What I Need Right Now Is Some Good Advice - buryyourgaydar - 人渣反派自救系统 - 墨香铜臭 | The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

【WARNING! WARNING!】

Shang Qinghua falls from his bed with a thump, kicking out wildly and yelping when his ankle connects with the leg of a short table. He was dreaming about something amorphous, the An Ding Peak Lord’s face overlaid on a velociraptor asking him about fruit shipments, maybe. Not anymore! Now it’s just his cushy new head disciple’s room and the blaring of the System.

【WARNING! WARNING!】

The System’s alarm rings in his ears and makes him whine again, pulling himself up off the floor and peering at the screen through blurry eyes. A red screen shines to the side of his bed, lighting up the room with phantom red light. What’s with this incredibly rude awakening? Is the peak on fire?

“Aw, what now? Hey System, what the f*ck? I was sleeping…” He mutters and rubs at his face. Sweaty, eugh.

【WARNING. SYSTEM ERROR. TERMINATE DEVIATION.】

“What the f*ck?”

He shuffles onto his knees and over to the small screen. It shivers and pulses like its processors are surging, which is not comforting at all and he’s pretty sure has never happened before. He kind of wants to poke it, but given the last time he’d made a grab for malfunctioning electronics he died and got sucked unceremoniously into his own trash-fire web-novel… yeah, he is not doing that. Rest in peace, System-bro, try not to blue-screen!

The red screen pops out of existence. Shang Qinghua’s room goes dark again. Outside, he hears a few animals chirping and rustling around, very faint and distant footsteps. Early morning, probably, which would be a great time to still be sleeping before he is forced back to work at the crack of dawn.

Then the red screen bursts back into life. Shang Qinghua shrieks and falls back against the side of his bed and clutches at his sleeping robes.

【ERROR. UNABLE TO TERMINATE DEVIATION. WARNING! ERROR!】

The screen takes over his vision. It stretches as tall as the walls, filling everything in sight with red, red, red. The mechanical siri-voice is deafeningly loud, and Shang Qingua slaps his hands over his eyes, desperate to block out some of the sound. It’s not really sound, though, and nothing he does dampens it.

【ERROR! CRITICAL PLOT DEVIATION! ERROR! ER-】

The red screens pop down into the usual small, floating blue. A little jingle plays while Shang Qinghua gasps at the absence of sound.

【Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations! Important things must be said three times. System entering standby mode. Begging USER001 to do his best!】

And then it disappears. Just blinks away, leaving Shang Qinghua shivering on the floor in silence.

System-bro? He thinks. There is no response.

“What the f*ck.” He asks into the empty, silent room. Then he leans over and pukes on the floor of his cushy new house.

---

So yeah! That happened!! System-machine broke! No f*cking idea why!

But there really isn’t time to contemplate this development, because Shang Qinghua was already unimaginably busy . The System will have to take care of whatever all that was itself, because Shang Qinghua does not have the time!

In less than a year, the An generation of Can Qiong Mountain Sect is planning to ascend. The Qing generation will take over as the next Peak Lords. Just like that, bam, and the world is finally going to be set up just like Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky wrote it in another life. Finally, things are getting going. Not soon enough, if you asked Shang Qinghua. Only actually, yes soon enough, maybe slower if possible, because the changing hands of power in one of the great sects is a huge deal that involves so much logistical work.

Shang Qinghua’s master, the current An Ding Peak Lord, has honestly already been pushing most of his work onto his eager (desperate) head disciple for a couple years, ever since Shang Qinghua (poisoned) beat the competition and then had to work like a dog to keep his position. Shang Qinghua’s master has taken to spending a lot of time in town with a fake mustache on, cheating at cards and having pretty girls and boys sit in his lap. Shang Qinghua gets it-- he’s not even the lord of An Ding Peak yet and he already wants a vacation. Farewell, master! Have fun in the Heavens! This dedicated disciple will keep things running down here until he is inevitably killed off for being a scum traitor!

Which, right, is another thing. As if inheriting the duties of the logistics Peak Lord wasn’t enough, that’s not even Shang Qinghua's only job. It’s like college again, when he spent hours a day working at the convenience store around his classes, and his nights doing customer support online for some loan company, and squeezed in p*rn commissions when he had a free hour or two. Only instead of a convenience store its the entirety of a great sect, and instead of people complaining about their lending status it was a powerful and deadly demon prince demanding spy reports, and instead of writing p*rn for well paying internet denizens it was secret transmigrator missions with promises of divine punishments if he failed. So yeah! No rest for the wicked!

So the System’s late night freak out is just a great addition to all that, generally. In Transmigration novels, the System glitching out always indicated something totally cool and normal and not at all plot relevant was happening. If denial is a river in Egypt, Shang Qinghua has plans to set up a summer home there.

It would be a lot easier to pretend that he’s never even heard of transmigration, nope, he’s just a tried and true dedicate to the paperwork god, if the System’s glitch hadn’t, apparently, poisoned him.

---

Shang Qinghua sits in the monthly Peak Lord meeting on a cushion positioned expertly behind An Ding Peak Lord Shui Ansheng so that he can both see what his master is writing and hide from Shen Qingqiu’s eagle-eyed glare. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t really ever look at Shang Qinghua (yet) but he’s scary enough that Shang Qinghua is ready to duck for cover on the off chance that he does. He is also trying very hard not to fall asleep, something he is being so brave about despite the way his eyes keep trying to drift closed.

The Sect Leader says something grandstanding about sending a delegation to Tian Yi Overlook sect to ask them about new demonic warding techniques. His Shizun wordlessly passes some papers over his shoulder to Shang Qinghua, who takes them and finds both a few relevant reports on Tian Yi’s policies on sharing their techniques and an unflattering drawing of their sect leader as a dumpling, waving a sword around with spring onion arms. Shang Qinghua adds both to his own stack of papers very seriously.

As the meeting winds down, the non-dumpling Sect Leader turns his attention to the topic that has dominated pretty much every recent conversation Shang Qinghua has had. He summarily tunes out as the man begins droning about the ascension timeline.

Shang Qinghua’s thoughts are filled much more by the ache in his lower back, which it started doing about two shichen ago and is really putting a cramp in his style. His style being pretending not to exist so no one will look too closely at him, which includes sitting up straight and not groaning loudly about premature back pain. Sect Leader, pleeeaase, can’t we just wrap this up?

“That means all of the Head Disciples must be selected—” The man is saying. He pauses the droning to send Bai Anjiang a narrow eyed glare. Shang Qinghua takes this moment of distraction in the room to try to stretch his back without visibly moving.

The Bai Zhan Peak Lord, who had been beaten by his student, the now-named Liu Qingge, and named him his successor about three weeks ago, diverts his gaze sheepishly to the bowl of walnuts in front of him.

“—and ready to assume their roles. I expect frequent updates on the shift of power from all of you and your successors.”

“Sect Leader, I am more than confident in Xiao Wei's capabilities as Peak Lord. Our successors are ready.” Hua Anren, Wan Jian Peak Lord, cuts in.

Shui Ansheng fans himself lazily with an important trade form. “As soon as us old folks get out of the way.”

Shang Qinghua looks at the twelve younger faces arrayed over their master’s shoulders and feels doubt. Liu Qingge still has visible baby fat, Shigu!

From beside the Sect Leader, a delicate cough. “Be that as it may, I think what the Sect Leader means to say is that while our successors are of course prepared to take on their duties on our Peaks, we haven't exposed them much to each other yet outside of these meetings. Receiving reports and updates from them here would help to foster an understanding between us all.”

Qin Anwei, Qing Jing Peak Lord, commands effortlessly the attention and respect that Sect Leader Rong clumsily demands of his subordinates. Shang Qinghua has never really understood how their relationship works, but manoeuvring around it was one of the first things Shui Ansheng taught him as his successor. Shang Qinghua considers it excellent practice for what will definitely be an even worse, and definitely weirder, dynamic between the future two most senior Peak Lords. He tries to exchange a knowing glance with Wei Qingwei, but finds the other man subtly playing some sort of hand-game with string under the table and not receptive to commiserating about the sort of vibes they’ll one day be privy to.

The Sect Leader, who obviously did not mean anything by his reminders besides to impress upon his underlings their responsibilities, nods slowly. Qin Anwei smiles beatifically around the room, and heads nod under her gaze.

Jie Anmei, Xian Shu Peak Lord, gains an expression that promises mischief. “Now that you mention it Shijie, don't you all think it’s time the next generation starts getting to know each other better?”

She winks at Yue Qingyuan, who stares politely and uncomprehendingly back at her with the sort of blankness that would make a cliff face proud. Really growing into his role, is Shang Qinghua’s saddest son. Poor guy. Behind her master, Qi Qingqi sneers.

“A marvellous idea,” says Shui Ansheng, the traitor. Shang Qinghua widens his eyes pleadinly at his master’s back and is ignored. “You young people don’t socialise enough. When I was preparing to take over An Ding, Feng-Shimei and I hosted many wild—”

The cap of a wine bottle hits Shui Ansheng squarely in his grey beard. Across the table, Feng Anshi sniffs.

“Enough. Let the children play together, we'll provide drinks.”

Feng-Shigu stands in a dramatic sweep of skirts, pulls three new wine bottles from her sleeves, and sets them on the table. Then she looks down at her still-seated head disciple, points, and says, “Stay,” before walking out of the meeting room. Her Head Disciple (Jin something?) looks after her mournfully.

Looks are exchanged among Peak Lords.

Qin Anwei acknowledges her Shimei’s departure not at all. “That settles it then. Head Disciples, stay and socialise for a shichen or two and arrange a time to meet… mm, twice a month? What do you think, Sect Leader?”

The Sect Leader grunts. Qin Anwei nods like this was at all helpful and continues. “Twice a month seems suitable.”

She rises as well, soft green robes falling around her in a picture perfect waterfall. Shang Qinghua catches sight of Shen Qingqiu, perched behind her like an exotic pet (that bites), and honestly his expression of mixed disgust and envy is felt. Having Qin Anwei for a master would probably make him slightly more insane every day too. The Qing Jing Peak Lord pins all of them with a piercing look from her normally smiling and sleepy eyes.

“The people in this room are the ones you will be spending the next century with at least, if you’re not unlucky. You are in each other’s care.”

And then she leaves too, and the other Peak Lords file out after her with a few quiet murmurs of encouragement for their universally miserable looking Head Disciples. The Sect Leader follows behind Qin Anwei like a hulking bodyguard trotting behind a delicate noblewoman.

“Hey, Sect Leader, wait up, I need your signature on this—”

Shui Ansheng drops two scrolls into Shang Qinghua’s arms, steals a stack of his notes, and waves behind himself at Shang Qinghua as he chases after the Sect Leader. If Shang Qinghua wasn’t so determined to lie, cheat, steal, and beg his way into the man’s good graces, he would really consider being annoyed about being abandoned this way.

The Head Disciples stand up too, but don’t leave with their Peak Lords. They mill about instead, picking at left-behind snacks and staring at each other like snakes sizing up… other, worse snakes?

Now that the meeting is over and the room is mostly silent, Shang Qinghua is really considering just letting his eyes close and falling asleep sitting up. He’s pretty sure he could manage it, he’s skilled like that. Instead, with a sigh, he levers himself to his feet with a hissed breath and tries to make himself invisible in a new position, sidling up to a wall and watching the characters he wrote about in another life (and some he didn’t) play out their roles on the floor of the meeting hall.

Shen Qingqiu immediately and aggressively starts ignoring Yue Qingyuan, who immediately and aggressively starts trying to get Shen Qingqiu’s attention while pretending to be too dignified for that to be what he’s doing. Their hissed arguing is a pleasant backdrop to the rest of the room. Shang Qinghua watches the future Beast Peak Lord and Artefacts Peak Lord strike up a conversation and wonders idly what two no-name NPC types talk about in their free time.

The personal lives of his fellow characters are often hard for Shang Qinghua to invest himself in. It’s awkward to chat with his illustrious future colleagues when he knows exactly how, when, and why most of them are going to die painfully in the not too distant future. Unfortunately, the lack of investment in the people around him is making it really easy for sleep to pull at his eyes. He finds himself taking longer and longer blinks, the sounds of the room droning out more and more the longer he stands there.

The problem is, Shang Qinghua is exhausted all the time now. He wakes up exhausted, goes to sleep exhausted, and does miles and miles of paperwork exhausted. It feels like every time he sits down his brain takes it as a cue that he could be sleeping instead, and goes about trying to make that happen for them. He keeps having to wash ink on his face from nodding off on top of fresh forms. Now apparently even standing up too still isn’t enough to save him!

“Shang-shixiong?”

Mu Qingfang appears out of f*cking nowhere at Shang Qinghua’s elbow. Shang Qinghua’s eyes snap open from where they’d fallen to half-mast, and he lets out an eep. Mu Qingfang’s cool brown eyes meet his with an even gaze, and Shang Qinghua wants to squeak again.

“A-ah, Mu-Shidi, how can I help you?”

“I can’t help but notice Shixiong looks a bit pale. Is everything alright?”

Um?? Healers are really too attentive in this world. Or Shang Qinghua really looks like sh*t. Give a guy a break Mu-Shidi, this much paperwork isn’t good for anyone’s complexion.

Shang Qinghua laughs nervously. “Just tired, just tired. Who isn’t! The ascension is throwing the whole mountain upside down, and we’re the poor suckers who are going to have to put it right-side-up again, right?”

Mu Qingfang is too polite to look disbelieving. Even though he can’t be much older than Shang Qinghua physically looks, he already has the empathetic and serene doctor face down pat. Mu-Shidi, it’s a shame about that moustache you’re going to get ten years or so from now, because you could really have the girls lining up for this concerned medical professional schtick.

“Too heavy a workload can leave anyone stressed, and stress can disturb qi flow. Would you allow me to perform a brief transfer, Shixiong? It can be quite refreshing, help with stress or fatigue, and avoid any qi disruptions.”

Shang Qinghua laughs, too loud. The future Artefacts Peak Lord, whose name Shang Qinghua really needs to learn eventually, looks over, and Shang Qinghua averts his eyes.

“No, no, nope. I am really a-ok, Mu-Shidi. Thank you though! Really! Much appreciated! It’s nothing a good night’s rest can’t fix though, and I have big plans to get that right after this. Actually, speaking of which.”

Shang Qinghua reaches down to the table and grabs a plate of snack cakes just as Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan’s arguing a few feet away reaches a crescendo that draws the eyes of several of their martial siblings. Shang Qinghua salutes Mu Qingfang with the plate and shoves his forms and scrolls down the front of his robes. For safekeeping.

“I’m going to go! Let me know when we decide to meet, Shidi, and this Shixiong will definitely be there.”

And then he makes his escape. Behind him, Mu Qingfang mouths, A-Ok, to himself with a furrowed brow.

---

It’s not that Shang Qinghua has anything against doctors in general. It’s just, specifically, that Shang Qinghua has a fear of being discovered as a horrible, murderous traitor to his sect. And that he has some deep rooted concerns that an amazing miracle doctor like Mu Qingfang will probe around his meridians and immediately sense all the demonic qi he is regularly in contact with.

And if it was only exhaustion that was causing him problems, Shang Qinghua probably wouldn’t even regret this (understandable, he thinks!) paranoia. Exhausted is normal, he’s tired all the time normally! It’s a busy time! He figures he’ll take it sort of easy for a few days and he’ll feel better. Or maybe he won’t take it easy, but these things go away on their own, usually. Probably.

Only somehow, he just feels worse . He continues to fall asleep doing paperwork. His back continues to ache, soon to be joined by his chest, which is deeply irritating. He keeps thinking he's going to get his period or something, which would suck but at least be manageable and over quickly. His periods are light and infrequent anyways (probably a sign of his innate masculinity and not, you know, the stress and lack of sleep and poor diet). But for that at least, Xian Xu Peak grows a whole garden of special tea that Qian Cao Peak brews up and distributes to the sect, so with some cotton cloth and a constantly heated teapot it would be A-Ok. Instead he’s stuck in an unending cycle of feeling like sh*t for no reason.

He tries some of the tea, just in case it is hormones. He drinks a cup walking back from where he pilfered it on Qian Cao, and has to stop at the edge of An Ding to throw up over the side of the rainbow bridge. The tea is still warm coming up, which is. A sensation.

This was clearly a sign. A sign that the System had actually, really poisoned him when it crashed and he was going to die of some mysterious transmigrator disease. A computer virus? The point was, he did not take this ominous sign as it was obviously meant.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

The next few weeks of Shang Qinghua’s life go something like this:

“Da-shixiong, are you… Okay?” Asks a little shidi, who’s name Shang Qinghua hasn’t learned and never plans to find out.

Shang Qinghua slowly lifts his head from the half-rebuilt wall of an Acid Bear enclosure on Meng Shou Peak and wipes his mouth. Carefully, with one foot, he kicks some spare rocks over the patch of defiled grass.

“Of course,” he says brightly. “Why do you ask?”

---

“-- and that is why it would be much more advantageous to trade with our merchants. Those good-for-nothing con artists in the south are just going to rip you off; even if the price is slightly better, it will be for a sub-par product that will alienate the discerning customer base. And, of course, Cang Qiong would be more than happy to offer the esteemed merchant who agrees to an exclusive contract a generous--” Shang Qinghua cuts off his sales pitch abruptly and clears his throat. “A g-generous…”

The two merchants, sitting across the low wooden table at the back of the tea house, stare at him expectantly. Shang Qinghua stares back and tries to fight down a sudden wash of dizziness. The room spins, and his vision goes sparkly at the edges. I will not pass out in this tavern , he thinks, I will definitely get robbed if I do.

Shang Qinghua swallows again as the waiter sets down an array of nice dishes on the table. It’s good quality food, good food, and he can see steam coming up from it and it smells- it smells-

Shang Qinghua stands abruptly. The table rattles. One of the merchants has to grab his tea cup to keep it from spilling. Shang Qinghua takes a deep, slow breath. “Excuse me for a moment.”

Then he slaps a hand over his mouth and runs out of the room.

---

“Shang-shixiong, if I could have a moment of your time.” Mu Qingfang says, coming up beside Shang Qinghua on the rainbow bridge as he crosses from Qiong Ding to Qing Jing.

“Shizun will have the inventory of the medicinal herb warehouse delivered to Qian Cao tomorrow,” Shang Qinghua says forestallingly. He flaps a handful of paper at Mu Qingfang. “Tell your Shizun to be patient! … Please.”

“Actually Shixiong, I was hoping to catch you a moment to speak. You see, a few of your junior martial siblings approached me with some concerns over your--”

“Oh, what’s that?” Shang Qinghua asks. He lifts his wrist like he’s checking an invisible watch, then remembers watches don’t exist in this world and cups a hand to his ear instead. “My Shizun calling for me? It must be a logistical emergency! Those Bai Zhan disciples destroying the sect again, ah, how unfortunate. Sorry Mu-shidi, gotta run! Let’s talk again soon though!”

He elbows two elegant Qing Jing musician-types out of the way to flee off the bridge. Probably no one tripped over the edge and fell off the mountain, so it’s fine.

---

“Da-shixiong, are you sure you’re okay?” Possibly the same shidi asks, or maybe a new one, they’re so hard to keep track of these days. A small hand comes up and pats him on the shoulder tentatively. Aw, such touching concern for their senior.

“I am-” Shang Qinghua pants, “-completely fine.”

Then he ducks his head and throws up over the side of the supply wagon again.

---

Someone is knocking on the door of his rooms. Shang Qinghua, draped over three cushions on the floor in a position he just got contorted enough to relieve some of his back pain, groans aloud.

“Shidi?” A voice calls, accompanied by another knock.

Shang Qinghua stares at the ceiling and thinks about not answering. Then he levers himself up with a wince and goes to open the door.

“Is the Peak on fire this time?” He asks as it sides open. Mu Qingfang blinks back at him.

“Not as far as I’m aware, but I’m sure if it goes up in flames we’ll be the first to know.”

Shang Qinghua makes sad eyes at the doctor. “Mu-Shidi, why is it that we’re always the ones people come to after setting their Peak on fire, or their cart, or their own sword, and never the ones they consult before doing it?”

Mu Qingfang nods tiredly. “I often ask myself the same thing. May I come in?”

Shang Qinghua glances over his shoulder at his pillow and paperwork covered floor. Some of the papers have been drooled on when he accidentally fell asleep mid-form.

“Um,” He hedges, “What for?”

Mu Qingfang regards him coolly. “We weren’t able to speak much in passing last week. I was wondering if Shixiong might permit this healer to check in on his health. As we approach out masters’ ascension, Shixiong of course understands that the well-being of one of our number affects us all. I’d just like to make sure all my martial siblings are in good health.”

Shang Qinghua nods vigorously. “Of course! Just give me a second to clean up, okay? It’s a bit of a mess in here right now!”

Mu Qingfang nods. “I would be happy to wait.”

Shang Qinghua holds up a ‘1 second’ finger and eases the door closed. He turns, surveys his rooms, and then eases the far window open and hauls himself up and over the frame. He can sleep in a supply warehouse no problem!

---

“I fail to see what, exactly, we're supposed to be getting out of these meaningless get-togethers.”

Shen Qinqiu sits primly beside Yue Qingyuan at the head of the table, drumming his fingers on his thigh and glaring at the wooden grain.

It isn’t their first solo gathering of Head Disciples. That privilege went to the extremely awkward meeting two weeks ago where everyone just around the same meeting table and looked at each other in uncomfortable silence. The second gathering is proving slightly better than the first, but it is not a high bar.

Yue Qingyuan sits beside him, his attention for once not riveted on the prickly man. Shang Qinghua suspects Yue Qingyuan’s good spirits and unconcerned air has something to do with the overly-nice hair piece Shen Qingqiu is sporting. He would bet money (if he had money) it's a gift from their future sect leader, and honestly it's much more magnanimous to wear to an event like this than Shang Qinghua would usually give his scum villain credit for. Way to go showing your nuance, Shen-shixiong!

“Come on, don't any of you have good gossip to exchange? Master says that open communication is the key to success! She also said that the Huan Hua palace master was seen with another young lady on his arm at the last discussion conference. How scandalous.” Wei Qingwei drawls with a wide smirk. He’s sprawled beside Shang Qinghua at the low table, for once in official Peak order instead of crowding in next to Qi Qingqi to whisper to each other.

Shang Qinghua snorts at the words and tries to cover it by badly faking a cough. Shen Qingqiu's pale eyes hone in on him like a raptor's, and Shang Qinghua quickly looks at the ceiling.

“Something funny, Shidi?”

Oh, what’s that? Shen Qingqiu must be talking to someone else. If he wills it to be true, it will be. Unfortunately, Wei Qingwei is a dirty traitor who has literally never ever been cool when Shang Qinghua wants him to be even once.

“Shang-shidi agrees with me, right Qinghua?” He nudges Shang Qinghua’s shoulder.

Don't say my name like we're friends! Wei-shixiong, when have we ever been friends?

Shang Qinghua laughs again nervously. “No, no! I mean, um, yes. Nothing funny about, uh, open and honest communication between martial siblings!”

Shen Qingqiu raises an eyebrow at him, and Shang Qinghua's shoulders hunch. Distract, distract!

“Actually, speaking of communication between peaks, I have several inventory forms I've been meaning to follow up on. Don't you think now would be a good time to--”

Qi Qingqi raps her hand fan on the table and shoots him a glare. “I'm sure there will be plenty of time for that at a later date.” She turns the look into a smirk at Wei Qingwei. “I want to hear more about the Palace Master’s latest guest. Say, Wei Qingwei, would you say she was thirty years his junior? Fourty?”

There is general snickering. Down at the far end of the table, Shang Qinghua sees the Xuan Chang Head Disciple lean over to whisper to the Zui Xian Head Disciple (Jin what? Jin Qingrong maybe?).

“Leave it to An Ding to bring the most boring parts of a meeting, huh? Can you imagine how riveting dinner conversation must be there?”

Jin Qingwhatever hushes him, but he looks amused.

Shen Qingqiu shoots Wei Qingwei and Shang Qinghua another annoyed look, but seems to weigh his options and choose turning his attention to making insulting comments at Liu Qingge over partaking in Qi Qingqi and Wei Qingwei’s gossip. Shang Qinghua is perfectly happy with that; it frees him of the frightening attention of his second most senior martial brother, and he thinks it’s like enrichment for the two of them to fight during meetings. The room breaks out into individual quiet conversations. Yue Qingyuan occasionally interjects to bring up some topic or another that’s actually of some importance and hear out everyone’s opinions on it. No one calls Yue Qingyuan a buzzkill for bringing up official business.

Shang Qinghua isn't too broken up about it. Being able to spout some logistical nonsense no one wants to hear is one of his most tried and true methods to get out of a conversation, second only to bursting into stressed tears and driving people off by being snotty and pathetic.

A bowl of peeled melon seeds into Shang Qinghua’s view. His favorite snack! Shang Qinghua looks up with delight to meet Wei Qingwei's affably smiling face.

“Don't worry about them too much.” He says, with a gesture down the table.

Aw, concern for his feelings from a martial sibling! Shang Qinghua's heart is filled.

Wei Qingwei has spent the years since he first, and most disastrously, acknowledged Shang Qinghua’s existence acting as though they were workplace friends. He had never sought out Shang Qinghua’s dubious company, but when they ran into each other around the sect the Wan Jian head disciple would slap him on the back and loudly ask if An Ding was still as busy as ever. Once, he caught Shang Qinghua looking appreciatively at some of Wan Jian’s forges and spent a full three hours lecturing him about the best techniques for distilling spiritual steal. Shang Qinghua already knew how distilling spiritual steel worked, both because he wrote it and because An Ding both supplied the ore for it and sold the extra product to merchants outside the sect.

Seeing them together, an outsider would have no reason to think that it was Wei Qingwei's dubious testimony of that incident years ago that caused Shang Qinghua's ostracization from his sect in the first place.

He can't hold it against his martial brother forever. After all... he really was consorting with demons.

Anxious to escape that uncomfortable thought, Shang Qinghua smiles his best empty-headed smile. “Don't worry Shixiong, I never do!”

He shoves a handful of melon seeds in his mouth and crunches them appreciatively. Melon seeds, his old friend, so deliciously salty and... eugh.

Shang Qinghua coughs and forces down the bite. So gross! What! He pokes at them, immensely betrayed, and turns a tragic gaze up to Wei Qingwei.

“Hey, do these taste normal to you? Can melon seeds go bad?”

Wei Qingwei looks politely confused. Shang Qinghua shakes his head and waves a hand.

“Never mind! Thank you for the snack.”

He hastily looks away and pretends to become deeply absorbed in one of the scrolls he carries around at all times for precisely this reason. Wei Qingwei turns away to get back to his conversation with Qi Qingqi across the table, leaving Shang Qinghua in peace for the rest of the meeting.

The melon seeds were really so gross. He uses a brush to subtly push them away with a shudder. The taste is stuck on his tongue, and chugging some tea does little to wash it away. A familiar swirling nausea starts to build in his chest, and Shang Qinghua shakes his head. No, nope, not a good time! Seriously! He’s not even doing anything, he’s just sitting silently. There is no reason he should be feeling sick. He has, in fact, barely eaten today, which is becoming an increasing habit that is making him extremely happy he can technically perform inedia even if he doesn’t like to.

He really, really does not want to acknowledge that there may in fact be a teeny, tiny problem with his recent… everything. He has it under control! Stress does strange things to the body, and Shang Qinghua is literally nothing if not stressed at any given time, his whole life, and forever. So what if he can’t eat his favorite snacks right now? He’ll just forgo them, like… chicken. And fruit juice. And carrots. And spicy chili sauce. And pretty much any sweet food. And also anything with a squishy texture. And all nuts!

The nausea the melon seeds left him with has not faded by the time Yue Qingyuan politely dismisses them all. Shang Qinghua takes deep breaths as he gathers his papers and stands. He’s taken approximately three measured steps towards the doors to the meeting room, mentally calculating how fast he can get out of sight of the building, when he’s intercepted by an immovable, green-robbed and elegant wall.

“Shang-shidi,” Shen Qingqiu says coolly, “I hoped to catch you.”

Shang Qinghua swallows. Sweat beads on the back of his neck. “O-oh? How can this junior be of service, Shixiong?”

“Peak Lord Shui has placed you in charge of the construction and specialty item requests for the Head Disciples, correct? I’d like to talk about accommodations ahead of time. At your earliest convenience, in fact. Perhaps Shidi would walk with me?”

“Now is-” Shang Qinghua swallows again. “Now is really not the best time, Shixiong. I haven’t had time to gather all the materials yet, and there are still months until the ascension. Construction on any new residences will probably begin, uh…”

The timeline escapes him. He looks at a point over Shen Qingqiu’s head and tries to gather the relevant information over the queasy sensation of being on a roller coaster while standing perfectly still. Roller coasters don’t even exist! His brain supplies frantically.

“Uh…”

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrow. “ Yes? ”

“Oh, Shang-shidi,” says the last person Shang Qinghua wants to see right now, including the literal villain of his novel. Mu Qingfang materializes behind Shen Qingqiu and starts walking purposefully towards them. “I was hoping to catch you.”

Shen Qingqiu turns to look over his shoulder and sneers. “We are having a conversation, can it wait?”

Mu Qingfang looks as unaffected as ever. “Of course, Shixiong, I only hope to take a moment of your time. If now is not good, perhaps I could come by An Ding again later…?”

Shang Qinghua looks between them. His brain has started up a steady mantra. Do not throw up on Shen Qingqiu’s shoes. WHATEVER you do, do not throw up on Shen Qingqiu’s shoes! He will murder you before Mobei-Jun even gets the chance, and he is not nearly as sexy!

Abruptly, he forces a hand up and claps Shen Qingqiu on the shoulder like a little league coach hoping to manfully encourage a pre-pubescent player. Shen Qingqiu’s face goes red with rage. He shoves at Shang Qinghua’s arm and steps back, nearly running into Mu Qingfang. Shang Qinghua takes in a breath.

“I’llsendyoualetterShixiong.”

He turns before he can see either man’s reaction and flees from the room at a jog. Outside there are several curated gardens in Qiong Ding’s simple, elegant style. He makes it about twenty feet and hides behind a camellia bush to choke up all his stomach contents.

Crouched, shivering, Shang Qinghua drops his sweaty face into his hands and groans.

---

Six weeks after Qin Anwei’s gentle commandment for the next generation of Peak Lords to, eurgh, bond, Shang Qinghua slips into his rooms on An Ding. He shivers as he passes through the doorway, a chill in the air running over his skin.

Ah, he has a visitor.

Shang Qinghua doesn’t bother taking off his boots or unclasping the scroll cases hooked around his shoulders. Instead, he uses the moment of privacy to press his head against the wall, bracketed by his palms. His plan is to gently hit it against the wood a few times in frustration, but the wall is pleasantly cool from the icy aura one room over so he ends up just resting his forehead against it for a long moment. Tiredness drags at his limbs. He feels sick and light headed, which is rapidly becoming how he feels all the time, so nearly not worth mentioning.

There’s work to be done, and his King doesn’t like to be kept waiting. So he peels himself off the wall and heads to his small sitting room.

Back in his junior disciple days, even before he had a tiny single room to himself, Mobei-Jun used to lounge on his bed like it was his personal throne. Now that he actually has space and chairs and great stuff like that, the Prince of the Northern Desert occasionally deigns to sit on one of those furnishings instead. Today, though, Shang Qinghua sees no sign of his King in the sitting area, and instead finds him sprawled out over Shang Qinghua’s bed like a harlequin movie poster: One leg extended and the other folded, with his arm stretched out and draped over his folded knee. It is such a provocative image, his King draped in white leather and blue silks and silver jewelry, that it makes Shang Qinghua want to kneel to him like an altar.

No one has ever accused Shang Qinghua of having shame, so he does just that! He drops to his knees at the side of the bed and bows his head.

“My King, to what does this lowly servant owe the honor of your visit?”

He immediately lifts his head to peer up at Mobei-Jun, but keeps his chin tilted just enough to give the impression of maybe still bowing deferentially. Look at the floor and miss this profile shot of his King’s jawline? It’s too tempting!

Mobei-Jun’s pale eyes drift over Shang Qinghua’s kneeling form absently before refocusing on a spot in the middle distance.

“I have a mission for you.”

“Oh?” Shang Qinghua says, thinking Oh no!

Mobei-Jun shifts out of his sprawl to face Shang Qinghua, planting his feet on the floor and leaning forward ever so slightly. Aw, your Highness, boots on the bed?

“There is a clan of Crystal Cave Snake demons near the border to the human realm who have stolen an artifact valuable to the North.”

Shang Qinghua’s brain pings. “Oh, the ones who your father stiffed after your second brother was born? With the underground labyrinth?”

Mobei-Jun doesn’t question how Shang Qinghua knows this. Just one of his King’s lovely traits.

“They’ve been causing problems for years. Two nights ago, one of their agents… found their way into my father’s wing of the palace, and liberated a precious artifact. The Liquid Frost Diadem.”

Shang Qinghua whistles at the mention of the artifact, then thinks and wrinkles his nose.

“When you say, er, found their way in…”

Mobei-Jun growls, and Shang Qinghua puts his hands up placatingly. “Right, right, none of my business! So, my King’s father wants the diadem back, obviously. And I…?”

“The Crystal Cave Snake demon’s fortress has human attendants. I will portal you there, and you will recover the artifact.”

Shang Qinghua stares at Mobei-Jun. His King’s eyes get way too intense at the prolonged contact, so Shang Qinghua quickly switches to staring at his leather boots instead.

“My King, don’t you mean they have human sacrifices ? I seem to remember the Crystal Cave Snake demons having, er, a certain… culinary? Taste? In human lives?”

Shang Qinghua doesn’t see Mobei-Jun’s face, but he hears the shifting of robes. “They are kept around the labyrinth fist, usually for several weeks. It is enough.”

“My King , you want me to go pretend to be a delicious human sacrifice in an underground crystal labyrinth for a bunch of blood thirsty snake demons?” Shang Qinghua whines.

Mobei-Jun grunts, then levers himself to his feet. His silver jewelry chimes. Shang Qinghua springs to his feet as well, and sways when black spots burst over his vision. When he blinks away the sudden tunnel vision, he finds Mobei-Jun watching him with an unreadable expression.

“My King…?”

Mobei-Jun holds his gaze for a moment longer, then strides forward and cuts a dark rift in the air.

“I will come and collect you when night falls. Be ready.”

He steps through the portal and leaves Shang Qinghua standing in his now-chilled bedroom. Shang Qinghua sighs loudly.

“But I don’t want to do that .” He complains to no one.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

The cart jostles along some unpaved, no-name road at the border of the demon realm. Shang Qinghua, smooshed in the back with his shoulders on what he thinks are a woman’s knees and a young man crushing one of his legs, is seriously considering retiring from his demon-traitor duties. He would have so much more free time. So much more dignity.

“This one’s good,” a voice says, and a scaly hand tipped with sharp talons grips Shang Qinghua’s chin tight enough to hurt, tilts his head up while the faceless woman he’s laying half-on top of gasps in fear. “Good cultivation and,” one scaly finger strokes down his cheek, “A soft face.”

Gross!

The hand drops his face, and Shang Qinghua’s head smacks into the woman’s knee, which makes them both groan.

Getting caught by the Crystal Cave Snake demons wasn’t actually hard at all. Shang Qinghua took the time to drop in on the few junior disciples who seemed most likely to come running to him to solve their problems after usual work hours and tell them he would be unavailable. He’d worried about being suspicious on such short notice, but for some reason all of them had looked relieved and one brave junior had told him to ‘get some rest’. Was he starting to look old and frail? He was definitely starting to look old and frail. With the stress of keeping this sh*tty mountain from collapsing on itself before its intended time, who wouldn’t!

With his babiest junior disciples successfully diverted, it was just a matter of putting on some of his simpler robes and his plainest fake sword (the biggest giveaway of a powerful cultivator pretending to be a weak one was waving a big fancy sword around while dressed like a farmer) and letting Mobei-Jun drop him off in a border town that had already reported two people missing. He walked around the town’s edge in the evening pretending to be drunk, and it took barely two hours for a slithery figure to jump out of some bushes, hogtie him, and drop him unceremoniously into a cart load of other prospective meals.

There’s more shuffling from their captors, and Shang Qinghua hears the scrape of serpentine skin on fabric over his head. The woman he’s laying on whimpers, and Shang Qinghua grimaces in sympathy. Also, because the jostling of the cart and its occupants is doing no favors for his stomach, which is still stuck on the ‘eject’ setting regardless of the circ*mstances he’s in and shows no signs of stopping.

“That one’s too small for the prince,” Another raspy voice says. “This one has more meat on it.”

The first voice says, loftily, “Quality over quantity, worm.”

There is offended hissing all around. Shang Qinghua sighs. He hears what he assumes are their captors moving back to the front of the wagon, leaving the terrified pile of humans behind.

A hand tentatively comes to clutch at Shang Qinghua’s sleeve. The woman, he thinks.

“They won't really eat us will they? We're-- we're people! They can't eat us, right?” She asks, voice breathless.

Another whimper from someone else in the carriage.

Shang Qinghua wants to reassure this woman, but the cart starts on an uneven patch of road. The swaying motion makes his vision spin despite being covered by a rag, and he has to focus all his attention on breathing in the scent of a half dozen terrified people and trying not to throw up; which would, in these conditions, be horrifyingly unfortunate.

---

The cart is left on the surface, Shang Qinghua is pretty sure, and the humans are sheparded on their feet down into the underground complex. They leave the blindfolds on, or at least they leave his on, as they’re walked through winding corridors and past what he’s pretty sure are groups of other demons. When the blindfolds are finally ripped off, they reveal surprisingly nice chambers.

Mobei-jun wasn’t wrong about the Crystal Cave Snake Demons treating their meals well, apparently. The room they’re dropped off in looks more like a court lady’s suite than a prison or even servants quarters. There is no bed, but there is a wide area full of colorful blankets and cushions, and several mirrors and bamboo dividers and dressers with bright fabric poking out.

He finally gets a good look at their captors, and finds them not actually altogether unappealing looking, which is saying something for human-eating creatures that have just kidnapped him for food. The Crystal Cave Snake demons have scales covering their skin in an array of pale colors, aptly like the refractions of crystal, and long dark hair left mostly loose. Their claws and fangs are indeed wicked and sharp, and Shang Qinghua sees at least one of his fellow captives bleeding from slashing claw marks. He reaches up a hand and feels his own chin, where the snake demon who grabbed him left little scabbing pin-pricks behind with their claws.

Their captors hiss and posture a bit and then leave them with instructions to ‘make themselves presentable’. None of the humans make any attempt to do so when they’re left alone, instead opting to huddle together near the door and exchange terrified whispers. Shang Qinghua leaves them to it and goes to investigate the room.

The dressers are, apparently, filled with fancy clothes in various sizes and styles. It’s like someone raided a dozen different noble’s homes across a half dozen different provinces, which is… probably what happened, in fact. There is no jewelry and nothing sharp or pointy, and few ribbons or dies that aren’t attached to the garments. A side room reveals a shallow thermal bath, which looks like it's fed directly from some volcanic water source. It honestly looks extremely nice, and if Shang Qinghua weren’t here to steal from these people and/or be eaten, he would consider taking some time to luxuriate in a hot spring before continuing his mission. Sadly this needs to be over quickly if he wants to make it back to his peak before anyone becomes suspicious.

Back in the main room, a few of his fellow captives peer at him curiously. Shang Qinghua tries to ignore it and goes to search the bedding for anything that might be useful. A woman from the group, heavy set with a lined face, catches his eye. He thinks she’s the one he must have been tangled up with in the cart. She clears her throat.

“What- what are you doing?”

Shang Qinghua tries to smile, and it comes out as more of an awkward grimace.

“I’m a cultivator. I want to see if there’s anything left around we can use to get out of here before the guards come back.”

Another captive pipes up, a thin young man with a claw scratch running down his cheek. “A cultivator? Do you know what they’re going to do to us?”

Shang Qinghua shakes his head and swallows. “These are demons, but I don’t know what they want.” He lies. “Nothing good, probably.”

“What can we even do if we get out?” The woman asks shakily. “We’ve traveled miles. How will we get home?”

A great question, Shang Qinghua thinks. Guilt pools in his stomach beside the ever present nausea. He’s not here as a righteous cultivator-- he would have no explanation for his sect as to how he got halfway across the continent if he called for them. He doesn’t really even remember who the nearest sect is. This near the borderlands, it’s mostly rogue cultivators and small clans. And they’re not even in the borderlands; this is the demonic realm proper. No help is coming for these people, and there is no one nearby to save them.

Just Shang Qinghua who’s here on behalf of a demon himself.

He swallows again and closes his eyes. They’re just background NPCs, right? What can he risk for them? Not much.

“I don’t know. But something is better than here, right?”

Another nameless person pipes up shakily. “They gave us a room, right? Maybe they’re not going to hurt us?”

“Maybe.” Shang Qinghua turns to keep searching the room.

The group falls back into a fearful hush while Shang Qinghua tosses the bed. In the last corner he checks, he is pleased to feel something hard inside one of the pillows. He finds a small hole in the side of the cushion, barely visible, and roots around until he draws out a sharp golden hair stick.

Thank you, past human sacrifice! He thinks and slides the hair stick up his sleeve. +1 weapon achieved!

At the sound of the door sliding open, Shang Qinghua whips around and tries to look innocent. A new snake demon guard scowls into the room from the doorway and hisses, baring sharp fangs.

“Didn’t I tell you to get dressed? You’ll all come to be presented at the banquet in an hour. Look presentable, or I’ll eat you.”

Bold words for someone who would definitely eat them later anyways! The snake demon slides the door shut again. A few of the humans look at Shang Qinghua fearfully and expectantly. Ahh, f*ck.

He makes a helpless gesture and leaves the pile of bedding to return to the dressers.

“I guess we should find something here?” He offers up, and starts pulling garments from the drawers. It is a mishmash of sizes and styles that fit an aesthetic preference he can’t really comprehend. A few of the braver captives come to join him, and someone cracks a joke about playing dress up. Soon everyone is sorting through robes and speaking quietly, a few people vainly trying to lighten the oppressive mood.

Shang Qinghua uses the other’s distraction to change quickly into some robes that seem closest to his size. Spending a month and a half throwing up his guts every few hours has made his formerly stocky figure something closer to slim. Okay, maybe closer to unhealthily thin? But he manages to find some men’s robes that are small enough, at least, that he doesn’t have to take a women’s style. He does catch the older woman glancing at him as he changes though, and sees her eyes widen slightly when he unties the upper half of his robes and exposes the chest wrap underneath. Thankfully, her quickly looking away gives him a chance to slip his backup qiankun pouch and the hair stick out of his sleeves and into the new robes. The demons took his fake sword when they captured him, which he figured they would, but they hadn’t found his backup supplies.

Shang Qinghua is the first to be changed. The robes are thin and flowy, pretty and decorative in an appealing teal color with an orange sash. They would be nice, if they didn’t make him feel a little bit like a brothel worker. He does not have the face for ‘ethereal and enticing’, thanks, no matter how many gauzy outer layers he is stuck into.

He slinks around the rest of the group and to the door they came in through. It’s locked, when he tests it, but a combination of spiritual force and the gold hair stick snap the lock neatly in just a few seconds. The use of spiritual energy leaves him light headed, which is not great.

He glances once behind him at the room, and sees the older woman looking at him again. He stills, but she doesn’t call out to him or alert anyone. She just meets his eyes a moment, then looks away and back to the silly robes. He breathes out shakily, slides the door open as quietly as he can, and slips into the hallway.

---

The underground ‘labyrinth’ is indeed hard to navigate, but not unbearably so. Shang Qinghua, who spent a lot of time getting deeply into the design of dungeons and mazes and things during his many late nights of mostly pointless research, knows the best ways to go about decoding and navigating the winding halls. He isn’t the only human servant wandering them either. He catches sight of a pretty young man and woman walking together in robes just as out of place and eye-catching as his own, the woman carrying a tea set and the man a tray of food. The sight of the food makes Shang Qinghua’s mouth flood with metallic saliva, so he gets a good chance to observe them as he tries to quell the nausea at their passing. They don’t look relaxed, per say, but they do look like how he might expect high class servants to. He copies their purposeful and elegant style of walking when he moves on, and doesn’t get more than a passing glance from any of the snake demons.

Let’s see, those two must be going towards the dining hall. That means the throne room is this way, and if I remember right from Bing-ge’s snake nest orgy, the treasure room is this way!

He smirks and picks up the pace, dodging around servants and demons until the gilded doors to the treasure room are in sight.

Dumb ice demon diadem, here I--

His excellent sneaking is interrupted by a hand gripping the back of his robes and abruptly pulling him off his feet. He gasps and clutches at his neck as he is dragged around and comes face to face with a pair of unsettlingly pale and slit-pupiled eyes. The face looking into his grins, and Shang Qinghua gets a close up view of thin fangs.

“What do we have here?” The demon says, and Shang Qinghua gulps. His eyes catch, not on the demon’s fine robes or handsome (if nose-less) face, but on his head-- where a familiar silver and blue crown sits dripping jewels down the man’s hair. The Liquid Frost Diadem, in all its pointless but beautiful glory. sh*t.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

“M-my lord!” Shang Qinghua wheezes. This is not ideal. Shang Qinghua can be sneaky-- super sneaky, some people might say, and those people have probably been conned, lied to and/or cheated by him! But he’s not sure that he’s ‘stealing the crown off of the demon lord’s head’ levels of sneaky. He won’t even have the chance to try to steal the diadem if he’s killed here and now by this snake demon, though.

Thankfully, if there is one skill Shang Qinghua has stat’d up even more than sneaking and snooping, it’s groveling to powerful, noble demons.

“My Lord,” he repeats breathlessly. “This humble servant apologizes. I am new to your halls and hope only to please you and your people. Please tell this servant how he can be of service.”

The fabric of his ridiculous robes digs into his neck as the snake demon gives him a thoughtful little shake.

“Hm,” he says, hissing softly. “New? You must be one of the guests Xiao Dushe brought back today.”

Sure, okay, ‘guests’. Shang Qinghua would be rolling his eyes if he wasn’t busy making them wide and pleading and pathetic. “Yes, my Lord. This one was just brought to these halls today, but living on the borderlands, I’ve heard about the noble and terrifying Crystal Cave Snake Demon Clan! This servant is awed to be in the presence of such impressive demons.”

The snake demon noble chuckles, a deep rasping sound, and flicks out a forked tongue from behind sharp teeth. Shang Qinghua is close enough to pick out the embroidery on his fine robes, black and pine colored fabric complimenting the crystal blue diadem in his hair and his pale, opalescent skin.

“Have you? How flattering, to hear our reputation precedes us.” The demon’s eyes scan over Shang Qinghua’s face, and then down the hallway towards where Shang Qinghua is sure the treasure room is located.

Shang Qinghua nods furiously, hoping the motion will distract the man. “Yes, it has! Everyone in my village knows to fear your might!” He looks up through his eyelashes and takes a risk, raising a hand to his throat and pressing it over the demon’s. “This servant would be honored to be of service to you, my Lord. Tell me what I can do for you and I will do it happily!”

Yes, tell me what I can do so that you won’t notice when I grab that fancy crown, please.

The demon smirks. “So eager to serve. Very well, you may accompany me at the banquet and serve me personally. I’ll see how you measure up, as a servant of our clan. Don’t disappoint me.”

He releases Shang Qinghua, who gasps and stumbles but manages to keep his legs under him. Why did that make it sound like the demon was planning to have him for dinner at this banquet? Shang Qinghua kept his eyes respectfully lowered as the demon swept away from him, not checking to see if Shang Qinghua would keep up.

Shang Qinghua makes sure to trot after him at a respectful distance, raising his gaze only once to look up at the Liquid Frost Diadem. As they walk farther from the treasure room, he looks at his feet and mentally riffles through plans on the best way to steal the artifact. If it was just being flaunted for the banquet, perhaps he could ingratiate himself to this demon and see where it was placed when the man returned it to the treasury. Then it would be simple enough to come and steal it later, but that would take so long! Could he instead find a way to lure this demon away from the banquet, snatch it, and run fast enough to a point where Mobei-jun could portal him away without the Crystal Cave Snake Demons realizing it was the work of the Northern Desert?

This contemplation carries him through the walk, and he has to abruptly refocus on the present to keep from bumping into the snake demon noble’s back when they reach the doors to the banquet hall.

Two smaller and less glittering snake demons stand on either side of the door and bow when Shang Qinghua and his new demonic target approach. The snake demon pauses and folds his arms elegantly behind his back while the two servants open the door for him and called into the room,

“Prince Chouwan enters!”

Ahahaha. Prince? Prince? What is it with Shang Qinghua and bumping into demonic royalty? One demon prince was already enough trouble, thanks! The Crystal Cave Snake Demon clan are not very powerful compared to the larger demonic clans— this Prince Chouwan isn’t notable enough that Shang Qinghua has ever heard of him before. He thinks that this character might have been one that Luo Binghe killed in the book, maybe to get with his wife? Or sister? He doesn’t remember if that character even had a name, and anyways it would be another thirty years or so until that time, so this snake prince might not even be the same one from that short-lived arc. As Shang Qinghua quickly follows after Prince Chouwan he takes a quick moment to say a prayer for the heavenly demon Zhuzhi-lang, who is probably wandering around somewhere in the human realm if he’s even in this world. Bro, you’re the only snake prince in this author’s heart! This upstart can’t compare! Even if these snakes probably got more screen time in his actual novel than the protagonist’s scrapped cousin did…

Prince Chouwan takes a seat of honor in the middle of the banquet hall, and Shang Qinghua makes to kneel on the floor next to him. The demonic noble doesn’t look at him, but smirks and reaches out to jerk Shang Qinghua into his lap instead. Shang Qinghua squeaks.

“Well, go on then. Serve me.” The prince says quietly. Shang Qinghua quickly moves to pour wine into a cup and offer it to the demon, shifting awkwardly on the man’s lap. He darts a look around the room. There are maybe twelve other Crystal Cave Snake Demons seated in the banquet hall, low tables arranged in a circle with the prince’s on a raised platform. A human woman dances in the middle of the room with fluttering silk ribbons, and Shang Qinghua spots his fellow captives looking terrified amongst the human servants bringing food and wine.

Prince Chouwan takes the cup of wine when Shang Qinghua offers it to him. Shang Qinghua keeps his eyes wide and frightened, although his hands are perfectly steady. Playing pathetic is one thing, but spilling wine on a demon prince was not going to endear him to the man as a meal or a toy.

“Good,” the prince says, politely condescending, and takes a sip. A human musician joins the dancer, and the room fills with an absolutely out of place cheery tune. Shang Qinghua fights a vaguely disgusted shudder when he feels the prince wrap an arm around his waist and pull Shang Qinghua to his chest while he watches the dancer. This angle puts him close to the diadem, if nothing else.

One of Shang Qinghua’s fellow captors brings over a tray of food, absolutely shaking head to toe with fear. Shang Qinghua feels a pang of sympathy and averts his eyes from the poor guy. That means his eyes land right on the food, and he shudders for entirely different reasons.

The man sets the tray down and places several dishes on the prince’s table. Some of them are familiar, spiced vegetables and fried noodles. There is a large roasted demonic insect that Shang Qinghua isn’t familiar with, and a small gilded cage full of live mice that squeak and squirm in the confined space.

Shang Qinghua’s heart starts to beat hard in his throat, and he swallows roughly. He feels his eyes lock onto the mice as the smell of the rest of the dishes hit him. He hasn’t been able to handle any strongly smelling food for weeks, let alone heavily spiced and oiled demonic dishes. It is maybe, just possible, that he has made a mistake in allowing himself to get into this situation right now.

Prince Chouwan’s arm tightens around Shang Qinghua’s middle, which does not help the wave of nausea. He feels breath ghost over his neck and the faintest flick of a cold tongue on his skin where the prince has leaned over Shang Qinghua’s shoulder to look half at him and half at the dishes laid out in front of them. Shang Qinghua can’t even muster concern for the way he is clearly being lumped in with the food here, too busy trying using every trick he knows to tamp down on the queasiness.

“Mmm,” the snake demon rasps, “Looks delicious, doesn’t it?”

Shang Qinghua obediently bobs his head, even as he’s drawing his gaze up and trying to look firmly at the dancing human instead of at the food.

“It does, my Prince.”

Prince Chouwan smiles languidly. “Won’t my servant feed me?”

Shang Qinghua works a delicate expression onto his face and reaches for the chopsticks. He carefully avoids breathing through his nose or looking too hard at what he’s touching as he picks up a bite of the fried vegetables and raises it to the prince’s smirking lips. Prince Chouwan’s eyes flash with amusem*nt as he opens his mouth to take the bite, pearly fangs exposed.

The prince demands Shang Qinghua feed him, bite by bite, for several minutes. Shang Qinghua keeps his face carefully neutral when he has to fish a live mouse out of the cage and dangle it into the snake demon’s mouth to be eaten in one gulp. The entertainment changes from the human dancer to a pair of Crystal Cave Snake Demon’s performing sword forms. A few other snake demon nobles approach to chat with their prince, and Shang Qinghua weathers each of them by trying to look like he has never had a thought in his head in his life. It’s a practiced enough expression that he manages to keep it up regardless of the nauseating scent of the food or the tight band of this sh*tty demon’s unwelcome arms around him.

Said sh*tty demon apparently gets tired of being fed like a lazy pet snake and shifts his hold on Shang Qinghua so that he can take the chopsticks from Shang Qinghua’s hands. Shang Qinghua has a moment to be relieved that he can officially leave the food alone before Prince Chouwan leans forward and elegantly wraps a bite of noodles around the chopsticks and holds them out between the two of them.

Shang Qinghua stares uncomprehendingly, first at the fried noodles and then at the demon’s unbearably smug expression. The man tilts his head, predatory.

“Won’t my servant let this Prince feed him too?”

Oh my god, Shang Qinghua thinks hysterically, He really is trying to fatten up his meal right now!

Shang Qinghua’s heart pounds harder, and he swallows. Is there a way he can get out of this? He needs that diadem, preferably before night’s end, or he will have to contend with an entirely different pissed off demon prince. In a fight, Shang Qinghua will take this slimy snake over the future King of the Northern Desert, thanks! There are eyes on them from all around the room, human and snake demon. The prince is still holding him tightly.

With no other options, Shang Qinghua will just have to willpower his way through it. He’s a cultivator— he’s done plenty of physically difficult things through sheer determination. That’s practically a tenant of An Ding Peak. He can do this.

Carefully, Shang Qinghua leans forward and glances up into Prince Chouwan’s face. “As my Prince commands.” He says quietly, and opens his mouth to take the bite of noodles.

The food is sour in his mouth, the oil coating his tongue and the noodles unpleasantly rubbery. He breathes through his nose and holds perfectly still. It takes him two tries to swallow the bite of food, and when he does the smile he attempts to give the demon prince is shaky at best.

Prince Chouwan grins languidly. “Good.” He reaches his free hand around to play with Shang Qinghua’s hair. “What an excellent new servant. Maybe I’ll keep you for myself.”

For dessert maybe!

Shang Qinghua nods, which make the room spin a little. His skin has broken out in a cold sweat, although thankfully the prince doesn’t give any sign of noticing.

The prince reaches back out to the table, much to Shang Qinghua’s horror, but doesn’t pick up more of the human food. Instead he plucks another live mouse from their cage, lifts it out, and bites into the struggling thing’s side. He jerks his head to tear the meat, and blood spills down his lips. Shang Qinghua gets a glimpse of the tiny thing’s torn organs.

“Oh, god.” He whispers, eyes locked on the chunk torn of mouse. Then bile hits his throat sharply and he leans over and vomits on the Crystal Cave Snake Demon prince’s fancy banquet robes.

Shang Qinghua’s eyes water as he coughs and sputters. Prince Chouwan immediately cries out in horror and disgust. The good news is, the demon’s horror at this display means he releases Shang Qinghua entirely in favor of trying to get away from the mess.

Well, Shang Qinghua thinks, Only one thing left to do. Even as his stomach rebels and sends him heaving again, and as the prince attempts to throw Shang Qinghua off of him, Shang Qinghua darts out a nimble hand and snatches the Liquid Frost Diadem off of the demon’s head. He has just enough time to flick the icy crown around and into the qiankun pouch tucked into his belt before the demon prince backhands him, sending him crashing into the tables at the opposite end of the hall.

“You dare?” Prince Chouwan shrieks, as other demons rise from their seats and the human servants start scurrying away in fear. Shang Qinghua’s back hits the tables hard, knocking the breath from him and sending his head spinning. He manages to get his arms under him as the prince stalks forward, hissing and baring his fangs. “You disgusting creature! See if we even give you the dignity of being eaten!”

The prince waves over the two Crystal Cave Snake Demon servants from the door to the hall, who rush over and begin frantically cleaning their prince’s robes. Another one rushes from the room, presumably to either get backup or to get Prince Chouwan a new outfit. Sorry for ruining that one buddy! Those robes were really nice, whoops!

With the two servants between the prince and Shang Qinghua, and the prince momentarily more concerned with his disgust than his rage, Shang Qinghua levers himself to his feet. He and the prince make eye contact, and Shang Qinghua gets to see in real time the prince’s eyes narrow and his hand jerk up towards his head. With a burst of qi, Shang Qinghua is already running at full speed from the room when Prince Chouwan comes to the obvious conclusion about what just happened to his fancy crown.

“Thief! Don’t let that rat escape!”

Shang Qinghua sprints through the doors of the banquet hall, almost bowling over a servant on their way in with more wine. In a few seconds he’s down the hall, whipping around a corner fast enough that he skids on the polished stone floor. He’s taken another turn by the time he hears the hiss and clatter of angry snake demons bursting out of the banquet hall after him.

Shang Qinghua runs as hard as he can. He’s fast, even with his vision going a little gray and his limbs a little shakier than usual. He’s always prided himself on his ability to outrun a fight, and to hide and cower through a fight he can’t outrun. Unfortunately, this place is called a labyrinth for a reason. Without the time to contemplate his half-remembered mental map, he has no idea where he is going. Is he getting farther out? Deeper in?

His lungs burn. While he’d like to say that the adrenaline of flight kicking in washes away the nausea, it really didn’t. He still feels dizzy and ill, and once humiliatingly has to stumble and slow to be sick in the middle of the hallway, barely pausing to avoid asphyxiating mid-escape.

Eventually, his fears about his own lack of direction proved to be accurate. He rounds another twisting corner and finds a group of three snake demons facing him down from a parallel corridor. He pales and tries to backtrack, before a hiss behind him has him turning around to the sight of Prince Chouwan stalking closer behind him. Snake demons on both sides, nowhere to run.

Shang Qinghua decides that he’d rather take on three weak demons than one pissed off demon prince. He darts away from Chouwan and towards the cluster of lesser demons in the other hall. He pounces on the first one, draws the golden hair stick from his sleeve and spears it into the demon’s throat with a burst of qi. Another snake demon grabs him and yanks him off of the dying one, and he twists his arm to keep a tight grip on the hair stick despite the slick blood coating it.

The second demon tries to throw Shang Qinghua into the wall, their sharp claws digging into the skin of his shoulder. Shang Qinghua turns and clings on to their arm instead, unbalancing them. He manages to get his feet back under him on the floor, pull sharply on the demon’s arm, and bend forward into a crouch. The demon cries out as their arm snaps from its socket, and then again when Shang Qinghua sends them crashing head first into the hard stone floor. Determined to maintain the momentum, afraid that he’ll waver too much to continue if he doesn’t, Shang Qinghua keeps his hold on the demon and tries to throw them into the third just as the third snake demon lunges for him.

The two collide, but with an inhuman twist of her body the last of the three demons slithers around her comrade and crashes into Shang Qinghua, taking him to the floor. They roll together, and Shang Qinghua attempts to get an arm around and stab her with the hair stick. He gets his arm up, only for the demoness to turn her head and sink her sharp fangs into his wrist. Shang Qinghua cries out and manages to stab the hair stick into her eye.

He has only seconds to revel in the victory before he loses his hold on the hair stick, his fingers starting to tingle and go numb. He lets out a harsh breath, and then feels a scaly hand wrap around his throat and drag him up off the floor.

For the second time that night, Shang Qinghua finds himself dangling a foot off the ground and looking into the face of the Crystal Cave Snake Demon prince. Gone is the smug amusem*nt that had earlier rolled off the man in waves, and in its place is cold, cruel anger. Prince Chouwan’s grip on Shang Qinghua’s neck tightens, his claws digging into the thin skin hard enough to send rivulets of blood into the collar of Shang Qinghua’s robes.

“Thief.” The demon hisses. “What did you do with the diadem? Do you have any idea how much trouble it took to get our hands on that artifact, you miserable worm?”

Shang Qinghua gasps and grabs at his throat, unable to answer.

“No matter. I’ll simply kill you and find it on your body.”

sh*t sh*t sh*t. The hair stick is still on the floor, and Shang Qinghua can’t reach any of the backup weapons he had hidden away in the qiankun pouch. Desperately, spots dancing in his vision, Shang Qinghua draws in as much air as he can and focuses on concentrating all the qi he can spare in the palm of his uninjured hand. Just as Prince Chouwan draws Shang Qinghua in and goes for his throat with his fangs, Shang Qinghua claps a palm strike to the prince’s chest.

There is an explosion of force and Prince Chouwan is sent flying back down the hall. Shang Qinghua collapses to all fours and gasps in air. His arm burns, hot and cold pins and needles running up and down from his wrist to his shoulder. Aware he only has moments of reprieve, he forces himself to stumble to his feet and makes a run for the nearest doorway.

In perhaps the only stroke of luck Shang Qinghua has had tonight, the room he falls into is the same one the human prisoners were taken to earlier— the strange pet’s den where these demons keep their meals. There aren’t many options for places to hide, but Shang Qinghua remembers one of the dressers had a small space underneath. He throws himself towards it half-blindly and scrambles underneath just as he hears the yell and shuffling of feet on stone in the hallway that he’s sure is Prince Chouwan rising to pursue him.

Shang Qinghua rolls towards the wall and finds himself looking unexpectedly into a pair of human eyes. He gasps in shock just as the other person does, and Shang Qinghua realizes it is the older woman from earlier. She, too, has managed to hide herself away in this room. His mind spins back to the banquet and he realizes he hadn’t seen her there at all. She looks terrified now, and a bit squished, with a frantic man coated in blood and vomit shoving into her hiding spot.

Shang Qinghua hears wood splinter, Prince Chouwan bursting into the room after him. No time to think, Shang Qinghua reaches out and wraps an arm around the woman as the black spots come back to his vision and threatens to swallow it entirely.

