Chapter Text
Shen Qingqiu scowled as he was dragged along to the North-Southern border (also known as the South-Northern border, or simply The Border, name depending on your political affiliations, relative age, and opinions on the new tariff on human flesh.)
This had been a place of conflict in Luo Binghe’s mid twenties, and had never really settled down after that. So when news came of suspicious energy spikes, Luo Binghe departed immediately, before Shen Qingqiu had the chance to say a proper goodbye.
Yue Qingyuan would fret.
He had been far more touchy with Shen Qingqiu in the time since Shang Qinghua’s death, sticking close to him as if to fear he would disappear too, one day, without Yue Qingyuan ever knowing what happened. Shen Qingqiu had only just managed to convince him to close his eyes for a moment! See how long it would take him to sleep next time, now that he’d had to shake Yue Qingyuan awake in the final second he had had before he was pulled out of touching range.
Luo Binghe clambered over a pile of rocks, pebbles coming loose and rolling down the hill.
Halfheartedly, Shen Qingqiu swiped out and caught his ankle, trying to get him to trip. As ever, Luo Binghe shook himself loose without a single sign that he’d even noticed Shen Qingqiu’s attempt at sabotage.
Shen Qingqiu grew uncomfortable the longer they walked, the closer they came to the top of the mountain. Luo Binghe hadn’t noticed it yet, Xin Mo bound to his back the way it was, but the sword had started to exude a nearly invisible glow.
And it was growing brighter.
A deep purple, steadily radiating from the blade. Power curled around it, turning the air thick as molasses. At this point even Luo Binghe had noticed, untying it from his back and holding it at his side as he continued climbing. He shot uneasy glances at it from time to time.
He was barely breathing now, the air oppressive in a way that couldn’t be attributed to a mere lack of oxygen.
One, two final steps —
And a portal shot open, showing the outlines of an underground room, a broad-shouldered person meditating on the floor, metal pieces in front of him glowing the same purple as the portal.
Inexplicably, Shen Qingqiu knew it wasn’t part of Luo Binghe’s lands — wasn’t even part of this world.
He hurriedly stepped back, mentally cursing. If he went through this, could he still return to Yue Qingyuan?
Clearly not sharing his apprehension, Luo Binghe strode through the gateway, Xin Mo held at the ready.
The portal’s edges convulsed and tightened, collapsing in on itself now that its power source had removed itself from its vicinity. The process was slow, but sure, and for one brief moment Shen Qingqiu dared to hope he would be able to remain in this world.
The chain abruptly shortened, and Shen Qingqiu choked as he was mercilessly pulled closer to that cursed thing. No! He threw himself away, down to the earth, but his fingers gained no purchase, phasing through the scattered boulders.
In one last desperate effort, he reached for the warmth in his chest, grabbing on to it for all his worth. It spilled through his fingers, and Shen Qingqiu
knew
it was not yet strong enough to keep him here, with
the man he loved
his shixiong, but he refused to give up, to simply let go.
And it paid off, for when he was dragged through the portal at last, he pulled the gentle heat along with him.
Shen Qingqiu stumbled onto level ground, the floor a smooth polished stone. It would have hurt if he could still feel things such as that.
He stood up and dusted himself off, only to be very rudely interrupted as a body was hurled through his ghostly body, into the portal. He didn’t have the time to see who it was before the portal closed behind the person, leaving naught but rapidly fading flecks of purple light behind.
Whomever it was, Shen Qingqiu decided he liked them. Luo Binghe was covered in wounds, some still bleeding. The last time someone had managed that had been more than a decade ago, involved three separate Generals and their armies, and a betrayal the size of which Shen Qingqiu had been able to revel in for months.
But that wasn’t important.
Yue Qingyuan was not with him, but he only had to close his eyes to feel his presence, much brighter than before, motes of sunlight and the sweetness of a summer’s peach.
