Chapter Text
Luo Binghe has no idea what is going on.
One moment, he's ready to enact his rightful revenge against his terrible, worthless excuse of someone he thought was his teacher, practically his father—
He takes in a breath and exhales out the long-held fumes of anger and grief, forcing his pulse to slow before continuing his thoughts.
Luo Binghe felt a delicious satisfaction with the widening of his former teacher’s eyes as he grabs the oh-so mysterious twin brother, his inexistence upheld if only Shen Qingqiu had kept word of his past a little tighter around the lips. He forces Shen Qingqiu to watch as his brother is humiliated, as Luo Binghe dangles his fate before those venomous green eyes. The confirmation that his teacher has the ability to hold something without breaking it, the value he places on the object that was so tightly shrouded in secrecy, it cannot be denied by the vicious way he slams his body across the locked door of the carriage, sharp threats hurdling past the frame. Even when Shen Qingqiu was at his most angry, his most vicious towards Luo Binghe’s small, weak frame, he never debased himself at this level, like a wild street child thrown in a cage.
Luo Binghe keeps this fact tied close to his chest, purring in contentment at the way he has made his former teacher lose composure. He thumbs the wound deeper, quickly deciding to turn this treasured object into mud by dragging him behind Xin Mo, keeping in pace with Shen Qingqiu’s eyes.
This satisfaction is short-lived when he sees a version of Shen Qingqiu’s eyes softly following his own and humble words falling out of lips that had only ever scorned him in his mind.
Shen Yuan, Luo Binghe thinks, eyes tracking the figure behind Xin Mo, feet stumbling on their travel due to his inappropriate footwear without complaint, You are the very opposite of what I expected.
The lack of understanding chafes at him, mocking his thoughts as he rode Xin Mo to their next resting place.
Did he expect the brother to be a better person than Shen Qingqiu? Absolutely — many people, by contrast, were capable of a small façade of decency, of politeness, of falling for social niceties to achieve what they wished.
But no one who touches Shen Qingqiu’s orbit remains unscathed. Like a fungus, he grows, ruthlessly severing the dignity, self-control, or life of every man he has come across in his pursuit of gold and power. Luo Binghe was expecting a simpering brother, a harsh man, a greedy little vermin that would spit on his clothes and curse his bloodline for daring to dirty his expensive robes.
He is not expecting a confident man who can easily accept a terrible fate. He is not expecting a savior on Xin Mo, taming an untamable beast, of delicate hands carding through one of Luo Binghe’s companions to create something beautiful. Of peels of laughter and quick wit to brush against his own, of a body and expression that is immediately trusting and kind and beautiful in it's authenticity.
He is not expecting Shen Yuan.
And Luo Binghe wants. For a sudden, delirious moment, he feels a foreign connection to his teacher as he gazes at Shen Yuan’s hand, fingers only barely grazing the edges of soft skin as he sleeps after the chaos of the saber-toothed wolf-geese attack. It is not as if Luo Binghe is inexperienced on matters of the flesh, of what two men can do to each other under the comfort of a tent, but this knowledge never prepared him for the electricity that follows his spine as he touches the torn edges of a silk — two hundred dollars, more than most will make in their lives and children's lives — underrobe. Even the simple laughter coming out of Shen Yuan’s cherry lips makes him want to devour, to consume them both whole with a ferociousness that frightens even a man such as Luo Binghe, used to the hungry sway of his whims.
He doesn't know if he even wants Shen Yuan, or if he wants Shen Qingqiu, or if he wants a lie of maternal comfort to hold him through a dreamless sleep.
He simply wants.
He splays his hand across Shen Yuan’s hands where they're tight around his stomach, feeling Shen Yuan’s breath hitch across his neck as he sighs with some hidden thought while they travel north.
Luo Binghe’s lips twist with mirth.
On this, he understands Shen Qingqiu.
Luo Binghe will do everything in his power to keep Shen Yuan only by his side.
A quick glance at Shen Yuan confirms he's distracted at their newest stop — Luo Binghe had subtlety suggested that Xin Mo’s mane has come undone from his braid, and Shen Yuan immediately jumped into mother-henning the horse, cooing soft phrases to it that Luo Binghe does not wish was said to him instead.
He won't become jealous of a smug horse. He simply refuses.
