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“I can’t believe you destroyed-” One of the local woman shouts at them, her and a few of her friends attempting to corner them.
“If it weren’t for your mongrel , my shidi would not have been hurt!” Really, how dumb can people be? Putting themselves right in the danger… “If you dare take another step, you absolute buffoon , I will rend your hand from your arm!” Shen Qingqiu’s bark is far worse than the beast’s bite. Liu Qingge is silently happy it is turned on these fools instead of him. He’ll deal with the seething fury later instead of the open scolding now, preferring not to get cut by the sharp side of his shixiong’s tongue. Most days, he’d think the other man nigh insufferable for the way he takes off entire layers of skin with his sandpaper words, but seeing it turned to protect him…. Well, he supposes he can see why Zhangmen-shixiong likes it so much. The scholar’s reputation hasn’t spread this far, and the result is… oddly satisfying.
The scholar stands directly in front of him, shielding the warlord with his bulkier robes and slight height advantage. It’s mesmerizing. From the soft flutter of the back of Shen Qingqiu’s sleeves as he fans himself, the sharp jut of emerald sleeves when he strikes one woman with his fan. Oh Qingge knows the look he’s making. That sharp glare down at you from over the edge of his painted fan, the visible portion of his face completely blank. A frisson runs down Qingge’s spine. It drives a soft cough out of him. When Shen Qingqiu whips around, his long hair almost snaps the other in the face.
“We are leaving.” the scholar says with a tone of finality. That finality is sealed when he clamps his bony hand around the warlord’s wrist and drags him away towards their carriage. As much as Qingge hates riding in carriages - like a princess! - he knows he couldn’t stay steady on either of their swords right now (and he does not want Shen Qingqiu carrying him back). He climbs in first, since the scholar shoves him inside with a huff. Strangely, they sit next to one another, specifically Shen Qingqiu sits directly beside him. The warlord muffles a cough with his hand and freezes when the scholar’s other hand returns to clamping on his wrist. You’ll leave bruises!
“Let go.” he growls. They’re sitting hip to hip in a carriage ! He’s not going anywhere! Another frisson runs up his spine when the scholar’s frigid finger traces down his vein, sending gentle intense pulses of qi into his body. “Hey-!” he snaps out, lifting his head so aggressively it almost hits the back of the bench, exposing his wounded neck. Those frigid fingers pause and raise to the nearest vein on his neck, skimming lightly over the puncture marks there.
“You’re lucky you didn’t bleed out, stupid boy.” Shen Jiu’s voice is tight and cold, almost indiscernible from his normal tone if Liu Qingge didn’t know what to listen for, if he didn’t spend so much time around the other man. Cracks in his ridiculous jade mask, so to speak. Cracks that let concern and protectiveness shine through like alluring heavenly rays. He’s almost drawn in. The downright gentle finger tracing his neck stops him though, the cold sticking to such delicate skin, and grounds him. The words lack their bite when he considers the barely there touch tracing down his other vein. I am lucky.
“It’s fine….” the warlord lets his eyes fall closed as he relaxes into the touch, flinching when the finger drags over another wound. They’re opposites, he knows. Shen Qingqiu is all elegance and sharp words, Liu Qingge knows he is a brute only with sharp reflexes. Glad I shoved him out of the way… The carriage rocks around them and Qingge finds himself swaying, eyes still closed as he listens to the muffled sounds of the outside world. Too muffled, probably. He lurches to the side at another bump, head full of cotton as the noises start to dull out. The high he was riding on must have run out….
“Tsk.” Warm slender arms wrap around him and pull him forward into Shen Qingqiu’s chest, steadying him against the surprisingly strong body of his shixiong; “Rest.” the other peak lord demands as he shoves his shidi’s head into the crook of his neck, pillowed on the muscle of his shoulder and the fluff of his robes. The warmth saps away the last of Liu Qingge’s fight, letting him melt into the embrace fully. He can feel his mouth open to say something, though he can only register his own hot breath on that perfect swan neck his nose is tucked against. The other humors him with some response and Liu Qingge finds the rumble of his voice surprisingly comforting. Eyelids heavy, he chooses to think the soft warm thrum in his chest is simply his heart beating, despite Shen Qingqiu’s hand on his back.
