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the king.
“Long live the Emperor! May he live tens of thousands of years!”
The rallying cry echoed across the plaza. Luo Binghe sat on his throne, watching the masses kneel before him.
Humans, demons, immortals. No matter how fine their clothing, their sleeves trailed in the dust. Their foreheads were plastered to the ground. Thousands upon thousands faceless citizens were on their knees, only their dark hair and bowed backs visible from this vantage point.
It could almost have passed for another of his dreams, if Luo Binghe had not personally seen off the soldier demons under his command this very morning, ordering them to patrol all his territories to make sure that none but the most infirm denizens were exempt from his enthronement ceremony.
Anyone else who failed to attend on this glorious day would be executed on the spot.
Behind him, he heard a soft snicker.
Without even looking back, Luo Binghe knew it to be his most recent acquisition to his harem—a human girl with a streak of schadenfreude that he found endearing. As his latest favorite, she had received the honor to stand behind him along with his other favored wives. Before he found her, she had been a street urchin turned common whore in one of his conquered kingdoms. She must have thought it amusing to see so many higher-ranked people prostrated below her.
Still, the laugh had broken the gravity of the ceremony. Though unheard by the people still busy chanting his well-wishes, it was unacceptable. A quiet ‘ah!’ told him Sha Hualing had pinched the woman hard enough to bleed. She would likely deal with her later.
It was a shame; he had only bedded this one twice. But there would be others.
He himself sat on a reconstruction of the Dragon Throne at the front of the platform. Or perhaps a mockery of it would be a more accurate description: the gilded dragons surrounding its frame had been depicted as strangled by demons.
From there, he looked out over what had once been Qing Jing Peak. Not a trace of its bamboo forest and modest dwellings remained. In their place stood instead an endlessly vast plaza, and a high platform looming above for Luo Binghe’s throne. All of it had been especially built for this day; the mountain had nothing but space anyway, any prior landmark having been razed to the ground upon Luo Binghe’s homecoming many years ago.
And if the temporary palace built for Luo Binghe’s post-enthronement banquet happened to be on the former site of Shen Qingqiu’s bamboo hut, well. That was just a happy coincidence.
His mood lifted at the reminder, only further enhanced as the gods descended from the skies. A gasp ran through the crowd. They offered prayers to him—more wasted words for Luo Binghe’s prosperity that everyone knew had already been sealed in stone—before Luo Binghe himself rose from his throne.
“From this day on, a new age begins. The age of Luo Binghe - your ruler, your savior, the one who has united you all!”
Again, they kowtowed.
“May the Emperor live tens of thousands, tens of thousands, and yet another tens of thousands of years!”
Later, after his celebratory fucks and his servants accepting enough gifts to fill half the palace, only one tiny blemish remained on his mind.
It had been the moment before he entered the banquet hall, with his highest-ranked subordinates, wives, and concubines lined up behind him. When the guard on watch had cried: “The Emperor has arrived!”
In that moment, he was brought back to a memory he had already chosen to forget. That of a child being led over a threshold by his shijie, to see the god-like being within.
The child had kneeled, his heart filled with nervousness but wonder. Someone had found promise in him, was willing to take him under their wing and shelter him. Give him an opportunity to make his mother proud.
At long last, he had found a home again.
Or so he had thought, until tea had been poured over his head. Until years of abuse had followed, and that very god had condemned him to a fate worse than death.
He had learned his lesson—the only lesson worth learning from that man—then. To trust was weakness. To hope was foolishness.
And never again would Luo Binghe be associated with either.
As the doors opened, he had stepped over that threshold once more, trampling the long gone ashes of the child who had been stupid enough to do both.
Sitting on his second throne inside the palace, the splendor of the banquet arranged in his honor laid out before him, those stirred-up humiliations had finally been laid to rest.
The entire building was decked out in shades of red and black, gold-veined marble chilling the feet of his guests. Jade-like wine flowed freely in cups of the finest porcelain; the tables weighed heavy with shark fin’s soup, edible bird’s nest, braised abalone, exotic fruits spilling over their plates. Those of his wives with a gift in music and dance were putting on a performance that was bordering on obscene.
Loud cheers filled the massive hall. Demon guards stood behind each guest, watching for any sign of insubordination towards the new Emperor.
He almost wished Shen Qingqiu was alive to witness this spectacle.
Look at me, Shizun. Look at what has become of your once sacred ground.
“A-Luo,” Ning Yingying cooed from where she was curled up at his feet, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Look, they made the pastry resemble a kingfisher feather. Take a bite.”
He glanced down and felt a sudden wave of disgust. Throughout the years, the way he saw Ning Yingying had warped from fond gratitude to something more like a stain on his pride. The part of his life he associated her with, even that nickname… he knew she wielded it like a weapon against his other wives, but on a day like this it neared a display of insolence.
But she had been kind, once. Loved him for the man he would become before he even knew of his own potential.
He covered his impatience with a gentle tone. “That’s alright, Yingying. Mingyan is sitting right next to you, share some with her instead.”
Ning Yingying’s smile slipped. Liu Mingyan bowed her head with a rasp of silk. “You are too kind, my lord.”
