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There is something wrong, because his husband should have returned before noon, yet it is drawing near afternoon tea, and there is no sticky husband in sight. Normally Shen Qingqiu exalts in the moments he is allowed to respite before he is overloaded with arms and bed full of fervent shizun shizun, he hasn't seen his husband in almost a week! It's fair for a husband to miss his spouse! He might be cut out to be an idle Peak Lord, but he's not cut out to be the househusband! He'll rot before the second day if there is no diligent spouse spoiling him from the top of his head to the heel of his feet.

Restless, paying no mind to the curious stares he drew from the junior disciples practicing their posture at balancing their erhu properly, he sets off from under the awning of his bamboo home, brisk strides crossing the grounds of Qing Jing. Disciples bow and clasp their hands together in respect to him before bustling back to their previous chores, wisely not commenting on his lack of spouse, usually can be found inextricable by his side. The children have grown almost too used to the Demon Sovereign settling on their Peak to care for their shizun, because they are all awful children who would have bullied him into taking better care of himself if left to his own devices, as zhangmen-shixiong's brats have already accomplished. One girl even wishes him to grow steel in his heart, eyes bright and brown, before she is tugged by her belt tassel by her disciple sisters to her art lesson.

Aish! Kids! Raise them for a year or ten and then they try to raise you back! No, thank you! He's fine. Let him be a lazy bastard, dawdling his days away while his protagonist husband who dotes on him severely is at his beck and call. That's all he wants. To not be bothered at life.

But he can't presently achieve that dream life if he's missing all of the required ingredients to make it happen. His husband, the Demon Sovereign, wielder of Xin Mo, rightful heir to the bloodline of Heavenly Demons, son of washerwoman Li and Su Xiyan - the Luo Binghe aspect is very much missing and nowhere to be seen.

Nothing in this world would be suicidal enough to try to pick a fight with the serious intent and aim to win. Liu Qingge does not fall within this category as his spars with Qingqiu's husband had waned in the murderous intent department and careening sharply into upskilling, therefore nobody sane out there, in all the realms, would start something with Luo Binghe unless they want to end up worse than dead.

He only heard stories from Ning Yingying, but he does not want to reconcile gossip to reality when he unfortunately has to bear witness to whatever schmuck tried to enrage his beloved. He doesn't want to feel sick before afternoon tea. It'll make for an unpleasant time.

Scanning about, fan fluttering close to his lips, he notes that there are quite a few missing disciples of his, the senior ones, from the grounds of Qing Jing. The ones that they should be in. The ones he trusts them and assigns them to be at.

Frowning, he lowers his fan, and focuses his senses to the bamboo grove and beyond, across the learning halls, to the wells, around the kitchens, through to the disciples' quarter -

Catching on Ning Yingying's familiar bell-like laugh, Ming Fan's ungentleman-like snorts and Binghe's maiden-like giggles, the Peak Lord heaves a sigh of relief. So the three of them are together. It's rare that Binghe denies every possible opportunity to greet him immediately after completing his errand, but this master can forgive his disciple's neglect now that he knows where the bumbling child had been. He's been conversing naturally with his disciple siblings, even teasing Ming Fan along with his shijie, and Ming Fan taking it all in stride, minimal malice parrying back. 

Deciding not to interrupt his students' reunion time, the Peak Lord turns on his heels, returning to his bamboo house. He has all the time of the day to see his husband again. A few hours for Binghe to be a child and talking with his siblings will not matter.

(It matters a little, and when Shen Qingqiu is busy absent-mindedly letting out the smoke from his attempt to cook rice. Nothing is burnt, but he should have removed that lid a bit earlier, but it's not as if he doesn't pull this stunt twice a day in his husband's absence.

Harried footsteps cross into his little kitchen, as he already flicks out a dismissive sleeve, grunting as he fans out the black smoke through the window slats. 

"This master is fine, you know I won't actually set anything on fire -" he sighs, the rest of the sentence cut off as arms squeeze around his middle, a laughing mouth pressed into the side of his head.

"Shizun, please stop giving your disciples a hard time. This student will prepare your meal," Luo Binghe beams into his scalp, smelling like a week on the road and home. Qingqiu curls into the warmth of the embrace, face or smoking rice be damned, as Binghe laughs harder, squeezing him tighter.

"You're back," he murmurs, stepping away as Binghe starts to extricate himself.

Bending, until their eyes are level, Binghe grins, a fang sitting on the plump of his bottom lip.

"I'm home, husband."

Neither don't bring up that they know about this afternoon.)

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Shen Qingqiu convinces himself that it's not unease that he feels.

It’s ridiculous. He is in a novel where his existence has narratively confirmed that his unease is utter rubbish. He had made that impossible within the boundaries of this world. Even people who are blind and deaf can discern the protagonist's overwhelming, earth-shattering, heaven-defying, fate-changing love for his shizun. People who have gleaned at them for approximately two blinks of an eye can tell they are still very much blissfully married. 

But this husband, one who is usually so sticky, has been significantly less sticky to him and had been redirecting his love and affection instead onto his older martial siblings and the new juniors. Binghe completes all his chores and Shen Qingqiu's in half a morning, before Qingqiu can even process what tea he is holding, before kissing him excessively and bounding out to the learning halls. He would be gone until tea time, where he would return obediently to serve tea to his husband, gazing adoringly and attempting to catch his hand from across the lacquer table, before launching into a series of tales about his travels and little anecdotes of the junior disciples, all recounted with fondness.

Shen Qingqiu crosses his legs on his seat, and feels distinctly aware of one thing:

He never made Luo Binghe smile like that. Ever! Historically or presently!

The seat under his thighs is feeling a lot more rock and less comfortable wood.

Binghe is swirling his teacup, fondly chuckling into the warm brew.

"Madame invited me to have a mahjong game with her, since I won against her best student this time," he grins, sharp and boyish. Despite all the despair cropping up in his throat, Shen Qingqiu's heart still lurches at that cunning look, slicing a line of sharpness across his husband's face. This look makes him every bit the charming, blackened hero in the original tale as he is in this world. 

"And who was the defeated opponent?" He murmurs, picking up a cup.

Binghe grins, leaning forward, an elbow and an arm on the table top. He almost scolds his husband, before he is meeting with dark eyes, all too close to his own ones.

"This stays between us," Binghe giggles, as if the secret he is about to unleash can shatter worlds. 

"This husband promises his silence," he plays along, tutting at the elbow all the while. "Elbow, Binghe."

Binghe pays his reprimand no mind, leaning in even closer. "I won against Sha Hualing," he whispers, conspiratorial. "The witch won't stop hurling her bells at me, but she lost, all in all. I won't be able to cross through her lands in a while, not until I appease her anger."

It's odd, knowing Binghe is getting along with people outside of Shen Qingqiu. He's not the type to monopolise, per se. He in fact encourages his husband to have more than the points of connections of him and Mobei-Jun. 

It's good that Binghe is fostering connections with fellow demons, but what's with the look? And who is this Madame?

"I'm sure my husband will be able to appease Miss Sha's anger. Perhaps a trinket will bring you back to her good will?" He suggests, ever the attentive husband, but he can't help the grind of his teeth as he forces out the sentence behind his fan.

Binghe hums, and pushes back, away from Shen Qingqiu's personal bubble.

"Possibly, but I'll consult a few more disciple siblings to gauge the general opinion on apology gifts. This husband thanks you, greatly, for listening to my endless rambling -" Binghe laughs, bright and beautiful, all youthful and his under picturesque sky.

A smile reaches his eyes, as he lowers his fan to allow the smile to curve his mouth. Binghe watches the transition, mouth agape, enraptured.

Truly, Shen Qingqiu is worrying too hard. This right here casts away all silly doubts.