He hurried alongside Luo Binghe, back to the palace. The bond tying him to the beast was a weak thing — but all the more stubborn for it, clinging to him and digging into his skin like the barbed wire Ben Qingti had invented to keep her herd of Solar Flare-Born Cows contained — and though he could not wait to test his expanded bounds, he stuck close, eager to return to the palace.
The landscape was different, both more and less familiar than he expected it to be. It was very clearly a place that favoured the demonic side, though, the sky a deep, unnatural red that he hadn’t seen since the realms had been merged.
Luo Binghe slowed down as they came upon the palace.
… Or at least, what Shen Qingqiu guessed was this world’s counterpart to Junshang’s palace. It looked bare, but Shen Qingqiu had not enough knowledge to pin down what was missing, and why.
That empty spot where a tower should be — was that a recent addition for a new member of the harem, or had it simply been rebuilt after being destroyed during an overzealous spar? And over there, almost none of the decoration that Shen Qingqiu so disdained had remained — but had that come from the merging with Huan Hua Palace, almost two centuries ago, or from the tithes paid during the years since?
He shot a look at Luo Binghe, hoping his attitude could give him a hint as to when and where the divergence took place, but he could gain nothing from his furrowed brow.
If anything, Luo Binghe looked increasingly confused, and all the more frustrated for it.
Did he even know what was going on? The fact that they were in a different world was obvious to Shen Qingqiu — the air screamed with it — but it might not be to someone yet living.
Yue Qingyuan was not waiting for him in the entrance hall.
Shen Qingqiu’s heart sank, and he desperately cast around for the sun-sweet presence in his chest. He was here, he had to be, there was no place else he could be —
It was faded with distance, but present. Relieved, Shen Qingqiu let out his breath.
He barely noticed Luo Binghe making his way into the palace as he frowned. If anything, Yue Qingyuan was further from him now than it had been when he arrived in this world.
Servants scattered around Luo Binghe as he prowled through the halls, retreating to the safety of his inner palace like the wounded beast he was.
He threw the final doors open, and —
“Luo Binghe?!”
Shen Qingqiu reared back. That was him.
The other-him rushed forward, coming to Luo Binghe’s aide as he nearly collapsed. Other-him ran a hand through the beast’s hair, wiping some of the bloodied strands out of his eyes. He didn’t seem to be at all concerned with the mess. “What happened? Who did this?”
“Leave,” Luo Binghe snarled.
Other-him narrowed his eyes, but did not run away like a sensible person might. (Like Shen Qingqiu would have done.) “Alright, we’re leaving.”
Shen Qingqiu was very pleased to see Luo Binghe reject his touch, pushing away from other-him’s arms.
“Don’t be silly, this teacher is bringing you back to Cang Qiong Mountain.”
…Cang Qiong Mountain? It remained standing in this world?
He did not pay any further attention to the back-and-forth between Luo Binghe and other-him, staying within touching distance as he anxiously awaited the end to their argument and (inevitable, knowing his own strong will) departure. Before long, he was standing on the outer tip of Xiu Ya, trying to stay as far removed from the two forms that were so closely huddled together they might as well be one.
Cang Qiong… He had never thought of it as beautiful, but it was, it really was.
His eyes couldn’t catch up with his thoughts as he fervently devoured every sight around him; Qing Jing, the scent of bamboo driving away the memories of ashes; over there, Qiong Ding, the tallest mountain of them all, standing proud where it had once been levelled; and there —
He jumped off the sword while they were still landing, running over to Yue Qingyuan — his Yue Qingyuan, he knew, not whatever facsimile might exist here.
They connected with a cry, his hands clawing at Yue Qingyuan’s back, head burrowed in the hollow of his neck. The sight of him, touched by gentle daylight, was almost too much.
“Xiao Jiu,” Yue Qingyuan gasped wetly, and Shen Qingqiu could spare no thought to admonish him when he could see Yue Qingyuan had bared his feet to enjoy the touch of grass, when his cheeks were flushed with the slightly too-cold air that came with the heights of these mountains.
