Chapter Text
Two days have passed, and Shen Qingqiu cannot sleep. Flashing images, lightning through his skull. His stomach turns over itself, flipping like a trapeze artist. Things he wishes he didn’t have to remember. Choices that weren’t his.
He paces around a bare room, carving a deep circuit into the ground with his steps. The floorboards creak. He is probably keeping half the inn awake but he cannot force himself to care.
Binghe is gone.
The absence is an ache in his chest. Just panic, he tells himself. Now that the next stage of the plot has begun, the best thing Shen Qingqiu can expect is a swift execution when the time comes. It is not cowardly to fear death. Any man would.
The clock has begun, and his time is ticking down. Five years until Binghe comes back, blackened and vengeful.
But all Shen Qingqiu sees behind his eyelids when he closes them is Binghe’s face. The hurt. The betrayal. The tears.
He really can’t handle the tears.
It had to happen. It had to happen. He reminds himself this with every shaky breath he takes.
It doesn’t help.
It will not stop Binghe from suffering.
Shen Qingqiu’s fingers shake as he squeezes them against his temples. So harshly he can feel the thumping of his veins beneath them. The knowledge that it had to happen does not stop it feeling needless.
Shen Qingqiu’s hand was forced. He had no choice.
Luo Binghe had to be pushed into the Endless Abyss by his master. He must blacken. The plot demands it. There are bigger powers at play. Authors, systems, the like. If the choice were his own…
Shen Qingqiu feels sick.
He staggers to a halt and braces himself against the edge of the writing desk. Even with his fingertips removed, his temples pulse against a phantom pressure. He considers breaking the table in half. The innkeeper had happily supplied it back when, just a few days ago, Shen Qingqiu had thought to amuse himself with calligraphy.
He hasn’t had the chance.
Everything happened so fast.
And none of it had felt quite real, not until Binghe was already gone.
Then, all of it shattered over his head like glass. Fragments remain at his feet, ready to lodge themselves into his toes and make him bleed. Every step, every breath reminds him of the vile coward he is.
Bile pinches the back of his throat.
Shen Qingqiu hasn’t eaten in days, not since before it started. There is nothing for him to throw up. All he can do is retch uselessly, like he’s coughing up a lung. Nothing else will come out, because the sickness is deep in his bones.
And the tears in his eyes are just from the burning in his throat.
“Binghe’s fine,” he whispers to himself. “He’s alive. He’ll be fine.”
Shen Qingqiu repeats the mantra to himself as he returns to his pacing. He knows it is true. Binghe will conquer the three realms, bed hundreds of women, and be adored by everyone he leaves alive. The creaking begins again, beneath his feet, but all Shen Qingqiu hears are his own repeated words. They get so loud in his ears that he almost misses the knock at the door.
Shen Qingqiu stops. Being still seems to make his heart race faster, but his brain is sluggish from lack of sleep. He cannot do more than croak unintelligently in the direction of the door. A murmured apology, it is meant to be. He has woken someone, and they are angry. This manic pacing is not befitting behaviour for a peak lord.
But then the door opens, and it is Liu Qingge.
He stands in the threshold, a glare on his face.
Shen Qingqiu’s ears redden. He clears his throat. “Am I keeping you awake, shidi? I apologise.” The words come out garbled by the dryness of his throat, but at least they are words.
Liu Qingge shows no sign of having been cruelly woken. He’s fully dressed, for one thing, but that doesn’t mean much. Shen Qingqiu has heard that Liu Qingge is always battle ready, even in times of peace. His sword never leaves his person, the rumours say. He must sleep with it strapped to him.
His hair is too neat, though. No matter how alert he might remain, sleeping with one eye open like a dolphin, there is no way he could keep his braids looking so perfect.
Maybe Liu Qingge didn’t even bother to try sleeping, with Shen Qingqiu’s racket. Their rooms are separated by only a thin wall and Liu-shidi is far too polite, despite what many people may believe, to bang on it to shut him up.