“Hold tight!” He chokes out, and pulls the talisman Mobei-jun gave him out of the qiankun pouch at his back. The last thing Shang Qinghua hears are Prince Chouwan’s steps approaching their hiding place, deadly slow and stalking. Then there is a rush of cold wind, and the two of them are pulled away through one of Mobei-jun’s portals.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Shang Qinghua wakes to low candle light and a familiar bed. He thinks, for a moment, that he must have drifted off working on grain supply reports again. He’s in his new leisure house, in his own bed, laying on top of sheets that smell like him— a little like sweat and ink and wood polish. The room is silent, and his body feels heavy. The differences filter in slowly. His arm aches, radiating up from his wrist down through his fingers and up to his shoulder. His ribs ache too when he breathes in, and his feet and shins and back are sore. He feels sticky and a little itchy, like he went to bed without bathing, and he’s only partially undressed— his boots off and his overrobe removed. The underrobe isn’t for sleeping and it doesn’t feel familiar. His hair is still up.

It’s only when he groans and shifts in the bed and a face appears above his, stony and pale and handsome as f*ck, that the fact that this all isn’t normal registers. Shang Qinghua flinches upright and smacks his forehead directly into Mobei-Jun’s.

“Auugh,” Shang Qinghua says, eloquently, wincing and dropping back down to the mattress. His forehead smarts, the room spins, and he presses the hand that doesn’t hurt to his eyes. Ow, ow, ow. When he squints watering eyes back open, Mobei-Jun hasn’t flinched, but he does look disgruntled.

“Stay down.” Mobei-Jun says. Shang Qinghua twitches his jaw in something like a nod.

His king looks elegant and intimidating as ever, when Shang Qinghua lets the sparks disperse from his vision and gets a better look at him. He’s wearing court robes, but not his fanciest pair. Dark blues and blacks, a fur collar. His hair is artfully loose, his clothes unmussed and clean, but something about his pinched expression makes him look harried. The lines around his eyes a little deeper than usual, or maybe his mouth set in just the tiniest fraction more of a frown. Shang Qinghua gets distracted looking up and into his clear, pale blue eyes, so it takes him a moment to realise that Mobei-Jun has taken his other wrist in one of his clawed hands. Shang Qinghua winces when the pressure registers and sends a new spike of pain up and through his arm.

“My king, that hurts.” He says, a bit dumbly.

Mobei-Jun’s face remains blank. He sits there for a long moment, holding up Shang Qinghua’s wrist and staring at him. Shang Qinghua would feel awkward, but he’s too tired for it. For once, he just silently looks back until Mobei-Jun decides what he’s going to say.

When Mobei-Jun doesn’t seem like he’s going to speak any time soon, Shang Qinghua clears his throat. It’s scratchy, but there’s probably no world in which Mobei-Jun would think to bring him water. “My king, you got me from the Crystal Cave Snake’s Labyrinth…?” He trails off, sure of the answer but unsure of where they’ve found themselves now.

“Yes.”

Shang Qinghua nods, which sends the room back to spinning dizzyingly. He has to swallow before he speaks again. His mind is pulling itself out of the haze of sleep —unconsciousness?— and rewinding, playing back the last things he remembers. Remembering makes him grimace.

“There was a woman with me, is she—”

“Dealt with.”

My king, WHAT does that mean? Shang Qinghua mentally groans.

At his unimpressed look, Mobei-Jun adds, “I dropped her in a human settlement.”

Well, that’s a lot better than what Shang Qinghua was worried about. Random captive lady, glad you didn’t trade getting eaten by snake demons for getting eaten by Northern Desert demons!

“Thank you, my king. You are the most magnanimous prince the North has to offer, truly!”

That reminds him of what he was actually doing in the Crystal Cave Snake Demon Labyrinth in the first place. He shoots upright and pats frantically at his belt, feeling for the qiankun pouch. Sitting up sends a cottony tingling sensation down his spine and makes his hands go cold. Instead of the pouch, he finds himself horizontal again, his vision fading back in from grey before he’s even realised it was gone.

He also registers a very cold hand, now pressed against the centre of his chest. He shivers, and then doesn’t stop shivering, unexpectedly cold.

“You were poisoned.” Mobei-Jun doesn’t remove his hand even when Shang Qinghua doesn’t make a move to get up again. He doesn’t let go of Shang Qinghua’s wrist either, and tugging at it makes his whole arm fill with pins and needles. “By the snake demons. Their venom is deadly for humans. It should not be for cultivators.”

“Oh,” Shang Qinghua says weakly, “That’s a relief.”

Mobei-Jun doesn’t look relieved. Shang Qinghua doesn’t know what expression his king is making— it’s not one of the standard array of Mobei-Jun faces that Shang Qinghua has learned to read.

“There is something wrong with your qi. You aren’t healing like you should.”

Shang Qinghua frowns. “There is?”

He tries to pull his mind from Mobei-Jun’s too-close face, the too-cold points of contact, and how generally sh*tty and confused he feels. He lets his eyes fall shut and focuses on the movement of qi through his meridians. He hasn’t meditated for… er, a bit. Longer than he should have gone without. He tries to circulate qi into his injuries, willing them to heal more quickly. He thinks it maybe helps a bit, but Mobei-Jun is right. It’s not working like it should. He’s no master cultivator, but he is the next lord of An Ding Peak, which means he is actually kind of a master cultivator, even if a pretty sh*tty one. He should have more than enough spiritual energy to at least heal the superficial injuries from being thrown into the tables, or the scratches on the back of his neck from Prince Chouwan’s claws. Instead it’s like the energy comes out of his golden core, circulates around his body, and then gets sucked back into his lower dantian, filtering away like water through a sieve.

He tries to circulate more energy, and to keep it from disappearing back into the void. This, apparently, is a spectacularly bad idea. A wave of nausea crashes over him, abrupt and all encompassing. He slaps his free hand over his mouth and tries to roll away from Mobei-Jun, absolutely positive he is about to throw up on two demon princes in one day, from which he will never recover.

Mobei-Jun is faster than him. His grip is unexpectedly gentle as he hauls Shang Qinghua half-upright with one hand and grabs an empty basin off of Shang Qinghua’s bedside table to push in front of him. He keeps holding Shang Qinghua up while he empties his stomach again, and even uses his other hand to push Shang Qinghua’s bangs out of his face.

When Shang Qinghua is done, he’s trembling from exhaustion and pain and just really, really done with being sick. Cold hands help him back down to the bed.

Mobei-Jun growls as Shang Qinghua is catching his breath. Shang Qinghua peels his eyes back open to look blearily up at his king’s very handsome face and very unhappy expression.

“You are ill.” Mobei-Jun says it like an accusation.

Shang Qinghua breathes out shakily, and tries to wave his good hand. “What, this? It’s nothing, my king. Didn’t you say I was poisoned already?”

Mobei-Jun doesn’t look reassured. “I cannot bring you back to the Northern Desert Palace. My position there is not yet secure enough to keep you from being killed by my family, or used against me by my enemies.”

Shang Qinghua nods, and privately thinks that ‘his king’s enemies’ and ‘his king's family’ are pretty much two perfectly overlapping circles at the moment. He does not point this out, while Mobei-Jun is looking so something at him.

“I do not know,” Mobei-Jun’s words are rough and low, “How to help you.”

Shang Qinghua blinks up at him, at a loss. “My king has already done more than enough for this humble servant.”

They look at each other, Shang Qinghua on the bed and Mobei-Jun leaning over it. It occurs to Shang Qinghua that this is a perfect reversal of their first meeting, when he’d spent days fanning his king, this prince, to keep him from melting like a popsicle in that little inn room. He wonders what would happen if he told Mobei-Jun to tie a string around his neck.

Mobei-Jun is the one to break their little staring contest. He stands, pushes away the chair that he must have dragged over at some point while Shang Qinghua was unconscious.

“There is a medicine,” He says, “For the poison. This prince will retrieve it.”

He nods once, like he’s assuring himself, and cuts a hole in space in the middle of Shang Qinghua’s bedroom. He puts one foot through it, then looks back at Shang Qinghua.

“You will not die before I return.”

Shang Qinghua stares at him, at a loss. As Mobei-Jun steps through the portal, his eyes widen and he reaches out a hand, then winces when it’s accidentally the one that the snake demon bit.

“Wait, my king, what about the—”

Mobei-Jun is gone, and the portal swirls closed with the sharp scent of cold and frost.

“— diadem…?”

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Alone with only his thoughts, the spreading ache of the demonic snake bite, and the lingering chill that might be from Mobei-Jun or from the lingering effects of poison, Shang Qinghua is forced to evaluate his circ*mstances. Evaluating his circ*mstances has the horrible potential of leading to thinking too deeply about his life, which is why he doesn’t do it very often, but these are desperate times. He shifts and wriggles under the blankets of his bed and then lays there, following the paths of his qi, feeling it loop and swirl and disappear.

Mobei-Jun isn’t a loud presence. He’s not a frequent visitor to Shang Qinghua’s home, past or present, even if during his junior disciple days it sometimes felt like having a dangerous house-cat who came and went as he pleased. Still, the room feels empty and silent without him.

System? He thinks, at the empty room. At nothing, maybe. There is no response.

It’s been more than three months since the System malfunctioned and seemingly shut itself off. He hasn’t tested the boundaries of what the System will or will not let him do now, too fixated on the idea that he has to go about things a certain way or face punishment. But there hasn’t been a peep from the thing in all the time since that terrifying morning. What does it mean for him, that it might really be gone? What will he do if he can suddenly, for the first time since he died alone in his apartment in another world, do whatever he wants?

That would be enough of an existential crisis on its own, but he actually is comfortable repressing that particular freakout at the moment. Mentally, he takes those questions and folds them up into a cardboard box, and shoves that box somewhere into the back of his mind where he can think about thinking about it later. Then, he takes out a different box which was gathering dust, and tentatively opens it.

Whatever sickness the system shutting caused is getting worse. Shang Qinghua is genuinely not sure when the last time he had a meal was that he didn’t throw back up somewhere from seconds to hours later. Exhaustion has become an ever-present companion, as have odd dizzy spells and low grade pain. He has lost weight, even with inedia. His golden core, which should protect him and heal him, is draining away its energy. People have noticed, have been noticing. Mobei-Jun noticed. And on this most recent mission, the symptoms of whatever this is could have gotten him killed. The mission to recover the Liquid Frost Diadem should have been annoying, not deadly. It’s possible that Shang Qinghua needs to do something. Take the situation more seriously.

He must fall asleep pondering this eventually, because between one slow blink and the next there’s light streaming in through the windows, and Shang Qinghua is sweaty and thirsty. He levers himself up, shivers at the cool air against his skin, and sees that there is a bottle on his bedside table that wasn’t there before. It’s squat and brown and has an incomprehensible symbol on the front, and when he uncorks it he finds it full of a thick, viscous substance with a scent that makes his eyes and nose burn. He looks around for any sign of his king having returned, finds none, and shrugs. He uses his good hand to slather the slimy concoction over the bite and messily bandages it. It immediately makes the wound go cold and tingly, which is a welcome break from inflamed and painful, so Shang Qinghua will assume it’s working. He really hopes it’s meant to be applied topically, because he does not want to drink something that smells like that.

On auto-pilot, he strips out of the ridiculous robes the Crystal Cave Snake Demons left him in and uses a small towel to try to scrub off any traces of blood on his skin. He unwraps his chest binding, winces at the sensation of peeling it off, and gets dressed in his own inner robes. By the time he sticks his head out of his house to find an errant junior disciple, he almost feels like a real human person. Almost.

It takes a minute, but An Ding Peak is nothing if not industrious, and there is always someone scurrying somewhere and trying to look busy in the hopes that no one will give them more work. Too bad for this little junior disciple, one of the babiest inner disciples he’s pretty sure, round figured and round faced and with a round top knot, to be caught by a senior.

“Hey, shidi!” He calls out, and finds his voice rasps. Fine, for his purposes.

The kid startles and looks immediately guilty even though he wasn’t doing anything incriminating, bowing overly-deep. “S-Shang-Da-Shixiong!”

Shang Qinghua crosses his arms and leans against his doorframe, amused.

“Please inform one of the seniors that I am, ah, not feeling well, and will not be attending regular meetings or inspections until tomorrow. You can tell them to have any work sent here today and left outside.” In a reckless moment of deciding to appreciate his position as soon-to-be-Peak-Lord, he tacks on: “Also, please send for tea and a basin of water from the kitchen.”

The extremely round disciple, rather than hopping to his new assignment, trots a little closer. His eyes are equally round, and only seem to be getting rounder and wetter the longer Shang Qinghua looks at him.

“Should I send for someone from Qian Cao?”

Shang Qinghua shakes his head, which makes it spin and in turn makes him relieved to already be leaning rather than standing upright. Case in point maybe, but, “No, no, I’m fine! Just… caught a cold and don’t want to get anyone sick, hahaha…”

The junior stares at him, and Shang Qinghua mentally smacks himself on the head. What kind of cultivator nearly at immortality level would get a cold?? Could he choose a more obvious lie?

Thankfully, this junior is too polite to point that out, and soft hearted enough to still look sympathetic and a little terrified.

“Okay, Da-Shixiong.” He says, and scampers off with only one last wide-eyed look over his shoulder as he goes. Shang Qinghua sighs and shuts the door.

——

A disciple does arrive with tea, and with a basin of water that’s even hot! They also, thankfully, do not arrive with any Qian Cao healers, although they do come with friends. The round disciple has stayed around to shepard the tea and water hauling process, and hovers anxiously over the shoulder of the willowy and indeterminably-gendered disciple who carries in the water. A third junior whose robes are inexplicably extremely dirty and seemingly two sizes too big waits by the door while the others bring in their prizes. Shang Qinghua is pretty sure the willowy one is one of the juniors who saw him puking off that supply cart, which is pretty embarrassing and maybe the cause of the judgemental look they give him.

Shang Qinghua has no idea what any of their names are, and doesn’t ask.

Once they’ve deposited their burdens, all three of them stand in his doorway and look at him pitifully. He raises an eyebrow at them.

“Da-Shixiong,” the grubby one with the too-big robes says, “Are you dying?”

Yeah, it’s definitely possible that Shang Qinghua has let this go on too long.

“I’m not dying.” He says, and makes shoo-ing motions with his hands. “Can’t a head disciple take the day off every once in a few… years?”

The three juniors exchange dubious looks. Shang Qinghua makes his shoo-ing motions more vigorous and gives them a few more platitudes, and they eventually disperse like persistent and anxious moths.

Shang Qinghua drinks the tea slowly, and more thoroughly cleans himself up with the warm water. The medicine that Mobei-Jun (probably?) left him seems to be helping his arm a great deal— he no longer feels as shaky, and he’s pretty sure his fever has broken.

When he’s cleaner and steadier, he sits on the edge of his bed and thinks.

He’s not completely stupid, no matter what certain internet commenters and sect siblings might say. While he feels pretty sure that there’s no way his illness and the System’s malfunction starting at the same time could be a coincidence, there is always a chance. Whatever is wrong with him could be totally treatable, or it might be deadly and irreversible, but either way he knows that he needs to actually, for once, see a doctor.

It’s not that Shang Qinghua actually mistrusts doctors, per se, or has a problem with the profession, in theory. It’s just that… well.

When he was just a no-name outer disciple, he’d met the demon who was fated to kill him on a no-name road and pledged his life in that demon’s service. A dozen other An Ding disciples were killed, and he was left alive, and then he was found by his sect again and suddenly he had a lot to explain. And when he’d been brought to Qian Cao for his supposed hysteria at being the only survivor of a demonic massacre, the healer had commented on the amount of demonic qi he must have been exposed to, to have so much of it lingering in his system.

He’d had a lot of uncomfortable questions to answer, in the weeks and months after returning to An Ding from that mission. Shen Qingqiu’s suspicion had been the least of it, and the combination of the demonic qi left on him and Wei Qingwei’s blithe comments about how he’d found Shang Qinghua in that town did nothing to help with his sect’s general sense that Shang Qinghua had sold out his shixiong and shijie to a demon in exchange for his life.

Which. He had. So there was that.

Ever since then, every time he gets hurt on a mission for Mobei-Jun or accidentally overworks himself and passes out in a weird garden on Qiong Ding, he’s been terrified that any healer he goes to is going to sense demonic qi on him where there should be none and report him to the sect leader. Shang Qinghua will be booted off the mountain at best, and then the System will kill him for failing to become lord of An Ding Peak, and then all the scraping and pleading and running himself ragged to survive will be for nothing. So it’s been better, since then, to just deal with his problems himself. He has a 21st century layman’s sense of medicine after all, which he’s always figured is probably comparable to the skill level of an X-Dynasty fantasy doctor, right? Right??

On the rare occasion where that hasn’t been true, he has a fallback.

It’s something he hasn’t done since Mobei-Jun broke his arm in two places when he was seventeen. He’s lucky that his recent intensive weight loss program (doctors hate him!) means that he’ll still fit totally fine in the robes he bought for this purpose when he was a teenager.

Shang Qinghua finishes the last of his tea and goes digging in his closet. At the back, a simple set of peasant women’s robes, plain and clean in peach and brown. He pulls them out, regards them critically, and sets about doing up the ties and panels that his hands are still more than familiar with.

He pulls over a bronze mirror that he usually keeps carefully out of the way, observes the effects of the robes. He looks plain, unremarkable. Exactly the way he wants to look, when he sneaks off of the mountain without the help of Mobei-Jun’s teleportation powers. He leaves his hair loose around his shoulder for the moment, which in this time says less about gender and more about being unkempt but adds to the effect for him. He pokes at his cheeks, licks his lips, and wonders what he’s looking for. His face is the same. It’s only that he’s leaving his chest unbound, that these robes accentuate his natural waist and hide some of the muscle in his arms and shoulders. He doesn’t even really look slim or womanly so much as tired and kind of unhealthy.

He shrugs and adjusts his chest to make it stand out more in a habitual way. He was really proud of these assets, even when he’d gotten with the program in this new life and started using first fabric wrappings and then a modified qiankun pouch to bind them.

The thing is, Shang Qinghua doesn’t mind being seen as a woman, per se. He is aware that in this world of Proud Immortal Demon Way there are actually total fixes for his situation. It wasn’t intentional when he wrote it, but the actualization of his magic system and all his ridiculous sex plants into a real-ish world means that there are gender changing fruits, cultivation techniques to realise your ‘true inner form’, things like that. Mu Qingfang could probably just straight up perform that sort of surgery!

But Shang Qinghua’s problem, in as much as he has ever acknowledged it as a “problem” in this life, has always been more with how he sees himself. He needs some things to see himself as a man, like a certain hairstyle, a certain cut of robes, a certain way of walking and talking and holding himself. He doesn’t really mind his body, especially when no one else was seeing it (sob). And if he did change his body completely, he wouldn’t be able to do this, which would be a damn shame because it’s a great cover.

He quickly ties his hair up in a simple top knot and grabs one of his fake, non-spiritual swords from his stash of weapons. After some thought, he adds a sharp hair stick to his hair, a vision of the snake demons flashing behind his eyes. Then, he quickly pulls an An Ding junior disciple’s over-robe over his plain robes and heads out a window.

No one pays much attention to a single, plain looking An Ding disciple slipping away from the sect. He takes the back roads, avoids the main steps, but even that is normal for An Ding, who often make deliveries and pass missives that are easier to do away from crowded paths and other disciples.

At the base of the mountain he removes the over-robe, leaving himself entirely unmarked by the sect, and then heads into town. It’s the third largest town at the mountain’s feet, one he hadn’t named in his novel. He stops to chat with a few merchants, just getting himself lost in the crowd, becoming a familiar face on the main road. He spends half an hour enthusiastically haggling with a stall owner over a pair of fancy shoes he has no plans on buying, then wanders away and towards his true destination; a small clinic, tucked out of the way in the city centre.

When he arrives, the air is dusty from cart and foot traffic, and only a few people sit or mill around the front room, past a wide and open circular gate wall. He hesitates at the opening before stepping inside, and grins sheepishly at a middle aged man who looks like he’s in with a broken wrist. The man looks back with bafflement, and Shang Qinghua quickly looks away and towards the young woman at a little desk at the front of the room. She’s writing with small, neat print in a large book, and behind her the wall is lined with acupuncture charts. Shang Qinghua approaches and tries his grin on her.

“Hi there! I’m, um, here to see the doctor?”

“For…?”

Being poisoned by an omniscient robot? “Uh, medicine?”

The girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen, sighs. She turns over her shoulder and shouts, “Jiejie, patient!”

Another young woman, this one in her twenties, pushes aside a curtain and peaks her head out. She catches sight of Shang Qinghua where he’s hovering awkwardly over her assistant and waves him back.

Shang Qinghua inclines his head to the girl at the desk, says, “Thank you!” And hurries after the new woman.

He’s led to an airy back room, most of the walls open onto a small private courtyard. It looks like it’s one of maybe two or three, and the only other occupant he spots is a very old woman in a bed in one of the other rooms, who seems to be asleep. The woman gestures for him to sit, and does the same at another low desk.

This young woman is probably no sister from Shang Qinghua’s book, which he’s thankful for even if it would be nice to get treatment from one of Luo Binghe’s several miracle doctor wives. Her face is just as plain as his is in these clothes, her hair straight and black and swept up in an efficient, unfancy topknot. She’s wearing robes that seem vaguely medical, mostly because of the apron on over top and a band over her hairline, and she has a few freckles under her eyes and on her chin. The walls around them are stacked with shelves of herbs and scrolls.

Shang Qinghua sees the moment her eyes catch on his sword, and her eyebrows go up. “Are you a cultivator?”

Shang Qinghua nods. “Yep. Cultivator, that’s me.”

She fidgets slightly with a sect of acupuncture needles in front of her. “Wouldn’t you be better treated on Cang Qiong, daozhang?”

He shakes his head, equally vigorously, which makes him a little dizzy. “No, no, I’m just a wandering cultivator, not from any sect. Cang Qiong wouldn’t have me, haha.” He wishes. “Um, can I ask, where’s Doctor Guo?”

“Oh, he’s dead.”

“Oh.”

He and the young woman stare at each other, each getting progressively more uncomfortable. Then she blushes and waves her hands. “Sorry! I’m his daughter, Guo Lantian. I’m running the clinic now in his place. We don’t get very many rogue cultivators this close to the mountain.”

Shang Qinghua is feeling less than confident about this visit, but he reminds himself that his other options are Mu Qingfang or facing the possibility of throwing up on more important people, so he persists.

“Ah, I actually was here to see Doctor Guo because it’s a problem I’m having with my spiritual energy.” He gestures, vaguely, to his lower dantian. “He briefly trained on Qian Cao, right? I thought he would have a better idea how to help than any of the doctors in the villages I usually pass through.”

She nods, which is a relief. “Yes, I understand. I’ve trained on cultivators as well, although I’ve never had the privilege of attending classes on the medicine peak of Cang Qiong. What are your symptoms?”

“Um.” He fidgets. Being faced with having to speak aloud about his problems is somehow more deeply embarrassing than coming all this way with a disguise on. “I’ve been— sick? For a bit. Um, a few weeks. Or, months. Sort of like a flu, but no fever. Body aches, I'm more tired than usual, and food has been making me sick. Pretty much anything has been making me sick, actually.”

The young doctor nods along with this explanation, so he continues. “Then recently, I was in a fight and got hurt and a friend tried to check my spiritual pathways to see if he could help. He said he sensed a disruption in my spiritual energy. It’s like any time I circulate qi, it dissipates when it gets back to my lower dantian.” He taps two fingers to his lower abdomen.

Guo Lantian scrutinises him thoughtfully. She rounds her small desk to take his face in her hands, which he allows with only minimal leaning away.

“Tongue.” She says, and then, “Wrist.” He complies with both, and she hums.

“When did you first start feeling sick, Miss…?”

“Li.” He offers an over-bright smile and doesn’t correct the address. The smile turns into a grimace when he tries to think about the timeline. “I started feeling kind of weird maybe three months ago?” ‘Weird’ was one word for ‘the robot who lives in my brain shut off.’ “But I started getting sick all the time a little more than a month ago.”

Had it really been a month? It seemed both too long and not long enough, considering he felt like he could barely remember the last time he ate something that stayed in his stomach.

“You said you were injured in a fight? On a night hunt?”

He nods and offers her his other wrist, with the messy bandage on it. She unwraps the bandage and frowns at the puffy bite mark. “This is…”

“A bite from a demonic snake.” He says, offering a sheepish shrug. “But it’s had spiritual medicine applied to it already.”

Guo Lantian steps back and puts her hands on her hips. “Demonic snakes aside, you’ve been experiencing symptoms for three months, and persistent nausea for one and a half?”

Shang Qinghua nods.

“Any chest pain or tenderness? Or back pain?”

He nods again, more slowly.

“Appetite changes, aversions to certain foods? Heartburn, having to pee often?”

“Aversions to all foods, and I guess?”

“Have you had your monthly bleeding at all during that time?”

Has he? He must have, but he can’t remember when. To be fair, he has been very stressed by all the things listed above, and by preparing to take over his peak. So he can probably be excused for not thinking about it.

“No, I don’t think so.”

Guo Lantian looks unimpressed, which is an expression Shang Qinghua is very used to getting from medical personnel in both his lives. “I didn't think I would need to spell out for an accomplished lady cultivator like yourself what is going on here.”

Shang Qinghua raises his eyebrows and looks at her, uncomprehending. “Um?”

“Are you married?”

His eyebrows go up higher. “No?”

The young lady doctor’s expression turns more sympathetic. “Oh. I’m sure that will still be fine, things like that are different for cultivators, aren’t they?”

Shang Qinghua feels like he’s missed part of this conversation. “Things like what?”

“You're pregnant.”

They regard each other in another moment of stunned, mutual silence.

“No I’m not.” Shang Qinghua says.

“You are.”

“No, I’m not!” He says, more firmly. Bright colour rises in his cheeks. “I am definitely not pregnant! That’s not possible.”

She crosses her arms. “I am a doctor, I think I would know these things. Those are all textbook symptoms, and it’s the right timeline. I would guess you’re around 12 weeks along, maybe a little more or less.”

Shang Qinghua scrubs his hands over his face. “You’d need to have sex!” He hisses, “To be pregnant! I haven’t had sex, so I can’t be pregnant!”

Guo Lantian’s expression softens further. She puts a gentle hand on his shoulder, which he does not actually appreciate, thanks. “There’s no need to be ashamed. My clinic helps lots of women who conceive in all sorts of ways.”

Shang Qinghua shakes his head, starting to feel light headed. His hands and feet have gone tingly and numb. “No, you don’t understand. I really haven’t had sex with anyone! Who would have sex with me?”

He gestures down at himself, which he realises is nonsensical here where he’s dressed like a totally normal woman and not like himself.

“There are only so many ways this can happen. There are a few plants that can cause pregnancy, but mostly it’s the natural way.”

“I’m not pregnant!” He shouts, feeling hysterical. “And I haven’t—”

He shuts up. He stares at the wall over Guo Lantian’s head, at an acupuncture chart of an ear tucked between two books.

“... Miss Li?”

Shang Qinghua slumps down in his chair and puts his head in his hands. “Oh my god, the flowers.”

“Miss Li?”

The field of blue flowers, on that mission on the border. It was just two weeks or so before the system shut off. He’d forgotten about it completely in the chaos of everything else. It didn’t seem important, just a mildly embarrassing situation, of which he got himself into many. He groans softly.

“Oh sh*t, I could really be pregnant.”

When he looks back up, Guo Lantian’s face is a twist of pity and mild amusem*nt. “That would be my diagnosis, yes.”

“And the spiritual energy?”

“I would need to confirm,” She says, “But I would guess what you are feeling is the baby.”

——

Guo Lantian does confirm. She sits him on a patient bed and has him circulate qi, instructs him on limiting it to small amounts to keep from being sick again from expending too much. She traces the pathways, palpates his lower abdomen, and sticks him with a few acupuncture needles that make him feel the least queasy he’s been in weeks. She’s not skilled enough with spiritual energy to see with much detail, not skilled enough to sense any demonic energy, thankfully, but she knows enough to tell him conclusively.

He’s pregnant. Really, actually, and almost certainly for sure.

He leaves the new Doctor Guo’s clinic with a few cases of tea, instructions on a new diet, and a lot of information about sitting positions and how he should stay warm and listen to nice poetry. It mostly goes in one ear and out the other, but he’s not the future lord of An Ding Peak for nothing, so he’s pretty sure he’ll be able to remember everything later. He is also strongly advised not to fight any more demonic snakes. Guo Lantian’s theory is that his spiritual energy is currently being used up protecting the, uh, thing in his stomach from harm. This sounds like something that would be true in his magic system, but also if he thinks about it for more than a few seconds he is going to go insane.

Before he’d left, Guo Lantian had stopped him with a hand on his arm and looked him very firmly in the eye.

“It’s very late for it, but you can decide if you’ll keep the baby or not. I wouldn’t recommend it at this point, but it is always an option. And if you keep it but you don’t wish to keep it, the town has plenty of mothers and fathers who could be convinced to take in a cultivator’s child.”

Shang Qinghua had nodded silently, not trusting any response he could give. She’d patted him on the back and let him go.

He’s pregnant.

The An generation of Peak Lords are going to ascend in four months. In four months, Shang Qinghua is going to take over as Lord of An Ding Peak.

He’s pregnant.

Shang Qinghua stands, fake sword clutched in one hand and tea in the other, on the streets of the city he doesn’t know the name of, for a long time before he heads back up the steps to Cang Qiong.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

The sun sets low and gold on the horizon. Shang Qinghua returns to an empty leisure house and a pile of work left on his doorstep. At the top of the pile, amidst requisition requests for building materials and correspondences from trade partners, is a missive from Shui Ansheng. The An Ding Peak Lord requests Shang Qinghua’s presence for tea at yǒu hour tomorrow at the Peak Lord’s residence.

Shang Qinghua sits down on the edge of his bed for a while, looking at the swirls of ink on the page without seeing them. Feeling distant from his body, he drops it to the sheets and lets his hair down. He strips out of the women’s robes and mechanically shoves them back into the depths of his wardrobe.

He brews a pot of Guo Lantian’s tea and drinks it.

He’s—

This isn’t a possibility he ever accounted for. Sure, in his first life he knew he was, in theory, biologically capable of it. He attended health classes like the rest of his peers, and he’d attended them as someone who was ostensibly supposed to have all those parts and maybe use them. His family had had some expectation of him getting married and having children, in as much as his family thought about him and his future at all. But even before he’d died too young for it to be a concern, he’d known he wasn’t going to have that sort of relationship with anyone. The only time he’d had sex in that life had been a drunken fling with a girl from his college, when he’d thought he might just be a lesbian, and she’d pretended she didn’t know him afterwards when he tried to talk to her in class.

And in this world… Who has the time! He’d figured if it ever came up he would have time to break into Xian Shu or Qian Cao and steal some books on preventing that sort of thing with cultivation. He’s been too busy surviving System-given missions and angry demon lords and fighting his way up the ranks of An Ding to think about anything like that.

Shang Qinghua climbs back into his bed. He sits against the wall and pulls his knees up to his chest, wraps his arms loosely around himself.

What does he want?

He wants to not have to worry about An Ding Peak.

He wants to have his laptop and cup noodles, even though those are things that killed him once in another world.

He wants to live without a System looking over his shoulder, threatening and punishing him when he steps out of line.

He wants to have written a book that was easier and kinder to live in.

He wants to go back to this morning, when he thought he was dying but at least Mobei-Jun was in his room, holding his wrist.

He wants, abruptly, in a way that he hasn’t in perhaps twenty years, for his mother to be there.

Even in his first life, even before both of his parents got tired of having their burdensome first child around and left him for newer, easier families, they hadn’t been close. His mother had never given any indication that she felt anything in particular about her daughter; the sullen and nerdy and obsessive girl that the author Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky had thought he was in another world. But still, he wants— he wants anything. He wants someone who knows what to do, because it certainly isn’t him. If his mother was here, she wouldn’t have comforted him. She wouldn’t have any wisdom for him.

Is that the kind of parent he would be?

He closes his eyes and presses his face against his knees.

——

Shang Qinghua sleeps in fits and starts. When mǎo hour rolls around, nausea pulls him out of sleep for good and leaves him curled up pathetically on his floor until it passes. After, he makes another pot of his new tea, which clears the edges of queasiness and lets him focus on work.

And work he does! There is a clear path ahead for not thinking about anything, and that is throwing himself into his duties as An Ding Head Disciple. Even one day off is enough to leave him with plenty of catching up to do. He organises the scrolls left for him the day before by variety of request and how little he wants to deal with it. He drafts a half dozen letters to material distributors, merchants, An Ding’s warehouse managers, and other peaks, and reads a dozen more letters from everyone and their brother who wants something from Cang Qiong and is coming to An Ding to get it. He binds together requests for night hunt assistance into a neat parcel for Bai Zhan, and then another requesting an explanation for why they suddenly need 50 jīn of clay (???). He signs off on an artefact transfer of some cursed jars from Xuan Chang Peak to Zui Xian Peak for some sort of unholy brewing project, and denies another from Shen Qi requesting rolls of specialised paper from Qing Jing, because he knows Shen Qingqiu will scratch his eyes out before giving up any of it.

He has enough spiritual energy rekindled by lunchtime to spend an hour meditating instead of eating, and then he gets back to work. By the time evening rolls around and he needs to leave to meet with his Shizun his hand is cramping and his wrist needs another coating of salve, but he’s managed to avoid thinking about anything but logistics almost all day.

He takes his time with his appearance in a way he rarely bothers with on An Ding, and when he leaves for the meeting he’s almost sure he looks completely normal. Still, every time he passes a disciple or a senior frantically running around on their usual business, a split second of panic shoots through him. One of the hall masters offers him a bright smile as she passes with an unruly junior slung over each shoulder, and he has to spend the next five minutes of his walk beating away the total conviction that she knows everything just by looking at him.

Needless to say he’s feeling a little on edge when he reaches Shui Ansheng’s office.

He finds his master sitting at his desk, a low table positioned within a small alcove carved out between shelves and shelves of logistical filing. Shui Ansheng’s office has always made Shang Qinghua feel claustrophobic, like all the papers and orders and cabinets on the walls are just waiting to leap down and drown him. Shui Ansheng certainly has the air of a man who has been chewed up by logistical orders and fought his way out with a knife.

“Ah, Qinghua, good.” Shui Ansheng says when Shang Qinghua knocks politely and steps into the overcrowded space. Shang Qinghua offers his Shizun a tremulous smile and a deep bow.

“How can this humble Head Disciple be of service?”

Shui Ansheng waves him off and gestures for him to sit across from him.

“Tea?”

Shang Qinghua shakes his head, but Shui Ansheng pours him a cup anyways, and then fills his own cup from a separate jug of what Shang Qinghua is pretty sure is a Zui Xian brew.

Shang Qinghua folds himself into a kneel at the table and fidgets with the sleeve of his robe. Shui Ansheng sips from his cup and eyes Shang Qinghua coolly.

“Has Qinghua recovered well?”

“Ah, recovered?”

“Qinghua was indisposed yesterday.” Shui Ansheng says, and Shang Qinghua winces.

“Yes! Yes, this disciple is perfectly fine. Just a small hiccup in my cultivation.”

Shang Qinghua had taken some of the time between letters and paperwork to come up with a better lie than the one he’d given the juniors the day before. Cultivation breakthroughs and deviations have strange effects, and thankfully a— that— that thing that can happen is in the same place as the lower dantian, so he can probably pass any irregularities off unless the person checking knows what to look for.

“Hm.” Shui Ansheng says at length. Shang Qinghua has no idea whether that means the man buys it or not. “How is this master’s Head Disciple settling into his duties?”

Trap, trap!

“This disciple has been finding his work manageable. He is prepared if Shizun requires anything else taken care of for the Peak or for him personally.” He offers another shallow bow. You can never get in too much grovelling!

“Hmm.”

Shang Qinghua weeps internally. Just tell him what you want him to do, Shizun! It can’t be more stressful than what Shang Qinghua is thinking about right now.

Shui Ansheng drains his cup and sets it neatly on the table.

“Your future martial brother came to visit me yesterday.”

What?

“What?”

“Mn. He seemed to be concerned that I was overworking you. He insisted that he be allowed to give you a medical examination, and that you be given time off of your duties.”

Shang Qinghua stares. “He— what? What did you say?”

Shui Ansheng snorts. “I thanked him for telling me how to run my peak, and asked if he wanted to be the one taking care of the work you would be missing with that time off.”

Shang Qinghua scrubs a hand over his face.

“I also,” Shui Ansheng continues, “Assured him that my Head Disciple would come to me if he had any issues with his health or his workload.”

Shang Qinghua doesn’t love where this is going.

“Shizun—”

Shui Ansheng levels Shang Qinghua with a piercing look. “You missed two meetings with off peak traders in the last month, and several of your usual reports have been late. Your shidi and shimei are not the only ones who have raised concerns with me. Shang Qinghua, I know I don’t need to remind you that the duties of An Ding are demanding. Every peak keeps themselves running, but we keep the mountain running. Without An Ding standing strong, the rest of the mountain crumbles.”

Shang Qinghua’s chest tightens. “Yes, Shizun.”

“Ascension is months away. I’ve already given you your name as the next Peak Lord of An Ding. Don’t prove this master’s judgement is lacking.”

“Yes Shizun!” Shang Qinghua swallows. “This disciple has been trying to break through to the next stage of his cultivation in preparation for the ascension ceremony. It has caused… a little more trouble than this disciple anticipated. It won’t happen again.”

Shui Ansheng doesn’t nod. “No, it won’t.”

Shang Qinghua bows, forehead to the floor. Shui Ansheng lets his gaze drift away and pours himself another cup of wine. Shang Qinghua takes this as a dismissal and stands.

As he turns to head for the door, Shui Ansheng calls out, “Oh, and Qinghua?”

Shang Qinghua spins back around. “Yes, Shizun?”

“Take the next two days off. Consider yourself relieved of your duties until you’re fully recovered.”

Shang Qinghua’s hands clench in his robes. His skin buzzes. It shouldn’t feel like a punishment, but it does. He’s been working so hard. Reaching this position has been his only goal since he left for Cang Qiong age ten and the System told him it was Peak Lord or bust. And because of his own stupidity, it could all be for nothing. Because he’s pregnant. And it’s already made him slip up. He takes a shaky breath.

“But—”

Shui Ansheng doesn’t look at him, just keeps drinking from his delicate cup and looking over some papers on his desk. “A Peak Lord also needs to know how to delegate. Consider this a lesson as well.”

Shang Qinghua bows one last time and flees.

——

Shang Qinghua leaves Shui Ansheng’s office feeling like he’s a few minutes from rattling apart. It’s just— it’s too much. An Ding, the System, Mobei-Jun, and— and the—

It’s too much for anyone to deal with at once.

“f*ck!”

He takes off for Qian Cao on his sword.

——

“—logize, but Healer Liao does not have refined enough qi control to continue seeing to your treatment single—”

When Shang Qinghua bursts through the doors of Mu Qingfang’s private clinic room, he’s greeted by two startled faces. Mu Qingfang stands with his back to the room, grinding some sort of herbs together at a workbench and looking characteristically exasperated. Shen Qingqiu sits primly on the edge of the patient bed, arms crossed and scowl firmly in place on his face. Both of them turn and blink in surprise when Shang Qinghua crashes in.

Shang Qinghua… did not plan out what he’s going to say here. So he just disconnects his brain to mouth filter, marches up to Mu Qingfang, and ploughs ahead.

“You—” He says, “Had no right to go to my Shizun!”

In his peripheral vision, Shen Qingqiu’s eyebrows go up. Usually Shang Qinghua would be a lot more worried about interrupting his scum villain in the middle of what seems to be a confidential medical discussion, but fortunately he is too f*cking mad!

Mu Qingfang slowly sets down the herb grinder. “Shixiong—”

Shang Qinghua shakes his head. “No! Don’t ‘Shixiong’ me! You have no right to involve yourself in my affairs.” He points a finger in Mu Qingfang’s face, who draws back like a startled cat. “This was none of your business. I have enough to worry about keeping my position on An Ding without you undermining me to my Shizun. You don’t know me, and I don’t need your help. So stay! Out of it!”

Shang Qinghua is breathing hard by the end of that little rant. His eyes are embarrassingly hot. Mu Qingfang gapes at him. It’s been a long time since he’s let himself get this angry. It’s like hot metal running down his limbs, an uncontrollable wave of rage that he can’t push away. And he doesn’t want to! For once, someone can get a piece of his mind.

Mu Qingfang clears his throat. “It was not my intention to cross a line or make things difficult with Peak Lord Shui.”

“Then in the future, Mu-shidi, just leave me alone!”

Mu Qingfang inclines his head slightly. It’s not an agreement, really, but Shang Qinghua is here because if he doesn’t yell at someone he’s just going to cry instead, so it’s good enough.

Aware of the oppressive atmosphere he’s created, Shang Qinghua straightens his robes.

“Sorry for interrupting, Shen-shixiong.” He says stiffly to the room’s actual intended occupant. Then he turns on his heel and leaves.

——

In the now silent Qian Cao clinic room, Mu Qingfang and Shen Qingqiu make eye contact.

“That,” Mu Qingfang says, slowly picking up a towel to clean his hands. “Was certainly something.”

Shen Qingqiu’s eyebrows have nearly reached his hairline. He looks, frankly, delighted, which gives Mu Qingfang a headache.

“I think that was the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen Shang Qinghua do.” Shen Qingqiu says. “What on earth was that about?”

Mu Qingfang looks upwards and prays for strength. “I have no idea.”

“Hm.” Shen Qingqiu slides a folding fan out of his sleeve and flicks it open, something Mu Qingfang has noticed him doing often recently. “Perhaps I’ll find out.”

Mu Qingfang wishes him luck with that. Perhaps his two patients least willing to receive treatment will cancel each other out.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Shang Qinghua wakes in the night to the scrape of claws over his wrist. He scrunches his nose, squints his eyes open.

It’s properly dark, the moon high outside, and everything is still. Mobei-Jun is an outline in the shadows, his jewellery and cloak glinting in the faint light. The demon lord is looming over him, but Shang Qinghua is too tired to be startled. Their eyes meet, and Mobei-Jun leans in over the bed.

That wakes Shang Qinghua up. He freezes under Mobei-Jun’s scrutiny like a mouse going still under the paw of a cat.

“You are alive.” Mobei-Jun growls.

“Yes?”

Mobei-Jun nods, like Shang Qinghua has just given him some sort of vital status report. Shang Qinghua looks at Mobei-Jun’s arm, muscle-corded and braced over his head on the bed. There is a sapphire dangling off of a silver band on his bicep like a teardrop.

Wow, he thinks, That’s hot .

And then, I absolutely CANNOT tell him anything about yesterday.

And then, Hey, why is he here???

Shang Qinghua’s logical brain finally boots up and overrules both his horny brain and his sleep-addled one. He sits up quickly, nearly knocking their foreheads together.

“Oh, the diadem! My king, let me get it for you.”

He scrambles out of bed and goes for his mission qiankun pouch.

Shang Qinghua and Mobei-Jun have been meeting for years. Shang Qinghua is used to the way things are for them. At first it was all threats and violence and mistrust. Now, it’s… still all of those things, but a little less! Shang Qinghua is much stronger now than he was when they met, and Mobei-Jun has mellowed out after those volatile demonic teenage years. He can’t exactly say he’s not afraid of Mobei-Jun— this is the man destined to kill him one day, after all. But it’s not usually an active fear so much as something he keeps in the back of his mind, that motivates him not to f*ck up.

Mobei-Jun still hits him, still slams him into walls and pins him suddenly and grabs too tightly and too roughly, and smacks him around when he’s displeased. Shang Qinghua is nearly an immortal master now, he can take it even if he doesn’t like it.

When he sees Mobei-Jun reach for him out of the corner of his eye, Shang Qinghua flinches away before he can even think about it. For some reason, his heart is suddenly in his throat, beating rabbit-quick. Mobei-Jun’s frown deepens.

“Ahaha, sorry my king! I’m just, let me just…”

Shang Qinghua dances backwards, then turns back to digging through his things. He is uncomfortably aware of Mobei-Jun’s eyes on his spine. His palms break out in a cold sweat.

Why be nervous about getting hurt all of a sudden? Two days ago he was being thrown into tables and fighting demons. Different demons. But that was before he knew he was pregnant. The fight with the Crystal Cave Snake demons takes on a new context, Shang Qinghua suddenly aware in retrospect of how stupid it was, throwing himself into danger and for some stupid crown.

But on the other hand… it’s just his body. Does he care about what’s inside of it? If he isn’t planning on actually having a whole baby , then does it matter what danger he puts himself in?

He swallows and finally unearths the qiankun pouch, digs inside and pulls out the glittering Liquid Frost Diadem. He yelps when he turns around and finds Mobei-Jun right over his shoulder.

“My king!”

Mobei-Jun scowls and tries to grab him again, and Shang Qinghua shies away in an awkward dance. He wraps his free arm around his waist, then watches Mobei-Jun watch the movement and quickly lets go.

“You found the crown.” Mobei-Jun says, crossing his arms. Shang Qinghua tries not to feel relieved.

“Yes, my king!”

He steps forward and bows, presenting the diadem. He feels Mobei-Jun take it from his hands.

“Good.”

Shang Qinghua looks up, and finds Mobei-Jun watching him and not the supposedly priceless stolen artefact. Priorities, bro?

“You performed… adequately.”

“Thank you, my king!”

Mobei-Jun snorts. Shang Qinghua knows it flatters the other man that he calls him that, even now when he’s nowhere near first in line for the throne. Recently, as more of his brothers fall in their power grabs and Mobei-Jun is bolstered higher and higher by completing missions like this, it has started to feel like a private oath between them. A mutual pact, for the man who isn’t yet really Mobei-Jun to reach the position of king. Shang Qinghua, at least, has perfect confidence— he wrote that rise to power, after all.

Mobei-Jun is still looking at him, eyes glinting in the dark. Shang Qinghua doesn’t know what else he’s meant to say. After a very long day though, it’s kind of nice just to bask in his king's chilly presence. He fights down the urge to press his hand back to his stomach.

In this world, there’s not really anyone that Shang Qinghua would call a friend per se. His contemporaries mostly despise him for snatching the position of head disciple. His seniors distrust him for the surviving-a-demon-attack incident, or also resent his rise in rank. His juniors are squishy little cannon fodder, made to die off in the background of Cang Qiong fight scenes. A lot of people in this world just feel like set dressing to him, unnamed characters to flesh out the environment. A lot of the people who don’t are slated to die.

Mobei-Jun isn’t exactly excluded from that. He’s going to kill Shang Qinghua one day, after all. But sometimes, in the quiet moments, Shang Qinghua can’t help but feel like maybe he and Mobei-Jun are something like friends. The pathetic, clingy part of him that always sees him getting overly attached to people who quickly get tired of him. And he really, really wants a friend after today. He looks down at the floor between them and rubs at his injured wrist.

“My king?”

“Mn.”

“You have a lot of older brothers, right?”

“Yes.”

Mobei-Jun’s voice doesn’t exactly say, Why are you asking me this? , but probably only because he isn’t expressive enough for it. Shang Qinghua drags a socked foot over the wooden floor.

“Your parents, they had to have a lot of children, because the powers of the Northern Desert King are passed down through the bloodline, right?”

“Mn.” Wordy as ever. But Mobei-Jun continues, “This is traditional. My brothers and I do not have the same parents, however. My father has many children, and many wives.”

Shang Qinghua nods, and swallows. “When you become the next Mobei-Jun, will you have children too?”

Mobei-Jun is silent long enough that Shang Qinghua glances up nervously, worried he’s overstepped. Instead, he finds Mobei-Jun looking not quite at him, frowning. It’s not an angry frown now, though.

“I have not thought about it at length.” Mobei-Jun says at last. “This relies on my managing to stay alive, and defeat my brothers for my father’s place on the throne.”

“You will, my king, I know it!”

Mobei-Jun nods. “If I am king, it will be expected that I have heirs, to pass the bloodline down to as my father did to me.”

Shang Qinghua bites his lip. “Do you want to though? To… be a parent?”

“My father,” Mobei-Jun’s brow creases, “Has never cared much for his children. Even my eldest brothers were not brought up at his side until they were adults, and had proven themselves worthy of his attention. And his attention can be… harsh.”

It’s not exactly an answer to his question, but Shang Qinghua feels like he understands what Mobei-Jun isn’t saying. He looks back down at his feet, throat tight.

“My parents,” He says hesitantly, voice thick, “They weren’t exactly— they weren’t exactly the attention giving type, either.” He laughs. “They were pretty happy to get rid of me as soon as possible.”

He means both of his parents, in this life and the last. His first parents, who divorced and left him to start newer, better families without him in them, and his second parents, in this life, who never knew what to do with their odd, alien son, who called himself a boy from the moment he could talk and knew things that no child should.

Mobei-Jun’s voice is grave. “Yes. I imagine my father would also be happy to see me fail.”

Shang Qinghua’s eyes burn. With some horror, he realises they’re welling up with tears. He can be a bit of a cry-baby, but now is not the time! He blinks hard to clear them.

There’s a shift of fabric, Mobei-Jun turning away from him. It gives Shang Qinghua the chance to surreptitiously wipe at his face.

“I would never question the leadership of my father and my king. But, were I to have children someday, I would not leave them to feel this way.”

Shang Qinghua’s gaze jerks up.

“My king?”

Mobei-Jun’s hands curl into fists at his sides. “I am powerful. If I cannot protect my spouse and children, I would be a weak excuse for a king and a husband.”

Warmth blooms in Shang Qinghua’s chest, even as icy dread remains pooling in his stomach. That sentiment is oddly sweet. Who knew his king had a secret romantic side? He knows these words aren’t meant for him, but…

“Yes.” He clears his throat. “What’s the point of making things better and getting stronger, if not to let the next generation have an easier time?”

He feels like he might mean it, as the words come out of his mouth. He’s never thought much about ‘the next generation’, too young in his old life and too convinced of the transience of this one. But that’s right, isn’t it? He’s trying to stay alive and survive the plot, right? And if he does, then what? Is he just going to keep being the Lord of An Ding Peak and Mobei-Jun’s rat spy for the next hundred years? Well… probably. If he survives the destruction of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect by the protagonist, and he survives his canon fate at Mobei-Jun’s claws, then he’ll just be hanging out in the demon realm. Doing what?

The world might go on. It might go on long after the plot ends, if the whole thing doesn’t just shut down like the end of a video game. Doesn’t he still want a life, if the world keeps on turning, if he could find a way to make it safe? Could he make a life for someone else, better than his parents did?

Mobei-Jun turns over his shoulder and looks at him. His king’s eyes are brilliantly, crystalline blue. For some reason, the tension in the room feels thicker than ever before.

It’s Mobei-Jun who breaks the silence, looking away again and taking a step forward.

“Soon,” Mobei-Jun says, “My position at court will be more secure. I will climb over my brothers for the throne, and bend the North to my will. When I do, I will make it safe. For whoever I might bring there.”

Then Mobei-Jun’s claws cut an icy portal in the air, and he’s gone.

Left alone in his leisure house, Shang Qinghua gives in and wraps his arms around his stomach.

——

Shang Qinghua spends the next two days thinking.

He still does all the paperwork that’s left for him, terrified to let it pile up, but he cancels all his meetings and holes up in his leisure house. He lets the little round disciple, whose name he forgets every time he hears it, bring him meals that are on Guo Lantian’s ‘approved foods’ list, and only throws up once! Okay, twice, if he’s including dry heaving, which barely counts. This mostly means unseasoned chicken, rice, and sliced cucumber, which makes him laugh hysterically to himself at the mental image of slicing up his biggest critic from another life and dunking him in rice.

While he turns his brain on auto-pilot to fill out forms and write reports, he thinks over his options.

It’s been about three months since the mission incident, a little less than two since the System shut down. That means he is pretty much done with the first trimester, from what he remembers from long-ago health class. That’s sort of far along. In the privacy of his room, with a talisman on the door, he pokes at his stomach a few times. It doesn’t look any different to him. A little bloated, maybe, but he’s lost weight recently, not gained it. Three months along.

Guo Lantian implied he could still get rid of it. He’s heard things over the years from Xian Xu cultivators about how women can control their reproduction with cultivation. So either through cultivation or medicine, he could probably get rid of it. It would be strange and uncomfortable, but he would come out the other end normal and go on with his life. This all will be a blip on the way to the plot, a brief illness that he recovers from.

That’s one option.

The next is that he… keeps it. Carries it. That he stays the way he is now and lets the (pause for internal screaming) baby grow inside of him and gets it out the usual way in six months or so. By that time, assuming nothing goes horribly wrong, he’ll be a Peak Lord.

That brings him to two more options: giving the baby to someone else, or keeping it for real. The former is pretty much the same plan as getting rid of it now, plus six more months of crazy physical changes and stress and having to deal with the reality of having a baby inside of him. The latter, though. That’s what he’s stuck on.

Does he want a baby?

This body that he’s in isn’t very old. He thinks he’s maybe twenty or so, which isn’t the youngest of the soon-to-be-Peak-Lords (Liu Qingge), but is far from the oldest (Ku Xing Head Disciple Yu Qingtang, who has almost as much grey in his hair as his master). But he, the man who was once Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, is more than twice his physical body’s age. He died when he was in his mid-twenties, which means he’s now in his forties, which is pretty well past when a lot of people have kids. He’s certainly older than his own parents were when they had him, which he is going to stop thinking about before it weirds him out too much.

Neither Shang Qinghua nor Airplane have ever considered themselves particularly paternal. Back when he was presenting as a woman, the idea of being shoe-horned into traditional motherhood had horrified him. And in this world, he’s been too caught up in the impermanence of his life and the threats of the future plot to give it a lot of thought. It occurs to him, as he signs his name on some important Peak correspondence and turns questions of parenthood over and over in his mind, that he’s maybe been a little dissociated? He isn’t totally divorced from his emotions, fear is an emotion after all and he feels that all the time (ahahaha), but there’s something there.

Even though he was born in this world, lives it every day, it’s never exactly felt real. He still thinks of it as ‘the made up, fantasy world’ to his old life’s ‘real world’, and has ever since he turned seven or so and the memories of his old life came back in full. A lot of the time here, living in the novel he wrote, he feels like he’s just dreaming and waiting to wake up. He hasn’t been treating it like a permanent investment.

If he were to have a child here though, that would be terrifyingly real. That’s not something he wrote in his novel, that is an entirely new person he would be bringing into the world.

And he… doesn’t hate the idea? Sure, pregnancy sounds awful, and has felt awful so far. But at the end of it, you get a little person to teach and take care of and raise into someone interesting and new. Not some random NPC from a book he usually regrets writing at all, but a new person full of possibilities.

He tries to imagine himself as a soft and doting parent, cooing over a sweet faced baby, devoting himself to caring for it. He frowns down at the invoice he’s writing. That’s not a version of parenthood he wants. He’s not really a sweet or nurturing or doting sort of person. But that’s just one version of parenthood, right? That’s the version people gave to the person who thought she was a girl called Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, who forced herself to be someone he wasn’t every day and hated it. He’s not that person anymore, and he’s shed a lot of the things he was told he once needed to be. Instead of that image of parenthood, he tries to imagine himself making ugly faces at a baby, teasing it and calling it silly names. He imagines himself running after a toddler and keeping it from falling into some monster’s nest, imagines himself dispensing bad dating advice to a scowling teenager with a familiar demon mark (that he’s not thinking about). That… he actually likes. He likes the thought of how that might be.

So! He maybe, possibly, a tiny bit, could want a baby. And if he gives up this chance at one, will he have another? It’s terrible timing, with the ascension so close, but when is this going to happen for him again? It’s not like he has potential partners lining up to procreate with him. He gave up the idea of marriage for himself like… a lifetime ago, honestly. There’s no one he can think of in this world who would want to tie themselves to the weird little rat traitor of Cang Qiong, and certainly no one who would want him to have their kids. And that's not even getting into explaining the particulars of his body to someone, and trusting them to not get weird about it and decide he is secretly a woman after all halfway through the whole thing, which is just— no . The same goes for all the explaining he would have to do to get a fantasy sperm donor, not to mention that he would probably need the help of a cultivation doctor, and given all the aforementioned issues with that , it’s barely a better option.

Which means he maybe, probably, at least a little, wants to keep this baby.

And that’s going to be really complicated. Because he has a System and a Demon Lord and a soon-to-be new position as Peak Lord and a f*cking plot that are all going to be coming for his head.

If Mobei-Jun had one thing right, it’s that Shang Qinghua sure as f*ck isn’t going to let anything mess with his hypothetical kid. Which means everyone is going to need to get cool with some things real fast, or Shang Qinghua is going to burn the mountain down himself and f*ck off to go live in the woods, System or no System.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

You might not know it from the way he churned out thousands of words a day of completely off the cuff horrible p*rn in another life, but Shang Qinghua is a planner. It’s how he copes! He makes lists and strategies and plots— his backup plans have backup plans. It’s part of what makes him such an unfortunately good disciple of An Ding.

So first he makes a list.

OBSTACLES

1. Demonic qi + human sect
2. Hiding pregnancy
3. Ascension
4. No doctors
5. The Peak hates me

This is a simple yet comprehensive summary of everything he’ll need to figure out in the coming months if he wants to keep this baby. Which he is, reluctantly, some might say fearfully, pretty sure he maybe does. Points #1 and #3 are obviously the most complex. In an effort to not think too hard about the baby in general and the baby’s unique conception in particular, Shang Qinghua has been avoiding thinking about… that… particular set of issues. The baby’s other parent is definitely a demon, okay? He’s not taking questions about it! But Guo Lantian hadn’t given any indication that she’d noticed anything odd, and Mobei-jun hadn’t been able to tell he was pregnant at all (huge relief! Seriously!). So, for now, he’s just… not going to worry about that too much. It will be a problem when it’s a problem.

He decides to tackle #4 first. After all, that’s the thing he’ll need to figure out quickest if he wants both himself and (baby Airplane? Little Airplane? No, that sounded wrong…) the baby to get through the next six months with their lives and dignity intact. A plan is beginning to form in his mind, something to potentially solve all these problems, and it’s going to begin by heading back down to the non-cultivator town and paying the clinic another visit.

Shang Qinghua lays down his brush and rolls up this list to hide away for safekeeping.

He’s startled out of his jittery scheming by a sharp knock.

Shang Qinghua stares at the door, then drops his head to his desk and groans. Another knock echoes from the front of his home.

Doesn’t anyone on this Peak have anything better to do that bother him? He’s having a crisis here! Will it be his Shizun, here to take back his day off orders? One of his peers here to murder him and take his position once and for all? A junior here to cry on his doorstep because there’s a delivery for Xian Xu Peak and the wards won’t let half the delivery team through to drop things off? Maybe it will be Mobei-Jun, back to put Shang Qinghua out of his misery, deciding to come through the door just to make it special!

Shang Qinghua throws open the door to the sight of Mu Qingfang standing outside his house.

Clearly a doctor’s reflexes are just as sharp as any martial cultivator’s, because Mu Qingfang swiftly sticks a foot out before Shang Qinghua can slam the door in his face.

“Shang-shixiong,” Mu Qingfang says, face utterly impassive despite the mild footwar they are now partaking in— Shang Qinghua is strong compared to his build and general laziness with cultivation, but Mu Qingfang is clearly very determined. An impasse! “I came to apologise.”

Shang Qinghua stops gently trying to shove Mu Qingfang back through the door. “What?”

Mu Qingfang backs up, which Shang Qinghua allows with some trepidation. Then, he bows.

“I would like to apologise for my actions. I was concerned and wanted to make things easier for my martial brother, but I misstepped and made things more difficult for you instead.”

Shang Qinghua’s face heats up. People really don’t sincerely apologise to him like this… ever? It is extremely embarrassing! He would honestly prefer more people yelling at him!

“It’s, uh…” He wants to say It’s fine , but he is still kind of mad that Mu Qingfang went over his head to his Shizun.

Mu Qingfang rises out of the bow and meets Shang Qinghua’s eyes evenly, then ducks his head. It makes the other man look young . It reminds Shang Qinghua that a lot of his martial siblings closest to this body’s age are technically at least a dozen years his junior. With his ears going red and this look on his face, Mu Qingfang is surprisingly boyish.

“I know I can… come on a little strong. My Shizun spoke to me and pointed out that I was ignoring your feelings while trying to help. It was disrespectful, and caused trouble for you.”

Shang Qinghua huffs out a breath and opens the door fully, crossing his arms and leaning against the frame.

“It’s fine! I’m sorry for storming onto your peak and yelling at you, too.”

Mu Qingfang snorts. “I think you can be forgiven.”

Shang Qinghua flaps a hand. “Then you can too. Just, ah, don’t do it again?”

Mu Qingfang nods very seriously. Shang Qinghua clears his throat.

“It’s just, I know you wouldn’t think it, but An Ding is very competitive? And very busy. So it’s… not good to have my Shizun worrying about this sort of thing.”

“Surely the health of your disciples is also important.” Mu Qingfang frowns.

“It is ,” Shang Qinghua says, not meaning it. On An Ding it was eat or be eaten by piles of paperwork! Kill or be killed! No time to have a medical crisis. “But I really am okay. I can handle myself. But I appreciate your concern, it’s—” Inconvenient. “—Nice. Of you.”

Mu Qingfang still looks a bit mutinous at that, but nods. “I can understand some of your concerns. With our masters ascending so soon, things on Qian Cao have been tense as well.”

Shang Qinghua snorts. “Haven’t you been a shoo-in for Wen Anyang’s successor practically since your first day doing surgery?”

“It’s not so simple as that,” Mu Qingfang says, still flushed. “I’ve had to work hard to prove to my Shizun that I will be a suitable successor in matters of leadership, and not just in medical care. It’s much more difficult than I thought when I was a junior disciple. I know what to do when someone is bleeding out or poisoned or ill, but when juniors look to me about more personal problems…” The flush darkens, and he shrugs.

“That’s where Qian Cao and An Ding differ— we don’t have personal problems, just more paperwork.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, Shixiong.” Mu Qingfang raises his eyebrows, but his lips twitch into a smile.

“What, you think Peak Lord Shui chose me because I’m good with people?” Shang Qinghua waves his hands. “It’s all about numbers— how many orders you can take, how many letters you can write, how many pounds of wood can you carry to Bai Zhan, how many good deals you can get for the sect, and if you can do it all faster than anyone else. That’s how I’m staying ahead.”

“Sounds stressful.”

“It is! Ah, but it's not saving people’s lives. I’ll take keeping people stocked with sword polish and soap and radishes over trying to keep all their blood where it should be.”

“And yet, you would think some people were bleeding to death the way they get when they don’t have the right soap and sword polish.”

Shang Qinghua snickers. “Don’t I know it.”

He looks at Mu Qingfang, smiling faintly on his front steps, then over his shoulder at his messy leisure house. Eh, what the hell.

“Do you want to come in for tea?”

Mu Qingfang’s eyes go a little wide. It's horrifically earnest. The other man clears his throat and straightens his robes. “If you won’t jump out the window, I promise not to try any surprise examinations.”