Would a man who looks at his beloved with that light in his eyes willingly destroy what they have?

Setting down his fan, he flicks his eyes to his husband, warm, warmer than he had ever been.

"No conversations with you will just be endless ramble, husband. I enjoyed myself greatly, in being allowed to listen to you. Truly, I must consider myself loved."

Binghe beams, brighter than the sun itself, and Shen Qingqiu throws his worries out to the metaphorical void, letting himself bask in the warmth of his husband's love.

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It's one thing to find another Peak Lord landing on top of his well, rattling at least all the rocks up to the learning halls and shaking all his bamboo groves. 

It's another thing to find his husband helping the Peak Lord step down from the stone well, courteous and charming, despite the woman scowling at everything and at him.

Qi Qingqi immediately zeroes onto him once she makes note of his existence. 

"Shen!" She stares, severe, chin tipped up to meet him. 

The proper, dignified Peak Lord in him wants to balk. What's with this rude form of address? Who is she talking with that influenced her manners to be one of such succinct rudeness and scandalous? Who is corrupting his terrifying little martial sister?

The reluctantly fond older brother side of him is secretly alright that in her rush, Qi-shimei is dropping all sense of decorum and just addressing him in all that he is. This is what a little sister should be. This is the essence of little sisters - rude, loud, husband-thieving, well-destroying, lesson-disrupting. 

"Shimei," he nods back, the equivalent of fuck you too echoing clearly in the flick of his open fan across his face. 

Undeterred, and possibly overworked from managing an espionage and intelligence division, she plows on, tossing her head to Luo Binghe. "I'm borrowing your husband."

That's...an odd request, but he's heard weirder things.

"And is my husband agreeable to being borrowed by my beloved shimei?" He lifts a brow, sarcasm bleeding into his words, a few impressed gasps even echoing as students crowd around them. 

Luo Binghe shakes his head, the perfect gentleman.

"I troubled Peak Lord Qi into rerouting back to Qing Jing to inform shizun that I'll be preoccupied for a while," he dips his head, deferential and respectful, the image of a white lotus protagonist still stringent in his mannerisms, even as everything is saturated with theatrics. "This disciple apologises in advance for not being able to tend to shizun's needs."

Luo Binghe! You might as well broadcast to the entire cultivation world that Peak Lord Shen is a spoiled, pampered queen, with a househusband at his beck and call! Say it louder! Mobei-Jun can't hear you in the Northern Deserts! 

"This master will manage fine without Binghe's, ah," he coughs, fan covering his entire face, flustered expression quickly fanned away from the twist of his mouth. 

"Extensive care?" Qi Qingqi raises an artistically drawn brow. 

"Tender and attentive care?" Ning Yingying volunteers, heaving a pail of well water. She's swaying on her feet and a few of her martial siblings rush by to wrestle the pail out of her grip, but to no avail.

A few more junior disciples want to volunteer increasingly embarrassing suggestions to how pampered their Peak Lord is, heads perking up like moles emerging from their underground chambers. Shen Qingqiu has to save his face. He still has some dignity left to salvage on this heaven-forsaken Peak and by everything, he will bully the children back into fearful obedience by sheer force of his words and authority. 

He closes his fan, soft, but with authority and dignity. Or what's left of it. 

"This conversation is only consuming time from shimei's errand. I urge the both of you to depart swiftly and readily, so that all tasks can be completed in a timely manner," he smiles, frosty and dismissive, and Binghe's eyes almost start to tear up at the cold tone he usually doesn't reserve for his husband, in or outside of their home. 

Qi Qingqi, who had never heard him being warm or affectionate or anything belonging in those categories, breezes by his dismissal, a gloved hand emerging from her long sleeves, to Binghe's direction.

Before Shen Qingqiu can remedy his harsh tone to his crybaby husband, Luo Binghe courteously offers an elbow to his aunt, bending to accommodate her height, and all thoughts of pacifying his husband pitch themselves off the rainbow bridge.

"Guide boy," Qi Qingqi nods at Binghe, a note of approval in her voice. "Walk quick, or Madame will be cross with us."

Madame? Madame? 

"This nephew can assure his martial aunt that while Madame is temperamental, she will not be any of the sort at the news of your visit," Binghe returns, cheeky, boyish, a simple pressing lightly on his cheek as he grins down at his martial aunt.

Qi Qingqi still seems unconvinced, until Binghe leans in closer to whisper something to the side of her elaborate hairdo, and slips a scroll to her. It all looks horribly familiar and Shen Qingqiu can only fume inside as he watches this train wreck unfold itself in front of his eyes and his impressionable disciples. What would these silly children think, exposed to such clandestine displays of frankly outrageous behaviour? They will emulate that, and soon he will be raising future Qi Qingqi on his respectable Qing Jing instead of raising scholars and respectable members of society. 

With a twitch in his entire expression, he coughs, garnering attention.

Binghe turns to him, simmering and fervent, the perfect doting husband, though he refuses to extricate his elbow away from Qi Qingqi's viper grip. He heard stories of the sheer amount of people who have lost an arm in that Legendary Grip, and while his husband can theoretically grow back a lopped limb, he doesn't want his stupid spouse to go through the ordeal of being squeezed to the extent of an appendage loss.

"Be on your way," he sighs, fluttering the fan close to his mouth so that he can hide the irritation dawning on the curl of his lips. "And return in an orderly manner. The rest of you -"

The Peak had somehow, miraculously, managed to vacate themselves back to their tasks, though his senior disciples are still loitering by, because they have no more love for him after stumbling into an entire morning of him being carried out of bed by his demon husband and coddled until he fully wakes up. 

"Shizun is scary," Ning Yingying giggles, conspiratorial, still clutching her pail of water. Ming Fan scowl as he's fended away, fingers poking at her arm.

"Give me that, and go to the West Wing for the poetry lesson," he grouches, but Ning Yingying had been a diligent student on both Qing Jing and her new favourite, Xian Shu, so it is possible she picked up a freakish way to concentrate her qi so that her strength becomes unbearably difficult to budge. Knowing Qi Qingqi and her tutelage, it's not out of reason to speculate that his student had been levelled up and going to be joining intelligence gathering missions in the future.

He keeps losing disciples to other peaks. What had become of his Qing Jing?

"Shimei," Ming Fan frowns. "Allow. Me."

Luo Binghe, bleeding good heart that he is, turns his head to the commotion of his two older siblings, and apologises to his aunt. Through the sheer power of the protagonist halo, but possibly because Qi Qingqi can be reasoned with given something else that can distract her, his husband glides over to his siblings, placating Ming Fan and easing the pail out of Ning Yingying's grip in one easy gesture, all the while looking broad-shouldered and brilliantly cute under the soft sunlight.

Shen Qingqiu is gritting his teeth hard enough to cut diamonds under the pressure. 

"Might as well invest in a veil while you're at it, shixiong," Qingqi murmurs without looking up, eyes still skimming through the scroll in her hand. “It’ll hide that awful grimace you’re sporting on your face.”

"That's none of your business," he frowns, inside, though some of that pettiness must have leaked through, because she does look up at him with an arched brow.

"Aiya," she whistles, purple lipstick severe and devastating. "That expression can melt rocks, dear shixiong. Want me to call him back to give you a hug before we go?"

Not addressing even a single part of that entire sentence, because this is Qi Qingqi, she is the Peak Lord of the Spies and Taunt Division, she's empowered by her post to poke at people's buttons. Breathe it through, Qingqiu. Breathe it through.

"How urgent is my shimei's business to require the help of my darling husband?" He steps towards her, noting that she had tucked away her scroll, stashing away all expressions of impish joy in her eyes.

Huh. Interesting.