“Shang Qinghua.”
His fourth in command jerks from his position on top of the carriage, slowly taking out the finger that was attempting to dig into his ear. “Yes, boss?”
“I'd like to have a private conversation with our guest,” Luo Binghe commands, face relaxed and smile ready.
Shang Qinghua doesn't relax at his easy composure and gentle words; his good instincts are one of the better qualities that Luo Binghe appreciates about him. “I have zero problems with that,” He quickly answers, immediately climbing off to walk as far away from the carriage as possible. Luo Binghe is sure he doesn't envy spending more time around Shen Qingqiu.
Speaking of — Luo Binghe is more than aware that Shen Qingqiu can hear them, but he's refusing to open the hand-sized window in the carriage. Cute.
Luo Binghe lets his smile turn a little deeper, the itch in his bones flaring for another fight as he stays an arm's length away from the opening. This is a game where the first one to lose face loses everything, and Luo Binghe is nothing if not competitive.
“Teacher — Shizun,” He croons. “Don't you wish to speak to me? You've always had words for my behavior. I'm sure you still have more.”
The window remains stubbornly shut.
“Don't you wish to negotiate for your brother's release?” He needles.
The window opens.
“I won't negotiate with scum.”
The circles around Shen Qingqiu’s eyes betray his discomfort, brow furrowed and skin a shade too pale. Even still, his face shows the calculations in his gaze, irises flickering over Luo Binghe’s every move.
Luo Binghe’s smile widens.
“I could drop him off at the nearest town — one of my ‘wives’ will take care of him,” He continues. “You know what I want in return.”
The scowl deepens, but Luo Binghe senses that his emotions are muted; whether for self-protection, or exhaustion, Luo Binghe can't tell. He sees a delicate hand waft a fan in the carriage, Shen Qingqiu’s mind churning as a pause settles.
“I’ll convince my fool of a fiancé to take the land deal and provide recompense,” Shen Qingqiu suddenly answers. “If,” He continues before Luo Binghe can react, “You take that—” He points to a particularly large cactus in the distance, “And directly shove it within yourself.”
Luo Binghe’s eye twitches. Shen Qingqiu leans backwards, evidently satisfied with his counter.
“I'm not a fool. I know what you wish to do to me, however I answer,” Shen Qingqiu accurately points out, eyes piercing him above the fan. His frown deepens, almost surprising Luo Binghe at the way the hatred in his eyes suddenly grows. “And I know what you wish to do to my brother, vermin,” He spits, “You're all the same. All of you, you're all the same,” He pushes out, as if it was dragged out of his soul, voice trembling with hatred. “I won't waste my breath with threats if you put your disgusting hands on him. You know I will kill you like the dog that you are, without remorse, without a plea deal, and without hesitation.”
He moves to close the window. Luo Binghe speaks quickly. “Haven’t you noticed that he doesn't even want to look at you?” He knowingly coos, angling his body so Shen Qingqiu has an unobstructed view of his brother fiddling with Xin Mo’s saddles, face relaxed and smile tender. “Don't you think he'd be safer and happier under my protection? After all, Yue Qingyuan failed to protect Shen Yuan. You failed to protect Shen Yuan.”
Shen Qingqiu doesn't answer, hand trembling around the base of the fan. If looks could kill, Luo Binghe would be a scattered pile of ash and bones.
“I'll leave you with something to stave off your untimely death,” He half-heartedly states at the heavy silence, throwing a spare waterskin and hardtacks into the window, not bothering to see if his former teacher has caught them.
Luo Binghe walks away.
Somehow, he doesn't feel as if he's won the conversation.
“Cang Qiong Mountain.”
Shen Yuan jerks back from examining a peculiar purple bush on the ground, looking up from his crouch. “Hm?”
Luo Binghe sits down next to him, feeling something in his soul settle at the proximity. “The Peaks. Have you seen them before? I feel as if you would appreciate their diverse botany.”
He sees thoughts fluttering through Shen Yuan’s eyes, mouth moving as they settle. Interesting — a question like that shouldn't have created such a long pre-response. “No, I haven't,” He cautiously answers. “What are they like?”