He looked more alive than he had in decades, despite him not being any less dead than he had been when Shen Qingqiu saw him last.
Yue Qingyuan barked out a laugh, sharp and joyful, and embraced Shen Qingqiu in return. He hid his face in the crook of Shen Qingqiu’s neck, the soft heat of his tears burning against his skin.
The grass below them could not stain their insubstantial bodies, but Shen Qingqiu thought he would not care if it did.
Eventually, the feeling of rapture drained away with the sun, leaving him feeling empty in a strangely pleasant manner. Contentedness creeped up to fill the space, the emotion kind in a way Shen Qingqiu could not remember his mind ever being to him. Yue Qingyuan had ceased his most outward displays of emotion, quietly shuddering in Shen Qingqiu’s grasp.
Shen Qingqiu allowed himself to luxuriate in this sight — Yue Qingyuan, surrounded by greenery, the wide blue sky above him, rather than the cold metals that were all over the halls he had been contained to for so long — for only a minute (which quickly became two, then five, then thirty).
Then, reluctantly, he pulled back and collected himself. His dignity solidly back on his shoulders, he asked, “Yue Qingyuan, what is going on here? What do you know?”
“Liu Qingge is alive,” Yue Qingyuan answered at once. “Shang Qinghua remains at the Sect. We seem to be sometime between five and fifteen years since Luo Binghe’s reappearance at Huan Hua Palace, but I have not yet been able to overhear someone speaking of his ascension.”
So, they were in the past? But not their past.
He wondered if it had ceased being their past at one point, or if it had never been that in the first place.
“Well,” Shen Qingqiu said briskly. “The version of me that exists here was being awfully familiar with the beast, so obviously something went wrong there. The palace in the demon realm looks the way I assume it did before it merged with Huan Hua Palace — but obviously I can’t be sure.”
He had been imprisoned in Huan Hua’s prisons before the merger happened, and that too was where the shards of Xuan Su laid. He hadn’t followed Yue Qingyuan into death until after the realms had been merged, and so had never seen what Luo Binghe’s palace in the demon realms had looked like.
Yue Qingyuan’s eyebrows pulled together at the mention of Luo Binghe. “I realise that perhaps you’d rather not, but I’d feel better if I knew what he is doing right now.”
“You worry too much,” Shen Qingqiu grumbled. “This is not our world, does it matter whether he destroys it or leaves it untouched?”
“Right.” Yue Qingyuan's smile was pained. “Then might I suggest that instead we —”
“So quick to abandon your plan,” Shen Qingqiu said with a moue, standing up and dusting his clean clothes off. “If you would rather not follow him, just say so.”
“Ah.” Yue Qingyuan’s eyes shone brightly. Shen Qingqiu turned his head away, not comfortable with the thankfulness in his face. “I saw them leave in the direction of your house.”
And so they started walking.
Yue Qingyuan was childishly delighted by everything that Shen Qingqiu had long taken for granted; the feeling of gravel below his bare feet, his arms extending to trail his hands through the bushes at the side of the path. He went out of his way to step into a puddle, a soft noise of pure joy escaping him. No mud clung to the bottom of his robes, nor to the skin below it, but that didn’t dampen his bliss.
At the sight, something in Shen Qingqiu’s chest wrung itself into coils, then unravelled again.
It felt good.
Halfway to Shen Qingqiu’s bamboo house, a young woman hurried past them, walking the other way. Ning Yingying, Shen Qingqiu was astounded to notice. She was nearly unrecognisable in Qing Jing’s soft greens and whites.
She had grown well here.
He fought the urge to turn around and follow her. To see her like this, with a youth and joy she had lost a long time ago in their world, and with a confidence she had never had in the first place…
“Qingqiu-shidi,” Yue Qingyuan said, and Shen Qingqiu tore his eyes away from her.