“What’s wrong?”
Shen Qingqiu looks away from him, his feet itching to return to his pacing. “Nothing, nothing. This shixiong is just a little restless.”
Liu Qingge doesn’t believe him, which is fair enough. He didn’t sound particularly convincing, even to his own ears. And Liu-shidi was there, too. In the aftermath. When everyone was looking at Shen Qingqiu like he was a lost duckling squawking for its mother.
Liu-shidi, patient and kind and brusque, steps into the room and shuts the door behind him.
Shen Qingqiu takes a breath, suddenly feeling a little less like a kite in a storm. Liu Qingge is as solid as a rock, a lighthouse in a tempestuous ocean. With him here, Shen Qingqiu can pretend to believe that everything will work out. Liu Qingge is alive, after all, when he was not meant to be. That means Shen Qingqiu can change things. Fight things.
Who knows, maybe clinging to the protagonist’s golden thighs could work out after all!
Shen Qingqiu is aware that he is ripping shreds of skin off his lower lip with his teeth, but can’t seem to make himself stop.
Liu Qingge is impervious to Shen Qingqiu’s fits of…whatever this is. Frayed emotions. Anxiety. Whatever. He isn’t perturbed by Shen Qingqiu’s weak constitution, either. In fact, he’s remarkably considerate of it, often allowing Shen Qingqiu to ride on his sword with him. A little self-cannibalism is hardly anything new.
But Liu Qingge is still coming closer, which does make Shen Qingqiu a little nervous. He comes so close they are eye to eye. Or rather, eye to nose. Liu Qingge is a fraction taller than him.
“What’s wrong?” he repeats.
Shen Qingqiu squeezes his hands together, wringing them out like a damp cloth. At least Liu Qingge is forthright about it! He’s been avoiding pitying looks ever since…ever since. The other Peak Lords have all been staring at him with outrageous sympathy, practically cooing over him while he pushes around tofu with his chopsticks and pretends that he intends to eat it.
They must stay, all of them, until the logistics can be arranged. Bodies to transport, investigations to begin. Shen Qingqiu isn’t the only one who lost a disciple. Though the circumstances were quite different. A tragedy, for those poor shifus. For Shen Qingqiu, a curse.
Liu Qingge argued quite passionately that Shen Qingqiu should return home ahead of them. Quietly, Zhangmen-shixiong agreed. But he had deferred to Shen Qingqiu on the matter.
And, well, Shen Qingqiu doesn’t want to go home.
He cannot face it. How can he set foot in the bamboo house knowing he will never again taste Binghe’s cooking, never pat him on the head, never gently scold him when he messes up his footwork on purpose?
He cannot do it. It will hurt too much. Better to be here, fraying like an abandoned tapestry, than alone.
“Your disciple,” Liu Qingge concludes.
Shen Qingqiu chews on a particularly plump mound of wounded lip. Maybe Liu Qingge doesn’t understand. He has no personal disciples; nobody has yet reached his lofty standards. And, as he’d crudely pointed out, Shen Qingqiu can find plenty of talented children to dote on.
But he doesn’t want another one. He wants Binghe. That sweet little sheep. Shen Qingqiu might as well have killed him for real. His disciple is gone.
Though, wouldn’t it have been nice, if they could have continued as they were? Luo Binghe deserves to grow up softly. He could teach the younger disciples sword forms and music. He could stay in Shen Qingqiu’s bamboo house until he finds an opportune time to go off and marry a few clever young women.
Shen Qingqiu could remain someone worth remembering fondly.
None of that is the fate laid out for any of them. And Shen Qingqiu is a deeply selfish man.
“I made a terrible mistake,” he whispers. Voicing it feels like vomiting, all that sour bile prickling at his tongue.
He should have let himself die. He’s going to die anyway! At least if he’d let the System take him, he wouldn’t have to die painfully. He wouldn’t have to see Binghe blacken. None of it would be his fault.
