curling layer of frost. But the sword glare, even partially blocked by that ice, was no joke. His king had… had really been caught by it. But he was alive. They were both alive. Alive was better than dead.

Binghe smiled- he really hadn’t worn any other expression this entire time - and leisurely strolled over to the fallen king, holding Xin Mo contemplatively over his throat. “A good thought, but a little too slow. It might have worked against a lesser blade.” he purred. “Ah, well. Your blood should sate it for a long while. Unless Shang-shishu has some objections to this disciple killing such a wicked demon?”

Had Binghe even seen him? Or just heard his voice? Did Binghe know his voice? They’d barely met, and it had been years ago! But the light, pleasant tone didn’t actually sound like there would be any argument permitted. He grumbled a little and climbed out of the snow, sweating despite the weather. He’d been right, too – he slipped and scrabbled his way down the ridge like a drunken crab, rather than the cool stroll his king had managed. In the end, he stumbled out into the basin and settled awkwardly next to Mobei-Jun, whose look of impotent rage was actually still pretty scary! That face was not really designed to wear defeat well! It was mostly good at looking stoic and annoyed!

“How nostalgic to see Shang-shishu again, after all these years. Not at all where I’d have expected him to be, and in such terrible company. Does An Ding have so much free time, these days?” Binghe crooned.

“Luo-shizhi.” he mumbled. “You… you’re alive…” he couldn’t quite muster up the shock he needed to fool the protagonist, but he could do a very good pitiful terror. Even if he wanted to be annoyed! Binghe, your author-father had been running around with this spoiled demon Lord since he was younger than you were when you got your first sword! He’s done all that work the whole time! Free time nothing, admire your father’s time management skills first!

“Hm. Is it still Shizhi? Is this Binghe still part of Cang Qiong Sect? Is Shang-shishu? This lowly disciple is confused and doesn’t quite understand, unless this wicked demon was forcing Shishu? But Shishu was helping the demon over this lowly one, so can that be right?”

He whimpered a little. “Luo-shizhi misunderstands, this and that are different things entirely! This lowly master is still Peak Lord of An Ding, it’s only the circumstances just now... But as far as Shizhi’s relationship with the Sect, Shen Qingqiu has – has set up a sword mound and said- said only that his Luo Binghe was gone from this world. His memorial is still – Luo-shizhi has never been removed from the records of the Sect. I would know! It would have been my job to handle the paperwork if he were!”

Luo Binghe hummed. “Is that so? How heartwarming.” Actually, he did look a little stunned, his eyes had widened just a hair. Thank you, Cucumber-bro, for unwittingly fostering this crush!
But unfortunately, Binghe didn’t let shock slow him down any. “Then, Shang-shishu will no doubt be pleased to be set free from such a terrible situation as being forced to consort with demons.” He made an idle gesture with Xin Mo, drawing a thin line of blood from Mobei-Jun’s chest as the tip wavered.

“No, that’s…” he muttered, looking down. “Luo-shizhi is also… there’s no crime in a bloodline. It’s not so terrible…”

“Shang-shishu is a traitor, then?” Binghe’s smile was silk. “Interesting. If I dragged you back to the sect to confess, along with such a demon’s head, do you think Shizun would forgive me? Do you think your lives might be worth so much?”

“Ahahaha… hardly, hardly, there’s no question of treachery, is there? Qingqiu-shixiong knows all about it already anyway, and even if he didn’t, then you’d just be returning with the body of a Peak Lord saying that you should be praised for it… that’s kind of a terrible look! Maybe better just to… not kill us?”

“Lies.” Binghe hissed. “Shizun would never permit such a thing if he knew. Never. No righteous cultivator would. How long have you been betraying the Sect, Shang-shishu? Since the Conference? Before? This Mobei-wang was there right beside you, and your attempts to drive him away were pitiful even then…”

“No, no… I wasn’t a traitor! The Mobei clan only cared about crippling Huan Hua! That had nothing to do with Cang Qiong! I never-”

“Shang Qinghua speaks truly.” Mobei snarled, pulling himself upwards against the edge of Xin Mo. “He was mine long before he was a Peak Lord, and has not betrayed this king even once.”