Shang Qinghua laughs nervously. “Ah, you saw that?”

Mu Qingfang gives him the grace of not replying.

——

They have tea.

It’s nice!

Shang Qinghua doesn’t socialise a lot. The closest he comes are endless meetings with other disciples, business contacts, and sometimes Yue Qingyuan on behalf of each of their masters. Or clandestine meetings with Mobei-Jun, but those are a little too high stress and violent to be classified as ‘social’.

Mu Qingfang is serious and intense, but surprisingly funny. He shares Shang Qinghua’s attitude that everyone around him is generally stupid and trying to cause as much trouble for the rest of the world as possible, but he hasn’t become as bitter about it as Shen Qingqiu or as resigned as Yue Qingyuan.

In Proud Immortal Demon Way, Mu Qingfang hadn’t had much of a personality. He was just sort of mentioned as a Peak Lord, and later was allowed to live by Luo Binghe to show that Luo Binghe wasn’t a total monster at that point. He showed up a couple of times when a wife plot needed a doctor to go, “Hmmm, I’ve never seen anything like this. Have you tried f*cking about it?” And that was pretty much it.

This Mu Qingfang clearly has history, an inner world, a lot more personality than Shang Qinghua ever envisioned him with! He’d known that in theory, but he usually tries not to pay attention to his martial siblings when they’re not actively causing him problems. Now that he thinks about it, Mu Qingfang is actually maybe the best option for one of them to spend some time with? Since he’s the only one who isn’t directly slated to die in a little more than 20 years. Too bad about the new medical secrets he really doesn’t need anyone ferreting out.

Mu Qingfang leaves after an hour or so, with the promise to drop off some spiritually boosting elixir as a further apology. Shang Qinghua stays sitting at his table, cleared of stray scrolls for the rare occasion of a guest, and sips some more of the anti-nausea tea. He looks out his window at the golden afternoon light. Maybe he can go and start on his plan tomorrow. It might not be too bad to actually rest for a day.

——

Delaying means that he starts on the plan several days later, when a meeting with some merchants brings him into town anyways and he has a few hours where he can change and slip away. The plan has been refined over the course of several sleepless nights and long afternoons catching up on the work he’s missed, and he’s feeling pretty good about it by the time he’s re-tying his robes in the back of a tea parlour and heading out for Guo Lantian’s clinic.

The clinic is just as dusty and unassuming as it was on his first visit, although this time the girl out front recognizes him. He has to wait around for a few minutes for Guo Lantian to finish with other patients, but then he’s quickly shepherded to the back and Guo Lantian wordlessly starts on an examination. He looks up at her from the patient table when she has him lay back to feel his stomach.

“Have you, um, done this a lot?”

She raises an eyebrow as she palpates his abdomen and then checks his pulse. “What?”

“You know…” He bites his lip. “... babies?”

She hums. “Circulate your qi now? A few times. I’m no midwife, but there aren’t a lot of options around here. People tend to come to me, or to Old Lady Fan, or to the clinic that Qian Cao Peak runs in the next town over.”

Shang Qinghua nods, and sits up when she tells him to and sits through the rest of the examination patiently.

Guo Lantian confirms that everything looks okay with the baby, and his spiritual energy is returning to normal. She also very patiently re-explains everything to him that she told him last time when he asks, running through dangers and expectations and what he should and shouldn’t be doing. This time he commits it all to careful memory with the dedication of An Ding’s next logistics master and the man who wrote a 6,666 chapter novel.

At the end, she crosses her arms and regards him.

“Have you given any more thought to what we discussed, Miss Li?”

Shang Qinghua ducks his head and fiddles with the rough edges of his sleeves. “What happens if I do, maybe, want to keep it?”

“I’m guessing you don’t mean eating the right vegetables?”

He shakes his head. “I’m— I’m a rogue cultivator. I don’t have any family, or a lot of friends. I’ve never taken care of a baby before.”

“Would you settle down?”

“I have a place to stay, long term. A house, food, all that is covered as long as I can work.”

“That’s good. Do you have other people around who can help you? Any other young parents, or children you could spend some time with?”

Shang Qinghua snorts. An image pops into his mind of Liu Qingge hauling around the young Liu Mingyan on his sword. The Bai Zhan War God being the closest thing to a parent he knows is probably not a good sign. “No.” Then he grimaces and wiggles one hand. “Well, sort of. People around, I guess. No one parenting though.”

Guo Lantian looks thoughtful, then nods once. “Okay. Come with me.” She goes to her desk, grabs up a satchel tucked underneath.

Shang Qinghua blinks. “Where?”

“You’ll see.” She slides the satchel over her shoulder, and starts making her way through the door without checking to see if he follows her. He does, of course, scrambling down off the table with a lot less dignity and jogging to catch up with her.

She leaves the clinic with a wave behind her at her assistant, and a few smiles at the sparse patients waiting around. In moments they’re on the main road, heading further into the city.

Much further into the city. Shang Qinghua’s eyebrows climb as they leave the residential neighbourhoods and enter a bustling trade district, and then go farther even than that. Once, Guo Lantian looks at him over her shoulder and gives him a mischievous little smile. He has a bad feeling about this. His narrative tropes sense is tingling.

By the time they reach their destination, Shang Qinghua is almost expecting it. That doesn’t stop his stomach from swooping when he recognizes where they are.

The Warm Red Pavilion.

“Come on,” Guo Lantian says. She tugs on his sleeve, directing him towards the back. His eyes linger on the sign though, and the way the red lanterns and silks that decorate the facade. She catches him looking and loops their arms together. “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, and follows her towards the back entrance of the brothel. The plot significant brothel that Shang Qinghua never had any reason to find the location of in this life. The only brothel in the world where there is any chance of him being recognized .

If he ever finds out about this, Shen Qingqiu is going to kill him.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

The women of the Warm Red Pavilion greet Guo Lantian at the door like a flock of colourful butterflies to their favourite flower.

“We weren’t expecting you, Xiao Guo.” An older woman dressed in flowing blue silks, leaning against the doorway as a younger woman in flouncy yellow takes Guo Lantian by the hands and leads her inside. She keeps Shang Qinghua caught by his own arm, so he’s dragged behind the both of them into a cramped back hallway. Another woman in blue pads down the hall towards them carrying a tray of half eaten snacks and tea— she, too, smiles brightly at the sight of the young doctor.

“How kind of the doctor to visit us twice in one week,” she says, voice low. The woman in yellow releases Guo Lantian and steals the remnants of a cake off the tray.

“And you’ve brought a friend?”

“I hope she’s not a recommendation, Xiao Guo. We’re over-full as is.”

“No! Definitely not.” Shang Qinghua squeaks.

Guo Lantian smiles and jostles his arm. “This is Miss Li. She’s a patient at the clinic I thought might like to meet Wu-jie and Yijia-mei.”

Guo Lantian raises her eyebrows significantly. The older woman in blue hums, while the woman in yellow’s mouth makes a little ‘o’ that she quickly covers with a hand.

“They’re upstairs in their room. Yijia-mei just got done with a special client, but I’m sure either of them would be happy to speak with a friend of yours Doctor Guo.”

Guo Lantian smiles and offers a shallow bow. Shang Qinghua still isn’t sure what they’re doing here, but he bows too just in case. Never hurts to be polite when in dangerous territory, right?

They pass more women of the Pavilion as they head upstairs. Each one Guo Lantian greets politely by name, asks after their health, and good naturedly chats with them before they move on. People with social skills are really amazing to see in action! Shang Qinghua has never charmed so many people in his life. He goes his best to smile and nod behind her, while privately expecting to see Shen Qingqiu jump out from behind every corner and expose him for a lying liar.

The small dormitory-style rooms that the women sleep in don’t really remind Shang Qinghua of the An Ding dormitories at all. On An Ding disciples get packed in like puppies, fifteen disciples of a similar age on mats on the floor of a wide room. He’d gotten very used to sleeping through the sound of other disciples whispering, snoring, and doing all sorts of… other things. He’d had to work hard to find surreptitious places to bathe and change away from his year-mates. Now that he thinks of it, that probably didn’t help the general impression of him as sneaky and untrustworthy. Ah, well, there was nothing for it.

Guo Lantian leads him to the last room and knocks politely.

“It’s Doctor Guo. Do you feel up for a visitor, xiaojie? I have a friend here who I would like to introduce you to, if you and Wu-jie are up for visitors.”

The door opens, and Shang Qinghua blinks at the woman who opens it. She’s lovely, like all the women at the Warm Red Pavilion, dressed in a mix of reds and pinks and oranges that, combined with a plump figure and round face, make her look like a ripe peach.

She is also carrying a baby.

Shang Qinghua stares at the baby. The baby blinks open big, dark eyes, and stares back.

“Doctor Guo!” The woman gushes. She rocks the baby on her shoulder gently. “We didn’t expect you back so soon. Please, come in, jiejie was just getting up from a nap, and I’m trying to get A-Ting to take one.”

“Is that a baby?” Shang Qinghua says. He flushes. “I mean, uh. Obviously that is a baby, it’s only that—”

The woman laughs. It’s sharp and loud, not at all cute or ladylike. “Not what you expected in a brothel?”

“I’ll be honest, I have no idea what happens in real brothels. In books, it’s lots of debauchery, and not a lot of children.”

“We have the debauchery too,” she winks. “Why don’t you two come inside?”

This room is the smallest of the dorm rooms they’ve seen yet, with just three beds, two wardrobes, a mirror, and a small sitting area with a tea set and a few snacks laid out. Another woman is just sitting down at the small table. She’s tall, taller than the room’s three other occupants (and much taller than one, if you count the baby), with long, thick black hair and bold features. She is also visibly pregnant, a thin wine coloured overrobe doing absolutely nothing to hide the swell of her stomach. She raises dark brows when Guo Lantian strides inside, and Shang Qinghua shuffles in after her.

“This is A-Ting,” the first woman says to Shang Qinghua. She lifts the baby under the butt and sort of waves her gently at Shang Qinghua. “And I’m Xiang Yijia. That’s Wu Hengzi over there.”

Wu Hengzi nods to them.

“Li Houhua.” Shang Qinghua says. The lie is an easy, familiar one.

Guo Lantian takes one of A-Ting’s little hands in hers and gives it a squeeze, smiling down at the baby. “A-Ting is looking good.”

“She’s almost got back all her birth weight. I’ve been feeding her very well, she’ll be very fat soon.”

“No problems with milk coming in?”

“None at all! If anything there’s more than she knows what to do with. I keep having to put rags down my shirt, but at least some of my clients like it.”

She barks another laugh, and Shang Qinghua lets out a surprised snort. She winks at him.

“Lantian, your friend looks nervous, will we scandalise her?”

“No, no. I promise, no risk of that.” Says the man who was once called Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, and wrote some truly salacious things in this time. He glances at Guo Lantian out of the corner of his eye. “It’s just, um…”

Guo Lantian reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Miss Li and I have been talking. She’s making some decisions herself about a baby, and how and if to take care of it. I thought the two of you might be able to provide some insight, or a listening ear.”

Of course, there would be brothel women who had babies. Women without husbands or proper homes, who would need to work to keep them if they chose to. Shang Qinghua would never have thought of it; for all that Proud Immortal Demon Way was full of sexy brothel scenes, it would never have touched on the lives of the women working there. In a male power fantasy, prostitutes are just set dressing, unless they’re assassins or lost princesses in disguise.

Shang Qinghua doesn’t think either of these women are assassins or lost princesses.

Xiang Yijia’s expression softens. She shepherds them both over to the small table, where Wu Hengzi has begun making tea. He sighs when the scent of ginger wafts up from the pot.

“So, Li-jiejie,” Xiang Yijia says, A-Ting cuddled up to her chest, “Let me guess, no husband to take responsibility?”

It has been a long time since anyone called Shang Qinghua jiejie. It’s strangely charming, and the informality is a relief after so long amongst proper cultivators.

“Uh, no.” He takes a cup of tea gratefully when Wu Hengzi pours for the four of them. “Definitely no husband. It was a sort of one-and-done type deal, you know? Not exactly planning for anything to result in kids.”

“Don’t worry, we won’t judge. What prostitute plans to end up with a baby?”

“Speak for yourself.” Wu Hengzi says. Her voice is deep and even. She strokes one hand over her stomach. “I was very meticulous with planning mine.”

Xiang Yijia laughs again and nudges the other woman. “Wu-jie is an exception! She schemed for a good man to have a baby with, and she caught one so she can have a handsome son.”

Wu Hengzi smirks, just barely. “I think it will be a girl. A son is too much trouble.”

“There’s no way to know! Anyways, we both worked through the pregnancy, and Wu-jie is due in three months. How far along are you, jiejie? I can hardly tell by looking at you.”

“Ah, Doctor Guo thinks three months or so.”

“I don’t miss that time. I didn’t get too sick, but Wu-jie had terrible morning sickness.”

“I got sick in the middle of serving a young master once.” Wu Hengzi says. Xiang Yijia nods solemnly.

“Right on his righteous pillar, if you know what I mean. You were very optimistic to try taking it, jie.”

“I am dedicated to my craft.”

Shang Qinghua can’t help laughing, a little horrified. This is not what he expected from pregnant women. Clearly, he’s been missing out. “Don’t people give you trouble?”

Xiang Yijia hums. “We’re treated pretty well here. The Madame is fair and keeps us safe, and Wu-jie has already paid off her debt— she could buy her contract and leave whenever she wants to, but we make good money here and get a roof over our heads and good food. It isn’t easy, things have been hard since A-Ting was born. I can’t see as many customers, and it’s very tiring.” She shrugs. “We make do though. And having A-Ting in my life is worth it.”

A-Ting makes a little squeaky baby noise, as if in response. It’s lethally cute.

“How did you know? That you wanted to keep her?”

“I always wanted children.” She shifts the baby a little higher on her chest, so her soft head rests on her shoulder. “But I didn’t think it would be in the cards for me. I was sold to the brothel as a server when I was very young, and I didn’t like the idea of raising a child in a place like this. But then it happened, and I thought, if not now, when? There would never be a perfect time with the life I live, so would I give up on having children? So I decided to keep her, even if it would be hard.”

Wu Hengzi nods along with this, although she doesn’t offer her own story. She just rests a hand against her stomach.

“Traditional midwives don’t always understand less traditional families, or mothers, but it happens more often than people like to pretend.” Guo Lantian says.

Xiang Yijia nods vigorously. “Doctor Guo has taken great care of us! Her treatment has been much less expensive than anyone else in town, and she’s never given us trouble for the work we do.” She cuts Guo Lantian a mischievous look. “And she very nobly turned down the payment some of our meimeis offer her.”

Guo Lantian’s cheeks flush red, and she clears her throat. “Of course not.”

“But that’s enough about us. What did you want to know, jiejie?”

Shang Qinghua fidgets with his cup, looking down at the table. This is all so far outside his expectations for himself, and his life (either one). He doesn’t know what to do with the easy camaraderie of these women who would barely have been extras in the story Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky wrote. He hasn’t cultivated a lot of female friendships in either life— self hating and resentful to be stuck in a category with other women in his last, and too self conscious of his flaws in this one. It makes his chest feel funny in a way that has nothing to do with the baby, that Guo Lantian brought him here because she thought he might have something in common with these women. That they could help each other.

This time when he allows his hand to drift to his own stomach, still almost entirely flat.

“I guess I just don’t really know what I’m doing. I don’t know anything about babies! And I— I want this one, even if it was an accident, and I kind of feel like an idiot.”

Wu Hengzi looks at him, her gaze dark and solemn. “Nobody does. But we learn.”

“In fact,” Xiang Yijia says, “No time like the present. Here!” And then she’s pushing A-Ting into his hands.

Shang Qinghua is a near-immortal cultivator, so he doesn’t fumble the baby that’s pressed into his arms. He does flail around in mild panic though, even as Xiang Yijia neatly arranges his arms around the baby so that she’s nestled into the crook of one arm while the other supports her back.

“No way, oh my god, what if I drop her? Do not leave this to me!”

Wu Hengzi raises an eyebrow. “She weighs 8 jin, and you’re sitting down.”

Shang Qinghua makes a sound like a boiling teakettle. This wakes A-Ting, who blinks up at him with enormous eyes and then scrunches her face up unhappily. Shang Qinghua gets it— he wouldn’t want some idiot holding him either.

Wu Hengzi rolls her eyes, then reaches across the table to press against Shang Qinghua’s arms, tightening his hold.

“Babies can smell fear. Like horses. She’ll cry if you don’t hold her securely enough.”

Shang Qinghua makes desperate eye contact with Guo Lantian, who laughs at him. No help from that quarter, clearly. A-Ting starts to whimper and scrunch her face up even more. Disaster imminent! For lack of anything better to do, Shang Qinghua starts to rock her back and forth slightly.

Xiang Yijia smiles and pats his shoulder. “Not so hard, right?”

——

Half an incense stick later, Guo Lantian rises from the table with a sigh. “I need to get back to the clinic. Wu-jie, Yijia-mei, thank you very much for speaking with my friend, and as always for your courtesy towards this humble doctor.”

During the intervening time, Shang Qinghua has, miraculously, managed to not make a total fool of himself in conversation with the three women. Xiang Yijia started up a conversation about one of her recent clients that, egged on by Shang Qinghua, turned so raunchy that Guo Lantian had started fanning herself with her hands. She’s hilarious and honest, and he finds himself genuinely enjoying the visit.

“You’re welcome any time, of course!” Xiang Yijia says. Wu Hengzi stands to see them out this time, with a hand up from Guo Lantian. “In fact, I insist you come back. Li-jiejie, mothers without husbands need to stick together. And you have to tell me about the Thousand Tongued Desire Vine you mentioned, I need that story.”

Guo Lantian coughs. “I’ll leave you to that one. Shall we?”

Shang Qinghua follows her out, back onto the town streets. He needs to get back to the sect too, but he walks her home like a gentleman, even if he isn’t dressed like one right now.

Guo Lantian stops at the gates to the clinic's courtyard and turns to him.

“It will be good for you to spend time with other parents, if you’re serious about this baby.”

He takes a breath, presses a hand, again, to the flat plane of his stomach. Seeing A-Ting and Xiang Yijia didn’t exactly make him feel more sure about his ability to handle taking care of a baby himself. But she was exceptionally cute. Shang Qinghua could see himself loving a baby like that. He could see himself loving an ugly baby too, because it would be pretty funny, and because it would be his and small and warm like A-Ting was. And if she and Wu Hengzi could have children while working in a brothel, having one on Cang Qiong couldn’t be too hard, right?

“I am.” He says. She squeezes his shoulder, and heads back into the clinic.

——

When Shang Qinghua makes his way up the last of the stairs onto An Ding, once again with chest bound and his own robes on, there is another cultivator waiting for him. He vaguely recognizes it as one of the peers from his disciple group, a man with a pinched face and an overly tight topknot just a little older than Shang Qinghua. Shang Qinghua outranks him now (ha), but he’s pretty sure this guy had once assigned him some really sh*tty courier runs when he was an outer disciple. Not cool, bro.

“Shidi,” he nods to the man.

Sour-face continues to make his sour-face at him. “... Shixiong,” he says, and oh, that sounds like it hurt. “Where were you? The meeting with the merchants ended a shichen ago.”

“I had some other business in town.” Shang Qinghua lies smoothly. “Hunting down some information on an artefact Jie-shigu wants for Xian Xu.”

Sour-face sniffs. “We’re on a tight schedule, you know. Some of us have actual work to do.”

Okay, so let me get back to actually doing all the work that I do, asshole, Shang Qinghua thinks, but does not say. Instead he bows, too low for his station to someone who’s his junior now. “Of course, shidi! Diligent as always, making sure this shixiong is on track. Keep up the good work!”

He scampers away, hoping this guy didn’t actually have anything important to tell him.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

Deng Tuwen is dying. Financial reports are spread out around her— across the table, across her lap, trailing onto the floor. Her eyes are blurring, her hands and robes stained with ink.

She feels around blindly for the next form, only for it to slip out of her fingers.

"Wuh?"

She looks up blearily and follows the trail from the form up to a familiar grinning face now eyeing her work critically.

"Shang-shixiong?"

"Shimei! I thought I saw some of my junior martial siblings wasting away back here. Let me guess, finding the fault point in the last audit of… Xuan Chang?"

She drops her head down onto the table and moans. In the seat next to her, Du Rouhuang makes an incomprehensible sound of pain-and-or-sadness.

"They don't write anything down. Why do they keep sending disciples to the borderlands to make deals for artefacts and then not writing it down ?"

She feels a light pat on her head.

"Ah, this is too sad. Hold on, this Shixiong will help you out."

Deng Tuwen doesn't look up to watch him leave. She only looks up again when the scent of tea and almonds pierces through the overwhelming smell of ink and misery. Her face rises from her pile of paperwork, and the sight of a tray of almond cookies and tea being set on the table is like the sun breaking over the horizon after a long winter.

Du-shidi bursts into loud tears. Shang-shixiong laughs, awkward and overloud over the sobbing, and starts shuffling through forms. Deng Tuwen takes advantage of Du-shidi's moment of weakness to snag three cookies.

"Think nothing of it! I remember my days finding mistakes in sect audits, haha. The pain stops eventually!"

He reaches out and taps one of the papers. "I think I see an issue in the math here— probably sums here and here got counted once, but it should have been twice."

"I would die for you." Deng Tuwen whispers.

——

“What do you think?”

Zhong Miaoqing nearly drops the list of names they’ve been peering at. They scramble to catch it, and look down to find Shang-shixiong has, at some point, appeared by their elbow with his arms loosely crossed. He’s not looking at them, instead surveying the field of busily digging new disciple candidates they stand in front of.

“Sorry?” Zhong Miaqing asks. They haven’t been polite to a sect member yet, and so far no one has whipped or starved them, so they aren’t planning to start. Last week they made a minor sword master of Wan Jian cry while forcing him through describing each step of his forging process with exact measurements and prices of materials, and Master Mao patted them on the back and called them a credit to the sect.

“What do you think?” Shang-shixiong repeats. “Do any of them stand out to you?”

Zhong Miaoqing grunts.

Shang-shixiong points to a random child who is digging a very half-hearted hole. “What about her?”

Zhong Miaoqing looks down at their list. “Candidate Huan. Her mother is friends with Qin-shigu’s principal hall master, so she’ll probably be going to Qing Jing no matter how well she does. They’re gem merchants, although I’ve heard she’s a bastard— probably why they’re getting rid of her here.”

Shang-shixiong hums and points to another. “Him?”

“Oh, he’s one of ours. Third son of a minor merchant, but their family supplies us with spiritual wood that Xuan Chang uses in restorations. You approved that one personally.”

“Right, right.” Shang-shixiong taps his chin. “What about her?”

“Shixiong.”

“You don’t know?”

“Does it matter?”

He snorts. They’re not sure what’s funny, but far be it for them to question their head disciple. Weird and enigmatic is a better and more normal look than exhausted and sick, which was starting to seem like a permanent condition for him before the last week or so. They were starting to worry Neng-Shixiong was going to slide in as head disciple at the last minute, and then someone was sure to revolt, and it would have been deeply annoying.

“Sure it does. Who would you choose?”

They tilt their head and look over the children, even though they don’t need to. They know every name who made it to this stage of the disciple choosing, and they know everyone who is already set to join one peak or another.

“I don’t need to choose anyone. Most of them are going to join based on favours anyway.”

“No need to be so pessimistic! We can always use more warm bodies on An Ding. I’ve been thinking of expanding some new divisions of admin and trade, and it’ll need to be staffed by some new disciples.”

Now that’s interesting. Zhong Miaoqing cuts him a look. “What kind of new division?”

“Oh, nothing too exciting. Just looking a little bit more into research and records. An Ding usually does all the record keeping and none of the expanding, but I figure— why not both?”

Hm.

“What are you looking for? Scholars?”

“No, no.” He waves a hand. “I’m thinking more… social skills. Discretion, good memory, decent physical ability but that’s not necessary. Versatility.”

Zhong Miaoqing considers this.

“Her.” They say, and point out into the field. It’s a little girl, on the younger side for applicants. In fact, significantly on the younger side.

“Why her?” Shang-shixiong asks.

“She’s cute.” They say, and he laughs. “And she’s too young to be here, so she must be a good enough liar or charming enough to be let in anyways. No significant family connections, and her digging looks fine. She’s not underfed or weak.”

Shang-shixiong nods. He steps away from them and wades through the crowd, dodging around digging children to collect the girl with a smile. When they come back to the sidelines where Zhong Miaoqing stands, she is beaming and covered in dirt, one grubby hand clutched onto Shang-shixiong’s sleeve.

“Disciple Zhong1 meet Lu Maiying. Lu-shimei, this is Zhong Miaoqing.” He says. He releases Lu Maiying to slap Zhong Miaoqing on the back.

“Lu Maiying will be your personal project, Miaoqing. Congrats! Treat each other well, and tell this shixiong if you have any trouble.”

Lu Maiying squeals and switches her clinging onto Zhong Miaoqing. Betrayal! They narrow their eyes into a glare which bounces off of Shang-shixiong’s smug face.

“I’ll let you both know about that new division as we get closer to the ascension, okay? Now.” He claps his hands. “Who’s next?”

——

“Oh, she could demonstrate sword forms for the concubines!”

“And then ask if they want to see her wield another sort of sword in her rooms…”

“No meimei, she couldn’t bring that sort of thing into his house— remember, when he found her on the streets she only had a single robe to her name.”

“The general is a resourceful lady, I’m sure she can find something and make do.”

“Oh, oh!” Jin-mei says. She pats Shang Qinghua furiously on the shoulder. “Perhaps her husband has something already in the house! And she finds it when she’s going through his things, looking for clues about her brother. And she takes it, and it makes her wonder about him. Then later after he finds out she stole it to use with his concubines, he tells her to use it on him.”

Shang Qinghua dutifully writes this down, while the other women exclaim over the idea and pitch in other thoughts or lines.

An arm drapes around his shoulders, and he looks up to meet Xiang Yijia’s smiling peach blossom eyes.

“I told you everyone would like your stories.” She says.

He shakes his head. “Not my stories! I’m just a lowly scribe to the wicked imaginings of your sisters.”

Jin-mei snickers. “Not half so wicked as Li-jie thinks up. What was that story you had about that demon prince again?”

“Meimei must be thinking of the demon princ ess and that creature from the abyssal void.” Hua-jie says. “I liked that one a lot— lots of tentacles, very creative.”

Xiang Yijia laughs. “You should let me take some of your work to the Madame. If you can cover the initial cost of paper, I bet she would consider selling your books. Or yours,” she adds with a nod to the small huddle of women, who giggle and jostle each other.

Shang Qinghua taps his brush to his lips. “Agh, I don’t know. They’re not that good, it’s just— just something I used to do.”

“Why not? They’re yellow books, who says they have to be literary masterpieces. It can just be fun.”

"Why not? They're yellow books, who says they have to be literary masterpieces. It can just be fun."

He does like writing, is the thing. Telling the Warm Red Pavilion women stories and writing down theirs in turn is some of the most fun he's had… maybe since coming to this world? Which is a thought he kind of hates, and kind of makes him hate himself. It's not that he's usually so unhappy, it's… just that he's usually sort of unhappy, okay? He doesn't have time for fun! He's trying to survive this terrible world! He's been working his ass off to become Peak Lord and Mobei-Jun's spy! So what if other people can just have fun, have hobbies, while still staying alive in this world. He's not the same as them— he has a System looming over his shoulder, a canonical fate looming on the horizon.

And… writing just makes him a bit nervous now. A persistent, aching fear that he's going to put pen to paper and, when Mobei-Jun inevitably crushes his throat for his traitorous ways, he'll wake up in another unfamiliar, too-familiar world.

Xiang Yijia's eyebrows furrow, and she ducks her head to meet his eyes. "Li-jie? Are you okay?"

He shakes himself out of his thoughts, embarrassed to realise his eyes have started to burn and blur. He scrubs at his face hastily and laughs.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Sorry, ignore me."

She settles more firmly against his side in a half-hug, and Jin-mei slips over to sit on his other side. It's a lot more physical contact than he gets pretty much ever, and it makes him want to shed his skin and run away at the same time that it makes him want to stay and never lose this. He rubs his face more vigorously.

"I'm crying over writing bad p*rn." He says.

She pats his arm. "It happens. When I was pregnant with A-Ting, I cried over the colour of a cake once."

"And she got into a screaming argument over the fit of a dress." Jin-mei adds. Xiang Yijia shoves at her, flushed.

Shang Qinghua tries to sniffle quietly and clear his eyes to look back at the characters on the page. Xiang Yijia and Jin-mei are a warm weight on either side. The others politely look away from his tears and continue to chat lightly about their story.

"Just think about it." Xiang Yijia says.

"Do you really think anyone would want to read stuff like this?"

"Yes. And it would be a good source of income. You can't exactly go on nighthunts in this condition, right? You'll need to find other ways to make money until the baby is old enough to be left while you work."

"Right," Shang Qinghua says. "No nighthunts."

——

"After some consideration," Shui Ansheng says, "I've decided to grant your request to supervise a nighthunt. Xiao Hua has been very thorough in his research, and good to bring this issue to the attention of the sect."

Shang Qinghua has been thorough! He has drafted this proposal very carefully. He needs it to go well.

"Thank you, Shizun! I won't let you—"

"On the condition—" Noo. "That you bring him with you."

Shui Ansheng nods his chin towards the room's other occupant. Liu Qingge, kneeling before the An Ding Peak Lord's desk, scowls as he has been since Shang Qinghua arrived. That would explain what he was doing here, when Shang Qinghua was summoned.

"Why?" Shang Qinghua— well, he whines. No reason to pretend he's not whining, Shang Qinghua is not above whining!

"Because," Shui Ansheng says, "I have invested too much time in teaching my successor to manage the sect's accounts for him to be eaten by a beast on a night hunt months before I can finally retire in disgrace."

The Peak Lord is in his personal office again, although this time he's not even pretending to work— his papers have all been cleared away to make way for a tray of spicy food and several jars of whine. There is a young woman sitting beside his desk with an erhu in her lap that Shang Qinghua is pretty sure is a Qing Jing cultivator, and Shang Qinghua really doesn't want to know what his Shizun did to get a Qing Jing spiritual musician to come be his personal mp3 player. He tries to share a can you believe this guy? look with Liu Qingge, but his Shidi doesn't really do expressions, and doesn't meet his eyes.

"Can't you trust in me as your successor not to get myself eaten by a demonic beast?" Shang Qinghua says. "I can fight!"

Shui Ansheng looks deeply dubious. Fair, Shizun. Hurtful, but fair. The Peak Lord passes Shang Qinghua's proposal back to him and takes a long drink straight from a jar of wine.

Liu Qingge crosses his arms. He's still holding Cheng Luan in one fist, so it scrapes against the wooden floor.

"I have better things to do than babysit an An Ding errand."

"Bold words from someone who set a training hall on fire for the second time this week." Shang Qinghua mutters.

"Your master agreed to lend you to me for the duration of your punishment." Shui Ansheng says. "And we need a physical cultivator to pad out the numbers while An Ding deals with this beast that Xiao Hua has so helpfully brought to our attention."

"Why can't I just go kill the beast myself? They'll only slow me down."

"Respectfully, Liu-shidi." Shang Qinghua says, not very respectfully. He doesn't need either of them wondering too hard why, indeed, any other Peak shouldn't take this mission instead. "It's not just killing the beast we need to worry about. The claws, fangs, blood, and pelt of the Violet Eternal Dusk Wolf can be specially harvested to be made into cultivation tools, and the flower it guards can be distilled into a life saving medicine in the right hands."

"Fine." Liu Qingge says. "I will make sure a minimal number of An Ding cultivators are eaten by this wolf."

Shang Qinghua levels a finger at him. "An Ding mission, An Ding rules. I'm in charge, so don't just go running ahead at the first sign of a fight."

" Fine. "

Shui Ansheng pinches the bridge of his nose. "Get out of my office, children."

"Yes, Shizun!"

"Yes, Shishu."

——

Shang Qinghua has orchestrated this nighthunt carefully.

As the days go by, he is faced increasingly by the realness of what's happening to him. He can't just put his head down and let the days go by, not when there are more and more signs of the pregnancy now that he knows to look for them. He hasn't gained back much of the weight he lost in the first few months, and he looks the same in his robes as he ever has. But without them, he's starting to become aware of the small changes. His chest is larger, and aches when he doesn't use a qiankun binder. His stomach has, ever so slightly, begun to grow too. He notices it now in the morning, when he has to tie his sash a little extra tight, when he on rare occasion catches his reflection in the polished bronze mirror in his room.

For now, he can hide it easily. He doesn't need to change his wardrobe, and the still pervasive exhaustion is easily written off as overwork. A combination of medicinal teas and Guo Lantian's advice has all but eliminated the daily illness, although he still feels nauseous if he goes more than an hour without eating something. It's manageable.

But it's going to be a lot less manageable soon. He has no idea what he'll do when the symptoms become more obvious. He may have, barely, accepted that the whole situation is real and happening, but he is still firm on one thing— no one can know. If the sect discovers he is pregnant, there is no way he'll be allowed to ascend as a Peak Lord in that condition. Transphobia may not exist the same way in this world as it did in his last, but people are still going to get weird about him being pregnant at least as much as they would if it was a female cultivator. And if anyone finds out he's pregnant with a demon's child? Well, he knows exactly how that goes. Su Xiyan didn't live to make it into the plot.

Still, Shang Qinghua is a practical person to a fault. Cowardly, lazy, avoidant, but practical. He's going to have to at the very least introduce his baby to the peak once it arrives, if he hasn't figured out a way to flee the sect and become a f*ck-or-die-cure farmer in a far reach of the continent without inviting the wrath of the System or Mobei-jun. If he's going to trust the peak around his kid, he needs to make sure the peak is solid enough not to make that a terrible idea. And if he's going to risk anyone ever finding out that his kid is a half-demon, he needs to be well liked enough that they'll hesitate before trying to stab either of them.

He's been laying the groundwork for this all slowly. Increasing his presence around the peak, even when he's tired and mostly wants to go hide in his room. Talking to the disciples more, having more meetings with the masters of trade and accounting and talking over lesson plans with the teachers, engaging when Shui Ansheng brings him along to the few important meetings the Peak Lord still handles personally. It adds to his already busy workload, but it's worth it— a long term investment.

Until now, Shang Qinghua has made every attempt to blend in seamlessly with the background of the Sect. And he's been great at it! Look at him, going largely unnoticed even by his own peak mates! But that won't be an option anymore if he goes through with this. Having a baby as a Peak Lord is going to bring a lot of attention, and not the good kind. So if he's going to be visible anyways… it'll be on his terms, now. And he'll do his best to make it into a new kind of armour.

The kids are easy. Praise, attention, investment, remembering their names (oops), what else does a teen cultivator need? They're also pretty cute, once he gets past his ingrained expectation that they're going to bully him for being uncool. The older masters are okay— they value organisation and delegation, and those are two things Shang Qinghua has learned to deeply embrace over his time on An Ding.

His peers are what the nighthunt is for.

Shang Qinghua has been selective in choosing who he'll take on it. Some junior disciples who he knows are loyal and effusive, but none of his three private favourites. He selects an even more careful group of his peers, a mix of the people more favourable towards him, those who don't really care about him, and two of his most vocal detractors.

Liu Qingge throws a bit of a wrench in this, but as long as the future Bai Zhan War God doesn't go tearing off after their prey before any of the An Ding cultivators can get to it, it should be fine. The nighthunt itself is one that Shang Qinghua actually remembers from the book (miracle of miracles). It came to him while he was brainstorming ways he might be able to show some previously unseen bravery and confidence to the peak members who still think of him as 'that coward who got his shixiongs killed'. He's no great fighter, but he does have one thing to offer the sect that no one else does: unearned detailed knowledge of the horrible world they're all trapped in! This mission is perfect for showcasing that.

A Violet Eternal Dusk Wolf was spotted in a forest to the East of the sect. No one has gone quite so far as to start asking for aid from the great sects yet, but word has travelled and the townspeople who live near the forest are nervous. They're dangerous and violent creatures, and they guard a rare flower, the Eternal Dusk Blooming Rose. Wherever the Eternal Dusk Blooming Rose grows, their wolfy friends are sure to show up and start eating people to protect the flowers. In Proud Immortal Demon Way a plague of Violet Eternal Dusk Wolves was trotted out early on in Luo Binghe's post-Abyss arc to show the ways in which the great sects ignored problems and neglected their people. Well, Bing-ge, who's ignoring the problem now? This author-god is on the case very promptly!

And, thanks to said author-god knowledge, he knows exactly how to deal with them.

——

The group sets out from An Ding at first light. The senior disciples fly by sword, while the juniors take a cart that will be used on the way back to carry anything they're able to save from the hunt and return to the sect with.

Liu Qingge is a fast flyer, faster than most of the An Ding cultivators by a long shot. A few hours into the journey, Shang Qinghua realises he is the only one keeping up with the future War God. The others have fallen behind, although Shang Qinghua can still see the top of the wagon.

Liu Qingge must notice too. He glances over as they fly.

"You're fast."

Shang Qinghua laughs awkwardly. Liu Qingge is kind of intimidating to talk to. Shang Qinghua knows him half through his PIDW self— a cool OP cultivator who got fridged early to provide backstory for Liu Mingyan and keep down the competition for Bing-ge— and half as his youngest junior martial brother who has caused him at least one late night headache while sorting out Bai Zhan's finances. Liu Qingge rarely speaks at the Head Disciple meetings besides to snipe at Shen Qingqiu. Shang Qinghua thinks that their meeting with Shui Ansheng might actually be the first time Liu Qingge had spoken to him since they were disciples on that mission together that started his animosity with the future scum villain.

"Just as fast as you, Liu-shidi."

"Not that fast. Faster than I thought you'd be."

"Ouch, hurtful." Shang Qinghua clutches a dramatic hand to his chest and feigns a wobble just to see Liu Qingge's eyebrows twitch. "That's how I became head disciple, did you know? Fastest errand boy on the peak. One time I delivered a letter to shizun from Wan Jian in ten seconds flat, and he gave me the position on the spot. True story."

"Hm."

"Don't believe me? Okay, okay, maybe not. It definitely contributed though."

"I saw you fight," Liu Qingge says. "From the way you handled your sword, I would have thought you'd fall off flying a li."

"You've seen me fight?" Shang Qinghua asks. He has no memory of ever sparring with anyone on Bai Zhan, especially not the young War God. He mostly makes it a point not to spar with anyone period, besides the occasional bouts that Shui Ansheng bullies him into to prove he hasn't completely abandoned martial cultivation in favour of cultivating the way of the stress headache.

"Once. At the inter-peak competition."

"Oh." Shang Qinghua blinks. "You mean the one where Shen Qingqiu beat you?"

Liu Qingge visibly grits his teeth. It highlights his jawline, which Shang Qinghua gets to appreciate for a moment before he has to make sure he doesn't fly into a tree.

"Yes. You were in the early rounds."

"I guess. You were paying attention to that? Eesh."

"I pay attention to everyone when they fight." Liu Qingge says. Such a silly statement, it makes Shang Qinghua feel almost fond. What a silly War God he made, once. What a ridiculous thing to say and mean so earnestly.

"Well, this Shixiong is touched."

"You were terrible."

"Less touched!"

"You tried to hide behind your opponent and then cried when he hit you."

"Yeah." Shang Qinghua says. "That sounds like me. Did I win?"

Liu Qingge levels him with a flat stare. He, Shang Qinghua notices, does not need to keep his eyes on his feet to keep from flying into a tree branch.

"Yeah, I didn't think so."

"You need to focus on speed when you defend. You're obviously capable, and you aren't going to win any fights by skill."

"Rude! Super rude. Also, Liu-shidi, not that I don't appreciate it, but when on this flight did I ask for tips?"

"If we're going to fight a demonic beast together," Liu Qingge says, "you need to be able to not die if it claws at you. Shifu will be angry if I let a Head Disciple of the sect die on my watch."

Shang Qinghua sighs. "I realise that my track record isn't the best, but I ask you to consider that I haven't died up till this point."

Liu Qingge's look changes, subtly. Shang Qinghua isn't sure he would notice if he wasn't used to reading the smallest twitch of a micro-expression on Mobei-jun's ice-blank face. It pings Shang Qinghua's brain. Liu Qingge suddenly looks… wary. Disapproving. Prickling with self consciousness, he crosses his arms and tries to pretend it's a natural pose and not subtly folding his arms over his stomach

"What?"

"Nothing."

Shang Qinghua glances behind them at the procession of An Ding cultivators. They're far enough away that they won't be overheard.

"What's the look supposed to mean?" He asks.

"Nothing."

Shang Qinghua knows it's not. He knows that look, the same one he still gets from his martial siblings. The one two of his seniors gave him when he told them they were coming on this trip and one said, looking down at her budget sheets, 'Let's hope we don't run into any real demons, with Da-shixiong leading the mission.'

It's fun, bantering with Liu Qingge. Enough that for a second he forgot why he has to do this— because most of the sect think he's a potentially murderous coward. Right.

"Shidi," he says cooly, "listens too much to rumours."

Liu Qingge flushes. "That's not—"

"Oh look! We're almost there. Come on, Liu-shidi. I promise not to hide behind you when we fight the big bad wolf."

He bends his knees and urges his sword faster.

Liu Qingge allows himself to be left behind, and Shang Qinghua sighs. When the burst of speed starts to make him nauseous, he slows and looks down at his stomach. For a moment, the An Ding party and Liu Qingge are both out of earshot.

"Baby Airplane," he whispers. "Do you think this is a dumb idea?"

There is no response, of course. He's just talking to himself. He adjusts his robes carefully and, spotting their actual intended destination, circles back to rejoin the others.

——

The Violet Eternal Dusk Wolf, when they find it, is indeed a magnificent creature worthy of its name. Shang Qinghua gets up close and personal with how magnificent they are —several of them, in fact, because Violet Eternal Dusk Wolves never travel alone— when they fling his closest shidi into the treeline in a burst of purple, demonic power.

There are four wolves, and ten cultivators all together. Given that one of those cultivators is Liu Qingge and the rest are An Ding canon fodder, that means they almost have enough cultivators to match the wolves in power.

The cart has been stowed a short distance away, between the village and the briar where the wolves have made their den. The largest of the wolves keeps back, closely guarding the flower that these creatures covet so greatly. The other three have begun to circle the briar in rings, throwing back any cultivator who gets too close.

Shang Qinghua holds his sword in front of him, blade at the ready to guard against moonlight-bright fangs that look pretty excited to go for his throat, and hauls his tossed martial brother back up to his feet.

"Ming-shidi, you and the other juniors stay out of the briar, closer to the road. Try to draw the wolves attention, but don't directly engage them— just try to pull them away into good positions for the suppression arrays. Lu-shimei, Weiding, make sure Gan-shidi is alright and then use those seals to slow the wolves once they're in position. Go in only when you can make a clean kill, or they seem like they'll get loose. Try to preserve as much of the pelts as you can, but remember we can find other wolves, but no other arms if someone loses one to those teeth. Lan-shimei, play backup in case anyone looks like they're in trouble."

He gestures each of them to their position. The juniors scatter, nervous but obedient, and clutch shakily at their swords as the wolves growl and send up violet sparks of light from the starbursts on their pelts. Lan-shimei, a true professional in a fight as well as a trade meeting, leaps up into the trees without a word. Lu-shimei and Gan-shidi are slower to follow directions from him, but Gan-shidi is shaken from being tossed by the wolf and Zhou Weiding pulls Lu-shimei into position beside him.

Liu Qingge unsheathes Cheng Luan in a bright wash of silver. Shang Qinghua almost gets distracted looking at the future War God, sword lit up in the night, standing tall against a backdrop of beautiful, deadly creatures. Then he remembers, oh yeah , said War God is a dumbass who is liable to ruin the whole thing Shang Qinghua is trying to do here if he gets too Liu Qingge all over it, so he darts over to grab Liu Qingge's sleeve.

"Liu-shidi, you're with me! We're heading into the heart of the briar where the flower will be. We need to take down the largest wolf without damaging it or the flower."

Liu-shidi is, thankfully, a follower at heart. He nods and flanks him when Shang Qinghua starts running for the heart of the briar. Shang Qinghua looks over his shoulder to see his An Ding martial siblings keeping the other wolves occupied, which is all he can ask for for now.

The largest of the Violet Eternal Dusk Wolves is truly a massive beast. The thorns around them grow thicker and taller, curving up from the ground under their feet and around until, merging with the trees, they create a sort of half-bowl around a huge, shaggy form. The wolf's pelt shifts like the night sky as it moves, ripples of violet and amethyst and dark, dark blue interspersed by glowing flecks of enchanted light. Its eyes and claws are pure black, and its fangs —as long as Shang Qinghua's forearm— are pure white. When it stands, it's as tall as some of the trees around them. It snaps its jaws, and a rain of violet sparks jump from its mouth like there's a fire inside its throat.

Liu Qingge looks thrilled. Good for him, Shang Qinghua thinks. The thing is f*cking terrifying! Why did Shang Qinghua think this was a good idea again? Holy sh*t. He doesn't even want to fight this thing when he's not pregnant! It is going to eat him, and his baby will be like a delicious turducken, aaahhh!

Liu Qingge jumps up (six foot vertical leap!) and punches the magnificent wolf right in the nose with his bare fist. Shang Qinghua doesn't know if he should laugh or cry.

"G-good one Liu-shidi! That's, uh, that's perfect!"

Liu Qingge spares a moment to cut him a blank look before he has to focus on fending off the wolf, which has taken exception with his punching it and is expressing it's displeasure by trying to tear him apart with its claws. It moves just enough in this endeavour that it reveals Shang Qinghua's target— the beautiful, star-silver, Eternal Dusk Blooming Rose.

"Bingo!"

"What?"

"Nothing! Keep doing what you're doing!"

Here goes nothing, Shang Qinghua thinks, and throws himself down under the wolf's rending claws to scramble underneath it and towards the flower. The huge Violet Eternal Dusk Wolf tries to turn itself in a circle and snap at him, but Liu Qingge strikes it across the jaw with a roundhouse kick that connects with a crack that Shang Qinghua feels in his bones.

Shang Qinghua reaches the flower and shoves a hand into his sleeve, producing a few packets of powder. Careful of where he's laying the lines, he taps it out around the flower and into the dirt leading away from the faintly sparkling blossom.

There is a shout from behind them. Shang Qinghua and Liu Qingge both whip around to look back at where they left the rest of their party and the other wolves.

One of the wolves is dead in its containment array circle, its eye punctured by someone's blade. Gan-shidi has gone down fully this time, pulled away from the fight by Zhou Weiding while Lan-shimei helps Lu-shimei fend off another wolf. It looks like it escaped its array, and Lu-shimei is trying to keep it in place so Lan-shimei can make a killing blow.

That has left the last of the three smaller wolves unattended. As Shang Qinghua watches, it pushes through the last of its own array and begins advancing on the juniors.

By the time Shang Qinghua has finished noticing all this, Liu Qingge is already moving. He leaps off the back of the largest wolf and flies towards the kids. Shang Qinghua readies his blade to defend against the largest wolf alone, but it doesn't turn back to him with its other opponent gone. Instead, it takes off after Liu Qingge at a run. sh*t.

What can Shang Qinghua do but get on his own sword and chase after it?

Liu Qingge reaches the juniors just as the smaller wolf pounces for them. He tackles it out of the air, wraps his legs around its torso and his arms around its neck, holding Cheng Luan like an improvised garotte, and messily decapitates it with brutal efficiency.

It's an impressive move, but it also leaves him open as he pushes the corpse of the smaller wolf away and lets his attention turn from the fight for just a moment as he looks to make sure the juniors are alright. That's the problem with writing a noble character, Shang Qinghua thinks, in the split second it takes for the charging Violet Eternal Dusk Wolf leader to lunge for Liu Qingge's back.

You Yuan 2, Shang Qinghua's trusty and often neglected blade, with its plain hilt and scabbard, makes an exciting clanging sound as it strikes against the beast's teeth. The sound echoes in his brain as he pushes a burst of qi into his arms to absorb the impact of using his sword to halt its jaws inches from Liu Qingge's neck. There is a sharp, hot rush of pain down his thigh where the wolf's claws came down, but both he and Liu Qingge remain remarkably un-torn apart.

Liu Qingge wastes no time leaping back into the fight. He sends a sword glare into the wolf's face, making it recoil and release Shang Qinghua from their momentary deadlock. Shang Qinghua double checks to make sure he didn't lose any limbs without noticing, and then he jumps back in too.

"Liu-shidi, lead it back to the rose!"

He has to assume Liu Qingge makes some sound of affirmation, but it is lost to the din of the fight. Shang Qinghua flies back to the Eternal Dusk Blooming Rose to dump out the rest of the contents of the small packets around its roots. Just as he finishes, Liu Qingge comes tearing back into the clearing.

Shang Qinghua waves his arms. "Over here! Now!"

He watches as Liu Qingge engages in the quickest, most dangerous round of bull-taming Shang Qinghua has ever seen. He makes a few rapid strikes to the beast, dangles himself tauntingly in the air, and then leaps out of the way so it is heading towards Shang Qinghua. Shang Qinghua sends a (somewhat feeble, listen it's maybe not his best skill) sword glare at the creature to draw its aggression further towards where he's standing.

"Three… two… one, now!"

He activates the talisman he'd drawn before the mission. The ultra-fertilizer he'd created from a horrifying mix of xianxia substances seeps into the soil and activates, and the ground under their feet rumbles. Shang Qinghua leaps onto his blade just as spiny rose vines burst from the soil all around him, gesturing with the hand holding the talisman towards the wolf as it is almost upon him.

Slick with the blood leaking down his leg from the claw-wound on his thigh, his foot slips.

Oh sh*t , Shang Qinghua thinks as his footing goes out from under him and he tumbles from his blade. I guess this was a bad idea . The ground, teaming with a stream of magical rose vines, rushes up to meet him. The enormous Violet Eternal Dusk Wolf launches itself even closer.

Just as the wolf pounces and Shang Qinghua is about to hit the ground, an arm wraps around his waist and jerks him up, through the air. Shang Qinghua gasps and struggles, disoriented, before he realises he is being tugged onto Cheng Luan by Liu Qingge's firm grip. Liu Qingge darts up on his sword, pulling both of them out of the way of the collision of plant and wolf.

Shang Qinghua frantically flings out a hand and directs the current of vines, urging them to grow higher and curl tighter until the wolf is firmly entangled. He only lets the talisman go when the wolf whines and goes limp in the grip of the plant, and little silver-white buds start to pop up around it on the vines.

Shang Qinghua lets out a relieved whoop!

"What did you do?" Liu Qingge asks. This close, his voice rumbles against Shang Qinghua's back.

"The Violet Eternal Dusk Wolf's love is also it's weakness!" Shang Qinghua says. “It has no defense against the rose that it guards, and it won’t fight against it and risk damaging the flowers.”

As the rush of victory fades, Shang Qinghua realises that Liu Qingge's arm is still wrapped around his waist. They're pressed close together, Shang Qinghua's back to Liu Qingge's chest, Liu Qingge's grip tight enough to keep from dropping Shang Qinghua in the heat of battle. And close enough to feel the evidence of his condition that Shang Qinghua's robes still currently cover.

As soon as Liu Qingge lowers them to the ground, Shang Qinghua wrenches himself out of the younger man's grip and stumbles several steps away.

"You— Liu Qingge, you didn't—" He stutters over the words, not sure what he's trying to ask. You didn't notice anything, did you? You won't say anything, will you?

Liu Qingge narrows his eyes slightly. "What?"

Shang Qinghua shakes his head. "You—"

They're interrupted by the rest of their party running up to the both of them. One of the juniors is shouting, frantic with nerves and adrenaline, and another is crying. Gan-shidi still looks to be unconscious, although Shang Qinghua wouldn't put it past an An Ding cultivator to fake it to get out of a fight. The others seem to be a little worse for wear, but they're all in once piece.

"You're welcome." Liu Qingge says. "And thanks. For the save."

"Oh." Shang Qinghua says. "You… to?"

Liu Qingge nods, and looks away. Liu-shidi, your expressions are way too intense and somehow I still have no idea what you're thinking.

"We should get the flowers and pelts you wanted to collect."

"Right," Shang Qinghua says. "Right."

——

They camp on the way back. The wagon is filled with stasis-charmed chests full of the pelts, blood, and other parts of the wolves that the An Ding cultivators harvested after Liu Qingge made the final blow on the largest wolf. Shang Qinghua oversaw the very care harvesting of a half dozen now-potted flowers— a far greater prize than the original one bloom Shang Qinghua promised Mu Qingfang's shizun, Wen Anyang. Shang Qinghua think he’ll save one to give personally to Mu Qingfang the next time they have tea.

The juniors sleep around the parcels, piled up like puppies, heads blanketed on their robes and legs tangled together. Shang Qinghua sits by the fire and threads a needle. His hands are steady from long practice on careful calligraphy, and experience with this particular craft. He takes a pot off the stove, cooled from when he heated it to clean the needle, and carefully pours it over the wound on his leg, wincing at the heat and sting of it.

The claw wound from the wolf isn't bad, all things considered. It slices the front of his thigh a good eight inches, but it's not so deep that he needs to worry about blood loss.

A hand catches his wrist as he hunches over his leg and prepares to grit his teeth through the stitches. Shang Qinghua looks up to find Liu Qingge frowning down at him.

"You should go see Mu-shixiong, when we return to the sect."

"It's just a cut.” Shang Qinghua says. “Do you bother Mu Qingfang with every little scratch?" Then he thinks about his own words and what he knows about the original Liu Qingge. “Actually, shidi, do as I say, not as I do! You should go to Mu-shidi if you’re ever hurt, or sick, or if your qi ever feels weird! Seriously, anything!”

Liu Qingge grunts, then plucks the needle and thread from his hands. Shang Qinghua squawks in protest and tries to snatch it back, but Liu Qingge avoids his flailing with the practised ease of an older brother and takes a seat next to him, examines the needle, and then shifts to have easier access to Shang Qinghua's leg.

"What are you doing?" Shang Qinghua asks.

"Doing stitches yourself isn't pleasant."

"Uh, it's sewing up your own skin? It's never pleasant."

"It's less pleasant than letting someone else do it."

"Do you even know how to do this, Liu-shidi? Aren't you going to tell me to just circulate my spiritual energy like a real cultivator?"

Liu Qingge grips Shang Qinghua's knee between his own. "You know how to circulate spiritual energy. This will keep you from bleeding everywhere."

He doesn't give Shang Qinghua time to reply before stabbing the needle into his skin. Shang Qinghua grits his teeth through the stitches, trying to mediate and half distracted, half-comforted by the way he can still feel the gentle drain of his energy into the tiny life growing itself inside of him. He curls a hand over his stomach, then grips his robes to disguise the gesture as one of pain.

He could have died today. He could have lost the baby, if he got too hurt. But he didn't. The plan, more or less, went off without a hitch. He now has some valuable bribes for several of the current and future peak lords, and his peak mates have seen him being non-cowardly on at least one real nighthunt. It's a success. Anxiety still blooms in his chest.

Liu Qingge ties off the thread and hands Shang Qinghua back the needle.

"There. Done."

Shang Qinghua gingerly shifts his leg. It doesn't fall off or anything, which is a good sign, even if the stitches are a little clumsy.

"You fought well." Liu Qingge says.

"I mostly remember yelling and growing plants."

"Your speed is still good. And you're not as weak as you look. Good arm strength."

"Thanks?"

Liu Qingge doesn't meet his eyes. He stands and heads back over to his own pack and sleeping roll. "Your form is still terrible. You should drill forms more often. And eat more red meat."

Shang Qinghua slumps and pulls his own blanket over. "Thanks Liu-shidi."

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

Saving the life of the Bai Zhan Peak head disciple on a mission, however quickly Liu Qingge returned the favour, has done more than he’d hoped for his reputation on An Ding. The rest of the sect probably couldn’t care less, but on An Ding, a peak where strength was measured in how many supply crates you could carry and not how many opponents you could fight, this kind of martial accomplishment spread like fire. The people who hate him on the peak aren’t going to change their minds because of it, but the cultivators who were distantly friendly or ambivalent to him now come up to him to ask about their own nighthunts and missions away from the sect.

Now instead of, “Hey, Shang… something? You mean that coward who survived that demon attack by sacrificing his seniors?” It’s, “Oh, the An Ding head disciple? That guy survived a demon attack that massacred his seniors, and now he’s out there fighting dangerous demonic beasts alongside Bai Zhan!”

Does it make him a bad person to be manipulating his peers like this, especially when he absolutely did let his seniors be killed to save his own skin? Maybe. Probably.

But that’s fine! Shang Qinghua isn’t a good person. He’s not a good character. A villain’s gotta do what a villain’s gotta do to get ahead in this world.

He rides the high of success for a few days after the mission. His round junior martial brother and grubby junior martial sister, Du-shidi and Deng-shimei, find him almost as soon as he’s back to cry over their most recent problems in their respective An Ding departments. He’s pretty sure he’s spoiling them for solving their own problems with all this personal attention, but their pleading for advice gives him some pretty good insight into what the administrative and treasury focused disciples are up to when their head disciple isn’t looking. They also point him towards An Ding’s more corrupt and bullying teachers, who he swiftly re-assigns to supervise construction with the most junior outer disciples.

Zhong Miaoqing, their willowy friend, is quickly becoming Shang Qinghua’s favourite for entirely different reasons. Since assigning them cute little Lu Maiying to look after, every time Shang Qinghua sees them they’re covered in increasing numbers of children and, occasionally, a more pathetic senior. He’s pretty sure they’re not even all from An Ding anymore, although he hasn’t asked too many questions about the sniffly Qing Jing disciple he saw them hauling around last week like a teary-eyed puppy.

They have been very good for getting him gossip from across all the peaks. From the mouths of babes and all that.

Sadly, he doesn’t get to relish in his successes for long. Shui Ansheng takes his successful night hunt as an indication that his successor has free time to spare that could be better put to use with An Ding logistics. With three months to go until the ascension, Shang Qinghua has now almost entirely taken over the everyday operation of the peak. He personally meets and corresponds with the sect’s most important suppliers, does the final checks of all audits, budgets, and financial reports, reviews all shipments and supply orders going in and out of every Cang Qiong Mountain peak, and decides which tasks are being delegated to which masters from which departments. Shui Ansheng has been pulling him into his office almost every night for tea and a detailed report on his work.

The Violet Eternal Dusk Wolf mission has given him one extra boon, in that it’s made him a few friends on other peaks. He distributed the parts they harvested from the Dusk wolves to various masters on Wan Jian, Zui Xian, Shen Qi, and Qian Cao. Mu Qingfang, in particular, looked close to tears when Shang Qinghua presented him with the potted Eternal Dusk Blooming Rose, and wandered away from their tea to plant it immediately in his personal garden. Wen Anyang patted him on the shoulder when Shang Qinghua made the delivery of monster blood and plants to his peak, which is probably the most the man has ever acknowledged his existence when he’s not asking for some order to be expedited. This gives him a nice base when he fully takes over meeting with all of them as well, but it does nothing to lessen the burden on his already busy schedule. For the last two weeks it’s been: roll out of bed and get to work, pass out at his desk, repeat.

He’s barely had time to think about the baby, and hasn’t visited Guo Lantian for a check in or the Warm Red Pavilion to chat with Wu Hengzi or Xiang Yijia since he returned from the mission. When he thinks about how close the ascension is and anything about the baby in the same sentence, it sends him careening into bone-deep panic. No time for that! He has work to do!

His body doesn’t seem to be getting that memo. At eighteen weeks, he looked sort of pregnant. Now, the swelling of his stomach is undeniable. He actually looks pregnant even if you don’t know what to look for, even to himself. He’s shaken off most of the nausea, and feels a little more clear-headed, but new sensations keep popping up. His hips hurt and his ankles and hands keep getting swollen. Once, he gets a nose-bleed in the middle of the day and has to hastily recopy some important forms.

At the end of the day, two weeks after the wolf mission, Shang Qinghua is getting dressed for bed when he feels a familiar icy chill go down his back. His shirt is off but his chest is still bound. He has half a second to think, f*ckf*ckf*cksh*t as a portal materializes in his bedroom and Mobei-jun stands up.

He grabs his nearest overrobe and quickly holds it up over his torso.

“My king! What have I told you about knocking?!”

Mobei-jun rolls his eyes. “It is nothing I have not seen before.”

True, my king, true! But still bad! There is definitely something you have not seen before here!

Shang Qinghua turns around and goes over to his privacy screen. He manages to pull on two mismatched layers of robes and loosely tie a belt over where his stomach is most noticeable before Mobei-jun follows him around the screen.

His king looks deadly in a set of simple armour and loose robes. His own chest is bare to the air, which Shang Qinghua only stares at a little. Listen, eye contact with his king is intimidating! Who wouldn’t want to look at his chest instead, huh?

“Are you going hunting, my king?”

“Mn. I leave tomorrow to track a herd of Borealis Caribou, an elder sighted them in the far North of the kingdom.”

“Very impressive, my king!”

Mobei-jun grunts.

The ice demon doesn’t look any angrier or more curious than usual. The robes must be doing enough to hide it, for now. Shang Qinghua lets his racing heart die down and comes out from around the privacy screen to instead putter around the room.

“Do you need this servant’s help with anything, my king? Information on the creature? It’s actually really fascinating, I read that their kind are really constructs rather than organic creatures, made by a powerful immortal demon long ago as a gift for his lover. Their skin is—”

“I do not require information.” Mobei-jun says.

“Oh. What can this servant do, then?”

Mobei-jun goes to his bed and sprawls across it wordlessly.

“Ah… okay then. Oh!” Shang Qinghua snaps his fingers. “That reminds me my king, I have a gift for you.”

He digs around in the chest by his bed, and produces a large expanse of shimmering wolf’s fur.

“I was able to save this from my list mission for the sect. It’s the pelt of a Violet Eternal Dusk Wolf— a very rare creature prized in the eastern human and demonic realms for its beauty and its viciousness, as well as the qualities of its fur and claws. I thought my king might be able to make use of this.”

He kneels and presents the pelt to Mobei-jun. The demon prince takes it with narrowed eyes and runs a hand down the fur.

“Hm.” He says. They both watch one of the beautiful starry motes on the fur sparkle in the dim light. Mobei-jun clenches his fist, and the pelt disappears in a flicker of shadow. “Acceptable.”

Shang Qinghua laughs nervously. “Oh, good?”

“Shang Qinghua hunted this beast himself?”

“Yes? Yes. Uh, this one did.”

Mobei-jun leans into Shang Qinghua’s personal space. Shang Qinghua leans away, and Mobei-jun frowns.

“You smell strange.”

“Oh, do I?” He asks, voice high. “Probably just tired. And stressed! My king, you know I get sweaty when I’m stressed.”

“It is not that.” Mobei-jun sniffs the air between them. Very weird! A little hot! “You are still… sick?”