Instead, everything is already written in blood.
Shen Qingqiu sees the future in front of him. Three realms forced together. Cang Qiong Mountain in ash. Ming Fan dead. Liu Qingge dead. Yue Qingyuan dead.
Himself, a human stick forced to live in pain without mercy. Deserving every moment of it.
All the things he has been trying to avoid will come to pass anyway, and what will it matter? It will make no difference that Shen Qingqiu tried to be kind. He cannot cling to the protagonist’s muscular thighs anymore. And he may well have made everything worse.
The betrayal…it’s worse this time. Because Binghe thought Shen Qingqiu cared about him.
Shen Qingqiu is so very fucked.
He blinks away the blurry edges of his vision. He stares at Liu Qingge. Alive, because of him. And soon, dead because of him as well.
He saved him. Things can change. Things have changed. He doesn’t have to wait to find out how badly he’s ruined things.
Fuck it, he thinks.
“I need to go back,” he decides.
Now, his feet do not itch. They burn.
There is a fire under him as he bolts past Liu Qingge and barrels out of the door. Liu Qingge’s footsteps are barely audible on the floorboards behind him, but Shen Qingqiu knows he is there. Silent as a stalking panther. A shadow that will help him, even if he makes everything worse.
There’s no need to rush, really. He’s only going down the corridor. He bangs on the door relentlessly, not caring who he wakes. Let them all bear witness. Let the whole inn be raised to watch him un-fuck the world and fuck himself in the process.
Shang Qinghua is bleary-eyed and barely conscious when the door opens. Although he looks worse for wear, Shen Qingqiu isn’t convinced that it isn’t an act. Mobei-Jun had hit him fairly hard, but not enough to knock out any decent cultivator for more than a few hours. And Shen Qingqiu had seen him at breakfast this morning, claiming a pain in his head to avoid answering Yue Qingyuan’s difficult questions. Fucking snake.
Well, Shen Qingqiu doesn’t have the kindly older brother thing going for him like Yue Qingyuan, so he thinks Shang Qinghua might be a little more receptive to him.
And Shen Qingqiu has a significant advantage he’s keen to play.
He plunges into the room without the usual courtesies and rushes Shang Qinghua against the rear wall. Behind him, Liu Qingge closes the door with a quiet click.
“Whoa, whoa!” Shang Qinghua exclaims as he tries to keep his footing. “Shen-shixiong, what are you doing?”
Shen Qingqiu slams his palm into Shang Qinghua’s shoulder, pinning him against the wall. The little rat’s eyes widen in fear as he winces. Shen Qingqiu might not be the strongest of his sect siblings, but he’s certainly stronger than this pencil pusher.
He leans in close. Close enough that Liu Qingge will not hear what he says.
“Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky.”
Shang Qinghua chokes on a shriek. “Wh-what? How did you -? How do you know my handle?”
Handle. Not just a fellow transmigrator, as Shen Qingqiu had thought. He’d hoped to scare him a little, to bully him into helping him. With the assumption that he, too, had been forced into such deplorable, unforgivable actions. That he might want to make them right.
But, no. This is the motherfucker who wrote them in the first place.
Shen Qingqiu growls. He slams his fist into the wall beside Shang Qinghua’s head. It splinters around his knuckles. It’s quite satisfying, to be strong enough to make an impact. To make his gnawing displeasure known.
The pain in his hand from the impact grounds him. Losing his temper might be thrilling, but it will not do anything for Binghe.
But it is also quite pleasant to hear Shang Qinghua squeal.
“I’m not letting it happen,” Shen Qingqiu trembles. “Open the array again.”
Shang Qinghua gulps and his eyes flicker to a spot behind his head. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t even have to look behind him to know that Shang Qinghua’s imploring gaze will be met with nothing. Liu Qingge’s loyalty is as certain as snow on a mountaintop.