"You don't call him darling to his face, so don't use that in front of me," she dusts at her robes, sharp smile slicing up her face. "And I need a guide to Madame's realm to finalise the exchange of our fellow disciple brats. Also so I can steal a few more of her weapon and poisons so that she has reasons to make a visit to me next time."

Shen Qingqiu pauses, distracted by the way Binghe giggles like he is fourteen and possibly hasn't gone through puberty yet, hiding his sharp teeth behind a sleeve as Ning Yingying slaps him playfully hopefully on his thickly corded arm. Eyes all scrunched up, mouth dimpled and cheeks full, this Binghe looks free from all the troubles of his past, simply enjoying himself with his sister and brother poking fun at him.

Before the strain of regret settles in, his brain decides to latch on everything his shimei just said, and he turns to her, slow, mechanical, like a rusted animatronic in an abandoned theme park in Chernobyl, coming freshly alive at new gossip to pore over with his husband. 

"My apologies, dear sister," he clears his throat, leaning in to Qingqi's space, "but I didn't think the rumours were real."

Qi Qingqi shrugs, not a shred of shame in the line of her shoulder. She smells like the entirety of the poppy fields in the Demon Realm, and along her eyes, there are lines of Sparkling Dove's powder. 

Since demons and cultivators have been wedded...in more than one occasion, Qiong Ding Peak had called in an emergency meeting to bully the rest of the peaks into agreeing to a demon-cultivator alliance, to cut down on the costs of having to go to war with the Demon Race.

Obviously, An Ding and Wan Jian had been very supportive of the notion. Qian Cao agreed soon after, along with peaceful and meditative Ku Xing. His Qing Jing had to be favour because he is the lawfully wedded spouse of the literal, actual Demon Sovereign, if there is no alliance, it would make things...certainly harder to manage. Plus, he just wants his family to get along.

It didn't take too long for Qiao Mao, Zhi Wu and Shi Pin to agree, because they are very much tired of providing for war efforts and it's always nice to just take a rest. Alcohol Nation didn't really have much of an opinion, but the Qiong Ding brats belong to Diplomacy Peak for a reason. They can probably outtalk his brightest Qing Jing disciples out of the mountain range, because they just know how to win arguments and resolve conflicts.

Huang Fanyi, Fanfan, as the kids call her, informed the Peak Lord of Zui Xian that the Eastern Lands of the Demon Realm has many unheard of fermentation procedures and the workers there are in favour of trading knowledge with Cang Qiong.

Suffice to say, at the end of the day, the brats bullied Xian Shu and Bai Zhan successfully into aggressively agreeing to an allegiance, as Yue Qingyuan watched over them fondly, possibly resigned to having them run everything on the sect for him as he plans his retirement from then on. 

The alliance then began the Rumour, the Rumour starring Peak Lord Qi and Succubus Madame, Madame Meiyin. 

Rumours have it that since both sides train in roughly equal measures of surveillance, assassinating and extracting information, they frequently meet to trade knowledge, students and weapons. This is not a rumour - it's an actual fact. A harried An Ding disciple had been running on three hours of sleep that entire week when the demon entourage transferred the weapon crates into Xian Shu and Wan Jian, with Airplane crying the loudest out of his entire peak. But the Rumour manifested from the fact that the respectable leaders, Madame Meiyin and Peak Lord Qi...meet up. A lot. Together, with their disciples, off the Sect, in the Demon Realm, out in the local towns - they're everywhere and always together.

Of course, genuine friendship is encouraged greatly across the two realms. People heave a sigh of relief when there had been no bloodshed between two master assassins. 

He would believe the rumours more readily if there wasn't any taunting whenever these two meet. They bicker even more than Liu Qingge and Mu Qingfang, and those two have been bickering since the dawn of time. How can anyone else go beyond that and nag to an almost extraordinary length? 

Apparently, Madame and Peak Lord Qi can. 

Given all of this, imagine his surprise when tiny rumours began coalescing into a Big One, until the Rumour became staunchly the only thing people gossip about whenever they see Peak Lord Qi or Madame or hear Xian Shu in a sentence.

Clandestine romance , the disciples whispered among themselves. They are courting each other, the cooks said to each other in the kitchen. Airplane, when he visited, produced a book where there were a lot of garden metaphors that Shen Qingqiu wasn't entirely sure that he was reading a work of fiction or a gardening manual.

"Bro," Airplane took pity on him, "the book is about them fucking."

"But they're both women?" He frowned, like an idiot, before the neurons fired in. "Wait, hold on, I meant -"

Airplane sighed, because for once, he's the one with the brain cell.

"Harold, they're lesbians."

He paused. "Oh." Then. "Wait, really? You sure, author?"

Airplane, creator of this world, shrugged. It looked a bit defeated. "I wrote the book, sure, but at the end of the day, I only brought it to life. How it was raised up is out of my jurisdiction."

"You okay with it?" He pressed, because while it was unexpected, it wasn't as if it was unpleasant. 

"Why wouldn't I be? Luo Binghe's harem deserves happiness too," Airplane wrung his hands, flicking up his eyes at him. "So make my protagonist happy, okay, bro?"

He was rightly indignant at that. He was! Probably!

Back to the present, he peers down at Qi Qingqi, playing with a butterfly hairpin, uneven eyes flicking up at him.

"I didn't think you would stoop low enough to listen to rumours the kids spread around, shi-xiong," she grins back, smile sharp as daggers.

"They hold a grain of truth in them on more than occasion, do they not?" He flutters his fan, somewhat blocking out the little squeal that Yingying had let out as water splashes onto her shoes, Ming Fan yelling as Binghe chases him down to splash water onto him. 

"Well this is an extraordinary exception," he peers down at her, meeting grey eyes. "Will you be alright with just Binghe? Shall I send more disciples to accompany you two?"

Both of them know he doesn't care about her that much to spare disciples who he cares marginally more than the safety of his shimei to totter along to the Demon Realm. It's all a ploy, to send a third party to wedge in a wrench between whatever schemes Qi Qingqi had brewed up, and maybe, perhaps, possibly, he is jealous that his husband had been gallivanting everywhere and befriending this hag with her knives and poison. 

"I wouldn't want to trouble the little disciples from their duties for such an errant task," Qi Qingqi smiles back, matching the frosty look that he is aiming at her. "Besides, Master Luo needs only escort this old lady to Madame's palace and he can return swiftly to shixiong's side."

She's taunting you! She's taunting you! Don't fall for her bait, don't fall for her bait!

Gritting his teeth, and making sure that his dearly beloved shimeicaught a glimpse of his baring teeth, he swiftly turns on his heels, cutting a look to the gaggle of children who are still chasing each other around, jostling water at each other. 

"I will be instructing the music lessons. Be on your way," he looks specifically to Ming Fan and Ning Yingying, who bow to him quickly before tugging Binghe's clothes back to a semblance of propriety, before pulling on his hair, bouncing away.

That was Ning Yingying. Ming Fan only claps Binghe on the shoulder, passing by, stealing the pail of water from his loose grip, and Binghe only turns back to his aunt after his siblings have disappeared.

"Shizun," he lights up, smile crinkling his eyes. "This disciple will be back soon enough. Please wait for my return."

All nastiness and ugly monsters of insecurity are momentarily forgotten as he stands on his toes, aware of the boundaries he is crossing, and lies a palm on his husband's cheek. 

"Come back soon, husband," he murmurs, inclining his head to an angle of a kiss, but cutting it premature, as he steps away.

Binghe looks one part disappointed to five parts delighted, surging up to bloom brilliantly as if he was a neglected house plant going without water for a whole month in summer and he's just been watered for the first time in weeks.