Mu Qingfang can’t say he’s surprised. When Shen-shixiong drags Liu-shixiong into the infirmary, drops him onto a cot and calls the man ‘an embarrassment to the sect’, Mu Qingfang knows how his day is going to go. And boy is he right. He makes quick work of cleaning his shixiong’s wounds and running qi through his meridians, though he pauses when he’s met with the distantly familiar feeling of cool, calm qi already flowing through. He spares a glance at the emerald peak lord who has tucked himself into one of the nearby chairs, tracing his gaze up the other man. Breathing normal, no signs of bleeding, no visible signs of qi disruption. He’s fine. Just splattered in blood.
“Does Shen-Shixiong want to go change?” he offers, turning his gaze back to making sure the warlord isn’t harboring any other injuries from before the mission. He has a bad habit of hiding wounds until the medic can pin him into his office and forcefully make sure he’s healthy. “I will be keeping an eye on Liu-shixiong.”
“No. I’m fine.” the scholar’s voice is clear and even, coaxing the medic’s attention back to him. He watches the other shrug off his soiled outer coat and toss it to the floor like the priceless silks are worth nothing more than the dirt they dragged in. To Shen Qingqiu, they aren’t. Instead of sitting back down, the scholar stalks to the partition and takes down the abandoned robe Mu Qingfang usually wears over his shoulders to keep himself warm and unencumbered. He shakes out the drab brown cloth and slides it on, swiping down the sleeves to smooth the crumpled wrinkles from years of simply being worn as a cloak. Mu Qingfang finally remembers to breathe again when his shixiong sits down at his desk and looks at him expectantly. “How is he?”
“He will be fine, he clotted the blood before anything major could happen. Just needs time to recover from the blood loss.” he explains as he pulls a blanket over the war lord. It’s a futile effort, really.
“ Just time, something we clearly have so much of.” Shen Qingqiu scoffs like he isn’t an untouchable immortal. But Mu Qingfang knows what he means. Not even what’s left of his incense stick, perhaps. He glances at the incense stick that is already burning low. Perhaps…. Half of what’s left, he estimates. “How is Mu-shidi doing today?”
“This one is well, shixiong. The infirmary hasn’t been terribly busy.” With Liu Qingge away, his disciples have to visit less. It’s a relief, really. “I hope Shen-shixiong did not run into too much trouble during the mission?”
“Tsk, Liu Qingge is trouble, he attracts it! This shixiong had to ward off angry villagers while he was weakened.” He what ? Mu Qingfang falters in his pointless tidying. “Truly, those thankless wretches.” The medic chuckles softly. Everyone is a thankless wretch to Shen Qingqiu besides his husbands. Or, sometimes, especially his husbands. It changes as the wind blows, really, just as Shen Jiu does himself. That slender bone-white hand reaches out and waves him over with the slightest flick of the wrist. Enchanted, the medic comes over. “Shidi should sit down, he has been working all day.”
Shen Jiu changes every day. Every hour, some days. His mood sways so easily now, instead of being the steady stream of cold indifference and hatred he displayed consistently before. The fever affected his mind, Mu Qingfang knows, damaged something - he would never word it that way to the others, but he knows something had to have been damaged for a change this drastic - important enough to make the man actually bearable to be around. He takes the other’s hand and allows it to pull him closer. This Shen Jiu is still him but without the dangerous edge that drove everyone off. It’s hard even for him to guess what happened. Physical damage could produce this effect, but so could a drastic shock to one’s sense of self preservation. Afterall, isn’t it in Shen Jiu’s best interest to stay close with the others to stay sane, safe, and healthy? To stay comfortable, unquestioned and pampered , his mind echoes.
