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“Maybe,” said Sha Hualing slowly, “you just have really bad taste in men.”
Luo Binghe gave her a half-hearted glare. “Not now,” he said, but it was without any real heat. Mobei-Jun could tell that, although he was too tactful to say it so bluntly, Luo Binghe agreed with her.
“My taste in men is fine. There’s nothing wrong with Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-Jun said. “My last gift just wasn’t good enough.”
They were gathered in Luo Binghe’s throne room, and with official demon realm business over it was time to catch up on the social situations of the various kingdoms. Or, as Shang Qinghua called it, gossip time.
“Are you talking about the skin of the thousand year old albino cave crawler?” said Luo Binghe.
Mobei-Jun nodded.
“The one that only dwells in the deepest, most dangerous caverns? That only a handful of demons have ever even seen? The creature that’s famous for being unkillable?” said Sha Hualing.
“Yes, that one,” said Mobei-Jun.
“That’s the gift that wasn’t good enough for Shang Qinghua?” said Sha Hualing.
“He has high standards,” said Mobei-Jun.
Sha Hualing looked skeptical. “Maybe we’re thinking of different Shang Qinghuas.”
Mobei-Jun ignored her. He knew better than anyone that Shang Qinghua wouldn’t settle for just any gift. The deep-sea fanged squid, when presented on a silver platter at dinner, had been quickly passed over. The giant scorpion-bear head had been dumped unceremoniously out with the next day’s trash. And now his latest gift, the crawler skin, had been so thoroughly unacceptable that, when Shang Qinghua had seen it, he’d spun around on his heel and left the room.
As he’d left, Shang Qinghua’s face had been pale, and his eyes had been glazed--as if Mobei-Jun’s offering had been so pitiful as to make him sick. He’d been so disappointed in Mobei-Jun’s gift, in fact, that he’d left to stay with Shen Qingqiu at Qing Jing Peak for a few days.
Speaking of Shen Qingqiu…
Mobei-Jun turned to Luo Binghe. “How did you convince Shen Qingqiu of your devotion?” he asked.
The propriety of such a personal question was iffy, especially when coming from a subordinate, but asking Luo Binghe to talk about Shen Qingqiu had never failed to net a positive result. Going by the happy glow that suffused his face at the question, this time was no exception.
“Noooooo,” said Sha Hualing, slumping back into her chair, but it was too late. Luo Binghe had already launched into a tale of his love.
It was nothing Mobei-Jun hadn’t heard before, but he paid extra close attention this time, noting down the details of tragic self-sacrifice, daring rescues, and fierce battles--sometimes for Shen Qingqiu, and sometimes against him.
“...and here’s where he stabbed at my heart, but held back at the last second, unable to follow through with the killing blow,” said Luo Binghe, pulling open his robe to show the scar. “There’s another on my palm, also from his sword. I’ve never healed them because they were given to me by him, and I could never get rid of something given to me by Shizun, especially something that serves as a reminder of both his betrayal and his mercy. When Shizun sees them, he knows how significant these moments are to me, how significant he is to me. He can see that he has marked me, and that I have allowed myself to be marked by him in turn.”
As Luo Binghe delivered the pinnacle of his speech, his demon’s mark seemed to glow a bit brighter, and Mobei-Jun would swear a breeze swept through to dramatically stir his hair and robe.
Luo Binghe looked at Mobei-Jun expectantly. “Well? Your love must have also been difficult--you’re a demon, after all, and he’s a human. Has your Shang Qinghua ever marked you? If so, show him.”
“Yeah, flaunt those stab wounds,” said Sha Hualing.
“He hasn’t stabbed me,” Mobei-Jun admitted.
“What, never? Are you sure he’s interested in you?” Sha Hualing asked, looking as doubtful as Mobei-Jun felt.
“There was one time he drew blood,” said Mobei-Jun.
Luo Binghe nodded encouragingly.
“He was handing me a scroll on restructuring the kingdom’s tax collection, and when I reached out to grab it, the edge of the paper cut my finger.” Mobei-Jun held out the digit in question. “I didn’t keep the scar, though.”
“Oh,” said Luo Binghe. “Well. It’s probably alright that you didn’t keep that one.”
“You could let him stab you,” Sha Hualing suggested. “That’s the gift I’d want if I were him.”
“I did give him a dagger once,” said Mobei-Jun.
“Yes? And?”
“He uses it as a paperweight.”
There was an awkward moment of silence as they all pondered the conundrum that was Shang Qinghua.
“Maybe just get him a fan. Shizun always likes it when I get him fans,” Luo Binghe said.
“Now’s there’s a thought,” said Sha Hualing. “Getting him something he likes. It’s crazy enough it just might work.”