“No, no my king! This servant is really fine!”

“Hm.”

Mobei-jun backs off and returns to laying on Shang Qinghua’s bed. “This king will retire. You will guard the room until morning.

Shang Qinghua sighs. Looks like he’ll be working until morning, then.

——

The next day, Shang Qinghua wakes with a crick in his neck, ink on his face, hands, and sleeves, and no Mobei-jun in his bed. His head hurts from lack of sleep, and his back hurts from the weird position, and his hips hurt from life , which is all just awesome. It’s already mid morning. He looks at the position of the sun in the sky, curses, and throws himself into a flurry of motion to get dressed in a full five layers of robes as quickly as he can. No time to wipe the ink off his face, he’s going to be late for the head disciple meeting!

He slides in nearly thirty minutes after the meeting has started, panting and clutching a pile of scrolls. Conversation halts as he enters, which gives him flashbacks to coming into a college lecture late. Just like back then, he slinks over to a free chair, trying not to pretend that he’s invisible. To his dismay, the last free chair is the one right next to Shen Qingqiu. Wonder why no one took it, huh?

As soon as he sits, Shen Qingqiu turns to him.

“Shang-shidi, so nice of you to bother to join us.” The Qing Jing head disciple says. “I’m sure we are all grateful An Ding has time in their busy schedule to spare you.”

“Ahaha, yeah.” Shang Qinghua says. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

“Oh, we were just hearing a report from Wei-shidi about when the next rounds of disciples may enter the spirit caves to receive their swords.”

“And I was telling you ,” Wei Qingwei says, “That we won’t know when we’ll have enough stored up until we know when our next orders of sword steel will be arriving. Shang-shixiong—”

It continues like that. For some reason, Shen Qingqiu seems to be making it his personal mission to poke holes in everything Shang Qinghua says, and turn any conversation back to him. Where is the sword steel shipment? When will An Ding be completing renovations on Meng Shou? Will the spiritual tailors be available in time to make new robes for the head disciples by the time of the ascension? Why isn’t the budget larger for such-and-such, or smaller for so-and-so? Where is the promised itinerary for the ascension ceremony that was meant to be sent out to every peak?

Well thankfully, Shixiong, this An Ding head disciple has been eating, sleeping, sh*tting work! He more or less keeps up with the questions, suggestions, and thinly veiled insults. The sword steel will be there in a day or so, it’s still being checked for tampering on Shen Qi Peak. The renovations will be done in two weeks, because the Meng Shou master in charge still needs to give the An Ding spiritual artisans the specifics of what enchantments the new enclosures need. The tailors are already starting work, and any specifics of the order should be sent to An Ding before the month is out. Those people need to learn to work with what they have, and those people have a vital project that will make everyone’s life easier. And—

“What?” Shang Qinghua says. “That hasn’t been assigned to An Ding.”

“Of course it has.” Shen Qingqiu says with a little smile. “We received a message about it two weeks ago, which promised one would be sent out by now. Isn’t that right, Yue-shixiong?”

Yue Qingyuan nods, although he looks sympathetic at whatever expression Shang Qinghua is making. “That’s right.

Shang Qinghua wracks his brain. He’s been meaning to review whatever the plan is for the ascension— itinerary, guest list, food for the banquet after, decorations for the celebration, everything that comes with what is pretty much the event of the century. Several centuries, for Cang Qiong!

Shen Qingqiu taps his fingers on the table. “What’s the hold up, Shang-shidi? You do have the itinerary planned, don’t you? I assumed, as An Ding’s head disciple, you would be handling the matter personally.”

“Of course! This one is closely supervising preparations for the ascension ceremony. But no one has said anything to me about an itinerary being sent out. The guest list needs to be finalised, Shixiong.” He would know; that guest list has been driving him insane! It looms in the background when he’s working on anything else, taunting him with the prospect of going through who every Peak Lord does and doesn’t want invited, plus all the people who no one wants invited have to be anyways.

“Oh,” Shen Qingqiu says. “Is this matter also being neglected by Shang-shixiong? How unfortunate.”

Shang Qinghua’s face goes hot. He grabs at the edges of his sleeves anxiously.

“Of course not.” He says, but it comes out unsure. He has been busy. He’s been tired. Had he really missed something so important?

“Is Shang-shidi accusing this one of falsehood then? Shidi, shimei, you also were waiting on this work from An Ding, isn’t that right?” Shen Qingqiu looks around the table. Shang Qinghua watches heads nod slowly.

Shen Qingqiu looks back at him coolly. “How irresponsible. This shixiong would have hoped An Ding could do this one small thing successfully, but it seems not.”

This really is like Shang Qinghua’s nightmares of college. Everyone is uncomfortably quiet and looking at the two of them. Shang Qinghua wants to die. His throat goes hot and tight, and he stutters over his words.

“I-I, that—”

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrow, and then he recoils like Shang Qinghua slapped him.

“Are you crying ?”

Shang Qinghua sucks in a breath and looks up at the ceiling, blinking hard. He knows his face is getting tellingly blotchy, but the embarrassment just makes his eyes water more. He feels a tear spill over and down his cheek and quickly wipes it away with the edge of his sleeve.

“No! I’m j-just—“

“Are you a child? You seriously think you’re suited to take over as a Peak Lord, getting hysterical over a single measly meeting?”

Shang Qinghua would love to argue this point, if only the words weren’t sticking in his throat and choking him. His breath hitches, and he has to duck his head and run his wrist over his eyes frantically.

A hand wraps around his wrist, and he finds himself pulled up from his seat and behind a broad back. Liu Qingge is on his feet. He shoves himself between him and Shen Qingqiu, hand on the hilt of Cheng Luan, leering down at the scum villain.

“If you want to fight so badly,” Liu Qingge says, “You should choose a better opponent.”

Shen Qingqiu narrows jade eyes to slits. Then he’s on his feet and has his hand on his sword too. “If you want to fight in defence of An Ding’s pathetic excuse for a head disciple, this shixiong will gladly grant your request.”

On the other side of the table, Qi Qingqi starts to fan herself.

“Ah, and here I was thinking we might go three meetings without coming to blows.”

Wei Qingwei laughs. The head disciples of the lower peaks begin hastily picking up their tea and snacks and hastily moving away from the table. Zhu Qingxian, the Ku Xing head disciple, scowls at the others and flicks his horsetail whisk over his arm.

“Control yourselves, all three of you. Cang Qiong is one tree, upheld by twelve roots and spreading out into twelve branches. How do you expect to uphold the legacy of our teachers if you—“

“Oh, do shut up.” Shen Qingqiu drawls.

Zhu Qingxian goes red.

“You—“

“Shidi, shimei.” Yue Qingyuan says. Their future sect leader rose from his seat when Shen Qingqiu first did, and now steps up beside him and places a hand over Shen Qingqiu’s wrist. “Let’s all calm ourselves and return to the table. I’m sure Shang-shidi will be able to find out where the miscommunication happened once we’ve all had a moment to collect ourselves.”

“I’m not the one crying or picking fights!” Shen Qingqiu says. Liu Qingge scoffs.

“What do you call that, then? Can’t you maintain some dignity?”

“Dignity? Dignity ? I—”

Yue Qingyuan grasps Shen Qingqiu more firmly and tries to pull him back down to his seat. Shen Qingqiu swats angrily at Yue Qingyuan and breaks his hold with a burst of spiritual power. Liu Qingge growls and gets in his face, Cheng Luan coming an inch out of its sheath that Xiu Ya matches, and for a moment it looks like they are actually going to come to blows in the middle of this head disciple meeting!

Zhu Qingxian moves in between all three of them. The future Ku Xing Peak Lord is by far the oldest of the group, his long black hair already greying around the temples by the time his cultivation stopped his ageing. Despite being a spiritualist first and foremost, the man is as solid as a small mountain. He pushes Yue Qingyuan firmly back into his seat, uses a well placed qi strike to numb one of Shen Qingqiu’s arms, and bodily grabs Liu Qingge around the chest and hauls him away to be deposited like an unruly kitten.

"Enough of this nonsense," he says, glaring around at the rest of the room. "We are all disciples of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, and we should act accordingly. Shen Qingqiu, Liu Qingge, sit down and behave like the adults you are. Yue Qingyuan, learn how to control your martial siblings or you will not be able to control the sect. Shang Qinghua, compose yourself.”

Shen Qingqiu shoots a disdainful glance at Liu Qingge before reluctantly returning to his seat. Liu Qingge follows suit, still wearing a scowl on his face.

Yue Qingyuan, face flushed, tries to regain some semblance of order as Zhu Qingxian retakes his seat as well. "Many thanks to Zhu-shidi for the wisdom. We all still have a few things to learn before we’re ready to succeed our masters, it seems. Let's, ah, refocus on the matter at hand. Shang-shidi, could you please clarify the status of the ascension ceremony itinerary?"

Shang Qinghua sinks further in his seat and clears his throat. "I apologise for the confusion, it looks like there was a mix up. An Ding takes full responsibility, I will ensure that the itinerary is finalised and distributed to all the peaks promptly." He bows, hoping that the immense well of frustration in his heart isn’t showing on his face too obviously. Stupid hormones! Stupid martial siblings! Agh!

The meeting continues, but the atmosphere remains tense. Shang Qinghua is at once relieved and annoyed. It was nice of Liu Qingge to get involved, even if his junior martial brother mostly made the situation much worse. Shang Qinghua is still pretty sure the younger man has never talked to him at one of these meetings. Have they bonded? Did killing a wolf together count as bonding on Bai Zhan? Or did Liu Qingge just want a chance to fight Shen Qingqiu? If so, kindly leave him out of it next time!

As the meeting finally comes to an end, Shang Qinghua collects his scrolls and hurries out of the room. He needs to sort this out, and then get some time away from this mess.

——

Xiang Yijia takes one look at Shang Qinghua’s face when he arrives at the Warm Red Pavilion and hands him A-Ting.

“Babies make everything better,” she says sympathetically.

“They’d better,” he mumbles into A-Ting’s soft belly, holding her close and breathing in her baby smell.

“Come on,” she says. “Wu Hengzi is upstairs, and some of the girls are on break. Tell Yijia-mei what happened and have some tea. Complaining is good for the baby.”

——

“—and then!” Shang Qinghua says an hour later, throwing his hands up, “It wasn’t even my fault! Some idiot on, uh—” Qiong Ding , “—from another group was in charge, and just told everyone it was my fault to shift blame!”

“That sounds frustrating,” Xiang Yijia says. She tugs gently at a loup of his hair as she ties together a loose braid in his hair. Against his chest, A-Ting gurgles. She gets him.

“Exactly!”

The three of them, four counting the baby, are laying around what passes for a sort of ‘break room’ at the pavilion. Cushions, benches, and low tables, where the women can rest and refresh themselves between clients or spend their free time together. It’s where he usually ends up unless Xiang Yijia or Wu Hengzi want some quiet and decide to bring him to their rooms. Today some of the girls are coming in and out or in smaller groups chatting together. He, Xiang Yijia, and Jin-mei have taken over a corner, while he gives them a heavily edited version of what’s annoying him, substituting in other rogue cultivators and the planning of some obscure gathering for the peaks and ascension.

“They should apologise, and the person at fault should take responsibility.”

“Ah, they definitely won’t apologise to me . Even if it wasn’t my fault, I should have known what went wrong and not gotten so emotional. Ughh.”

Jin-mei pats his knee gently, and places down a tile in the game she and Yijia-mei are half-heartedly playing. “Rude! Li-jie should give them a piece of her mind.”

“Maybe I will.” He sighs. “But that’s so much work. I’d rather ignore the problem until it goes away.”

“How well does that usually work for you?”

“Sometimes it works great! And sometimes I end up with a new, different problem.”

Both women laugh, which makes his stomach flutter with warmth. Or maybe just flutter in general? The sensation comes again, more insistent. He pokes at his belly, the shape of it more noticeable in this cut of robes with fewer layers to hide behind.

“Yijia-mei, how early could you feel the baby?”

“Mm, around the fourth month, a little bit at first. The kicking came later— Wu-jie’s been complaining of her baby’s kicking keeping her up all the time now.”

“What did it feel like?”

“Like… petals, a little. Soft petals wiggling around in my stomach, or like little bubbles in a cup of water.”

“Huh.” He squirms to look down at his stomach. “Weird.”

Jin-mei laughs softly. “Want me to take A-Ting?”

He grunts and tugs A-Ting closer for an adorable baby hug, but passes her over when Jin-mei makes grabby hands. Baby hugs must be shared, unfortunately. The stress of the day is slowly seeping out and leaving him feeling drained and faintly grumpy.

There are voices floating down the hallway, and footsteps. Someone coming off shift, from the main tea-room, he thinks. They’re indistinct, until:

“I’m sure jiejie will be more than happy to see you. Shall I send for some wine?”

“No, thank you. Tea is fine.”

“They’re just through here, Master Shen.”

Shang Qinghua sits up. “Oh, sh*t.”

Xiang Yijia startles, releasing her hair and scooting back. “What is it?”

Shen Qingqiu strides into the room, jade green robes swishing softly, dark hair swept up in a way that makes him look severe. His face is pinched, stressed, but he looks at ease in this brothel back room. Of course his is— Shang Qinghua wrote him to be, right? His eyes scan the room, passing over him with his plain robes and unbound chest, landing on someone else and softening in a way Shang Qinghua has never seen in person, in this life, before. And then they snap back to Shang Qinghua, and he watches recognition dawn on his senior martial brothers face. The man goes red with rage, then stark white.

“You.”

“Motherf*ck,” Shang Qinghua whispers.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

When Mobei-jun walked in on him changing, Shang Qinghua had a split second to cover up the damning evidence of what his open robes revealed. As Shen Qingqiu, pale and shaking with what Shang Qinghua is pretty sure is murderous rage , eats up the space between them with a few long strides, there is no time to do anything but stumble to his feet and wrap his arms around himself as though that is going to cover up all of this.

Shen Qingqiu snatches up the front of his robes, lifts him off his feet, and slams him backwards into the wall with his other forearm pressing into Shang Qinghua’s throat.

“You little rat. How long have you been following me here?”

“I—”

“Who have you told? Should I expect one of your little disciples to show up on my peak, asking for ‘some small favour’? You will be sorely disappointed, if so. There is no one on Cang Qiong who would be surprised that the Qing Jing charity case is whoring in town, but I can promise you that I can make your life ten times as miserable as it already is if you breathe a word of this place to the Cang Qiong masters.”

“It’s not like that! Shixiong, I didn’t follow you here, I swear! I don’t— I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Shang Qinghua’s hands scrabble at Shen Qingqiu’s grip. He wants to push the other man away with a qi strike, but if they come to blows there is now way Shang Qinghua is getting out of here. Against the future lord of Qing Jing peak, he has no chance in a fight.

“Do you take me for a fool, Shang Qinghua?” Shen Qingqiu presses harder against Shang Qinghua’s throat, cutting off anything he could say in his defence with a choked wheeze. “I should do us both a favour and kill you here. You’re known for being pitiful with a blade, aren’t you? I don’t even need to make it dramatic then— a mugging that your weak cultivation and clumsy martial prowess couldn’t fight off. Perhaps I’ll pour a bottle of wine on your head and let An Ding think their head disciple died a drunk.”

A slim hand wraps around Shen Qingqiu’s wrist, and the man halts. Shang Qinghua dangles in his suddenly still grip, sliding his boots frantically against the wall to try and gain some traction.

Wu Hengzi is always beautiful. Her pale skin and exceptionally long black hair make her look like the subject of a sombre. Now, having emerged silently from the back of the brothel dressed in emerald robes that do nothing to hide the fact that she is very pregnant, she draws every eye in the room.

“A-Jiu,” she says calmly, “You are going to want to let her go now.”

Shen Qingqiu’s face is a twist of rage, even as he’s no longer crushing Shang Qinghua’s windpipe quite so aggressively. “ Her ?”

She squeezed his wrist tighter. “Look.”

He does, first around the room at the other women. The Warm Red Pavilion’s employees are gathered into frightened bunches, pushing against the corners of the room and clutching at one another. There’s a touch of genuine remorse on Shen Qingqiu’s face when he sees that he’s frightened them. Then he turns his gaze back to Shang Qinghua, and Shang Qinghua gets to see, up close, the moment that the rest of Shang Qinghua’s appearance registers for his scum villain. The man’s eyes go wide, then wider.

Shang Qinghua’s chest surges with fear. His grip on Shen Qingqiu’s arm stops trying to push it off his throat and turns beseeching instead.

“Shixiong please, don’t.”

He isn’t sure what he’s pleading for, really. The damage is done. There is no disguising what he is, not like this, much less what he’s done.

Shen Qingqiu drops him like he’s on fire. Shang Qinghua stumbles and sinks to the floor, hands shaking badly and legs turned to jello under him. He looks up and they lock eyes. Just a few feet away, he hears Jin-mei whimper and A-Ting begin to whine and fuss. Wu Hengzi steps back from both of them and folds her hands around her stomach.

Shen Qingqiu’s hands clench in his sleeves. “You— oof. ”

A grey blur tackles Shen Qingqiu around the waist and sends him flying sidelong into one of the fancy little couches that scatter the brothel. Shang Qinghua gapes, shock momentarily outweighing the panic.

Liu Qingge crouches over Shen Qingqiu where he tackled the other man to the ground, their legs tangled together in the colourful cushions and the splinters of shattered wood.

Shang Qinghua did not see him come in. He looks around and spots one of the younger brothel girls hovering in the room’s doorway, looking harried and clutching at her dress. “Xiaojie?” He asks, voice high.

“He just ran in from the street!” She says. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop him!”

“Bastard.” Liu Qingge growls. Shen Qingqiu makes an inarticulate sound of rage and tries to throw Liu Qingge off of him. The future War God is too strong to be bucked off, even when Shen Qingqiu has several years and a good four inches of height over him. Shen Qingqiu, finding no immediate give, bites Liu Qingge’s arm hard enough to draw blood and curls his legs to kick the other man off when he releases him in pain. Shen Qingqiu scrambles to his feet, robes askew and blood smearing the corner of his mouth.

“Why,” Shen Qingqiu shouts, “Are you here?”

“Followed you,” Liu Qingge says.

“Oh, that illuminates things!”

“You were being an ass all day and then followed Shang Qinghua out of the sect. Of course I followed you.” Liu Qingge scowls and stalks forward to get back in Shen Qingqiu’s face. “It’s a good thing I did, since apparently you’re going to brothels to assault pregnant women!”

Shang Qinghua, said “woman”, opens his mouth to object and then quickly closes it. Maybe if he stands perfectly still, they’ll forget he’s here.

“Are you blind?” Shen Qingqiu yells. “Do you both enjoy following me, charging into my personal affairs, and then attacking me in the middle of a place of business—”

“A place of business —”

“Yes you ignorant cow, get out!”

Shen Qingqiu punches Liu Qingge in the face. It’s a good, solid punch that makes an exciting noise when it connects with Liu Qingge’s nose. Liu Qingge responds with a roundhouse kick that Shen Qingqiu blocks, and then they’re just fistfighting in the middle of a brothel break room.

Alert, alert! Where is Zhu Qingxian when you need him?

“Oh my god,” Xiang Yijia gasps. A-Ting starts to cry loudly, and Xiang Yijia pulls both her and the young Jin-mei into her arms and away from the fight.

Wu Hengzi stands, face blank, and watches this chaos descend. Liu Qingge throws Shen Qingqiu into a wall, and Shang Qinghua only sees her flinch and her brows crease because he’s watching closely.

Even without swords, cultivators fighting each other is intense for non-cultivators. The qi build up in the room is like the charge before a storm.

sh*t. He actually has to do something about this before they cause too much property damage for Shen Qingqiu or Shang Qinghua to ever be allowed back. Shiiit.

“sh*t,” he whispers. He runs a hand through his bangs, bounces on the balls of his feet, and then runs into the fray as Shen Qingqiu picks himself up and lunges at Liu Qingge for another strike.

An Ding cultivation is not about the powerful blows of Bai Zhan or Wan Jian or Qiong Ding, nor is it about the elegant beauty and deadly precision of Qing Jing or Xian Xu or Shen Qi. An Ding cultivators work twenty five out of twenty four hours a day, they haul materials up and down the mountain and between peaks, and they stand at negotiating tables for everything from peace to rice. Between two powerful opponents like Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu, what can this An Ding disciple do but plant his feet and root himself, immovably, between them? He catches Liu Qingge’s fist in one hand and Shen Qingqiu’s ankle in the other. The force of both strikes abruptly ending blows back all three men’s hair.

“Liu-shidi, Shen-shixiong,” he says, “Can we, maybe, take this outside?”

Liu Qingge extracts his foot and jumps back immediately. “Foolish.” He says, more quietly. “You shouldn’t get into a fight like that. Shang Qinghua, you really…?”

Shang Qinghua watches Liu Qingge’s eyes travel down to his stomach and fights the urge to cover himself up somehow. He clears his throat and pushes ahead.

“Ahaha, well it was that or let you two destroy another table. And I don’t think we want to explain to the sect why we need to reimburse this particular establishment, no offence meant to any of its residents.”

He turns to the women of the Warm Red Pavilion, who all now look in different states of shock. Yijia-mei has shepherded Jin-mei, presumably still holding baby A-Ting, into the hallway and stands protectively in front of it. She meets his eyes when he looks over, her own wide and confused.

“Li-jie?” She asks softly. Shang Qinghua drops his gaze and offers her, and the rest of the women, a bow.

Shen Qingqiu, too, has dropped his fighting stance, although he glares and fussily neatens his robes like this stopping business was all his idea, really. The Xiu Ya Sword sends him a cutting look at Xiang Yijia’s words. “Is that what we’re calling you these days? If only someone had informed me.”

Wu Hengzi steps forward before Shang Qinghua can decide how to respond to that. She raises a single dark brow at Shen Qingqiu.

“A-Jiu…”

“I will pay for any damage personally.” He says, stiff.

“See that someone does.”

They nod to each other, business-like. It is incredibly weird to see the two of the interact— two separate parts of his life meeting, except that they’re clearly more familiar with each other than either of them are with him.

That’s also probably as much of a break as Shang Qinghua is going to get if they stay here. He reaches out and grabs each of his martial brothers by the sleeves and starts pulling them out of the Pavilion tea room.

It’s like dragging two heavy, protesting cats, but Shang Qinghua gets them out the door. He looks over his shoulder as he goes and sees Xiang Yijia’s large eyes and Wu Hengzi’s cool expression. Guilt slices at him, but he turns and continues barreling the other two men out of the establishment. He’ll return, when he can, and explain what he can.

——

Shang Qinghua manages to get as far as the next door teahouse before Shen Qingqiu stops and refuses to follow him any farther.

“Give me one reason I should go anywhere with the two of you,” Shen Qingqiu says, “After that little incident.”

“Leave then.” Liu Qingge says.

“No!” Shang Qinghua clutches at Shen Qingqiu’s sleeve beseechingly. He looks up at the other man with huge watery eyes, turning his simpering capabilities up to 100. These pleading and begging skills were honed on the prince of the Northern demon realm, they’re unmatched! “Shixiong, please allow us to apologise. I truly didn’t intend to follow you anywhere or cause you any trouble— we just happened to be attending, uh, business at the Pavilion at the same time. And I’m sure Liu-shidi didn’t intend to cause such a disturbance either, right shidi?”

He kicks Liu Qingge’s shin when the other man doesn’t respond. It’s like kicking f*cking concrete; Liu Qingge doesn’t dignify him with so much as a flinch. Shen Qingqiu snorts.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Really! I’ll buy you lunch, shixiong, please.”

Shen Qingqiu shakes him off his sleeve, so Shang Qinghua presses his hands together pleadingly. “Pleeeaase? Please allow this one to explain and to apologise.”

Shen Qingqiu considers him, then shrugs. “Fine. Don’t think I don’t know you’re just trying to cover this up.” Shen Qingqiu gestures to Shang Qinghua’s abdomen, which is still undisguised in this cut of robes.

Rather than respond, Shang Qinghua gets them a table. The teahouse owner looks extremely nervous to be serving two obvious cultivators and a short, pregnant peasant, but he apparently has some sense of discretion, because he seats them far from the entrance, in a small curtained booth. Shang Qinghua orders them all an herbal tea blend and some snacks— nothing says he can’t encourage his martial brothers to chill out a little with soothing tea and food! He’ll take any advantage he can get.

Once the food is brought, Liu Qingge doesn’t seem to be able to hold himself back any longer.

“I’m confused.”

Blunt as ever! “I would be happy to answer Liu-shidi’s questions.”

“Why hide it if you’re a woman?” Liu Qingge crosses his arms. “Female cultivators are treated fine on Cang Qiong. You could even have gone to Xian Xu, if you were worried about being respected by the sect.”

Shang Qinghua’s stomach twists. He can count the number of times he’s had to explain this on one hand. On two fingers, actually. Once to his Shizun, when he joined the sect. Once to an older sister-disciple on An Ding, who caught him crying and washing blood off his sheets in a stream and taught him what a person with a uterus in a fantasy martial arts world does about their monthly bleeding.

“I’m not,” he says, a little stiffly. “I— I know how it looks, but I’m really not.”

Liu Qingge’s brows are furrowed. “This is… fake then?”

“No!”

“Simpleton.” Shen Qingqiu mutters.

“I’m trying to understand!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine! I’m… Liu-shidi is aware that some people in this world are not… born in the body that they would like to live in? Or that doesn’t— represent how they feel, inside?”

f*ck him, he doesn’t know how to say it! His body isn’t even really the problem, but how else are you supposed to explain the intricacies of gender identity to a cultivator from a p*rn novel?

“Yes,” Liu Qingge says, relieving him immensely. “But don’t you usually… change that?”

“You can,” Shang Qinghua says. “But I didn’t want to. Ah, I don't want to, not yet at least. So my body is still like a woman’s, but I am not. A woman. I’m a man, and a male cultivator.”

“Then, why are you dressed like this? And how did this…” Liu Qingge trails off, blushing. Heat rises in Shang Qinghua’s face, too.

“It’s um… it was an accident? And I’m trying to be discreet, currently, for all the good it’s done me.”

Accident is definitely one word for it. Shang Qinghua is, in fact, trying not to have a panicked melt down right this very moment at the fact that not just one, but two of his martial brothers know . About him, about the baby.

“How careless,” Shen Qingqiu says. “I was under the impression that sufficiently advanced cultivators could prevent that sort of thing.”

Shang Qinghua’s eye twitches. “I was in no condition to prevent it at the time. And afterwards I—“ Didn’t notice I was pregnant for three months. “—was busy.”

“No condition?” Liu Qingge asks. His hand strays down to rest on Cheng Luan’s hilt. “Did someone do this to you?”

“No!” Liu Qingge, why are you always jumping to the worst possible explanation? “Or, only in as much as I did it to myself. Things were, uuhhh, willing. I think. I’m pretty sure, ahaha.”

Now Shen Qingqiu is also frowning at him. Great!

“You think ?”

“There was a lot going on!”

“This shixiong,” Shen Qingqiu says, expression dark, “Is very familiar with how there can be ‘a lot going on’ in these situations. Who is the other father, then?”

Is… is the scum villain of his book, the bastard who is someday going to abuse the protagonist and turn everyone against him with his terrible personality, the man who people sometimes called to be castrated on the PIDW message boards… concerned? Is that what that emotion looks like on his face?

Shang Qinghua has no idea how to feel about that.

“It’s— it’s not like that.”

“What is it like, then? Is it another An Ding cultivator? A master, maybe?”

“It’s really not like that! It’s, um. The other parent is… not involved, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Hm.”

Shen Qingqiu, that expression is terrifying! Shang Qinghua suddenly fears for the lives of his peak-mates.

“It’s no one from the sect, anyways! No one shixiong or shidi would know. And I decided to keep them on my own, okay?”

He has done his best to think about the circ*mstances that lead up to him conceiving a child as little as possible, and would like to continue to delude himself, thanks. Other parent, what other parent? Maybe Shang Qinghua has just budded like a mushroom.

“You’re keeping it?” Shen Qinqiu asks.

“Uh.” Shang Qinghua looks down at his tea cup. “Yes? Yes.” It’s a decision he wishes he felt more confident about, but it’s one he’s making.

“Sect cultivators rarely have children. Do you really intend to become Peak Lord and have a child? Now of all times, when ascension is months away?”

Shang Qinghua shrugs helplessly. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Do you have a plan? At the very least, what you’ll do when all this becomes more difficult to hide?”

“… bigger robes?”

Shen Qingqiu looks up like he’s praying for patience. “And when you’re unable to attend nighthunts? What about when you suddenly have an infant?”

Shang Qinghua throws his hands up. “I haven’t figured that out yet! Give me some time!”

Liu Qingge’s frown deepens. “What the hell were you doing on that mission then?”

“Uh.”

Shen Qingqiu’s eyebrows go up. “What mission?”

“He led a nighthunt two weeks ago. We fought demonic wolves together.”

Betrayal! “It was fine! I had it all planned out.”

“You got clawed. That last wolf almost ate you,” Liu Qingge says. “You could have died.”

“Well,” Shang Qinghua says, “If me and the baby die, it’s more of a net zero than a loss, right?”

Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge stare at him.

“Why are they letting an idiot manage our sect finances?” Shen Qingqiu asks.

Liu Qingge kicks at him. “Shut up.”

Shen Qingqiu kicks back. “Make me.”

“Shidi, shixiong…”

Shen Qingqiu sniffs. “Whatever. This at least explains your hysterics this morning. And your little blow-up in Mu Qingfang’s office.”

“Oh,” Shang Qinghua says. “Ahaha, you remember that?”

“How could I not? It almost made me think you had a spine. I can see after today it was simply a moment of temporary insanity.”

“Hey!”

Shen Qingqiu sneers, but, dare Shang Qinghua say, with slightly less vitriol than usual. “Next time, stand up for yourself instead of uncontrollably weeping. It’s disgusting.”

Was Shen Qingqiu… trying to get a reaction from him? Was that why he was being such an asshole, to see if Shang Qinghua would bite back? By the standards of Shang Qinghua’s villain, that was almost complimentary. Well, characteristically maladaptive and deranged, but still. Shang Qinghua isn’t sure if it’s a good thing to have caught Shen Qingqiu’s attention or not, but now there was definitely no hope of losing it. For good or for ill, there was no way the man was going to let any of this go.

“Does Mu Qingfang know?” Liu Qingge asks.

Danger! “No. No one else knows.”

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrow. “No one?”

“No one in the sect. In town, I’ve gone a couple of times to see a doctor, she’s the one who took me to the Warm Red Pavilion.”

“So shidi is planning to have a child while acting as a head disciple and soon to be Peak Lord of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, but hasn’t thought to inform his martial brother who happens to also be the lead doctor amongst our generation?” Shen Qingqiu asks. “One might almost think shidi has something to hide.”

“It’s no one’s business!” Shang Qinghua says, like a man who totally has nothing to hide. “Why should the whole sect know what I’m choosing to do with my body, huh? Shen-shixiong, I honestly don’t really get why you care. It’s on me if I f*ck up, right?”

“Oh, I don’t,” Shen Qingqiu says. “It’s only that Shang-shidi has brought himself into my business. How am I to ensure he doesn’t say the wrong thing to the wrong person, if I don’t have any similar information that he wouldn’t want getting out?”

“You snake.” Liu Qingge says. Shen Qingqiu hisses at him.

Shang Qinghua gives in and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Isn’t that just mutually assured destruction?”

Shen Qingqiu looks at him blankly.

“Uh, I mean, if you tell people about the baby and I tell people about the brothel, we both lose! And I know it’s not just ‘whoring in town’. I know Shixiong wouldn’t want anyone knowing why he really goes to the Pavilion.”

Liu Qingge gives them both a curious look, which neither of them responds to. Shang Qinghua can be discreet.

Shen Qingqiu’s expression is cold. “Oh, there are shidi’s teeth. How good to know it wasn’t a one-time occasion. However, you’re mistaken. No one in the sect would be surprised to learn I frequent a brothel, and no one would believe you if you try to tell them it’s innocent. At worst, Qin Anwei will have me whipped for disgracing the sect, but she won’t take back my position now, especially with no proof. You, on the other hand, wear evidence of your condition at all times. Do you really think, if your shizun found out, he wouldn’t fire you and let one of the other dozen suitable An Ding senior disciples take your place?”

Shang Qinghua sighs. “Well, you have me there.”

He drains his tea, looks out the window to check the time, then takes out a few coins from his sleeve and sets them on the table. “Speaking of which, if there’s nothing else, I need to get back to the sect. I have budget reports to write.”

Liu Qingge stands as he does. “Let me fly you back.”

“I can get back fine on my own!”

Liu Qingge gives him a flat look. “Deadly wolves.”

“Fine! Fine, whatever.”

Shang Qinghua won’t protest too much. His hips hurt, and even strengthened by cultivation he isn’t looking forward to making the climb up to his Peak by foot. If it's this tiring at this point in his pregnancy, he can’t imagine what it’s going to be like later on.

Liu Qingge starts marching towards the door. Shang Qinghua makes like he’s going to follow, then hangs back a moment while Liu Qingge goes on until the other man is out of earshot.

“Listen. I know you don’t like me. It’s fine! Lots of people think I’m a spineless coward who’s only good for pencil-pushing, and they’re pretty much right. But! I can be very useful to you, shixiong.”

Shen Qingqiu picks up his teacup and regards Shang Qinghua over the rim. Shang Qinghua notices he doesn’t seem to have a fan on him— left at the sect to make him harder to identify? It’s strange seeing the man obscure his expression with anything else.

“I’m listening.” Shen Qingqiu says.

“You learn a lot, when people think you’re just an An Ding nobody.” Shang Qinghua says. “And I know some things that I think could solve some problems for you.”

“And why not just tell me now, if you’re bargaining for my discretion?”

“You won’t believe me if I just tell you. But that’s fine! Because I can prove it to you, and prove how useful I can be. Give me until after the next Head Disciple meeting, and I promise shixiong won’t regret it.”

“Very well.” Shen Qingqiu says. “I’m curious what you think you could do for me that’s equivalent to this secret of yours. Impress me, and maybe I won’t get you kicked out of your position the next time I see you at the Pavilion.”

Liu Qingge stomps back into the booth. “Are we going or not?”

“We’re going, we’re going!”

Shang Qinghua shoots a furtive thumbs-up at Shen Qingqiu, which the other man returns with a stare. Shang Qinghua nervously wipes sweaty palms on his robes and follows Liu Qingge out.

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

Shang Qinghua spends the next fortnight alternating between panic and forced calm.

Liu Qingge flies him back to the sect after the scene at the Warm Red Pavilion almost wordlessly, stopping only at the base of the mountain for Shang Qinghua to scurry off to a convenient hiding place and change his robes.

When he returns, Liu Qingge stands with one foot on his floating sword and the other planted on the ground. He gives Shang Qinghua an intense, searching look. Shang Qinghua folds his arms self-consciously.

“What?”

“You can hide it, just like that?”

Shang Qinghua’s face heats. “It’s not too obvious yet, right?”

“Mm.” Liu Qingge tilts his head. “Before, it was. Like this, it’s not.”

“Good, good.” Shang Qinghua says. He fidgets self-consciously with the fall of his clothes, fluffs up his bangs pointlessly. “I thought, ah… on the mission, when you grabbed me at the end, I was worried you would be able to tell.”

“Your energy felt strange,” he says, “But I couldn’t feel it through your robes, if that’s what you mean.”

“Good! That’s good.”

Liu Qingge offers his hand, and Shang Qinghua takes it to step back onto the sword with him.

“You know, it’s probably more suspicious to be seen riding the blade with me than if I was still dressed up like that.”

“Why?”

Shang Qinghua snorts. “Because you’re the Bai Zhan War God, and I’m An Ding’s head errand boy? It’s not like we’re friends. People are definitely going to talk on An Ding, at least.”

“Let them talk,” Liu Qingge says. “We’re martial brothers. Who needs to be ‘friends’?”

“I have lots of martial siblings,” Shang Qinghua says with a laugh that he hopes isn’t too bitter. “Most of them would push me off the sword before giving me a ride. Not to mention, the, um, discretion.”

“You don’t trust your peak?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust them,” Shang Qinghua lies. “It’s just peak politics? Aren’t people always trying to take you down, as Head Disciple? I’m no better, anyways, I’ve stabbed my fair share of backs to get my position. Metaphorically, I mean. At least I only have to worry about it from the senior disciples.”

“They can try,” Liu Qingge says. “If they can defeat me, they deserve the position more. Becoming a Peak Lord means nothing to me.”

Well, that must be nice! Being Peak Lord doesn’t mean anything to Shang Qinghua either, but a certain System made it clear that’s the only option for him. The thought quiets him, and they stay flying in silence the rest of the way to An Ding.

They make it back in better time than Shang Qinghua would have on foot. He rarely flies to get on or off the mountain even when he leaves on missions. He watches the lower peaks, the trees and paths and buildings, slip by under his feet with a detached sort of appreciation. His spiritual energy feels as jumpy in his veins as he does.

Liu Qingge only speaks once Shang Qinghua has hopped off of Cheng Luan, in an outcropping of evergreen trees behind his leisure house, where hopefully no one will see them. Liu Qingge steps down and extends a gentlemanly hand to help him off the sword, which he ignores out of what he can privately admit is pettiness. Liu Qingge’s pretty face remains creased in thought, as it has since Shang Qinghua sat him down in that tea shop.

“How does it feel?” Liu Qingge asks. Shang Qinghua blinks, surprised by the question.

“The, uh—?” Shang Qinghua flounders to find a suitably vague descriptor. “The… thing?”

“Yes.”

Shang Qinghua blinks dumbly. “It— I don’t know.” He looks down at himself, as though that will allow him to better articulate the experience. “I don’t even feel pr— like that, most of the time. And I—”

I feel like a ghost possessing a body that has gotten possessed itself.

“— I don’t know.”

Shang Qinghua’s entire life has been about dishonesty, since the moment as a child he realised that he could see the stitches holding this world together so clearly because he wrote it himself. No one has ever cared enough to look through one of his lies before— not the small ones like ‘here Shixiong, some sugar for those flatcakes,’ not the big ones like ‘it was just too horrible to say what happened, no idea how I survived.’ It makes his skin itch, to be caught now. If people can see through a lie like this, what else can they see when they look at him? And when they do, are they seeing the character Shang Qinghua, or “Great God” Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, or some new person who he doesn’t have a name for?

Liu Qingge regards him. The setting sun sends feathering shadows of the trees over his cheekbones.

“I have a sister. She’s almost two years old. When my mother had Mingyan, it was difficult.” Liu Qingge says, painfully sombre and sincere. “Tell me, if I can help you.”

Shang Qinghua felt his face burn from top to bottom, and his hands go clammy. Nope! This asshole author transmigrator is allergic to sincere declarations, please stop Liu-shidi! It’s a medical condition!

“It’s really fine!” He says, voice going embarrassingly high. “I appreciate it, but I’ll really be fine as long as you don’t tell anyone.”

Liu Qingge nods, once, solemnly. He leaves a moment later, and Shang Qinghua can finally stumble back into his leisure house. It feels like he’s lived a whole third lifetime in this one day. He needs a nap, and then to figure out what he’s going to do about all of this.

——

The worst thing about anxiously waiting for the other shoe to drop is that he actually feels pretty great, for once.

As the days pass, one by one, it’s like a fogginess he didn’t notice slipping over his own thoughts is lifting. Work gets easier and less soul crushing; he actually starts enjoying some of the planning for the ascension. He scribbles plans for improvements to the logistical systems of the sect in the corners of his other paperwork, starts charting out important peak masters and artefacts and products of the sect in the evenings before bed to make sure he’s remembering it all. His appetite goes from nonexistent to ravenous, so he puts a great deal of effort into charming the An Ding cooks so that they’re pleased instead of annoyed when he shows up for his fifth snack of the day. He finds out that one of the kitchen aunties is the grandmother of Zhong Miaoqing, his willowy and grumpiest little disciple, which opens up a whole new avenue of gossip wherein he exchanges cute stories of said disciple for dirt on his many, many dissatisfied contemporaries.

He still tires easily, but overall he hasn’t felt better for months. This allows him to put off going to talk to the young doctor Guo, and thus Xiang Yijia and Wu Hengzi and the other women at the Pavilion, for almost the entire two weeks until the next Head Disciple meeting.

What eventually sends him down the mountain is a persistent new thing that’s developed during the same time span. The tiny, flower-petal fluttering sensation in his stomach that he noticed while laying around the Pavilion begins to happen more often. It strengthens into a strange, slithery, swishing feeling that starts up as he’s trying to sleep.

He’s sure it’s fine. Babies move, right? He’s definitely heard about kicking. Xiang Yijia even mentioned this exact thing. But he can’t help but get a little panicked each time it happens. He’s feeling a little high strung, sue him! He’s just going to double check that it’s fine.

He dresses a little differently when he goes down the mountain, this time. Hair half-up, a lilac overrobe he stole from the Xian Xu Peak laundry. He’s not sure there’s anything he can do to make himself less noticeable after being seen in the company of two fancy sect cultivators last time he was out ‘in costume’ (out of costume?), but he does his best to blend in with the background of the town as he makes his way to Guo Lantian’s clinic.

When he steps inside, Guo Lantian is already in the front room. Her small assistant is next to her, holding a chest of medical supplies, and she has more tied up in a sling over one arm. Her robes are dark umber and pinned up over her elbows, her hair in its usual high bun. She sees him and sighs. He offers her what he hopes is a charming smile.

“Doctor Guo,” he says. “I hope I’m not here at a bad time.”

“Li Houhua,” she says, a touch ironic. “You’re just in time.”

“I just had a super quick— wait, what? For what?”

She strides up and hooks their arms together, just like that first time she led him to the Warm Red Pavilion.

“To help me deliver a baby.”

Haha. What?

——

“Haha, what?” he asks, stumbling after her up the wooden stairs of the Pavilion. Although there’s little urgency on the doctor’s face, she takes the steps two at a time and Shang Qinghua has to hurry to keep up.

They crest the top step, and Shang Qinghua hears a murmur of distressed voices and the familiar babble of baby A-Ting fussing and being quieted. He and Guo Lantian head into Wu Hengzi and Xiang Yijia’s room, which is in a state of quiet chaos. Most of the furniture has been pushed over to the walls to clear space. Someone has brought up and filled a bathtub, as well as a smaller basin of water next to the beds, and rags have been laid out on the floor. Several women of the Pavilion, both familiar and unfamiliar to Shang Qinghua, fill the room, standing or sitting and generally looking tense. Hua-jie, one of the older sisters in perhaps her mid-thirties, spots them first.

“Doctor Guo!”

She comes to usher Guo Lantian in, shepherding the doctor over, not to one of the beds, but to the window. Wu Hengzi is standing there, her hands braced on the sill, looking out at the sky. Her face is pale and glazed with a sheen of sweat, and she’s dressed in only her inner robes. Xiang Yijia hovers a few feet away, rocking A-Ting and watching Wu Hengzi anxiously. They both turn and look when Guo Lantian and Shang Qinghua approach.

“Oh,” Wu Hengzi says, “It’s you.”

Shang Qinghua isn’t sure if she means him or the doctor, but either way he tries out a sheepish smile and offers both of the women a bow. “Sorry, sorry, I came to talk but it seems, uh. Like maybe that should be saved for later.”

Xiang Yijia’s answering laugh is tinged with nerves. “Maybe so.”

Guo Lantian gets right to work. Her little assistant followed them up here, so quiet Shang Qinghua keeps forgetting she’s there. She starts setting up the trunk of medical tools, while Guo Lantian begins examining Wu Hengzi. Shang Qinghua politely looks away from the process. A few of the women who were hovering around the room file out now that the doctor is here, although Hua-jie and another older woman both stay put.

“It was good you sent for me when you did,” Guo Lantian says. “Has your water broken?”

“No, not yet,” Xiang Yijia speaks for Wu Hengzi.

“It won’t be long now. Are you ready?”

“As I will be,” Wu Hengzi says.

She’s allowed to keep standing for now, occasionally drifting into pacing by the window or taking small sips of an herbal concoction Guo Lantian’s assistant prepares. Guo Lantian herself takes a seat on one of the abandoned cushions, keeping a close eye on the room but doing little for now.

Shang Qinghua shifts awkwardly where he’s hovering by the wall. “Should I— go?”

“Stay,” Guo Lantian says. “I wanted you here for this. You’re going to be doing the same thing in a few months, so you may as well see what it’s like now. And I could use a cultivator.”

Wu Hengzi cuts him a look. “This will take ages. What do I have to do other than interrogate you?”

“R-right.”

“So,” she says, “Care to explain, Li-mei? A-Jiu wasn’t very forthcoming when he came back to the Pavilion.”

Shang Qinghua winces. “Sorry about that. Again. Sorry in general. I really didn’t mean to get anyone caught up in any of my sh*t, and I didn’t think he was just going to show up like that. Or, um, fight. I promise, I’m happy to help pay for any repairs myself, or help do them myself— it’ll probably be easier than anything else.”

“No construction,” Guo Lantian pipes up, “It’s bad for the baby.”

Wu Hengzi shrugs an elegant shoulder. “What A-Jiu does is what he does. What you do, is what you do.”

Her face creases momentarily in pain, and she leans back against a wall in the middle of pacing. Both Xiang Yijia and Shang Qinghua immediately jolt towards her, but she waves them off. As it passes, she goes back to slowly pacing.

“I’d like to know,” she says, voice slightly raspy, “What it is that you do?”

Xiang Yijia comes to stand closer to him. “I would, too. Is Li Houhua really your name? Are you a sect cultivator?”

Shang Qinghua rubs the back of his neck, and nods. “Ah, no, and yes. My birth name is Shang Houhua, but my courtesy name is Shang Qinghua.”

“The way that A-Jiu is Qingqiu?” Wu Hengzi asks.

“Yeah.”

“Not just a sect cultivator, then. You’re going to be a Peak Lord.”

“If I make it that far,” Shang Qinghua says.

“Why come here then?” Xiang Yijia asks, frowning. “A noble cultivator of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, shouldn’t you be staying up on the immortal mountain?”

Shang Qinghua puts a hand to his stomach, gently pressing his fingers to its slight swell.

“I might be the Head Disciple for now, but my position in the sect isn’t secure. I’m sure Shen Qingqiu would tell you the same thing. Until we’re seated as the next Peak Lords, any slip up could mean losing our positions. No one at the sect knows that I’m pregnant, and I can’t let them find out. I could lose everything that I’ve worked for, and if anyone finds out who—”

He cuts himself off and shakes his head. Even here, he definitely shouldn’t be blurting that out. These people are his friends, he would say, if he hasn’t driven them away with this. But they’re Shen Qingqiu’s friends too, or something like it, and he can’t risk his Shixiong finding out that this baby isn’t entirely human. “Anyways, I can’t let anyone find out. Which means no sect doctors, but I have no idea what I’m doing, so… that’s how I got here.”

Wu Hengzi’s expression is as unreadable as ever, even sweaty and pinched with pain. Xiang Yijia’s has softened though, and Guo Lantian looks— honestly not that surprised. Shang Qinghua isn’t shocked that she might have suspected something; his cultivation is laughable next to the likes of Yue Qingyuan and Liu Qingge, but he was still one of the youngest on the peak to achieve immortality level cultivation. That was probably obvious when she examined him— how many immortal rogue cultivators are there? Hua-jie and the other woman seem to be politely pretending they can’t hear any of this, although he sees Hua-jie shooting him curious glances when her attention strays from Wu Hengzi.

“I really am sorry,” he says. “I didn’t want to lie to you. Any of you. I really, really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

Xiang Yijia scoots closer, and wraps her free arm around his shoulders. They’re almost the same height, which is to say short, and her arms are soft and warm as always. A-Ting’s soft little feet kick lightly against his arm, which makes him want to melt.

“We’re not angry, Li-jie —Shang-jie?— we were just confused. And worried, when A-Jiu was so angry and that other cultivator came in. I’ve never seen him like that before.”

“Yeah, sorry about that too. That was Liu Qingge, the head disciple of Bai Zhan Peak. He can be a little hot headed. Or, a lot hot headed. He and Shen Qingqiu don’t really get along. Me and Shen Qingqiu don’t really get along, either.”

“Oh, him I know of,” Wu Hengzi says. “A-Jiu loves to complain about him.”

“That sounds like him, yeah.”

“Which one are you, then?”

“Which what?”

“Which Peak are you going to be in charge of?” Wu Hengzi asks.

“Oh! I’m the head disciple of An Ding. That’s the fourth peak, in charge of logistics. We pretty much do the sect gruntwork,” he says. “The glory and monster fighting is for the others, An Ding takes care of all of the things no one else wants to do. Like plumbing and building dormitories and making sure everyone is fed and clothed.”

Realising that he’s complaining about his relatively cushy life as a cultivator to a room full of sex workers, he quickly backtracks. “Not that I’m complaining! It’s a good position, and I’m grateful. But… yeah. Not a good time or place to let anyone know I’m going to have a baby. Um, also…” he trails off, fidgeting. Wu Hengzi seems to get tired of pacing for the moment and sits down on the bed, where towels and rags have been put down. Guo Lantian’s assistant immediately pushes another cup of medicinal tea into her hand, which she frowns at but obediently sips. Shang Qinghua clears his throat and shores up his courage.

“I should tell you, I’m not. Actually a woman.”

Xiang Yijia raises an eyebrow at him. She shifts to tap his stomach disbelievingly. He flushes.

“I mean,” he says, “I— my body. Is like a woman’s. But I’m not. I go by ‘young master’, not ‘young mistress’, and when I’m at the sect I dress like a man. I’ve been living as a man since I was a child, and I don’t plan to stop. I am a man, I just don’t have, uh—”

“A dick?” Wu Hengzi offers.

“Yeah, that.”

“Shang- ge ,” Xiang Yijia says, thoughtfully.

“Duly noted,” Wu Hengzi says. “Lantian, can I have something stronger than this tea?”

“No,” Guo Lantian says, now flipping through a medical book. Wu Hengzi sighs.

And that’s it! It is an incredible non-reaction. Wu Hengzi explains that she has had not just one, but several similar clients, as one of her specialities is, well, the utilisation of certain implements in the bedroom. Xiang Yijia remarks that people like to be called all sorts of different things in bed, and she doesn’t think about it very much, but that it’s probably not too strange. Shang Qinghua maybe sheds a few tears, until Wu Hengzi scolds him for being the one crying while she is the one preparing to push the equivalent of a watermelon out of her body for at least the next several hours. Then, tired of emotional conversation, she spends the next while making Guo Lantian recite cases of particularly embarrassing medical incidents and Shang Qinghua tell some of his more popular stories for entertainment.

Not long later, her water does break. The contractions lengthen and come closer together, which Guo Lantian explains means the baby will be coming in (relative) short order. The room becomes a flurry of activity, even as they still have hours to go. Xiang Yijia passes off A-Ting to Jin-mei, who comes by with food and water. Shang Qinghua is extremely glad that he waited until late in the day to visit Guo Lantian, and that it isn’t unusual for him to be off peak for large stretches of time (thank you, years of missions from Mobei-jun and insane workload of off-peak meetings). It means he’s able to stay through the whole, horrifying process.

Even Wu Hengzi isn’t able to maintain an untouchable attitude of disinterest through the entire labour. Several hours in, she grabs Shang Qinghua’s hand and yanks him over to the bed. She’s on all fours, face creased and breath gasping. She shakes his hand like he’s a prey animal whose neck she’s trying to snap.

“What good is a cultivator if you can’t even do any of your stupid magic to help?” She demands.

Shang Qinghua, who had taken to mostly staying out of the way and trying not to look like this whole thing was a nightmare for him, gulps.

“I can try to transfer you some spiritual energy?” he offers, glancing over to Guo Lantian for permission.

“Do it!” Wu Hengzi says.

Guo Lantian nods, so he shifts on the edge of the bed and presses both palms to Wu Hengzi’s back. She’s shaking from exertion, and her thin robe is soaked through with sweat. He closes his eyes, tunes out the room, and slips into a half-meditation. He begins first circulating his spiritual energy, making sure it’s running smoothly around the energy-disruption of his own baby, then begins feeding a small stream into Wu Hengzi.

Her body takes to it well. In another life, he thinks, she might have made a very good cultivator. Her spiritual veins, while almost entirely undeveloped, are wide and smooth. He thinks she must have actually done some cultivation exercises of some kind— not enough to do much with, but enough to bolster her health and strength a little bit.

He can also feel the life inside her, too. It’s obviously much larger, much more alive , than inside himself. The child, on the verge of being born, feels like a little star. Shang Qinghua increases the flow of energy and carefully guides it through both of them.

“Why did he let me convince him to do this to me,” Wu Hengzi whispers darkly, as another contraction has her clenching her hands in the bed sheets and moaning. “This is so f*cking stupid. I’m going to kill him and then myself.”

Hua-jie pets her hair, and Wu Hengzi looks like she’s going to bite the other woman. Shang Qinghua carefully continues to circulate energy, and keeps his mouth shut.

——

By the time the baby is born, the sky has gone pink with the rising sun. Wu Hengzi is exhausted, and the lack of sleep has made everyone’s expressions a little tight by the end. Guo Lantian made Shang Qinghua take frequent breaks from the spiritual energy transfer to rest and meditate, but he kept it up for long enough that he doesn’t think he could fly now even if he wanted to. The doctor herself is packing up to leave— her assistant staying behind with instructions to come running if anything goes wrong.

There is no amazing glow of motherhood in the aftermath. Wu Hengzi’s skin is grey and damp, her eyes shadowed, her hands shaking. The whole room smells of stress and sweat and other bodily fluids. The baby, when she holds it to her bare chest, is a squashed and wrinkled thing.

Shang Qinghua can’t stop looking at it, at them. It feels almost like breaking through a level in his cultivation— nothing is different, but the world is suddenly, immeasurably changed.

“Wow,” he whispers.

Wu Hengzi looks up at him, eyes half lidded. “Aren’t you excited to do all this in a few months?” she asks, voice rough. She laughs at his horrified expression.

When she has nursed it and her arms are tired, she passes the baby to them. Xiang Yijia plays softly with its little, ill-formed hands. Weeks of having A-Ting shoved into his arms without notice has him taking the baby from her when she passes it to him without having the time to fear holding something so new. He cradles it, presses it to his chest, secure enough to keep it secure and soft enough to be safe. Its eyes are closed, puffy and creased. Shang Qinghua traces one of them with a fingertip, feeling the tiny eyelashes. The baby warbles and screws up its tiny, ugly face at the touch.

“What are you going to call him?” Shang Qinghua asks.

Xiang Yijia bats at his arm softly. “She can’t say yet, it’s bad luck.”

Wu Hengzi raises a shaky hand. Shang Qinghua obediently tips the baby back so she can take him, resting his little head against her chest.

“I already decided,” she says. “Yuan. Wu Yuan.” She traces a finger delicately over one of his barely-there brows. “He looks too much like the man who helped me make him. Too pretty,” she sighs.

Shang Qinghua smiles at them both. The baby, as if sensing it is being addressed for the first time with its own name, blinks open its eyes.

Shang Qinghua draws in a startled breath. The baby looks up at him with black phoenix eyes, awfully intense for such a soft, cute face. Familiar eyes on a familiar, tiny face.

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

On the day of the next Head Disciple meeting, Shang Qinghua is a nervous wreck. Shen Qingqiu does him the wonderful honour of sending an ominous note to his office the day before, reminding him that he’d better get a move on proving his use if he didn’t want Shen Qingqiu to decide it for him. Shang Qinghua isn’t sure what Shen Qingqiu would exactly want from having the An Ding Peak Head Disciple in his pocket, but he isn’t going to take that chance. Not when, due to author-god knowledge, he’s pretty sure he can solve most of Shen Qingqiu’s problems better than the man could himself. Shen Qingqiu has problems he doesn’t even know he has. Since that is sort of Shang Qinghua’s fault, there’s no harm in trying to fix some of them and ingratiate himself to the man in one fell swoop.

To start with, Shang Qinghua begins setting the whole thing up almost as soon as he returns from town with Liu Qingge. Specifically, he sends a letter to Shui Ansheng and to the Qiong Ding Head of Staff offering An Ding as host to the next meeting. Then, he goes to Zhong Miaoqing’s grandmother to interrogate her about the snack menu, insisting a good reception is essential for An Ding to represent itself with dignity amongst the loftier peaks and their Head Disciples.

“Oh,” he says before leaving, “I almost forgot! Auntie, there’s this tea I happen to know our future Sect Leader loves. It’s a little rare, but I have a personal supply I got as a gift— if I bring some, would it be enough for one pot for him? No need to use it for the whole meeting, but I want to make a good impression on Yue-shixiong, you know?”

She pats his head, calls him a thoughtful young man, and promises to send over a special pot of tea for the Qiong Ding Head Disciple during the meeting.

“Shixiong,” Zhong Miaoqing says, falling into step with him as he leaves the kitchen, “Are you using my grandmother to assassinate the future Sect Leader?”

“Disciple Zhong, I promise if I ever decide to assassinate another Peak Lord, your grandmother will have full plausible deniability,” he says, crossing his heart earnestly.

They snort. “How reassuring.”

Such sass! That’s why he likes them so much.

“Speaking of plausible deniability—“ he says.

“Shixiong, I don’t know what that means.”

“— how have the extra assignments I gave you been going? So far so good?”

“I don’t really understand the point,” they say, “But yes, it’s fine. I think I’ve spent enough time in that tea house this week that I could tell you the owner’s life story.”

“Go on, then.”

“What?”

“Tell me the owner’s life story!”

Reluctantly, they spend the walk back to the Leisure House recalling all the information they’ve gleaned on the patrons of the largest tea house in the city at the foot of the mountain. Shang Qinghua asks pointed questions— who did so-and-so come in with? What business did so-and-so say their daughter had married into? They said what about that Tian Yi Overlook Sect cultivator?

Once they reach the doors to his rooms, he pats them on the shoulder and grins. “Strong work, Disciple Zhong! Let your rapscallion friends know that I expect them to try the same thing, and to report to you on what they learn. Maybe that tall girl and her brother from the trade division too? Actually… make that just your grubby friend. Du-shidi gets pretty twitchy when I ask him for leave reports. Like, what does he think I’m going to do, accuse him of faking a leave report?”

“Sure, Shixiong.”

“You and Lu-shimei are on Sect rumour duty, okay? Any mention of any Peak you hear in town, I want a source and a summary.”

They sigh. “Yes, Shixiong.”

“You’re the best!”

——

Shang Qinghua is one of the first to arrive at the meeting, dressed in his good, non-ink-stained robes. Okay, mostly non-ink-stained robes. He tied his belt tightly that morning and added an extra layer of under-robes, determined not to give anyone a reason to look twice.

He makes sure the snacks, tea, and wine are all laid out on the large stone table they’re using, in one of An Ding’s few gardens. The pavilion is at the edge of one of their administrative buildings that occasionally holds intra-Peak meetings, not terribly busy (for An Ding) and nice enough to make a fine impression.

Peak order puts Shang Qinghua next to Shen Qingqiu, but after how last fortnight’s meeting went he doesn’t think anyone will begrudge him taking the seat next to Wei Qingwei, on what will be Yue Qingyuan’s left. He nudges one of several identical tea-pots to sit over to Wei Qingwei’s elbow, and settles into place to get through the meeting as Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu enter together, not looking at each other or speaking while walking in step. God, Shen Qingqiu should really be thanking Shang Qinghua for this.

Liu Qingge trails in after they do, looking as tense and faintly blank as ever. He sees Liu Qingge’s graze drift to him, and the quick dip as the man looks at his stomach. Shang Qinghua narrows his eyes pointedly, trying to project: don’t say sh*t bro! Be cool!

Liu Qingge, once again betraying him, walks over and takes a seat next to him. You know, like he has never done before!

“Shang-shixiong,” he says flatly.

“Liu-shidi!” Shang Qinghua says. “How friendly of you to sit here! With me! Kind of unusual, hm?”

“I don’t see why,” Liu Qingge says.

“… of course you don’t.” Shang Qinghua sighs.

Liu Qingge drops his voice lower, but not low enough for Shang Qinghua’s taste. “How are you feeling?”

Shang Qinghua wants to strangle him. He can practically sense Mu Qingfang’s ears perking up on the other side of the table. Yeah, he can see that side-eye, Mu-shidi, keep your nosy-ness to yourself like you promised!

“Fine,” he says. “How kind of you to express concern after our mission, but I’ve been healed up for weeks, shidi. My cultivation isn’t that bad.”

“Right,” Liu Qingge says. “… so?”

“So?”

“So, how are you feeling?”

Shang Qinghua rolls his eyes. “Fine! Everything is just lovely. But hey, since you’re here, it would be really helpful if you could get those reports to me on Bai Zhan’s equipment budget. You know, the one your Shizun was supposed to send over last week?”

Liu Qingge grunts and sinks down in his seat.

The meeting itself is unexciting. Qi Qingqi sends pointed looks between Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua, as if expecting them to go immediately for each other’s throats. Shen Qingqiu does offer Shang Qinghua a cold arched-brow when he settles in on Yue Qingyuan’s opposite side, but he doesn’t say anything. He barely acknowledges that Shang Qinghua exists. Shang Qinghua smiles awkwardly through a few half-hearted compliments from the other Head Disciples to An Ding Peak, wondering if most of these people have ever set foot on the Peak that keeps the entire Sect running before.

Shang Qinghua sits back and watches the predictable dance of the men across from him. Neither Yue Qingyuan nor Shen Qingqiu drink wine during these meetings. Yue Qingyuan always pours himself tea from the nearest teapot. Every meeting, like clockwork, he’ll try to serve Shen Qingqiu, and Shen Qingqiu will quietly threaten to pour the teapot on his head if he does. Wei Qingwei, who only drinks wine at these meetings, blithely pretends not to notice any of this right along with Shang Qinghua.

Yue Qingyuan takes the first sip of tea, and smiles over at Shang Qinghua.

“This is delicious, shidi. Remind me to ask about the blend later.”

“Of course, Shixiong!” Shang Qinghua says brightly.

An hour or so into the meeting, Shang Qinghua sees Yue Qingyuan begin to fidget slightly. It’s nothing that would draw too much attention if the man wasn’t usually so aggressively statue-like during any official function, or if Shang Qinghua wasn’t keeping an attentive half-eye on him. He taps his foot, then drums his fingers on the tabletop. He pours another cup of tea and drains it like a shot. A little while after that, Shang Qinghua sees him rub the bridge of his nose like he has a headache. He starts to look distinctly sweaty. Shen Qingqiu begins sending him increasingly sharp looks, interspersed with narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Shang Qinghua.

There is still a quarter shichen left before they usually end their meetings when Yue Qingyuan raises a hand.

“Let’s wrap up now, hm? We can reconvene in two weeks with any new developments.”