That's possibly a disgraced metaphor and he's going to go to jail for that. Literary jail. 

"That's disgusting, break it up," Qi Qingqi elbows through the two of them, Binghe switching back to charming and polite, and they step onto their respective swords, bowing goodbye to him.

"Don't be too sad, shixiong," the brat bids him.

"Tell Madame I send my wishes, Binghe," he looks at his husband, pointedly ignoring the hag, and watches until they disappear through a portal. 

Silly, silly him. It's nothing. It's nothing to stress about. He should be teaching, and idling away. No space for stress!

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Except...he is suspecting that there is a ploy at hand and for the life of him, he cannot discern why he is at the forefront of this nefarious scheme!

He is just a teacher. A Peak Lord. Just a simple creature. He cannot be that important for a range of people from across the cultivation world to be specifically targeting him.

Before he can begin breakfast, in peace, his home is intruded by the respectable zhangmen-shixiong, who is accompanied by his gaggle of brats, all politely wielding diplomatic smiles that set off alarm bells in his head.

Before they can speak, he throws away his outer robe, with a few boys gasping in open affront and hiding their faces, as the head disciple of Qiong Ding sighs and steps next to her master, hugging a missive in her arm. Bowing to her shishu, she presents the scroll to him, murmuring a sharp head incline to his husband, still half dressed. 

"You've stumbled upon an unfortunate time," he hums, unrolling the scroll. "And this is?" 

"A request," Head Disciple Huang smiles, teeth sharp in the early morning. This is way too much manipulation for him on a weekday. "For a reconciliation between Sovereign Luo and Sect Master of the Huan Hua Palace."

Binghe stops breathing first, smile frozen on his face. Shen Qingqiu frowns from behind his fan, lowering the paper mask that obscures his face to properly frown at the girl and his shixiong behind her. Reconciliation? Huan Hua Palace?

As if that old toad would stoop so low as to apologise to the child of his runaway disciple! She left the sect and had an affair with the Demon Sovereign, then died in disgrace. That old sect master would rather pass in a qi deviation caused by rage alone rather than acknowledge such students existed at all! What nonsense!

But Yue Qingyuan would not be allowed to step off his Peak if it wasn't actual Sect Business, capitals intended. His brats would not have let him go, even as he is standing here now, they're barricading him from having to exert efforts in talking or even breathing, the tallest boy fussing over his shizun and nagging him for standing, before procuring a chair from someone else's back and forcing the Sect Leader onto it. 

"Is that...so," he stares back at Fanfan, eyes frighteningly neutral behind her eyeglasses. "Would this Peak Lord be welcomed to attend in this reconciliation as well?"

Rather than using actual words, another disciple, Xiao Long, slides the scroll closer to him, pushing his finger to the final line of text, right to the far left.

It is a condition of this proposed reconciliation that only Sect Master Yue attends as a representative of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect along with the intended, His Lord Luo Binghe. No other persons are thus welcomed on the grounds of Huan Hua Palace, and if discovered, will face harsh penalties per our laws and traditions. 

It is sounding a little like he is not welcomed anywhere his husband is stringed along, a fact that is putting a distinct frown on his forehead. That's the fourth time he's excluded from whatever Luo Binghe is privy to, and he can name which wife in the original that he had been fraternising with outside the knowledge of his husband. It's weird, because absolute dependence should not be encouraged, and he doesn't monopolise people and time as a principle, but this is just reaching to a point where he's up to his hairline when it comes to the separation of his husband and him.

"The Sect Master had personally extended this welcome?" Luo Binghe leans forward, eyes stormy and every bit suspicious, because he has every right to be. 

Xiao Long shakes his head, braid slipping from a shoulder. "The head disciple, Master Gongyi and Lady Qin had petitioned it so, and convinced the Palace Master into an agreement."

Fanfan snorts next to him. "I suspect it's more Qin Wanyue than Gongyi Xiao who finally managed to wheedle that old toad into a semblance of agreement. Shizun, don't get up in affront, you know I have never called him anything worse than toad." 

Yue Qingyuan settles back down, but it wasn't as if he could escape the two boys gripping onto his shoulder, one outrightly regulating his meridians. 

Shen Qingqiu isn't seeing red flags, but the warning bells are sounding a little pink.

Qin Wanyue is the only other wife from the original harem who had worrying designs on his Binghe. The first was Sha Hualing, but it was more demonic biology and being forced to follow the plot of this shitty stallion novel and blah blah blah. Qin Wanyue genuinely, with her entire quivering bosom and whatever disgraceful third grade descriptors that Airplane cooked up (Shen Yuan's cat could write better words, and that's an insult to the entirety of the animal kingdom as a whole), enjoys Binghe's company and wishes to be better friends. 

No, he is not feeling burgeoning paranoia at his dastardly handsome husband hanging out with his almost-wives and enjoying their company, freely of societal expectations. No, he's feeling more uneasy at himself, because there are certain things a man and a woman can get away with in their dynamics that a man and a man can't, and homosexuality may be not criminalised here but that doesn't mean it's accepted - he always has to keep those worries at hand. 

He loves his husband, but the backlash will fall more on Binghe than on him and he doesn't want to do that to his husband. They went through a human marriage ceremony. In good times and bad. Shared burden. Whatever else marriage vows consist of. The point is...they're in this marital life together, so Shen Qingqiu has to look after his stupid husband as much as his husband looks after him. That's the deal when they spoke their vows into existence. 

Binghe, going to Huan Hua, literally the devil’s armpits as the children have begun terming the depraving place, is just a stupid prey walking right into a trap despite everyone else telling it No, don’t do that.

The trouble is that the Sect Leader of this desolate mountain range has departed from his respite and talked his brats into convincing him to let his husband go, because the old toad forest Sect Leader yonder had personally sent a missive and Gongyi Xiao on the fastest sword of his goddamn daughter on a gold, hand-painted carriage pulled by six of his disciples on good shoes, who knows. The range of events is escalating quickly into Serious, and he has enough face and tact to navigate all this diplomatic bullshit to know that whatever answer he gives either way, he’s going to get fucked metaphorically over the head and it’s not even a euphemism for his nightly bedroom activities with his husband. 

Say no the the old toad and risk a potential sect war, or heavens forbid, a sulking Sect Leader refusing to allow Cang Qiong to have the privilege of its alliance. Say yes, and risk having his beautiful, talented disciple mingling with the toad’s equally beautiful, talented disciple, and them fraternising with one another, and one thing will lead to another when a beautiful young man is in debt to a beautiful young woman. He’s married, yes, but there are no laws saying he can’t marry again or marry more wives. 

“What a generous invitation,” Binghe smiles, no teeth, but Shen Qingqiu knows a whole row of fangs hides behind those shut lips. His husband pronounced the word generous like one would the phrase sounds like a goddamn trap, and if there was no polite company, he would have given the boy a head pat. Heck, he might as well throw out his face and give him a kiss on the mouth, that’s how brilliantly nuanced the sentence was.

“It’s not intended to be generous, shidi,” sighs the head disciple, a tall boy who’s in the running to become the next sect leader, aggrieved and stressed out. He looks to be having several migraines from where he is holding both his teacher and martial brother from bolting away from their post, and it’s truly a mood Shen Qingqiu hasn’t experienced in a long time since he departed from the Sibling Reality himself. But the boy, Zhao Gangyi, is holding onto the last bits of his sanity as he pins the other two menaces who are not within his reach with the force of his eyes alone, still regulating his teacher’s meridians.

This is the type of disciples Shen Qingqiu would have loved to have, but the boy looks to be too much of a civil officer to be a leisurely scholar - plus, he heard enough tales from Ming Fan grumbling about the review of policies of dashixiong Zhao and less than nice descriptives regarding him. So no, he’s fine with Yue Qingyuan taking Zhao Gongyi to Qiong Ding and trimming him to become the newest protective bonsai shrub of Cang Qiong.