“Shen-shixiong is so thoughtful. This one has been quite busy with his paperwork all day.” he admits easily. Not that he or Shen Jiu had any qualms with one another before the fever. They got along as well as Shen Jiu allowed anyone to get along with him, they had a begrudging - on Shen Jiu’s part - friendship. He was the only other “sensible man on this damn mountain range” Shixiong had said during one of their chats after a Peak Lord meeting. He…. agreed. He still agrees. Compared to the others, it feels like only the two of them have any sense of reason, but isn’t that what they love about the others? Their foolish recklessness and brashness, their foolish infinite kindness and warmth.
“Shidi should remember to rest. How is he supposed to take care of his patients if he cannot care for himself?” Qingqiu likely means for that to sound snappy but instead it’s softened by the way he pulls the medic closer so he can press his face into his rough brown robes. He trails his hands up the other’s shoulders, calloused fingers catching here and there on the rough fabric of his own outer robe on Shen Jiu’s form. He knows if the other were not wearing it, his callouses would catch on the cool, smooth silk and worry at the delicate threads, not that it would matter to his shixiong. Following the course of his shoulders, Mu Qingfang slides his arms to rest around the scholar’s neck, leaving room for his shixiong’s arms to enclose his waist.
“Mn, my Peak is always quite busy, even on slow days. Always medicine to make, supplies to order, patient files to check. Such is the life of a healer.” he placates, tracing the sharp edge of a shoulder blade with the pad of his thumb. Shixiong has put on more weight. His new diet suggestions to Zhangmen-shixiong have done good then.
“....Shidi smells nice.” Shen Jiu’s voice drifts up from the folds of his robe, where that frigid nose is gently tucked. I need to continue testing that medicine for his circulation…
“I was experimenting with cardamom and cinnamon to make your pills taste better.” Shen Jiu had complained on one of his worse days that the pills tasted foul and if it was not important for his health to take them consistently, he would absolutely never take them and would rather suffer. That was the same day he fainted from a headache. Shixiong takes all his medicine but if the medic can make the experience easier, he’d feel better. Shen-shixiong already has to take so many pills and concoctions, it may as well be somewhat pleasant.
Mu Qingfang almost startles out of Xiao Jiu’s hold when Yue Qingyuan slams the door open. He feels somewhat bad startling his shidis when they were obviously so comfortable, but he took far too long getting there in his own opinion. Liu Qingge is back and in the infirmary , as he often is upon returning. He wasn’t even here to greet them this time! What kind of shixiong is he if he can’t greet his own husbands?
The sect leader’s gaze falters, staying on his shidis as Xiao Jiu’s arms tighten around the medic and pull him closer to rest his head against him. Ah, to see his husbands so close… He tears his eyes away before they can lure him into the warm embrace of their arms and he stalks over to the only occupied cot. Liu Qingge, the war god of Bai Zhan peak, lays pale and unmoving, cheeks lacking their usual soft flush and body more still than it ever is, even when the man sleeps. He yanks the thin white blanket off the other man’s body and takes off his over robe, laying it over him instead, as he always does. It’s a thick black robe that insulates heat too well, ending up most often draped across his delicate husbands’ shoulders.
“Welcome back, baobei.” he says softly and leans down to press a gentle kiss to the middle of his war husband’s forehead; “You’re in our care.” Once his assurances are issued - the same as they always are, the same as they always will be - he turns to approach the desk and finally join the situation that’s happening there. Clearing the room in long strides, Yue Qingyuan gently takes one of Xiao Jiu’s arms and pries it off the medic (really, Jiu is so strong when he doesn’t want to be separated from whoever is caught in his trap!). “Welcome back, Jiu-Qin.”