Aw, recognition! His heart was so full it could burst, hearing what amounted to more praise than he’d ever gotten before all at once. Maybe Mobei-Jun was happy that he’d stayed and tried to help? More usually he’d be punched in the face for daring to interfere, especially after a loss like this, but- ah! Maybe he’d also expected that Shang Qinghua would sell him out quickly to Luo Binghe? Which didn’t make him feel great, he’d been loyal even through the beatings and unreasonable demands for years already! Many years! His king slept in his bed so often! So often, how could he still be so distrusted?!

Binghe chuckled, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “How unfortunate for this disciple. Had his Shizun been a little more like Shang-shishu, he might have been spared hell… very well, Shang-shishu. If you’re willing to work with demons, I could use the eyes and ears in Cang Qiong. Yield, and I’ll be generous.”

“No.” Mobei-Jun snarled. “No. Qinghua serves this king.”
Shang Qinghua winced at the fury in his tone. “My king, be reasonable.” he whined. “I already have to serve the Sect and it’s never been a problem, if anything it’s better to survive, isn’t it? What’s one more set of reports, really, hahaha…” it certainly wouldn’t impact his spoiled king if he never slept again to keep up with the extra work! His king would probably be happy to find his bed conveniently empty so often!

Mobei-Jun snarled at him, wordlessly. Binghe hummed softly, again. Airplane hadn’t written him that little verbal tic, so presumably it was Cucumber’s influence again. “Shang-shishu, I’m not certain I like the idea of your loyalties being so divided. It makes it difficult to trust you. On the other hand, you have a point – I can hardly go back to Cang Qiong like this. I need proof that I’m not like they say, first… Mobei-wang knows Huan Hua very well, does he not? He’d certainly be more honest by far, as well. Perhaps he’s the more useful one after all… then, how about I accept the oath of whichever of you swears first, and discard the other? To keep things from being too complicated.” That smile was back, the one Airplane had once written with such pride, so careful to describe it’s hidden menace. Not hidden at all to this author-god! Besides, saying such things so lightly, who’d believe that harmless smile? Only a low IQ villain or a wife could justify falling for that sweet look!

The urge was there, the words bubbled up into his throat. Swearing to the protagonist.. there was hardly a safer place than those golden thighs! He could ride out the whole plot in the Underground Palace in luxury! His king was… well, he didn’t like being hit, and he’d tried to warn his king about this fight.. could he be blamed?
But the words wouldn’t quite come. The silence was profound. Why wouldn’t he just say it already?
Mobei-Jun spoke first, and his tone was venomously flat. “Qinghua seems eager to be useful. This king will not swear.”
Oh, that.. that stubborn, prideful- Shang Qinghua had been trying to save his stupid life! Maybe not entirely on purpose, he’d mostly choked, but still! It was canon that Mobei-Jun killed him once he was in the way, and canon that Mobei-Jun lived to become Binghe’s right hand! System! Where were Mobei-Jun’s points after a stunt like that if not diving below sea level, huh? What was this OOC behavior? Dock him points, already! He didn’t want to die, but Mobei-Jun wasn’t supposed to make his cowardice this easy! My king, at least try to survive!
Binghe, for his part, nodded. “You know, I think you’re right? Shang-shishu’s fealty isn’t worth much, perhaps, but he’ll be easier to keep in line and he’ll keep closer tabs on what’s most important. Very well, Shang-shishu- kneel.”

He stared at his king, still prone in the snow. Really looked at him, the anger in his expression, the bitterness. Why had this gone this way? Why had it gone so wrong? But he stumbled forwards, kneeling in the snow. Xin Mo retreated slightly – not so far that Mobei-Jun was safe, but far enough that Binghe could watch him as he fell to his knees without accidentally cutting a throat too soon. “Well, Shang-shishu?”