Sure enough, Shang Qinghua looks back at Shen Qingqiu, defeated. “It’s already – it happened. I can’t stop it now. And even if I could…” he trails off. Biting his lip, he gives a close approximation of an awkward, apologetic smile. Shen Qingqiu wants to punch him in the face.
He lowers his voice further. “I don’t care what the System says. Open. The. Portal.”
“What are you going to do!?”
“I’m getting him out.” It is a delusional idea, really. He knows this. But what else is he supposed to do – sit here and wait for his own death? At least if he makes an effort at rectifying his mistake the blackened Luo Binghe of the future might look on him more favourably. The System said Shen Qingqiu had to push him in, but it didn’t say he had to stay there.
It doesn’t blare any alarms in his ears either, at the verbalisation of his half-baked plan. It’s gotten its dues. Luo Binghe was pushed. End of.
Shang Qinghua does not seem to have reached the same conclusion. He pales a ghostly white. “You can’t! It’ll – if you want to throw your life away, go for it! But I’m quite fond of mine and I would like to keep it please! Thank you!”
Shen Qingqiu drops his hand from Shang Qinghua’s shoulder and takes a step back. The weasel deflates like a sinking balloon, perhaps believing he has been heard.
But Shen Qingqiu has other tricks up his sleeves. He knows things he should not, after all.
“Liu Qingge,” he calls. In a fraction of his second, Liu Qingge is at his right-hand side with his hand perched on the hilt of his sword. It looks almost relaxed – after all, who would dare raise a weapon to their shixiong? – but Shen Qingqiu notices the modicum of tension around his fingers. “Our sect brother is responsible for the catastrophe at the Immortal Alliance Conference. He colluded with the Mobei clan to open the Endless Abyss and sow chaos in the human realm. He has been working with the prince of the Northern Palace for years.”
“What the fuck, bro!”
Liu Qingge turns his head slowly to appraise Shang Qinghua. The look on his face must be quite menacing, because Shang Qinghua wilts and tries to scramble away, his face a shocking purple. He does not make it far before Liu Qingge grabs him by the scruff of his neck.
Shen Qingqiu resists the urge to smile. He’s spent years trying not to be quite so overt with his character’s villainous tendencies. But what’s the harm in playing into it, just this once? He’ll use it to his advantage to find Binghe, and then he can set it aside again. They can go through the Abyss together. Once Binghe is safe – and Shen Qingqiu has successfully kept all his limbs – he will not need it anymore.
“Here are your options.” Shen Qingqiu pulls a fan out of his sleeve and snaps it open, batting it lazily in front of his face. He hopes Shang Qinghua can’t tell how badly his fingers are trembling. “I’m sure Liu Qingge would like to give you a piece of his mind before we report this to Zhangmen-shixiong.”
Liu Qingge, understanding the assignment, gives a threatening growl directly into Shang Qinghua’s ear.
It is for show, he can tell. Liu Qingge understands the tactics of a good interrogation. He won’t lay a finger on Shang Qinghua before he is proven guilty, but the threat is quite helpful, nonetheless.
“Or you can help me get Binghe back and retreat to your demon’s palace unharmed.”
Liu Qingge’s face tenses, jaw tight. His strong sense of justice surely does not like this option, but he says nothing to contradict Shen Qingqiu. He’ll have to remember to thank Liu-shidi for that later.
Silence hangs over the three of them, thick as fresh snow.
“I don’t know if I can!” Shang Qinghua says finally, desperately.
Shen Qingqiu silently raises an eyebrow.
“I mean, the array is still there. But, but without any demonic qi it can’t really do anything. And…immense amounts of power! Mobei-Jun used up most of his reserves to do it the first time, which, might I remind you, was only two days ago!”
At the hint of defiance in those last few words, Liu Qingge tightens his grip on the back of Shang Qinghua’s neck.
“It doesn’t need to be as big this time. I know exactly where Binghe fell.”
