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The reflection blinking back at Shen Qingqiu from his washing basin should be more haggard given the way he feels right now, but immortality has always looked exceptional on him. This appearance has served him well for decades, concealing all weakness, all vulnerability; of late he almost wishes it were not so. Almost.
His pride has always reigned supreme, squashing that whispering, miniscule voice within his mind that idly desires a confidant. The peak lord has no need for such weakness, and he has always known that the truest confidant in the world can only be found in himself.
That is indeed what Shen Qingqiu tells himself as he splashes water over his face and manfully wills aside all other possible flights of fancy, snapping his fan open with a minute flick of his wrist. An idle gesture, but one that always steadies him.
He’s not concerned, no… he’s not concerned at all that it has been three years since Luo Binghe stepped off a cliff and straight into the Endless Abyss at his command.
A command that this master never intended might be taken seriously.
Truly, he only meant to put the boy’s loyalty into question, to test him. To set a bluff that Luo Binghe would never act upon and then ultimately fail in his attempt to prove himself to his master. Survival instincts typically prevailed in matters such as these, but in the end it seemed that Shen Qingqiu sorely underestimated the breadth and depth of Binghe’s devotion.
But this master has not wondered about the boy’s fate, no, not one bit. Nor have his twilit dreams been haunted by the possibility that Binghe might actually return from certain death, hell-bent on inflicting limitless revenge on the man who caused such suffering.
Nothing at all worthy of attention at the present juncture.
Shen Qingqiu considers himself an exceptional liar, but lying to one’s self is another matter entirely.
If the disciples of Qing Jing Peak have noticed anything, it’s simply that Shen Qingqiu’s temper has been constant, teetering dangerously close to sudden conflagration, and always ready to flare into an elegantly packaged open fire. Given the normal frame of reference, well - it’s no wonder daily life has continued on in the fashion to which all are accustomed.
Nevertheless, there is work to do in Jinlan City, and Shen Qingqiu’s issues, whether they are mislaid emotions or grief, whatever it is or isn’t - because it really isn’t anything - won’t make any difference when lives are at stake.
The voice that catches him unaware is the very one that has haunted those dreams that Shen Qingqiu has not been having. It’s the same, and yet it’s darker, deeper, and laced with a cruel sliver of amusement that makes all the fine hairs on his limbs stand on end.
“It’s been too long, Shizun.”
Too many emotions flash through Shen Qingqiu all at once; sharp relief, instant dread, keen curiosity, and a cold stab of fear. Before he can help himself, his body is already in motion, turning on his heel, with eyes fixed upon the doorway. He is not quite sure what else he expected to see, really, as his sight falls upon none other than Luo Binghe; very much alive, and now larger than life in every way.
Shen Qingqiu’s prized fan clatters to the floor as the breath leaves his body.
The white lotus of a boy is no more, and the demon that has replaced him meets Shen Qingqiu’s gaze with an enigmatic smile. He’s proud, vicious, and self-assured in a way that the peak lord’s disciple had never mastered. At least not without his Shizun’s approval.
“You’ve returned.” It’s a stupid assertion, one that doesn’t even need to be said, but Shen Qingqiu is scraping the very bottom of his own cognition, seeking appropriately barbed words that just won’t come.
With this Luo Binghe in his sights as he is now, it’s no wonder that maintaining a proper level of eloquence is the least of his concerns. The air crackles with the boy’s - now young man’s - darkened qi, and the looming threat is practically tangible. One false move and this master’s once most-devoted-disciple might see Shen Qingqiu brought low, torn to pieces, or worse.
“Don’t look so surprised, Shizun. I did what you asked, didn’t I?” Binghe cocks his head to the side and his red eyes flash, peering at Shen Qingqiu so intensely that it almost feels as if he could see right through his master. “Or did you not expect me to return to you?”
Binghe waits one beat, then two, then smiles humorlessly. “You didn’t.”
Shen Qingqiu doesn’t dare to move. And he doesn’t have to, because in the space of that moment between breaths he’s seized by a cruel hand and sent flying across the chamber, crashing straight into the wall. His back slams so hard against the wood paneling that Shen Qingqiu is quite surprised that he hasn’t flown into the next room. Surprised, but it seems he can’t move; a brawny hand now holds him immobile at the neck, and his feet hardly touch the floor.
And then Binghe is there, close and magnificently powerful in a way that impresses and terrifies Shen Qingqiu in equal measure. His eyes seem to glow like the mark of his power, red as blood, but impossibly luminous. His mouth quirks in a fierce, sharp-toothed smile that somehow makes this master’s heart race yet even faster, reminding him that danger is present, and almost thrilling.
Shen Qingqiu dashes the thought away in an instant, trying desperately to draw upon the ire of the past, readying himself for the possibility that he might need to die fighting, but his body protests. All of his emotions contradict one another, and above it all, fear seasons the mixture like a fragrant spice that he is certain Binghe can scent on the air.
