Archive of Our Own

It’s been just over three years.

Time dilates and stretches, warping into a foreign entity that Shen Qingqiu can’t track with his eyes, prowling two steps at a time right behind him. So he sits at the sword mound, immortal legs kneeled and still like withered stone. He sits as the sun rises and descends, as the days flicker by like errant pages in a book, loose and flimsy.

He’s not in mourning. Not really. As he sits with mindless poise, below, Luo Binghe trudges through the putrid corpses of countless monsters far larger than him.

He hears the whispers from disciples huddled out of sight that he’s filled with grief, but how can he grieve someone alive? Someone who will survive all odds, destined to carve his place up in a space above Shen Qingqiu can never reach.

He’s not in mourning. He’s not sick, and he’s definitely not in need of returning to Qing Jing Peak to stay for a break! A break from what? He’s lazing around when he leaves the peak and everyone knows it, they just politely pretend he’s got important business to do.

But Ning Yingying is insistent. She’s the only one who he sees in between his increasingly rare visits. Even Ming Fan only arrives when absolutely necessary: permission for budgeting allowances, more administrative tasks that Shen Qingqiu was once diligent about.

“Shizun should take this opportunity to visit some of the new disciples we’ve taken in,” she says, as she pours him a cup of tea. The warm, soothing fragrance weakens the stoic iciness he’s covered himself in. “Many of them are eager to meet you.”

He would consider it, but as quick as he’s arrived, he’s sure to leave once more. He’s not made to stay in one place for too long, not when these responsibilities of his feel so much heavier as of recently.

The letter on his desk is already an easy out for him to leave, no doubt a conspiracy formed by the collaborative efforts of his martial siblings. Perhaps it’s his own fault for not being antisocial enough in the beginning of their relationship upon his transmigration, because now they seek to bother him in every step of the way. No matter if he’s gone into seclusion in everything but name—he can’t be afforded some peace and quiet. They have to find ways to interact with him!

At least, his disciples can gauge his mood and act appropriately so as to not disturb his absence. Even Ning Yingying is a far cry from her novel counterpart, emotionally perceptive in a way that Shen Qingqiu really doesn’t know how to handle. Sometimes, in quiet moments like these, it’s hard to remember he’s part of a story. It’s hard to think about the trials Luo Binghe is currently facing, and know that every gruesome detail is playing out right this moment with nothing to stop it.

These thoughts are driving him crazy!

Maybe he really should clear his head with a mindless task. His eyes linger back to the letter. Yue Qingyuan’s firm, steady brushwork catches his eye—it’s an excursion close to Bai Lu forest, but not enough to encroach on Huan Hua territory.

He calmly sips his tea, maintaining his aloof demeanor even when frazzled and haggard, as Ning Yingying gives him detailed, animated updates about the progress of his disciples.

He doesn’t smile, but he tilts his head in indulgence and doesn’t notice the look of poorly veiled worry she gives him.

Shen Qingqiu hates everything and everyone, but most importantly he hates Airplane.

He’s tired, and it’s cold! Shen Qingqiu expected a light, drifting breeze to ruffle his robes, and the backdrop of a golden sun to dazzle against the lush trees and mystical wildlife. But instead all he can see is a long, open field, sparse and covered in hard rocks and so many hills! Hills so steep he’s fighting to catch his breath, immortal or not. He’s so glad he went on this excursion alone and rejected Liu Qingge’s probing attempts at tagging along. (Liu-shidi, don’t you have a peak to run?!) His cheeks are red from exertion, and sweat pools at the back of his neck, making his robes stick to his skin.

Already, he misses the view of Qing Jing Peak’s bamboo forest, otherworldly and majestical. If he’s gonna have to deal with xianxia bullshit like foraging for a Thousand Year Fiery Plum Blossom couldn’t he at least have some nice scenery to match his efforts? Zero out of ten, Airplane!

Soon, his aching legs get a rest as the hill clears into a field of flowers, hundreds of them in a variety of shapes and sizes, gathered in one place.

Now, Shen Qingqiu isn’t stupid. Knowing this pornified world, he’s bound to come across an aphrodisiac contained in innocent looking pollen, or an incurable disease and affliction ready to strike him at once from the small prick of a finger against a sharp thorn. Airplane reuses these cliches as much as possible, forcing proximity for Luo Binghe to papapa their way into happiness and marriage with his heavenly pillar.

Shen Qingqiu isn’t a wife, and with the system barely responding to any of his demands, he’s utterly alone at this moment. An off screen death for the scum villain Shen Qingqiu? Unlikely given the need for a blood chilling revenge arc, but still feasible! He has to be as cautious as possible.

Luckily, in his qiankun pouch, a crudely drawn image of the flower he’s looking for greets him. (Seriously, the artistic prowess of whichever bumbling fool drew this leaves much to be desired! He can barely make out the flower’s patterns from the horrible, shaky lines, not to mention the terrible mixing of paint!) Squinting down, he carefully tip toes his way across the field, making sure his face and hands don’t come near any flowers.

It’s hard.

In Proud Immortal Demon Way, Luo Binghe had come across this field plenty of times, usually to seek a cure for a difficult curse one of his wives had been stricken by. (All for naught, the heavenly pillar must be put to work again!) Luo Binghe’s perfect vision and cunning intelligence made telling apart these flowers easy as pie, but Shen Qingqiu doesn’t have that same encyclopaedic knowledge. He sighs, walking in cautious circles, unable to find what he’s looking for.

But suddenly, he sees something. Right in the centre of a cluster of flowers, curled inwards as if in hiding rather than bending towards the sun, he sees it.

A blue stalk, purple petals, red base. It’s no doubt the Thousand Year Fiery Blooming Flower!

“Take that, Airplane,” he mutters under his breath, as he leans down and plucks the flower, careful to touch only its stem, rolling it in between his fingers and inspecting the pattern. “Whatever your precious protagonist can do, so can I!”

Not to say that Luo Bingge isn’t an impressive protagonist—of course he is—but Shen Qingqiu isn’t utterly hopeless.

He tucks the flower into his qiankun pouch, making sure not to damage it or accidentally crush it. It’s surprisingly delicate.

At that very second, a strong wave of dizziness washes over him, unbalancing his feet, sending him staggering back. He rights himself up at the last second before he comes into contact with any flowers. As fast the weakness arrives, it disappears. Phew, if he actually toppled over, who knows what afflictions would strike him? Even Mu Qingfang wouldn’t be able to treat multiple curses and illnesses at once. Wary, he trudges his way down the hill, opting to walk at a slow and measured pace.

It’s a slow, uneventful day, but even so, amidst this weary scenery, his thoughts drift plenty, to places best to keep under lock, because just like fate and just like the rhythm of this warped world, actions are set in stone, and he’ll have to prepare for them, whether he wants to or not.

When he hands Mu Qingfang the flower, he gets an empty eyed stare and a small, “This is the wrong flower.”

Shen Qingqiu, still a bit sweaty, crown titled out of place with wisps of hair falling over his face, blinks slowly, and mutters out a “damn” under his breath.