Shang Qinghua’s eyes flicker, like he is about to correct the technicality. Shen Qingqiu’s glare quickly silences him and he swallows a visible lump in his throat.
“Okay, okay, sure, if I could do it myself I totally would! But how would I get my – Mobei-Jun to agree? What’s in it for him? He’ll just refuse!”
It’s a valid point, Shen Qingqiu must admit. But if Mobei-Jun is the only thing standing between him and a shot at rescuing Binghe, he will do whatever he can. He feels the System in the back of his mind, blinking silently in curiosity. The damn thing makes him seethe. It’s watching. Like it wants to see the lengths he’ll go to. For its own amusement.
“That sounds like your problem,” he says. “Ask him nicely.”
Shang Qinghua chuckles awkwardly. “He’s, uh, not too happy with me at the moment.”
“Then give him the opportunity to kill you himself. I promise you will prefer it.”
“Shen Qingqiu,” Liu Qingge says. He doesn’t approve. Shen Qingqiu is toeing the line, and that just barely. Liu Qingge’s face is stern and hard as ice. It isn’t justice, that face says, to set Shang Qinghua free. Nor is it justice to imply torture.
But Shen Qingqiu is feeling bold.
And, somehow, he knows Liu Qingge will not contradict him.
It is an hour from dawn, and Liu Qingge has not slept. He has not slept because Shen Qingqiu has not slept. It is not that the pacing kept him awake. How could he sleep, having seen the look on Shen Qingqiu’s face after Liu Qingge had spat such heartless words at him? Fortunately, his shixiong does not seem to have held them against him. But maybe he is just too tangled in the web of his own misery to give it much thought.
Grief is an odd thing. At least now, rather than pacing around his room, Shen Qingqiu is out doing something. Even if it is a suicide mission. An impossible journey to try and retrieve a corpse from a wasteland.
If it’s what Shen Qingqiu needs to do, Liu Qingge will go with him. It’s all he can offer.
What is the alternative? Shen Qingqiu’s mind is made up, and he cannot go alone. If his cultivation fails, he will need someone to rescue him.
So here Liu Qingge is, following Shen Qingqiu to the spot where he lost his disciple. With a traitorous, despicable, slimy shixiong and the demon he betrayed them for. He keeps calm, even though he wants to explode, because justice can come later. Shen Qingqiu comes first.
And Shen Qingqiu might never forgive him if Liu Qingge is the reason he cannot bury his disciple properly.
After some quite pitiful blubbering, Shang Qinghua successfully summoned the perturbed demon prince. He calls him my king and Mobei-Jun as if he is a leader already, and Liu Qingge tries not to let the disgust show too clearly on his face. He has made a pact with himself to follow Shen Qingqiu’s lead.
And the vile demon came; that is what matters. He arrived in a haze of shadows right in the middle of Shang Qinghua’s room. Liu Qingge had to clamp down on all his instincts to not attack on sight. Surely, someone would notice the demonic qi? Someone would come running to investigate and it would not be Liu Qingge’s fault if it all fell apart.
But nobody came. Demonic qi is thick in the air anyway, in the aftermath of the Immortal Alliance Conference. It hangs off everyone who fought one like a skin they cannot shed.
They made a deal. Or rather, Shen Qingqiu made a deal. The best Liu Qingge could do was not interrupt. He should not have allowed it. If Zhangmeng-shixiong finds out…
But Shen Qingqiu is his senior. Liu Qingge could not undermine him in front of an enemy. That is what he tells himself, at least. To make it make sense.
Maybe Liu Qingge simply cannot understand the lengths to which one must go for their disciple. There is nobody on Bai Zhan Peak he cares about that much. But for his sister. For Shen Qingqiu.
He thinks he might do the same. Risk the same. To see them receive a proper burial. The last thing he could give them, when everything else failed.