“My Shixiong raised an honorable student.” he mumbled. “Will Luo Binghe accept this one’s oath?”
“Of course, Shang-shishu. This lord will be generous.”
He swallowed. “Then, this servant, in place of his king, swears the Northern Desert’s allegiance to Junshang. The Mobei clan will-”
“Shang Qinghua!” Mobei-Jun roared. “You dare?!”
“What else can I do, my king? How can I serve you for the rest of my life if you’re dead?! Huh? Why didn’t you just yield? Or leave when I said? My king, why didn’t you just walk in shadows when I swore anyway? You could have rescued me later! Why do I have to teach you how to be sneaky when you’re basically an assassin, ah? Really, isn’t it your fault for being stubborn?”

Binghe stared at them both in stunned silence. Then he threw his head back and laughed. Not wildly, or cruelly – he just laughed as if he were actually amused, his eyes brightening. “I see.” he said, slowly. “Well, Mobei? You wanted him to swear – will you be bound by his oath on your behalf?”
Mobei-Jun growled, the temperature around him plunging so low that frost crawled back up Xin Mo. Binghe didn’t move, letting the fury spend itself as long as there was no killing intent. “This king needs no other to swear oaths on his behalf.” he hissed. “Qinghua has overstepped.”
“Has he?” Binghe mused. “You were so swift to let him make an oath when you thought it would save his life. Nearly as quickly as his cowardice vanished when it came to saving yours. I suspect that you would let him do any number of things on your behalf.”

“Ahahah, that’s hardly true, this servant can’t get away with very much at all.” Shang Qinghua grumbled. “Always running around like this, ah, have some mercy already…”
“Qinghua.” Mobei-Jun snapped.
Shang Qinghua shut up immediately, hoping that only Binghe could see the roll of his eyes. Perhaps the newly come demon emperor could, as he gave a crooked little smile. “Well, Mobei? It seems I need your answer before his is worth anything, so let’s try one more time. Will Peak Lord Shang Qinghua’s oath bind you?”

The silence lasted a moment, then another, frozen seconds drifting down. Shang Qinghua closed his eyes and tried to breath through the heavy, still air, wondered if Binghe could hear his heartbeat. He probably could.

“Yes.” Mobei-Jun gritted. “This Mobei-Wang recognizes Junshang, in the name of the Mobei Clan and the North.”

“Good. I offer you the same terms I gave the Saintess, Sha Hualing. I need capable generals, and I need them intelligent enough to make do without me, and loyal enough to do so without issue. The North can remain sovereign as long as I am recognized there. I imagine you’ll be Mobei-Jun in due course, and managing that will fall to you?”
“Yes.” Mobei-Jun nodded.
“Good.” Binghe decided. “I suppose you can keep your human, as well. I did say I’d be generous. So long as Shang-shishu understands where your loyalties lie, his will follow, is that correct?”
“Yes.” Shang Qinghua squeaked. “Very much!”
“So Shang-shishu won’t mention this little encounter to Shizun, correct?”
“No! No, of course not, not a word! Ah, he already knows about my king, as I said, but as for this, not a word! Not at all!”
Binghe nodded. He seemed a little more relaxed now that the violence was done, though he still had an edge to him and a strange light in his eye that he’d never had as a white lotus. He watched the shadows now. Maybe once he got used to Mobei being in the shadows, he’d feel the need to watch them a little less? It was a nice thought, but… probably not. The Abyss wasn’t the kind of thing that went away. Binghe had taken it into himself, carried it with him, brought a little bit of hell and chaos in the world around him. At the time, Airplane had thought it was a great metaphor for trauma and broken homes and all that, a way to prove that even a Heavenly Demon could be flawed and broken and hurt in ways that healed wrong. But of course that had all gone up in smoke… people had liked Binghe that way. Instead of healing, he’d simply kept going like this: empty, violent, watchful.
In reality, that made him a little bit… well… pitiful. Dangerous, still, powerful, unpredictable. But a lot sadder than any stallion novel protagonist ever should be. So much for biting satire on the genre! Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky had bitten so hard that he’d come around to biting his own ass!