A soft laugh sounds close to Shen Qingqiu’s ear as Binghe leans in closer.
"You look like you think I'm going to eat you alive..." The heat of Binghe’s breath passes over his skin. "And somehow, I almost think you'd like that, Shizun. Would you?"
A florid blush blooms across Shen Qingqiu’s cheeks as the words sink in.
Thankfully, indignance rises through his gut and up his throat before he can stop it. “How could one such as you even hope to know this master’s wants? Unhand me.”
Binghe’s hand only tightens and he draws back by slow degrees. “Oh but Shizun, hasn’t this disciple served you to the fullest extent of his life? Has he not offered you even his death, only to be forgotten?”
Shen Qingqiu gasps and coughs, his wide-eyed gaze rising to see Binghe’s face. Instinct demands that he fight in earnest, but the pressure at his throat seems to lessen as he sees something else that makes his pulse stutter and his chest ache: the glitter of unshed tears in Luo Binghe’s eyes.
The boy now holds so much raw strength, so much sheer power… and this master’s influence still matters?
The ghostly echo of aching regret resounds within the chambers of his heart, reminding Shen Qingqiu of the torment he’s tried so hard to deny for the last three years. After the many - and there have been many - trials of his life and all the status he’s attained, he thought himself finally made numb within, only to be proven wrong by a pure stripling of a boy with unerring potential. Even darkened and claimed by a demonic birthright, Luo Binghe’s tears awaken something within Shen Qingqiu that he’s not felt in decades.
He wants it to stop.
He wants to break free, pick up his fan, turn tail and run, and yet he can’t stop the movement of his own hand rising to rest upon the crown of his former disciple’s head. A benediction, a curse; Shen Qingqiu almost wants to inflict both at the same time.
Red eyes stare back at him in utter shock, and the peak lord scrambles for words once again, for anything that might help explain himself.
“Luo Binghe, you have passed every test placed before you. This master… is proud.”
Shen Qingqiu may be lying through his teeth, having come up with the words on the spot - anything to save his own skin - but is there not a shred of truth to the statement? His command was a bluff from the start, baiting Binghe to an action he never imagined the boy would take without being shoved headlong over the edge of that cliff by his own hand. Yet Luo Binghe let himself fall, with tears of disbelief still fresh on his ruddy cheeks, ever desperate for his master’s faith.
Luo Binghe survived. He defied death, awakened the power of his blood, and if the feel of his qi is any indication, he has indeed spent his years away in earnest cultivation, regardless of whatever demonic method his practices have taken. In an odd way, Shen Qingqiu supposes he really should be proud of such a disciple.
A lie for a lie . If it means Shen Qingqiu lives another day, all the better.
The fingers at his throat tense once, almost bruising, then release just as rapidly. Binghe shakes his head in disbelief, then seems to steel himself, holding still yet thrumming with energy, like a puppy desperately awaiting a treat and wholly ignorant of the twitch of its tail. “Shizun… you are?”
Shen Qingqiu supposes his burning cheeks and pounding heart do little to betray him in one direction or the other and so he nods once. “Yes.”
“I thought… I didn’t know! I guess I was--I was hasty, Shizun,” Binghe settles the peak lord back on his own feet, studying him carefully. “Angry.”
“Yes well, one should reign in their impulses at all times, yes? A continued buildup of emotional imbalances will inevitably cause a qi deviation,” Shen Qingqiu says curtly, voice scratchier than normal. “You know better.”
He resists the urge to rub at his throat, but his fingers itch to hold something. An object is pushed into his hand and he realizes that Binghe has fetched his fan.
His heart gives another mad set of thumps in his chest, and Shen Qingqiu almost wishes he could gather the strength to rip it out himself, rather than feel… whatever this feeling is!
The familiar weight of the fan in his hand is a calming presence, but Shen Qingqiu tries to take a step and nearly loses his balance. Luo Binghe is by his side before he can move any further, offering his arm. His size and strength are now somehow even more imposing, which is odd since Shen Qingqiu is no longer being held face to face with the young man, by the throat no less.
“Shizun, please allow me to help. It is this disciple’s fault, after all.” Binghe dips his head, slightly abashed.
The redness dusting his cheeks should not elicit Shen Qingqiu’s interest at all right now, and yet there is a storm of butterflies whirling wildly within his belly.
After a moment of indecision, and still contemplating the apparent threat, Shen Qingqiu takes the offered arm. It is quite like steel made flesh beneath his fingers, which is yet another observation that shouldn’t matter the way it does.
“I will find you better accommodations than this, Shizun,” Binghe says, leading him forward with a haughty stride. “After all, I won’t be separated from you again.”
The sudden glint in his red eyes gives Shen Qingqiu reason to swallow hard. Somehow this master is certain that Luo Binghe’s words are both a threat and a promise.