In the end, Shen Qingqiu handed over Shang Qinghua and a promise that Cang Qiong Mountain Sect will neither launch an attack nor conspire against the Northern Desert for a period of three years after Mobei-Jun comes into his kingdom. The period during which the demon realm will be weakest, in other words. Shen Qingqiu has sacrificed a great advantage.
But that was not all he gave away. When Mobei-Jun demanded a personal favour, too, he had agreed before Liu Qingge could stop him.
“That sounds reasonable,” he’d said, and Liu Qingge wondered if his shixiong’s qi was stable.
The things Shen Qingqiu exchanged, though, were not the worst part.
Liu Qingge has often been called curt and argumentative. He does not necessarily disagree with those assessments. In normal circumstances, he might have more readily made his concerns known. If he is being honest with himself, it is not out of respect for his senior that he kept silent.
It is not out of familial piety that he laid his hand on his qiankun pouch – the stash of emergency supplies he’s internally named in case of disaster – and stood firmly by Shen Qingqiu’s side.
It is because Shen Qingqiu’s eyes been wet. It is because of the way his voice cracked when he said to Mobei-Jun, “Please.”
Liu Qingge can bear many things. He would not survive the shame of being the thing that stood in the way of the only thing he’s ever seen Shen Qingqiu beg for.
Shen Qingqiu can barely breathe as he steps through the array. Liu Qingge is right beside him, light on his toes like he is preparing to pounce.
The Endless Abyss is a dangerous place. Liu Qingge’s caution is certainly warranted and, really, it would have been odder if Liu-shidi had let him come alone! He’s like a mother hen these days, checking Shen Qingqiu’s qi multiple times a day with light touches to his wrist that are supposed to seem accidental.
Shen Qingqiu takes a deep breath. Tries to calm himself. He is not any use to Binghe if he is frazzled and reckless.
But the air…it’s thin and wispy. Like he can’t catch enough of it no matter how hard he tries.
What he does manage to breathe burns the back of his throat. It’s like being in a pizza oven. The ground is unpleasantly warm even through his shoes.
It is no place for cultivators.
They need to get out of here. They need to get Binghe out of here.
Shen Qingqiu walks in step with Liu Qingge, following his shidi’s every movement. That is one benefit of Liu Qingge’s company – he’s a better tracker than Shen Qingqiu by several miles. He has followed monsters through dangerous climes before. And Binghe could still be injured. The thought makes Shen Qingqiu feel sick, but it would certainly make him easier to track.
They just need to find the place he landed.
It cannot be far. Shen Qingqiu is sure Mobei-Jun opened the array in the right spot. He’d recognise those trees anywhere. Holes in them, like gaping mouths and drooping eyes. Eyes that saw what he did.
He shakes his head a little. They are only trees, and he is only paranoid. Lack of sleep. Emotional upheaval. He’s not at his most level-headed.
But they need to find Binghe’s landing spot quickly. The sooner the better. Once they find evidence of him, evidence of life, Shen Qingqiu might be able to stop digging his nails into his palm.
He doesn’t have much hope in the pair of them finding Luo Binghe before Mobei-Jun closes the array. Intentionally or unintentionally, it doesn’t matter. The effect will be the same.
When he had said as much to Liu Qingge, in a low voice – Shidi, we could get trapped here for some time – the idiot had simply shrugged. “I have provisions,” he said. Shen Qingqiu rolled his eyes. Trust Liu Qingge to be ready for a wilderness adventure at the drop of a hat!
Shen Qingqiu lays a hand on his own chest, with half a belief that it will calm his rapidly beating heart. Or to remind himself that it is still there. He’s not sure he can even feel it. The air is so still.
“Shen Qingqiu,” Liu Qingge says gently. Breathes. Like Shen Qingqiu is going to shatter.
Which he won’t. Not yet. But he has seen it, too.
A mop of dark, curly hair. A limp body.
Luo Binghe, lying on the ground like a corpse.
That bile again. He’s not – no, he can’t be. It would be impossible. The protagonist can’t just die.