“She looks… good.”
Yue Qingyuan understood him; all those ugly feelings, the warped version of paternal care he had for her — all he could offer her — and what it meant to see her like this. He laid a gentle hand on Shen Qingqiu’s elbow, and pulled him along.
“We shall go and see her after we have a look at how this world’s you is doing,” Yue Qingyuan promised.
Shen Qingqiu briefly leaned closer in silent thanks, then sped up. He was the first on his-not-his doorstep, walking through the door like it wasn’t even there.
He immediately stepped back out.
“Don’t go in there,” he commanded. “They are —”
He didn’t finish the sentence, fighting the urge to stick his tongue out like a child would. The sight of other-him bowed over Luo Binghe’s prone body, a worried expression on his face as he cleaned Luo Binghe’s bloodied chest with light hands — it was deeply repulsive.
Yue Qingyuan did not heed his warnings, and stuck his head through the door.
When he pulled back, he did not manage to hide his disconcertment well.
“Let’s leave,” Shen Qingqiu said. “You’ve assuaged your fears; they are not committing arson at this very moment, nor planning for a violent take-over. There is no need to stay any longer.”
Yue Qingyuan tipped his head. “I admit I am worried about what could happen to this version of you,” he said. “To leave him here all alone, with only Luo Binghe as his company.”
“You’ve got me already,” Shen Qingqiu said with more aggression than he would have liked. “What, do you want to start a collection?”
“Of course not,” Yue Qingyuan soothed. “You are, as you have ever been, enough.”
Shen Qingqiu sniffed and turned around. “Then there is no reason to stay here,” he called after himself as he started walking.
Yue Qingyuan hesitated briefly, but to his credit, he followed Shen Qingqiu without another look inside.
On their way through the surrounding bamboo forest, they passed Liu Qingge — he really looked so much like his sister — which caused the last of the tension to leave Yue Qingyuan’s shoulders.
Good, it better. Shen Qingqiu would not stand for Yue Qingyuan to get so attached to this other-him that he forgot to pay attention to the not-living, not-breathing version next to him.
He ignored the curiosity itching in the back of his mind, blended with light worry. Whatever happened to other-him, didn’t matter. This was not his world. He could die, for all Shen Qingqiu cared.
They spend the rest of the day and the following night surveying Cang Qiong, from the smallest hideaways on Qing Jing to the entrance of the Lingxi Caves on Qiong Ding — and no further — to the furthest reaches of Ku Xing Peak, where the bounds on Shen Qingqiu’s soul only just started to strain.
At no point in time did Yue Qingyuan lose his wonderment — it even started to show on his face, as he watched everything with a clear delight. He pointed at everything like Shen Qingqiu had no eyes to see with himself.
‘Look, shidi, that young girl is cleaning up after the beasts. I wonder how long she’s been a disciple here?’ And ‘Over there, do you see? They added a new section to the peak’s records, I’d always known that would be necessary soon.’
Shen Qingqiu found he could not get tired of Yue Qingyuan’s commentary, though. It was really rather endearing, to see him revel in the life present in every last nook and cranny.
It stirred his heart far more than the sights of Cang Qiong Sect did. He had not been particularly attached to the Sect even when he had been alive. This replica meant nothing to him.
And yet.
In the morning, he found himself nudging Yue Qingyuan back over to Qing Jing. “Since you are so terribly worried about them,” he said, ignoring how the idea of a Luo Binghe loose in Cang Qiong seemed so much worse than it had yesterday, when this had still remained somewhat unreal in his mind.
And he was right to have worried.
The beast was alone in the house, the other-him nowhere to be found. He was walking around, touching everything with proprietary hands.
Shen Qingqiu grit his teeth. He knew this place was his about as much as it was Luo Binghe’s — not at all — but that didn’t ease the annoyance.