When she raised her eyes, they were brimming with the satisfaction she was wise enough not to show on her face.
Ah, yes.
That gaze. Luo Binghe never tired of it. The eagerness, the soft desperation. The willingness to wholly devote themselves to his image while receiving only bits and pieces of it in return, each hoping that they held a bigger part of him than the others.
None of them did, of course.
But he loved them nevertheless. Loved them like his palace, like his sword, the power running in his veins. The whispers of fear and reverence following him where he went. Everything he had ever fought tooth and nail to carve out for himself in this world.
It was all his, now. The three realms had unified in this one dynasty, his dynasty, that would never see its end. Even the gods had cowed under his power, fallen prey to his tactics to spread dissent from within.
And now Luo Binghe stood above them all.
A hand slid up his arm. “Your Majesty,” Sha Hualing said, her voice like molten sugar. “Your cup is empty. Here, have some more wine.”
“No, allow me to feed you these sugared peaches, Your Majesty.” Huan Hua’s former Palace Mistress pressed against his thigh. “They are delicious; please, have a taste.”
A shard of ice suddenly flew across the hall, piercing into a man's chest. He keeled over into his food, shock filtering through the last look of distaste he had shot Luo Binghe’s way. To Luo Binghe’s right, Mobei-Jun picked up his chopsticks again without even looking up from his tray.
The music played on.
No one batted an eyelash. No one would ever again dare to.
Luo Binghe smiled, leaning back in the seat that belonged to him alone. He motioned for the wine to be brought to his lips.
He lacked for nothing at all.
the disciple.
“Hey. Is it really alright for you to slack off like this?”
Luo Binghe wiped sweat from his brow.
“If Shizun is talking about the firewood for tonight, I just finished chopping it.”
Shen Qingqiu gave him an exasperated look. “Not that. Isn’t it about time for us to take a return trip for our duties? To Cang Qiong Mountain, and to your Demon Realm.”
Of course, Luo Binghe had known what he meant the first time. It had already been more than two months since their last return; enough time for the plum trees to bloom in the mountain valley they treated as their getaway, and for its lake shores to be dusted with snow.
Their last visit at Qing Jing Peak had been for their impromptu wedding. The entire affair had been quiet, at least until Ning Yingying had found their wedding attire the next day. But despite the uproar—Luo Binghe still recalled Liu Qingge’s face upon finding out with relish—nobody had been surprised. And now he frequently wheedled Shen Qingqiu into calling him ‘husband’ at any given opportunity.
Aside from that, not much had changed between them. They still lived together, traveled together. Spent their days together in peace. Which was about as much as Luo Binghe could ask for, really.
(Although he could probably do with knowing what to call Shen Qingqiu in return. Being called ‘wife’ embarrassed him too much, but then he also rejected swapping roles and calling Luo Binghe his wife instead. The various pet names Luo Binghe had tried since—'darling', 'beloved', just to name a few—had just made him look like he was about to break out in hives.)
Two months had passed in a flash just like that. Rationally, Luo Binghe knew they should return. He had seen the inventory logs at Qing Jing Peak - logistics weren’t Ming Fan’s or Ning Yingying’s strong suite. And even if he could care less for Demon Realm politics, he still wanted to keep his territory intact if his need for it arose again.
Still. That didn't mean he had to like it.
He set down the axe he had been using and walked over to Shen Qingqiu.
“Shizun,” he whined. “Is it really necessary to go back this quickly every time? Why are you always in such a hurry to see other people?”
Shen Qingqiu was sitting on a bench outside the bamboo hut they (or more accurately, Luo Binghe) had built for themselves, a plate of lychees next to him. They were out of season, but all it had taken was a stray hummed thought from Shen Qingqiu that he was craving some to have Luo Binghe hunt down a merchant for the fruits.
Shen Qingqiu peeled one now, unperturbed.
“This master is in no hurry to see anyone else at all. But material matters can’t wait around forever.”
As expected of his Shizun, his… partner, he always knew the right thing to say. But Luo Binghe wasn’t ready to give up yet. “Is it that hard to stay away from being a Peak Lord for a little longer? Shizun is thinking so much of Qing Jing Peak even with me right next to you.”
“Nonsense. And you’re still a disciple of Qing Jing Peak too, you know. Or do you not want to be my disciple anymore?”
“Let’s go back tomorrow,” Luo Binghe said immediately.
“That is good,” Shen Qingqiu nodded. “We can have Shang Qinghua bring over the affairs of the Demon Realm that need your approval. Do your paperwork while you’re at it.”
“But then I will have less time researching recipes for Shizun.”
Shen Qingqiu took up his fan to swat at him with it. “Are you Lord of the Demon Realm or the Cooking Realm? Inventing new dishes can wait. What are you going to do if the demons rebel because you’re such an absent ruler?”
“Fine,” he pouted. “But as compensation—”
He sat down next to Shen Qingqiu on the bench, sweeping him into his arms.
“—won’t Shizun let this disciple hold you like this for a while longer?”