Luo Binghe’s smile grows flat, eyes tightening. “Beautiful. It's full of lush vegetation, animals, and rushing water. You would like it. It's as if paradise came on earth,” A rotten paradise, full of pain, misery, starvation, tears, humiliation—
Shen Yuan stares at him, eyes knowing, and Luo Binghe quickly tucks his memories in the far corner of his mind. He'll need to be cautious about Shen Yuan’s observant tendencies.
“I joined your brother's gang when I was very young. They were occupying the land illegally back then, of course, but I wasn't aware until later. I had assumed they were a—,” A quirk of his lips, “A righteous group. Once I was picked off the streets, it was too late, and I couldn't leave. Where would I go? Cang Qiong’s nature was my only solace.”
He turns to look at the unmoving figure next to him, eyes focused on his every word. Luo Binghe’s mind quiets to a slow simmer, words lowering as he asks the question that has been plaguing him since he met this elusive, bizarre individual.
“Do you know what your brother has done, Shen Yuan? To me, and to others?” He leans closer. “Do you know who I am? What I've done, and what I want?”
Silence settles. Luo Binghe lets him gather his words.
“I believe,” Shen Yuan carefully begins, “That you've been treated unfairly by him, as have many others,” Shen Yuan's gaze tracks Luo Binghe’s face, searching for something with such inquisitiveness that Luo Binghe resists the uncharacteristic urge to hide. “I think you're a man who holds himself to a high standard, as you do to many others. I think I know what you want, but one should never assume,” He demurely finishes.
“And what do I want?” He asks. “I don't mind your answers.”
Shen Yuan stares back at the plant, not meeting Luo Binghe’s gaze. “Land. Power. Women.”
Luo Binghe is so used to people dancing around words, of hidden barbs and subtle synonyms, that the blunt statement slaps him in surprise, eyes widening.
Instinctively, the child inside of him pushes, spitting in rage at the brutal honesty. The more experienced part of Luo Binghe holds the words close, examining them under dim light, scrutinizing them for any fault.
In the end, he decides not to answer.
“Do you think it is wrong, to want such things in this world?” He questions, refusing to concede defeat and run with his tail between his legs.
No, Shen Yuan is not like Shen Qingqiu. He may be something worse, for a person such as Luo Binghe.
“I believe,” Shen Yuan answers with that caution in his voice that Luo Binghe wants to break. “It is better to ask if these things will bring you the peace that you seek.”
Luo Binghe freezes, unsure if he should fight or flee the sudden twist in the conversation.
His face turns back to the crew setting up camp for the night as he ruminates — their faces are haggard from travelling, expressions focused, but some are joking with each other, laughter softening the harshness of life in the face of comradery.
Luo Binghe might have to reevaluate the thought that Shen Yuan was weaker than Shen Qingqiu. Instead of a flood to overwhelm, Shen Yuan seems to prefer striking at the moment of vulnerability, rattling Luo Binghe’s cage like no one else has been able to in a long, long while.
“Of course they will,” He roughly answers, if only to witness Shen Yuan’s reaction to the overconfident words.
Shen Yuan doesn't blink. “Just as they've brought peace to my brother?”
Luo Binghe huffs out a small, bitter laugh. He looks Shen Yuan up and down, reevaluating his view of the man.
Luo Binghe will not underestimate Shen Yuan again.
“And what do you want, Shen Yuan?”
Shen Yuan’s face grows teasing, a shy smile slipping on his face, thankfully erasing the sober expression. “Can't I just want to stay by your side? And Xin Mo’s?”
Luo Binghe’s mind blanks.
A satisfaction, new and fathomless, blooms in Luo Binghe’s stomach.
This man is going to drive Luo Binghe to madness.
Luo Binghe smiles at Shen Yuan — a real one, crooked and imperfect. “Well, you forgot to mention something else that I want,” He teases back, brushing off the dirt as he stands.
Shen Yuan perks up, turning to follow. “What? What did I forget?”
Luo Binghe hurries further, making a game of walking faster than Shen Yuan can keep up until they're almost at a jog, Shen Yuan quickly catching on to the little game he's playing.
He doesn't go too quickly, mindful of Shen Yuan’s healing injury. He turns to look behind him, finding thrill on the other's face.
“Aren't you going to tell me?!” Shen Yuan yells, already breathing heavily from their sprint.