He was afraid that they’d be forced to drink his son’s blood, and was relived when, after a brief conversation that he’d mostly missed, it was Mobei-Jun who offered his wrist up instead. His king wasn’t a Heavenly demon – quite the opposite, his family and their formless, unimaginable strength had risen from the deepest depths of the abyss. Symmetry, right? Binghe descending from Heaven and Mobei rising from the Abyss – the fanart after that lore drop had been so inspiring! It had really brought a tear to his eye, until people started murmuring that Mobei, while good, wasn’t really on Binghe’s level.
Luckily, their opinions weren’t canon, and his were, but he’d shied away from developing that potential any further, just in case.

He was a jealous god, more than ready to protect Mobei by hiding him away from rabid fans. Zero regrets! If they didn’t enjoy him, they didn’t get to ruin what Airplane enjoyed! They had Binghe for that. But it meant he didn’t know what the exchange meant. Almost certainly Mobei couldn’t control his king? Maybe it was just symbolic? But the intent wasn’t, right? Like it or not, his king wasn’t the kind of person who went back on his oaths. It was scary, honestly, he held his unfortunate servant to the things he said with a lot of intensity! You couldn’t just tell him you’d have everything done tomorrow and not to worry about it, you couldn’t promise to serve him all your life, you couldn’t say anything without him remembering and taking it seriously!

“Put him somewhere safer and get cleaned up. I’ll call you to the Underground Palace shortly.” Binghe said, all efficient now that things seemed settled. Shang Qinghua tuned back in, since he was the ‘him’ and he rather liked the idea of being safer. Far away sounded quite good, actually!
Mobei nodded. “Two shichen. This king must also send word to the Northern Palace of Junshang’s ascension and arrangements with the Saintess’s clans.”
“Oh noooo...” Shang Qinghua didn’t stifle the groan in time. “The funerals… all that work… my king, your steward really will eat my liver this time..”
Binghe raised a questioning eyebrow. Shang Qinghua, sensing an opportunity to complain without Mobei-Jun hitting him, gabbled an explanation. “Junshang, the two lords you killed… since they offended the Emperor, they can’t be buried with honors anymore, we’ll have to cancel many of the arrangements. Which is fine! My king never liked them much! It’s just very last minute. I’ll have to put a few minor things off a bit longer - ah, Zhangmen-shixiong is going to be so, so polite at me when I’m late with the bequests again, fuck…”
“Yes.” Mobei-Jun agreed, sounding very smug. “There is a great deal to do. Qinghua can handle the details once I have announced Junshang’s reign.”
“I’m being punished.” Shang Qinghua moaned. “My king, you didn’t have to arrange for the Holy Mausoleum to be opened to start with! They really, really were going to try and assassinate you!”
“Yes. Qinghua certainly had documentation to that effect.”
“...That hurts, my King. That’s hurtful.”
“...Two shichen, Mobei.” Binghe didn’t roll his eyes, but the hint of impatience in his voice was only highlighted by the way he dragged a portal open with Xin Mo and stepped away.
Shang Qinghua breathed a sigh of relief, only for Mobei-Jun to pick him up by the collar of his robes. Ah, no more of the ‘curled against his chest’ treatment? That was really really too bad, not least because being pulled through shadow portals always left him feeling like he was trying to throw up with a stomach that was several miles (or realms) displaced from the rest of him. At least let him have the sweet with the bitter! But no, he really was being punished, it wasn’t a joke at all…