Their future Sect Leader is looking distinctly flushed, and Shen Qingqiu is looking distinctly murderous. Still, Yue Qingyuan keeps his tone admirably steady.

The other Head Disciples continue their individual conversations, filing slowly out of the pavilion. Shang Qinghua lingers, under the pretence of shuffling through some of his papers. Liu Qingge also lingers next to him, until Shang Qinghua sends him a sharp look. Liu Qingge huffs, but obediently turns to go as well.

Yue Qingyuan waits just long enough to be polite. When he stands, it’s with a subtle but noticeable wobble that he quickly studies with a hand on the table. Shen Qingqiu shoots to his feet and hovers next to him without touching him, a scowl on his face.

“Thank you so much for offering to host this meeting Shidi,” Yue Qingyuan says with a nod to Shang Qinghua. “An Ding’s hospitality has been lovely.”

“Sure, sure!” Shang Qinghua says. “Say, Yue-Shixiong, there’s actually something I wanted to ask you about. My master wants to get some details ironed out between Qiong Ding and An Ding, you know? Do you have a moment to speak before you head back?”

Yue Qingyuan doesn’t look like he wants to speak, but he’s too polite to turn down a reasonable request like that when he doesn’t actually have anything else he’s supposed to be doing.

“Of course, what can I help you with?”

“Here, let’s talk inside! They’ll need to clean in here after the meeting, and I’d rather have some privacy,” he says, and heads for the administrative building without waiting for confirmation from their future Sect Leader.

Shen Qingqiu darts up to walk next to him and leans over to hiss in his ear, “What are you doing?”

Shang Qinghua blinks at him. “What do you mean, Shixiong?”

“Have you forgotten my promise to ruin you if you make a move against me, you—“

“Of course not,” Shang Qinghua says quickly. “This shidi is more than aware of what he promised to Shen-Shixiong.”

Yue Qingyuan catches up with them as they cross the threshold into the building. He is looking even sweatier now, and glances between the two of them.“Xiao— ah, Shen-shidi, are you joining us?”

Shen Qingqiu flushes. “I have business of my own here.”

Yue Qingyuan tilts his head in confusion, but is apparently too dazed to question this. “Ah, I see.”

They make it halfway down the hall before Yue Qingyuan stumbles. Shen Qingqiu catches his arm, lightning fast, and steadies him when Yue Qingyuan almost lists over even with his support.

“Forgive me, I—“ Yue Qingyuan seems to choke on his words. He coughs, then says, “I’m… hot.”

“What did you do to him?” Shen Qingqiu demands, as Yue Qingyuan droops in his grip.

Shang Qinghua allows himself the tiniest bit of a smirk. “All is forgiven, Shixiong! Say, I’m curious, what did you think of the Old Palace Master when you met him?”

Yue Qingyuan coughs again. “I thought— I thought he was… he seemed like an asshole, and he keeps touching my arm when I have to stand near him at Sect events. I hope his next mistress assassinates him before I take over as Sect Leader so I won’t have to talk to him so much.”

Yue Qingyuan’s whole face goes red, and he slaps a hand over his mouth. Shang Qinghua lets his smirk grow into a full blown grin.

“Great!”

He reaches around the two of them and opens the door behind them. It leads into one of the small admin offices that only gets used when some senior disciple needs to organise a quick meeting with their records within reach.

Shen Qingqiu is looking at Yue Qingyuan like he’s been possessed.

“What—”

Shang Qinghua claps his hands. “Alright, you have maybe a shichen or so till that wears off. Shen-Shixiong, you should really ask Yue-Shixiong about that sword of his, okay? Or what happened in the Lingxi Caves.”

Yue Qingyuan’s face goes from flushed to white. Before he can react, Shang Qinghua shoves them each with a qi-infused palm and knocks them back into the office. Then he slams the door shut, and slaps a half-dozen talismans on it.

“I’ll make sure you have some privacy!” he calls through the door. “Don’t kill each other, please! I’ll have so much to explain!”

Indistinct shouting erupts behind the closed door.

Shang Qinghua wanders back to the pavilion they met in, steals a tray of snacks that won’t be too offensive to his stomach, then returns to slide down the wall and sit next to the office door. He lets his head fall back, pops a little cake in his mouth, and listens absently.

There is still shouting coming from the office when footsteps sound in the hall. Shang Qinghua looks over and spots Liu Qingge approaching.

“Liu-shidi?” Shang Qinghua asks.

Liu Qingge comes over, squints at the sealed door, then moves to sit against the opposite wall from Shang Qinghua with his arms folded. “Shixiong.”

“What, uh… what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk. You didn’t seem like you wanted me to come to An Ding.”

“No! No, I really didn’t. We seriously don’t need to give people more reason to be suspicious.”

Liu Qingge nods. “So, that’s why I’m here.”

“You seriously don’t need to check in on me,” Shang Qinghua says, exasperated. “You don’t even like me!”

“I like you fine,” Liu Qingge says. “And no one else is, so I will. How are you really?”

“I’m really fine. Honestly, I’ve been better than usual. Not going to start dying just because— well. You know.”

“That’s good,” Liu Qingge says, and then still doesn’t leave!

They sit for a minute, the only sound muffled shouting through the door. After a while the shouting crests, cuts off, and is replaced by muffled anguished sobbing.

“… Is that Yue-Shixiong?” Liu Qingge asks.

“Don’t worry about it.” Shang Qinghua says.

Shang Qinghua thinks this means he probably won’t have to intervene to prevent any bloodshed. He starts to push himself to his feet, and is halted when Liu Qingge jumps up and offers him a hand.

“You seriously don’t need to do any of this,” he says, but still takes the help standing. Liu Qingge just shrugs.

He plasters one final talisman on the door, this one a signal that An Ding uses to mark off areas where work is being done. He always carries a few on him, so he can put them up when he wants to sneak off and take a nap without being interrupted.

“That should keep anyone from disturbing them for long enough to clean themselves up,” he says. “Let’s get out of here before Shen Qingqiu comes and kills me for drugging the future Sect Leader.”

Liu Qingge blinks. “What.”

Shang Qinghua dusts off his robes and grins at the Bai Zhan Head Disciple. “Didn’t I say don’t worry about it?”

He takes off without waiting for Liu Qingge to follow. If Liu Qingge is still there when Shen Qingqiu breaks out of that room, that’s just more time for Shang Qinghua to make himself scarce. Scarce for like… maybe the next month, maybe two before let himself within stabbing distance. He’s pretty sure, after some time to cool off, Shen Qingqiu will see that Shang Qinghua is doing him a favour here.

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

Shang Qinghua neatly places the last scroll from his juniors on its newly designated shelf. It’s taken him the better part of a week to finish organising everything, to chart the specific routes and variants that he wants used, and to decide on a complete roster with dedicated disciples and a few sub-ins. Now it’s all set, and it’s looking pretty good if he does say so himself. A little spy ring, just for An Ding. And he’s already starting to learn all sorts of interesting things.

Predictably, people on every peak are nervous about the upcoming ascension. The masters on Wan Jian Peak are nervous that Wei Qingwei’s scattered and boisterous personality won’t be well suited to the arithmetic and planning needed to keep them in stock with the correct supplies and running on their rightly maintained schedule. On An Ding itself, a group of senior masters apparently messed up an order form for some essential supplies for Zui Xian’s Golden Immortal Sun Wine and were lying to the Peak Lord about it. Qi Qingqi recently got in trouble with her Shizun for being found in the rooms of a Xuan Chang Peak disciple when she was supposed to be in closed door meditation. And then, when Xian Xu did an inspection of all its cultivators who were supposed to be in seclusion, they found a different senior disciple canoodling with a Qiong Ding master!

Shang Qinghua has already sent a series of invoices and forms to Wan Jian that will force Wei Qingwei to explain Wan Jian’s timelines and supply orders in such excruciating detail that he won’t ever be able to forget, and hopefully so that no one will be able to doubt he knows them front to back. He’s also won the undying loyalty of those An Ding masters by showing up, terrifying them over their incompetence and the hell that Shui Ansheng would rain down on them for a f*ck up like that, and then neatly taking care of it for them without informing the Peak Lord.

Qi Qingqi… he’s not sure there’s anything he can do for her there. But it is very funny. Lu Miaying, with her misleadingly adorable baby face, was so excited to tell him that particular bit of gossip.

In his last life, Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky had definitely thought about what Cang Qiong’s intelligence network might be like. He’d bandied around thoughts like Shen Qingqiu gathering rumours through prostitutes and Xian Shu Peak sexy lady spies! And Is brewing ALL Zui Xian Peak does??? , and he’d definitely, in the back of his mind, thought it might make that scum villain Shang Qinghua a little cooler if he was spying for *everyone, not just gooning it up for his demon lord.

Of course, in this life, Shang Qinghua is the goon of goons, so jokes on him.

The readers of PIDW hadn’t wanted Shang Qinghua to be complex or interesting. He was just a plot device to help Luo Binghe in his conquest of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect. The readers hadn’t been interested in complexity from… anyone really, but especially not any of the Peak Lords or the male characters who weren’t Luo Binghe.

But this isn’t the world of PIDW, not exactly. That’s becoming clearer to him every day, as little actions add up into more and more plot deviations.

Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan are on speaking terms again. Shang Qinghua hasn’t actually talked to either of them because, haha, f*ck no. He’s seen them in passing though, from a safe distance, and the two of them have started taking a lot of slow walks together. They look sickeningly elegant together, strolling around Qing Jing or Qiong Ding Peak in their Head Disciple robes, Yue Qingyuan’s massive cursed sword and Shen Qingqiu’s graceful fans. Amongst the many reports he’s started taking from his juniors, there have been a lot of mentions of how people are suddenly hopeful that there might be peace between the first and second peaks after the ascension after all.

If those two have made up, that means Shen Qingqiu might be starting to heal from some of his more deeply ingrained neuroses. And if Yue Qingyuan isn’t so steeped in guilt and self hatred, he might be capable of standing up to Shen Qingqiu on occasion. Which means that, when Luo Binghe comes to Cang Qiong Mountain, there’s a way lower chance of Shen Qingqiu abusing him to the point of going on a revenge murder spree.

Hell, if the System stays quiet and keeps letting Shang Qinghua change things, he’ll just steal Luo Binghe for An Ding when he gets here. The kid can have a cushy life going insane over sect logistics— he won’t have time to conquer the three realms if he’s dealing with Bai Zhan Peak damage reports.

While he’s going over his work… Shang Qinghua jots down a note to send Yue Qingyuan an apology fruit basket or something. He probably won’t hold a little poisoning against Shang Qinghua in light of mending his relationship with his beloved childhood friend, right?

Right?

Right.

He’s just finished underlining that note a few times when a knock sounds on his door. He rolls his eyes, pretty sure he knows who’s going to be there when he opens it.

“You’re going down the mountain,” Liu Qingge says when Shang Qinghua slides his door open. Shang Qinghua leans against the door frame and raises his eyebrows.

“Hello, Liu-shidi! How are you? Everything is great on An Ding, thanks for asking, although it would be even better if I could get that personnel memo back from Bai-shishu…”

Liu Qingge grunts. “Shixiong. You’re going down the mountain.”

Shang Qinghua sighs. “Yes, yes, okay. I am going down the mountain. How could you possibly know that?”

Liu Qingge nods and pushes into his house without replying or waiting to be invited. “Okay. We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready,”

Shang Qinghua throws his hands up. “Shidi, you are not coming with me every time I go into town.”

“You shouldn’t go alone,” Liu Qingge says, eyeing some of the precariously stacked papers around his office. “It’s not safe.”

“It’s fine! What’s someone going to do, mug me? Unlike you, I blend in outside of the sect, and I know not to wave around cash or swords.”

Liu Qingge crosses his arms and looks at him silently. Shang Qinghua makes it through about five seconds of a half hearted staring contest before he gives up. Whatever! He can’t compete with his stubborn, overpowered sect siblings when they set their minds to anything.

“Fine! But I can’t just run around being trailed by the Wa— the warrior of Bai Zhan! That’s going to make me way more conspicuous than just going around on my own. What if someone picks a fight with you? What if someone sees you and tells your shifu that you’ve gotten some girl pregnant?”

Liu Qingge shrugs. “I’ll just wear a disguise then. Like you do.”

“There is no disguising that face, mister Cang Qiong’s second most eligible bachelor—”

“Mister what ?”

“— people will take one look at you and know there’s nothing you could be but a fancy sect cultivator! Especially if you have Cheng Luan with you. No way.” Shang Qinghua pauses, thoughtful, peering up at the aforementioned beautiful face. He thinks of someone else with such good looks that they had to be hidden away, and says, “If only we could put a veil on you, you’d look…”

Now, that's an idea!

Whatever expression comes over his face makes Liu Qingge look distinctly nervous.

“What?” he asks.

Shang Qinghua grins. “Actually, I have an idea. A disguise like mine, huh? I think I’ve got a few things that might work.”

——

“This is terrible for movement,” Liu Qingge mutters, tugging at the edge of his skirts.

Shang Qinghua nudges him. “Quit fussing with it. The skirt isn't even that short.”

“Plenty of female cultivators wear pants, or wear their robes long. How are you supposed to do a high kick like this?”

“I don’t think she was worried about doing high kicks in her off time, shi mei . She probably just wears them for fun. You should be grateful we could get you some non-sect robes from someone on such short notice.”

Liu Qingge huffs, but quiets as they approach Doctor Guo’s clinic to glare at the building instead of at the pretty, delicate green robes Shang Qinghua has dressed him in. He really looks pretty great, which is predictable— he looks just like Liu Mingyan will someday. He’s already smaller and more slender, more pretty , than people expect someone of his martial talents to be. The fall of the dress obscures his waist, softens his frame without completely hiding his muscles, and with the veil over his face he looks like a very fit young mistress of some noble family. The robes are a little silly, but this is Proud Immortal Demon Way, so a fair amount of women’s clothing looks incongruously more like sexy video game outfits than actual historical women’s dress. Thankfully the actual Cang Qiong uniforms tend to offer more modest options, but some women still prefer the showy and short options in their off time. Who is he to judge?

Doctor Guo’s little assistant shows them back. The young doctor gives Liu Qingge a capital L Look when he comes in with Shang Qinghua, and Shang Qinghua offers her a wide grin and a shrug in place of an explanation. She sighs.

“Do I want to know?”

“Probably not,” he says cheerfully.

“Fantastic.”

She gets to work checking him out, while Liu Qingge stands uncomfortable in a corner of the treatment room. His whole face goes red and he looks at the ceiling when Doctor Guo unties the front of Shang Qinghua’s robes and starts palpating his stomach.

“Things are looking alright,” she says. “The baby’s heartbeat feels strong, and yours is evening out. You’ve gained back a little weight, but make sure you keep eating well and drinking the tea I gave you. You should start keeping a closer eye on your internal energies at this stage, I can sense some imbalances in your qi.”

“Imbalances?” Liu Qingge asks sharply.

“Ahaha, it’s probably the stress,” Shang Qinghua says. “I’ll meditate.”

“Do,” she says. “You’re feeling movement?”

He nods and pokes at his own stomach. “It was faint at first, then suddenly a lot more distinct in the last two weeks or so. Like it's, uh, sort of swimming around in there.”

She smiles. “That’s good. It’s a little later than usual, but I think we can attribute that to the rough start with your qi and diet. Now that you’re regaining energy and weight, you might notice more activity. It will probably be enough to feel from the outside in another week or two. If you notice an abrupt or prolonged stop to the movements, come and see me.”

“Got it,” he says “Anything else I should worry about?”

“Mm, you’re probably going to get a lot bigger in the next few weeks. Growth tends to be slow at first, and then rapid from this point on.”

“Oh, great.” He grimaces. “How much bigger are we talking?”

“If you’re still trying not to show back at your sect, I would invest in some larger robes. And shoes.”

He sits up, retying the front of his robes. “Shoes?”

“Your feet will swell and flatten as well. You might also notice some disorientation, and skin discoloration. Marks on your stomach, freckles darkening, or redness on your face or hands. You may also get your first false-contractions— no need to worry unless they’re very intense or prolonged, or you notice unusual bleeding.”

“This is such a bitch,” he mutters. Doctor Guo snorts and wacks at him gently with her notes.

“It is. Good luck, come back in two weeks or sooner if you notice anything unusual.”

He sighs but offers her a smile and a playful bow. He collects Liu Qingge from his embarrassed corner and heads out of the clinic so Guo Lantian can get on with her other patients.

“Come on, shimei. I’ll treat you to dinner.”

——

Shang Qinghua and Liu Qingge have barely taken their seats in the teahouse next to the Warm Red Pavilion when Shen Qingqiu sweeps in through the privacy curtain and takes a seat on the other side of the table.

“Shidi,” he says. His phoenix eyes sweep over each of them in turn, then narrow mockingly at Liu Qingge. “You look ridiculous.”

Liu Qingge growls, face growing red. Shang Qinghua feels kind of bad for the guy, it can’t be healthy to blush so much in one day. Before Liu Qingge can reach around the table to strangle Shen Qingqiu, the curtain rustles and Yue Qingyuan enters, offering a sheepish smile to Shang Qinghua and Liu Qingge. He takes a seat next to Shen Qingqiu rather than at the empty, fourth side of the table.

“What,” Shang Qinghua says.

“Ah, hello Shang-shidi, Liu-shidi,” he says.

The waiter arrives, and Shen Qingqiu orders for all four of them in clipped tones,his usual terrifying expression firmly in place, sending the poor man scurrying away from their table at top speeds.

“Um?” Shang Qinghua says. “How did YOU guys find us here?” This was just getting ridiculous. Does everyone on Cang Qiong know his schedule?

“I took the liberty of informing Yue-shixiong of your… situation,” Shen Qingqiu says, not answering Shang Qinghua’s question either, ugh. He gestures disdainfully to Shang Qinghua, Liu Qingge, and the teahouse at large.

“What?” Shang Qinghua squeaks, “Why! I didn’t dose you with truth pollen, did I?”

“No,” Shen Qingqiu says coolly, “I simply decided it was prudent. Perhaps next time you’d like to prove to me why I shouldn’t blackmail or expose you to our sect, you won’t lock me in an abandoned office with my poisoned senior martial brother.”

“Ah, yes,” Yue Qingyuan says. “While I appreciate Shang-shidi’s intentions, I would… prefer to not repeat the experience.”

Shang Qinghua rubs at his face. “Yeah, okay, listen, in my defence it seemed like the most effective way forward at the time! If I just told you what I knew, you wouldn’t believe me. You did talk, right?”

“Hmm,” Shen Qingqiu says, which is a dangerous noise if Shang Qinghua has ever heard one. “Would Shang-shidi care to share exactly how he knew so much about Yue-shixiong's personal history? Or mine, for that matter?”

“Ahahaha,” Shang Qinghua says, “No?”

“Wrong answer.”

Shang Qinghua is rescued by the waiter returning with food and tea. Yue Qingyuan is the only one who thanks him, and he swiftly departs at the looks on Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge’s faces.

Yue Qingyuan distributes the dishes, and they all sit for a moment in tense silence as they fill their bowls. Shang Qinghua watches in a mixture of amazement and disgust as Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan get into an aggressive chopstick battle as they both attempt to put bits of food in each other's bowls. While he’s distracted, Liu Qingge sticks some extra meat in his bowl. Shang Qinghua shoots him a look, and Liu Qingge looks blankly back over top of his veil.

“More protein,” he says. Shang Qinghua sighs.

“So,” Yue Qingyuan says once they’re all at least pretending to eat, “Shang-shidi. I can’t pretend I’m not… surprised. By all of this.”

Shang Qinghua shifts in his seat. “I get that.”

“May I ask how long…?”

“Ah, five months or so.”

Yue Qingyuan’s eyebrows go up. “That long?” He eyes Shang Qinghua, clearly looking at where his stomach is still small, if obvious, under these robes.

Shang Qinghua shrugs. “Yes?”

“I see. And do you plan to continue to conceal your condition through the ascension?”

“I mean, if I can,” Shang Qinghua says. “It’s kind of no one else’s business, right?”

“It is a sect matter if it may affect the ascension, or the security of An Ding Peak,” Yue Qingyuan says, frowning. “Has Shang-shidi truly thought this through?”

Shang Qinghua waves his chopsticks. “It’s a bit late for that now. With all due respect, Yue-shixiong, I think I’m capable of determining what I can and cannot do as the An Ding Head Disciple, and as Peak Lord. I’ve been keeping everything running smoothly so far, right? You didn’t notice anything was going on until Shen-shixiong told you.”

Yue Qingyuan nods slowly. “That is true. But shidi, wouldn’t it be easier for you to… step down? If you’re having a child, shouldn’t that be the focus?”

“No!” Shang Qinghua says sharply. Liu Qingge looks at him, brows furrowed. Shang Qinghua clears his throat and looks down at his rice. “No. Just because no other Peak Lord is raising a child doesn’t mean I’m not capable, and I am not giving up my place as Head Disciple. Not now, so close to ascension. Who do you think is going to take over, shixiong? Do you think someone else will be able to just step into my shoes less than three months before I’m supposed to take over as Peak Lord? Completely implement their own systems, build a rapport with the peak, learn all of my duties? An Ding may be the logistics peak, but it still takes skill to do what we do. And I’m the best. If you want Cang Qiong to be functional when you’re the Sect Leader, you need me right where I am.”

He shoves a piece of chicken into his mouth, face heating at that little impassioned speech. The truth is he’d love to quit and run for the hills, but on the off chance the System returns he can’t afford to risk it.

Still, now that he’s said it aloud, it almost feels like it could be true. He’s good at what he does!

Yue Qingyuan looks sheepish, while Shen Qingqiu is badly hiding his amusem*nt.

“I’m sorry, shidi,” Yue Qingyuan says, “I didn’t mean to offend. I just wanted to make sure you were aware of your options, and had thought this through thoroughly.”

“Enjoy, Qi-ge’s particular brand of caring,” Shen Qingqiu says. “Since you’ve brought this on yourself.”

Shang Qinghua slumps in his seat and glares at them both. “See if I ever do something nice for you again,” he mutters.

“Do and see what happens,” Shen Qingqiu says.

“Is it really fine for this many people to know?” Liu Qingge asks. “Have you told anyone else?”

“Not yet,” Shen Qingqiu says meaningfully. Liu Qingge scowls.

“It’s not ideal ,” Shang Qinghua says wryly.

“I promise, your secrets are safe with me,” Yue Qingyuan says. “I know you didn’t choose to confide in me, but,” he grimaces slightly, “I certainly have no room to talk when it comes to… hiding things. I understand the need for discretion, and I hope to prove that the trust you’re placing in Shen-shidi and myself is deserved.”

Yue Qingyuan’s large, sombre eyes should be counted as a lethal weapon on par with Xuan Su. Cursed soul-sword who? Shang Qinghua is going to be taken out by an overdose of earnest concern.

“Alright, alright, just please keep it a secret. Like I told Shen-shixiong, I can really be helpful! To you both!”

“That reminds me,” Shen Qingqiu says. He flicks open his folding fan and waves it lazily. “Your spies are bothering my spies.”

Shang Qinghua sputters. “What, your spies? What spies!”

“What do you think I do here?” Shen Qingqiu asks, nodding his head towards the Pavilion.

Liu Qingge makes a disgusted noise, while Yue Qingyuan frowns.

“Uh, sleep? Play weiqi?” Shang Qinghua says.

Shen Qingqiu narrows his eyes at him. “Prostitutes are an excellent source of information. In exchange for warding, some protection, and access to Xian Xu and Qian Cao Peak’s birth control, I can gain access to rumours and gossip from several pleasure houses nearby Cang Qiong.”

Huh, would you look at that? Airplane Shootings Towards the Sky’s random thoughts and notes in his drafts did get implemented here. He wonders if Qi Qingqi and Jin Qingsong have their own networks of information as well.

“How are my disciples interfering with your prostitute gossip chain?” he asks.

“You’re using your disciples to spy?” Liu Qingge asks.

“Don’t sound so scandalised,” Shen Qingqiu says, “it’s good sense. I’m impressed that any of our martial siblings thought of such a thing. Most ‘honourable’ cultivators consider such things beneath them, and then they’re easily stabbed in the back when the rumours they were ignoring come back to bite them.” He gives Liu Qingge a pointed sneer before turning back to Shang Qinghua. “They’re not subtle enough yet. One of them came to the Blooming Willow House in Shuang Hu City to ask the women some very pointed questions. They immediately informed me of it as suspicious, and it took me little enough time to track it back to An Ding. If you’re sending your disciples out, make sure they're adequately trained in subtlety, and better at covering their tracks.

Shang Qinghua shrugs. “Eh, they’re still learning. Was it Lu-shimei? She’s been getting pretty confident with it, I’ll have to give her something more tedious to do.”

Shen Qingqiu nods. “She’s a good choice, but needs to be less obvious when she’s trying to extract information.”

“I don’t suppose you have any tips to share?” Shang Qinghua asks.

Shen Qingqiu snorts. “Hardly.”

Yue Qingyuan looks bemused by this line of conversation, politely sipping his tea and looking between the two of them like he’s watching a match of a game he doesn’t know the rules to. Liu Qingge just looks scandalised again. Shang Qinghua is really starting to find his reactions funny. He’ll let his pregnant shixiong dress him in drag and cart him around town to visit brothels, but he draws the line at a little harmless spying?

Shang Qinghua shrugs and drops it. Joining forces would be cool, but he doubts Shen Qingqiu would go for it. And Shang Qinghua still wants to keep some secrets from his shixiong. Like all his demonic dealings, for one thing. As if reading his line of thought, Yue Qingyuan sets down his cup and looks at Shang Qinghua again, clearing his throat.

“Shang-shidi, forgive me, but I must ask. Will the… other parent be a concern?”

Everyone is just so curious, huh? Can’t they imagine it was an immaculate conception!

“No,” Shang Qinghua says firmly.

“I see,” Yue Qingyuan says in tones of someone who does not see. “Is it another member of the sect? Will he have reason to be suspicious?”

“It’s no one from the sect,” Shang Qinghua says. “Honestly, I can’t think of any possible way he would know about this.”

“Oh?” Shen Qingqiu asks, “How can you be so sure?”

“I just am. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s something to be aware of,” Yue Qingyuan says. “As a Peak Lord, the pregnancy and the child could be considered a weak spot, on An Ding or Cang Qiong as a whole. The other parent could attempt to gain a foothold in the sect by claiming partial custody of a Peak Lord’s child.”

Shang Qinghua tries to imagine setting up a custody agreement with the baby’s… sire. The thought gives him hives, and also makes him want to laugh until he cries.

“That’s really not going to be a concern,” he says.

“You’re sure you will not inform anyone of his identity?” Yue Qingyuan asks.

“Completely,” Shang Qinghua says. Thankfully, Yue Qingyuan nods his acquiescence.

Shen Qingqiu drains the rest of his tea. “Not that this hasn’t been illuminating, but I have other things to do with my evening.”

“No one invited you,” Liu Qingge says, which is pretty rich when Shang Qinghua also definitely did not invite him.

“We’ll do this again,” Shen Qingqiu says decisively, standing. Yue Qingyuan stands with him and places a few coins on the table, obviously paying for them both. Gross , Shang Qinghua thinks. “I intend to stay informed on your actions, given everything you seem to get up to when left unsupervised.”

“Hey!”

Yue Qingyuan nods and offers Shang Qinghua a polite smile. “I would appreciate being kept informed as well. The concerns of one peak are the concerns of all.”

Shang Qinghua curses himself for writing these men to be so nosy and loyal. It’s a major design flaw. “Fine, fine, okay. I’ll be back here, alright? Or at the Pavilion.”

Yue Qingyuan bows to them both, while Shen Qingqiu simply sweeps away as abruptly as he arrived.

Shang Qinghua is left with Liu Qingge to pay for their portions, and he accepts the future War God’s insistent ride back to the sect with little argument. Apparently, he’ll need to get used to all these people getting involved in his business.

“You’d better be worth this trouble,” he whispers as he stands on Cheng Luan with Liu Qingge’s arms around his shoulders. Inside his stomach, baby airplane kicks their little limbs. If Shang Qinghua sheds a few tears at the feeling, they’re quickly wiped away by the wind.

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

The sun is high in the sky on An Ding, and Shang Qinghua is being bullied .

“I don’t see,” Shang Qinghua pants, “why I have to do this now! Have mercy!”

Liu Qingge reaches out and pushes Shang Qinghua’s sword hand back up from where it had started to dip. He steps back and gets into position, waiting for Shang Qinghua to attack.

“Better me, now, than an enemy when there’s real danger,” he says, which is logical, and also sucks.

Shang Qinghua lets out a loud groan, but acquiesces to try to swing his sword at Liu Qingge again. Liu Qingge easily smacks his blade away with a roll of his eyes.

“Actually try to hit me this time,” he says.

Shang Qinghua groans louder.

Liu Qingge finally lets them both rest a quarter shichen later. Shang Qinghua drops down onto the grass of the An Ding training field, even though there are stone benches nearby, because An Ding is a practical Peak which doesn’t pretend its disciples never need to sit, unlike some others he could name.

Liu Qingge’s newest way to be ‘helpful’ to Shang Qinghua is physical training. Shang Qinghua has no idea why he’s surprised! That is pretty much Liu Qingge’s whole thing after all.

Since letting Shang Qinghua dress him up and accompanying him to his doctor’s appointment, Liu Qingge has been following him around more and more. Rarely at the Sect itself, but always when he leaves it. Last time Shang Qinghua visited the Warm Red Pavilion Liu Qingge even came along there, and personally apologised to the Pavilion’s employees for the destruction he caused in his fight with Shen Qingqiu. It was a very flushed, stuttering apology, but it was cute. He even stuck around in a corner while Shang Qinghua played with A-Ting and discussed his newest yellow book ideas with Jin-mei.

A little while after that, Liu Qingge apparently decided that Shang Qinghua needs a personal trainer-slash-tormentor. Shang Qinghua isn’t a horrible fighter, or particularly weak. Before being sick for a few months, he would have considered himself at the very least sturdy and fast, with a good handle on the An Ding techniques to supplement strength with spiritual energy in order to lift heavy objects and travel long distances.

The baby has made this more difficult, the combination of more than two months of inedia while also trying to grow a tiny life form did a number on his stamina and endurance. He’s been keeping up training, just… not very vigorously.

“I thought you’re supposed to take it easy when you’re… you know?” Shang Qinghua says, staring up at the sky and trying to catch his breath. He’s been getting winded just from walking up the various stairs around the Peaks recently, much less after getting gently kicked around and run through strength building and flexibility exercises by the future Bai Zhan War God.

“Exercise is good, as long as you’re not pushing yourself.”

“This isn’t pushing myself?”

“Not for an immortal.”

If it was anyone else, Shang Qinghua would think he was being made fun of. “Barely an immortal!”

“And yet, you’re plenty strong enough for this.”

“ Uuuggghhh .”

Shang Qinghua has a quiet tantrum on the ground while Liu Qingge does his wind-down stretches.

The messenger comes for him while Liu Qingge is forcing him through his own wind down stretches. It’s one of the babies, although not one of Shang Qinghua’s direct babies. She’s round cheeked and gap-toothed despite being at least 14.

“Da-shixiong!” She cries, scampering up the path from the direction of the An Ding admin offices, “Shizun wants to see you!”

“Freedom!” Shang Qinghua cries, and rolls himself to his feet. He’s relishing still being able to do that— better enjoy it while he can. “It seems like I must be going, Liu-shidi. So sad! Do some extra push-ups in my honour, okay?”

Liu Qingge rolls his eyes and huffs, but lets him go without protest.

As Shang Qinghua follows the baby-disciple down towards wherever in the offices Shui Ansheng is lurking today, said baby-disciple tugs on his sleeve.

“Shang-shixiong,” she whispers, “are you fighting against Bai Zhan?”

“More like getting bullied by Bai Zhan,” he says, heaving a dramatic sigh.

“Shixiong,” she says again, “Don’t the Bai Zhan disciples hate us? Is he here to beat you up?”

He snorts. “Much as it may feel like it, no. Liu-shidi is just here to give this shixiong some pointers in combat. Liu Qingge might be a jock, but he doesn't beat up poor An Ding disciples for fun. Well, okay, maybe a little for fun, but he definitely won’t be beating up any little juniors.”

The girl drops his sleeve in favour of fidgeting quietly for the rest of the walk. Just as he prepares to part ways with a head-pat and a quick farewell, she grabs his hands and bows clumsily.

“Shixiong!” She says, “Um, please tell Liu Qingge that his sword forms are very impressive! I want to see them again!”

Bright red, she bows again and runs away without another word.

Shang Qinghua blinks after her. Then, he breaks out in a bright laugh.

Liu-shidi, you have no idea the sort of fans you’re about to get in An Ding if you keep showing off here.

——

Rather than the Peak Lord’s usual overstuffed office, Shui Ansheng has taken over for some poor An Ding administrator. The man scampers out of the office looking tearful as Shang Qinghua approaches, and bows several degrees too deep to him as he flees. Shang Qinghua hesitantly pokes his head around the doorframe and finds Shui Ansheng at the man’s desk, looking at a neat stack of scrolls. He glances up when Shang Qinghua enters before going back to placidly reading.

“Ah, Xiao Hua, thank you for coming.”

Shang Qinghua bows and walks over to hover by the desk, shamelessly reading upside down just the way the man taught him. Shui Ansheng does nothing to dissuade his snooping, so it can’t be that important.

“How are you keeping up with your current duties?” the man asks. “Any issues this master should be aware of?”

“No issues, Shizun. I’ve been keeping a handle on everything! We’re on track for the ascension ceremony and the yearly budget reports. The only hiccup this week was a supply delay, which I’ve investigated and resolved.”

“No further problems with Qinghua’s cultivation? Your work has come back up to standard, and I haven’t had any more of the children coming to ask me if you’re dying.” Shui Ansheng looks up just to level him with a half-amused, half-judgmental raised eyebrow.

Shang Qinghua is too busy sweating internally to remember his own lie for a moment. “No!” he hurries to assure the man, “No more problems. Everything was… resolved. I’ve been practising carefully.”

“Good, good.” Shui Ansheng takes out his personal seal and stamps one of the documents. Shang Qinghua’s unsubtle staring tells him they’re some sort of treasury reports, although he’s not sure which ones. “I have heard about your little practice sessions. You and the Bai Zhan boy have been getting awfully close since your mission.”

“Ahaha, I don’t know. I wouldn’t say close. I think Liu Qingge was just offended by my terrible sword fighting, and now he wants to make sure I won’t get myself killed without him there and leave the next generation with eleven Peak Lords.”

Shui Ansheng reached out to knock him upside the head with a scroll. “This master is forced to lament his own abilities as an educator. Perhaps what I should have really done to motivate your martial talent is put a pretty young man in charge of it.”

Shang Qinghua goes red down to his toes. He makes a noise like a squeaky toy being stepped on.

“Absolutely not! Nope! It is not like that!”

He knew it! He knew it was a bad idea for them to hang out so much! Meddling old people are going to get ideas! And there is no place for ideas in Shang Qinghua’s life right now, thank you very much.

Shui Ansheng chuckles down at his document. “Too easy to fluster.”

Shang Qinghua wheezes, and hopes he looks desperate and pathetic enough to end this conversation. Maybe he can play dead?

“It’s good to have friends on other peaks,” Shui Ansheng says, “As long as they don’t distract you from your work. I was beginning to worry I would never see you become close with anyone, Qinghua. Take it from this master— immortality is a long time to be alone.”

Shang Qinghua, halfway to denying being friends with any of his fellow head disciples as Shui Ansheng speaks, closes his mouth and clears his throat. The Peak Lord looks uncommonly sombre. He has appeared the same age since Shang Qinghua joined the peak at eleven or so. Now, though, Shang Qinghua feels like he can see the signs of the years on his master’s face.

If I live through the plot, will I look like that someday? He wonders. His death has always seemed so imminent, he’s never considered the possibility that he might live another hundred, two hundred, even five hundred years. None of the Qing generation of Cang Qiong Peak Lords lived that long in PIDW, but it wasn’t uncommon for previous generations of Cang Qiong masters. Shui Ansheng has to be well over two hundred years old, for all that he looks barely past his twenties.

Shang Qinghua swallows and nods his head to his master. “This one understands.”

Shui Ansheng sighs and reaches over the desk to pat him absently on the shoulder. “So serious. I didn’t actually call you over to talk about your personal life, Xiao Hua. Well, I did want to tease you about your friend, but there’s some official business.”

“Ah?”

“Cang Qiong has been called for an inter-sect meeting,” Shui Ansheng says, “At Huan Hua Palace. Our esteemed Sect Leader has decided that Qiong Ding, Qing Jing, An Ding, and Xian Xu shall represent the mountain as a diplomatic envoy. I, personally, shall not be attending, but yourself, Peak Lord Qin, Peak Lord Jie, Yue Qingyuan, Shen Qingqiu, and Qi Qingqi will be leaving for Huan Hua Palace, along with a few senior disciples of Qiong Ding.”

“Ahh,” Shang Qinghua says. He has a bad feeling about this. “What exactly are we meeting… about?”

“They seem concerned about some sort of demonic threat,” Shui Ansheng says. The majority of his attention has returned to the scrolls, as he stamps another one and then begins binding and sealing each of them. “One can only imagine. Huan Hua does love their dramatics.”

“Right,” Shang Qinghua says. That’s what I was worried you’d say.

——

Shang Qinghua spends almost as much time thinking about what Shui Ansheng said about Liu Qingge as he does about Huan Hua palace.

Are they… close? Shang Qinghua spends a lot of their time together worrying that he’s going to annoy the future War God into trying to kick his ass. Kick his ass for real, that is, and not just for, like, cardio. Or worse, annoy the man into giving him one of those looks his parents were so fond of in his first life, that said something like ‘if this thing didn’t need me to survive I would shut it up, but since it does I’ll just fester in resentment I guess.’

He knows how he is. He’s annoying at the best of times! He talks too fast and too much and about the wrong things, he’s clumsy and over-eager or apathetic by turns, he doesn’t really ‘get’ or ‘connect with’ or ‘like’ most people. Liu Qingge is one of the most impressive cultivators of their generation: strong, beautiful, noble, impressive. And he’s taken to spending time hanging around Shang Qinghua like it's his job.

Liu Qingge has never called them friends. Shang Qinghua figures their little arrangement has less to do with any personal feelings either of them harbour, and more to do with Shang Qinghua’s desperation for allies and Liu Qingge’s unimpeachable moral character. But…

Shang Qinghua sits off to the side of the Bai Zhan training ground and watches Liu Qingge train. Really train, his own sort of training— Bai Zhan style training, and isn’t that an education in how easy he was going on Shang Qinghua on An Ding. If people trained like this on An Ding, there would be damage reports that bordered on lawsuits.

No one fighting is a match for the future War God, that much is obvious. Liu Qingge finishes each fight with brutal efficiency, then calls over the next disciple to face him from those doing their own training— or, occasionally, those passing by who get too close. No one wins against him, and most don’t even last ten minutes against him unless Liu Qingge obviously lets them, giving himself some sort of handicap like fighting without his hands or with his eyes closed, or fighting four opponents at once. Shang Qinghua has a great time imagining various soundtracks to the fights, or what they would look like as video game cutscenes.

There is a lull between fights, half a shichen in or so. Shang Qinghua is ripping up grass and making lists of who he needs to track down on each peak for budget reports and who he needs to track down about tailoring orders from Shen Qi Peak, and making sure the two lists don’t get confused. He watches with less than half attention as Liu Qingge goes to get some water and treat the couple of cuts he received from his luckier opponents. Another group of disciples around his age are huddled around the water jugs, chatting and jostling each other and comparing training injuries. They all go silent as Liu Qingge approaches, and when he lifts a jug to drink from, most of them scatter to either return to their training or regroup elsewhere on the arena grounds.

It’s only the significant amount of time he’s been spending in Liu Qingge’s company recently (and three years of reading Mobei-jun’s blank expressions out of self preservation) that lets him notice the way Liu Qingge frowns at this, growing even stiffer and more reticent than usual. He keeps his eyes lowered as he heads to the medical supplies and starts cleaning and bandaging his cuts one handed, the motion clearly familiar. No one offers to help him, or compares wounds with him, or even sticks around within 3 bu of him.

For the first time, Shang Qinghua has to wonder if Liu Qingge is maybe a little… lonely? The youngest of the head disciples, about to be the youngest peak lord of the Qing generation at only nineteen. He’s not exactly approachable, and Shang Qinghua is aware he only got his position because he was the only one who could physically defeat Bai Anjiang in a fight. In Proud Immortal Demon Way, Liu Qingge had died alone in a cave, and his death was never investigated because Yue Qingyuan was trying to cover for Shen Qingqiu killing him. Not that Shen Qingqiu did kill him in Shang Qinghua’s initial draft, but still. It’s almost worse, that such a strong cultivator’s cultivation was disturbed enough that he died of a qi deviation and no one noticed before or after he’d died. Had he written anyone but Liu Mingyan mourning him? Trying to avenge him when they thought that Shen Qingqiu had killed him? Had anyone noticed, in the weeks or months leading up to his death, that something was wrong with their War God?

He doesn’t think so. It just wasn’t that important to the plot, he was only there to make Shen Qingqiu look worse and give Liu Mingyan motivation to turn away from the sect and into Luo Binghe’s waiting arms.

Somehow before he’s thought about it Shang Qinghua is sliding down the small hill he was lounging on and trotting over.

“Hey,” he says, and then bats Liu Qingge’s hands away and takes over dressing the shallow wounds while the other man makes a noise of surprise. “Bro, you totally kicked ass. I’m tired just watching you.”

Liu Qingge frowns, brows scrunching. Shang Qinghua makes quick work of the bandages, seeing as Liu Qingge didn’t really need any help in the first place.

“Bro,” Liu Qingge repeats, and Shang Qinghua laughs.

“Just a bit of local dialect from my hometown. It means, like, dude, friend? Compatriot? Y’know.”

Liu Qingge grunts, and draws away as soon as Shang Qinghua has secured the bandage. “Hm.”

“Hey,” Shang Qinghua says again, a bit stupidly. “Let's go into town later. We should enjoy being able to get out of here before the ascension.”

“I have to train for another half shichen. At least.”

Shang Qinghua bobs his head. “I’ll wait around for you, then. May as well, since I’ve already been dragged from my cushy office.”

“You didn’t go outside for three days.”

“And? That’s called productivity, Shidi.”

Liu Qingge rolls his eyes and heads back to the training grounds. Shang Qinghua stays at the periphery, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall of one of the equipment shacks, where the medical supplies and weapons are both kept— for easiest access to both, he assumes. More disciples get dragged into fighting him, and still no one else actually talks to their head disciple, before or after the fights.

Maybe, just possibly, Liu Qingge has as few friends as Shang Qinghua does. Even if they’re not properly friends per se, Shui Ansheng was right— immortality is a long time to be alone. Shang Qinghua is already planning to avert his canonical death; characters who get unceremoniously fridged in canon need to stick together. And it isn’t terrible, he guesses, spending time with someone else in the sect for reasons besides work, scheming, or grovelling. He gets comfortable and waits for Liu Qingge to be done.

——

Shen Qingqiu finds them before they get off the mountain.

“How are you doing this?!” Shang Qinghua demands.

“Shouldn’t you be able to figure it out, oh An Ding spymaster?” Shen Qingqiu says snidely, falling into step beside Shang Qinghua and ignoring Liu Qingge’s existence entirely.

“Are you having me followed, Shixiong?” Shang Qinghua asks. He phrases it like a joke but actually, augh, that’s horrifying! Shang Qinghua does so many things no one should know about, he cannot risk fielding the OG Scum Villain as well!

“Hardly,” Shen Qingqiu says. “Just keeping an eye on who leaves the sect, why, and when.”

“Academic curiosity?”

“Knowledge is power.”

Shang Qinghua rolls his eyes and sighs. “Do you want to come to dinner with us, Shixiong?”

Liu Qingge makes a protesting noise, which Shang Qinghua is sympathetic to, but also going to ignore.

“Will it be worth my time?” Shen Qingqiu asks, wrinkling his nose.

“Actually, there’s something I want to talk to you and Yue-shixiong about. Has Qin-shigu told you about the meeting at Huan Hua Palace yet?”

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrow. “Fine.”

“Want me to get—?”

“I’ll get him.”

Shen Qingqiu breezes off. Liu Qingge moves to walk next to Shang Qinghua and crosses his arms.

“I don’t understand why you want to talk to him so badly.”

“Shen-shixiong? Or Yue-shixiong?”

“Shen Qingqiu. Obviously.”

“He’s really not so bad,”

“He’s a degenerate and a liar,” Liu Qingge says stiffly.

Oof. Well, he was just thinking about ways to avert Liu Qingge’s accidental death-slash-murder. He leans over and elbows Liu Qingge lightly, making the future War God.

“You know I hang around brothels. Do you think I’m a ‘degenerate’?”

“That’s different. You’re—”

“Pregnant outside of marriage?” Shang Qinghua offers. Liu Qingge grimaces.

“It’s different.”

“Shen Qingqiu isn’t hurting anybody,” Shang Qinghua says. “Even if he was going there to partake in their services, which he’s not , it really wouldn’t be anyone else’s business. Some people find that sort of thing relaxing, or it fulfils something that they want. Sex isn’t inherently damaging or amoral, it’s just something that people do.”

Liu Qingge has gone bright red, as he does any time Shang Qinghua brings up or alludes to his p*rn-writing hobbies, or goes by the Pavilion, or makes a sex joke that Liu Qingge catches (many fewer of them than Shang Qinghua makes).

“It damages your cultivation!”

“Or helps it, if you’re careful. I’m pretty sure Qian Cao has lots and lots of books about all of the benefits of dual cultivation, if Shidi is interested.”

“That’s not even the worst thing he does,” Liu Qingge says quickly. “He fights dirty. You can’t trust him at your back— whatever his game is here, he can’t be trusted.”

Shang Qinghua mulls this over. “It’s not that I think you’re wrong , that he has other motivations besides the goodness of his heart I mean. I don’t think he likes me, and I don’t really know why he’s humouring me like this. But he’s not a bad person, and I think that as long as we’re not actively working against each other’s interests he’s trustworthy enough.” He bites his lip and glances over at Liu Qingge. “You know, that time when we were disciples— he really wasn’t trying to attack you.”

“What?”

“On that mission, when we were junior disciples? You thought that Shen Qingqiu tried to attack you when your back was turned, but he didn’t. He was just hitting a beast that was in your blind spot, and you turned around at the wrong moment. I don’t know why he didn’t say anything, and I don’t think either of you were listening to me after, but he really wasn’t doing anything to you. I think Shen-shixiong just… isn’t very good at explaining himself. He’d rather let people assume the worst than try to defend himself when people assume things about him.”

Liu Qingge blinks at him. He might have gotten a little carried away there, psych-analysing his villain. He laughs awkwardly. “That’s just… what I think though. Don’t worry about it too much.”

He starts down the stairs again, and Liu Qingge follows after a moment.

“I didn’t remember you being there,” Liu Qingge says. “I apologise.”

Shang Qinghua waves a hand. “You don’t need to apologise to me! I spent a lot of time as a junior trying to keep people from noticing me.”

“Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why didn’t you want to be noticed? You’re the head disciple now. You must have changed your mind at some point.”

“Oh. I guess? Mostly I still hope people won’t notice me. It just causes too many problems. I just want to be helpful in the background, and at the end of the day be able to go home with no one mad at me and no one trying to kill me.”

“You’re going to be a peak lord soon. With a baby.”

Shang Qinghua makes a noise like ‘hhhgk’ and says, “Yep. Those sure are choices that I made. Guess I should enjoy invisibility while I have it.”

——

Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan do indeed find them in town, once again back at what is quickly becoming Shang Qinghua’s favourite tea house. Not because it’s good, but because it's mediocre and discreet enough to allow for privacy.

“What’s happening at Huan Hua Palace?” Shen Qingqiu asks as he settles into place at the table. He and Yue Qingyuan are both dressed down again, and this time Xuan Su and Xiu Ya both seem to be hidden away somewhere. Shang Qinghua didn’t make Liu Qingge dress as a woman this time, but did insist he keep his sword in a qiankun sleeve— a compromise they’re both unhappy with, but it’d have to do.

“Hello Shang-shidi, Liu-shidi,” Yue Qingyuan says with a soft smile. He begins pouring tea for the table, even though by all rights Liu Qingge should be doing it. “I’m glad to see you in good health, Shang-shidi. How are you feeling?”

“Haha, good,” Shang Qinghua says half-heartedly. “No complaints.”

“Huan Hua Palace?” Shen Qingqiu repeats, rapping his fan against the table.

“My shizun called me into his office this afternoon to tell me that the three of us, Qi Qingqi, and Qin-shigu and Jie-shigu are going to be going to Huan Hua palace for a diplomatic meeting. Apparently, Huan Hua petitioned the Sect Leader for help with some unspecified ‘demonic threat.’”

Shen Qingqiu narrows his eyes, and Yue Qingyuan and Liu Qingge both frown. Shang Qinghua bites his lip, and Shen Qingqiu visibly zeroes onto the expression.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Ahh, it might be nothing,” Shang Qinghua says, completely unconvincingly. Is he allowed to talk about this? The System hasn’t stopped him from doing anything in months, so… “But I think something’s rotten. Huan Hua Palace has been rallying their people against the Demonic Emperor, Tianlang-jun. For some reason they’re getting really personally invested in his movements, even though as far as I know he hasn’t made any aggressive moves against the cultivation world in decades.”

“What makes you think so?” Yue Qingyuan asks.

I wrote it that way? “Some of my, uh, contacts have seen Huan Hua disciples in places they shouldn’t be, tracking Tianlang-jun’s movements. And I’ve heard from one or two people at Huan Hua Palace that the Palace Master seems particularly preoccupied with him and with any and all recent demonic activity.”

“They’re wasting resources on a threat that doesn’t matter,” Shen Qingqiu says. “What does Huan Hua have to gain by making an enemy of the Demon Emperor?”

“The Palace Master’s hatred of demons is notorious,” Shang Qinghua says. “And, coincidentally, Huan Hua Palace has amassed a lot of wealth via incursions into the Demon Realm. It just so happens that Huan Hua is always so ready to fight whenever rich or rare demons show their faces in the Human Realm, and demon attacks are a great excuse to strike back and raid Demonic lands or palaces.”

“And the Emperor hasn’t been making any trouble in the Human Realm,” Shen Qingqiu says, quickly picking up on what Shang Qinghua is putting down.

“The Demon Realm is united under one ruler, and that ruler has little to no interest in fighting humans,” Shang Qinghua says. “It’s the most peace we’ve had in generations.”

“You think Huan Hua Palace is looking for a reason to take out Tianlang-jun?”

“I think it’s definitely a possibility . And, if they are, I think they’re going to want Cang Qiong right out there with them, so that they have plausible deniability when they destabilise the whole thing.”

“They’re using us,” Liu Qingge growls.

“Maybe. They might be trying to manipulate us into making an unnecessary move against the Demon Realm by making everyone think there’s some sort of big threat coming from the demons.”

“Those are bold assumptions,” Shen Qingqiu says.

Shang Qinghua shrugs. “Listen, I’m not saying that’s definitely what’s going on. I’ve just heard concerning things, especially when it comes to the Old Palace Master.”

“Hmm.” Shen Qingqiu sips his tea, visibly thinking it over. Yue Qingyuan frowns at both of them.

“If that is true, shouldn’t we tell the Sect Leader?” he asks.

Shen Qingqiu snorts. “Do you seriously think the Sect Leader cares what we think? He’s cut from the same stock as the Old Palace Master— a demon is a demon, and it doesn’t matter if they’re attacking humans or not. He won’t see the benefit of allowing Tianlang-jun to live for the sake of peace.”

“A demon is a demon,” Liu Qingge says. “How much peace can the Emperor be keeping? There are still demon attacks happening everywhere, especially near the borderland.”

“And yet, we are not at war. Cang Qiong hasn’t faced a demonic incursion in well over a century. Individual demons may attack the Human Realm as they please, but the demon lords do not, nor do their armies.”

Shang Qinghua blinks, surprised. “Not that I don’t agree, but that’s not exactly the popular opinion amongst cultivators.”

“It’s the opinion of anyone with half a brain,” Shen Qingqiu says, and Liu Qingge scoffs at the implied insult. “Demons may be mindless brutes, but they can be controlled by those more powerful than them. Tianlang-jun is a fool, but he’s a powerful fool.”

“Yeah,” Shang Qinghua says, feeling a headache bloom behind his eyes. He rubs at the bridge of his nose. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

“If you’re right, shidi, is there anything to be done when we go to Huan Hua Palace?” Yue Qingyuan asks, looking between him and Shen Qingqiu. “Perhaps we can provide a voice of reason.”

“Cultivators are also brutes and fools,” Shen Qingqiu says.

Shang Qinghua makes a so-so motion with his hand. “Probably there’s not a lot we can do, if Huan Hua asks Cang Qiong to help them go to war against the Demon Realm or to kill Tianlang-jun. Our masters are still in charge for the moment, and at the end of the day it matters most what they think, not us. We’ll just have to see if Qin-shigu and Jie-shigu are convinced by the visit, and what the Sect Leader decides to do about it.” He looks at Yue Qingyuan, and then flicks his eyes over to Shen Qingqiu. “Shixiong, you know if we do go to war, you’re going to be the one the Sect Leader sends in to fight, right?”

There’s a creaking noise. Shang Qinghua looks nervously at the fan Shen Qingqiu is clutching hard enough to bend that wooden guard.

“Ah,” Yue Qingyuan says. He lightly touches his sleeve, when Xuan Su must be. Shen Qingqiu swats at his hand warningly. “Yes, the thought had occurred.”

“Are we gonna… do anything about that?”

“Of course,” Shen Qingqiu says, at the same time that Yue Qingyuan says: “I will follow the will of my teacher.”

Shang Qinghua and Liu Qingge exchange a glance.

“Right,” Shang Qinghua says, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, then.”

Shen Qingqiu glares at Yue Qingyuan. “I keep telling you, if you want anyone to respect you when you are the Sect Leader, you’re going to need to start exerting control over your people now. Just look at him.” He waves his fan at Shang Qinghua, who blinks.

“What, what about me?”

“You’ve been making obvious power grabs on An Ding. It’s inelegant, but effective. If you don’t start taking some action to shift the loyalty of Qiong Ding’s masters to yourself, they’re going to start going behind your back as soon as Rong Anchuan isn’t there to go to over your head.”

Yue Qingyuan looks aggrieved, but Shang Qinghua taps his chin thoughtfully. “Hey, yeah, what is the whole situation like on Qiong Ding? I’ve never really thought about it before. Like, I know you’re pretty popular amongst the sect as a whole, but are the Qiong Ding masters more of the ‘power hungry beaurocrat’ or the ‘manipulatable goon’ variety?”

“A mix. Rong Anchuan’s contemporaries are loyal to him, and they know Qingyuan’s history— they don’t approve of some commoner being elevated to Sect Leader. But the less important Qiong Ding Masters who didn’t see much power or respect under Rong Anchuan are currying for his favour, and all the juniors think he personally raised the mountain from the dirt.” Shen Qingqiu rolls his eyes, and Yue Qingyuan blushes.

“It’s not quite that bad,” Yue Qingyuan says. “But yes, I don’t think anyone is likely to listen to me if I oppose my master on this matter.”

“You know, Shen-shixiong doesn’t have a terrible point,” Shang Qinghua says.

“How deeply appreciated, Shang-shidi,” Shen Qingqiu says.

Shang Qinghua flaps a hand at him. “No, I mean, that you could probably do the same thing I’m doing on An Ding? Not, ah, that it’s a power grab , I’m just trying to make sure the majority of my peak wouldn’t rather throw me off the mountain than let me become the next Peak Lord. But for you, it could help you shift the leadership structures around more naturally. You could too, Liu-shidi.”

Liu Qingge crosses his arms. “I don’t need to trick my peak into respecting me.” Apparently hearing his own words, he adds, “no offence.”

“Is that really necessary?” Yue Qingyuan asks, more politely but with similar levels of doubt.

“Yes,” Shen Qingqiu says, while Shang Qinghua shrugs.

“Is that what you’re doing on Qing Jing, shidi?”

“I don’t need the masters or disciples of Qing Jing Peak to like me,” Shen Qingqiu says, like an idiot who has no idea the narrative consequences of his life choices. And also a lot like Liu Qingge, which no one would appreciate him pointing out. “I need them to do what I say, which they will do if they know what’s good for them. And as soon as Qin Anwei cedes control of the peak to me, I can root out all of the incompetents and rid myself of them. You, unfortunately, feel the need to be liked and respected .” He looks over at Shang Qinghua with a sharp gaze. “You said you would be useful to me. What do you think he should do?”

Shang Qinghua smoothes his suddenly sweaty hands over his robes. This whole thing is making him feel uncomfortably seen again, much like their last little get together here. All this meeting and talking with his martial brothers is starting to feel routine, like it’s something they do . This is the most he’s ever talked to the actual important characters that he wrote. And between his new insight into Liu Qingge social life and the way Shen Qingqiu seems increasingly less scummy and more like a kind of funny coworker, it’s making him feel… weird.

This is, theoretically, what he wanted though, isn’t it? He was setting out to make himself plot relevant as something more than a sect traitor. It’s very very good for him to be someone that Yue Qingyuan, in particular, likes or respects or listens to, so that if-slash-when he is exposed as a traitor, the sect leader might hesitate before having him and his kid executed. He’ll go, “hold on, I know that Shang Qinghua has been selling out the sect to a demon lord for years and popped out a half demon baby in secret, but one time when I was head disciple he gave me some okay advice on sect politics.”

… Yeah, Shang Qinghua can dream.

“Well,” he says, trying to seem less sweaty and panicked than he feels, “I think the most important thing is make sure some of the masters who are loyal to Sect Leader Rong have some reason to personally owe you…”

Chapter 18

Chapter Text

They head out only a few days later. Huan Hua has invited the Cang Qiong contingent along with Zhao Hua Monastery and Tian Yi Overlook Sect, and probably some of the minor sects that line the borderlands, if Shang Qinghua knows the Old Palace Master. Which he does— one of his least favourite kids, that’s for sure. Is it weird to call them his kids now that he’s three and a half months out from having an actual kid?

The two peak lords, four head disciples, and four Qiong Ding cultivators, and one master from An Ding and Qing Jing each gather at the base of the mountain to a collection of four carriages. Shang Qinghua, feeling like a bag of grain amidst foxes and chickens, begins edging his way over to the An Ding master and internally praying.

“Shall we divide by girls and boys, Shijie?” Jie Anmei asked, gently waving a tuanshan that ruffles the strands of hair framing her face.

Qin Anwei raises a delicate eyebrow. Shang Qinghua thinks he catches a glimpse of her exchanging a pointed look with Shen Qingqiu. Shen Qingqiu looks cool and vaguely annoyed, and Shang Qinghua isn’t sure if that is Shen Qingqiu for ‘please don’t stick me in a cart with some horrible men for three shichen, Shizun’ or ‘do what you want.’ Either way, Qin Anwei gives Jin Anmei a small nod and takes the taller woman’s elbow when she offers it.

“Acceptable,” she murmurs, and Jie Anmei gestures Qi Qingqi after them into one of the carriages with a small smirk and wave of her fan.

Shang Qinghua takes a moment to pity Qi Qingqi being stuck with two absolutely terrifying peak lords before remembering, oh yeah!, she should be pitying him instead.

“I suppose that means the three of us are together,” Yue Qingyuan says, stepping over to catch Shang Qinghua before he can escape to one of the other carriages and shooting Shen Qingqiu a wide and magnanimous smile.

You don’t have to sound so happy about it , Shang Qinghua thinks, resigned, and is comforted by the disgusted look Shen Qingqiu gives the man. At least Shang Qinghua doesn’t have to drive for once; An Ding sent junior disciples for that. Shang Qinghua doesn’t remember any of their names from the peak, but he offers the shidi assigned to their carriage a pat on the shoulder and some snacks from his qiankun sleeves as thanks for taking them.

The ride isn’t as bad as Shang Qinghua might have feared. He expects Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu to sit together on one side, but Shen Qingqiu scowls when Yue Qingyuan tries to sit next to him and wacks their illustrious future sect leader with his fan until the man, suitably bullied, joins Shang Qinghua on the other bench. Yue Qingyuan gives Shen Qingqiu mournful looks and tries to make small talk with both of them, but Shen Qingqiu closes his eyes once they leave the boundaries of the Tain Gong Mountain range and gives every appearance of being asleep, which Shang Qinghua is sure he is not.

He and Yue Qingyuan chat a bit, mostly about the ascension and both of their duties on their respective peaks. They both have a lot more contact with people outside the sect than most Cang Qiong cultivators, so they can compare notes on who they think will be in attendance at Huan Hua Palace. Shang Qinghua doesn’t manage to make the future sect leader crack and admit to hating anyone like he did under the influence of truth serum, but that’s okay— Shang Qinghua will get him eventually.

He eats the fruits and seeds and crackers he brought along, meditates when the ride stretches on, and by the time they reach Huan Hua Palace the worst thing he can say is that he desperately needs to pee. Inedia is no match for whatever the hell the baby is doing to his bladder.

A Huan Hua Palace cultivator meets them at the edge of Huan Hua’s maze array and leads the four Cang Qiong carriages through and to the gates.

It’s not exactly Shang Qinghua’s first time seeing Huan Hua Palace in person, but it’s definitely the first time he’s gone in through the front gates and right up to the most lavish parts. Even from here in the entrance courtyard he can see dozens of buildings branching out from the central hall, and twice as many gardens and courtyards and training fields spreading between them. That’s not to mention the extensive series of caves and underground chambers beneath the sect, including the notorious Water Prison. The thought of seeing that particular bit of worldbuilding in person makes him shiver.

The Old Palace Master is there to welcome the two peak lords, as well as the head abbot of Zhao Hua Monastery, Wu Wang, who arrived just before them. It’s always strange seeing a character he wrote as Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky in person for the first time, a bit of his imagination suddenly rendered in HD. The Old Palace Master does look old compared to the youthful facades cultivated by Jin Anmei and Qin Anwei. His hair is grey, going white, with a neat beard. His face is lined but he strands straight and strong before his guests. He may be allowing himself to look old, but it’s almost certainly a choice rather than the ravages of time— his cultivation is as strong as ever, and he should only be slightly older than the Sect Leader; younger than Cang Qiong’s eldest current peak lord, Chun Anyuan.

It makes it all the harder for Shang Qinghua not to wrinkle his nose at the sight of the Palace Master’s current wife hanging off his arm, who looks about the same age as Shen Qingqiu. She’s pretty, round faced and petite, dressed in diaphanous pink, gold, and turquoise robes. Eyeing her and the Old Palace Master subtly while their seniors make their introductions, Shang Qinghua’s eyes catch on her waist. The Palace Mistress’ dress is loose, belted under her chest rather than around her waist, but Shang Qinghua is by now familiar enough with that particular silhouette to know what it means. She’s pregnant. Probably about as far along as he is, if not a little more.