“Only if you catch me!” Luo Binghe loudly teases over the wind, rushing towards the opening of his tent, ignoring the questioning faces of his group. Shen Yuan stumbles in a few seconds later, hair beautifully windswept and face flushed.
“Well?” Shen Yuan demands, huffing as he stands in Luo Binghe’s tent. “What's this thing you've made me earn?”
Luo Binghe leans in before he can talk himself out of the idea, lips finding Shen Yuan's and hands pulling up to find his beautiful face. His lips are soft, body warm from where it presses against Luo Binghe.
Shen Yuan freezes, turning to ice under his hold.
Alarmed, Luo Binghe pulls back, eyes frantically searching the space and Shen Yuan’s face. Surely, Shen Yuan simply saw something in the background that startled him. Surely, Luo Binghe isn't being rejected by the overly flirtatious man—
Shen Yuan pushes against him, breaking them apart, eyes wild.
Luo Binghe can only stand there, stunned.
“I— I—” Shen Yuan stutters, moving backward, “What?!”
“I want you, Shen Yuan,” Luo Binghe emptily states, feeling something crumbling inside of him. “I—”
“You don't want me!” Shen Yuan states, voice high and cracking. “You— you have wives!”
Luo Binghe instantly relaxes. Oh, was that the only issue? “I call them my wives for their protection,” He patiently explains, “They're paid to manage my bases in my stead; you can think of them as overseers, if you like. I usually have a quick marriage ceremony for those who are not legally allowed to own or enter businesses due to their gender. A marriage certificate opens many doors for them; it is strictly business — it means nothing to me,” He quickly affirms.
“But—! But you've probably slept with most of them!”
“Well, I've never claimed to be a priest,” He amusingly answers. “Unless you prefer that type of pretend-play,” He can't help but tease. He takes a chance, stepping closer, arms holding the outer edges of Shen Yuan’s arm. “Did you already forget what you said, when I asked what you wanted? Are you taking it back so quickly?” He murmurs, breath ghosting along Shen Yuan’s ear. “Do you hate me?” He whispers, slowly pushing back a stray lock of hair on Shen Yuan’s neck, feeling his pulse beat faster, his body unfolding so easily under Luo Binghe’s touch. This, at least, he knows is truthful.
“I—” The stumbling continues, now sparking something soft in Luo Binghe. He’s genuinely rattled the man; he'll have to be gentle. “I don't hate you,” Shen Yuan finishes, obviously struggling for words.
Luo Binghe doesn't help him find them — the urge to devour rises as the flush stays on Shen Yuan’s face, his pupils dilating, his sweet mouth parted and red from Luo Binghe’s brief administrations.
Luo Binghe pushes his face into the crook of Shen Yuan’s shoulder, immediately redirecting the urge to bite by licking a long stripe across that markless neck, feeling the delicious trembling under his tongue. Still, Shen Yuan says nothing, so Luo Binghe retreats, feeling his control start to slip under the hot feeling of blood and skin and Shen Yuan’s sweat under him, tantalizingly out of reach.
Patience, he tells himself, peeling back, body aching for more. “I apologize for my boldness, but not for my feelings towards you,” He announces, attempting to catch Shen Yuan’s focus. “If you would like, I would still very much prefer if you spent the night in my tent, rather than outside. Nothing will happen without your blessing.”
Shen Yuan deliberates, eyes still wide and mouth still parted. Luo Binghe looks away before he breaks.
“Okay,” Shen Yuan breathes out. Luo Binghe’s shoulders unwind from their tense hold.
“Okay,” Luo Binghe repeats. “Okay.”
As if calming a nervous horse, Luo Binghe moves slowly, facing away from Shen Yuan as he takes off his dirty, outer clothes and sets up their bed roll. After a pause, Shen Yuan does the same, similarly turning away from Luo Binghe, unlike the first night they slept next to each other.
Patience, Luo Binghe repeats.
He waits for Shen Yuan to settle himself on the pseudo-bed before joining, his back pressed against the end of the fabric.
They stay that way for a few moments, hyperconscious of each other's presence. The rays of the moon do not breach past the night's clouds, and the campfire remains low — the blanket of night only serves to make Luo Binghe more tense and more aware of his breathing.
“Aren't you curious?”