The walk to Qian Cao Peak is unbearably long without a sword to fly on, and while he could have just sent an outer disciple to pass along the flower, for some inexplicable reason, he felt the urge to keep it in his own care, not trusting anyone else. He was certain he found the right flower; it was practically calling to him. Isn’t that a positive sign?

And then confetti would burst and a chiming ding lets him know the quest is complete. Sometimes he misses the System and the pointless tasks it’ll assign to him (he’d usually reject most of them out of the principle of the matter. What a scammy, good for nothing System!)

Mu Qingfang’s gloved hands examine the flower closely. “This shidi appreciates his shixiong’s attempt. Both flowers do look very similar, I suppose.” He sounds a bit placating, like dealing with a sensitive child. Inwardly, Shen Qingqiu rolls his eyes. Relax, shidi, this shixiong will not burst into tears over getting the wrong flower. “Just from a first glance, I can’t glean this flower’s properties and purpose. Forgive me, but would you mind allowing me to study this flower? Perhaps it has its own healing qualities we are simply unaware of.”

Shen Qingqiu waves his hand, a bit dismissive, before catching himself and pulling out his trusty fan to cover the bottom half of his face. “Shidi can do as he wishes. If that’s all, this shixiong will take his leave.”

Upon Shen Qingqiu’s exit, Mu Qingfang turns back to the flower, curiosity piqued, but the moment he does, the bright purple petals of the flower fall apart one by one and wither into blackened dust. Belatedly, he tries to grasp onto the stalk at the very least, but it too crumples and disintegrates right after.

No matter what anyone says, Shen Qingqiu is doing fine. He doesn’t need to spend so much time looking after his disciples. Ming Fan and Ning Yingying are more than capable enough of dealing with the most unruly of his disciples. Really, beyond the haze of monotony and outside of that one foraging trip, Shen Qingqiu can’t remember the last time he’s felt the urge to do anything.

(How can he just live like normal after what he did?)

Just maybe, he can once again return for longer than an hour once a month and watch his disciples from afar. He doesn’t have to actually take part in any teaching, only inspect the lesson to see if it’s up to standard, and then this curling in his stomach will finally abate.

It’s a lesson set outside this time. Both Ning Yingying and Ming Fan are working in tandem, weaving in between struggling, eager disciples, correcting their stances with small adjustments. Other disciples, the very youngest, are sectioned to the right, sitting on the green grass with their legs crossed, bamboo tables in front of them and calligraphy tools set, waiting for them to pick up the brush and practise their budding skills.

Shen Qingqiu had heard the original goods often kept his disciples inside the lecture and study halls, only taking them outside for evaluations and assessments on their intensive sword drills. Luo Binghe, his white lotus, still bright eyed around the edges, had explained so with a faint frown, unconsciously rubbing his arms where faint scars lay. (Perhaps no more. His healing factor as an awakened heavenly demon should have kicked in.)

Shen Qingqiu had made sure to change this rule of the original's as soon as the OOC function was unlocked. The poor disciples, toiling non stop for hours in the sweltering heat of a bright summer day, or the unforgiving harsh winds of winter! Sure, they might make progress, but it definitely isn’t the right call to make. The scum villain was too cruel in every way!

Going outside should bring one joy, right? In this scenery, in this environment, one should be at peace befitting the scholarly peak.

As he walks along the back row of the disciples diligently practising their calligraphy, he comes across a disciple who has not yet picked up his brush, looking at the blank page in front of him with visible stress. He’s never seen this child. Perhaps he’s one of the new ones Ning Yingying mentioned. The ink gathers at the tip of his brush, and black splotches fall onto his white robes that he tries to scrub off in a panic, only smudging it more. As Shen Qingqiu rounds the table to the very back, the disciple makes eye contact with him and jolts upwards in a hasty attempt to fix his posture, back still and straight.

Fan in hand, he flutters it over his face and stands still behind the child, looking down at his lack of progress. In a daze, the child picks up the ink brush, held in an incorrect grip, not graceful enough for a firm stroke of a character, and hastily tries to copy the text in front of him. But his hands continue to shake and ink continues to splatter onto the page like droplets of blood.

Finally, the child’s expression twists and he bows his head. “Apologies to Shizun. This lowly disciple will accept any punishment deemed fitting.”

Shen Qingqiu freezes, his mind flashing. This reminds him of… Ah.

A few disciples nearby all fall silent, watching the unfolding spectacle with wariness.

With a quiet sigh, Shen Qingqiu crouches down a little and gently tugs the brush out of his trembling fingers. Now firmly in his hand, he displays the correct grip, showing how light but firm it must be.

“Calligraphy is a form of emotional expression,” he says in a quiet voice, not wishing others to overhear. He tilts his head slightly and a curtain of hair falls over one of his eyes, but he still looks at the child who slowly perks up at his words. “If you are nervous, every brush stroke will remain shaky. You must calm your thoughts, steady your breath and it will come much easier to you. What is there to be afraid of at this peak? You are safe here.”

He ignores the splotches of ink that’s seeped into the parchment and slowly begins forming one of the characters that must be copied. His brush work is fluid and effortless, eyes half closed as he guides his body into completing the motions—and oh. He really missed this feeling, he thinks. It’s been years since he took part in calligraphy, even if he only learned it for his role as the scum villain.

The child’s eyes are no longer so dull, twinkling up at him with reverent awe. “Yes, Shizun! This disciple… this disciple understands!”

Unbidden, a smile emerges on his face, one he tapers down soon after, but he doesn’t hold back from the next urge as his hand twitches. The child’s hair is curly and fluffy. Without a second thought he pats his head, once twice…

And then.

Shizun is so cool, just like a peerless immortal would be! Ning-shijie mentioned this already, but I didn’t expect him to be so kind. The rumours really are true.

Shen Qingqiu staggers back as the thought resonates in his mind, as though spoken clearly and aloud in this moment. But when he looks down at the disciple, he’s only smiling up at him, lips shut.

Still. “Did you, um, just say anything right now?” he asks, anyway, just to be sure.

Is he really going crazy, imagining his disciple praising him so candidly?!

“No, shizun,” he says easily, but as he retrieves the ink brush from his hand, the skin of their fingers brush against each for a split second, and that moment is all it takes for another deafening, embarrassing thought to reach him.

Is it true that Shizun stopped visiting the peak after that shixiong’s death? Luo-shixiong, the one who achieved first place in the Immortal Alliance Conference?

Shen Qingqiu staggers back once more.

What is going on?

Maybe he’s really not feeling the best.

Coming outside has been a huge mistake, if he’s beginning to hear things. He’s not a narcissist, okay? He tries to make his way back to the bamboo house, but Ming Fan has already noticed him and is coming over, inner disciple robes fluttering behind him as he steps up onto the wooden platform. His features are light but also scrunched with concern that he’s used to seeing at this point, no matter how unneeded it is.

“Shizun should stay for longer,” he tries to protest, but Shen Qingqiu is already shaking his head.

“At least, take this?” Ming Fan passes him a missive of the updated curriculum for the youngest disciples. All of them are changes he himself pushed to seek through meetings with Yue Qingyuan and the sheer awkwardness that usually entails. But once more, he feels an electric tingle once their fingers brush as he takes the missive, and another echoed voice takes over his senses.