“Mn.” Xiao Jiu is especially tired today, it seems. The licks of frigid spiritual energy coming off Liu-shidi told all he needed to know. Xiao Jiu shouldn’t exhaust himself so much but… Well, Yue Qingyuan can’t bring himself to scold him for needlessly putting himself in danger of another infirmary stay. The running “soft streak” (as Fang-er calls it) is too endearing for him to risk shattering completely. Seeing the scholar get along so well with the others of his own volition - outside of his own brand of fierce love and loyalty, the kind that frustrates as much as it endears - warms his heart deeply. He likes seeing his Xiao Jiu open up like a delicate lotus.
“Come, husband, let’s lay down.” he offers his arm out, sliding it around the slighter man’s shoulders when the other doesn’t move; “Fang-er will come too, don’t worry.” It’s easy to placate Shen Jiu, who lets himself be lifted gently with an arm under his arm. He ushers the two over to the largest cot and easily hops up. Yue Qingyuan takes Shen Jiu into his arms when Mu Qingfang lifts the other man, pulling him close to his chest as he lays back. The scholar snuggles close to him, head pillowed on his chest and hand still latched onto Mu Qingfang’s belt. The healer hops up beside them and cuddles up on his free side. His husbands make affection so easy…. They’re too cute… The sect leader snakes his arms around the both of them, a hand on each of their waists. It’s easier to tell when they get up this way . It’s easier to comfort them this way.
“Rest well, Zhangmen-shixiong….” Mu Qingfang murmurs too close to his ear, warm minty breath brushing his face. Really, Fang-er…. Zhangmen-shixiong, shixiong, sect leader. Their youngest husband is still so formal!!! So polite and proper. They’re married, aren’t they? He gives the medic a (debatably) playful squeeze.
"You too, Fang-er." Yue Qi teases in return.
"Sleep, qi-ge." Shen Jiu murmurs, lashes fluttering pleasantly.
"You too, Xiao Jiu." He leans down to press a kiss to the other man's forehead. After a momentary pause, Fang-er shifts closer, expectant.
"Hmm? Does Fang-er want something?" Yue Qingyuan can't help but tease, A-Fang makes it too easy! He’s too cute!
“.... Zhangmen-shixiong.” Yue Qingyuan peeks an eye open to watch the other man pout at him. At the lack of response, the medic’s brows furrow. “Husband.” he says more insistently. Yue Qi slides his hand up the younger man’s back, cradling the base of his head easily with his broad hand. Despite being nearly his size, A-Fang fits so easily in his hands. He pulls the other man closer, faltering when Mu Qingfang speaks against his lips. “Qi-ge.” The sect leader pauses, hand tensing at the back of the medic’s neck.
“Fang-er should not tempt me in the infirmary.”
“And Qi-ge should not tease.” Mu Qingfang nestles back into the crook of his arm without retrieving his kiss, leaving the sect leader staring into the space he previously occupied.
Shen Jiu hates it all. He hates laying there in the late afternoon, watching his three husbands sleep the day away, hidden safely in the infirmary. It’s sickeningly sweet. Dangerously vulnerable. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve the tender embraces and touching concern. Laying so safely on his husband’s chest, arm secure around his waist. It makes him sick.
But how could he let go? He’d struggled to get this far, he clawed against his own nature to let other people close, and now that they are close, he would bare his teeth and dig his claws in, whether they wanted away or the world tried to take them. They aren’t getting away from him. They’re his . He could lose the sweet cakes, he could lose the endless pills to relieve his aches and pains, he could lose the fierce sword protecting his back, but if he loses them , he will shatter.
Qi-ge is his again. He was always yours , his traitorous mind tells him, giving him flashes of his first husband’s kindness through the years, of all the ways the mighty Yue Qingyuan let Shen Qingqiu walk all over him. He hates it. As much as he tries to fight against himself, he still finds himself reaching his dirty claws at his first husband’s good nature. It’s a war against himself much of the time. The comparably little bit of time that the war doesn’t rage, the echo in the back of his mind turns from demanding things of his first husband - all of which said husband would happily give without second thought, he’s such a charitable fool - to chanting Mine mine mine mine mine .