The sentence rips out of him, lacking in asking for his consent.
“Hm?” Shen Yuan sleepily mumbles. Luo Binghe resists the urge to move closer to him.
“Aren't you curious how I knew about your existence? Your brother never spoke about you. Not once during the years I knew him — not even a reference.”
A pause settles in the darkness. If Shen Yuan is upset by his phrasing, he doesn't show it. “I assumed through rumors,” Shen Yuan murmurs, not daring to break the peace that has settled. Luo Binghe wishes he would stop being so polite, sometimes; but he can't deny that teasing out answers from the elusive man provides its own satisfactory thrill.
“He holds ledgers in multiple locations. By luck and work, I came across a few of them, and I found consistent payments made to you. Seeing as you share a name and a sketch of your face was provided to me, I felt comfortable assuming him as your relative,” Luo Binghe corrects, “I know your brother paid for your boarding school and university throughout the years I was under his tender care, according to his closely-guarded accounts,” Luo Binghe continues, staring at the space where Shen Yuan’s face lies. “What struck me, however, is that Shen Qingqiu never gifts money or effort to others. So why would he hoard the wealth others made for him, just to give it away to…” His voice trails off, fingers finding and picking up a stray lock of Shen Yuan’s hair, bringing it closer to his lips. Shen Yuan remains silent, his silence betraying thoughts that Luo Binghe is not privy to. The thought makes his teeth ache.
“How did he treat you?” Luo Binghe rashly asks, feeling impulsive, something needy leaking into his voice that he hates. “Growing up. How did Shen Qingqiu treat you?”
A hesitation. Brief, but palpable. “He was…” Luo Binghe hears a lick of Shen Yuan’s lips, “He was… I don't…” He stumbles, failing to grasp his words.
The nervousness in Shen Yuan’s voice suddenly causes everything to click. The avoidance of Shen Qingqiu’s stares, the trust under Luo Binghe’s care, the hesitation in his voice over discussing their past. Not once has Shen Yuan bargained for his brother's release.
Shen Yuan, warm and soft and kind. Shen Qingqiu, his counterpart, cold and hard and sneering.
Luo Binghe shouldn't have pushed — he berates himself at the obviousness of his question, of his tremendous social faux pas. Of course Shen Qingqiu cannot be something different than what Luo Binghe himself has experienced; the funds must have been his backup for Shen Yuan to become just another additional source of income and power, securely under his thumb.
Luo Binghe shuffles closer, daring to put a hand over Shen Yuan’s rib. He feels the other's breath hitch.
“You don't need to speak about it,” Luo Binghe whispers. “I understand.”
Shen Yuan relaxes. “Thank you,” Shen Yuan mutters, voice betraying too much and too little of his thoughts.
Luo Binghe starts to pull the comforting touch away, but Shen Yuan grabs it, saying nothing. Unwarranted, Luo Binghe’s heart painfully thuds in his chest at the acceptance, of familiar hands holding him so gently.
If this is a plan concocted by the twins, if Shen Yuan is so masterful as to capture his trust and lust and obsession and tenderness within a few days, then Luo Binghe will let them. He doesn't care as long as he has Shen Yuan in his arms for a while, as long as the ghosts of his past rest underneath the white and green robes next to him.
Luo Binghe now knows what he wants, and he will keep it next to him, no matter the cost.
The minutes are greedily spent like this — Luo Binghe, awake, feeling Shen Yuan’s heat under his hand. Shen Yuan, awake, slowly relaxing as he feels Luo Binghe’s heartbeat against his back.
Luo Binghe’s eyes start to drift. It's perfect. This moment, this man — it's all Luo Binghe needs.
Shen Yuan suddenly jolts up, accidentally smacking Luo Binghe in the face.
“ Oof —? Hey—”
“There's something outside the tent.”
Luo Binghe swivels around, peering up at Shen Yuan’s side of the room. Sure enough, a large shadow is cast over the edges, an animalistic grunting noise heard over the sounds of local wildlife.
Deadpan, Luo Binghe states, “I know that shadow. It's Xin Mo. Stay here.”
Shen Yuan perks up. “Xin Mo?”
Luo Binghe scowls to himself, holding Shen Yuan still so he doesn't turn to see the expression. “Stay. Here. I'll deal with the scoundrel.”