It’s good Shizun came back on his own this time, but he hasn’t been eating well. His cheeks look so sunken.

And quieter, overlapping this statement he hears a small it’s been three years, he has to move on eventually. It’s not the same without him here.

Shen Qingqiu’s heart thuds in his chest, rapidly. Is he imagining this? Is he imagining Ming Fan’s thoughts about him? Ming Fan is the most respectful disciple he’s ever had. He’s such a stickler for the rules. He’d never speak of him as if he’s not even here!

“Shizun?” Ming Fan questions, concern etched on his face and even harder to mask.

Shen Qingqiu must have looked like a fool, standing there in shock, mouth agape.

He dashes back to the bamboo house in a mad haste. In doing so, he bumps into the shoulder of one of his inner disciples, and in less than a second, he hears a different voice, one projecting emotions different to the genial facial expression he’s met with.

So the rumours are true then? He’s really lost his mind, running so inelegantly on the peak. Oh shizun, please recover swiftly!

In a panic, he leaps across the peak until he finally reaches his bamboo house, the one place where he can be alone, and slams the door shut behind him.

System?! he inwardly asks, sanity fraying at the edges.

But why would the system answer? Shen Qingqiu’s wellbeing during the tumultuous arc of the Endless Abyss means nothing in the face of the protagonist’s suffering. It was agreed on by fellow readers that in those five years, the original goods was continuing to be his cruel, evil self, tormenting his disciples and revelling in the assumed murder of his most hated one. Without Luo Binghe’s appearance, the plot cannot commence. In his absence, the world will come to a stop, suspended in time until it can resume being a stage for the protagonists’ shining character.

He doesn’t need that stinking System. Shen Qingqiu’s not stupid. Already, multiple possibilities are whirling through his mind. It seems as though he may have been afflicted by a mind reading curse or illness. And each time it’s happened, physical contact has been the trigger.

Airplane’s used the trope of mind reading numerous times before in Proud Immortal Demon Way’s 20 million words. It’s not a rare trope by any means, but not the most popular. A bit too romantic for such a violent, edgy novel. Usually a heroine would read Luo Binghe’s thoughts and notice how… sensuous and charming his thoughts are, which would then induce a round of horribly written sex. Nothing as romantic as hearing the inner thoughts of a man hell bent on pulling you into his ever growing harem. Mind reading situations were a trope where Luo Binghe would become amused by the innocence of the headstrong heroine opposed to him, causing them to temporarily put their differences aside and work together to get out of their predicament. From the top of his head, Shen Qingqiu remembers seven different instances of such a trope, but only one comes to mind from physical contact.

True Souls Star Flower.

It can’t be anything but that.

It’s a simple curse where upon physical contact, he's able to read the thoughts the person has about him in that moment. It’s pretty invulnerable and has a million useful applications that Airplane’s empty mind never remembered to resolve obvious plot holes. The only exception to this rule is that heavenly demons can read your thoughts back if you touch them, so any murder attempts against Emperor Bing-ge got foiled pretty quickly.

Airplane never went into too much detail when revealing Luo Binghe’s true thoughts despite the perfect opportunity to! That’s the stuff of insane character development. Makes sense this hack would chicken out and not give Luo Binghe the much deserved depth he needs.

Still, he doesn’t see the point in him having this curse. There are no upcoming plots to worry about, not for another two years, so it might just be a freak accident from his own ineptitude.

Eh, he’ll deal.

He locks himself on Qing Jing Peak after that, tucked away in his bamboo house until he receives the summons from Yue Qingyuan about the outbreak in Jin Lan city. With Liu Qingge clearing his meridians from Without a Cure flare ups, and Mu Qingfang actually being the one to make his medicine, there’s no way for him to be safe on the peak, irrespective of Yue Qingyuan’s weird protective instincts to keep him behind.

It’s not like this curse is harmful. Some would even call it useful. If he can read the minds of anyone from the smallest touch, uncovering the mystery of the outbreak in Jin Lan city will be easy.

It’s easy, he thinks, as he walks five steps behind his martial brothers as they enter Jin Lan city. It’s easy, he continues to think, as Liu Qingge turns his head back and levels him with an unimpressed stare.

“Are you having a flare up?” he asks.

As blunt as always, Liu-shidi…

“This shixiong is fine. Just a little under the weather, is all,” he settles on saying, but if he had a bunch of dialogue options like the dating simulator games he sister loved to play, then that would have been the wrong option.

Liu Qingge swivels around and charges up to him, and before Shen Qingqiu can even protest or move back, a firm muscular hand encloses around his wrist, loosening into a gentler hold as he sends a trickle of qi into meridians.

Shen Qingqiu’s not that nosy of a person. Honest! He really doesn’t want to hear Liu Qingge’s thoughts about himself. Hey, System! Is there any possible way to stop this—

The thoughts enter his mind, clear and precise as if spoken through a microphone, placed just outside his ears.

His meridians seem fine, but his wrist is still so thin. Did he not take in the monster meat I left on his doorstep?

And even more insistent, pressing against his skull: I have to protect him. I have to protect him. I have to. It’s not safe here, and he’s already feeling sick? Should he have stayed behind after all, then?

While he’s slightly more prepared for this sensation, he’s still very taken aback. Shen Qingqiu notices that alongside these thoughts, he can also detect a myriad of emotions. Liu Qingge feels so intensely. This intoxicating mix of frustration, anger and something else he can’t identify rattles against his ribcage, as if in protest for being locked away for so long.

Shuddering, Shen Qingqiu finally steps back and removes his hand, trembling softly at his side, but still, he manages to smile, because now he knows for a fact that Liu Qingge cares for him just as much as he does! What a good, diligent shidi he is! He’s so glad they’ve come this far from the wariness and distrust of their start. In the grand scheme of things, this bond might not be as important, not when Luo Binghe will one day strive to take his revenge, but it still matters to him.

Liu Qingge gives him a curious look, pony tail swishing to the side as he looks away when he receives a bright grin. He hates showing how much he cares, but he really does, doesn’t he? It’s cute!

For the rest of their entry into Jin Lan city, it commences without a hitch. Mysteries unravel, and Shen Qingqiu is careful to not touch anyone. With the suspicion of a plague, such precaution wouldn’t be unfounded or suspicious. He keeps to himself like this, Liu Qingge walking a few steps behind, Mu Qingfang a few paces ahead.

A cloaked old woman walks in his direction, angled straight at him. Always cautious and on edge, Shen Qingqiu squints and catalogues her heavy gait, the odd twinkle in her eye. Sure enough, once she’s in close proximity to him, she topples over him, body suddenly so much weaker despite being as heavy as a boulder.

Shen Qingqiu hears it instantly.

These meddling cultivators won’t know what hit them when this plague eats them from the inside out.

Why is their inner monologue so stereotypically evil and direct? And even worse, he’s infected? Just like that?!

He spins on his heel and lunges to grab at the stranger’s cloak, but they’re far faster than him, dashing in between each of his jumps and darting into the twisting alleys. He tries to make chase, but a painful burning itch on his hand directs him to the growing rash. Just like that, it seems. Liu Qingge attempts to track them down, but they’ve truly vanished into thin air, not leaving a single trail or hint of their disappearance.