He’d expected to land in the Northern Palace, since Mobei-Jun had wanted to get him started on the next thirty-six hours of sleepless, frantic work. Several of the purification rituals for opening the Mausoleum were already underway, as were the elaborate funerary rites and vigils! If they wanted to stop it, every second was precious! But An Ding was a welcome, warm surprise. He gathered himself off the floor, blowing on his fingers to try and get some warmth into them. “Ah, An Ding, my king? Really?”
Mobei-Jun glared at him, then collapsed back onto his bed, bleeding on his sheets, huffing an irritated sigh at the pointless question.
“Ah, right, of course, right away, my king.” He squeaked, and dove for the first aid box that was a regular fixture of the Leisure House, now that he could justify it. “Ah, not the iceflower, that’s for me, ah… it probably wouldn’t be good to try and cure you from overexposure to water energies, huh? Where’s… there we are!” He pulled a few talisman papers and a little cinnabar ink. He wasn’t much for hand seals or grand, powerful arrays, but he was pretty good with the written word, no matter what some insufferable critics had to say! A few strokes finished off the incantation, and he carefully placed it onto Mobei-Jun’s worst wound, letting the ice creep over it along with a soothing, numbing effect. Very good for aftercare, those last two effects! Both from enthusiastic papapa (the reason he’d written the things) and from a long day of hauling heavy items around not one, but several mountains (the only use he’d gotten out of them)
Mobei-Jun’s eyes closed momentarily, then he peeled the shredded shirt and cloak off and tossed them at him.
For everyone else, he’d stopped being the one to mend cloths and run errands, but his King knew better than to be fooled by the lofty persona of a Peak Lord, and honestly, Shang Qinghua didn’t hate mending his King’s cloths. At least, not much – the fine silks were a hideous pain to sew neatly, and it was a time consuming task. So he did hate it, but.. it was kind of… ok, the cloths carried Mobei-Jun’s scent and energy, and it was as close as he was ever getting to a taste of meat. He sighed, pulled out a replacement shirt, and went for the bandages. “I’ll mend it, my King, I will, but for now, since this is here, and lighter, ah, the Underground Palace will probably be warm, at least warmer than the North, most things are, really. It’ll be more comfortable..?”
“Hn.” Mobei-Jun, never a stunning conversationalist, seemed entirely content to not say a single damned thing. At least that noise was probably a positive? But the urge to fill the silence was almost painful as he worked over his injured King.
“Ah, that could have gone better, really. Actually, my king, it could have gone much worse, as well! I really don’t envy my shixiong, being responsible for that boy. Not that my position is enviable either, ah…”
Mobei-Jun gave him a look, a growl to stop him from babbling, then a sigh. “How quickly can you… find evidence that the boy is Tianlang-Jun’s heir?”
“Very! Very quickly, my King! Tomorrow at the latest, ah, no, nonono, surely only a few hours! His mother was a Huan Hua cultivator, widely known to have encountered Tianlang-Jun, who perished years ago, but her Sect will have records! I can probably find copies quickly! Er… why?”
“Word of my defeat will spread. None of my family will likely challenge one who could challenge me, but more than one will consider my weakness now. The Elders will argue over the legitimacy of Junshang’s claim and my right to make such a foolish oath.” Mobei-Jun snarled. “My father swore loyalty to Tianlang-Jun in his day. With proof that the boy is Tianlang-Jun’s get, I am merely being filial to my father and his oaths. Find it, or create it.”
“Ah. Yes, my king.” he bowed, partly to hide the smile. He could whine and cringe a little more, of course, but.. it wouldn’t really be very hard? He knew what Huan Hua’s records said. He’d written it out, in another life. In an outline that had never been used, but had, in many ways, more to do with this world than anything he’d actually posted. Sometimes, when he was struggling with the System’s pointless demands, he wondered if the System was somehow connected to the outline that had been lost, if dreams could transmigrate, or regrets. But good stories were hard to write, and harder to live! Having to carve one out like this was a royal pain…

Still, he could recreate the notes on Su Xiyan from memory, and the Mobei clan would hardly question anything that made Huan Hua look worse. If anything, delivering such a gift would earn his king his fathers favor.

The System and the plot and even Binghe, now, kept trying to remove his King, keep him out of the story, shuffle him off to the side. He couldn’t blame it – he had done it himself. But that had been when it was all he could do to protect him. Now he was here, and no one was bumping his king off, thank you very much!
He didn’t blame the story for following what he’d written, but he was very prepared to do a little revision.
His King… he’d make certain he wasn’t removed from the pages of history.
It was as simple as that.
“Anything at all, for you, my king.” he promised, knowing that his King would consider the words binding. Feeling the weight of them as they left. He couldn’t live up to such words, really, no one could, no one ever did. But his King was still able to expect such things from people, all the same. From him, even!
So, for as long as he could, until the day he died, he’d simply have to try not to say anything he didn’t mean.
It’s just…
It’s just that even if he didn’t believe the words, he still meant them.
He’d just have to do his best.