The realisation baffles him, enough that he largely misses what everyone is saying around him. Right , he thinks, she would have to be pregnant at the same time as Su Xiyan, because I said that the Little Palace Mistress and Luo Binghe are the same age. This is quickly followed by: holy sh*t, that is so weird.

Shen Qingqiu elbows him hard in the arm, which gets Shang Qinghua ducking into a bow at the correct moment despite entirely missing his own introduction. He lifts his head to a disinterested look from the Palace Master, and offers him and the other gathered cultivators a sheepish smile he hopes says pay no attention to the unimportant An Ding disciple, here . When he glances over at Shen Qingqiu, the man is making a face like he just bit into a lemon, his gaze also on the Palace Mistress and Old Palace Master.

“Huan Hua is most appreciative that Cang Qiong and Zhou Hua were willing to come and meet with us on such short notice,” the Palace Master says, gesturing all of them through and into the gaudy halls of Huan Hua Palace. Shang Qinghua knows he is, technically, the one who designed this place, but man! So much gold! So many flower motifs! The place is tacky as hell, and thinking about how they sourced the materials makes his palms sweat!

“Cang Qiong is of course always willing to come to the assistance of her sister sects,” Qin Anwei says lightly, leading the Cang Qiong cultivators through the halls towards… wherever they’re going? Shang Qinghua missed that. “This master hopes she won’t cause offence when she asks, what made the Palace Master so concerned with the immediacy and secrecy of our meeting? Your message was light on details.”

“All in good time my dear,” the Old Palace Master says. “Allow A-Shao and I to show you and your people to your rooms. Rest from the road, eat, and we will all meet officially tomorrow to discuss the demonic threat.”

Behind him and Qin Anwei, Shen Qingqiu’s lip curls.

——

The sleeping arrangements are not divided the same way as the carriages. Shang Qinghua ends up with the carriage drivers and single An Ding master, which would be fine if it weren’t for all the reasons that it sucks. There is no privacy; An Ding is used to having its cultivators in close quarters, but Shang Qinghua has been spoiled by the privacy of his ‘leisure’ house so far. He spends the night meditating for fear that someone will get too close in the night and spot some sign of his ‘condition’. At the first light of dawn he sneaks out to change into unrumpled clothing, and makes it back just in time for the others to stir.

He already has a headache by the time An Ding joins the others for breakfast. He slides into a seat next to his fellow head disciples, already dreading the day ahead. None of the other three look much more enthused than he does. Shen Qingqiu gives him a narrow eyed look, and Yue Qingyuan passes him an extra serving of jiaozi while Qi Qingqi ignores the three of them in favour of downing her cup of soymilk like a shot.

The meeting itself is attended by representatives from each of the four Great Sects, as well as Ba Qi, Yulan Hu, and a few other minor sects, mainly from Huan Hua’s territory or the borderlands. The Old Palace Master sits at the head of the room, flanked by the Palace Mistress and a male cultivator Shang Qinghua has never seen before. Wu Wang, Jin Anmei, Qin Anwei, and the Sect Leaders of Tian Yi Overlook Sect and the minor sects have similar pride of place around the room, with their own masters or head disciples behind them. Shang Qinghua scans the crowd, looking for Su Xiyan’s sharp features amidst the gold robes. There is still no sign of her when the meeting begins.

She must already be in the Water Prison.

Shang Qinghua barely pays attention as the meeting starts. He knows what’s going to happen, and any excitement he might feel over being present for one of the first plot relevant scenes in his life as a transmigrator is drowned out by his spinning thoughts. The Old Palace Master comes down from his gilded throne to stand in the centre of the room.

“... extracted information from him over the course of weeks—” the old man is saying, gesturing boldly as he speaks, something about snakes? “On the most recent occasion, he admitted to his plans. He will bathe the cultivation world in blood and pillage the hidden treasures kept by each sect to build the demon race’s might!”1

Gasps all around. Shang Qinghua would roll his eyes if the blatant manipulation wasn’t making his stomach turn. He’s lying to our faces, he thinks, clenching his fists in his robes out of sight. Su Xiyan is in the sect somewhere right this moment, aware that her lover was going to be lured to his death on her supposed word. Tianlang-jun was out there too, walking as a free demon for the last few weeks of his life. And Shang Qinghua was the only one who knew, save Zhuzhi-lang, who would be just as powerless as Tianlang-jun at the end.

While Wu Wang and the minor sect leaders seemed immediately convinced by the Old Palace Master’s words, Cang Qiong and Tian Yi at least showed a little more scepticism.

“You say your head disciple extracted this information from Tianlang-jun— has anyone else corroborated?” Qin Anwei asks.

“This master himself heard the demon emperor admit to his plans, the last time Xiyan lured him out,” the Old Palace Master says. “There is no doubt in my mind the truth of it. What other reason could he have for stalking the human realm as he does? No Heavenly Demon has ever had benevolent intentions for the cultivation world.”

“Where is she now?” she asks, “I would like to hear her personal account, as the one who has gotten closest to him. It could be invaluable to learn exactly what he has said over the weeks she has been tracking him, and exactly what his movements have been like in the human realm.”

“Su Xiyan is once again hunting him as we speak,” the Old Palace Master says, like a liar. “They have been meeting twice a month— if she can make contact now, she will be able to lure him into position for an attack within the next two weeks.”

“So soon?” the Tian Yi Overlook Sect Leader asks, looking nervous.

“Now that we know of his plans, we cannot afford to delay. Every moment we give him unhindered is more time he could take to strike. The risk is simply too great to delay.”

“Even with the Great Sects working together, are we sure that we are truly a match for Tianlang-jun? His generals alone—”

“Will be absent. All of them remain in the demon realm while he travels here, gathering our weaknesses and preparing his attack. If we make our move before he has time to ready himself, without giving him any sign of our plans, our enemy will be him alone. With skilled enough cultivators from each sect, we can surely defeat him at last.”

Everyone has an opinion about that. The Sect Leaders and Peak Lords discuss tactics, enemy movements, techniques, and how much each sect could theoretically contribute to such an assault. The gathered cultivators have plenty of questions, plenty of concerns for their own people and the potential risks, but Shang Qinghua can tell that amongst all of them no one really disbelieves the Old Palace Master’s words. It’s too perfect— everyone is prepared to believe the emperor of all demons has only nefarious intentions for the human world. No one has any reason to doubt that he’s after wealth and violence; that’s what all demons want, after all. None of these people have ever known a demon could be romantic , or gentle, or funny, could care about things like human poetry or sweets or cold baths or—

Hearing that the most powerful of them all will be vulnerable, most cultivators probably don’t even need to hear that the Demon Emperor is planning some scheme. It would be enough that they can catch him alone.

This is really happening, huh?

Shang Qinghua ducks his head to make a note and tastes iron. Red drips onto the paper, and he jolts before realising it’s just a nosebleed. He quickly wipes at his face and the paper, trying to sniffle as quietly as possible. How embarrassing! If it doesn’t stop dripping in a second, the whole room is going to notice and start paying more attention to the weird An Ding disciple who’s suddenly dripping blood on his paperwork.

Thankfully, being an unremarkable disciple at the very back of an important meeting means no one notices when he slides out of his seat and past the privacy wards around the room. The only person who so much as looks his way is one of the Huan Hua guards, who only gives him a sympathetic look when Shang Qinghua gestures to his nose with an embarrassed shrug. He slips out of the room and leans against the gilded wall, tipping his head back and tasting iron against his tongue.

His head hurts. Ugh. What a sh*t show! What a total mess! Who wrote these people to be so stupid?

It only takes a minute of cycling his qi for the nosebleed to stop. He’s been getting them occasionally, but usually only in the privacy of his home or on the training field. No one looks at you twice if you walk away from a training bout with the Bai Zhan Head Disciple with a bloody nose, even when said Bai Zhan Head Disciple is putting about as much effort into fighting you as he would a disobedient cat. He looks at the door to the meeting room, but he, actually, has no interest in sitting through more of that meeting. He already knows what’s going to happen, it’s not like hearing it be decided does anything for him.

Instead, he heads outside and starts walking around. However scummy the sect might be, Huan Hua Palace’s famed gardens are no joke. Even in early Winter there are flowers blooming, and the air smells sweet. No one stops him, so he just lets his feet take him wherever, drinking in the architecture and beauty of the place that’s about to produce his protagonist. The inside is just as lovely and much warmer, so he drifts around one of the outer buildings that seems like it might be used for storage.

After a while of wandering, his eye catches on a particular tapestry. He stops to stare at it, wondering what about it is making his brain itch. It’s large and intricate, depicting some sort of battle between cultivators, and it…

He remembers describing this. It’s a tiny detail amongst the millions of words he wrote in PIDW, but it’s one he, for some reason, remembers.

This covers one entrance to the Water Prison.

He stays rooted there, lingering, looking over the lines of the tapestry without really seeing it.

System? he thinks. It’s the first time he’s called for it in a while, but there is still no response. SYSTEM-BRO. HEY.

Nothing.

He taps his foot.

With the System gone, is there anything stopping him from changing the plot here? He knows how the Water Prison works. It works exactly like he says it works, in fact, since he designed the whole thing himself. He knows about Su Xiyan and Tianlang-jun. He’s sneaky, and fast, and he’s pretty sure that if he gets caught and Huan Hua Palace tries to kill him he would be able to summon Mobei-jun and escape before they could succeed. Mobei-jun is not, generally, a ‘get out of death free’ card, but he’s pretty sure the man would make an exception if it meant getting Tianlang-jun’s favour by helping Shang Qinghua save the life of his wife and unborn son.

Shang Qinghua reaches out and brushes aside the tapestry. He gets as far as pressing a hand to the bare outline of the door behind it when a prickling sensation rushes over his skin. He gets a flash of hot-cold confusion, his spiritual energy suddenly sparking harshly in his veins.

Right, wards, I’m f*cking stupid, he thinks, and has just enough time to jolt back and let the tapestry fall back into place when he hears footsteps coming down the hall. He’s just smoothed out his robes and begun walking towards an exit into one of the flower gardens when someone clears their throat. When he turns around, the f*cking Palace Master is walking leisurely towards him.

Shang Qinghua meets the old man’s eyes and then dips into a deep bow.

“This disciple greats the Palace Master,” he says, making sure his voice is filled with absolutely nothing but obsequious respect.

“This master wonders what a disciple of Cang Qiong is doing so far away from the guest quarters?” the Old Palace Master asks.

“My apologies, Gongzhu! This disciple has heard of the splendour of Huan Hua Palace’s gardens, and wanted to see them in person. Unfortunately, I seem to have wandered too far. Begging the Palace Master’s forgiveness, this one was clumsy and has caused offence.”

“Hm.” The Palace Master walks closer, until Shang Qinghua’s bowed head is only a few cùn from the man’s fancy robes. “You may rise, disciple…”

“Shang, Gongzhu.”

“Disciple Shang. This master doesn’t believe we have been acquainted— was Disciple Shang with the Cang Qiong Mountain contingent when you arrived yesterday?”

He doesn’t recognize me from the meeting , Shang Qinghua thinks, relieved. He must think I’m one of the An Ding carriage drivers.

“Yes, Gongzhu,” he says, slowly raising his head.

The Old Palace Master offers a smile. It’s probably meant to look paternal, grandfatherly, but the cold light in the old man’s eyes makes Shang Qinghua shiver. “What does Disciple Shang think of Huan Hua Palace?”

“It is beautiful, Gongzhu,” he says, channelling every bit of deference available in his psyche. “Nothing on An Ding Peak is so lovely, our floral cultivation doesn’t hold a candle to Huan Hua’s practices. This one worked in the sect gardens for some time, but had to be resigned to growing melons and medicinal curatives.”

The Old Palace Master chuckles. “And the art? This old man can’t help but notice Disciple Shang admiring this tapestry.”

Danger! Trap!

“The art is also lovely. May this disciple be so bold as to inquire after the weaver?”

“I’m afraid I’m not sure. It is an heirloom piece.”

The Old Palace Master puts a hand on his shoulder and draws him back over to the tapestry. Shang Qinghua shies away from his touch as quickly as he can without jerking away suspiciously. The Old Palace Master points to a few woven scenes.

“This depicts four great battles from the founding of the Huan Hua Palace Sect. This here was the fight against the third great Demon Emperor, Nanye-jun, which sent thousands of demons fleeing back into the demonic realm after a century of occupation in these lands.”

“Huan Hua Palace’s history is noble indeed.”

“What do you think of demons, Disciple Shang?” the Old Palace Master asks.

Shang Qinghua lowers his eyes. “This one was once the victim of a demonic attack. A demonic noble slew several of my shixiongs. I hope to have the opportunity to avenge them someday, and ensure the demons gain no foothold in our realm.”

The Old Palace Master hums. He reaches out and catches Shang Qinghua’s chin, forcing him to raise his eyes and look the man in the face. He has the same genial expression, but his eyes are hard as ice.

This man is so much colder than my king could ever be , Shang Qinghua thinks. He swallows.

“This master can’t help but notice that Disciple Shang has an interesting spiritual signature. Won’t he allow this master to take a look at his spiritual veins?”

Fuuuck , Shang Qinghua thinks, those wards must have specific defences against demonic energy, and I set them off like a dumbass.

What was he thinking? He can’t get involved in this! He has his own problems, his own future to protect. How could he get so caught up in worrying about Su Xiyan and Tianlang-jun that he forgot that he’s trying not to get caught with a half-demon baby too? There’s no room to try saving someone else, he needs to save himself!

“This disciple isn’t sure what the Palace Master means?” Shang Qinghua says, trying to keep the frustrated panic off his face. “Please, allow this one to apologise if he has caused offence. I truly—”

The Old Palace Master uses his other hand to snatch up Shang Qinghua’s wrist. He corrals Shang Qinghua against the wall with the tapestry, holding his chin in place while he begins to prod at his spiritual veins with a harsh rush of unfamiliar qi. Shang Qinghua gasps and begins circulating his own qi, pushing it to flow around the tiny disruption of the baby’s life-energy at a rapid pace. If he can force his spiritual energy into an aggravated enough state, it should cover up any traces of demonic energy. The baby should barely have any energy of its own, feeding off of his rather than producing anything itself, and he naturally has more yin energy than most male cultivators, for obvious reasons.

His head pounds. The Old Palace Master’s breath is hot on his face, the man way too close for comfort. His spiritual energy bubbles in his veins like champaign, mixing poorly with the Old Palace Master’s searching qi. He can feel the moment that the man begins to focus on his lower dantian, eyes narrowing. His gaze drops from Shang Qinghua’s face to his chest.

“You—” he begins.

“Shang-shidi!”

The Old Palace Master drops his hold on Shang Qinghua, leaving him stumbling for a moment in the wake of the intrusive qi transfer. His gaze darts around and lands on Yue Qingyuan standing in the open doorway to the garden. The man’s countenance is as noble as ever, his Qiong Ding robes neat, silver accents shining in the late afternoon sunlight. Shen Qingqiu is behind him, a fan raised to cover the lower half of his face. His gaze, over top of the fan, is hard.

Yue Qingyuan strides forward, a pleasant smile fixed on his face. “Shang-shidi, Shen-shidi and I were just looking for you. The meeting has concluded, and Qin-shigu has requested our presence in the guest courtyard before dinner.”

He reaches them and firmly reaches out to grasp Shang Qinghua’s bicep, tugging him back from the Old Palace Master. Once Shang Qinghua is behind him, he offers the Old Palace Master a respectful bow.

“Gongzhu, this one apologises for the interruption. I’m afraid I must steal my martial brother for the moment, although I am sure if the Palace Master wishes to speak with him further at a later time that can be arranged.”

“Of course,” the Old Palace Master says, already re-composed. “This master will not keep young disciples waiting. Run along now.”

Yue Qingyuan bows again, and Shang Qinghua copies him with shaking hands. Yue Qingyuan wraps an arm around his back and leads him to the doorway where Shen Qingqiu waits, gazing coolly at the Old Palace Master. The three of them depart back into the gardens before the Old Palace Master can change his mind.

——

Rather than go back to Cang Qiong’s guest quarters, Yue Qingyuan leads them to another garden. It could be anywhere in Huan Hua Palace, Shang Qinghua would have no way of knowing— he’s focused on not having a full, hyperventilating panic attack. His hands are still shaking when Yue Qingyuan shephards him over to a stone bench and gently nudges him into sitting. He catches Shang Qinghua’s palms between his own, lowering their clasped hands into Shang Qinghua’s lap.

“It’s alright,” he says, low and soothing, like Shang Qinghua is a spooked horse.

“I k-know it’s alright,” Shang Qinghua says. He feels Yue Qingyuan begin to transfer him a gentle stream of spiritual energy. At the first touch of the intrusion on his meridians, Shang Qinghua jerks away. Yue Qingyuan raises his hands placatingly. Shang Qinghua covers his slip with a shaky laugh. “Thanks for the save, Yue-shixiong.”

“What was that?” Shen Qingqiu asks, leaning against a decorative flowering tree next to the two of them.

“Oh, you know,” Shang Qinghua says. Shen Qingqiu levels him with an unimpressed stare, and Shang Qinghua shrugs helplessly.

“Why did you leave the meeting?” Shen Qingqiu asks, “And what were you doing to get the Palace Master’s attention like that?”

“I just— had a headache. I went to get some air. And then I was walking around and—” he shakes his head, runs a hand over his face. “I think I just stumbled on some place I wasn’t supposed to be.”

“I’m beginning to understand you have a habit of being places you aren’t supposed to be.”

“Yeah,” Shang Qinghua says, “something like that. What did I miss in the meeting?”

“Nothing of significance. The Great Sects aren’t agreed on how exactly to approach Tianlang-jun, but it seems likely there will be an attack of some nature.”

Yue Qingyuan nods. “There will need to be a meeting amongst the twelve peaks. Ultimately, it’s up to the Sect Leader to decide where Cang Qiong will stand.”

“And Sect Leader will certainly agree, if Shizun believes the threat is legitimate and it means a glorious fight against the most powerful man in the demon realm.”

Shang Qinghua sighs. “Yeah, that’s about how I thought it would go.”

“You still don’t agree?” Shen Qingqiu asks. “Supposedly, Tianlang-jun is plotting the doom of humanity. But you still think he’s being set up.”

“You don’t?” Shang Qinghua asks.

“Oh, I do. Your points were convincing, and I make it a rule to never listen to men like the Old Palace Master. What I want to know is why you’ll make your case to us, but not to the Peak Lords.”

Shang Qinghua gives an incredulous laugh. “You think they’re going to believe me? I’m a nobody from An Ding. No family connections, no major martial acclaim, and if you hadn’t noticed, I’m kind of trying to keep from being under the scrutiny of the entire cultivation world. Who’s going to care what I think, with no evidence, when the Old Palace Master has declared what the truth is?”

“If it’s the truth, surely there is some evidence,” Yue Qingyuan says. “We cannot attack an innocent man.”

Shang Qinghua bites his lip. Guilt squirms in his stomach, but... “Sometimes, you just have to look after yourself. There’s nothing we can do for Tianlang-jun, but what we can do is stay out of it. If I can just get through this without anyone I care about being put at risk by the Palace Master’s games, that’s good enough.”

Somewhere under their feet, Su Xiyan is in chains, awaiting a poison that will kill her baby. That will kill her, on the banks of the Luo River, letting her son go adrift in the water, dying without ever finding out if he’ll survive, hated by the person who loves her most in this world for a false betrayal.

Shang Qinghua can’t care about that now.

Shen Qingqiu nods, snapping his fan closed. “So, we will go to war against Tianlang-jun. It’s not a question of if, but how.”

“They’re going to want you to fight,” Shang Qinghua says, looking up at Yue Qingyuan.

“And we’re going to make sure you survive,” Shen Qingqiu says.

Yue Qingyuan sighs, but nods his head to them both. “This one will bow to his shidi’s wisdom,” he says.

“Will the Old Palace Master be a problem?” Shen Qingqiu asks. “When he grabbed you back there— does he know?”

“I have no idea,” Shang Qinghua says. His stomach twists at the remembered look on the Old Palace Master’s face at the end there. “He might. But I think as long as we don’t try to stop him, he’ll leave us alone. He wants Tianlang-jun, not us.”

Shen Qingqiu narrows his eyes. “Does he have anything to do with Shidi's mysterious ‘lover’?”

Shang Qinghua’s heart rate spikes. He looks away, and immediately curses it as a stupid tell. “No,” he says, “he has nothing to do with that.”

Chapter 19

Chapter Text

“Qinghua.”

Shang Qinghua yelps and throws a scroll across the room. It bounces off of Mobei-jun’s chest and falls, sadly, to the floor. Mobei-jun looks blankly between the scroll and Shang Qinghua.

“My king! This servant apologises!” Shang Qinghua scrambles up and bows several times while picking up the scroll off the floor.

Mobei-jun grunts. The demon lord is wearing one of Shang Qinghua’s favourite outfits of his— robes open at the chest, with the pelt of some sort of demonic beast around the collar of his cloak, so fluffy it goes up to the tops of his ears. It’s distracting. He walks over to look at Shang Qinghua’s desk. Shang Qinghua winces but doesn’t stop him— he is, after all, theoretically using Shang Qinghua to spy on Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, so it’s not like anything Shang Qinghua is working on is a secret from him.

“Huan Hua Palace is preparing for battle,” he says. “My father believes we must prepare for an attack.

“Yes,” Shang Qinghua says delicately. “But not on the North, my king! Huan Hua Palace is preparing for an attack on Tianlang-jun. We all are— Cang Qiong will be joining them, along with Tian Yi Overlook and Zhao Hua Monastery.”

“Why?”

“The Huan Hua Palace Master is telling everyone he plans to attack the human realm.”

“Tianlang-jun is a human loving fool. He’s as likely to ‘attack’ your human brothels as your cultivators.”

“I know that. He’s not actually doing anything— the Palace Master is mad because his head disciple, Su Xiyan, fell in love with him.”

Mobei-jun looks up sharply. Shang Qinghua futzes with his paperwork, stacking things and organising his brushes just for something to do besides meet Mobei-jun’s gaze. “The Palace Master is going to use Su Xiyan to lure him out in the human realm, when he’s alone, and then try to kill him.”

“They will not succeed. Alone, Tianlang-jun is still powerful enough to defeat any mortal cultivator.”

“Maybe,” Shang Qinghua says.

“You think they will succeed?”

“Maybe. I don’t… think that they’ll be able to kill him. But Zhao Hua Monastery is famous for their barrier techniques. With the martial power from Cang Qiong, Huan Hua’s numbers and arrays, and Zhao Hua’s barriers, and his human lover as bait, they might be able to seal him.”

And they’re going to. They’re definitely, definitely going to.

Mobei-jun scowls, turning from the desk without looking at Shang Qinghua. “He’s foolish. She has made him weak.”

“... yeah. She has,” Shang Qinghua says. His stomach twists. Suddenly, the floor looks very interesting. He clears his throat. “Will your father want to do anything?”

“My father rankles under Tianlang-jun’s rule. He believes the Northern Desert should be under no one’s power but our own. If Huan Hua wants to weaken itself by taking out the Emperor, it will only be seen as a benefit to the North.”

“Ah, right. Makes sense.”

Mobei-jun turns sharply back to him, taking a few steps closer. Shang Qinghua winces. Mobei-jun hasn’t hit him since the poisoning incident, but there’s no reason to get complacent.

“Qinghua—” Mobei-jun growls. Whatever he planned to say is cut off by a rattle at Shang Qinghua’s door. He and Shang Qinghua blink at each other for a moment before Shang Qinghua jumps forward and shoves at Mobei-jun’s chest.

“My king, hide!”

Mobei-jun is already movingWhen the door bursts open, the dark slit in space has just melded closed behind him. Shang Qinghua hurriedly pats down his own robes and waves his hands around his desk, as though messing up his paperwork will cover any sign of having a demon lord in his room.

Shen Qingqiu marches in like a storm cloud, fan clenched tightly in one hand. He gives both Shang Qinghua and his ‘office’ a withering look. “This place is a mess.”

“Shixiong!” Shang Qinghua says, planting his hands on his desk and accidentally dipping his sleeve into his inkstone. “How nice of you to visit me, unannounced, in my house. Where I live.”

“What, are you hiding a second child somewhere? Please.” Shen Qingqiu sweeps over and drops onto Shang Qinghua’s sofa. “I’m calling in my favour.”

“Didn’t I already repay you for not ratting me out?” he whines.

“No. You owe me twice, for not ratting you out and for poisoning Qi-ge.”

“Aw, Qi-ge, that’s cute.”

“Shut up.”

Shang Qinghua puts up his hands.

“I may not ‘like’ you or ‘respect’ you—”

“Wow, thanks.”

“— but you clearly have some intelligence, which is more than I can say for most of the sect.”

“Aw—”

“Help me get Yue Qingyuan out of fighting Tianlang-jun.”

“Shen-shixiong, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“And why is that?”

Shang Qinghua comes to sit on an adjacent chair, steepling his fingers. “The Sect Leader obviously wants two things; to test Yue-shixiong, and to avoid fighting Tianlang-jun himself. It’s undeniable that Yue Qingyuan is the best talent of our generation. As a potential Sect Leader, he has lots of great traits— he’s kind but firm, people listen to and respect him, and he’s powerful enough to back up his authority.”

“But?”

“But he’s also a commoner with no family connections, and his damaged cultivation is a major liability. He’s a good candidate for Sect Leader, but he’s not the only candidate. The Peak Lords are two months from ascension. They absolutely do not want to lose a Peak Lord now. If someone dies now so close to the finish line, how’s that going to feel for everyone else? They’d probably have to push the ascension back, too, which would be a whole thing— no way they’re going to risk it. Yue Qingyuan is the perfect person to have on the front lines instead of any of them.”

“He’s expendable to them.”

“Not easily expendable, but yes. Compared to another Peak Lord, they can afford to lose him if they have to. And he’s strong! So it’s not like anyone will be able to say they aren’t sending their best.”

Shen Qingqiu stands to pace. “Then is there nothing we can do? He could fake his death. We could use a body-double.”

“I don’t think Yue-shixiong would go for that.”

“He doesn’t need to agree. You’ve already poisoned him once, it can’t be that hard to do it again.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re kind of intense?”

Shen Qingqiu glares. “What part of ‘I’m blackmailing you to fix this problem’ did you not understand?”

“Listen,” Shang Qinghua says, “Yue Qingyuan is going to have to fight in this battle. So how about we focus on making sure there is the least possible chance of him dying, huh? We can train. By ‘we’ I mean him and Liu Qingge, because he could beat me with one hand. Maybe no hands. And I’ll dig around for some protective artefacts— I have a decent contact for sourcing that sort of stuff. We’ll send him out prepared.”

Shen Qingqiu snaps his fan closed. “Fine,” he grits out. “But if he dies out there, you won’t need to worry about me revealing your little parasite to the sect— I’ll just kill you and be done with it.”

——

It takes two weeks for the Great Sects to come together with the plan and arrange the ambush. Shang Qinghua hears little about the actual planning, too busy assisting Shui Ansheng with all the necessary supply orders. Battles need supplies— tents, sleeping mats, bandages, herbs, food, transport, armour, and repairs and replacements for all of the above. The Great Sects also have to cover the weaknesses of the minor sects who will be assisting, so all told they’re supplying around a hundred cultivators in preparation for attacking the Demon Emperor.

Yue Qingyuan is, indeed, chosen to lead Cang Qiong Mountain’s contingent for the fight. Rong Anchuan, Qin Anwei, Hua Anran, Wen Anyang, Bai Anjiang, and Chun Anyuan also go to represent the sect, along with Wei Qingwei, Qi Qingqi, Mu Qingfang, and Fa Qinghai, Li Qinglian, and dozens of disciples from a mix of all twelve peaks.

Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge are both furious about not being selected to go. Apparently, Qin Anwei told Shen Qingqiu he would be a ‘distraction.’ Bai Anjiang, in an uncharacteristic show of good sense, told Liu Qingge that he was going to be staying back at the sect along with the other six peak lords in order to defend the mountain in the event that this was an elaborate trap to leave the great sects undefended. Then, he broke Liu Qingge’s leg in two places to make the order stick. Last Shang Qinghua saw him he was meditating around the clock to heal it as quickly as possible, so Shang Qinghua figures they have maybe two days before he’s running off to join the battle. Shang Qinghua, personally, couldn’t be more relieved not to be going! Shui Anshang hadn’t even ordered him not to accompany them, he’d just given him an itinerary for what he was expected to cover while An Ding was the peak in charge of the sect with an already-exhausted nod.

Ever since Shen Qingqiu demanded Shang Qinghua’s help protecting Yue Qingyuan, the four of them have been working around the clock on making that a reality. Liu Qingge and Yue Qingyuan have been sparring almost daily. He and Shen Qingqiu have been taking turns dragging one or both of them to Qian Cao; Mu Qingfang has started compulsively grabbing bandages whenever he sees one of them coming.

Yue Qingyuan has a stack of talismans, drafted by Shen Qingqiu. Extra spiritual power, defensive wards, offensive attacks, bindings— anything Shen Qingqiu could think of or look up in Qing Jing’s extensive library. They’re written in blood, which Shang Qinghua thinks is gross, but which Yue Qingyuan looked touched by when Shen Qingqiu gave them to him. Shang Qinghua contributed by digging up a few of the artefacts that he’s been saving in case he ever has to fight Mobei-jun— extra wards against demonic energy, mostly, as well as a general booster for health and spiritual energy. Yue Qingyuan is about as prepared as a man about to face down the Demon Emperor can possibly be.

Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua both see Yue Qingyuan off. The man stands battle-ready, dark armour strapped over top of his black robes. His hair is neatly pulled back from his face, and his silver guan is polished to a shine. Xuan Su, in all its unsettling glory, is strapped to his back. Like this, he really looks like what everyone thinks he is— the next immortal Sect Leader of Cang Qiong Mountain.

Too bad Shang Qinghua is all too aware of what he actually is— a kid being sent to what could easily be his death.

“Qingqiu-shidi, Shang-shidi,” Yue Qingyuan says, giving each of them a smile. He clasps Shang Qinghua on the shoulder. “Take care of each other.”

Take care of Xiao Jiu if I don’t come back, Shang Qinghua hears. He offers a wan smile and nods.

Shen Qingqiu huffs. He doesn’t do anything as open and emotional as hugging Yue Qingyuan, but he also doesn’t pull away when Yue Qingyuan comes close and gently clasps the side of his face, giving him one last affectionate look before drawing back.

“Wait!” Shen Qingqiu says, before he can head over to join the other Qiong Ding cultivators. He grabs Yue Qingyuan’s wrist, and then pulls Xui Ya, still sheathed, from his waist and places it in Yue Qingyuan’s hand.

“Xiao Jiu,” Yue Qingyuan says, “I can’t—”

“Take it.” He lowers his voice until it’s barely audible. “If you draw that cursed thing and it’s anything but absolute life or death, I will know and I will make you regret it.”

So said, with Yue Qingyuan still grasping Xui Ya in shock, Shen Qingqiu slips around him and slaps a talisman onto Xuan Su’s sheathe.

“Xiao Jiu—”

“Shut up. Go.”

Yue Qingyuan’s eyes go all soft and melty, and Shen Qingqiu shoves at him before he can go in for a real hug this time.

Cang Qiong heads out for Bailu Mountain. Shang Qinghua bites his lip and tries to pretend this is fine.

——

He either had too much or too little faith in Liu Qingge. The younger man makes it about a day before he’s back up and chewing the walls.

“I should be there,” Liu Qingge says, pacing around the An Ding Peak Lord’s office. Shang Qinghua is here at Shui Ansheng’s desk, while Shui Ansheng is over on Qiong Ding, attempting not to run the sect into the ground while Shang Qinghua tries the same thing on An Ding Peak.

“Shidi, they only left for Bailu Mountain yesterday. They’ve probably barely started fighting yet.”

“All the more reason to be there now. I can help!”

“Bai Anjiang literally just told you not to go.”

“If Shizun thought I was too weak to fight in a battle like this, he shouldn’t have made me his head disciple.”

“Isn’t it an honour to be left defending the sect?”

“If you’re right about Tianlang-jun, then this isn’t a trap— everyone is going to be out there fighting, and we’re just sitting at home.”

“For once, I agree with the brute,” Shen Qingqiu says.

The Qing Jing Peak head disciple is lounging on a low couch that Shang Qinghua didn’t even know this office had. He’d barged in shortly after Liu Qingge and unearthed it from a mound of old books and scrolls. It probably hasn’t been used for anything other than paperwork storage in decades, but the man makes it look elegant as he drapes himself over it and plucks unhappily at the strings of his guqin. Shang Qinghua’s not sure if he’s practising something or just hoping to annoy Liu Qingge into inciting violence.

Shang Qinghua waves his brush at them both. “Why are you here bothering me? Don’t you have jobs?”

They give him identical disgruntled looks. He sighs and rubs at the bridge of his nose. All the forms are starting to give him another headache— or, possibly, it’s the generally bull-headed energy in the room.

“Look, Yue-shixiong will be fine. The Peak Lords and our martial siblings will be fine. We should be glad that we’re home, where there’s tea and snacks, and not out on a battlefield ambushing some demon for basically no reason.”

His reassurances do little to inspire confidence in his companions. They continue to stick around as he works, tense as bow strings, but seemingly unwilling to leave and spend the time waiting alone. It’s a bit cute, flocking together when they usually barely tolerate each other. It’s enough to soften Shang Qinghua’s hard heart a bit, once he’s finished the worst of the necessary paperwork for the day.

“Look,” he says, rising from his chair and stretching to rid his back of some of the ache from hunching over his desk all day. “Let’s get outside for a while.”

——

When Shen Qingqiu’s alert talisman goes off, he and Shang Qinghua are halfway through a game of go, played in the grass while Liu Qingge beats the sh*t out of some training dummies.

Shang Qinghua’s been alternating between paying attention to the game and watching with horror as Liu Qingge splinters solid wood with his bare fists. Shen Qingqiu has been razor focused on playing, directing some of that manic energy into absolutely destroying any chance Shang Qinghua might have had at victory. It makes Shang Qinghua jump when suddenly his sleeve flares with blue light.

Shen Qingqiu draws the talisman from his sleeve with a flick of the wrist, holding up the burning piece of parchment. It casts his face in harsh blue light.

“He’s drawn Xuan Su,” he says. Liu Qingge halts mid-strike against a half-destroyed dummy.

Shen Qingqiu rises smoothly and holds out a hand to Shang Qinghua.

“Give me your sword.”

“Um?” Shang Qinghua says, as Liu Qingge approaches and draws his own blade.

“We’re going to get him. If he’s drawn Xuan Su, and he’s not an idiot, that means his life is at risk. I am not leaving him out there alone with only our worthless sect leader for backup.”

“No! We are not! We’re supposed to be staying here!”

“He’s right,” Liu Qingge says.

“Oh, now you two can agree? Hello! Yue Qingyuan is strong. We, on the other hand, are much more liable to get squashed by the Demon Emperor like bugs!”

“We’re going,” Shen Qingqiu says. Liu Qingge comes up behind him, and both of them look at Shang Qinghua with their dumb, pretty, xianxia-hero faces.

“Fine!” he says, levering himself up. “Let me at least delegate my duties here first. An Ding is running the sect, Shizun is going to literally kill me for running off.”

“No,” Liu Qingge says. “You’re staying here.”

“Excuse me?”

“You are not coming.”

Shen Qingqiu nods in agreement, making another grab for Shang Qinghua’s sword. “Much as I may hate to be on the same side, he’s correct. We will be going to retrieve Yue Qingyuan and keep him from being killed by his own idiocy and misplaced loyalty. You will be staying here.”

“There is no way you two are going without me.”

“You’d put your child at risk?”

Shang Qinghua hisses. “Not so loud! There are disciples around.”

“It won’t stay a secret if you’re killed in a battle. An injury to you could mean death for them.”

Shang Qinghua scrubs his hands over his face. Is he stupid? Has extended contact with his dumb f*cking characters fried his brain? Apparently so.

“If you’re going, I’m going,” he says. “If you don’t want me to go, then you’ll stay here too. And good luck getting my sword to fly for you without me allowing it. Are you just going to both squeeze onto Cheng Luan, and go fight Tianlang-jun without a blade to defend yourself?”

“Fine!” Shen Qingqiu says. “Get yourself killed for all I care. We. Are. Going.”

They go.

——

The flight to Bailu Mountain is harrowing. Shen Qingqiu flies on You Yuan, while Shang Qinghua and Liu Qingge share Cheng Luan. They gave Shang Qinghua just long enough to delegate his duties to his favourite junior trio and beg them to cover for him to Shui Ansheng. His heart is pounding in his chest as they whip through the air. Neither Shen Qingqiu or Liu Qingge wasted any time in their journey, and it’s much faster to Huan Hua Palace’s territory by sword than by carriage. It feels like the baby is doing flips under his ribs as they fly, but that could just be Shang Qinghua’s own nerves.

It’s easy to find where the fighting is taking place. Within two li of the place, Shang Qinghua can feel the demonic energy in the air. Storm clouds gather overhead, and they have to fly low over the treetops to avoid strikes of lightning.

As they approach the mountain, Shen Qingqiu veers sharply.

“There,” he says.

Liu Qingge and Shang Qinghua swoop to match him, and the three of them begin to descend towards the point Shen Qingqiu spotted. A little closer and Shang Qinghua can see what he did— plumes of smoke and flashes of a sword glare so bright it looks like the lightning falling from the sky. Rain begins to patter down around them, which does nothing for the billowing smoke, debris, and demonic qi in the air. There are dozens of cultivators running around the improved battlefield— many less, Shang Qinghua knows, than set out for this ‘mission.’ He also spots snakes, dozens more writhing masses of black and green scales, amongst both the living and the dead. Zhuzhi-lang is somewhere here.

“Touch down out of sight,” Shang Qinghua calls. “We’ll be more effective if we come as a surprise, and we don’t want to risk distracting Yue-shixiong.”

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t nod, but he and Liu Qingge descend into the trees near the heart of the battle. Just as Shang Qinghua is hopping off of Cheng Luan’s blade and Shen Qingqiu is hefting up You Yuan there is a deafening crack of power. It’s strong and close enough that it buffets Shang Qinghua’s hair, sending his bangs fluttering around his face. A clash of spiritual and demonic qi. It’s followed by high, maniacal laughter. Shang Qinghua tastes iron, and has to swipe at his face with a sleeve to wipe up the sudden trickle of blood.

“Tianlang-jun,” Liu Qingge says. “Stay here.”

“Yeah,” Shang Qinghua says weakly. “No worries. Um, try not to die.”

Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge take off towards the source of the laughter. Shang Qinghua trails behind, ducking around trees and shrubbery, remaining out of sight. Now that they’re here, coming along seems like a much worse idea. What the f*ck is he doing? He’s not a fighter. He shouldn’t care about any of these people! Why is he here?

Still, he can’t help but want to keep an eye on Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge. Sue him— he really doesn’t want either of them to get flattened here. How ignoble, to kick it way before their respective canon deaths. This author just wants to make sure his story doesn’t get completely rerouted with the death of the scum villain and the… fridged, expendable War God.

Shang Qinghua hurries up.

When he reaches the edge of the treeline, Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge have already joined the fight. The two of them are flanking Yue Qingyuan, who looks the worse for wear— his hair has fallen from its updo, and the sleeve of his robes has been badly ripped. Blood drops down his arm, wetting his grip on Xuan Su. The cursed blade is glowing like a small sun, illuminating the three of them— and the demon lord in front of them.

However battered Yue Qingyuan looks, he has clearly given as good as he’s gotten to Tianlang-jun. The man is bathed in blood— his own or from the dozens of other cultivators he must have slaughtered is anyone’s guess. His silky black hair is tangled, his plain black robes in tatters. He’s lost his blade if he ever had one, fighting with black claws instead, eyes glowing crimson and demonic fangs on full display. On his forehead, his crimson huadian —Binghe’s huadian, someday— burns like a brand. He’s laughing, but there is nothing but rage on his face.

Some zhàng away, there is an immense crack of lightning. Someone cries out, high and pained. Tianlang-jun half-turns, eyes flaring even brighter red.

“Zhuzhi!” he screams.

Ah, Shang Qinghua thinks, that would be the Sect Leader.

Yue Qingyuan does not allow Tianlang-jun the moment of distraction. When he strikes, it’s like the force of the mountain itself coming down. Around him, Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge are there like water and wind— covering every weakness, flowing into every space that Yue Qingyuan might leave. It’s a devastating combination. To be struck by Xuan Su alone is to be struck by the will of heaven itself.

Tianlang-jun goes flying into the side of Bailu Mountain. Blood and demonic qi leak from him like a river. He howls, wild and inarticulate.

Shang Qinghua spots a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. He looks over in time to see a group of Zhao Hua Monastery Sect cultivators, bunched together out of the blast radius of Yue Qingyuan and Tianlang-jun’s battle. Three of them drop down and slap their palms to the earth. Golden light erupts from around the edge of the mountain, the lines of an array blooming from the earth. More Zhao Hua Monastery, Tian Yi Overlook, Cang Qiong, and Huan Hua Palace cultivators rush in, adding their energy to the array. The light grows and grows until a spiritual barrier rises, nearly thick enough with qi to be opaque. The mountain itself rumbles, the rock breaks and falls away until thick stone chains begin to slither around Tianlang-jun like his nephew's snakes.

The stone begins to pull him into the mountain itself. The combined efforts of the Great Sects’ arrays manipulating the very earth to bind him.

As Tianlang-jun is dragged back, howling and struggling wildly, for just a moment Shang Qinghua could swear the man’s eyes land on him. Shang Qinghua peers into that bright red gaze, and sees the man’s eyes widen ever so slightly further.

Then the earth snaps shut around him. The golden array burns bright. In front of it, Yue Qingyuan stumbles and drops to his knees. Shen Qingqiu cries out, grabbing for Xuan Su and forcefully shoving it back into its sheath. The other gathered cultivators begin to murmur and then to cheer. The cheering spreads further as the demon emperor fails to re-emerge, the glittering array slowly fading without any sign of resistance. The survivors take up the call.

They’ve done it. Tianlang-jun has been sealed beneath Bailu Mountain.

Chapter 20

Chapter Text

The sense of festivity in the wake of Tianlang-jun’s sealing is ruined a little bit by the way Yue Qingyuan begins to cough up a pretty copious amount of blood. Shen Qingqiu flutters around him, first rubbing his back and then trying to transfer him spiritual energy when the ‘bleeding from the mouth’ thing shows no signs of stopping.

Shang Qinghua almost leaves the cover of the trees to go and help, but hesitates when he sees an increasing number of gold robes beginning to gather nearby. Huan Hua is regrouping now that the danger is over, and Shang Qinghua does not want to get caught up with them right now. He has no idea what the Old Palace Master gleaned from their last meeting, and he really doesn’t want to find out here.

Thankfully, a more familiar figure comes as well. Mu Qingfang pushes through the gathering crowd, expression steely, purple sleeves already tied back.

“Yue-shixiong,” he calls out and heads over to where Yue Qingyuan is bent double, coughing. He drops down next to the man and places his hands at the qi points at his temples.

Shen Qingqiu backs off. He and Liu Qingge exchange quiet words that Shang Qinghua doesn’t catch, and then the two of them back away and slip back into the forest. A moment later they’ve circled around and rejoined Shang Qinghua, out of sight of the other cultivators.

“Holy sh*t!” Shang Qinghua whispers.

Liu Qingge grunts.

“I can’t believe you guys seriously just did that! Also, there is no way anyone watching missed that. We’re so dead.”

“We’ll get back to Cang Qiong before anyone can miss us,” Shen Qingqiu says. That would be nice, but, given how Shang Qinghua’s life usually goes, sounds extremely unlikely.

On the makeshift battlefield they’ve made of the land at the foot of Bailu Mountain, Mu Qingfang is helping Yue Qingyuan to his feet. Someone breaks off from the small hoard of Huan Hua Palace’s golden robes, and Shang Qinghua grimaces to see the Old Palace Master striding confidently over the blood-soaked ground. His own robes are impeccable, unsullied by dirt or blood. Shang Qinghua wonders where, exactly, he was hiding while Yue Qingyuan was fighting his battle for him.

“Congratulations on your victory, Young Master Yue,” the Old Palace Master calls, loudly enough to be overheard by the still-gathered crowd.

Pale-faced, Yue Qingyuan offers a shaky nod. He winces when Mu Qingfang presses a glowing palm to his side, the young doctor’s hands quickly staining red from Yue Qingyuan’s soaked robes alone.

“Thanking the Palace Master. This is a victory for all of us who fought here today and for the cultivation world as a whole. It wouldn’t have been possible without the support of all,” Yue Qingyuan says.

“You are too humble. This old master would very much like to hear how you sealed him, and make sure that the protective measures will hold. Would you spare a moment to join me and these respected masters of Zhao Hua Monastery?”

“I’m afraid I must insist on bringing Yue-shixiong to the medical tents,” Mu Qingfang cuts in.

The Old Palace Master gives him an irritated look, which turns back to a sort of indulgent graciousness when he dismisses the healer and looks back to Yue Qingyuan.

“Young Master Yue is of course welcome to any resources Huan Hua Palace can provide as well. We are grateful for your assistance in defeating the demon emperor and ending this terrible risk to the human realm.”

“‘Your assistance,’” Shen Qingqiu whispers, scoffing.

“We are of course deeply appreciative of Huan Hua’s generosity. This humble healer believes his skills will be adequate in healing his martial brother, but we will be sure to seek assistance if this one is lacking,” Mu Qingfang says. Yue Qingyuan straightens and offers the Palace Master a deep bow.

“Thanking the Palace Master for his consideration. We will hope to speak again once the injured have been seen to, and a chance to regroup in the wake of victory has been had.”

He is the one to turn and walk away from the Palace Master, daring to nearly dismiss the man. Mu Qingfang keeps a tight hold on his arm, but Yue Qingyuan gives a good impression of walking under his own power. The impression of strength is only a little ruined by the blood coating his chin.

It’s only once they’ve left the clearing that Yue Qingyuan shudders and slumps again. Mu Qingfang pulls his arm around his shoulders and continues the trek.

Shen Qingqiu follows after them from a distance, so Shang Qinghua and Liu Qingge take his lead. Shang Qinghua has no desire to be left alone anywhere near the Old Palace Master right now. When he looks at the man, he still feels the phantom touch of the man’s grip on his wrist, the prickling intrusion of his qi. The three of them track Mu Qingfang and Yue Qingyuan to one of the healing tents that Cang Qiong set up at the edges of the battlefield. Shen Qingqiu flicks a talisman at each of them and then himself— the sound of their footsteps becomes muffled, and the other two seem to become less vibrant, their faces ever so slightly more plain. Some sort of attention-diverting illusion.

Voices are already coming from the tent when they get there. Shang Qinghua goes to poke his head in, but Shen Qingqiu jerks him back by the back of his robes and peeks through an open sliver of fabric. Liu Qingge and Shang Qinghua have to content themselves with crowding around him, which Shen Qingqiu puts up with with more good grace than Shang Qinghua expects of him.

The first thing Shang Qinghua hears is the deep rumble of the Sect Leader’s voice.

“—control of that sword of yours is still abysmal.”

“Yes, Shizun.”

“Any heir of mine must be able to walk from the battlefield, not only victorious but with pride.”

“Yes, Shizun.”

Quieter, muffled words. Then, Mu Qingfang clearing his throat, and a moment of silence.

“I’ll expect you back on the mountain tomorrow.”

“Shibo, I can’t recommend—”

“Yes, Shizun.”

Heavy footsteps. Shen Qingqiu pulls the three of them back as the Sect Leader brushes aside the tent flap and heads back out. He scowls after the man’s back. Felt! What a dick.

A sigh from inside. “Shixiongs might as well come in.”

Shang Qinghua winces but follows when Shen Qingqiu takes this invitation and pushes his way in. Inside, Yue Qingyuan is laid out on a cot. His face is still colourless, and his robes are parted to reveal a thick swathe of bandages around his chest and abdomen. Mu Qingfang stands next to him with one hand on his wrist, the other one resting lightly on Xuan Su’s sheath.

“Xiao Jiu,” Yue Qingyuan says hoarsely. Shen Qingqiu strides over in two quick steps, expression thunderous. Mu Qingfang gives him a wary look, but all Shen Qingqiu does is grab a cloth and begin wiping some of the drying blood from Yue Qingyuan’s face.

“I was under the impression that Shen, Liu, and Shang-shixiong were ordered to stay back at the sect,” Mu Qingfang says.

“… Shang-shixiong?” Yue Qingyuan asks. The man blinks, then sits up abruptly, eyes wide. “Shang Qinghua is here?”

“Haha, hi,” Shang Qinghua says. Shen Qingqiu clicks his tongue and pushes Yue Qingyuan back down when the man winces and presses a hand to the bandages.

Yue Qingyuan’s face, if possible, has paled further. He looks between Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge, opens his mouth, then looks at Mu Qingfang. Shang Qinghua tries to communicate ‘ Don’t say sh*t !’ with his eyes.

“Why would you let him come?” Yue Qingyuan asks, pained.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Shen Qingqiu says, at the same time Liu Qingge says: “He wouldn’t stay behind at the sect.”

“It’s not like I tried to fight!” Shang Qinghua defends.

“You—”

“Don’t stress my patient,” Mu Qingfang says.

“I’m not stressing him, I’m just here! I didn’t make him fight the demon emperor.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Liu Qingge asks, frowning down at Yue Qingyuan’s pale face. “He was fine when we were fighting.”

“Well, as Shang-shixiong mentioned, he did fight the demon emperor. In single combat, for almost a shichen, before you and Shen-shixiong arrived. Does Liu-shidi imagine he didn’t get hit ?”

Yue Qingyuan laughs hoarsely, and Shen Qingqiu smacks him lightly on the shoulder. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

“Yue-shixiong will be fine if he allows this shidi to treat him, and rests for several days at least.”

“You heard Shizun. I need to return to Cang Qiong tomorrow.”

“Then Yue-shixiong will return, see to his duties to Rong-shibo, and return to Qian Cao as soon as he is able or I will be going to retrieve him from Qiong Ding myself. If Rong-shibo takes issue with this, he may decide if he enjoys having a living successor or not, and consider if he would like to replace you two months before the ascension.”

Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua, aware that the Sect Leader would totally do that, exchange a doubtful look. Yue Qingyuan sighs. His eyes flutter closed as Mu Qingfang continues to transfer spiritual energy.

“Don’t sleep yet,” Mu Qingfang says, “your spiritual veins haven’t stabilised. Liu Qingge, Shang Qinghua, one of you come here and take over the transfer; I need to prepare some medicine.”

Liu Qingge moves to take Yue Qingyuan’s wrist, and Yue Qingyuan gives him a half-hearted smile. Shen Qingqiu has moved on from cleaning off the blood to taking his hair down from its top-knot and finger-combing out some of the tangles. Yue Qingyuan is looking up at him, eyes half-lidded and glassy, like he could look at Shen Qingqiu’s pinched and unhappy expression forever. Feeling a bit useless as Mu Qingfang goes to grind some herbs and add them to a talisman-heated teapot, Shang Qinghue moves to the end of the cot and leans a hip against it, looking towards the top of the tent in order to give whatever faces Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan are making at each other some much-needed privacy.

“How does it feel to be famous, Yue-shixiong?” he asks.

There’s another hoarse huff of laughter from the bed. “That’s going a bit far, shidi.”

“Ah, did shixiong not notice? I would say, mm, everyone in the cultivation world is going to be calling you a hero for maybe the next decade. The Sect Leader who single-handedly defeated Tianlang-jun, a demon so powerful he ruled over the entire demon realm.”

“Not a sect leader yet,” Yue Qingyuan says. His eyes close again, before Shen Qingqiu nudges his cheek. “And it definitely wasn’t single-handed. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come when you did.”

“You would have been alright,” Shang Qinghua says, with the conviction of a man who had written it that way. Yue Qingyuan would have survived this fight alone. But Shang Qinghua can’t help but feel it’s better this way. The original must have been in this tent alone, with only Mu Qingfang to make sure he didn’t succumb to his wounds or to the curse of his sword. Now, he has Liu Qingge to pass him spiritual energy, Shen Qingqiu staying close and cleaning him up, and Shang Qinghua to distract him from the pain.

“It wasn’t a noble battle,” Liu Qingge says lowly. He shifts to that he's stranding close to Shang Qinghua, leaning against the bed, and keeping Yue Qingyuan's wrist in a gentle grip.

“No,” Shang Qinghua agrees. “But every battle you walk away from is a good one, right?”

When Mu Qingfang’s back is turned, he takes a moment to run one hand over his stomach, a furtive motion of self-soothing. He can feel the curve of the baby, hidden away under his robes, safe another day. It was kicking, little flutters of increasing pressure, through most of the day, responding to the frantic beating of his heart. Now, as the adrenaline fades, it has settled back into stillness.

This went well. They’re all safe, alive. He can’t help but wonder what the price for this good fortune is going to be. In his experience, things never stay good for long.

——

The camp begins to break up the next day. Once Yue Qingyuan is allowed to drift off, he sleeps for nearly twelve hours. Shen Qingqiu, Liu Qingge, and Shang Qinghua stay with him in the healer’s tent the whole time, for lack of anything better to do, considering they can’t be seen around the camp if they want to maintain the illusion of not having disobeyed their respective masters. Mu Qingfang alternates between checking on Yue Qingyuan and assisting with the rest of the post-battle healing. There are, apparently, an unprecedented number of serious poisonings, on account of all the venomous snake bites. All the healers are running ragged trying to prepare antidotes for the multiple kinds of venom, and Shang Qinghua gets the impression from the manic look in Mu Qingfang’s eyes that it isn’t going well.

Once everyone who can be stabilised has been, the remaining cultivators begin to collect and bury the dead. The Sect Leaders are busy discussing who will have jurisdiction over Bailu Mountain now that a dangerous demon emperor is sealed under it. Huan Hua, of course, would love their own personal demon emperor mountain, but for all his faults Rong Anchuan isn’t stupid enough to let that happen without a fight. The other Peak Lords begin preparing to head back to Cang Qiong, along with a few of the higher-ranking masters. The others will join them once the cleanup is done.

Shen Qingqiu only agrees to leave Yue Qingyuan’s side when Mu Qingfang promises not to let their senior martial brother out of his sight the entire time it takes to get him back to Qiong Ding. Shen Qingqiu still seems deeply unhappy, but it gets him back onto You Yuan and heading away from the battlefield. Xui Ya stays sheathed at Yue Qingyuan’s side, and no one presses Shen Qingqiu for his reasoning.

Shang Qinghua flies on Cheng Luan with Liu Qingge once again, which is starting to become a more familiar mode of transport than his own sword. Halfway back sparkling light starts to flare in his peripheral vision whenever he looks anywhere near the sun. He files this under ‘new and exciting things the baby is doing to my brain, body, and life,’ and hides his face, half-pressed into Liu Qingge’s shoulder, despite how awkward the position is. Liu Qingge doesn’t comment. After a few minutes, Shang Qinghua feels a hand come to rest in the centre of his back and begin transferring a small trickle of spiritual energy.

“Are you okay?” Liu Qingge asks, words mostly eaten away by the rushing wind.

“Fine!” Shang Qinghua says, yelling to be heard.

“Your qi feels… weird.”

“That’s just the baby,” he says, heartbeat skipping. Can Liu Qingge feel the baby’s demonic energy? It must be getting stronger, more obvious. “It’s been making my qi weird for months. And now it’s giving me sh*tty headaches.”

“Hmn,” Liu Qingge says, more of a sensation than a sound. “My mother got migraines when she was pregnant with Mingyan. No issues with her spiritual pathways, though. She won a cultivation tournament when she was five months pregnant.”

Shang Qinghua shrugs. “It’s not so bad. I’ll take this over morning sickness literally any day. I might not be up for winning a cultivation tournament, but I’m pretty much just being flown back and forth from some mountains. Also, I don’t think I could win a tournament normally either, so that probably says more about me than about baby Airplane.”

“Yínyàn?”

“Just a nickname. Since we fly around so much together, you know?”

“Mn.”

Soon, Cang Qiong Mountain comes back into view. Shang Qinghua risks the irritating light to peer over Liu Qingge’s shoulder and pick out An Ding amongst the twelve peaks. The Peak Lord’s residence there at the very top, the classrooms, the familiar training pavilions. As they get closer he can see more, tiny carts and tiny disciples swarming around like ants.

Shen Qingqiu is slightly ahead of them. His sword —or rather, You Yuan— dips as he starts preparing to descend towards Qing Jing.

Shang Qinghua is treated to an absolutely baffling visual. Shen Qingqiu bends his knees slightly, changing his stance to descend, bracing against the wind, looking effortlessly graceful even on a borrowed blade. Then it’s as though he has slammed into an invisible wall in mid-air, hundreds of yǐn above the ground. You Yuan goes flying, and Shen Qingqiu bounces back with an undignified flail.

“f*ck!” Shang Qinghua yells, “Catch him!”

There’s a barely-there hesitation, and then Liu Qingge is darting forward on Cheng Luan. Shen Qingqiu, wide-eyed, lets out a choked cry of panic as he begins to fall, unable to call You Yuan back to himself. The sword spins out through the air, and Shang Qinghua reaches out one hand to form a sword seal and attempts to summon it back as Liu Qingge lets him go and reaches out to snatch Shen Qingqiu out of the air.

It’s a good thing Liu Qingge is as strong as he is, or there’s no way he would be able to catch Shen Qingqiu on Cheng Luan without losing Shang Qinghua. Shen Qingqiu slams into the two of them, and Liu Qingge spins them around to disperse the momentum. He’s holding most of Shen Qingqiu’s weight, and Shang Qinghua is clutching onto his waist, dizzily keeping track of You Yuan in the air.

All of them are gasping and wild-eyed as they stabilise. It is a tight fit to get three grown men on one sword, and Shang Qinghua is sure Shen Qingqiu isn’t happy about the way he needs to cling to Liu Qingge to stay on.

“The hell was that?” Liu Qingge demands.

Shang Qinghua’s sword seal finally takes, and You Yuan begins making its wavering way through the air back to them.

“I— hit some sort of barrier,” Shen Qingqiu says.

“How is that possible?” Liu Qingge asks.

“I don’t know!”

Liu Qingge scowls and starts flying them up towards the spot where Shen Qingqiu fell.

“Maybe we should go slowly?” Shang Qinghua suggests plaintively, abandoning dignity to octopus onto Liu Qingge’s side. He catches You Yuan out of the air and offers it back to Shen Qingqiu. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t thank him but does take the sword and swiftly steps back onto it and away from Liu Qingge.

He flies back up and forward, this time going slowly with a hand extended. Once again he stops at about the same spot, frowning and patting the air like he’s hitting something solid. He scowls and hits it with a qi strike, and something sparks and causes him to jerk back.

Shang Qinghua has a bad feeling about this. It only intensifies when Liu Qingge tries the same thing, with the same result.

“Uh, guys…” he says, “I think we hit the sect wards.”

“That’s impossible,” Shen Qingqiu says. “We’re disciples. We’re the head disciples, the wards are keyed to accept us even without a token.”

“Uh, yeah. Unless, say, someone rescinds that access, haha.”

The three of them all pause to look at each other.

“f*ck,” Shen Qingqiu says succinctly.

——

There is no walk of shame like walking up the main steps of Cang Qiong’s front entrance. Shang Qinghua hasn’t been on these steps since the day he competed in the new disciple challenges. Thirty-four years old in a ten-year-old’s underfed body, after weeks of fighting his way to the feet of the Tian Gong Mountain Range, the system blaring warnings about timelines in his ears, climbing this staircase had felt like having to climb to the heavens themselves… or maybe to his personal hell. Now, six months pregnant, it would probably be just as hellish. Thankfully, access to the Liu Qingge-express means he only has to deal with the psychological torment.

By unspoken unanimous decision, all three of them get off their swords to walk up the last stretch of stairs. Standing at the top with his arms folded and a placid expression on his face, Shui Ansheng looks down at them with all the apathetic disapproval of an uncaring god.

Shang Qinghua doesn’t feel his body’s age very often. In his last life, his parents never cared enough about where he went or what he did to pull the old ‘staying up late to dramatically turn the lights on when the kid who snuck out comes home’ thing, but he certainly feels that vibe now as he reaches the top step and comes to a stop before his Shizun. Oh god, he’s pregnant and sneaking into his house! Er, sect. He feels just like a teen drama character! He’s f*cked!

“So, Cang Qiong’s head disciples return,” Shui Ansheng says.

The three of them bow, with a chorus of ‘shizun,’ ‘shibo,’ and ‘shishu.’

“I seem to recall both Liu-shizi and Shen-shizi being specifically ordered to remain at the sect during this excursion. To remain here as part of the sect's defences, and as remaining highest authority in charge of their peaks.”

When Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge only remain bowed, eyes lowered, Shui Ansheng continues in a conversational tone. “Liu-shizi, do you know where every disciple of Bai Zhan Peak is at this moment?”

“... no, Shishu,” Liu Qingge says.

“Do you know, exactly, what your disciples have been up to for eight unsupervised shichen, with both their head disciple and Peak Lord absent?”

“No, Shishu.”

“Do you want to know why I , as acting Sect Leader, know what your disciples have been up to in your absence? Because I would truly love to have no idea. I would be happy to be blissfully unaware of your absence and of your disciple’s whereabouts and activities.”

Liu Qingge hesitates. “... no, Shishu.”

Shui Ansheng waves a hand at Shen Qingqiu. “Well, Shen-shizi here will soon be able to tell you. Do any of you want to tell me why I discovered both of you missing, and then my own head disciple missing, when I had to be personally called in because Bai Zhan Peak and Qing Jing Peak were attempting to, en masse, set each other on fire?”

“We went to assist in the fight against Tianlang-jun,” Liu Qingge says.

“And why did shizi feel that he was needed, at a battle that already had your Shizun in attendance, as well as the Sect Leader, and Qin-shijie, and Head Disciple Yue, and a hundred or so more of our sect members? Are Liu-shizi and Shen-shizi so arrogant as to think the two of them can turn the tides of battle, and that doing so would be more important than seeing to the running of their peaks ?”

Liu Qingge’s expression is obstinate, while Shen Qingqiu is starkly pale. In the sleeves of his robes, he’s clenching his hands into fists so hard his knuckles have gone white.

“Do Shen-shizi and Liu-shizi understand what they have done wrong?” Shui Ansheng asks mildly.

Both of them nod. Shui Ansheng lifts an elegant hand to his ear and raises his eyebrows.

“Yes, Shui-shishu.” “Yes, Shui-shibo.”

“Good,” he says. His dark eyes lock onto Shang Qinghua. “Now, Houhua.”