“Then pray tell, what is it meant to be, dashixiong?” Fanfan cuts him a look, as vicious as Luo Binghe can even attempt to be. 

It is a common principle to hold supremacy over others who you view as a threat in politics, shimei," sighs Zhao Gangyi, helping his shizun stand up. "And what risks can Huan Hua see in rendering a formidable sect such as Cang Qiong beholden to its favours?"

Fanfan flicks her sharp eyes to Binghe. "Just set the place on fire, shidi."

Luo Binghe’s voice is only contemplative and considering as he replies, in an even and measured voice. “In a needs case basis, I’ll gladly carry out shijie’s wise advice.”

Yue Qingyuan can only chuckle in terrible and familiar fondness, as Shen Qingqiu horribly is reminded of himself in regards to his own brats, as the girl is not only appeased but fights to accompany her shizun and shidi . 

"Shen-shishu," Xiao Long bows, courteous, not a hair out of place. "In your respectable opinions, what would be the wisest course of action?"

Please see previous points about him being fucked over, because warring with his fellow martial siblings is one thing, but having to justify himself to the younger, impressionable generation is another thing. His husband belongs largely in the Impressionable Younger Generation and every talk with him inches the big-boned baby slowly to the Yelling Without Barriers Adult Tier, which he is looking forward to, so they can just talk without reservations all the time. 

He right now is accosted as ‘Shen-shishu. He must do his duties as a Peak Lord, a teacher, someone who wants the best for Cang Qiong, as well as being a dutiful spouse who wishes for his husband to receive due reconciliation from those who wronged him and his mother even though this dutiful spouse only wishes to run the wrongdoer through with the sharpest blade on Wan Jian. He must be a good and dedicated person, and that means he must let his husband and some of the sect, come before his petty feelings.

“It is wise for us to accept the cordial invitation,” the word cordial tastes precisely like fish guts on his tongue. “We do not wish to disrupt our existing alliance with Huan Hua Palace, and with my respectful zhangmen-shixiong with my husband, I do not find cause for worry for any sudden or unexpected mishaps.”

He flutters open his fan and covers at least half his face behind it, hiding the twist of discontent behind the paper fan. Binghe and Yue Qingyuan trade unspoken gazes over everyone else’s heads, with the horde of disciples still blustering around Sect Leader Yue like a bunch of worrywart mother hens. He suspects they are there to convince their shizun to let them accompany him, given his predicament with his sword, but he has deigned it fit that his husband and zhangmen-shixiong can attend this meeting by themselves, so the brats have no room of swaying him out of it. Unlike their pushover shizun, Shen Qingqiu is very hard to sway, if the company is not Luo Binghe. Airplane had made him a sign when he was over at Qiao Mao, dicking around and bothering people while they finish the repairs for Bai Zhan, a wooden sign that he now grudgingly displays on his desk, to the absolute delight of both his husband and reluctant friend.

It reads - ‘Don’t bother me if you’re not Luo Binghe’ - in one line of English and another line of pinyin. He’ll carry the admission that he is fond of it to the grave.

“This one is humbled by shishu’s great advice,” Xiao Long bows, respectful, golden eyes cast to the floor as his fists curled. Now Shen Qingqiu feels bad. He knows the children care for his shixiong in a fierce and selfless way, and it’s cruel to separate this set, but he also cares for his husband in a fierce and selfless way, and he’s being separated. They’re all going to sink with this boat now and everyone will suffer as the ship snaps in half, HMS Titanic style.

“Go back to your Peak and prepare your shizun for the journey. I’ll send for An Ding to arrange transportation,” he murmurs, lowering his fan, stepping back to allow the entourage to excuse themselves out of his home. The morning is arriving, and already it tastes like badly brewed tea on his tongue.

Zhao Gangyi bows to them, as he is the last to step on his sword to fly back to Qiong Ding. The bamboo grove sits in tense silence, not daring to even rustle its leaves.

“Shizun,” Binghe begins, and coughs. “Husband.”

“Prepare for your journey, Binghe,” he murmurs, fan tapping first to his husband’s arm, then trailing to his collarbone and dipping into the juncture where neck and shoulder meets. “This husband will be fine in tending to himself.”

The big tears start overflowing. “But I want to care for you!”

He’s reminded of his sign again. Really, what will he do with this errant crybaby husband of his?

“Very well, but you must pack before we reside for the night, alright? Let me help you with breakfast. I can dress myself.”

“But shizun -!”

“Binghe, before I have to attend to classes and we will not be able to dine together.”

“This disciple understands! This disciple will strive his hardest in his duties so that shizun will have time for me!”

(He blames it on the burgeoning paranoia, but before his husband is set to depart, he catches his by the wrist, holding him still at the threshold of their home.

He must have said something stupid, because his usually smiley protagonist is tilting his head to one side in confusion, blinking blankly.

“I can never be around a woman outside of official sect business?”

Backtracking, and realising how intensely insane that sounded, he immediately flutters open his fan and waves it in front of his nose in denial.

“That is not what I’m saying. That would be out of line for me to suggest.”

Luo Binghe is still tilting his head. 

Shen Qingqiu realises that he’s going to have to keep talking, in order to justify himself.

“All I’m saying is that...if you are going to see a woman, it has to be when the sun is up. And she can’t be taller than me, or younger than me or weigh less than me or looks like she weighs less than me.”

Luo Binghe is bringing his head back up to its intended post, eyes going a little bit big.

Shen Qingqiu continues, on a roll.

“Also!” He slaps his fan to an open palm. “You cannot share food!”

Sighing, he settles down with a defeated air. “But I must make concessions. If you are stranded and you have to share food, then clear soup or broth only.”

Luo Binghe had not been this silent for a very long period of time, but Shen Qingqiu is full-steaming ahead.

“You must periodically announce your marital status in the face of your companion as often as you can. Paintings of your martial siblings and sect must be present if they themselves cannot - be.”

Pausing to take in a breath, he presses forward, lips twisting in all manners of profound expressiveness.

“If she happens to touch you, even by accident, you will excuse yourself and contact me via a spiritual array, immediately . If she has a cinnabar on her forehead with profound lip tincture, that is bad. If she wears a veil, then it’s good.”

Binghe opens his mouth, sound for a long time, very dumbfounded. “Shizun -”

“You must always travel in separate carriages and swords!” He interrupts, shrilly and suddenly, startling his husband, who is still in the process of gathering his words and wits about him. 

“Going back on that, the veil is bad, because it encourages eye contact,” he corrects, eyes wild and wide now. “Alright, I think that would be all. Any questions?”

There are sounds of swords and people landing in his front yard, and Luo Binghe is still grappling with the concept of what words are meant to be doing and how to function his vocal cords.

“Shizun,” Binghe calls, as he turns to greet the guests and shoo them off his Peak. “Your standards apply to you yourself too. Remember your words.”

He frowns. Surely Luo Binghe doesn’t believe he is at risk of unwanted advances, on this little Peak of his, when his big-chested protagonist pretty boy is travelling to Huan Hua to see a could-be and may-be wife. 

“Be on your way, Binghe,” he snaps his fan open.

Binghe presses a searing kiss to the crown of his head. 

“This disciple is not content to just be your yuan bei, but to only be your  zheng fang,” murmurs his frivolous husband, disregarding social propriety. 

“Aiya,” he grouses, pushing his wayward husband aside. “The guest is waiting for you. We’ll talk more later.”

Binghe breaks away from him, giggling like a child who had just been granted his most desired gift.

“It’s alright, shizun. You can be jealous. I’m delighted that you are.”