The Huan Hua youth Gongyi Xiao offers them his assistance directing them to an establishment in order to continue their investigation and join forces, but Shen Qingqiu is already in such a foul mood. He hates this mind reading curse with every fibre of his being. That was the one moment it was meant to be useful, and even with his foresight, he couldn’t change anything. This ability doesn’t make him feel in control. Having this kind of knowledge feels unfair—why should he know the thoughts of every person who comes into contact with him. Isn’t it just unnatural? Shouldn’t some things remain as they are?

When will he be relieved of this burden? Seriously!

So maybe he’s out of it. Maybe he’s tired and grumpy and frustrated out of his mind.

Even then, the moment he sees that familiar silhouette, the entire world seems to come to a halt. The rushing sound of congregated voices, the pulsing of his tensed heart, the droning thud of steps and bodies moving in and out of the door. All of it fades away. The beam of light, the universe, is concentrated into that single, sturdy frame.

Luo Binghe.

He’s grown into his features. They are both delicate and sharp, soft and open, but also guarded. His jaw is more defined, and his eyes are bright and alert, looking at the Huan Hua disciples before him with muted interest. His tight curls tumble down his strong back in a thick, healthy pointy tail, loose enough for an errant curl to frame the side of his face, elegant and effortless, befitting the cover of a romance novel. Brown skin glows in a healthy tone, almost glistening with how wondrous he looks.

He looks… He looks…

【 Hibernation mode suspended. Normal operation mode activated. 】

Seriously?! Now of all times?

【 Download and installation of update complete. 】

In that very moment, Luo Binghe’s gaze connects to his, eyes almost burning with intensity. He doesn’t waste a second before heading over, when Shen Qingqiu’s mind can’t compute a single thing.

Isn’t he two years early? The Endless Abyss arc should be way longer! It’s integral to his character development. Why is he out already? Shen Qingqiu thought he had more time!

Of course, as a master of bullshittery, he keeps up his aloof demeanour, humming when needed, but he takes two large steps back the moment Luo Binghe stands in front of him.

He does not imagine the way Luo Binghe’s expression darkens even further. What did he do now?!!!

“So it really is Shizun,” Luo Binghe says, intense eyes scanning over his entire body.

His voice is a deep, soothing baritone, quiet but loud enough for the other Huan Hua disciples to hear as well. It’s almost melodic, as though created with the intention to curve and undulate against his sensitive ears and promise that painful future.

He holds back from calling out to the System like it’s his mother and holds his tongue mostly throughout the entire conversation, even as Luo Binghe’s piercing stare doesn’t leave him once, even as Huan Hua disciples shout and threaten him for his supposed cruelty.

He doesn’t care at this point, as long as he can keep his distance for now.

But still, if he didn’t take a step back, if their skin brushed against each other, as brief as it would have been, is he really ready to hear the murderous thoughts of his once white lotus disciple? Is he willing to hear the threats and feel the intense hate? Heavenly demons have heightened senses and heightened emotions. Even back in the novel, Luo Binghe’s emotions were vicious and overbearing on its own, amplified a million times by Xin Mo’s influence.

He huddles behind Liu Qingge and Mu Qingfang. They both look at him in askance, but keep their thoughts to themselves for the time being, a protective defence line created for him.

Luo Binghe’s calm demeanour cracks, voice bending even lower, a little gluttural as his half lidded eyes narrow at him. “Is Shizun not pleased to see this disciple alive and well?”

So insistent. He’s taunting him! Shen Qingqiu looks down at Luo Binghe’s tensed, clenched fist by his side, and thinks does he want to punch me?! Not now, Binghe—think of your image!

Under no circumstances are he and Luo Binghe to touch. The consequences would be catastrophic.

It takes some time for Mu Qingfang and Liu Qingge to leave him be. They pester him with questions he can’t and won’t answer. He knows it makes him seem even more suspicious, but what can he say? I knew my disciple was alive this entire time because I, myself, pushed him into the Endless Abyss. But don’t worry, I didn’t actually try to murder him, because I knew he’d live as the protagonist. What bullshit. Who in the world would believe that?

The room he’s staying in is stuffy and cramped, but it’s the privacy he needs. The moment Shen Qingqiu is alone, he immediately rounds up to the System.

“You know what curse I’ve been hit with, don’t you?”

The System dings in affirmative, chiming its response.

【 Host has been struck by True Souls Star Flower’s pollen. Upon inhalation, any physical contact with a being, human or demon, will cause you to read the thoughts they have about you in that moment. 】

Shen Qingqiu crosses his arms, tapping his foot, testily. “You forgot to mention one thing.” When the System stills, he huffs out, “The heavenly demon bit!”

【 If Host is aware of this addition, then there is no need for the System to say it (￢_￢;). 】

“I don’t have the patience.” Shen Qingqiu bites out.

The System somehow manages to sound a bit sullen and put out in its robotic voice. 【 Upon physical contact with a heavenly demon, said heavenly demon can read the thoughts you have about them too. The cure to this curse is coming to a thorough understanding of both of your true feelings. If all else fails, then dual cultivation—】

“Alright, I get it!” he snaps, walking paces around the room. As he bites the nail of his thumb, Shen Qingqiu looks up at the System again, albeit helplessly. “Is there any way you can prevent me from having my thoughts read?”

【 There are 3 available options. Is Host interested? 】

“What do I have to fucking lose,” he mutters, then sighs. “Alright. List ‘em out.”

【 Option 1: get transported back into your original body. Survival rate: 0%. 】

“How does that fix anything?” he blurts out in disbelief. He doesn’t want to die!

Is the System telling him that if Luo Binghe reads his mind and finds out he’s a transmigrator, then he’ll be sent back to his original world? After all, wouldn’t that change the entire genre of a power fantasy stallion novel? We’re not going for meta narratives here! Would the average Zhongdian reader even fully understand that concept?! Also, considering this is a world built on fiction, if Luo Binghe is aware of that fact, wouldn’t reality, like, shatter or something? He read that in another webnovel once.

Shen Qingqiu may be grasping at straws here, but there’s too many unknown variables to consider, and the system isn’t being helpful at all.

【 Option 2: go into hiding until the curse wears away on its own and Luo Binghe fully consolidates his power as a Huan Hua disciple. Survival rate: 2%. 】

He groans. Just great. “Where would I even hide?”

【 That is for Host to figure out. ╮(︶︿︶)╭ 】

Running away at this point just isn’t feasible, as much as he really, really wants to. As long as he remains in this body, Luo Binghe will find him; that’s his prerogative as the protagonist, and his own role as the scum villain. Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t be surprised if the stars align and if nature twists and grabs at him with the sole intention of bringing him to Luo Binghe. The protagonist’s reach extends that far. He’s magnetising in a world so bland beyond the cool monsters Airplane crafted, and this is coming from the unbiased review of a passionate anti fan!

It’s out of the question. The Sun-Moon Dew Mushroom isn’t ready, and even if it was, the System definitely won’t let him escape into that body without completing his scum villain duties. He still has to survive torture and dismemberment and everything.