Luo Binghe picked up a wooden figurine of a small cat, turning it over in his hand. Despite it being amateurishly carved; despite it being nothing that Shen Qingqiu recognised as having owned; despite him not being able to imagine caring about it even if he had, he still fought the urge to try to bat it out of Luo Binghe’s greedy hands.
Yue Qingyuan turned around. “He’s coming,” he said.
Within a moment, Luo Binghe heard the same distant sound of footsteps. He put the figurine back in its place of honour — slightly crooked, Shen Qingqiu noticed with thick disdain — and. And he —
He reclined on Shen Qingqiu’s bed.
In the exact same way he would when he had sent a servant to collect one of his wives.
Shen Qingqiu bit his tongue until he felt it tear open between his teeth, no blood welling up to show for the shredded meat. “How dare he,” he seethed. “How dare he —” To taint this place like that? What kind of rotten, disgusting —
Yue Qingyuan grabbed his arm. “There he is.”
The door cracked open, other-him pausing as he was met with this revolting sight.
“What is it? Why isn’t Shizun coming here?”
Shen Qingqiu scoffed. Because no version of him would ever be seduced by someone like him, no matter how perfectly he angled his waist, how carefully he draped his curls over his shoulder.
The door clicked shut. Other-him went without a fight as he was pulled into Luo Binghe’s arms. No, not even without a fight — with joy.
Shen Qingqiu carefully revised what name he called this other Shen Qingqiu by, for he refused to identify him in any way that connected him to Shen Qingqiu.
… He could have the name Shen Qingqiu. Shen Jiu would not let him have ‘Jiu,’ not when he was acting like that.
Yue Qingyuan laid a hand on Shen Jiu’s lower back, trying to steer him out of the room in the way they always would try to leave when Luo Binghe got up to sating his urges. Shen Jiu dug in his heels, refusing to be run out of his own house.
Shen Qingqiu grabbed Luo Binghe’s hand, ending up in Luo Binghe’s lap with a bitten-off surprised gasp. His legs were spread wide — Shen Jiu felt bile rise up in his throat — and rested on either side of Luo Binghe’s waist. A possessive hand rested on his nape, using it to pull him closer for a deep kiss.
And they just kept going. Rage curled in Shen Jiu’s chest like a wild beast, gnawing at its own limbs for lack of action to take. What could he do? Nothing.
“Let’s leave,” Yue Qingyuan pleaded, still trying to steer Shen Jiu out of the room.
But he refused to move. He couldn’t have told you why, what he hoped to see, at least not until —
Energy buzzed around Shen Qingqiu’s palm, almost imperceptible. In one quick strike, he struck at Luo Binghe’s chest, strong enough to throw him off.
Shen Jiu cheered for him. A tactic to convince the beast to let his guard down? That was almost an acceptable excuse. Almost.
“I knew other-me couldn’t have been so much of a disgrace that he’d shack up with that bastard,” he told Yue Qingyuan with a confidence he hadn’t felt at any point in time during this mess. Nonetheless, Yue Qingyuan nodded patiently and accepted his lie.
Luo Binghe bared his teeth like the mad dog he was.
Shen Qingqiu kicked at Luo Binghe, but let out a hiss when his ankle was captured by the beast. He was pulled closer, closer, robes rucking up from the friction — Shen Jiu shot forward, swiping at Luo Binghe’s face with his finger curled into claws.
No damage was done, but that did not prevent Shen Jiu from trying again, and again.
They were saying something, but Shen Jiu didn’t listen, struck at the sight of a version of himself trapped underneath the beast’s body. He clawed and tore at the beast’s skin, trying to pull him off the other him but nothing was working —
A broad hand wrapped around his waist, pulling him off the fighting pair. His vision was cut off by Yue Qingyuan’s back, as he stood in front of him. Protective, defensive.
With a grunt, Yue Qingyuan tore an arrow out of his shoulder, holding it ready above the duo… and struck out, as quick as a viper, and stabbed Luo Binghe through the hand with it.