He only harrumphs a displeased ‘Mn’ as he sees his husband off, stepping on Xin Mo, before turning back to the inside of his bamboo house.

Jealous? Him? What nonsense!

Even as Binghe returns with not only his shixiong in tow but his brats accompanying them, he refuses to ask how it went and only with Binghe’s sulking around the place that he deigned to complete his duties of a good spouse, inquiring about the reconciliation meeting.

Apparently it went well, because the brats were enough of an intimidation tactic to scare the old toad and cinnabar, smokey-eyed makeup Qin Wanyue from doing anything to his husband.

No, he’s not miffed that he’s essentially singled out as the only one to stay home.)

.

.

.

Unlike him, Bai Zhan Peak Lord Liu holds no reservations about how to act with respect or in accordance with the expectations of society, so that when Liu Qingge barges in the middle of his painting lesson, the spray of ink from one of the younger students on his robes is well deserved.

“Liu-shidi,” he greets, cheerfully murderous. “How may I help you today?”

The children continue painting, as if a man hasn’t crash landed in the middle of their learning courtyard and roaring loud enough to rattle the bamboo trunks.

“Where’s your barbaric husband?” He roars again, sucking in a loud breath. His face is botched pink, and his mole is growing dangerously brown on his face. It’s truly a waste of a face to be on a person who is so angry all the time.

"Out. He would be back later on today. Why do you need to see him?” Shen Qingqiu asks, and pointedly looks at the wrap of meticulous bandages worn around Liu Qingge’s neck, no doubt administered lovingly by Mu Qingfang after a hearty round of scolding from the Qian Cao head physician. 

Liu Qingge scowls at him, fierce and unhinged, as he stares back, even and unmoving. Realising that he would be wasting more breath by yelling at an unyielding party, Liu Qingge huffs and turns to stalk away, before a shadow of something red and black appears by the horizon and lands outside of the disciple circle in the courtyard. 

It’s his Luo Binghe, gripping Mu Qingfang and Liu Mingyan on both of his shoulders, the both of them clutching tightly onto his head and neck for security. Mu Qingfang is laughing into the top of Binghe’s fluffy hair, slowly sliding from his shoulder, as Liu Mingyan is lowered gracefully onto her feet, her hands at work to rearrange her clothes. Liu Qingge stalks over, fuming by the ears, and pulls his intended and sister back, checking them over, before scowling fiercely and murderously at Binghe.

The disciples still, awaiting the cue from their shizun so they can pack up and run. Or just plainly run.

“Ge,” Liu Mingyan whines, an uncharacteristic childish tinge to her words. “I’m fine.”

“You just veered off course. Fell off your sword. You both,” he pulls on the stray end of Mu Qingfang’s hair, who bats him away lazily, but fondly leaving his hand in the crook of Liu Qingge’s elbow. “Fell. Then disappeared. You fell too. I thought you wound up back here on Qing Jing.”

At this, he stares directly at Binghe, who shrugs, reaching over to offer two swords in return to the fallen party. 

“I wouldn’t have let shishu  and shimei plummet from a great height if I could reasonably intervene. I apologise for acting too rashly. I must have worried you greatly.”

Someone surely gasps, and nobody is mean enough to point it out. Binghe bows, properly respectful this time, and not being a brat.

Liu Qingge curls his lips, but closes his eyes in an attempt to stop himself from another yelling fit.

“No need for apologies. You saved my family. Consider myself in your debt, Luo Binghe.”

He’s going to be the next one gasping. He quickly flicks open his fan to fan over his mouth, to conceal the gape that his lips are surely in the process of forming and he can’t stop that process. 

Luo Binghe blinks, just as surprised as everyone else. It’s Liu Mingyan who steps forward, tangling with her veil.

“A-Luo, help me with -” her hand slips, a conduct unacceptable of a master assassin, but Binghe is swift, pinning the veil back in place before anyone can glimpse a sight of the woman’s face, though he himself must have caught a look. Liu Qingge is cursing on the side, with Mu Qingfang laughing as Mingyan swiftly catches Binghe by his sizeable forearm.

“Yes, shimei?” His bumbling husband quirks a brow.

“You’re a part of our family now, A-Luo,” Mingyan solemnly announces. “Since you’ve been allowed to glimpse a sight of my face.”

“Oh,” Binghe blinks. “I thought I had to take responsibility for your lost virtue, shimei. That is an even better outcome.”

Shen Qingqiu is about to spit blood right from his gut. Take responsibility? Binghe, you’re acting as if you were propositioned into marrying a peerless beauty! What forwardness! How shameless! Utterly shameless!

“That’s not what the veil means. And you can become my family without marrying me to be my peer, shixiong,” she pats his arm, eyes smiling. “Welcome to the family, Luo Binghe.”

“They’ve trapped you,” Mu Qingfang grins, freckles bright across the ridge of his nose. “Now you can’t escape. You’ll have to come to Xian Shu on fortnightly meetings now and come to Bai Zhan and Qian Cao more often. We’ll see more of you, little nephew.”

Before Shen Qingqiu can properly intervene into whatever adoption process is happening before his very nose, Liu Qingge nods exactly once at Luo Binghe, confirming nothing and everything at once. They all mount their respective swords, before kicking off and the disciples can only take after the departing parties with gaping mouths.

"Children," he frowns, as the kids scramble back to their paintings. Turning to his husband, he levels an especially significant. "You, we'll talk later."

A kid offers Binghe a sympathetic glance before  returning to her work.

He didn't think he would be the one to pull the we need to talk card in his last life or this, but here he is, with a husband who he just pulled the exact card on. 

"Where did you go that you met Mu-shidi and Young Miss Liu?" He frowns, more confused as time goes on, rather than being any shade of jealousy.

No, he's not jealous, damn it! Who cares if Luo Binghe spent two nights in Huan Hua territories dining and wining Qin Wanyue or that he saw Liu Mingyan's face! Who cares that Qi Qingqi bullied him to be her personal demonic guide boy to the Demon Realm so she can fraternise with Madame Meiyin! Who cares if his husband is playing chess with Sha Hualing and playing around like a little child with Ning Yingying! Who cares! Who cares!

"I was back on my way from the local market with some ingredients to prepare for today's meal, and when I was returning, Liu-shijie was returning also from her investigation from a nearby town. She was accompanying Mu-shibo and Liu-shibo. We were flying in the same route when some errant birds obscured shijie and shibo's paths and they thus fell off their swords, to which I dived and caught them," his husband dutifully recounts the events, much like a war sergeant delivering the most current events of the field conflict to his commanding officer. 

"Liu-shidi must have been greatly shocked, to not be able to react just as well as you had," he muses.

A corner of Binghe's mouth curls slightly upwards, until a smirk sits, slicing up one side of his demonically handsome face. 

"I was just too fast for shishu," he pompously declares, nose in the air.

Shen Qingqiu, overflowing with fondness, leans over to tap him lightly on the nose with his closed fan, not even bothering with hiding his fond smile. 

"Warn him next time, alright?"

Binghe raises a brow. "That he's getting old?"

He covers his laughing mouth with the back of his hand, but unable to suppress the bout of giggles that bubbles from his chest to his shoulders. 

"Never tell him that," he sniffs behind his hand. Binghe looks beyond pleased, sitting on the rock that puts him under scrutiny for Shen Qingqiu to view him all in his boyish glory. "What if you lose your newly acquired family membership?"

Binghe pitches forward, head leaning towards him, as if there is an inexplicable and undeniable force that tugs him forward to Shen Qingqiu, and he is only a victim of its pull. 

"The membership is not for shishu to decide," Binghe murmurs primly, and waits for him to make the next move.