(He lived a good past life! A bit lazy but he was a good, kind sibling, son and an upright Chinese citizen. Why is he suffering through this?)

The System chimes once more, cutting through his self deprecating, doomed thoughts.

【 Option 3: temporary memory loss. Survival rate: 30%. 】

Temporary memory loss? That sounds shady as fuck! And how would it even work? He might be desperate, but he’ll never go that far. Who knows what his amnesiac self would get up to? If he thought he died and woke up in Shen Qingqiu’s body after Luo Binghe already went into the Endless Abyss, whatever mental crisis he’s having now would be doubled by a million! Worst case scenario!

Shen Qingqiu frowns. “Can’t you just block out certain thoughts from Luo Binghe? Like a filter of anything to do with transmigration?”

The answer is immediate and swift.

【 System does not have the power to exert control or influence over Protagonist. 】

Is Luo Binghe some sort of cosmic, unavoidable force?!

He’s starting to think that may be the case…

He carefully goes over his options—if he can even call them that. The cons all outweigh the pros, but he is leaning towards just going into hiding. Maybe before Luo Binghe finds him he can find a cure that isn’t dual cultivation or coming to a ‘thorough understanding of feelings with someone’, whatever the fuck that means. It’s not like this curse is Without a Cure levels of bullshittery; he should find some sort of solution.

His best bet for now is to wait for Mu Qingfang to return and confide in him about this curse, and see if they can work together to figure out how to reach a cure.

Two firm knocks echo in that very moment, disrupting him from his spontaneous plotting. Relieved, he opens the door, speaking with his head turned. “Liu-shidi, it’s good you’re here. I actually really need to see Mu-shidi about—”

Coldness seeps into the room as the door opens, chilling his bones.

When he looks up, he’s face to face with a serene expression carved of marble, devoid of extreme emotion, eyebrows straight, lips in a thin line that then curves up in a mockery of a smile, hands out of sight and behind his back.

Luo Binghe’s quiet voice resonates through his entire body, like an electric jolt snapping through his veins at once. Like he's innocent vulture, unaware of the bird of prey perched above and waiting, waiting for the right moment to swoop down and snip his flesh apart with its beak and talons.

Shen Qingqiu may have just been idle, lounging in a room alone when Luo Binghe could attack at any time, but adrenaline kicks into him, delayed but sputtering like a revving engine. He leaps out of the window, not before grabbing his fan, and sprints madly through the dead streets of Jin Lan. The barren roads allow him to sprint at full speed, circulating qi through the meridians in his legs to boost his pace even more.

As he dashes through curving alleys, panicked thoughts attack his mind. Oh god, he’s gonna string me up, now! He’s gonna read all my thoughts and find out everything, and then use the knowledge to kill me!

Luo Binghe’s shadow reflects across entrances and exits of alleys and corners like an apparition, flickering in and out of existence, haunting him with relentless pursuit, here one second and gone the next. The speed he gains with each twist and turn Shen Qingqiu takes makes him think he’s only toying with him, seeing how far he’ll go to avoid confronting him. The moonlight almost glows a soft red above him, bright and spectating their dance of predator and prey.

But who is he kidding?

Luo Binghe will catch him.

And the moment that doomed thought crosses his mind, he reaches a dead end, all alleys branching out cut off to this one tall wall.

“Caught you, Shizun.”

Luo Binghe’s thunderous steps are measured and rapt on the ground, like he’s strolling his way over effortlessly.

Shen Qingqiu’s chest feels tight, not only with terror but exhaustion, panting to catch his breath as his back hits the wall. Once more, he looks upon Luo Binghe, whose red eyes gleam with bloodlust and whose beautiful features twist with an unidentified emotion.

He’s made distance—so much distance, he’s not an immortal for nothing—but it means nothing in the face of this world’s protagonist, unruffled from the chase, gleeful by the destined outcome.

Is this it? Everything… Everything I’ve worked so hard for will just end like this?

In his panic, he doesn’t even notice as another Without a Cure flare up has begun taking over his body, weakening his body further, and leaving his last line of defence obsolete.

Clawed hands bend and reach out towards him, only an arm’s length away.

But Shen Qingqiu won’t give in and let this happen without a fight.

“Don’t touch me!” he hisses out, meeting Luo Binghe’s cool eyes. He leans back as far as he can, putting more and more space between them.

At first, Luo Binghe’s expression clears into passive neutrality. The twisted smirk on his face recedes, and even the furrow between his brow smooths out. Instead, he stares upon him in silence, like a being devoid of thoughts. He watches over him in calculation and in something else Shen Qingqiu can’t quite parse. Moonlight glints against his curls, highlighting his black robes and the hilt of his sword. Xin Mo. It has to be.

“This disciple is hurt,” Luo Binghe says, without a hint of emotion in his voice. “Shizun is so gentle, even with strangers like Gongyi Xiao, and has become so close and intimate with Liu-shishu. What makes this disciple the exception to that rule?”

His Without a Cure flare up worsens, causing his body to feel heavy and for his brain to barely process Luo Binghe’s words, but he can’t ignore him, not fully.

“Is Shizun so repulsed by this disciple that even the thought of my touch fills you with this amount of hatred? So cruel, Shizun.”

Shadows stretch over his face as Luo Binghe looms over him, the forced calmness in his voice stuttering and breaking apart the longer Shen Qingqiu remains silent.

“Are you not going to call for help? Ask Liu-shishu to assist you in vanquishing the demon in your midst?” His shining ruby eyes once more light up with interest, and derision. He leans even closer, as if mocking him, not yet touching him, only a sliver of it. A brush of thick hair against his neck, sinister, curved lips almost grazing the outer shell of his ear. He whispers, intimately, almost affectionately, “Come on, Shizun, you can’t avoid this forever.”

System! System?

But at the one moment he needs the system the most, teetering on the edge of death, it disappears, as if satisfied with his position. What the fuck? If it wasn’t a transparent blue box, he’d have wrangled it to a pulp ages ago!

Before he can call for the broken System once more, Luo Binghe strikes. He grabs him by the neck, nails piercing into his skin, and slams him against the wall behind him. The crash disorients his brain and causes him to mentally check out. The pain ebbs and leaves, but the disorientation remains. He tries his hardest to even grab at Xiu Ya, but the strength of Luo Binghe’s grip is insurmountable.

He is indefatigable and Shen Qingqiu is beholden to his might. He’ll be crushed and killed underneath the protagonist’s might, and remain as a dark footnote in his path to glory.

Luo Binghe’s hand tightens further. And further.

And further.

And simultaneously, Shen Qingqiu gasps out in both pain and shock as a hulking mass of emotions attack him all at once, entering his mind as if drowning it.

The weight of these intense emotions are so large, he loses control of his body, only balanced up by Luo Binghe’s threatening chokehold. They carve open his brain: fear, fury, an overwhelming sense of loneliness, like the bottom of a black ocean, where water has already invaded your lungs and turned you up inside out. Fathomless, bottomless as you sink faster and faster and deeper and deeper and—

His Binghe has suffered so much. So incredibly much to continue walking so confidently with his head held high whilst bearing wounds this deep and aching. Isn’t he still his beloved white lotus, somewhere underneath all this pain? Shen Qingqiu has ruined him beyond measure, flayed open his skin and left him to rot in a fiery pit.