Luo Binghe grunted in pain, and despite the skin on his hand being as pristine as ever, he faltered and let go. Shen Qingqiu quickly scrambled back, putting as much distance between Luo Binghe and himself as possible.
His mind spun.
Yue Qingyuan saved him.
Well, no. He didn’t save him. Shen Jiu would never make that mistake. But that didn’t matter, it was someone close enough to count. Yue Qingyuan saved him.
He didn’t know why this mattered so much to him, why the thought made him feel endlessly light and unburdened. It wasn’t that it confirmed something he hadn’t been able to believe before — he already knew that Yue Qingyuan would try, try, try again. (And fail just as often. Too late, too fast, too thoughtless and impatient.)
In the distance, a fight had struck up, a second Luo Binghe having appeared at some point in time. Shen Jiu paid him no regard, all his attention on Yue Qingyuan, who was staring at his hands, at the arrow held loose between his fingers.
He looked lost, like he hadn’t expected to succeed, to actually be able to help for once.
Shen Jiu didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure he wanted to risk forming words when it felt like something in his chest, bloodied shards of hope and trust, was rearranging itself into something easy. Something bearable.
Whatever he said would come out ugly — things always did, when Shen Jiu felt even a little vulnerable. And that was not what he wanted to do, to break this crystalline moment with words far crueller than Shen Jiu meant them to be.
So he said nothing. And maybe he didn’t need to say anything in the first place. Maybe they understand each other perfectly already.
They both felt it when another portal opened, a tangled cut into the fabric of existence. They both felt it when Luo Binghe threw himself through it.
The chains that had bound him to that man for so long, impossibly strong as they confined him to a half-life of hatred, were now nothing more than cobwebs. Shen Jiu brushed them off with barely a thought.
Luo Binghe left, and Shen Jiu did not.
He stayed here, with Yue Qingyuan. A soft warmth the only thing taking up space in his chest, and a shaky smile on the man in front of him. A familiar-but-not world and the time to make it his own as surely as it would have been if he had been born in it.
He could move on now, he knew with a bone-deep certainty. To leave this earth behind for whatever came next, to abandon this wretched form and become something new, something that had never been stained by blood and dirt and more hatred than he knew how to handle.
But fuck that.
Fuck moving on. The afterlife had only just turned from a punishment — if one with decent company — to something with the potential to be good. Nice. Enjoyable.
Something worth staying for.
(Someone worth staying for.)
He set his shoulders, ignored whatever was going on with this other Luo Binghe and the other-him with a skill born from decades of experience, and turned to Yue Qingyuan.
“I wish to see if there’s an other-you,” Shen Jiu said, almost offhandedly. “I’m sure he’s appropriately pathetic to match this other-me.”
“No version of Xiao Jiu could ever be pathetic.”
“And after that, I desire to travel,” Shen Jiu decided, continuing on like he hadn’t heard anything. “You shall be accompanying me, naturally.”
“Of course this one will.”
“There’s a spirit-guarded grove about twenty days by foot north-west. It looked old when I saw it last, so I presume it’ll remain in this day and age. You’ll like it, I’m sure.”
“Xiao Jiu knows my tastes well.”
Shen Jiu shot him a dark look that said he knew what Yue Qingyuan was doing, with that easy acquiescence. Yue Qingyuan only sent him a beatific smile back, pretend-innocence radiating off of him.
Shen Jiu sniffed and turned around, setting off for Qiong Ding. Yue Qingyuan quickly caught up, taking pace with him, his hand folding around Shen Jiu’s own with an easy confidence in his welcome. Impudent. Shen Jiu hid a smile.
And beyond even that… Eventually, they’d be so closely connected, Shen Jiu dared the world to even try and tear the two of them apart.
Then, and not a second before that time, was when they would finally move on. Together. To be bound in the next life as surely as they were in this one.
Shen Jiu would accept nothing else.