Shen Qingqiu lurches forward, and Liu Qingge lets him.
“Binghe!” he shouts. He thinks he sees him stir. Or it could be a trick of the light. He’s not dead, Shen Qingiqu reminds himself. He’s not dead, he’s not dead, he’s not dead!
Luo Binghe turns his head just as Shen Qingqiu crashes down on top of him. Fingers prodding him everywhere they can. Warm skin. Faint pulse. Alive. Relief crashes over him like a tidal wave.
He exhales a thin gasp and pulls Luo Binghe close to his chest. Tries not to think about how pale he looks, how bruised and battered. About the dark circles and bitten lips that match Shen Qingqiu’s.
“Sh-Shizun?”
Shen Qingqiu can’t bear it. The little hopeful lilt to Binghe’s voice, like he’s been waiting this whole time. Is that why he hasn’t moved? In the original version, he’d wasted little more than a few hours healing before moving on to find shelter and water. Practical. Angry and vengeful but unperturbed by more hardship when he’d already experienced so much of it.
But this time, Binghe waited. Lay on the ground where he fell. Where he was pushed. Half dead, half alive. That’s Shen Qingqiu’s doing. His fault.
The arid heat of the air burns against Shen Qingqiu’s eyes as he halls Binghe’s half-limp body into his lap. He fusses and pokes where he can. Checks vital signs. Qi hectic but not unstable, bones all solid. No internal bleeding. No catastrophic injuries.
Of course, that is to be expected. It’s been almost three days. Heavenly demon blood works quickly.
With nothing practical for his hands to do after his examination finds no danger, Shen Qingqiu wraps them around Binghe. Squeezes. He is warm, like the Abyss, but it’s pleasant. More like a log fire on a cold day than a forest fire.
“Is it really Shizun?” Luo Binghe whispers. Keeps mumbling that word. Shizun. Shizun. Like it isn’t real. Shen Qingqiu wonders the same. Did he really do this, or is it some dream? Has he deluded himself? Maybe Zhangmeng-shixiong has had him institutionalised and he is feeding himself happy fantasies.
But Binghe’s body is solid in his arms. Nothing in either of his lives has ever felt more real.
“Shizun’s here,” he whispers back. “Shizun’s sorry.”
“Shizun,” Luo Binghe says again. “Shizuuun,” he whines. Caterwauls, really. He’s working himself up into quite a state. Each call of Shen Qingqiu’s title comes from a shuddering breath and a hacking sob.
Tears cut thick tracks through dirt and blood. Rivulets that run quickly because their paths have already been carved. Is the blood Binghe’s? It must be. His eyes are rimmed black, and not just from exhaustion. Like his nose has been broken and rehealed.
The queasy feeling returns to Shen Qingqiu’s stomach. He must have broken it when he hit the ground, but it might as well have been Shen Qingqiu’s hands to crack the bone. It is his fault.
Luo Binghe howls, dry and wretched. He shuffles closer to Shen Qingqiu, as close as he can get. Like he is trying to twine them together until they are a single person.
Shen Qingqiu squeezes him back, pulls him even closer. He brings Luo Binghe’s arms around his shoulders and pulls his disciple’s wet, stained face into his neck.
He really can’t handle the tears. His eyes burn viciously and he can hardly see for the thick fog that encases them. Shen Qingqiu lets out a shuddering breath, trying to convince himself that he is not going to cry. He has Binghe here. Solid and warm and alive.
Sobbing, hurt, and distraught. But here.
But then Binghe sags. Falls silent. Lies like a dead weight on top of him. A sack of potatoes dropped by a farmer; a puppet with its strings cut.
“Binghe!?”
“He’s fine,” Liu Qingge says. Right. Liu Qingge is still here. He blinks rapidly, trying to dispel the wetness in his eyes. He sees that Liu Qingge holds three long, thin needles between his fingers. They jut out like claws. Wolverine, Shen Qingqiu thinks, absurdly. Now is not the time to postulate about how cool Liu Qingge is.