Shang Qinghua meets his eyes and makes his own go wide and pleading. He summons up a sheen of tearful earnestness.

“Shizun,” he says. He falls to his knees and kowtows as well as he can without making the obstacle of his stomach obvious. Liu Qingge makes a strangled, incredulous noise. “I know I left my duties behind on An Ding. I was just so worried about Yue-shixiong. He was fighting the demon emperor all alone! As a loyal martial brother, how could I abandon him in a moment of need?”

Shui Ansheng’s pale blue boots appear in Shang Qinghua’s field of vision. He lightly kicks Shang Qinghua in the thigh.

“You were so concerned that you couldn’t ask this master to be allowed to assist?” Shui Ansheng asks. “So concerned you went to fight. Personally. In a battle.”

Shang Qinghua looks up at him and allows some mournful tears to fall down his face. “This disciple was caught up in the moment and acted foolishly in worry for the health of our future sect leader. I sincerely apologise for the trouble I have caused Shizun.”

“What are you doing ?” Liu Qingge hisses. Shang Qinghua sniffles again.

Shui Ansheng laughs and kicks him again, this time putting some spiritual energy behind it. Like a good An Ding disciple, Shang Qinghua braces and takes it without so much as a wobble.

“Get up, my foolish successor. Do you think I’m going to have you beaten?”

Shang Qinghua dials up the patheticness levels in his eyes and stands only after Shui Ansheng kicks him again, and then wacks him on the back of the head lightly.

“I will accept whatever punishment Shizun demands. Begging Shizun to be lenient, and keep this matter a private affair of An Ding Peak.”

Shui Ansheng reaches out and brushes some invisible dust off of Shang Qinghua’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell the actual Sect Leader on you when he gets back. And I won’t tell your teachers. I’m not heartless,” Shui Ansheng says, gesturing to Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu.

“Shizun is truly kind—” Shang Qinghua starts, clasping his hands together.

“Instead,” Shui Ansheng says, a smile spreading across his face, so wide that his eyes curve into pleased crescents, “all three of you will be serving your punishment with me .”

——

“Qingqiu-shidi!” Yue Qingyuan cries. Then, “Ah, and Shang-shidi and Liu-shidi! Where have you been?”

He’s up and about, in just two layers of robes, sweaty and still a bit pale but no longer looking as ill and exhausted as he had after the battle at Bailu Mountain. He’s holding a wooden practice sword, and Mu Qingfang is hovering next to him with a notebook and a piece of charcoal out. They’re on Cian Qiao Peak, although Shang Qinghua is aware, courtesy of his helpful little disciples, that Yue Qingyuan was released officially from Mu Qingfang’s tender mercies a few days ago.

“And, ahh…” Yue Qingyuan says, brows furrowing, “What… happened to you all?” Mu Qingfang looks up, catches sight of them, and snorts inelegantly.

Shen Qingqiu, Liu Qingge, and Shang Qinghua, all covered in a thin layer of dust, with blackened palms and smudges of something dark and shiny across their robes, exchange a long look.

“Nothing,” Shen Qingqiu says, at the same time that Liu Qingge says “... nighthunt.”

Yue Qingyuan turns his befuddled gaze on Shang Qinghua.

“Paperwork,” Shang Qinghua says, and shrugs.

Chapter 21

Chapter Text

In the wake of Tianlang-jun’s sealing, Cang Qiong settles into an insular sort of peace. Several old masters and many disciples of the sect were lost fighting Huan Hua’s battles for them. As the ascension of the Peak Lords looms just over the horizon, everyone turns their gazes inwards and cuts off most contact with the other sects. Shang Qinghua sees a few requests for materials or aid from Huan Hua float across his desk, and they are unilaterally declined by Shui Ansheng, Qin Anwei, or the Sect Leader himself. Time is running short, and Cang Qiong is focusing solely on itself now that the ‘demonic threat’ is dealt with.

As promised, Shui Ansheng works him, Liu Qingge, and Shen Qingqiu like dogs for as long as he can get away with, gleefully bossing around the head disciples of two other peaks. He releases them from their torment after about a week and a half. It’s a relief to no longer have his teacher breathing down his neck as Shang Qinghua attempts to discreetly feel out the movements of the major players in the demon realm, post-Tianlang-jun. This kind of massive power shift is sure to have major consequences across the three realms.

He also, just a bit, misses having Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu around so much. But that’s neither here nor there.

Now that they’re not working together to prepare Yue Qingyuan for his fight against Tianlang-jun, Shang Qinghua expects them to go back to being distant coworkers at best. Reluctant allies against mutual threats is honestly a pretty good relationship by his standards.

When Liu Qingge turns up to drag him into martial training the day after they’re released from Shui Ansheng’s punishment, he’s not too surprised. His face goes warm and his stomach flips in a way that has nothing to do with the baby doing somersaults inside, but that’s just… allergies, probably. Totally. He’s still very allergic to genuine displays of emotion, so.

But then Shen Qingqiu shows up at his door to bully him into spilling all the rumours he’s heard about their martial siblings recently, which somehow turns into him doing sword seal demonstrations for Zhong Miaoqing and Lu Maiying and a few of Lu Maiying’s little disciple friends. Shang Qinghua is a bit worried that Shen Qingqiu is going to steal Zhong Miaoqing from him entirely, or worse, that Zhong Miaoqing has finally found a role model who’s even bitchier than they are to emulate and Shang Qinghua will never know peace again.

Mu Qingfang keeps tracking him down too, and grilling him on the details of strange artefacts and plants with medicinal qualities. He’s taken a vested interest in Yue Qingyuan’s sword problem and has started compiling research on ways to mitigate the effects on his spiritual system. Shang Qinghua and Yue Qingyuan already see a fair amount of each other, but now, after running through their mutual diplomatic and administrative work that needs to be communicated between Qiong Ding and An Ding, they have tea together and Yue Qingyuan gently asks after his workload and his life on An Ding. Shang Qinghua feels weirdly compelled to return the favour —something about Yue Qingyuan’s earnest cow-eyes, surely— and winds up actually talking to the guy. Like normal people.

“People are going to think we’re friends or something,” Shang Qinghua says, attempting to sprawl over a tea table. His stomach bumps against the edge instead, so he settles for planting his elbows and hanging his head down pathetically.

Xiang Yijia, applying rouge to her lips with a small brush, pulls it away from her mouth to laugh at him. “Heavens forbid.”

“I know!”

On the floor, A-Ting rolls over on her small cream-coloured mat. The baby is bigger and bigger these days, even more round-cheeked than her mother, with fat little arms and screw-on wrists. Shang Qinghua reaches over to flip her onto her back, and watches, riveted, as she works to turn herself back to her belly.

He and Xiang Yijia are alone today, sitting in the Warm Red Pavilion’s dressing room. She’s preparing to see clients for the evening, and him to watch A-Ting while she works for a few hours. It’s a pleasant break from his duties on Cang Qiong, even if he’s feeling irritable and restless. Baby Airplane seems to be growing more and more each day as well, and he’s quickly slipping away from the brief moment of pregnancy that could be considered ‘comfortable.’ It was nice while it lasted.

He stopped in to see Wu Hengzi before coming down. Recovering from birth has been hard for her, and she’s been on bed rest during A-Yuan’s month of seclusion. Guo Lantian has been checking on them both daily, and Shang Qinghua has been called on to provide both baby and mother with spiritual energy a few times. When he sees her, she mostly seems exhausted.

“Has it occurred to Hua-ge that you are friends?”

“… no,” he lies.

“Because it sounds like you’re friends to me.”

“We’re not friends! I don’t—” he bites his lip before anything damning can slip out, but Xiang Yijia pauses putting her makeup on to turn to him with a raised eyebrow.

“I know you weren’t about to say you don’t have friends while sitting here with me.”

“I don’t— it’s different. We’re, like, united by a mutual desire to not f*ck up having babies. And great taste in p*rn. Also, you’re way too nice to me and are under the mistaken impression that I’m not an asshole. It’s the pregnancy glow, it makes me seem more palatable than I am. Trust me, Yijia-mei, it is an illusion.”

“How does Hua-ge think friends are usually made?”

“That’s a trick question.”

She snorts and turns back to the bronze mirror. “Come help me with my hair?”

“I will f*ck it up, but sure.”

“Just hold this here,” she says, passing him some pins and a few layers of long, dark hair. He holds it out of the way obediently so she can pull the upper portion into a high tail and begin folding it into strange loops. “Do you know how Wu-jie and I met?”

“Working here, I guess.”

“Mhm. She started after I did, and she was very successful early on. She came here herself from another brothel and struck a deal with the Madame to stay. A lot of us were very jealous of her— she’s always been self-assured, and very beautiful. I think she could have been a lord’s concubine if she had any interest. Put that pin in here, okay?”

He slides a pin into place, and then another where she taps, looking at herself in the mirror. A butterfly of elegant twists takes shape from the ponytail, and he marvels at it as she selects some ornaments. Absently, he starts adding a small braid to one of the loose portions, and she hums in approval.

“You’re not too bad at this,” she says.

“I never do it for myself.”

“A sister?”

His hands falter for a moment before he refocuses, working to keep his work neat. He’s done this only for a spoiled demon prince, on late nights when his bratty king would demand Shang Qinghua wash the gore from his hair, brush and braid it out nicely. “Junior disciples, sometimes.”

“That’ll be lucky if you have a daughter.”

He swallows and ducks his head. A daughter. The thought makes his heart do an anxious little staccato beat. A daughter. A son.

“Anyways,” she continues, “we didn’t speak much. But then I got pregnant, and for a few weeks after I found out, it was all anyone could talk about. I hid it for a long time, as long as I could. I was afraid the Madame would kick me out, or make me get rid of the pregnancy. Wu-jie found me and told me, very seriously, that she thought everyone else was being foolish, and that I would be strong enough for myself and my baby. I found out she was pregnant too a few weeks later; I think she might have already known then. We weren’t friends at all before that, but once we were both in this situation, we had to rely on each other. And now she’s like a sister to me.”

“I’m glad you had each other,” he says. He finishes the braid and ties it off as she slides ornaments with jangling little flowers on thin chains into each side of the updo.

Once her hair is all in place, she reaches over and smacks his leg lightly. “What I’m saying is that you can make friends in lots of ways, with lots of people. It’s not always because you meet and feel an immediate, happy connection, instantly getting along and understanding each other. Sometimes it’s because you need someone. Or you’re forced together, and realise there are things you can love about them, or about spending time with them.”

She turns and points at him. “If someone is choosing to spend time with you, why fight about what they are to you, or why? Just accept that they see something to like in you and enjoy your time together. It’s not so complicated.”

He sighs and looks away. A-Ting has rolled off of her blanket, and he reaches out to tug at one of her fat baby legs, listening to her soft gurgling. Baby Airplane kicks, a sharp sort of pap-pap like they can sense the A-Ting outside and want to play. “You are wise as always.”

She flips a half-braided tail over her shoulder and sends him a sultry smile as she stands. “I am known for my wisdom, yes. Time to get going— call for me if she needs a feed.”

He salutes, and she flounces from the room in a wave of pink silks and heady perfume. Shang Qinghua smiles down at A-Ting and flips her over again.

——

Mobei-jun appears in his rooms around midnight.

Shang Qinghua is at his desk, reading through nighthunt reports from the few An Ding cultivators who actually go on nighthunts. He enjoys reading through them, even if he’s perhaps up too late doing it— An Ding cultivators tend to be either very efficient or unintentionally hilarious when sent to solve non-administrative issues outside the sect.

He doesn’t jump when the tell-tale wash of cold air falls over the room. The shadows flicker, and there are two soft boot-falls on the wooden floor. He makes a mark on the report he’s writing, then wipes his hands quickly on his sleeves and turns to bow to his king.

He’s been expecting Mobei-jun to visit him. Every contact Shang Qinghua has in the demon realm has assured him that it is in chaos at the moment. The loss of Tianlang-jun has opened up a massive power vacuum that every clan is scrambling to fill. Mobei-jun’s father, the actual Mobei-jun at this point, is in one of the best positions to fill it. Shang Qinghua has been sending his Mobei-jun every scrap of information he collects on how to best take advantage of this, from both the demonic and human sides.

Mobei-jun hasn’t actually responded to any of these reports or messages, but far be it from the prince of the North to send a return letter to his lowly servant.

“My king! This servant greets you.”

“Qinghua.”

Mobei-jun shrugs out of his large fur cloak, letting it fall to the ground in a heap as he strides over to Shang Qinghua’s sturdiest chair. Shang Qinghua scrambles over to pick up the cloak and carefully folds it within grabbing distance. The fur is really soft, dark and shiny— actually, a bit sparkly. It looks kind of like the pelt of the Violet Eternal Dusk Wolf he’d given to him a while ago. Huh. His king is always leaving his clothes and jewellery around Shang Qinghua’s house and forgetting to take them with him when he leaves— it’s terrible for secrecy!

“The Emperor is dead,” Mobei-jun states. Shang Qinghua nods in agreement, then winces when Mobei-jun scowls and shakes his head instead, making a so-so gesture with his hands.

“Sort of, my king. He’s not really dead, but he was sealed under a mountain. I was only there for the end, but it was all very, uh... terrible.”

“You were there?” Mobei-jun asks, turning to look at him sharply.

“My king, you would know that if you read the letters I sent you. I went along with some of my martial siblings near the end of the battle to help out.”

“You hate to fight.”

“True! Very true. I didn't do any actual fighting. Mostly I stood behind some trees and hoped no one I care about died.”

“Shang Qinghua once told me there is no one he cares about on Cang Qiong Mountain. That all his loyalty would be mine alone because no one here deserves it.”

Mobei-jun’s gaze is cool and steady. Shang Qinghua gulps.

“Ahaha, I did say that, didn't I? Well, my king, given that I'm going to be Peak Lord soon, I guess it can't be helped that I'm a little attached. Just a bit. To a few people. Some of my disciples are pretty cute, you know…”

Mobei-jun growls. Wrong answer! Abort, abort! “Not that any of them hold a candle to you my kind! My loyalty is still to you above any other. If my king said to burn the whole mountain down right now I would, haha. I mean, I probably couldn't, but I'd do my best for you.”

“And what of after the ascension.”

“What do you mean, my king?”

“What are your plans? You will be Peak Lord, as you say. Do you plan to rise higher?”

“There isn't really a higher position than that...?”

“You could be sect leader.”

“Haha, absolutely the f*ck not. No way are they putting me in charge of more sh*t. No, thank you.”

“Human emperor.”

“Me? My king, first of all, humans are a lot choosier about that sort of thing than demons. I can't just go and defeat the previous emperor in combat to take his place, that would be-- and second of all! Why would I want that? That sounds even worse than being a Peak Lord. At least at Cang Qiong, I can cultivate and only have to deal with the weird drama of immortal masters, which can be kind of funny. If I was in a human court, I'd have to worry about so much more ridiculous bullsh*t.”

“So you want for nothing, now?”

“I wouldn't say that.”

“What, then?”

“I want... time to relax. An entire plate of spicy fèngzhuǎ to myself that won't give me heartburn. A personal scribe who takes notes for me while I walk around all day. Cash? I don’t know, my king.”

“Ridiculous.”

“What, can’t a guy have dreams?”

“You do not need this one for those things.”

“... no, not really. Why would I?”

“And yet still you claim to serve me.”

“Claim— my king! I told you I would serve you for the rest of my life. Becoming Peak Lord doesn’t change that. I’m only becoming Peak Lord so I can serve you even better!”

Mobei-jun stalks around his room like a caged tiger. He circles Shang Qinghua, gaze locked on him, and Shang Qinghua feels like he is, in this metaphor, a watermelon full of meat that the tiger is contemplating batting around with his giant, deadly paws. He doesn't think he’s done anything to deserve being interrogated like this. Mobei-jun has some nerve questioning Shang Qinghua’s loyalty after everything he’s put up with over the years. He’s not even lying when he says Mobei-jun is his reason for becoming Peak Lord. Sure, he has to do it or the System will kill him —will it?— but the only advantage is that it makes him an even better resource for the future king of the Northern Desert.

Mobei-jun interrupts his own predatory stalking with another question.

“Was it truly his human lover who lured him out?”

“What, my king?”

“Did that cultivator, Su Xiyan, betray the Emperor and lead him to his death?”

“Did— oh, no my king, it was all a big conspiracy. Su Xiyan really did fall in love with Tianlang-jun, and vice-versa. But when her master found out her feelings for him were genuine and that she wasn’t just trying to manipulate him, he locked her up. Then he found out— ah, well, it doesn’t matter, but he used her name to draw out Tianlang-jun and then claimed the demon Emperor kidnapped her when actually he poisoned her himself and…” He trails off. Mobei-jun’s face has gone blank. Disinterest? “Aha, well, my king probably doesn't care about all that.”

“It is dangerous. For a demon to give his heart to a human,” Mobei-jun says. He’s still frowning, long dark hair falling around his shoulders like the ink that drips from Shang Qinghua’s brush. Ah, he’s so beautiful.

“Yes, my king.”

“And it is dangerous for a human cultivator to be known to sympathise with demons, let alone to take one as a lover.”

“Ah, yes, my king. It certainly is that.”

Mobei-jun turns again and returns to pacing. Shang Qinghua lets out a breath at getting that intense gaze off of him. Mobei-jun is so prone to strange moods like this. If Shang Qinghua didn’t know him better he would almost call Mobei-jun a romantic for the way he seems to be so concerned over the love story between Tianlang-jun and Su Xiyan, rather than the politics or battle.

“What have you learned of the Southern Clans? Tianlang-jun's fall has opened many doors for the power-hungry in the South.”

“Not the North?” Shang Qinghua asks.

“My father and Tianlang-jun may not have been allies, but they have long left each other to their business. Tianlang-jun had little taste for the cold or the old traditions of the North. Our people know who holds true power in our lands, and the lesser clans do not dare attempt to seize power from the Northern Desert. If they wish to use Tianlang-jun's fall to their advantage, they will go South as well.”

“Well, that's good my king! I guess I can see why your father wasn't too worried. It's pretty much as you say— some of the Southern clans are making a grab for the spot of 'emperor,' while others are drawing back and trying to stake a claim to their newfound freedom. Some clans don't seem to think Tianlang-jun is gone for good. A couple of bloodlines loyal to the line of the Heavenly Emperor have sealed off the Underground Palace and might be going into hiding. I'm keeping track of everyone I can in case my king ever requires their knowledge or artefacts. Jiuzhong-jun currently has control of the largest portion of the South, but I don't think he's going to make a bid for emperor himself. He might be a good ally for you, my king, I've heard he doesn't get along well with your uncle, and none of your brothers have gone far enough South to encounter him before.”

“Mn.”

Little response to Shang Qinghua’s deluge of information. Mobei-jun picks up a glittering, opalescent antler from Shang Qinghua’s desk and fiddles with it. How long has that been there? He doesn’t remember when he started using it as a glorified paperweight. It’s pretty, little rainbow ripples running down its glass-like, branching shape.

“... If I may ask, my king, if your father doesn't plan to make a power grab, what...?”

“He will move against Huan Hua Palace, not against the Southern Clans.”

“Ah, right, right, my king mentioned something like that. Well, as I said in my letter, Huan Hua isn't doing so hot at the moment. There were a lot of casualties, and losing Su Xiyan was a major blow. Even with their ridiculous numbers, it will take some time and a big recruiting push to find new cultivators to fill their ranks, and a lot longer than that to train them to be any good.”

“My father has ordered me to infiltrate the sect.”

“To infiltrate— to infiltrate Huan Hua Palace Sect?”

“Yes. I will go there tonight.”

“My king, that's not safe! They have wards up all over the palace, and they're sure to be on high alert so soon after Tianlang-jun's sealing just in case he does get out. I felt the wards around the Water Prison myself—”

“I know. This lord read it in your report.”

“Ah, my king, you really did read my letters!”

“That is why Qinghua will be coming with me.”

Haha, did Mobei-jun just say what he thinks he said? Because there is no way in f*ck that Shang Qinghua will be going anywhere near Huan Hua Palace right now, and preferably never will again.

“Why I will be what,” he asks, not really a question.

“You will accompany me to Huan Hua tonight. My father has ordered the assassination of several of the high-ranked members of Huan Hua Palace. You are a cultivator, you can pass through wards I cannot, and you have been inside the sect itself recently.”

“M-my king, I can't!”

Mobei-jun frowns and sets the antler back on Shang Qinghua’s desk. “Do not be a coward.”

“I am a coward, my king! I really cannot do that. I don't even think you should do that.”

“You. Are. Coming,” Mobei-jun says. He punctuates every word with a step close to Shang Qinghua until they’re standing almost nose-to-nose on the near side of Shang Qinghua’s leisure house. Well, nose-to-tit*, which is not good for Shang Qinghua’s concentration.

He shakes off the natural horniness that such a sight (Mobei-jun, lines of anger on his face, muscles flexing, chest exposed, so close) causes to keep up his annoyance. Doesn’t this prince ever get tired of bossing him around and ordering him into deadly situations? He is not having a repeat of the snake incident. He wouldn’t put it past Huan Hua to have some way to eat him alive, too.

“I am not! I-I'm sorry my king, but if you want to do this, you're on your own.”

“You dare defy your prince?” Mobei-Jun leans over Shang Qinghua until their faces are a breath apart. The shocking, inhuman ice of his gaze is close enough that Shang Qinghua could fall into it if he’s not careful.

“Yes. Yes, I do!” Shang Qinghua says. “I’m defying! My king, I can’t do this for you right now, I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Mobei-jun growls.

Huan Hua Palace is probably the most dangerous place for him in the cultivation world right now. The Palace Master is already suspicious of him and might already know about the baby even if Shang Qinghua is almost certain he doesn’t know it’s a half-demon. And he can’t risk the old f*cker finding out. But Shang Qinghua also can’t tell Mobei-jun any of that reasoning. He hardens his expression, instead, layering anger over fear. “I don’t have to explain. I’m telling you— no.”

Mobei-jun lets out a demonic snarl and strikes out at him with one clawed hand.

He stumbles back from the blow, catching it on his shoulder, surprised but not hurt. It wasn’t a hard hit, it’s nothing the man hasn’t done before. Mobei-jun has been fighting him —hitting him, beating him up, whatever you want to call it— almost as long as they’ve known each other. Whenever Shang Qinghua defies him, whenever the conversation between them gets too heated, sometimes for seemingly no reason at all.

Shang Qinghua doesn’t like pain, but he’ll take it from this man. When he was younger, that was because he had no hope of fighting back. He was weak and Mobei-jun was strong. Now, it’s mostly out of fear of his impending canonical fate— what if one strike back is all it takes for Mobei-jun to decide Shang Qinghua is betraying him and finally end his miserable life?

Currently, though, Shang Qinghua has more than himself to protect. And perhaps not for the first time, he finds that the emotion Mobei-jun trying to knock him around elicits in him is not quivering fear but shooting anger. He’s pissed.

“f*ck off,” he spits. He shoves at Mobei-jun’s chest with qi-infused palms, and his king easily brushes his hands off, not even wavering. “f*ck off! Do your dirty work yourself for once you spoiled— ”

Mobei-jun throws a punch at his face, and Shang Qinghua slides a palm around his wrist to deflect the strike, then another when Mobei-jun redirects to come at him from the other side. Mobei-jun swipes his legs out from under him and Shang Qinghua flails, falls, but keeps a grip on Mobei-jun’s left hand. He slides under the larger man’s legs and clumsily finds his footing behind him as Mobei-jun turns.

Mobei-jun’s next strike is direct, powerful, and charged with his own demonic qi. Terrified it will hit his abdomen and hurt the baby, he ducks his head and shields with his forearms, curling in on himself and surging his qi instead of trying to deflect. It connects, hard, and sends him flying back across the room. He slams into a bookcase, and there’s a crunch as some artefact shatters on impact. Books and scrolls rain around him.

When he looks up, Mobei-jun is smirking down at him. He looks so f*cking pleased, the absolute bastard.

“Is something funny?” Shang Qinghua asks, pulling himself up on a half-broken shelf.

Mobei-jun’s smirk widens. Shang Qinghua thinks, f*ck it, this asshole thinks he can just keep coming to Shang Qinghua’s house and threatening him? Shang Qinghua wrote him. Shang Qinghua has spent years as his servant, slaving over whatever tasks Mobei-jun gives him, just for the privilege of not being killed!

He hasn’t let himself picture what will happen, exactly, between him and Mobei-jun after the baby is born. Picturing Mobei-jun and his baby in the same space has the horrendous possibility of making him think soft, domestic, impossible things just as often as it leaves him shaking with fear at the thought of leaving his kid orphaned or, worse, threatened by the same man who might kill Shang Qinghua.

But it sure as f*ck isn’t going to be this! Shang Qinghua has decided right now. He isn’t letting anyone hit his kid, or threaten them, or make them feel unsafe, or put them in danger. Born yet or not, Shang Qinghua will protect them.

Shang Qinghua bounces on the balls of his feet and settles into a ready stance. He surges his qi, opening his meridians wide and letting it flood his body. His breathing deepens, heart rate kicks up. An Ding’s physical cultivation techniques may not be as flashy as Bai Zhan’s or Ku Xing’s, but they do one better— they’re practical. Across the small space, he sees Mobei-jun sink into a proper fighting stance, mirroring him.

He waits. Mobei-jun’s eyes flash with demonic light, and then he pounces, leaping forward. Shang Qinghua takes two steps forward, as if to meet him, and then pivots. He darts to the side, kicks off the ground, and uses his shoddy qigong to hit a spot high on the wall, knocking away a decorative scroll. He turns, tucking his legs up under him and planting his hands behind him. His mouth feels wet, iron coating his tongue. He isn’t sure if the nosebleed is from the baby or from hitting the bookshelf, but he’ll take it either way. As Mobei-jun twists and turns to face him again, he kicks back off.

As he leaps back off the wall, Shang Qinghua swipes a hand over his mouth and stamps it against a spot on the wall previously covered by the hanging scroll. He crashes into Mobei-jun, plants one foot on the man’s shoulder, and brings up his opposite knee to crack into Mobei-jun’s stupid, perfect nose.

At the same time, the wards covering the walls, floor, and ceiling of every room of his leisure house activate.

Shang Qinghua’s knee connects with his face, at the same time that all the demonic qi in the room drains away in a rush. Mobei-jun crashes to the floor.

Shang Qinghua goes down with him, landing hard on top of the demon prince. He quickly pushes himself up, gasping, and plants his forearms across Mobei-jun’s shoulders to keep the man pinned. Even without any demonic energy to back it up, Mobei-jun is still, mm, about three times Shang Qinghua’s size, taking all of that bulky muscle into consideration. Bolstering himself with qi he might, might, be stronger for a minute or two, but that’s a big if. He has to take his advantage while he has it.

He draws one hand back to form a fire seal in the air with his bloody palm. At such close range, with no demonic qi to back him up, Shang Qinghua could seriously incapacitate him with fire, if not kill him. He could be done with this, done with the impending threat of his death once and for all. Power flares to life and he rears back to strike, but—

Mobei-jun is under him, once again. At his mercy, as Shang Qinghua holds his life in his hands, again. He’s looking up at him, sharp eyes wide, lips parted slightly in surprise. And Shang Qinghua just can’t—

Mobei-jun’s hands are around his waist. One palm slides down his side, and traces the curve of his stomach under his robes. Shang Qinghua’s breath catches in his throat, and the talisman flickers out.

He tries to jerk away, but Mobei-jun’s grip tightens and holds him in place. He’s half on top of the man. Claws prick against his back when he struggles.

“M-my king,” he gasps. “That’s not—”

He doesn’t know what to say.

“Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-jun says slowly. “This…”

Shang Qinghua’s throat tightens in panic. Mobei-jun must see the confirmation in his eyes, or else the feeling of Shang Qinghua pressed against him is simply too unmistakable for the man to misunderstand. His eyes go even wider.

Abruptly, Mobei-jun sits up. Shang Qinghua yelps and slides off of him, only to be caught again in Mobei-jun’s firm grip. Shang Qinghua is practically sprawled in his lap, with Mobei-jun holding one of his wrists in each hand.

Probably wise. Shang Qinghua can’t promise he wouldn’t draw another fire talisman, at a time like this.

“You are… with child?”

Shang Qinghua barks a laugh. “That’s— that’s one way of putting it.”

Mobei-jun releases one wrist to, surprisingly gently, lay a large palm over the centre of Shang Qinghua’s stomach. At the same moment the wards fail, and Shang Qinghua gasps when Mobei-jun’s demonic energy brushes against his own in a shocking spark of contrasting qi.

“How long?”

“… six and a half months. Or so.”

Mobei-jun’s expression twists. “When you infiltrated the Crystal Cave Snake Demons—”

“Yes. I was pregnant then, but I didn’t know. I realised, after that. What you said, about my qi, how I wasn’t healing? I’d been sick before that. Really sick, and it wasn’t getting better, I thought there was something wrong with me,” he gives a dry laugh. “Turns out I was right, but not the way I thought. A doctor told me after that.”

“How could you hide this from me?” Mobei-jun demands.

“How could I tell you! I know— I know you only keep me around because I’m useful, and I’m only useful to you as long as I can help your position in the North rise. My king, I promise, I can still be useful. I can be, I really can.”

Mobei-jun releases him. Shang Qinghua scrambles off of him as the demon prince stands, and follows him up with some wincing. His hips already hurt like a bitch, and as the adrenaline of the fight fades, it’s clear being thrown into a bookcase did him no favours.

They stand across from each other in the dim light of Shang Qinghua’s leisure house. Somehow, they seem to keep ending up back here, time after time. The king and his spy, the demon prince of the north and his lowly An Ding traitor.

“A demon,” Mobei-jun says flatly.

“Yes,” Shang Qinghua admits. There’s no point in denials— without the wards draining it, there’s no way he won’t be able to sense the baby’s qi signature, tiny and washed out by Shang Qinghua’s spiritual energy as it is. He squeezes his eyes closed.

“… ours?”

“Now how the f*ck would that have happened?”

“There are plants that can accomplish such things with the qi, or blood, of two individuals.”

“No. No, it’s not ours.” Shang Qinghua looks down, wrapping his arms around himself. “It was an accident, while I was on a mission. The… the old fashioned way.”

“An accident.”

“What, you think I said to myself one day, ‘Hey, Qinghua, your life as a scum traitor is too easy, you know what you need? A half-demon baby! Let’s make that happen!’”

“Who?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Shang Qinghua grits out. He feels cold all over. Maybe it’s Mobei-jun’s icy aura, but he feels frozen from the core out. Blood is pounding in his ears. And Mobei-jun isn’t even doing anything, isn’t shouting or threatening him. Somehow that’s worse. Shang Qinghua wishes he would do something, make some expression, anything so that Shang Qinghua would know how he feels about this. If he’s angry, if he’s disgusted, if he, maybe, if he—

“Will they marry you?”

“Wh-what?”

“Will they marry you? Take responsibility and legitimise your child.”

“Wh— no! Absolutely they will not. He couldn’t, and even if he could, there is no f*cking way he would.”

Mobei-jun nods. His fingers curl, clenching into fists. Shang Qinghua watches him, waiting. Waiting for something, anything.

Instead, Mobei-jun turns from him and disappears through an inky portal.

Shang Qinghua watches the place where he had been standing. The orange glow of candlelight suffuses the room, and the remaining shadows flicker and dance. But none of them herald Mobei-jun’s reemergence. He left Shang Qinghua, standing here, alone in his home.

Slowly, Shang Qinghua sinks back to the floor.

Chapter 22

Chapter Text

Shang Qinghua picks himself up off the floor when dawn breaks.

The bookshelf is still shattered, its contents strewn across the floor. Books and scrolls spill from the cracked frame, and pottery shards from the broken spiritual vase glitter amongst them. He should clean it up. Instead, he pulls a blanket from the bed and throws it over the worst of the damage.

He needs to eat if he doesn’t want to spend the morning being sick, so he leaves his house to go to An Ding’s dining hall. It’s full despite the early hour— An Ding is the peak that never sleeps, and plenty of the masters and disciples with chores or missions at daybreak come for a pre-work breakfast. An Ding’s kitchens rise before the sun does, and stay open all day. There are no set meal times, and Shui Ansheng doesn’t exactly enforce breaks for lunch.

He entertains himself with thoughts of planned improvements to An Ding’s working conditions while he gets his congee. He gets strange looks from a few other seniors as he drifts from the kitchens to the tables, and only notices why when he catches his reflection on the surface of his tea cup. A florid bruise has bloomed over the side of his face, stretching from nose to ear and down almost to his chin on the right side of his face. It looks like he got thrown into a wall. So, hey, exactly like what it is.

He gives himself a quick check over while he eats mechanically. His robes cover any other bruising, although if his sleeves ride up on the same side more of it is visible, a deep green-blue across his skin, not yet darkening to purple. It doesn’t hurt unless he presses on it, but it's definitely not going to look great when it fully sets in.

Back in his rooms, he tries meditating and speeding up the healing with his spiritual energy. It’s just as sluggish to respond as it was after the fight against the Crystal Cave Snake Demons, most of it trickling off when he circulates it. The bruising doesn’t fade at all.

He sighs and feeds energy into the little burning star of the baby instead. It’s soaked up quickly, and he feels a surge of guilt in his chest.

Did I hurt you?

There’s nothing to do but hope he and the baby were both shielded by his cultivation in a way an ordinary human wouldn’t have been. If something happened to the baby because of him, because of his king… he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

——

Shang Qinghua wants nothing more than to hide in his leisure house for a few days, until the bruises to both his pride and his face heal. But his house is also where other people come to find him approximately five times a minute, and none of the people he associates with can be trusted to knock, so he has no choice but to make himself scarce.

He chases any work he can, keeps late hours, sleeps in various offices rather than his own bed. He reviews nighthunt requests, sends out missives to each peak for finalised post-ascension building material requests, and spends almost an entire day writing thank you letters to the generous merchants and cultivators who have been sending gifts to the peak lords, future and current, as if the immortal masters who are about to ascend particularly need worldly things like fancy tea, fancy ornaments, and fancy… beetles?

He makes sure to write some extra-flowery thank-yous in Chun Anyuan’s name for that particular gift.

On day one, no one bothers him. The next day he’s supposed to be going down the mountain for a quick visit to Guo Lantian, which usually means Liu Qingge will be accompanying him. He leaves a note on his desk explaining he’ll be busy for a few days, and will go down when he has a chance later. Day three he reschedules his usual tea with Yue Qingyuan, and almost throws himself into a decorative koi pond avoiding the man when he spots him dropping by the classrooms looking for him.

It’s only after the fourth day goes by with no contact from his fellow head disciples that people start to get weird about it.

He has shifted his usual training of the juniors onto Lan Xuan, that faithful shimei who accompanied him and Liu Qingge on the hunt for the Violet Eternal Dusk Wolves. This hasn’t stopped his personal trio of menaces from following him around.

“Da-shixiong, did you get into a fight with Liu-shidi?” Deng Tuwen asks on the second day of his self-imposed sojourn from socialisation. He’s double checking their inventory accounts of spiritual wood and conducting a surprise storage inspection (you would not believe how often he has to beat it into his martial siblings heads that ‘there cannot be any water in the storage rooms or the wood will warp’ means ‘check for leaks or an entire small village’s worth of high class spiritual wood will be ruined’).

“What makes you say that?” he asks, trying to poke at the floor-seam on the far wall of the storage room without bending over.

“Your face.”

“Ran into a wall. How many times have I told you not to try to do paperwork while you fly? This is why you should do as I say, not as I do.”

“You shouted at one of the messengers who brought a damage report from Bai Zhan.”

“... that was unrelated. And I apologised!”

“And no one has seen you training together recently.”

“Who says we have to train in front of all of you nosy juniors? Maybe we’re training in private.”

“Shixiong, I assure you, all of us would wish you only the best in the world if you were ‘training’ with Liu-shidi in private.”
Shang Qinghua looks up from his faux-clipboard to make a scandalised expression at her.

“And,” she continues, like a menace, “Miaoqing saw him hanging around your rooms three times in the last few days. Shixiong, it’s getting sad. It’s like you started feeding a feral cat and then abandoned it. If he offended you, please forgive him. I can’t deal with it if we go back to needing to wrangle Bai Zhan ourselves. I never want to set foot on their peak again.”

“Just for that comment, I’m making you do their next grounds assessment.”

“Shixiong!”

This silences her for long enough that he can finish the inventory count of the different varieties of wood and the check-over of the storage space, and move onto refreshing the preservation, bug repelling, and anti-humidity charms.

“ Did he fight you though?” she asks as he carefully paints on the talismans. “Because if he did, we can fight him instead.”

“I hate to break this to you, Shimei, but you would not be able to win a fight against the head disciple of Bai Zhan Peak.”

“Maybe not with blades,” she admits, “But between all of us, I bet we could make him regret messing with An Ding. See how tough he is when all his soap gets laced with spider pheromones.”

“I’m touched, really.” He finishes up the new talismans, and puts his hands on his hips with a sigh. “But Liu-shidi didn’t punch me in the face. I just don’t want to see him right now. It’s not weird.”

“Okay Shixiong,” she says, sounding unconvinced. Sounding like a young woman considering making use of some spider pheromones.

——

Shang Qinghua is fine, is the thing. He’s not going to melt from not seeing his friends for a few days! A week. A week and a half. It’s whatever! So he’s taking a little longer to visibly heal than he expected. His face doesn’t even hurt, besides the persistent and annoying headaches that have nothing to do with Mobei-f*cking-jun and everything to do with gestating a tiny human… demon… person . So he doesn’t want to talk to anyone, or answer any nosy questions. What is he going to say, “Don’t worry about it, my demon boss just threw me into a wall but it’s cool, he’ll probably never want to see me again anyways!”

So he, maybe, started crying hysterically when someone asked him about some An Ding speciality demon-repelling talismans. He’s pregnant, give him a break. Baby Airplane has not been making this emotional crisis easier, both on account of being the basic cause and because they have seemingly decided to triple in size overnight. He feels like he’s smuggling a giant water balloon around under his robes at all times. It makes him twitchy and paranoid, even when he checks and re-checks that the cut of his clothing still covers everything up. It’s like being back in the first days of his pregnancy, where every set of eyes on him felt like they were seeing through him to the thing he is desperate to hide.

Unfortunately the one — one — hysterical crying stint makes his juniors go nuts. Du Rouhuang begins showing up with food anywhere Shang Qinghua has run off to and peppering him with questions and leading statements about what might be ‘troubling him.’ Lu Maiying hangs off his arm while he runs errands, even though she’s been assigned to construction just like all new An Ding outer disciples and shouldn’t be anywhere near his business. Deng Tuwen continues to make threatening noises towards his acquaintances and business partners, and he is forced to ignore a few increasingly frantic memos from Bai Zhan Peak asking for assistance with a ‘pest’ problem.

Zhong Miaoqing, at least, doesn’t stoop so low as to cling to him. They are, unfortunately, way worse!

Shui Ansheng is off doing who-knows-what in town, so Shang Qinghua has his master’s office for the day. He’s sorting through… something. Old sect supply records? In what was initially an attempt to clear off more of the desk so he could spread out his actual work, and which morphed into an aggressive organisational session somewhere after the third unsorted pile of important looking documents. Shui Ansheng has clearly never heard of sorting things by date or alphabetically, and Shang Qinghua will introduce both systems here if it kills him. Given the weird dusts and suspiciously rusty inks on some of these scrolls, the risk is low but never zero.

He turns when he hears the door slide open, and Zhong Miaoqing pokes their head in.

“What’s up?” he asks absently, “Oh, do you have those reports from the trade caravans? We need at least two of them to be on their way back, like, yesterday if they want to be here in time for—”

“Oh good, you’re here. Shixiong, please take care of this matter and restore peace on the peak before Deng-shimei gets us all killed,” Zhong Miaoqing says. They bow shallowly, and then disappear from the doorway, to be replaced by Yue Qingyuan’s apologetic face.

“Hey, traitor!” Shang Qinghua calls after them, “What the f*ck?!”

Zhong Miaoqing is either gone already or ignores him. He couldn’t say, because Yue Qingyuan is stepping into the office, and both Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge are attempting to be the first to shove themselves through after him.

“ God-f*cking-damn ,” he whispers, turning around to shove some of the scrolls roughly onto the shelves lining the room.

“Hello to you too,” Shen Qingqiu says snidely.

“Shidi,” Yue Qingyuan says. “We’re sorry to bother you while you’re working—”

“I’m not sorry.”

“Could you shut up?”

“ Make me you brute.”

“— but I just wanted to make sure everything was alright. We haven’t seen each other for some days, and your juniors seemed to think something might be… amiss.”

Traitors, all of them. First Mu Qingfang months ago, now this. At least they didn’t go blabbering to Shui Ansheng this time, that’s all he needs.

He forces a laugh, back still turned. “Nothing is ‘amiss,’ I’m just busy . You seriously have no idea how much work An Ding has on its hands right now. We’re pretty much singlehandedly managing the hand off of power across all twelve peaks, including our own, not to mention supply orders, night hunt requests, meeting with merchants, construction, checking over the accounts. I can go on.”

“I would never doubt shidi is busy. Still, I can’t help but be concerned, given…”

Shang Qinghua cuts him a sharp look, only turning the left side of his face towards them. “Given what ?”

“Just—”

“If you’re going to imply I can’t handle my duties again, you are welcome to turn around and get back to Qiong Ding, where your own duties are no doubt missing you.”

He shoves another scroll onto the shelf with more force than necessary, which sends a few more tumbling off. He curses, and curses again when he has to bend his knees at a weird angle to pick them up around his too-large stomach.

“I have no intention of doubting you. I know you are more than capable of handling your own affairs. Still, I consider you a friend, and you disappeared suddenly. I, we , wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

“I’m fine,” Shang Qinghua says tightly.

“Then what’s wrong with your face?” Shen Qingqiu asks.

Fuuuck. Shang Qinghua can’t turn around to face them, but staying turned away is just as damning. He manages to fish the scrolls off the floor and tosses them into a messy pile on a mostly empty shelf— Shui Ansheng won’t notice anyways.

“Nothing is wrong with my face.”

There’s a shift behind him. Liu Qingge steps across the room and grabs his arm in a tight grip. Shang Qinghua winces and tries to turn, to pull away, but Liu Qingge easily manhandles him until the other man is gripping his jaw and turning his face towards the candlelight.

“What happened ?” Liu Qingge growls.

“Nothing!” Shang Qinghua says. He shoves at Liu Qingge’s chest until the other man lets him go, then drops into the cushion at Shui Ansheng’s desk. “If you all don’t mind, I still have work to do.”

“Someone hit you,” Liu Qingge says. “Who?”

“I just hit my head. Flying accident.”

“Why were you flying like that when you’re—”

“Oh my god, please shut up!”

“It was their father, wasn’t it?” Shen Qingqiu asks, eyes narrow dangerously. He moves his folded fan between his hands, wringing it like he’s imagining it’s someone’s neck.

Shang Qinghua leans over the desk and picks up a brush. His hands shake as he grabs an ink stone and starts to lay out his work. If they’re going to bother him, they’ll watch him fill out reports.

“It wasn’t! It wasn’t their father. Their father wouldn’t give a f*ck. It was just— it—”

It wasn’t , is the thing. Mobei-jun isn’t their father. No matter what fantasies Shang Qinghua might have entertained, on particularly long nights, of him and Mobei-jun together in some form —f*ck buddies, friends-to-lovers, soulmates, whatever— Mobei-jun is never going to want to have a family with him. Mobei-jun is his ideal man, with everything that implies about the person he once was, and Shang Qinghua has sworn his loyalty to him, and sometimes he thinks about f*cking him, and sometimes he thinks about a sweet little domestic future where they get to live together happily every after. All it’s ever been is a fantasy . Mobei-jun doesn’t even like him. Mobei-jun is going to kill him someday.

Suddenly, his hands are shaking. He hears what Shen Qingqiu says in response to his words, but his mind just sort of clips past it, comprehension like water through a sieve. His mouth feels wet.

Yue Qingyuan is kneeling by his desk, eyes wide. “Shidi? Are you alright? Is it the baby?”

"Oh sh*t," Shang Qinghua hears himself say distantly. There is blood on his brush like ink. "Am I having a panic attack?"

His heart is pounding in his chest, and an anxious tension is climbing up his shoulders and neck and behind his eyes. The migraine he's been suppressing all day sends bursts of colour through his wavering vision.

There is a rush of indistinct noise, and he finds himself dropping towards the ground with hands on his shoulders. Did someone push him? Rude! More voices, and he’s burning hot, and he wishes Mobei-jun were here to cool him down. There’s the sizzle of a talisman being activated.

Then he’s laying on the floor, and Mu Qingfang is hovering over him.

He opens his mouth and says something approximately like, “Whadthf*ck?”

“Shixiong,” Mu Qingfang says, voice very even, “You’re having a qi deviation.”

“Ohsh*t. F’real?” He licks his lips and tastes blood. His face is wet.

“Qinghua, I’m sorry, we had to send an alert talisman to Mu Qingfang. Liu-shidi and I weren’t able to stabilise you ourselves… please just hold still,” Yue Qingyuan says softly.

“There is demonic qi disrupting your meridians. This is very important. Have you made contact with a demonic artefact? Or encountered a curse? I need you to tell me honestly.”

Shang Qingqhua clumsily fumbles up a hand and presses it over his face. f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck.

“No,” he gasps, “Nothing.”

“Shixiong, it is destabilising your cultivation system, and if we don’t get it under control, you’re going to continue to deviate. I need you to tell me, even if it’s your best guess, what’s creating all the demonic energy in your system.”

Shang Qinghua curls onto his side, trying to draw away from Mu Qingfang’s hands, and shakes his head.

He can see the other three now, all crouched around them in a little semi-circle. Liu Qingge looks enraged, which Shang Qinghua knows means barely suppressed panic on the young man’s face. Yue Qingyuan looks grim and pale but firm, steady. He reaches out and catches one of Shang Qinghua’s hands, gives it a little squeeze.

Shen Qingqiu… Shen Qingqiu is looking at him. His face morphs from poorly concealed concern to something incredulous. Something more like horror.

“No,” Shen Qingqiu breathes. “Shang Qinghua, tell me you didn’t.”

“What?” Liu Qingge asks, looking between the two of them. His hand is on the hilt of his sword, as if this is a problem he can fight .

Mu Qingfang scowls at them, “Will someone tell me what I’m missing so I can keep him from deadly qi deviation ?”

“S’not an artefact,” he slurs. He grabs Mu Qingfang’s hand and drags it to his stomach, presses both of their palms against the swell of his abdomen. He squeezes his eyes shut, unwilling to see whatever expression Mu Qingfang makes.

He hears the younger man curse. Then his palm shifts as the healer plants one hand on his stomach and the other on his forehead. He gasps as his spiritual energy begins to circulate in strange swirls, Mu Qingfang forcefully directing the qi along rarely used channels, sending out pulses of his own energy to flood Shang Qinghua’s meridians.

“Please,” Shang Qinghua says. The more cool, clear spiritual energy Mu Qingfang sends into his system, the clearer his head becomes, and that leaves room for fear. He tries to reach up and grab Mu Qingfang’s sleeve, but Yue Qingyuan reaches out and gently pulls his hand away. “You can’t tell anyone. Please .”

“What?” Liu Qingge asks again. “Why would—”

“It’s a demon. That’s why he’s been so desperate to hide it,” Shen Qingqiu says.

Shang Qinghua shakes his head, but there’s barely a point in trying to deny it now.

“Half,” he says, “half-demon.”

Yue Qingyuan looks struck. “Shidi? How?”

“I would much rather know who . Or better you, why! ”

“Isn’t it obvious,” Shang Qinghua grits out. “What, do you think I’ve been doing this, hiding this, for fun and profit ?”

“No,” Shen Qingqiu says, “I mean why keep the thing! If some demon assaulted you, why—”

“No one assaulted me, f*ck you! It’s my body, I can do what I want with it. Who gets to decide my baby should die just because it’s half-demon?”

“Oh, so you willingly consorted with demons?”

“Is that what happened to your face?” Liu Qingge interrupts. Shang Qinghua winces, while Shen Qingqiu looks like he’s reaching never-before-seen levels of enraged.

“No,” Shang Qinghua says. “No, that’s… it wasn’t him. It really was a misunderstanding. A friend and I were talking, and we sometimes… spar. We got into a fight, but he didn’t know… he didn’t know.”

“So it wasn’t the demon who did this?”

“No!” Just a different demon, hahahahaha. Ha. God.

“If Shidi could perhaps explain…?” Yue Qingyuan suggests. Liu Qingge is stony and silent beside him. Shang Qinghua doesn’t want to look at him. God, first Mobei-jun, and now all of this. All his work to build up allies and endear himself to the sect, all his work to ingratiate himself to his king, everything he’s doing to keep his baby and himself safe, and it’s all going up in smoke.

Mu Qingfang’s flow of spiritual energy redoubles. He shudders at the sensation.

“He’s still on the edge of deviation. I can only do so much to stabilise his energy with a self-repleating source of demonic qi in his system. Whatever else happens, Shang-shixiong is my patient, and if you want him to stay in any condition to answer questions, then everyone will be civil.

This quiets the other three, but it reminds Shang Qinghua once again of how much he has to lose here. “Listen, if you need to report this to the sect, please just let me leave. They’re not even born yet, I’m not going to hurt anyone.”

“No one is going to report anything,” Mu Qingfang says. He levels a meaningful glare at the other three. Liu Qingge nods sharply, and Yue Qingyuan offers him a sympathetic, if hesitant, smile. Shen Qingqiu looks away, but makes no move to contradict him. “I’m just going to treat the deviation. We don’t even have to leave the room. Any further action can come later, once you and… the baby, are out of immediate danger.”

“I’m gonna have to clean blood off the floor,” Shang Qinghua groans. “Also, we are so f*cked if Shizun gets back any time soon.”

“We’ll help,” Yue Qingyuan says. “Xiao Jiu put up privacy talismans before we came in, so we should know before we’re disturbed.”

“Great,” Shang Qinghua grumbles.

“If you can complain, you can explain,” Shen Qingqiu says.

“... fine. Okay, yeah.” Might as well! “What… what do you want to know?”

“How did this happen?” Yue Qingyuan asks, with a bit more tact than probably anyone else in the room is capable.

“I don’t know?” Shang Qinghua tries.

“So you just fell onto a demon’s dick? Or perhaps this is an immaculate conception of a half-demon child due to the alignment of the stars?” Shen Qingqiu demands.

"No, bro." Shang Qinghua says, "I mean I don't know . I was in the demon realm and I fell into a field of blue lilies and blacked out! I woke up five days later in an inn on the border wearing a different outfit! It took me two weeks to find my sword."

This elicits a lot of staring from the peanut gallery.

Shang Qinghua lets his head thunk down against the floor. The more the deviation fades, the more aware he is of his awkward position, shrimped up on the wooden slats of his Shizun’s office. He wriggles, and Mu Qingfang helps him sit up. He winces and presses a hand to his stomach at the shift in position, but otherwise feels okay. A little over-warm, wrung out, but his mind feels clearer than it has in days, his head no longer aching and his emotions a little less close to the surface. Hmm.

“I thought you said you knew who it was?” Liu Qingge says.

“Uhhh. Well. There was someone else there when I woke up. He, like, filled me in a little bit on what had happened. But he was just some guy! He was polite…ish! How was I supposed to know if he was a demon or not? Like, sure, he had sort of a vibe , but you can’t go around accusing random guys of being demons based on vibes they have, like, what if I was wrong?”

Yue Qingyuan puts his head in his hands.

“It’s not that bad…?” Shang Qinghua tries, although it is extremely bad, when he says it like that. Less bad than the complete truth though!

“How could you hide this from us?” Liu Qingge asks.

Shang Qinghua blinks, surprised by his vehemence. “This is a righteous cultivation sect, and I’m trying to have a half-demon baby. How could I tell you?”

“You don’t trust us,” Liu Qingge accuses.

Shang Qinghua swallows. What can he say to that?

Liu Qingge’s expression darkens further at his lack of response. His fists clench in the fabric of his white and silver robes. “I wouldn’t have told anyone. I would have helped protect you, if you had told me. I could have protected you better , if I knew.”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” Shang Qinghua says. “I’ve been protecting myself.”

“Liu-shidi is right,” Yue Qingyuan says. “Shang-shidi, I might not understand the situation or your choices entirely, but I hope you know you can be honest with me. You’ve helped Xiao Jiu and I so much— I trust that you have good intentions at heart.”

Shang Qinghua feels insane. He shakes his head. “I think I’ve given you the wrong impression,” he says, even though that is the impression he’s been working pretty hard to give. This is making his skin crawl. “For real, I’ve just been looking out for myself?”

“And them,” Liu Qingge says, gesturing at his stomach.

“And… and them,” he says.

This is way too much earnestness for him. It's horrible. It’s making his eyes burn.

“So let us help,” Liu Qingge repeats.

Shang Qinghua curls in on himself, wrapping his arms around his stomach. “You’re too quick to trust, Liu-shidi.”

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrow. “There’s more, isn’t there. You’re a sh*t liar.”

Well… better to get this sort of out in the open now, when everyone is being relatively calm about the baby thing. He nods. “If we’re… uh, if we’re being completely honest here. Um, I might not have known the demon who this happened with. But. I do know a demon.”

Both Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge breathe out sharply, and Shang Qinghua has to stifle a hysterical laugh at how similar they can be sometimes.

“We met when I was really young,” Shang Qinghua continues. “He’s the one I, uh, fought with. We had a disagreement. And he— he found out. He knows. About the baby, and that it’s a half demon. He hit me before that, not after though, he wouldn’t— he wouldn’t do that on purpose.”

Liu Qingge’s knuckles are white, and his jaw is set. He says, “Okay. We’ll deal with it,” like it pains him.

Shen Qingqiu glares at him and at Shang Qinghua. He glares at Yue Qingyuan, too, but that seems to be an instinctual consequence of glaring at Yue Qingyuan so often over the years more than anything Yue Qingyuan has done.

“So we’re just fine with this?”

Liu Qingge shrugs. “We’d know if it was a problem. And a single demon is no match for three near-Peak Lords.”

“He is literally admitting to colluding with demons!”

“Like you have so much room to talk.”

“Oh, excuse me, because going to brothels is the same thing as running around with a secret demon ?”

“It’s fine,” Yue Qingyuan says. “Shang-shidi, do you think this demon is a threat to Cang Qiong Mountain?”

“No. Not unless we attack him first. And I don’t know if I’ll see him again. He was— he was really mad. About the baby, and that I hid it from him. I don’t— I don’t think he’s going to come back.”

Shang Qinghua has to swallow hard against the wave of emotion that admission causes. God. God . He’s such a f*ck up.

“Shang-shixiong,” Mu Qingfang interjects, “While I am reserving judgement on the situation, we have a more pressing issue. I’ve stabilised your qi for now, but the child’s energy is going to continue to disrupt your own if you continue like this. How long has it been?”

“Um, seven months, pretty much.”

“So you only have eight weeks or so until the birth, if things go well . I am not an expert on prenatal care, but things do not look ideal. I strongly recommend seclusion until the birth, preferably medical seclusion somewhere I or another similarly capable healer can monitor and stabilise your qi.”

“I absolutely cannot do that,” Shang Qinghua says. “Mu-shidi, I am the Head Disciple of An Ding. I can’t go into seclusion right before one of the most important moments for the sect in the last four hundred years, not to mention my own ascension to Peak Lord . Not only will the sect fall apart without An Ding to supervise it, but also, how could I possibly explain that to Shizun?”

“It’s not a suggestion. If you continue to stress yourself, you will continue to have qi deviations. They’re only going to get worse the farther along the baby gets, and the stronger its demonic energy grows. Not to mention the parts of pregnancy that are already taxing without the addition of unstable qi fluctuations and unknown biology. I mean, Shixiong, do you even know if it will have the same gestational period as a human infant?”

“Um. I think so?”

“That’s not a risk I am willing to take with your health.”

“Okay, okay, what about a seal?” Shang Qinghua asks, inspiration sparking. Su Xiyan had managed this somehow in PIDW— she had died from the poison, not from a baby-induced qi deviation. And she was an array master, responsible for the seal that kept Luo Binghe’s demonic heritage neatly tucked away until it was shattered in the fight with the Black Moon Rhinoceros Python at the edge of the Endless Abyss. “If I can seal away their demonic energy well enough, then it would calm my qi fluctuations and hide them once they’re born.”

Mu Qingfang looks dubious. “Even if that is possible to do without also cutting the child off from the vital qi they will need to grow, it will take time to develop something like that.”

“I’ll take it easy in the meantime. Just long enough to find something that works. Please, shidi, let me try.”

“Let us try,” Yue Qingyuan says, offering them both a small smile. “I’m sure with the five of us working together we can develop something suitable. And Shang-shidi, I’m sure we can help you delegate your duties in the meantime so that you are able to rest adequately.”

Rest . Ugh. The thought gives him hives.

But then he feels the little flutter kick of Baby Airplane against his ribs. He jumps in surprise, then heaves out a huge sigh and places a hand on the spot.

“What?” Liu Qingge demands, concern scrunching his brow.

Shang Qinghua lets out a high, shaky laugh. On a whim he reaches out and grabs Liu Qingge’s hand, then presses it to his stomach.

“Wh—”

“Just wait a sec,” he says. Sure enough, another kick, this one harder. Liu Qingge’s eyes go wide.

No one but Shang Qinghua has ever felt his baby moving. As Liu Qingge brings his other hand around to gently touch his stomach, Shang Qinghua can’t help but let a crooked smile spread on his face.

“See,” he says. “Just a baby in there. Nothing too demonic, right.”

Shen Qingqiu flicks open a fan, hiding his expression behind the painted paper.

“We’ll see,” he says.

His gaze comes to rest on Shang Qinghua’s stomach, too, as Liu Qingge whispers, “Hello, Shizhi.”

——

Liu Qingge and Mu Qingfang both insist on walking him home to keep an eye on him, and Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu apparently don’t want to be left out, so all five of them end up making the short trek back to his leisure house after cleaning up in Shui Ansheng’s office.

Shang Qinghua can’t argue too much against the escort. Be it from all the emotions, the qi deviation, the several days without sleeping in a real bed, or the usual baby stuff, he’s exhausted.

He’s expecting some scrutinising or odd looks from his disciples as he walks with his fellow head disciples. What he doesn’t expect is for a small flock of junior disciples to come running up the path from his leisure house, breathless and shouting, “Da-shixiong! Da-shixiong!”

The fastest junior reaches him and puts her hands on her knees, panting, before she raises her head and points frantically back the way they came.

“Da-shixiong, quick! You have to come see!”

“What, what? Jeez, what’s gotten into you all. Is my house on fire? … Please tell me my house isn’t on fire.”

The junior grabs his sleeve and starts tugging him forward. He shrugs and follows her lead at a sedate pace, his fellow head disciples and An Ding juniors trailing after in a ridiculous little procession.

“It’s not that,” another junior says. “Da-shixiong, look!”

They reach his leisure house, and his view is obstructed by a small crowd standing around it in a disorganised semi-circle. Several senior disciples and even a hallmaster or two are all peering at his house, even though he’s pretty sure it’s not actually on fire. There’s no smoke anyways.

“Hey!” Liu Qingge shouts, moving in front of him and lightly shoving people out of the way. “Don’t you all have better things to do than hang around here and—” he stops short, and Shang Qinghua is forced to peer around him to see what all the fuss is about. And, um.

“What the f*ck is that,” he whispers.

Someone has dropped a bleeding, fanged, multi-colored monster carcass the size of his house on his doorstep.

Chapter 23

Chapter Text

“What. What the hell is this?! What the f*ck!” Shang Qinghua asks no one in particular.

Iridescent green blood seeps out of the huge, ugly beast and into the light layer of snow on the ground. It is also seeping into the wood of the porch, which is going to be a bitch to clean. Shang Qinghua turns accusatory eyes on his sect siblings and disciples who are still hovering.

Mu Qingfang and Yue Qingyuan exchange a perturbed look. Yue Qingyuan reaches out to touch Shang Qinghua’s shoulder lightly.

“Shidi…?”

“No! No Shidi! What— what the f*ck! What is that thing?” He looks at his disciples. “Hello? Someone had better be on their way to get this thing off of my porch. I seriously cannot cope with this right now!”

His heart still feels like it’s skipping every other beat, and his hands are still shaking. Gesturing wildly at the weird dead beast causes him to list to the side slightly, and Yue Qingyuan’s light pat turns gracefully into the man catching his arm and steadying him.

Liu Qingge steps forward and gestures sharply at the small crowd.

“You heard your head disciple. Have the carcass brought to Meng Shou Peak, and send a notice to Qian Cao. Make sure they take only their due from the kill, and have the rest returned to An Ding.”

The older masters continue to exchange conspiratorial whispers and looks, but most of the juniors scatter at Liu Qingge’s words. There is always a wheelbarrow or a cart nearby on An Ding, and several of them go to retrieve one while others head to the monster corpse and begin to poke at it.

“Wear protective equipment!” Shang Qinghua calls. “Don’t just touch its blood without a repelling talisman, are you crazy? This could totally be a murder attempt you know.”

He thinks he sees one junior roll their eyes. The nerve of children these days.

“It’s blood isn’t toxic,” Liu Qingge says. “Shizun took a few of us to hunt one a while ago. Its blood is used as a rare pigment near the borderlands. The meat and organs also have qi-restorative properties, and the fibres of the pelt can be used for weaving.” He sounds almost complimentary, folding his arms and giving the carcass the sort of pleased, assessing look that Shang Qinghua recalls seeing his college roommates give the TV after seeing a strong move from a respected sports team.

Shang Qinghua heaves out a breath and begins hobbling up to his front door, avoiding the oozing monsters with as much dignity as he can manage. “I’ll use that. Hey, I will take that, sounds like a decent bribe waiting to be used. But none of this explains. Why it is on my lawn!”

The disciples currently heaving the thing off of his porch scamper past. One of them grins at Shang Qinghua.

“Congrats on making up with Liu-shidi, Shixiong!”

Shang Qinghua presses his hands to his face. “... I am sleeping. I am going to sleep now. Someone wake me up when I need to get back to work.”

——

Shang Qinghua tells himself he will get right on that whole rest thing… just as soon as he’s fully caught up on all the work that needs to be done this week. He needs to make serious moves if he doesn’t want anyone, especially Shui Ansheng, getting suspicious. There are a lot of logistics to arrange ahead of time, not to mention every day there is a new ‘urgent’ problem popping up somewhere in the sect that requires his personal attention.

He’s on his way to mediate a dispute between his disciples, several Wan Jian swordsmiths, and two Zui Xian brewing masters when a cool hand wraps around his wrist and whisks him off of his path across the rainbow bridge.

“Hey—” he starts, only to be met with the flat black gaze of Mu Qingfang.