Shen Yuan tries to stand, but Luo Binghe gently pushes him back, enjoying the sight of Shen Yuan splayed on his bed, despite the newly-formed scowl.
“I'm not a blushing maiden,” Shen Yuan grumbles. “I can help!”
Luo Binghe says nothing to that, merely putting on his boots and slipping out of the opening.
Thankfully, Shen Yuan doesn't follow, despite his pouting. Unthankfully, his suspicions were correct.
A seven foot tall black stallion with a set of braids topped with silk bows glares at him from the tent, eyes glittering.
“Xin Mo, leave,” He hisses at the horse.
Xin Mo huffs, hoof stomping in the dirt. They stare at each other, similar eyes competing for a battle of wills.
Luo Binghe keeps his stance, hands aching for every second he is kept away from Shen Yuan.
“I don't have time for your games,” He hisses, “Go back to the edge of camp. Do you want me to tie you to the middle of a cactus field, again?”
Xin Mo stays in position, unmoved.
“I’ll give you treats if you leave,” Luo Binghe bluntly haggles, arms crossed.
Xin Mo remains unmoved.
Luo Binghe stomps closer. “Listen here,” He glares, resisting the urge to grab the horse's ear. He spots Shang Qinghua peeking out of his tent before hastily going back in after a half-second of awkward eye contact. Luo Binghe lowers his voice, “Shen Yuan is busy. He can't brush your hair tonight. Leave.”
Xin Mo’s ears twitch threateningly.
Luo Binghe’s hand follows the outline of a box he grabbed as he left the tent, deliberately rattling the contents. He sees Xin Mo tracking it, pressing forward.
“No,” Luo Binghe commands, pulling back his arm. “You won't receive any sugar cubes until you've settled at the edge of camp.”
Xin Mo huffs, nostrils flaring, ears twitching. His tail swishes for a moment.
But a horse's temperament is slightly worse than Luo Binghe’s, and Xin Mo abandons his initial task in favor of trotting off just past the campsite, looking back as if to say, “There, are you happy? Give me what I was promised.”
Luo Binghe nods in approval, opening the box and digging out a cube to throw it towards the horse, who catches it in his mouth with expert precision. Luo Binghe starts to turn back, pleased at winning, but he then spots Xin Mo walking right back towards Luo Binghe — Luo Binghe’s tent. Where Shen Yuan is.
They stare at each other. One dark pair of eyes is smug, the other full of annoyance.
Luo Binghe turns back to the tent, deciding to ignore the issue. He'll only debase his pride by attempting to push the horse away. Again.
“Did you resolve your argument?” Shen Yuan teasingly asks as he enters. Nauseatingly, Luo Binghe realizes he heard everything. “Should I go out to check if Xin Mo is still there?”
Luo Binghe simply grunts, pulling him close as Shen Yuan chuckles.
Luo Binghe will not lose to a horse.
Shen Jiu knows exactly what is going on.
Obviously, Shen Yuan is attempting to curb Luo Binghe’s ire against him through the lack of contact. Shen Yuan knows how clumsy he is, and that's why he hasn't attempted any secret conversations under the cover of night. Obviously, Luo Binghe has commanded him to never speak to his brother, to flinch and ignore the very sight of him through the detestable hand-sized window of the carriage.
Any other explanation is completely insufficient and illogical.
The idea that Shen Yuan would abandon his brother to rot, not even pleading on behalf of him for additional food and water, gallivanting under the body of Luo Binghe by his own choice, ignoring Shen Jiu at the first sign of someone who can care for him despite all that he has sacrificed, that two people would abandon him to this fate once again…!
Shen Jiu grits his teeth, pushing past the sharp stench of panic and grief as stares at the dark, ornate ceiling of his cage.
No . It's not true. It's impossible. This is all part of Shen Yuan's plan.
…
But if it is true…
He turns to stare out the small window, stars glittering, sky tantalizingly out of reach. From a mixture of boredom and cautiousness, he reaches over, checking the floorboard of his prison until his hands grasp his goal.
Shen Jiu examines the retrieved gun with detached interest, rechecking the bullets and compartments for functionality.
His hold tightens, fingers going white as they grip the outer edge of the polished trigger.
One more day before they reach Luo Binghe’s base.