It grows insatiable, more inclined to hyperfixate on the Sect Leader whenever they spend some arbitrary “long” amount of time apart. It could be just a week, whether the scholar lord is off on some hunt or the sect leader is simply too immersed in his work to spare the time. It could be just 2 days, a sidelong glance from someone outside of their little circle and that voice starts up again. It claws at his thoughts until all he can think of is his first husband, what he is doing, what he might be thinking. He tries not to be overbearing, really. He stays out of the way and battles his own demons. Qi-ge would fuss if he knew. You can come to me, Jiu-qin. Share your troubles with Qi-ge.
The others are no help. Liu Qingge was his second husband, the absolute brute . The moment he saved the bastard’s life in the caves was the moment he got another piece of luggage. That fierce sense of loyalty endeared him to the man instantly, the more time they were forced to spend together, the more he liked him. Disgusting. Absolutely repulsive. What a lovely, beautiful brute. Perfect material for a second husband, just as Qi-ge is the perfect first husband.
A rich man with a good background, a well accomplished warrior and cultivator who is endlessly loyal. If Shen Jiu was a widowed woman, Liu Qingge would be the absolute ideal of a second husband. Despite how bad he is with words, the war lord is infinitely clear with his actions, whether he likes it or not. His small kindnesses speak louder than whatever dumb, simple words he uses to excuse the kindness. The gifts he finds and delivers with excuses that he only saw it along the way.
Truly, his shy innocence is horribly endearing. If he hadn’t known the man for so long, Shen Jiu would think him terminally virginal. He only knows he is definitely not because he had been on numerous missions with the man to succubi dens. The plum blossom flush across his cheeks and ears makes Jiu’s chest ache every time. Makes him want to crack open his own useless ribs and tuck the war lord in beside his barely beating heart to keep him safe. It’s the least he could do, the least he should do to repay him. The scholar knows he is…. Difficult. Sometimes on purpose, sometimes without thinking. It made the first few months hard.
It took a fight, a step too far, words they couldn’t take back, for the both of them to realize the problem with themselves, the other, and everything in-between. Qi-ge’s concern was heartbreaking. Haven’t I done enough? It was his fault, right? Qi-ge likes Liu-shidi so much, so the problem was him right? He’s too erratic, too strung up on a wire that he can no longer predict, he can no longer tell when it will go slack or taut under his feet and he is left to dangle at it’s mercy. Liu Qingge realized it isn’t him , it’s his dumb irrational mind. Jiu realized the other was scared. Neither of them knew vulnerability before. Words exchanged in the heat of an argument that dug too deep no longer mattered when they hid in their own little corners - their own peaks - and licked their metaphorical wounds.
It doesn’t matter anymore. His mind had already gotten over it before Liu Qingge even returned to him, screeching at Jiu to drag his sorry self to his second husband, to do something, to see him again, to make sure he hasn’t been abandoned. He hadn’t been. The war lord is too dumb, too loyal and entrenched in the habit of keeping those he cares for too close to his heart, the kind of fool who is impossible to leave behind and finds it impossible to leave. That’s fine with Qingqiu. He’ll keep his claws in Qingge’s heart and Qingge will carry them both along the metaphorical path of life.
And his third husband, whose hand is tucked up against his shoulder. He can feel the skim of those well worn fingertips against the rough material of the outer robe he snatched earlier. Mu Qingfang…. A-Fang is a good husband. He’s nothing extraordinary, he has his faults and strengths… But the complete lack of anything extraordinary is what makes his presence so relaxing. If they were normal men and not immortal cultivators, not lords in their own right, Mu Qingfang would perhaps be the most exceptional husband out of the three. Jiu doesn’t know his origin but his work ethic and brilliance would still make him a prized healer in the non-cultivation world. The same brilliance and work ethic that keeps him holed up in his office for too long every day, every week, every month.