“Sit properly,” Shen Qingqiu sighed, but didn’t move to shake him off. Beaming, Luo Binghe nuzzled into his hair, breathing in his scent. He smelled of herbal bath beans and rice water, of the cotton sheets they used for their bed; but there was also that scent unique to Shen Qingqiu’s person, the one Luo Binghe associated with his disciple days on Qing Jing Peak.
The scent of home.
“You smell so good,” Luo Binghe murmured.
He more felt than heard Shen Qingqiu’s huff of amusement. “Shouldn’t we smell about the same? We use the same soap, share the same bed. I think I smell more of you than of myself.”
Luo Binghe grinned into his neck. “This disciple likes that, too.”
Another huff, and then he could feel Shen Qingqiu pat him on his head. Luo Binghe leaned further into his touch.
It was at that moment he noticed the lychees. Although a few empty lychee skins had already been discarded on the plate, most of the peeled ones sat to the side, plump and untouched.
“Shizun. Those lychees—”
Shen Qingqiu waved his hand dismissively.
“I saved them for you. Eat, eat.”
Luo Binghe’s heart swelled. It was such a simple thing, and yet, it was always in such simple things that Shen Qingqiu showed that he cared.
But not only just. Luo Binghe would never forget the countless times he had rescued him, come for Luo Binghe at his worst and weakest. After the battle with Elder Tianchui. Meng Mo’s realm. The Holy Mausoleum. His loss of control at Huayue City—although that one still made him ache to think about—and then again at the Maigu Demonic Ridge.
His Shizun had seen so many unseemly sides to him, had been disappointed by him over and over again, and yet, here he was. Still by Luo Binghe’s side. Still caring for him.
Still in love with him.
Sometimes it was still difficult for Luo Binghe to believe. He would wake to the dim light of pre-dawn seeping through the paper windowpanes, Shen Qingqiu curled up against his chest, and it would all feel like just another long dream. A delusion he had created somewhere along the way to convince himself he wasn't actually unwanted, perhaps in the years when Shen Qingqiu had been gone, perhaps before or after that. Maybe he had never left the Abyss. Maybe the real Shen Qingqiu was out there, despising him to the very end.
During such mornings he would gently fold Shen Qingqiu deeper into his embrace, clinging onto him until Luo Binghe could be sure he was alive and real. Until Shen Qingqiu would wake and he could press a kiss to those warm lips, hearing a response as he said: “Shizun, I’ll get breakfast ready.”
At times he wondered if he didn’t need to become stronger to ensure those nightmares of the past never happened again. But Shen Qingqiu had never been particularly taken by his excessive powers; he seemed the most content when Luo Binghe was simply clinging to him. And after all, it was those powers that had almost made Luo Binghe lose him twice.
If he could, he would prefer to find a different kind of strength — the kind that would make Shen Qingqiu happy.
“Shizun.”
“Hmm?”
“Shizun, look at me.” Shen Qingqiu turned around in his arms to face him, and Luo Binghe took the opportunity to stuff a lychee in his mouth. He grinned. “Does it taste good?”
Shen Qingqiu glared at him as he chewed. After disposing of the seed and swallowing, he said: “I told you that I saved those for you.”
“Everything that is mine, is yours. So share with me, Shizun?”
“Fool,” Shen Qingqiu said, but he was smiling. “If somebody is trying to be kind to you, you should just accept that kindness.”
His heart feeling ticklish with warmth, Luo Binghe leaned down and captured his lips. Shen Qingqiu tasted sweet; his mouth was still wet with fruit juices. That sweetness only intensified as Shen Qingqiu cupped his cheeks and deepened the kiss first.
Gods, Luo Binghe loved when he did that.
He pulled Shen Qingqiu into his lap then, hungrily curling his fingers around Shen Qingqiu’s hip. But his kiss remained soft, tongue sliding slow with intent. Shen Qingqiu seemed to melt into his touch, breath hitching as Luo Binghe kissed down his jaw, his pulse point, lightly sucking where his neck met his shoulder. He swallowed Shen Qingqiu’s answering moan with another tender kiss.
It was a trick he had picked up during their time together. Shen Qingqiu liked to be kissed; and as with much else of his preferences, he responded to coaxing, not force.
So Luo Binghe had learned to take it slow. Pacing himself as he went, no matter how hard it was to wrestle with his self-control, building Shen Qingqiu's pleasure until neither of them could take it anymore.
He was still bad at many things, but for his Shizun, he was willing to improve.
This time he must have been more successful, however, as Shen Qingqiu fumbled to catch the fingers grazing up his waist.
“We’re still outside,” he panted. “And it’s in the middle of the day.”
“Nobody is here.”
“The lychees will freeze over. And we’re still outside.” He added in a mutter: “Save this kind of thing for later.”
“Later?” Luo Binghe perked up. “It’s a promise for tonight, then?”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“You were the one who said so, Shizun.” Remembering himself, he amended: “But I will wait, if that is what my husband wants.”
The endearment still felt foreign on his tongue, but even Shen Qingqiu’s half-hearted protests stopped.
His cheeks were as pink as the plum blossoms.
Luo Binghe smiled, leaning his forehead against the man he loved the most in the world. In the silence, he could only hear their shared breathing against each other’s lips, the magpies among the trees.
He lacked for nothing at all.