He feels sick.

He is sick. Twisted beyond measure to force his Binghe to go through this. What he’s feeling right now must be only a fraction of the agony he endured down there. So what if the penalty for his failure was death? Does it matter if Luo Binghe is once more miserable and tortured? Does the action get balanced by the eventual harem he'll gain?

He doesn’t realise that Luo Binghe has already let go of him, an expression of pure bewilderment crossing his features as he watches Shen Qingqiu cough violently, tears almost shedding in the corner of his red rimmed eyes.

“Shizun?”

He grabs his shoulder, and once more those foreign emotions enter his mind, this time followed by a clear, familiar voice echoing inside of him.

Is it Without a Cure? Luo Binghe’s gentle concerned voice, a far cry from his calculating, snideful baritone, asks. But I just heard Shizun speak. He sounded so sad. Why is he sad? Does Shizun regret it then, or am I hearing things? It must be that poisonous sword again.

“It’s not Xin Mo,” Shen Qingqiu grits out, throat hoarse and sore.

Luo Binghe cocks his head, hair flickering and curls, that he once stroked with fondness years ago, bouncing with his movement. His eyes narrow.

“Is Shizun sick?”

“In a sense,” he hedges on to say, warily, right hand rubbing his throat. Luo Binghe tracks the movement and he hears his voice once more, even while his mouth is pursed in thought. I grabbed him too hard. I just wanted to scare him a little, but Shizun is so delicate. Like a maiden.

Shen Qingqiu scoffs inwardly at the sheer gall. Who are you calling delicate, ah?!

Shizun?

Fuck.

Luo Binghe is smart. He’ll figure it out.

“Is Shizun perhaps cursed?”

His hands are still firmly placed on his shoulders, like a searing hot brand. “Just… stop touching me, and I’ll explain everything.”

Luo Binghe hums with understanding but asks, “Why?” like the liar he is.

Because it’s a curse triggered by touch, obviously! Fuck my fucking life!

Luo Binghe’s lips twitch, but he acquiesces, letting go and taking a single step back. He’s still close enough that his distinct scent of cloves and jasmine invade his senses, but distant enough that Shen Qingqiu feels the less claustrophobic. Fucking hell! How is he still alive? Does Luo Binghe really care about the background behind his stupid curse?

Perhaps he’s digging for information for ways to exploit him further later on. Yeah, that makes more sense. It appears as though Luo Binghe wants to utterly destroy his reputation first, step on his pride like it’s a squashed bug, before finally ripping his limbs apart. Shen Qingqiu can’t really appreciate the cunningness of it all when he’s the recipient of it.

So far his thoughts have been mindless and simple, courtesy of the backlash faced from getting his skull smashed into a wall, but he’s slowly regaining his razor sharp awareness, mind buzzing and whirring with a million thoughts holding equal value in his brain. With the System’s disappearance, one wrong move will write out his death.

When his eyes dart to the alley’s exit, Luo Binghe steps forward once more, concealing his view, and before he can protest or fight back, that same hand once more lashes at his face and presses against his open mouth. Just from the metallic taste alone, Shen Qingqiu knows what he’s been fed, and all his fight scratches its way up his throat at once, struggling to break free.

Motherfucker! Don’t swallow! Don’t! Don’t! How can I survive with blood mites inside of me?!

“So Shizun knows what my blood does. Curious,” Luo Binghe comments as the wound on his finger continues to spill into Shen Qingqiu’s mouth. With a wet gag, he tries his hardest to cough it up, but Luo Binghe continues to grab his mouth, sealing it shut and rendering him immobile, just like that. “You won’t die from consuming my filthy blood. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

The loudest thought, amidst the intense, charged emotions filtering into his mind, is a possessive, violent croon. Now Shizun can never escape from me.

Ah, Bing-ge! Stop using lines a serial killer would! This master can’t take it anymore!

Luo Binghe huffs a laugh, even while forcing his blood down his throat. Shen Qingqiu might be delirious to think it’s one of the most beautiful sounds he’s ever heard in both his lives, in spite of the malicious tinge to it. “I’d have never thought Shizun’s internal voice could be so expressive. This disciple is learning a lot tonight.”

Shen Qingqiu can feel the blood mites moving inside of him, invading his body and mending his fatigue and wariness, unclogging his meridians, and even curing him of the plague’s infection in one fell swoop. It’s a lot done in only a few seconds of intense agonising pain, like his body itself is being rearranged and made anew.

As fast as Luo Binghe’s smile arrives, it disappears. “Bear with the pain, Shizun. This disciple apologises, but it can only happen this way.”

Bullshit, there’s plenty of scenes where Luo Binghe uses his blood mites on his wives as painlessly as possible. Wait fuck, don’t think about that, don’t don’t don’t—

Luo Binghe has finally removed his hand from his mouth, and now places it on top of his palm, rubbing circles into his hand where the rash once was—it feels decidedly soothing in the middle of this chaos. “The curse still remains, but this disciple has taken the initiative to cure Shizun of the plague ailing him.”

Is he meant to thank him? He’s still terrified out of his mind? What on Earth is going on? One second Luo Binghe looks at him like he wants to see his innards splattered on the ground, and the next second he speaks to him in a gentle tone. Is this some kind of manipulation tactic he’s trying out? All it’s doing is wearing his mind down.

In line with his thoughts, Luo Binghe interlaces their fingers together, sharp, black claws scraping against the skin of his knuckles.

The possessive thoughts shift into one a bit more intense but petulant. Shizun's hand is still so soft. I bet he’s given loads of disciples head pats while I was in the Endless Abyss.

Why is that what you focus on? Also, no.

Really?

In a shock, he tries unlocking their hands, but Luo Binghe squeezes tighter, not enough to hurt but enough to creak his bones a bit.

So sticky!

He can’t lose focus, no matter if his disciple’s current actions remind him of his sweet white lotus. That’s not him! It can’t be! After escaping from the Endless Abyss, Luo Binghe is destined to become a fearsome, terrifying emperor, slaughtering his way through villages and sects alike, forcing both realms under his heel.

How can his inner thoughts be innocent? Tender? It’s a trap! A trap!

His entire body shakes from stress, brain working overtime in an attempt to protect himself. He doesn’t know what thoughts are being shared with Luo Binghe, and he can’t glean anything from his bare, simple reactions. At this point, he’s utterly powerless in every conceivable level.

And instead of striking him, or ending his life without a shred of mercy, Luo Binghe decides to hold his hand? Has he stepped into an alternate reality? Has the System pitied his poor soul, and transported him to a kinder world?

Just then, a thought amplifies through his mind, as if placed there for him to find.

.

.

.

Shizun is so tense. I wonder if he’s nervous about me finding out that he’s taken over this body to become my shizun?

No.

No!

Shen Qingqiu throat clams shut, heart dropping to his stomach like it’s weighed down by a sack of rocks, thudding slowly, as if losing function. Nausea ripples through his body—through this body—and his legs give out first, back sliding down the wall.