Laying his hand atop of his husband's head, he closes his eyes in a smile that tingles down to the tops of his toes and splattering across his chest. The unruly hair is struggling to stay still under the hair clasp, and Binghe nuzzles his head into the touch like a plant neglected of sunlight and he is exposed to an entire star of the stuff.

"What a wayward boy," he scolds, little heat behind it. "Come, walk with me back. You can tell me about your many adventures with bargaining prices at the market."

Springing up like a mouse trap with a newly caught prey, Binghe siddles close to him but doesn't intrude on his space, entire presence glowing with barely unrestrained joy in enlightening him with the rising price of radishes and lychees, and how the farmers don't even fear him anymore and call him Xiao He down the mountains.

"Xiao He," he muses, and Binghe perks up, like a puppy when it recognises its own name. 

"Yes, husband?"

If it only takes a nickname for Binghe to call him husband, then it's an investment worth his time.

"It has a nice ring to it," he smiles, the line of it crooked. "Perhaps I'll keep calling you it."

"Truly, husband?"

"Mn."

"I'm truly blessed! The happiest man across all realms!"

"Binghe, not too loud. Lessons are still happening."

"Apologies, husband. This Binghe is just too ecstatic beyond measure."

Shen Qingqiu knows that, for sure. Binghe makes sure to make that known behind closed doors, when he proceeds to kiss him with too much teeth and tongue and wandering hands, stealing his breath right out of his mouth and holding him so close there is no space to get between them.

He finds that this is not too bad at all.

.

.

.

Okay, yeah, he's definitely jealous now.

It's not even a big deal. It's not even anything serious. Binghe is just going to Xian Shu per Liu Mingyan's decree. He's also been helping Mu Qingfang collect herbs and Wei Qingwei forge swords. He's been the resident handy boy for the entirety of Cang Qiong and every peak is lining up to borrow him for the day, everyday. Somebody in An Ding made a fortnight Binghe rotation roster for fun but the Qiong Ding brats who adore timetables, have pounced at the opportunity like vultures to uncontended carcasses and there is a system in place now to accessing Binghe.

He's being forced to watch it all unfold, because Binghe really thrives with people interaction, with his Sect who welcome him as if the demonic heritage meant squat, not the constantly combating demons of Binghe's other side. Marriage is really about compromise, and Luo Binghe is compromising by living peacefully with his sect.

Too peacefully, in fact. He keeps going to Xian Shu, where even Shen Qingqiu is barred entry from. Ming Fan and Yang Yixuan almost got poisoned half to death when they delivered missives from the trap before the front courtyard, and they staunchly refused to go near the place again. 

Even Madame Meiyin and Sha Hualing were granted free entry to Xian Shu Peak! What's with demons and being able to enter women-exclusive spaces? He lives on Cang Qiong! He should be extended an invitation too! 

"What is he doing?" Mobei-Jun looks down at him, bemoaning rapidly in both Chinglish, Twitter memes and his home Hokkien dialect, with sprinkles of Cantonese. 

Airplane, because he had grown used to the amount of sheer bad fluency he can throw out in a sentence, only reaches over to pat his arm in consolation.

"This, my king, is what us humans called whining," Shang Qinghua patiently explains, sounding every bit condescending and a brat. 

He immediately lifts his head and flicks Airplane a middle finger, eyes swearing him out. The author returns the gesture of both middle fingers shoved back to him, eyes returning to his scroll, mumbling in incomprehensible Teochew under his breath.

Mobei-Jun is still watching him curiously, and thankfully does not ask more questions. He made both of them swear a secrecy vow to never reveal to Binghe of their meetings, in fear that he would lose yet another confidant. He loves his husband very much, and they talk a lot of shit about other people together, but he also likes to babble in whatever tongue his lizard brain happens to chance on and not feel the need to explain the entire contextual understanding of the joke. 

He made meme references in passing to Binghe. Suffice to say, they flew well over his head. It's not a surprise, really. You gain some, you lose some. You get a pampering househusband, you don't get the memes. It's a fair trade off.

But really, that's good and all, but he wants to know what his husband is getting into on Xian Shu Peak. Why is he there a lot? What is he doing with the horde of incredibly attractive assassin girls? What could they all possibly be doing?

"Methinks that shixiong is being unreasonably paranoid, though understandable in his circumstances, it's still annoying to listen to," Shang Qinghua murmurs from his scroll without looking up. He starts glancing around for any stray tea cups to fling at his head, hard enough to dent. Hard enough for Mu Qingfang to start questioning what hit him hard enough to put this deformation in his skull. So hard that when archaeologists dig him up a few millennia later, they'll be wondering if he was the subject of regulating violence, starring skull bashing, to control his behaviour.

He grumbles, unintelligible and mostly just variations of him verbalising his bitching. He's not jealous of Binghe having fun with girls! He's not! It's Binghe's right to hang out with whoever he wants, as long as he comes home to him at the end of the day! Harem-coded or originally-intended to be straight or whatever! That man is bent like Shen Qingqiu, they're going to gay hell together!

“Is this about Lord Luo?” Mobei-Jun, maybe bored, or perhaps taking some form of pity towards him, asks. The faces he’s pulling must be especially pathetic, so much that the frozen king of the northern desert is taking pity on him and his plight.

Airplane stops squinting over his scroll - seriously, somebody should take a look at the guy’s vision - and looks up, tone aggrieved. 

“Bro, you’re just jealous. Talk to him. Ask him what’s up. It’s not like my son will say no to you.”

The last part he wisely conveys in English, but it doesn’t take away the impact of the entire phrase. 

“I’m not!” He hisses, head snapping up. “Jealous!”

Airplane and Mobei-Jun have the exact emotion fleeting through their faces - really, it’s telling where a lot of Mobei-Jun’s little quirks come from - and it’s just sheer distaste.

“Bro,” Airplane clicks his tongue. “Just go talk to him. Go to Xian Shu even. What’s the worst they could do to you? You’re a Peak Lord. Go and bother them instead of me, because they have your beloved husband and we don’t.”

No matter how much he wants to start chewing on Airplane like a cat with an especially annoying prey, he knows the rat has a point, even if he doesn’t agree with him. He’s in peak disagreement as they are speaking, but he can’t sulk where there are no sympathetic parties in sight to comfort him.

“I’ll be taking my leave then,” he huffs, pushing himself up by his sleeves.

Airplane waves him off, tired eyes closing as he attempts to sleep on his feet before snapping his eyes open.

“Yo, bro, you’re jealous of the girls on Xian Shu?”

He’s flushed red, all the way down to his collarbone. 

“Shut the fuck up! I’m leaving!”

Qi Qingqi picked up the communication array, which is - good and bad.

Good because he can nag his way into a non-lethal entrance and bad because it’s QI Qingqi who’s freshly returned from Madame’s realm. She’s filled with forlorn feelings and the woes of a long distance relationship and snappish towards married siblings. He had been avoiding direct contact with her for as long as he could possibly manage, preferring to send scrolls to Liu Mingyan and letting her deal with the fallout where he’s sure her shizun won’t kill her. He can’t say the same for him, but on Xian Shu, the priority puts ‘female head disciple’ before ‘happily married naggy shixiong’ so he’s not about to give rise for the consideration of that priority ladder because he knows he won’t win if he’s pitted against Liu Mingyan.

“Coming over to my Xian Shu?” Qi Qingqi’s voice rises up a notch in surprise. “Luo Binghe won’t be done in a while. Go and yell at some brats. He’ll be home before dinner, that’s what he told the girls.”

“He’s my husband, not my son,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And I’ve no lessons today. Let me see what my husband’s been doing at your assassin peak.”

A beat of silence, which he knows nothing good will arise out of it. Qingqi starts to honest to gods cackle on the other end -

“Jealous, shixiong?” She jeers.