“Apologies,” Mu Qingfang says, offering the An Ding disciples Shang Qinghua was walking with a polite nod. He puts his other hand to Shang Qinghua’s back and starts walking the opposite direction as he speaks. “I am afraid Qian Cao has urgent need of your head disciple. I promise to return him in good health once this important matter has been resolved.”

“But—” says one of Shang Qinghua’s disciples, “—what are we supposed to tell Zui Xian? Shixiong, the meeting!”

“Can’t I help out once I’m done with this? It’s just that there was a mix up with sword oil and alcohol, and a lot of forges lit on fire…” Shang Qinghua asks hopefully.

Mu Qingfang’s grip on him tightens. He leans in, speaking softly enough that only Shang Qinghua can hear him.

“Respectfully, you are going to come with me right now because I am both your doctor and one of four people on this mountain who could get you kicked off of it.”

“You’re so right you are! Shidi, shimei, tell Wei Qingwei to figure it out, I’ll be back later.”

Mu Qingfang smiles and pats his hand. Shang Qinghua feels like he is being led to his death.

——

No one, however, looks more like they are on their way to their own execution than Guo Lantian does when Shang Qinghua has sheepishly finished his explanation of what has brought him to her clinic a week late, being trailed by the head disciple of Cang Qiong’s medical peak. Shang Qinghua is left sitting on the small patient bed twiddling his thumbs as she first places her head in her hands, and then stands to pace around the small room without looking at him or speaking to him.

“Doctor Guo…” he starts when it feels like the pacing has gone on for a really long time, but Mu Qingfang reaches over and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Give her a moment. I understand it must take time to process.”

He and Guo Lantian exchange a commiserating look before she is back to pinching the bridge of her nose like she has a headache.

They are literally ganging up on him now. And all because he hid a volatile demonic pregnancy for seven months! God forbid Shang Qinghua do anything.

“Alright,” she says eventually. “So, you conceived a half-demon child due to the influence of unidentified aphrodisiac flowers. You did not inform me of this for the months that I have been observing your pregnancy, and now your meridian system is in crisis due to the conflicting energies. And you had just planned to continue like this, despite the fact that I am not a cultivator, and would have no idea how to identify, let alone treat, a serious qi imbalance.”

“That about sums it up,” Shang Qinghua says.

She puts her head in her hands. “I wish my father had warned me about you before he died.”

“Haha… yeah.”

“If I may, Doctor Guo, this one has researched the treatment of qi related imbalances and injuries extensively, but has little experience in childbirth or care for expecting mothers. Ah, expecting fathers, in this case, my apologies Shixiong,” Mu Qingfang says. At Shang Qinghua’s dismissive wave, he goes on, “I believe our work might be best when combined, in this case. I know methods for treating the effects of demonic qi on a human cultivator if it is, for instance, coming from a curse or exposure to high concentrations of natural demonic energy, but I am concerned that the usual treatments might disrupt the qi flow of the child. And while I, theoretically, know how to advise on the general health of a growing child or a pregnant person, I do not wish to take Shang-shidi out from under your care, as the more experienced midwife.”

“Yes, alright,” she says. “I’m not just going to drop you as a patient now. You’ve caused me too much stress, and I want to see that baby come safely into this world, demon or not. But I had better not learn one more surprise about either of you, do you understand? What’s next, will this demon you met turn out to be a secret prince, and my clinic is going to be stormed by demonic royalty looking for their lost heir? Absolutely not. I will send any demons on my doorstep straight to Cang Qiong, where they belong.”

Shang Qinghua and Mu Qingfang both wince, although probably for different reasons.

“Agreed, agreed,” Shang Qinghua says. “He was… definitely not a prince… hahaha…”

She gives him a suspicious look, then bullies him into laying back onto a cushion on the bed. She and Mu Qingfang take up poking and prodding at him like he’s a horse being sold for parts at market. He has never had his wrist checked or his tongue stuck out or his stomach palpated so many times in his life. It goes on long enough that he has to take two bathroom breaks! (so, about a half shichen).

“My best advice is to agree with Doctor Mu,” Guo Lantian declares as the examination winds down. “Rest, try to limit the use of your spiritual energy as much as possible outside of controlled meditation with a medical cultivator present. I’ll make you a new prescription of strengthening herbs, and we’ll continue to monitor the baby as we have been. I’d prefer you have someone with you as often as possible in case there is an incident.”

Shang Qinghua scrunches his nose. “I’m not the infant here, I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Big grown up cultivators follow their doctor’s instructions so as to avoid passing out and drowning in the bath.”

“Bold of you to assume I have time to take baths.”

He is kicked out of her clinic, but not before giving verbal agreement to let his disciples or martial siblings follow him around and receiving a strong-smelling sachet of herbs.

——

Shang Qinghua arrives back on his peak to another huddle of An Ding cultivators outside his door.

“Oh for the love of— what now?”

He elbows past a couple of his martial siblings (no small feet on An Ding, where martial siblings tend to be of the ‘rat’ or ‘ox’ build with very little in between) to reach the front of the whispering crowd.

“Shang-shidi,” one of his older martial siblings breathes, eyes wide and shining with the light of scandal as he skirts around them. “What did you do?”

He reaches his house, and finds a large decorative… sack? and a chest set out on the porch, where the carcass had been. He kicks at each of them lightly, wondering if something is going to leap out and try to eat him and / or douse him in strange pollen. When nothing immediately lunges or explodes, he takes a closer look.

The chest is hard, solid wood with silver latches and odd branching geometric carvings. The sack is made of finely woven fibers of some kind—thick like wool, smooth like silk— nice enough to make any An Ding cultivator immediately start contemplating its sale-value. The fabric is blue, with white and silver stitching out strange, demonic roosters and tigers. Shang Qinghua pulls a chord to open it, peers inside, then yanks it closed again as quickly as possible.

Heads! Those were heads! And unless there’s some rice or a nice cloak buried under there somewhere, it is an entire sack of heads.

Worse —better?— those are heads he recognizes. Staring up, eyes glazed in death, is the head of the Crystal Cave Snake Demon Prince, that hapless-human-eating asshole Chouwan whose robes Shang Qinghua ruined! If Shang Qinghua isn’t wrong, he’s willing to guess this is an entire sack filled with the heads of more Crystal Cave Snake Demons.

He jerks over to the chest and throws open the lid. Glittering back at him are dozens of iridescent gemstones. Opals, pearls, crystals, and crystal-snake-scales, both loose and set into silver jewellery. Hands shaking, he reaches in and pulls out a silver and pearl bracelet heavy enough he could probably brain someone with it.

The chest, too, gets slammed shut.

What. What the f*ck. What is this??

Shang Qinghua can admit he has his moments of head-empty, no-thoughts stupidity. Moments that lead to things like spending years of his life writing Proud Immortal Demon Way, or grabbing a shoddy power outlet when his hands and the outlet were both covered in sh*tty noodle broth. He can also admit to a little bit of, shall we say, avoidant behaviour, which in turn lead to things like ignoring the fact that he was maybe-dying for two months and only discovering afterwards that he’s cooking an entire baby. But even he has to think and face the facts sometimes.

Which means that Mobei-jun has just left the heads of his enemies and a crate of loot from their lair on his doorstep.

“What the f*ck…” he whispers.

Things, as they say, get worse from there.

——

The heads he ends up dumping in a qiankun pouch with a stasis talisman slapped on their sack. The chest of precious gems and jewellery, similarly, is packed away in a storage ring that he barters off of a Qiong Ding disciple in exchange for one of the fancy hair ornaments from within. He kind of wants to sell some of it off and get himself something ridiculously fancy as a little treat, but that would raise a lot of questions, like ‘Who the f*ck did that An Ding disciple kill to get that kind of loot?’ that Shang Qinghua does not want to answer. Also it’s probably more practical as an emergency stash of funds in case he has to flee the sect in disgrace sometime soon.

Once Shang Qinghua has been cleared by both Mu Qingfang and a reluctant Guo Lantian, Yue Qingyuan, Shen Qingqiu, Liu Qingge, and Mu Qingfang start in on research.

Shang Qinghua has every intention of being helpful with this— he has, theoretically, the most knowledge of this world of anyone alive, seeing as he wrote it into existence. However, it feels like every time he gets enough free time to hit the books, he is drawn away by the need to desperately hide some evidence from his Peak Lord!

The first time, he’s on Shen Qi Peak, surreptitiously making notes on arrays in the sect’s foremost library of enchantments and taoist magics. An An Ding messenger talisman flies in through an open lattice-window, smacking him in the face with a rush of paper wings. Unfolded, he finds a scrawled message in Lu Maiying’s less than stellar handwriting: ‘come get your thing!’

Descriptive! Poetic, even. Shang Qinghua is amazed every day that his junior’s haven’t been snatched away by Qing Jing for their verbose prose, or Qiong Ding for their tact and diplomacy.

He shoves the text he was copying from back onto the shelf and books it back to An Ding. By foot, because Mu Qingfang placed a seal on his sword-hilt that would alert him if Shang Qinghua draws it, the bastard. He knew he was right to jump out a window to avoid the healer— he’s never questioning his own good sense again.

By the time he arrives, Lu Maiying is all but bouncing on his porch, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet despite what looks like 30 jīn of lumber strapped to her back. She looks up at him when he power-walks up, red faced and sweaty from the trip, and beams.

“Another special delivery, Shixiong. I put it inside. Hope you don’t mind.”

She prances away while he catches his breath, but turns to offer him another bright smile before she goes. “I really like Liu-shidi!” she says, apropo of nothing. “He’s noble and strong and has a good face. Nice going, Shixiong!”

Whatever that’s supposed to mean???

Shang Qinghua ends up having to scrub fish guts off of his floor, on account of the enormous Armored Typhoon Salmon that was dropped unceremoniously in his sitting room. It makes excellent soup, and his house smells like rotting fish for three days. He gives Lu Maiying a set of pearl earrings from the trunk of Crystal Cave Snake Demon loot and a knife made from one of the fish’s ribs, to buy their continued silence and reward good behaviour.

The next time, it’s the head of something that looks a bit like a woolly mammoth had a child with a kingfisher, left at his house while he was meeting with Shen Qingqiu and Mu Qingfang to discuss meridian blocking acupuncture treatments. The time after that, it’s an ornate chest of delicate purple powder Shang Qinghua is 99.9% sure is some kind of sex pollen, which he had to sprint (okay… hobble) back to An Ding to keep from causing a peak-wide incident, interrupting Liu Qingge’s demonstration of demon suppression wards on a few sad beasts from Meng Shou.

Keeping these items out of sight of his peak, his martial siblings, and most importantly the peak lord, is turning into as much a full time job as running An Ding is! And both his house and his various storage items are becoming crowded with the sheer number of weird gifts and animal parts he is now squirreling away. He is really stretching the generosity of Zhong Miaoqing’s grandmother in the kitchens, with the weird ingredients he keeps bringing her and begging her to serve and hide the origins of.

Mu Qingfang compliments him on the apparently noticeable improvements to his diet, and Shang Qinghua has to make up some lie about taking up cooking to avoid admitting he’s been eating strange demon parts that are being dropped off at his doorstep for unknown reasons. Then he goes and begs Zhong Miaoqing’s grandmother for cooking lessons, because he might as well make that lie a truth and cook up these weird ingredients himself.

——

When Shang Qinghua isn’t running between covering up his strange new tendency to have dead monsters and demonic artefacts dumped at his door and his usual duties on An Ding, he does actually join in on the research on creating a seal for the baby.

They alternate between research at the sect libraries and more practical testing, theory discussion, and generally more damning research and discussion in town. Shen Qingqiu and Mu Qingfang comb their peak’s records in all manner of medical sealing techniques, suppression wards, demonic and spiritual energy manipulation, and any historical records of interspecies children that might be relevant. There’s more than Shang Qinghua might have expected— in this smutty world of his, there’s actually kind of a lot of, er, carnal inter-mingling, which sometimes results in children of various levels of viability.

At first, they do their off-peak studying at the tea house. It’s not the most private, although it’s better than the Qing Jing library (filled with eavesdropping scholars just waiting for some good gossip) or Shang Qinghua’s office on An Ding (filled with disciples who always need him to do something urgently, really, right now Shixiong—).

Shen Qingqiu makes it about a week of this, scowling at waiters every time they approach and complaining about the quality of the tea, before he snaps, slams down an empty tea cup, and says, “For heaven's sake, just come next door! You idiots are being overcharged, and at least no one there will sell us out to the sect for demonic collusion.”

So they switch to meeting in a tea room at the Warm Red Pavilion. Nothing really changes, except that the food is a little better and they’re served by a rotating group of beautiful, immodestly dressed women. Mu Qingfang blushes beet red every time one of them offers him a drink, which is extremely charming and makes Shang Qinghua want to pinch his cheeks. Shen Qingqiu, sitting on red and pink cushions and drinking tea like it’s wine, presides happily over these little Pavilion meetings like an extremely prickly doting matriarch.

He’s more comfortable here, Shang Qinghua thinks, watching Shen Qingqiu tease Mu Qingfang over the flirting of one of their waiters. The waiters at the teahouse were always older men. These women, Shen Qingqiu knows, and trusts.

“It feels kind of weird meeting here without Wu-jie and Yijia-mei,” Shang Qinghua complains. He’s propped himself up on a few cushions to chase that blissful beast known as back support that he swears he was once able to achieve, before his stomach tripled in size and made absolutely no position comfortable to sit in. “Like, they’re just upstairs? It’s clique-y.”

“Don’t call them so familiarly,” Shen Qingqiu says. Shang Qinghua brandishes the text he’s reading at channelling demonic energy (heretical) at the other man, affronted.

“You’re the one who got them all calling me ‘gege’! Take some responsibility! What am I supposed to call them then, huh, Xiaojie?”

Shen Qingqiu turns away. Snootily. Shang Qinghua pretends not to see Yue Qingyuan smiling at them.

The staff of the Warm Red Pavilion love Yue Qingyuan. Shang Qinghua suspects this is because he is the only person whose regard for Shen Qingqiu rivals their own. Sometimes Yue Qingyuan is already there when the rest of them arrive, having tea with the Madame or one of the Pavilion’s older prostitutes, who pinch his cheeks and give him knowing looks when Shen Qingqiu walks into the room. It makes Shen Qingqiu pull some absolutely fascinating facial expressions.

Shang Qinghua does make sure to visit Wu Hengzi and Xiang Yijia at the Pavilion, too, separately from their short research outings. He likes spending time with them alone, talking about the babies and whatever weird sex thing Xiang Yijia has tried that week and their plans for the future. On those visits, if Shang Qinghua happens to see Shen Qingqiu, the two of them pretend not to know each other.

——

Time spent at the Pavilion is a rare and peaceful moment of respite from what is otherwise a life of insanity though! Shang Qinghua continues to receive gifts left like dead rats from a persistent yet elusive cat on his doorstep every day.

Although he would plead ignorance if anyone asked, he is not actually unaware that there is only one person who would be leaving these things for him. In all the days that monsters and items appear at his home, he hears not a word from his king and sees neither hide nor hair of the ice demon.

A guy could really get mixed messages here! Does Mobei-jun hate him or not? Is his king apologising to him, in some strange and elaborate way? Do Northern demons have some sort of elaborate taboo about throwing pregnant people into walls, and now Mobei-jun is trying to make amends? It’s sure as f*ck not an apology for fighting him, or Mobei-jun would have been leaving him apology gifts for years. Also, if it is an apology, Shang Qinghua is not feeling particularly forgiving, on account of how it is causing him so much work.

He really... just wants to talk to Mobei-jun. Have another chance to explain. Find out if his king does really hate him, find out what, if anything, Mobei-jun plans to do about his half-demon child now that he knows they exist.

The gifts to not do that for him. As he slides a surprisingly unexciting case of tea from a small chest, or drags a monstrous tortoise shell to Wan Jian for them to make into armor, or hides more silver jewelry away in the storage ring, he keeps wondering what, exactly, Mobei-jun wants from him.

Chapter 24

Chapter Text

Shang Qinghua has another qi deviation, and then another. They’re minor— a headache, a bloody nose, a mild fever. He sleeps them off like he used to sleep off migraines from eye-strain in his last life, but sadly with less naproxen and more pestering from his peers. He can admit to being a little touched there is someone to pester him in this life, even if it's also getting old quickly. He’s starting to feel like Shen Qingqiu.

“You’re starting to sound like me,” Shen Qingqiu says, sneering down at him while Mu Qingfang holds his wrist and re-aligns his meridians. Shang Qinghua is in bed, ugh , after his nose and ears started bleeding in the middle of one of their hangouts-slash-study sessions at the Pavilion.

“You’re not resting ,” the doctor says, setting Shang Qinghua’s hand back down on the bedspread. “Shang Qinghua, I told you you need to limit exertion, stress, and qi use. Your meridians are continuing to destabilise faster than our research is coming along. You’re risking a much more serious deviation.”

“I’m doing what I can,” Shang Qinghua says. He bites his cheek, guilty. He has been trying to take it easy, but… probably not as much as he could be. There’s so much to do! Research! Sect management! Shenanigans afoot!

“Do more,” Mu Qingfang says. Shen Qingqiu looks resentfully over the doctor’s shoulder, although, if Shang Qinghua isn’t mistaken, there might be a rare glimpse of empathy in his harsh expression. That unsettles him more than the resentment.

They leave him stewing in his room. Shang Qinghua sighs and shifts restlessly in bed, fussing with the bedspread and the buckwheat pillow and then his own robes. He’s been alone for perhaps five minutes and he’s so bored already. This is why he’s struggling with the whole ‘take it easy’ thing. He needs distraction or his brain starts to eat itself.

It’s not only the boredom, either. Lack of anything else to think about leaves him plenty of room to stew in his own anxieties. Mu Qingfang’s focused medical attention, the research for the seal, and just generally the way he can feel and see the baby so much more clearly now is hammering home how immensely soon and real the situation is. Ascension is a month away, and if he’s lucky he’ll have another month after that till the baby gets here. It’s all coming up terrifyingly fast.

As if in agreement, he winces at a sharp jab against his pelvis. Baby Airplane is also not a fan of idleness, and loves getting punchy whenever Shang Qinghua lies down. He entertains himself by pressing up and down the side of his stomach, poking back at the baby while it wiggles around.

“Are you doing demonic cultivation in there?” he whispers, conspiratorial. “If you are, you can tell me. It’s okay, I won’t rat you out. Just go easy on it, yeah? Daddy is going to give Mu-shishu a medically-unlikely heart attack.”

Then he has to lay there coping with the fact that he, Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, noted internet pervert, is going to be a guy who uses the term ‘daddy’ wholesomely. Truly, babies make the unlikeliest of things possible.

In the quiet of his silent contemplation, he hears a soft rustle and chime outside his window. He blinks languidly up at the ceiling, basking in the ambient noise. Then, he sits bolt upright.

“Motherf*ck!”

He throws off the bedspread and runs (... let him have this) through his leisure house, bursting through the front door and into the cool air.

There is no one outside. Just the midday sun in the sky, an entirely un-Mobei-jun-related coating of snow on the ground, and yet another chest left innocuously on his porch.

Cursing all demons, one ice demon in particular, god, himself, the twelve peaks, and all the traitorous readers of Zhongdian Literature, he hauls the chest inside.

This one is heavy, solid dark wood engraved with geometric fractals. He sighs and slides the top of the chest open, bracing himself for more dead fish or severed heads.

Instead, he finds a single flower.

Warily, he stares down at the white petals. It looks a bit like a lily, but with bursts of tiny round leaves instead of long thin ones, and it has too many petals that spiral too delicately away from its dark centre.

Flowers are dangerous things in this world of his. But this one… he can’t explain why, but he doesn’t immediately flinch back for fear of some sort of pollen bursting in his face. The flower sits there, nestled in a beautiful celadon pot. It smells faintly fresh, faintly like incense and the air before a snow storm. Its petals rustle and spin slightly, as though in a non-existent wind.

“Huh,” he says.

He stands, leaving the flower in the box, and goes to one of the many shelves in his sitting room. He slides a book from it— one he bought ages ago, when he was a newly promoted inner disciple, as a joke. Flora and Fauna of the Northern Desert , a compendium written by some wandering cultivator about Mobei-jun’s home. Shang Qinghua has forgotten more about the North than the person who wrote this book ever knew, obviously. No, really, he has forgotten a lot , even though the worldbuilding he wrote for his favourite character was something he actually enjoyed— there is too much in Proud Immortal Demon Way for him to keep the specifics in mind more than twenty years after writing it.

He flips to the back of the book, rarely thumbed through but to read out some inaccurate fact and have Mobei-jun scoff at him. There, on one of the last pages, is the flower. A Twelve Petal Seeker’s Lily.

The book tells him they’re harvested along the edges of volcanic hot-springs in some parts of the far north, where hot water meets ice and causes billowing pillars of steam to blanket the landscape. The book also tells him they’re used by Northern Demons as an ingredient in some sort of dark, demonic ritual.

Shang Qinghua remembers reading this page to Mobei-jun. Mobei-jun had scoffed and said, “Only if this cultivator believes marriage to be a uniquely demonic ritual. The Seeker’s Lily is given only as a wedding gift. It has no other purpose.” Shang Qinghua had laughed and said that marriage was a dark ritual indeed.

Now, Shang Qinghua looks at the lightly spinning petals of the flower. The last few weeks spin through his mind right along with them, dripping down the white curves. Mobei-jun’s questions. The gifts. The beasts— impressive kills. Trophies, with uses unique to Shang Qinghua. The heads of Shang Qinghua’s enemies. Beautiful jewellery, fine tea, sea salt, expensive fabric, spring medicine that could, perhaps, be a traditional demonic gift for newley-weds.

His breathing hitches and speeds. The world goes glittery and cold around him, and he forces himself to stay present, kneeling in front of the Twelve Petal Seeker’s Lily.

He’s so stupid. Or maybe Mobei-jun is. In Shang Qinghua’s defence, killing demonic beasts isn’t human courting behaviour! And Shang Qinghua— he’s not even from this time. He’s not even familiar with cultivator courting. He’s never attended a wedding in his life, and his most significant experience with romance in this world is stumbling in, and then swiftly out, on disciples making out in the more obscure An Ding storage rooms. And in his last life he was hardly— he wasn’t— no one was going to, with him —

Courting gifts.

——

“My king,” Shang Qinghua says to the cold, silent air of his bedroom. He is still on the floor by the flower. He has taken it from the chest, and set it gently in front of him. “Come here.”

He’s been sure his king was ignoring him. But maybe, actually, it’s been Shang Qinghua who has been ignoring Mobei-jun. He hasn’t called for him since the man left him in his destroyed bedroom. He was sure the demon prince wouldn’t answer. He’s not sure now.

Silence. Then Mobei-jun is there, slipping from the hungry darkness of a portal. Soft boots touch silently down on Shang Qinghua’s scuffed floorboards, the lightest chime of silver and stone from the looping earrings whirled along the edges of pointed ears. The swish of long robes and furs.

His king is as he always is—intimidating, magnificent… hot. Metaphorically, that is, although Mobei-jun’s icy aura isn’t as oppressive as it usually is when his king occupies a space. He usually takes up space in Shang Qinghua’s rooms the same way he occupies it in his mind—harshly and all-consumingly.

“Qinghua,” Mobei-jun says.

“My king.”

They look at each other. Warm black eyes against icicle-light. Mobei-jun’s eyes are so strange. So pale, cat-like. Inhuman. Slowly, watching him intently, Mobei-jun lowers himself to the floor across from him. The flower sits between them, its petals waving.

“Did you,” Shang Qinghua swallows, “Did you maybe think about just asking me to marry you, before leaving all these gifts on my doorstep.”

Mobei-jun’s gaze darts down.

“Because you could have. You could have just asked. You’ve never had any issues making demands of me before.”

“I will make no demands of you on this subject,” Mobei-jun says, “And I have never had issue with anything so much as I do speaking to you directly about any matter of my mind.”

Shang Qinghua reaches out and pushes the flower towards Mobei-jun.

“My king, I am afraid I cannot accept your proposal.”

Mobei-jun’s eyes dart up, wide and bright. His whole form, hulking and too-small at once on the floor like this, stiffens.

“Has this prince’s proposal been so inadequate?”

Mobei-jun’s voice is a rumble, teasing at a growl. It makes Shang Qinghua unaccountably fond. He smiles.

“No. It was very nice, once I realised what you were doing. I’m very grateful for the gifts. I like the flower.”

“Then why ?”

“My king, you don’t really like me. I—maybe it’s stupid, because I know that love doesn’t last forever,and marriage is kind of nothing and it doesn’t mean you won’t hate the person you marry years down the line. But I—I want to marry someone who likes me . At least.”

Mobei-jun glowers. “I do not know what I can do to make my feelings any clearer to you.”

“Look, my king, I get it! You’re a prince. Very honourable, very noble. And we’re… close, in a way. I am, and I always will be, your devoted servant. I understand you may feel some sort of responsibility to me. Because I’m pregnant, or because the baby is going to be a half-demon. And I might be a pretty sorry excuse for a cultivator and kind of a person in general, but you’re a prince. You’re going to be a king someday— a great king! You shouldn’t settle for me out of— out of some misplaced sense of obligation. I don’t need that from you.”

“Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-jun says, and oh, hey, there’s the growl, “I do not like you.”

Something in Shang Qinghua’s chest shrivels up and dies. He’s not sure why. It’s not like he was expecting anything different.

“When we met, I did not trust you. I did not care for your human fragility or your cowering or the danger you posed to me. I did not like that you had saved my life, and I owed something to a creature so much weaker than myself.”

Shang Qinghua feels tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. He ducks his head. Augh, babies make you so emotional. That’s why this feels like an execution.

Mobei-jun goes on, “But in the years that came after, you have proved yourself to me. Your loyalty, your strange intellect, your viciousness. When I am injured, you care for my wounds. When I seek shelter, you give your home to me. And when my enemies overwhelm me, you whisper strategies in my ear and press strange artefacts into my hands, and suddenly I am victorious and I know that I owe that victory to you.”

A cold hand slides over Shang Qinghua’s cheek and lifts his face. Mobei-jun’s expression isn’t any less blank than it always is. Shang Qinghua would have said the tilt of Mobei-jun’s mouth—down, a fraction of an inch, at the corner—meant he was angry. But Mobei-jun’s hands are gentle against his skin.

“If you have a child, I want to protect it. But if Qinghua did not have a child, I would still want to… form a bond. Between us. I have not always known what kind. But I have long hoped that, in the future of the North, there might be a place for you. A place by my side, where you have always been. Where you should always be.”

Shang Qinghua has not stopped crying. Mobei-jun’s handsome face is warped by the tears gathering in his eyes and spilling over, messily, onto his face. Shang Qinghua shakes his head, and Mobei-jun’s fingers drag through the tears on his cheeks and freeze them into little lines of ice.

“You do not mean that. You seriously cannot mean that!”

“I do.” Mobei-jun’s tone takes on a touch of his usual arrogance. The unhappy set of his mouth gains a tinge of a smirk. “I do not say what I do not mean.”

Shang Qinghua refuses to be taken in by his king’s perfect mouth and uncharacteristic willingness to open it. He frowns and bats Mobei-jun’s hands away. Immediately, he misses the cold on his skin.

“No you don’t! You hate me, you barely tolerate me! You hit me all the time and send me on sh*tty missions and you threw me into a bookcase you asshole! Why— why the f*ck do you do all that if you—”

He can’t bring himself to say it.

Mobei-jun looks annoyed. “It is a sign of respect. One you constantly rejected.”

“How the f*ck is that supposed to show respect?”

“You are meant to challenge the one who’s regard you seek. An exchange of talent, and a showing of skill. As well as a chance for closeness. I offered it to you many times, but you never fought back. And yet, you continued to shelter me and take my enemies as your own. You do not do anything clearly.”

More demonic courting. Right.

Shang Qinghua curses the author who was Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky for writing so much goddamn intricate demonic courting into his stupid novel.

Now that Mobei-jun mentions it, he did only start with the beatings once Shang Qinghua had been working for him for a while. Maybe two years in or so. Shang Qinghua assumed it was just canon taking its natural course, part of the inevitable downward spiral towards his death at Mobei-jun’s claws. And he could definitely remember some sexy fights between Bingge and his demonic wives, as well as at least one tender wound-tending scene (read: a half dozen) that ended in marriage to a demonic beauty. Hmm.

“... why?” Shang Qinghua asks.

Mobei-jun’s brows furrow, but he must understand what Shang Qinghua means. “Who else?”

“Um, anyone? Literally anyone else?”

“There is no other. Not to me.”

“You could have anyone you want, my king!”

“And you,” Mobei-jun snarls, “Are who I have chosen. I do not like you, Shang Qinghua. I want to bring you to my fortress in the North and never let you go. I want to kill anyone who has ever shamed you. I want to see you ruin those who oppose me from behind parchment and ink. I do not like you. What I feel for you is deeper.”

I love you, he does not say, either. Shang Qinghua isn’t sure if he would trust the words more or less if he did.

“You are the one I have challenged. You are the one I have courted. I wanted you before this. I planned how to make a place for you in the Northern Palace. I made my interest clear. I assumed, last time we fought, that you had accepted,” Mobei-jun says.

“... and then you realised I was pregnant.”

Mobei-jun nods. His gaze swivels to Shang Qinghua’s stomach. He isn’t making as much of an effort to hide the signs of his pregnancy, in the privacy of his own home. The swell of his stomach under his robes is increasingly obvious. Mobei-jun hasn’t shown any signs of noticing to far. Now, his attention is raptor-like. His hands twitch, like he wants to touch.

Shang Qinghua heaves out a long breath and looks back down at the floor. Much safer, the floor. Much less intense than Mobei-jun’s face. He lets his own hands come up to circle the base of his stomach.

“I thought you were angry. And hated me. Because I’m human, and your servant, and… yeah.”

“I do not,” Mobei-jun says. “I was not angry with you. I am angry that any dared to sire a child with you and take no responsibility for either of you.”

“Ah, well,” Shang Qinghua says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t say ‘responsibility’ was really involved.”

“I will kill them for you.”

“No!”

“You do not want this person dead?” Mobei-jun growls, flexing his claws dangerously. The temperature inches colder.

Shang Qinghua grabs his wrist and lowers the threatening hand. “To be honest, my king, I really do not give a f*ck about him. What happened between us didn’t mean anything to either of us. He has his life, I have mine. And besides, I don’t think we’re likely to ever meet again.”

“You do not love them,” Mobei-jun says. It’s a question, phrased like a declaration.

“No,” Shang Qinghua agrees, exhausted.

“You do not love me.” Mobei-jun shakes his head. “Whatever you feel for me, it would be wise to allow me to marry you. Your child is a demon. As a prince of the Mobei Clan, as the ruler, someday, I can afford you and your child every protection the North has to offer. Neither of you will ever have reason to fear your child’s people. Not when I am behind you.”

Fresh tears spring to Shang Qinghua’s eyes. It is everything he wants for them, is the thing. Safety. Protection. Support. But…

“My king, I really don’t know. I— I don’t think I really believe in love. You… are important to me. Sometimes I’m not even sure if I know you, and I think you definitely don’t know me. I want… I want.”

There is no satisfactory end to that sentence. He wants a thousand impossible things. He wants it to be true that Mobei-jun loves him. He wants to love himself.

Mobei-jun leans in, over the white petals of the flower, and gently bites Shang Qinghua’s neck. His sharp fangs press into Shang Qinghua without breaking skin. His lips and chin are cold. His hair brushes Shang Qinghua’s ear, his chest. A hair ornament scapes his cheek. Shang Qinghua lets his eyes fall closed. This, at least, he recognizes for what it is.

When Mobei-jun pulls away, Shang Qinghua catches him by the front of his robes and gingerly reals him in for a kiss. He presses his lips to Mobei-jun’s and allows himself the barest slide of his tongue— just enough to taste. He’s always wanted to do that. He wanted to do that on so many long, late nights at his apartment, with just himself and his laptop and his silent phone for company. In his mind’s eye he’d been perfect, and straight, and being ravished by the man of his dreams. There is no ravishing here—just a mouth against a mouth. Mobei-jun is stiff at first, but seems to get the picture, and leans in with his whole frame and a hint of teeth.

Shang Qinghua pulls back, and pushes Mobei-jun back with a hand on his chest.

“My king, I won’t marry you for the baby. I don’t need a husband for that. I’m protecting them on my own, my own way.”

Mobei-jun nods. This is, it seems, the answer he was expecting.

“But,” Shang Qinghua says, “I won’t turn down your support, if you are offering it. They’ll need to live as a demon someday, too, and there’s no one else I would trust to show them what that means. And if you want to try… dating, or whatever. Courting. Properly. The human way! Or at least the less violent demon way. After the baby is born. If you still want me, even when I’m sleep deprived and dragging an infant around with me everywhere, then… we’ll see.”

Chapter 25

Chapter Text

“This prince is not afraid to prove himself,” Mobei-jun says. “I accept your challenge.”

Shang Qinghua looks to the side, heat rising in his face. “What challenge? Don’t be so dramatic, my king.” He clears his throat and pushes the flower towards Mobei-jun once more. “If that’s all, I should get back to… things. There’s definitely something I should be doing. I haven’t really been helping you at all lately, huh? Forgive this servant for being a bit more useless than usual for a while, my king, growing a person is actually a lot of work so—”

Mobei-jun catches the flower and Shang Qinghua’s wrist in one hand. “Not a servant. If you accept this prince’s suit, call yourself something better.”

“Ahahaha, like what, my king?”

“Aren’t you a lord of your peak?”

“Not yet my king. Not for at least a month! And that's if I last that long without doing something to get booted.”

“Qinghua has called me his king since I was barely more than a child,” Mobei-jun says. “Since long before he could have known I might surpass my brothers and claim a place as my father’s heir.”

“I’ve always known what you’re going to be, my king,” Shang Qinghua says.

“Hm.” Mobei-jun leans in, close, so close that Shang Qinghua can feel the way the air cools around him like an aura. “Not everything I will be, Peak Lord Shang.”

Ah. Ah!

Shang Qinghua shoots to his feet so fast he nearly kicks the failed-engagement-lily over and ruins both his floor and the valuable demonic flora.

“My king, don’t be ridic— gghk.”

His recrimination of that absurd sentiment is cut off as he chokes on a flood of hot liquid hitting the back of his throat. He sputters and presses his hands to his face too late— the qi in his meridians has gone electric and uncontrolled, and blood gushes from his nose and down the front of his robes.

“Motherf*ck!”

He swears and drops his head forward, pinching the bridge of his nose and swallowing down a mouthful of blood. Ghhh, it tastes terrible. Gross! f*ck him for real!

“Qinghua!” Cold hands clamp around his biceps, hard enough that his king’s black claws puncture through the fabric and scrape his skin. “What’s wrong with you?”

Uh oh. That is a ‘moments from unleashing violence’ growl this time.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Shang Qinghua garbles. Mobei-jun’s claws tighten, and Shang Qinghua releases his nose to drip bat away his hands. “N-no hitting means no clawing either my king, f*ck!”

Mobei-jun releases him, but remains growling lowly in his personal space. It’s like having a polar bear hovering over him.

“The blood…”

“It’s just a nosebleed, it’s fine.”

His voice comes out ridiculously nasally. There goes any attempt at being sexy and suave in the aftermath of that conversation.

“Your qi feels strange. Your energies...”

Shang Qinghua swallows more blood and wipes his face, hoping the flow of blood has stopped. His chin and outer robe are drenched. So, so gross.

“Yeah, it's something that’s happening now. My king, were you maybe leaving? I sort of thought you would be leaving.”

“I am not leaving.”

“It would really be better if you came back later. Or like, better yet… two months from now?”

“Explain yourself.”

“The baby has demonic energy. I have spiritual energy. The two mix when they shouldn’t and bam— qi deviation. We’re working on ways to stop it.”

“We?”

“My martial siblings and I. Yue Qingyuan, Shen Qingqiu, Liu Qingge… oh and Mu Qingfang, he’s the head disciple of Qian Cao, so this is sort of his thing.”

“How many others know?”

“About the baby? Just them. Oh, and some prostitutes in one of Cang Qiong’s foothill towns. And I didn’t tell any of them, seriously my king! It’s all that asshole Shen Qingqiu’s fault, we ran into each other and… yeah, well, it was a whole thing.” He sighs. “It’s not so bad though. I mean as far as people to know, Liu Qingge and Mu Qingfang are both pretty helpful. And Shen Qingqiu and I have sort of a mutually assured destruction thing going on, and Yue Qingyuan follows whatever Shen Qingqiu does, so…”

Mobei-jun has no idea who these people are, and probably doesn’t care. If Shang Qinghua were feeling less like he was dreaming, he could probably make himself shut up.

“The demonic energy. It is harming you.”

Mobei-jun reaches out and swipes his thumb over Shang Qinghua’s cheek. His fingers come away red. He looks at the blood and at Shang Qinghua. His pupils are very wide, very dark. It takes Shang Qinghua a moment to find his words.

“It’s—it’s not so bad. Just inconvenient. We’re gonna, uh…”

Mobei-jun’s hand is back on his face.

“I have made my intentions clear,” Mobei-jun says.

“My king…?”

“I still intend to assist you and your child, and to prove myself to you as a suitable mate.”

“Don’t call me your mate,” Shang Qinghua mutters dazedly, “That makes me sound like a virginal werewolf sacrifice in a bodice ripper.”

Mobei-jun stares at him.

“Nevermind,” Shang Qinghua says. Spine who? He’ll bend in a second. He’d rather bend over…

Mobei-jun reaches out and grabs Shang Qinghua around the hips. Shang Qinghua may or may not shriek as the ice demon hoists him up like he’s weightless and hauls him into his bedroom, carrying him in a way that would be very embarrassing if he had the equipment for any sort of visible reaction.

“Qinghua should have come to me the moment he began to have these deviations.”

“W-why would I do that my king?”

“You should know,” Mobei-jun says. “Qinghua is always so familiar with the cures for any poison of affliction this prince faces.”

“Uhhh.”

“The best way to resolve a qi imbalance between spiritual and demonic energy is dual cultivation with a demon.”

Ahahaha. Ha. What.

“W-what?!”

Mobei-jun doesn’t offer him any further explanation. Shang Qinghua wriggles in his grip, suddenly feeling way too warm for someone in close contact with an ice demon. “Down! Down right now. I am covered in blood, let me change my king.”

Mobei-jun sets him in front of his wardrobe with little fanfare. The white fur around his shoulders has been streaked with pink. Shang Qinghua swallows and turns away from him, flinging open his wardrobe doors and rooting around for a change of clothes. Mobei-jun leans against the side of the wardrobe, watching him.

Shang Qinghua unties his overrobe and starts to slide it off before glancing at his—at Mobei-jun.

“A little privacy, my king.”

“You said you wanted to change. Change.”

Shang Qinghua huffs and begins to strip.

He pulls off the outer robe easily. Winter allows him many layers, some of them thick or fur-lined, which has been a godsend in hiding the signs of his pregnancy. The layers of dark yellow brocade fall away and he drops them to the floor to wash himself later.

Blood has soaked through to his inner layers. He swallows, face burning, and starts on the ties to those too. Another layer of yellow silk, and then he’s standing in just his blue inner robes. Softer, lighter. It reveals the way his middle has filled out, although not as obviously as he sometimes fears. Without the belt, he could just have gained weight. In a flustered rush, he pulls off the blue layers until his abdomen is bare but for the wrapped qiankun binder that covers his chest. He jumps when a clawed finger tugs at one of the ties. Mobei-jun has moved closer while Shang Qinghua was studiously avoiding looking at him.

“What is this?” Mobei-jun asks.

“It’s how I bind my chest now, my king.”

“Hmn.”

Shang Qinghua watches the man’s gaze drift down from his chest to his stomach. He resists the urge to cover himself. Mobei-jun knows he’s pregnant, there’s nothing more to hide. But this feels different than an impersonal examination from Guo Lantian or Mu Qingfang. He’s hyper aware of how he looks—no longer so muscular, no longer so skinny. His stomach is a noticeable swell, painted at the sides with spidery white lines.

Mobei-jun doesn’t touch, but ghosts a hand down Shang Qinghua’s back. It makes him shiver.

“L-let me get new robes.”

He reaches into the wardrobe, and Mobei-jun comes even closer. Shang Qinghua feels the brush of Mobei-jun’s fur cloak on his spine, the cold bulk of him just behind him. Mobei-jun’s hand reaches with his own and encircles his wrist, pulling it back from the wardrobe and up above Shang Qinghua’s shoulder.

“M-my king!”

Mobei-jun meets his eyes and holds his gaze. Almost lazily, he brings Shang Qinghua’s hand to his mouth and licks a stripe up the side. His tongue is pale blue, too long to be human, forked slightly at the tip. Shang Qinghua has no idea what sound he makes. Mobei-jun laps at the blood on his hand with his tongue, licking it clean.

Hello? That blood came from his nose!

Mobei-jun releases that hand to grasp the other one, giving it the same treatment. His tongue is a cold slide against Shang Qinghua’s skin, rough and wet. It makes his breath stutter in his lungs.

“My king, gross,” Shang Qinghua says. His voice comes out much more breathless than he meant it to. How strange.

Mobei-jun’s look says, do I look like I care?

Shang Qinghua really wishes that didn’t do it for him too.

“Are you—are you seriously shooting your shot like this?” Shang Qinghua demands, as Mobei-jun uses his larger frame to push Shang Qinghua back against the wooden side of the wardrobe. The man pins his grasped hand above his head and starts mouthing at the blood on his neck. “After all that? Now?!”

“My courting has not been unsuccessful,” Mobei-jun says. His voice is a rumble against Shang Qinghua’s throat. “You want this prince.”

“That’s not special. I’ve been attracted to you since we met. You didn’t have to work for that!”

Mobei-jun raises his head. His mouth is pink—Shang Qinghua’s blood on his chin. “I am working now.”

Well. Well!

Whatever he sees on Shang Qinghua’s face, Mobei-jun must take it for encouragement. He grabs him again, winding his arms around Shang Qinghua’s thighs and lifting him up. Shang Qinghua instinctively grabs onto him. Wow! It’s hard to protest being hauled around like a sack of potatoes when he can push his hands under the fur cloak and run his palms along the muscular line of Mobei-jun’s upper back. His broad shoulders feel just as good up close as they look when Mobei-jun is looming menacingly…

This time when Mobei-jun sets him down, he does it on the edge of Shang Qinghua’s bed. He keeps an arm around Shang Qinghua’s waist, the other on the bedspread— half-pining him in place.

“Tell me to leave, and I will leave,” Mobei-jun says, enunciating each word sharply. “If you want me, I am yours.”

Shang Qinghua is, in the end, really a selfish and self-serving creature. He has always wanted the simplest things in life. He has wanted Mobei-jun since the man was words on a page in another world. I would have him for no reason, he thinks. I’d have him for any reason at all. What could it hurt?

His hands tighten on Mobei-jun’s shoulders.

“My king,” he says, “how could anyone deny you?”

——

Afterwards, they clear the bed and curl around each other. Shang Qinghua lays on his side and Mobei-jun wraps his arms around him from behind, his cold breath tickling the back of Shang Qinghua’s neck. He hadn’t touched his stomach at all, earlier, but now one broad palm rests against the side. The baby is kicking, and Mobei-jun is holding very still; a predator tracking tiny, wriggling prey.

“It’s weird, right?” Shang Qinghua says.

Mobei-jun hums. “It is strange,” he agrees.

“I bet you didn’t think I was going to have a baby when you agreed to let me follow you all those years ago, my king. I didn’t expect it either! It’s weird how things happen like that.”

“Mn.”

Shang Qinghua tentatively wriggles closer to his king’s broad chest. “Do you regret it?”

He means to tease, but with Mobei-jun’s energy, and the close touch of his skin, still lingering so heavily in Shang Qinghua’s veins, it comes out painfully sincere. Instantly he wishes he hasn’t said anything. He doesn’t clarify what he means—allowing Shang Qinghua to place himself in his service, the baby, him and Shang Qinghua, together.

“No,” his king says, low and sure.

He breathes out and tries to believe it. Mobei-jun’s hand traces a path down his side, and Baby Airplane’s little kicks and punches follow it.

“Ah,” he says, “That’s good.”

“What will you do?”

“Raise it,” Shang Qinghua says. “Ah, my king, what else does someone do with a child? Change its diapers, tuck it in at night, watch them take their first steps, learn to read, wield a sword… hope that I don’t f*ck them up too badly, while I try to do all that.”

Mobei-jun curls tighter. His forehead presses to the back of Shang Qinghua’s neck. “I told you that, when I have children, I would not leave them to struggle and fight for their safety, or for a place at my side.”

“You did, my king,” Shang Qinghua says, throat going hot and tight.

“I killed my eldest brother.”

“W-what?”

Shang Qinghua shoves his hands under him and tries to shoot up, to look over his shoulder at Mobei-jun, but the man remains laid out partially on top of him like a lazy tiger, unmoving as he struggles against the solid muscle of Mobei-jun’s arms.

“My king, you what? When! Why!”

“I challenged him for his place in the line of succession, and I won.”

Mobei-jun rolls over onto his belly, exposing his bare back. Shang Qinghua sees there is a long gash there, the dark blue of a barely healed wound, that he hadn’t seen earlier with Mobei-jun facing him. He makes a panicked noise, and Mobei-jun tugs him back into his arms, shoving his cold nose under Shang Qinghua’s ear and making him yelp in outrage.

“My king, why? He could have killed you! Your father—”

“Values strength. I won fairly, and I have taken my brother’s place, and his life, fairly. I am heir to the North now. Some day, I will be king.”

Shang Qinghua falls still. They lay and breathe together in his bed. It’s never held the two of them together before, for all the times that Mobei-jun has slept in his room over the years.

“Will you be missed?” Mobei-jun asks.

“Uh… if I die? I hope so.”

Mobei-jun growls. “If you leave for a short time.”

“Oh. Probably not, my king. I’ve been getting away with a lot of sneaking out recently, my disciples—er, my martial siblings are managing well without direct supervision for a few hours right now.”

“Come to the North with me.”

This time, Mobei-jun allows him to roll over and face him. The man’s face is very serious, but his eyes have a strange, soft quality around the edges that is both new and familiar all at once.

“You want me in the demon realm with you?” he asks.

“Yes.”

Tentatively, Shang Qinghua reaches out and touches Mobei-jun’s demon mark, burning blue on his forehead.

“Sure, my king,” he says. “Whatever you want.”

Chapter 26

Chapter Text

Shang Qinghua can’t leave for the demon realm immediately.

For one thing he has a job and duties etcetera etcetera. An Ding will immediately collapse if he takes his eyes off of it and all of Cang Qiong will follow and then he’ll be standing in the rubble of the mountain and someone will go “Hey, Shang Qinghua, why didn’t you send that request for super special sword polish to Tian Yi Overlook?” and then his head will explode like confetti and he’ll wake up in a Pokemon game.

Besides this, he’s also technically still on Mu Qingfang imposed ‘rest,’ which the doctor has been very threatening over enforcing.

Dual cultivation is amazing for balancing his energies and generally improving his mood. He’s chalking this down fifty percent to the medical benefits of sharing qi between a demon and a human on the development of the baby and fifty percent because getting railed regularly by a sexy ice demon does wonders for his stress levels. Unfortunately, Mu Qingfang is unconvinced by Shang Qinghua’s assurance that he’s ‘discovered new meditation practices’ that will balance out the spiritual and demonic energies.

“You’ve done something,” the doctor says, somewhat scornfully, when Shang Qinghua proudly seeks him out to show off how not-qi-deviating he is. “But the risk of deviation is still high. Not to mention any other unforeseen side effects of this much demonic energy in your system.”

“It’s better though, right? Medically recommended to continue?” Shang Qinghua asks. He’s feeling great, practically bouncing, if it weren’t for the fact that the walk to Qian Cao Peak made his feet hurt and left him short of breath.

“Yes, I’d recommend continuing the… meditation,” Mu Qingfang says.

Shang Qinghua does a fist-pump.

“But,” the doctor continues, “I still think we should continue to research alternative options. For both the duration of your condition and for after.”

“Yes, for sure,” Shang Qinghua agrees. “No argument from me on that front. But I’d love to not, you know, die in the meantime. And I really want to be able to fly again. Mu-shidi, it takes so long to get my deliveries done now. Do you know how far it is from An Ding to Ku Xing?”

“No flying.” Mu Qingfang reaches out to slap Shang Qinghua’s hand with a medical text when it drifts to his sword hilt. “Make your juniors do the deliveries. Don’t think I didn’t get the full story about those wolves from Liu-shidi. I’d be more worried about you falling out of the sky than suffering any ill effects from a qi deviation on the ground.”

Shang Qinghua sighs and resigns himself to not seeing You Yuan’s blade until after the baby is born. It was nice having expedited transportation when he had it. Sometimes he can’t believe he lived an entire, if short, life without being able to fly at all.

——

Shang Qinghua doesn’t have to miss the easy transport that much. He has, after all, an extremely determined babysitter who’s easy to bully into flying him places.

Shang Qinghua didn’t actually tell Liu Qingge Mu Qingfang and Guo Lantian’s recommendation for supervision. He has the sneaking suspicion that either Yue Qingyuan or Mu Qingfang put him up to it, and he’ll be mad about it once he figures out which of them it was.

The pros to Liu Qingge’s increased, focused attention are something like as follows:

Liu Qingge has a very intimidating presence, for all that he’s pretty as a fairy maiden and soon-to-be the second shortest peak lord (... sob).

Shang Qinghua starts allowing him to come with on the rare trade meetings he has to make these days. This is both for the transportation and so that Liu Qingge can stand behind him while merchants try to oversell their wares. Shang Qinghua will say things like, “That price for mulberry paper doesn’t sound right, does it Liu-shidi?” and Liu Qingge, who he is sure has no idea how much mulberry paper costs, will grunt and narrow his eyes, and suddenly the merchant will have a much more agreeable price. Works like a charm.

This is an effective tactic on his own peak too. If he thought it was a boost to his reputation to be known to have gone on a mission with Liu Qingge, or to be seen occasionally practising sword forms with the man, it’s nothing like what people think when they look like they’re close. Shang Qinghua is, for the first time since he arrived on An Ding’s stoop like a lost dog digging holes in the dirt, gives off the illusion of being someone you don’t want to mess with. Seniors jump when he tells them to, and juniors are too busy staring at Liu Qingge’s pretty face with sparkling eyes to focus on disobeying him.

Liu Qingge is also pretty fun to be around. Shang Qinghua has never had a friend who wanted to do the ‘hanging out all the time’ thing that people always seemed to be doing on TV, but it’s kind of nice to have a taste of it in real life. He’s aware that Liu Qingge is here out of a sense of duty, given the risk of him keeling over and dying if he gets too excited or whatever, but even he has a hard time seeing the man’s focused attention as being entirely transactional. This might just be how Liu Qingge does friendship.

Then, there are the cons. The cons are something like this:

He has. No. Goddamn. Privacy.

After that day where he summoned Mobei-jun to his leisure house for their, ahem, conversation about the state of their relationship, Shang Qinghua has been trying to get some alone time with the man. He still has a hard time grappling with the fact that Mobei-jun wants to spend time with him, him as a person, and not just as a useful servant. Mobei-jun made it clear, in his own way, before he left that Shang Qinghua could call on him. Not just if he was in danger, or if he had something to report, but just if he wanted to see him.

Unfortunately, the constant attention of his martial siblings is putting a damper on that. The closer he gets to the baby’s presumed due-date, the more frantic the other five head disciples start to look. He’s sure this has something to do with the way the Peak Lord’s ascension is also rapidly approaching. There is a lot of displaced stress going around. Once Yue Qingyuan-or-Mu-Qingfang has set Liu Qingge on him, his alone time rapidly evaporates.

He and Mobei-jun do manage to meet, but only late at night. They have definitely kept up the, er, qi-stabilising activities. Shang Qinghua is often exhausted, almost always stressed, and occasionally rather anxious about making a misstep that causes Mobei-jun to realise this was all a major mistake. While the ice demon is hard to read at the best of times, Shang Qinghua also suspects the man is feeling a bit hesitant himself. He touches Shang Qinghua very carefully, speaks slowly, and is prone to bouts of contemplative silence. They take a lot of naps together which, often, turn into just… sleeping. At this rate Shang Qinghua is never going to get an afternoon alone with him, let alone enough time to disappear to the demon realm.

This is a problem. Shang Qinghua is busy enough already. He wants to have some time to see his king when they’re not both asleep!

“So, Liu-shidi,” Shang Qinghua tries after a week of this. He leans casually against a wall in a hallway on Qiong Ding, where Liu Qingge followed him (and flew him) to drop off some reports for the Sect Leader to ignore.

Liu Qingge grunts.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the escort, and the ride, but don’t you… have other places to be?”

Liu Qingge stares at him. “No.”

“Oh,” Shang Qinghua says, smiling forcefully. “Really? Aren’t you… missed? On Bai Zhan?”

“Why would I be?”

Shang Qinghua leaves that attempt there. He tries bringing it up a few more times, and each time gets about the same response.

Eventually, when Liu Qingge has been particularly clingy for a few days, Shang Qinghua decides this needs a more direct approach.

They’re having lunch in Shui Ansheng’s office, which is looking more organised, if Shang Qinghua does say so himself. It’s a lazy winter afternoon, the sky clear and cold and bright, and for a little while nothing on the peak requires Shang Qinghua’s urgent attention. It would be the perfect time to try summoning his king, had Liu Qingge not shown up at his door that morning and failed to leave since.

“Liu-shidi,” he says, pouring a cup of Mu Qingfang’s newest gross tea, “Not that I don’t appreciate your company, because I do. But. Is there a reason you’re following me? Everywhere?”

“Yue-shixiong asked me to,” Liu Qingge says.

Aha! That’s one mystery solved. Shang Qinghua thinks he should remind Yue Qingyuan which of them has historically poisoned the other more times.

“Alright, be that as it may. You know I don’t actually need constant supervision, right? We’re working on a fix for the deviation issue. And the, uh, meditation I’ve been doing is making it a lot better. I’m not going to die if you head back to Bai Zhan for an afternoon to train, or hunt a monster, or whatever you do over there.”

Liu Qingge looks down at his food. He stabs a piece of eggplant forcefully and doesn’t eat it.

Shang Qinghua’s eyes narrow.

“Is there maybe a reason you’re avoiding Bai Zhan?”

Liu Qingge’s grip on his chopsticks tightens.

Shang Qinghua studies him, finding traces of tension in his shoulders, the set of his dark brows.

“No one is causing trouble for you, are they?”

“No.”

“Trying to wrestle the position of Head Disciple back at the last minute?”

“No. I’ve already defeated anyone who could try.”

“Ah, that’s good, that’s a relief.” Shang Qinghua thinks, still watching Liu Qingge’s unhappy look. He takes a shot in the dark. "Are you... missing Mingyan?"

Bingo! Liu Qingge wilts sadly. Even his rigidly tight ponytail seems to droop.

"Ahh," Shang Qinghua says, "Why not go visit her?"

"Shouldn't leave the Sect this close to the ascension," Liu Qingge mumbles.

Shang Qinghua hums. He abandons his meal to rustle around his—Shui Ansheng’s— desk, pulling out scrolls and discarding them just as quickly, until he finds the one he’s looking for.

"Shidi, it's convenient you reminded me. An Ding just got an urgent request for aid on a hunt in Hubin City? I know you're busy right now, but do you think you might be able to take care of it?" he asks, stamping the scroll with the 'urgent! needs attention now!' seal that the simple night hunt request was missing.

Liu Qingge blinks at him. Shang Qinghua wiggles the scroll at him. "That's near the Liu family compound, isn't it? How convenient that there is a quick nighthunt in the area. Surely Liu-shidi could get there and back in just a few days, as a personal favour to An Ding."

Slowly, Liu Qingge reaches out and takes the scroll. He looks down at it, then back up at Shang Qinghua. “You need me here,” he says, a statement more than a question.

“I like having you here,” Shang Qinghua assures. “It’s very helpful, and you’re much better company than most of my martial siblings. But I really, truly, don’t need to be watched at all times. We’ll continue working on the seals without you for a few days, and I won’t do anything too dangerous while you’re not here for backup.”

Liu Qingge scowls at him. He deliberately finishes off his meal and bullies Shang Qinghua into finishing his own, and continues to hover as usual for the rest of the day, but he takes the scroll with him when he leaves in the evening.

The next day, Shang Qinghua hears that he’s left on the nighthunt. He smiles into his tea. Then, instead of getting to call his—whatever Mobei-jun is to him, he has to put out a fire on Meng Shou. A literal fire, this time. Such is the life of a head disciple.

——

Without Liu Qingge, Shang Qinghua does find himself a little lonely. He hates to admit it—he’s gone years of both lives barely spending any meaningful time with anyone! He should be used to making his own way through his days alone! But he does miss the constant presence at his side, even if it means he has more privacy.

He makes good use of the time. Zhong Miaoqing and his other informants have gone a little neglected recently amidst all the drama. He has reports from all of them to catch up on and then to follow up on.

Huan Hua palace continues to make completely predictable power grabs, with Tianlang-jun out of the way and Cang Qiong too busy with the upcoming ascension to keep them in check. Although Bailu Mountain was meant to be purposefully neutral territory, Huan Hua has begun to patrol it unasked for. This is more a problem for the Sect Leader than it is for Shang Qinghua, so he tables the information until Yue Qingyuan is the Sect Leader he can report it to. No way is he putting himself in Rong Anchuan’s line of fire.

There is no word on Su Xiyan. Shang Qinghua is torn between nervousness and relief. He isn’t sure if he wants to hear about it when she turns up dead and Tianlang-jun is blamed for one more crime. He’s even less sure what he’ll do if he hears something before her death.

Within the sect itself, his spies deliver a lot of information that is interesting but ultimately not of much use.

The previous generation of masters are all responding to their upcoming ascension in different ways. Shui Ansheng has more or less f*cked off the mountain entirely, spending his remaining days in the mortal realm sight seeing and sampling mortal pleasures. It’s a huge relief to Shang Qinghua, since that means the person on his peak most likely to see through his bullsh*t is usually gone. And it’s a huge pain in his ass, because that means he’s basically already running the peak, but with less respect and authority than he’ll have a month.

Amongst the others, some have chosen a similar route of appreciating what they’ll miss about this life before it's gone. Some, like Rong Anchuan himself, have been doubling down and asserting their opinions on the way things ‘should’ go for the next generation as firmly as possible before they leave. Rumour has it that the Sect Leader has been driving Qiong Ding a little crazy.

Overall, things are rather calm. This immediately fills Shang Qinghua with a deep well of anxiety.

Sue him, but he doesn’t trust quiet! Sure, many of his years at Cang Qiong have been filled with nothing but boring monotony, but ever since the plot has started to pick up, important events are just flying by. Tensions have been so high; in the cultivation world at large, between the peaks on Cang Qiong, with the rivalry and power-jockeying on his own peak, and even just with his tentative new ‘friends’ and his king. Finding out about the baby himself, then each of them finding out, and all the implications… It's been one thing after another. Often horrifying, but rarely boring.

The lack of immediate crisis leaves him, suddenly, with enough time to have a moment of contemplation.

He’s in his rooms, sliding off his robes and preparing for a bath. Mobei-jun has yet to appear, and Shang Qinghua isn’t sure if he wants to call him over. He’s tired in an ordinary way—the day was busy without being frantic. All of his joints hurt for no reason, and the baby is kicking him in the lungs. He’s sort of hoping the bath will cure all his ills when he strips and steps into the warm water.

He sighs as he gets submerged, letting his eyes closed as the warmth envelops him. Having some of the pressure off of his back feels amazing. If there’s one thing he can appreciate about his position as head disciple, it’s that he gets to use one of the nice tubs now.

He soaks for a while, just appreciating the water and the heat. He can’t stay in for too long without getting light headed, and at least three people are likely to bring him back from the dead just to kill him again if he knocks himself out and kicks it getting out of the bath.

It’s too easy to let his mind wander.

He slathers his hands with soap and scrubs himself down as efficiently as he can. He hasn’t been able bathe in the communal An Ding bath halls for months, and mostly he has to admit to just slapping himself with a cleaning talisman once a day. It's nowhere near as satisfying as a proper bath, but… it has the added benefit of not having to look at his body much.

Pregnancy has done strange things to his figure. After losing weight dramatically at the beginning, he’s built it back up a bit—his ribs aren’t so visible, his hips are wider, his wrists less bony. His chest has filled out quite a bit. That, in particular, he hasn’t looked at much. It’s been sore, but the advantage of the qiankun binder sending his boobs to a pocket dimension is that he doesn’t have to feel them when he’s wearing it. It also means he hasn’t had any issues with breastmilk soaking into his robes during the day, which Xiang Yijia had warned him about.

He pokes at them, grimacing, while he lounges and lets some neutral oil soak into the frayed ends of his hair. His chest wasn’t exactly small to start with, and now his breasts are heavy and tender, buoyed off of his belly by the water in the tub.

His stomach, too, is a little alien. Round and strange, lined with faint stretch marks and the outlines of his pale veins. He smooths his hands down it and makes a game out of pressing around to see if Baby Airplane will kick back. It’s strange to think how much he’s changed in the last couple of months. It’s strange to think that in another two months or so, the baby won’t be inside him at all.

He’s not sure how he feels about any of that. The sight of his own body makes something tight and unhappy curl in his chest, even though it usually doesn’t bother him. It hadn’t bothered him when Mobei-jun was touching him—the shape of his body, the changes it’s undergone since he got pregnant. It’s different, alone with himself.

He sighs and dunks himself under the water. This is why he doesn’t like quiet moments.

——

The next day, he manages to make arrangements so he can leave the sect with Mobei-jun.

He doesn’t have an appointment with Mu Qingfang or Guo Lantian for another week, and his weekly hangout/study session with the other head disciples just passed. His juniors are all on track with their tasks, his seniors have been placated, and there hasn’t been an urgent emergency. He’s informed Mu Qingfang that he’s taking the day to work on his meditation technique, and told his peakmates that he’ll be busy meeting with some merchants about a potential deal for dyes from the South.

He relays this all to Mobei-jun in an anxious stream when the man arrives to pick him up, pacing around his leisure house and tugging at his hair. Mobei-jun nods along to the information he absolutely doesn’t need and lets Shang Qinghua pace, until apparently realising that there’s no end to the spirals Shang Qinghua can launch himself into and stalking over to physically insert himself into Shang Qinghua’s path, reaching out to take his wrist and pull his hand away from his hair.

“You are able to leave?” he asks.

“Um… yes, my king! I should be. I can’t—I can’t think of anything that will go disastrously wrong if I do. Yet.”

“Good. Come.”

His king reaches out and cuts a rift through space with his claws. Shang Qinghua gulps and checks that he has a dagger in his boot, talismans in a pouch at the small of his back, and one of his pointy hair sticks up his sleeve.

“Alright, my king.”

He takes Mobei-jun’s offered hand and lets the ice demon pull him through into the dark.