But Luo Binghe won’t let go of him. Not when he’s got him right where he wants him. He continues to interlace their fingers in a firm, unrelenting hold, forcing him to stand on his two legs. Forced to confront his moment and not run away. The foreign emotions invading his mind explode in an outpour of intensity, hot and cold, burning and frigid, raking against his brain. Elation, satisfaction, and desire. It churns through his system, electrifying him down from the tip of his fingers to the very top of his head.

He waits for the apocalypse, for his demise, for Luo Binghe’s skin to crumple like ripped paper, disintegrating in front of his eyes, as this truth tears the word asunder. He waits for the System’s whirring, beeping noises of alert, warning him of this irreparable shift, destroying the setting of this story. His failure. He waits for the edges of this world to split into a million fragments and fall apart into that void he remembers finding the first time he woke up in this second life.

But nothing happens.

The gust of wind still presses against his robes, chilling his back with minute shivers, Jin Lan’s empty streets and alleys remain unbearably silent, as if unheeding of this incomprehensible revelation, the moon still bares its light down upon him, and Luo Binghe, last but by far not least, still holds his hand, tighter, as if the thought of letting go is simply unthinkable.

“Shizun is terrified,” Luo Binghe says, squeezing his hand, and for some reason, that single point of contact is enough for him to not start dry heaving at once. His hold is a mimicry of a lover’s embrace. He pats his back once, slowly. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I would never hurt my Shizun.”

“Stop it,” he breathes, dizzy and sick. “How did you… How…”

Luo Binghe’s brows furrow. “Shizun’s thoughts are so loud, did you know? They’re so expressive and honest. Dozens of thoughts flow at once. For anyone else it may be overwhelming and impossible to comprehend, but I want to understand Shizun. I want to know everything about you, It didn’t take long to confirm my initial suspicions from a single errant thought of yours.”

“Y-You suspected that I… that I…” Even now he can’t say it. His mouth is running on autopilot.

Luo Binghe nods firmly. “I had my suspicions at first, from the moment I experienced different treatment, but I was only sure once you took that hit for me against Elder Sky Hammer. You are my only shizun. There is nobody else.”

The overpowering loneliness still channels through his thoughts, but that unidentified feeling from before rises again. What is it? It’s warm. It eases his anxiety, like tiny waves lapping at a shore, careful, but insistent, soon powerful and crashing its way to the surface. He’s felt this emotion too before. He knows he has.

“Does Shizun really have to ask?” Luo Binghe says, voice a tad teasing, but still unnervingly desperate and wild. “Surely, he knows what I feel. You can hear my thoughts, too, every single one, can’t you? There’s no need to deny it any longer.”

His mouth opens and closes, tongue dry and still.

“It’s love, Shizun. This disciple never gave up his love for you, even when you cast him into the Endless Abyss. I survived every monster, every injury and every feeling of hopelessness, with the thought of seeing you again. I wanted to prove to you that my blood is not cursed, and that even with my heritage, I can be a disciple you’re proud of.” All of a sudden, Luo Binghe’s gentle eyes well up with tears. “I’m not impressive enough right now. I haven’t proven myself yet, but here I am, selfishly clinging to you anyway.”

He finishes with a hopeful whisper. “I won’t survive again if you cast me away once more.”

“But you also know… You know that… I’m not…”

“I won’t ask questions,” he says. “I don’t care how Shizun has come to be. I only care that he’s here now and won’t leave me. Never again.”

This is too simple. It’s too straightforward. He should suffer for his actions. That’s the intended progression of the plot. That’s his role. How can he betray Luo Binghe and face no consequences? Is he that naive? Isn’t it even worse that he treated him kindly at first, only to toss him away once necessary to save his own hide?

“I can hear you,” Luo Binghe reminds him, voice raising with frustration. “Why would I hurt my shizun? Stop thinking of that other Luo Binghe and look at me! Look only at me!” He grips his chin, tilting it up, fiery gaze meeting his own. “Shizun’s thoughts still confuse me, but I am beginning to make sense of them. You do not think of me in those moments. That other Luo Binghe is not me. I would never harm my shizun. This disciple swears it.”

Embarrassed, he finds his expression mirroring Luo Binghe’s, a tear sliding down his cheek. Easily, Luo Binghe wipes it away, and he’s embraced in that same warm, feathery feeling again, comforting him from his panic. It’s a mixture of his and Luo Binghe’s emotions, empowered and bolstered by the combination.

He believes him. How can he not? This is still the Luo Binghe he’s spent the years of his youth with, memories fresh even after their lengthy separation.

“This master has much to tell Binghe,” he finally says, choking on a sob.

It’s been so hard, fighting against a plot larger than life, holding the fate of the entire world against his shoulders, but now Luo Binghe is in front of him, still caring for him, and in any other scenario he’d distrust him immediately, but this curse works both ways this time. He can hear every intimate, insecure but earnest thought of Luo Binghe’s. He can hear his passions, his fears, his doubts and the sheer magnitude of his love for him. Faced in this vulnerable position, it’s impossible to reject him and hide away.

Luo Binghe cradles his cheek, rubbing at his fresh tears once more. “This disciple will wait for it. As long as it takes.”

Years from now, Shen Qingqiu will tell Luo Binghe that he did not do this. He would never be so shameless.

Caught up in a mixture of adrenaline and relief and other confusing emotions influencing him, he grabs at Luo Binghe’s robe, and pulls him down for a kiss. Luo Binghe reciprocates immediately, kissing back like he’s been starved for years—and in a way he really has. His sticky disciple tries to quicken the kiss, steering it into one more desperate and heady with too much teeth and tongue, but this time, Shen Qingqiu will take command. He pulls at his robe to steady him, and directs him to a slow, measured kiss, one where he can feel him as much as possible, one where their emotions and hearts can intertwine, seamlessly meshed together. He’s certain Luo Binghe can taste his own blood on his tongue; It’s his tongue that probes into his mouth, directing him to the right movements to make it as pleasurable as possible, and it’s his teeth that nip at Luo Binghe’s full, red lips.

His thoughts are screaming at him because what the fuck, he’s not gay, why are they suddenly kissing, and why did he do this? but it gets drowned out by how natural and right this feels. Even as Luo Binghe clumsily kisses back, picking up on his ministrations with frightening quickness, he can’t regret, can’t fight against it. This is his Luo Binghe. Their thoughts are one; there’s no hiding.

As they finally pull back, Luo Binghe’s expression is dazed and pleased, eager to lean in for more, but Shen Qingqiu huffs and covers his face with his fan, preventing him from doing so.

“Come back with me first,” he orders. “This master is getting cold and requires sleep.”

Luo Binghe wilts but can do nothing but agree. “This disciple understands.”

As they leave the alley, the System returns to life, as if waiting for the curtains of a stage to close, dinging congratulatory noises and popping confetti.

【 The True Souls Star Flower curse has been resolved! 20,000+ protagonist satisfaction points have been awarded! You have unlocked a new feature: genre shift from stallion novel into danmei and metafiction! Story completion: 50%. Keep up the good work! 】

Shitty system, he curses. Didn’t I ruin the plot? Isn’t the world meant to collapse or something while I get sent back to my original body?