Mobei-Jun paused. It wasn’t dramatic, like Luo Binghe’s scars, and it wasn’t bold, like Mobei-Jun’s trophies, but if he was going to get Shang Qinghua something that he liked…
Shen Qingqiu looked at the contents of the package, unimpressed. “Maybe you just have really bad taste in men.”
Shang Qinghua didn’t respond immediately. He sat next to the box for a moment, then started to unpack its contents slowly, his fingers trembling slightly.
“When Luo Binghe sends me apology gifts, they usually include priceless treasures,” Shen Qingqiu continued, kneeling down next to him and picking through Mobei-Jun’s offering with equal parts curiosity and disdain. “Beautiful fans, rare manuscripts, the pelts of exotic and dangerous beasts--”
“I’ve had enough of dead animals, thanks. You should have seen the state of my carpet after Mobei-Jun dumped that creature on it.”
“Still. At least the creature was cool. Better than--what is this? Paper?”
“My favorite paper,” said Shang Qinghua, hugging a stack of it to his chest. “Have you ever used it? It holds the ink so well--no bleed at all. I was talking about it the other week at dinner. Just chattering, filling the silence, you know. I didn’t think he was even listening…”
“You talk about paper over dinner? And he paid attention?”
“Can you believe it?”
“Not really.” Shen Qingqiu gave him a thoughtful look. “Airplane bro, don’t take this the wrong way, but even I tune you out when you start talking stationery. Are you sure Mobei-Jun sent you that creature skin as a punishment?”
“What else would it be? It was probably because I was late with my reports that day, and--oh! Look at this!”
“It’s...an inkstone?” said Shen Qingqiu.
“Not just any inkstone,” said Shang Qinghua, holding it up with reverent hands. “This is from that fancy calligraphy store we visited last month. It was way too pricey to buy for everyday use, but he must have seen me eyeing it. Have you ever seen anything so smooth? And look at these brushes! Made from venomous ermine fur by the look of them. Do you know how rare these are? I’ve read reviews of them, but never held one myself.”
Shang Qinghua cradled the brushes gently, his eyes starting to look suspiciously wet. Shen Qingqiu frowned at him—a frown which only deepened when he looked back down into the box.
“Airplane bro.”
“Yeah?”
“Did you write sticky notes into your xianxia novel?”
“Wait, did he include those too?” Shang Qinghua quickly, but gently, put down the brushes and grabbed one of the multi-colored pads of parchment.
“Sticky notes? Really? You’re the worst.”
“They were an important plot point in a scrapped storyline. They were made by this inventor who also created a super-powered marital aid that Luo Binghe used to--you know what, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I have them now.”
The rest of the box included a variety of ink colors, a paperweight in the shape of a black moon rhinoceros python, and a multi-level desk organizer with drawers and slots for various supplies. Shang Qinghua sat in the middle of the pile of gifts, looking dazed. After a moment, a tear trickled down his cheek.
Shen Qingqiu had gotten more comfortable with tears in recent years thanks to exposure via Binghe, but he still felt uncomfortable when people other than Binghe cried. He patted Shang Qinghua’s shoulder awkwardly.
“Hey, it sucks that your boss bought you office supplies as an ‘I’m sorry I ruined your room with a bloody corpse’ gift, but-”
“What? No! This is good news. Great news! I had it all wrong.” Shang Qinghua started packing up the gifts quickly. “I have to go back.”
“Now? I thought you said the cleaning crew were going to be working on your room for at least a week. Isn’t that why you’ve been staying with me these past few days? Because if this was all an excuse to get at the snacks Binghe left me again-”
“No, Cucumber bro, my excuse was real this time, I swear! My room really is uninhabitable. I don't think I’ll be sleeping there for awhile, though.” Shang Qinghua stood up, clutching his gift box to his chest. His eyes were red from tears, but his smile was bright. “Mobei-Jun sent me stationery!”
“...Yes?”
“Don’t you get it? He must love me back!”
Shang Qinghua portaled away a moment later, presumably to Mobei-Jun’s side to make sweet, nerdy love to him. Shen Qingqiu stared at the blank spot in the room where he’d been, then sighed.
“Airplane bro, you really do have terrible taste in men,” he said. “Good thing Mobei-Jun does too.”
In his rush, Shang Qinghua had dropped one of the stacks of sticky notes. Shen Qingqiu picked it up and, with a flick of his wrist, incinerated it.
Its destruction meant that he’d have to deal with an angry Airplane bro in the near future--a prospect he wasn’t looking forward to, since Airplane could get surprisingly feral over office supplies--but it couldn’t be helped. He couldn’t risk Binghe finding the sticky notes, liking them, and tracking down the inventor for himself.
Shen Qingqiu knew how Airplane bro’s mind worked, after all, and he didn’t like the sound of that super-powered marital aid...