A-Fang is the easiest to find. He’s either in his office, his garden, or his bed. He’s easy to approach. Jiu walks into whatever room the man is in, tells him he feels like absolute shit, and the other opens his arms to him freely. No panic, no questions, no unnecessary concern. Sometimes he just feels like shit, which his third husband seems to get. He… Doesn’t think A-Fang has any problems like his, his mind seems to work logically, but Jiu knows all too well how easy it is to keep that all bottled up. Especially easy when one keeps themselves busy every second of their life. Qingfang always knows when to ask, what to ask, how to ask. Jiu doesn’t know how and frankly doesn’t care to. A-Fang keeps them all hale and lively.
He reaches his hand out and takes the medic’s calloused fingers between his own. It’s too easy to crawl into his shidi’s lap and hide from the world for a while. Too easy to curl up and be ignored for a few hours while he selfishly takes his comfort from his third husband. Easy to rend what he wants from the other man when he knows what Qingqiu wants and offers it freely. He traces the curve of Mu-shidi’s eyebrows with his eyes, following the flow down his nose line and to his lips. He’s not as incredibly handsome as Yue Qingyuan or charmingly princely as Liu Qingge, but he has…. Earthly beauty. He’s handsome, but the sun-warmed touch to his skin, dappling of light freckles and untamed curls of his hair truly sets him apart. He spends his time inside, Shen Jiu wonders if that skin tone is his natural one or if perhaps the sun touched his skin and didn’t want to separate from him. It makes the scholar unreasonably jealous. It makes him want to rip the lecherous sun from the sky for touching his husband before he could.
He’s glad his hand is occupied. If it wasn’t, he fears he’d fall for the echoes in his mind that whisper for him to just reach out and trace his third husband’s face, following the wonderful flow of his features that even Liu Qingge could only wish for. With the others, there is that unsettling call of his insecurities, of whatever has always made him unstable (that it seemingly now unhinged) wanting validation and security. Those voices are suspiciously quiet with the medic. Maybe it’s the lack of expectations. Maybe it’s the way Mu Qingfang constantly puts off qi like a healing tree dropping heavenly blossoms on the passersby. Maybe it’s the knowledge that his third husband is the last ‘member’ of their little circle.
He has bad habits, of course. He’s horrible about coming to bed at any reasonable time. He’s always tired. His sweets are subpar and he refuses to change them….. Okay, it’s hard to find fault with the medic outside of his sleep and work habits. Instead of smoking or drinking, the man picked up chewing sprigs of mint. Instead of wasting precious silks and brocades, the healer wears common fabrics with the sleeves tied back constantly. The sleeves of all his robes must be wrinkled beyond repair…. All his robes, no matter if Jiu picks up an inner robe or outer robe, smell of mint, herb, and musk. It’s easy to steal his abandoned warmth-robe and curl up on the little cot in his office to nap in a cloud of pleasant aromas. The herbs change with every passing day, sometimes sweet, sometimes spicy, but they never overpower the other scents.
When he’d first woken from his fever, Qingqiu was suspicious that the medic was drugging him. For what reason? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know why he was always so suspicious of such a kind man. It took him embarrassingly long to realize it was simply the other man’s scent (which sounds disgusting every time he thinks about it). He suspects it’s the only reason he was lulled back to pleasant sleep during his bouts of the fever, instead of being thrown into countless nightmares at the mercy of his cruel, unpredictable mind.
“Is something wrong, Shen-shixiong?” his third husband’s voice is calm and gentle, like the rush of a wave to the shore. Shen Qingqiu lets his eyes flutter closed.
“No…. just thinking.” It’s not a lie. They’re just thoughts.
“Mn. I can’t sleep either. Zhangmen-shixiong is too warm.” there’s an edge of humor to the medic’s tone. He’s right though, Qi-ge has always been a furnace. It’d saved them many nights when they were younger.
“Shove him off the bed.”
“You’re on top of him, shixiong.”
“ Do it .”