【 The system has never said such a thing! As Host did not divulge his transmigration status on his own, System sees no reason to add a penalty. Host is free to enjoy his time with Protagonist, as long as he keeps up his Protagonist Satisfaction Points above minimum threshold! This System will work to support Host when necessary to achieve a satisfactory ending! 】

His thoughts have slowly begun to return to its buzzing hub of activity, plotting ahead for future events, now with the added variable of Luo Binghe’s inclusion into his plans. There are still many conversations to be had, and he won’t keep Luo Binghe waiting for too long. His fast, panicked thoughts aren’t enough for him to piece everything together, irrespective of his frightening intelligence, but right now he really is so tired. Both his back and head ache and tingle.

Luo Binghe’s knowing eyes catch his as he speeds up to walk beside him, even if he can no longer read his thoughts. To be understood so thoroughly by the protagonist—no, by his Binghe—is scary but leaves him feeling hopeful for the future.

They’ll face it all together.

Luo Binghe is a being made of loneliness. It has crept behind him his entire life, maybe even before then, lurking in the dark and waiting for his single moment of happiness to strike. It is always timed at such a moment to invoke the greatest amount of tragedy possible, like his grief and suffering is made palatable for an empty audience. His autonomy must have been robbed by the heavens

to always be rendered so powerless.

When he returned to his mother’s warm corpse, a second away from saying his farewells, this emptiness rose up in him first, and only continued to accumulate when he became a disciple of Qing Jing Peak.

The splash of scalding hot tea on his face, the brunt force of hundreds and thousands of sharp, barbed lashes bearing down on his hunched, trembling back, the rupturing of his meridians as he attempted to teach himself cultivation from a manual that won’t work—all of it was comical, ridiculous in its level of cruelty, designed to break him, and he felt every single bit.

No matter what, he felt the pain, and he tucked it behind the joy he remembers when eating his mother’s cooking, the smell of her congee comforting him, or the satisfaction of a task completed well, and even Ning Yingying’s kind, encouraging comments when all seemed lost. Luo Binghe, if always hollow like this, will always cradle every kind action close to his heart, to remind himself he’s a person, to remind himself he’s human. He would have let that kindness warp, until all he can think of is paying back every inflicted pain on him by tenfold in the hopes of it mending the tear in his soul spilling out.

That man—not his shizun, and he’s not Shen Qingqiu, not anymore—gazed at him with a look that transcended hate. It was cosmic and haunting, as if reminding him of his chained fate, but it was also petty and fuelled by envy and other human qualities, as cruel as it was. When pinned by that glare, his heart would seize and almost stop working.

Luo Binghe could have drowned under this loneliness. He could have let it taint his soul, blackening it wholly, and he knew he was almost there. Everyday, his composure had been tested, chipped away like a statue seconds before crumpling into smithereens.

But then he met his shizun.

One day, the beatings stopped.

One day, he no longer felt hard planks of splintered wood digging into his body when sleeping.

One day, he felt a pat on his head that was not holding his hair down to pummel him into a bruised mess. It was simple, maybe done without a thought, the sort of kindness one didn’t dwell on for too long.

Luo Binghe hungered.

He watched warily from afar as his new shizun, whose name he didn’t know, tried emulating the cruelty of his old one, unable to fully commit to the bit. His facial features were as gentle as his head pats he freely gave out, with easy smiles on his face. He knew his fellow disciples were also bewildered by this sudden shift, but they had never seen the full depths to their deceased shizun. Only Luo Binghe did. He knew hate like that could only be snuffed through death.

This new shizun of his was not capable or built for that hatred. He was gentle, and when he looked upon Luo Binghe, it was with a mixture of fondness and awe, from the moment they had interacted, and wasn’t that odd?

Luo Binghe did not question this shift too much, and instead thought of it as a reprieve, but from then on, in every moment of his life that would play out like a scene where he’s once again directed through an invisible path to lose all power, his shizun was there.

His shizun would look him in the eye, not above him to the side, and offer him protection.

At first, Luo Binghe warily accepted this, still cautious, but somewhat hopeful.

It all changed when Shen Qingqiu leaped in front of him and took a blow that would cripple his cultivation permanently. For him.

Luo Binghe, who fate would push in front of a blade over and over again, for as long as it wants, was protected, fiercely, ardently, without asking for anything back.

This was his shizun. His real shizun. It couldn’t be anyone else.

Even as blood soaked his green robes, his warm eyes had looked over at him with concern, as if uncaring of his own well being.

It scared him.

It invigorated him.

It filled him with hope he kept closely guarded to his heart, next to those precious few moments of happiness, afraid of it all being snatched once again.

When standing at the edge of the Endless Abyss, facing the sudden abandonment from his shizun, as forced as it was, speaking to him of cursed blood and renouncing him fully, Luo Binghe was once again enveloped in that icy void.

As he trudged his way through the fiery depths, at the very bottom of the world, he looked at the monsters, writhing and massive, still desperate to survive, and didn’t see much of a difference between them and himself. He slaughtered them all and didn’t let his soul corrode, thinking of his shizun watching him at his worst moments. He pushed through, for the first time free to exert his will, and his determination to claw his way out of a never ending pit.

All for the chance of seeing his shizun again. If he proved him wrong, and showed him how much he wanted to live and become a worthy disciple, maybe he’d be accepted once more.

Why show him a new way to live, only to reject him at the last second? It hurt, perhaps even more agonising than any lashing against his tender hack. Because Luo Binghe hungered. Constantly. He was a dog raised on scraps, he’d get by in the end, but he would forever angle his snout up at the ever changing horizon.

Upon his reunion, a chance of fate gave him a glimpse behind the poised, peerless composure of his shizun. He read his thoughts and Shen Qingqiu read his in turn.

Unfamiliar phrases and hints and complete explanations about his origins were finally offered, though unintentionally.

Luo Binghe was the protagonist of this world, inside a long novel, one Shen Qingqiu lambasted in equal measures anger and fondness. He heard this clearly from the one sided conversations Shen Qingqiu tried to have with the entity known as the System.

Luo Binghe’s fate was set in stone, dangled like a puppet on a wire, and his shizun’s appearance had altered it.

Like a wonderful god, residing in another dimension, watching over him not with hatred, but love. Effortless, warming love, loving him before they had even met.

Existential dread should have followed, but this conclusion was easy for Luo Binghe to accept. It explained his shizun’s encyclopaedic knowledge, his strange, overly familiar demeanour when talking to him the very moment they met—and, most importantly, his kindness.

And it explained this wrongness he himself had felt from the very start of his existence, down to the core of his recycled soul. Pieces finally slotted in place, an answer, not a solution, not a conclusion, was shown in front of him.

In the world his shizun had come from, he knew him and still had it in him to love a version of him that had given into that tempting void he had fought so hard to escape from.

It was comforting.

(Even if that wasn’t him.)

He understood now.

If he did not meet his shizun, in a chance that transcended fate or destiny, he would have met that same end.

Luo Binghe had not yet reached his ending with Shen Qingqiu. Rather, their shared story had only just begun. They’d continue to rewrite fate, over a million failed worldlines.