He glances back down at Luo Binghe, his eyes clearing. Three matching needles stick out of the crown of Luo Binghe’s head. Acupuncture needles.
Shen Qingqiu frowns. Should that even have worked on him!?
“Do I need to knock you out, too?” Liu Qingge asks. He’s frowning, but Shen Qingqiu sees that despite the furrow in his brow his eyes are pinched and cautious. He’s worried, Shen Qingqiu realises. He swallows around a lump in his throat as he tries to compose himself.
“No, Shidi, I’m…fine.” He stammers the words out weakly, and they do not sound at all believable.
But Liu Qingge simply gives a decisive nod. “Quick. Before the array closes.”
Shen Qingqiu stumbles to his feet, Luo Binghe cradled to his chest. Liu Qingge is a good ally to have brought. Someone who can keep his head cool in the face of disaster. Shen Qingqiu is certainly not that.
If they can make it back before the array closes…well, that would be far more convenient. Shen Qingqiu would much prefer to have Luo Binghe safe on Qing Jing Peak within a matter of days than have to join him on his journey through the Abyss.
Fuck the stupid sword, and the power, and all that. Luo Binghe can find all that another way, if he wants it. He’s certainly strong enough. But let him choose.
Shen Qingqiu’s arms burn as he carries Luo Binghe. He’s heavy, but Shen Qingqiu is a cultivator, damn it, and sheer stubbornness is enough to push him through. He will not let it be said that he dropped his disciple on top of everything else he’s done.
He’s knees are just weak because Luo Binghe is large for his age. Not for any other reason.
Liu Qingge guides Shen Qingqiu back to the array like he is a dumb old dog. Shen Qingqiu follows eagerly, his eyes never once leaving Binghe’s face. He hardly even notices the way Liu Qingge throws a look over his shoulder every few paces, like he’s concerned Shen Qingqiu will have collapsed in a heap.
At least Liu Qingge doesn’t imply he can’t carry his burden. Carrying him out of this place is the least he can do for Binghe now.
“Come on,” Liu Qingge orders when the array is in sight. Flickering round the edges, pulsing like it’s weak. On the verge of collapsing.
Mobei-Jun had said he could hold it for an hour at most. Mostly, Shen Qingqiu is surprised it’s still there at all. Mobei-Jun’s end of the deal was all but useless, especially if two peak lords suddenly go missing. The demon prince must be really pissed off with Shang Qinghua to uphold this just for the sake of avoiding retaliation.
But Shen Qingqiu is not in the business of looking a gift horse in the mouth. He pushes his feet to go faster, and Liu Qingge stops in front of the array. He juts his chin, instructing Shen Qingqiu to go first.
How chivalrous, shidi! Really, Shen Qingqiu would be far safer stuck here with Luo Binghe than Liu Qingge would be alone. Arguing will be of no use, though, and he wants to get Luo Binghe into a soft bed as soon as possible.
Shen Qingqiu nods his head frantically and rushes through the array, trusting that Liu Qingge will be right behind him.
The cry of Jesus, fuck! can only be Shang Qinghua. On the other side of the array, on the mossy ground near where Shen Qingqiu first pushed Luo Binghe, Shen Qingqiu falls to the floor. Shang Qinghua’s exclamations are lost to him. Just background noise. His knees have given out, shaking not with weight but with exhaustion. Like his muscles have collapsed in on themselves. Relief.
Binghe’s fine. He’s back. He’s avoided it all. He did it.
He pulls Binghe close to him, buries his face in the mop of curly hair and does not pretend the dampness in his eyes is anything other than tears of gratitude.
The array fizzes closed behind them, and Shen Qingqiu feels his heart thumping in every crevice of his body.
“Binghe,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”
Luo Binghe does not reply. The next sound Shen Qingqiu hears is a squeak of fright as Liu Qingge punches Shang Qinghua in the stomach.