He cuts off the array and urges his sword to fly faster to Xian Shu.

A tall disciple receives him at the entrance of Xian Shu, to which she quietly leads him to a tea room without actually explaining anything to him about the situation.

“Is this lord’s husband with your martial sisters, Young Miss?” He inquires, flicking open his fan, displaying his husband’s crest across its paper material.

“Yes, Peak Lord,” she bows her head, all aspects of her mannerism perfect. “Does Peak Lord Shen desire to see Lord Luo before the conclusion of his meeting? We certainly did not expect your visit, therefore we are unable to greet you with proper etiquette.”

The fan fluttering is reaching at a speed that is conveying some of his anxious energy. He stalls the fanning, closing the fan into an open palm, and plasters on his face a neutral smile. 

“It is my fault for imposing on Xian Shu Peak at such short notice. I wish to see my beloved for a few short instances and I will be back on my Qing Jing. This Peak Lord humbly thank this young miss for accommodating my selfish requests.” 

The entire sect knows that next to Liu Qingge, he’s dreadful with showing affection in public, even more rigidly than the societal restraints. Therefore, hearing even a ‘my husband’ from him is rare. Hearing ‘my beloved’ from his lips is the equivalent of witnessing a qi deviation in real live time, according to Airplane’s helpful flowchart series. The disciple thankfully does not mention anything, but she does blink at his address to his husband.

Well, there goes his face! Tossed into the valleys down below! 

He follows on her guide, winding through passages through the tea room, noting that the screen doors shift in their formations as they pass through another threshold, the labyrinth of the place closing in on him as he takes another step. He doesn’t suddenly develop heartfelt sympathy for Theseus, but he’s definitely feeling the claustrophobia closing in on him as he experiences in person what a living maze feels like.

Knocking on a door, the disciple stands aside, before the door is thrown open, with the gush of its doors swinging out, a stray slipper flinging past, as Shen Qingqiu and the disciple peer curiously inside.

Luo Binghe, bruised, shirt falling down to his hips. A collection of girls in various stages of bandaging themselves, outer robes all thrown to one side.

There are at least three girls pulling on Binghe’s arm, and a protest is still on his lips.

Shen Qingqiu and Binghe’s eyes meet. Nobody moves for a beat.

He doesn’t really have any expectations because his brain is woefully lacking in the imagination department. He finds that vague paranoia serves better than having concrete, physical visions because with the sights, he’ll just become desensitised to it all and the effect is lost. But with vague, ambiguous fears? The paranoia is brought alive every time he thinks about the Unknown.

He certainly had visions, but he didn’t have...the exact details.

Stripping certainly wasn’t on his list of visions, for sure. Call him a romantic, but he was thinking a lot of wooing. Maybe Binghe recites romantic poetry to make the girls swoon. Maybe he sings heartrending opera performances from folklore tales. Cooks them food.

It’s kinda embarrassing that he considered Binghe cooking for others a greater moral sin than him literally shedding clothes in front of an entire room of girls who are also undressing in his presence.

Finding his voice is hard, because he’s pretty sure it left five minutes ago, along with what’s left of his brain cell.

“Binghe,” he coughs, gaining back colours in his face. “Please make yourself presentable. You are in polite company. Young misses, I apologise greatly for this unsightly spouse of mine. I will be escorting him from your presence as soon as possible.”

Liu Mingyan steps forward, veil threatening to expose her face. Luo Binghe and her sisters quickly tuck the veil back so it stays clinging onto her ear as she curtsies to him.

“Shen-shibo, this one apologises for this unsightly scene, but Luo-shidi is in need of some medical salve as he was hurt during our training session.”

The paranoia fizzles out as he blinks owlishly from this martial niece to his husband.

“Hurt. During your training session,” he echoes, trying to decide between incredulous or plain astonishment. “Right. Please look after him. I’ll just be outside.”

Liu Mingyan and Qi Qingqi insist on flying them back, but he also insists on having some time alone with his husband, with a lot of baring teeth on ‘husband’ and ‘alone’. Qi Qingqi would have pestered him more, but he’s also the unwavering peak lord. She can chip at him until he breaks but he’s also very good at not breaking under intense pressure, caving to only Luo Binghe, so tough luck to the hag over here.

“Shixiong, Binghe,” Qi Qingqi nods at them, a smirk teasing at the edge of her mouth. “I’ll see you next time.”

He wants to tell her to stuff her ‘next time’ in the rubbish tip, but that would be out of character in front of the children, and Luo Binghe might faint from sheer joy when he hears such aggression from his husband. 

“Only time will tell, shimei,” he nods behind his fan, as he walks his husband to the front courtyard of Xian Shu. 

When he is sure that the coast is clear, he closes his eyes, trying to see which words are appropriate in this situation.

“Binghe,” he settles on, sighing and pinching his eyes shut. “Are you losing intentionally to the Xian Shu girls and letting your bruises show on your skin?”

He can hear Binghe flinching and shifting next to him. Opening his eyes, and softening the pinch of his eyes, he approaches the topic a little gentler, but still firm. Enough to let his husband knows he wants to be in on whatever is happening here.

“ - shizun likes his time - wanted to help the shimei - demonic fighting techniques heal longer -”

Oh heavens. He’s mumbling with his head down. Shen Qingqiu can’t hear squat of whatever is happening there. Slotting his fan under the sharp chin and propping it up, he tilts inky eyes up until they are level with his own, the eyes of his husband brimming with the usual fat, puppyish tears, about to overflow at any given opportunity.

“Slower, Binghe. This husband cannot hear you properly,” he softly chastises.

Binghe doesn’t start crying, thank the gods, but he doesn’t look any less upset. 

“The shimeis on Xian Shu have just returned from Madame’s Realm and they wanted to consolidate their demonic techniques, so I offered to help when Liu-shimei asked for my advice. With demonic cultivation techniques, the impact of the attacks is more severe than regular cultivation effects, therefore I was sustaining wounds. I didn’t want to bother shizun and his scheduled meeting time with Shang-shishu, so I haven’t called for you. But this disciple’s wounds will heal soon enough! Shizun needn’t worry endlessly over a few bruises and scratches!”

Binghe almost gesticulates him into the rainbow bridge, but he’s used to the wide gestures now, sidestepping them easily. Debating between keeping this farce of a lofty immortal and indulging in his whims and his husband’s frantic energy to calm him down. It’s nice to simply indulge his husband once in a while.

With that thought in mind, he catches Binghe between his thin hands, peering into those inky eyes and squishing the protagonist’s cheeks with his palms.

“Binghe,” he murmurs, voice like a wisp of smoke, “it’s alright to get hurt once in a while. Let this husband take care of you too.”

It’s possible that Binghe had stopped breathing. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t know all that much about demons and needing to breathe to stimulate cellular respiration, but breathing seems to be a thing a lot of beings are doing, so he’s going to have to remind his husband to breathe.

“Husband -” his husband gasps, starry-eyed. 

“Also,” he leans in closer, their noses a hair away from touching. “Try and breathe. I’ll apply medicinal salve on your wounds tonight if you play nice for the rest of the day.”

Needless to say, Binghe almost collapsed from hearing him speak the words. He walks around in a daze for the rest of the day.

.

.

.

Has Shen Qingqiu ever been jealous? No. Don’t be preposterous.

But is he a little bit more bitter towards friendly recipients to Binghe’s magnetic boyish charm, then that’s just other people’s imagination. He’s doing nothing of the sort.

Even if he offhandedly commissioned Qiao Mao to make two jade rings to loop through a string to hang around both their necks, publicly declaring their joint marital statuses, well, nobody should be commenting on that.