Chapter Text
When they at last officially established their relationship, Shen Qiao didn’t expect anything to change to drastically. He was still the respected leader of Xuandu Sect, now with the added pressure to bring the once isolated sect back into worldly affairs; Yan Wushi was still the infamous demonic sovereign of Huanyue Sect, who defeated the current jianghu’s strongest martial artist.
When they decided to become cultivation partners, it was a quiet, quaint event with only their closest friends and disciples as witnesses bearing blessings for the couple, though Yan Wushi had, of course, wanted to make it into an outrageously extravagant event if not for Shen Qiao’s threat.
They carried on with their lives as before as if nothing had really changed, but Shen Qiao soon discovered that something had shifted after all.
It was about a week since Yan Wushi left Purple Manor for Chang’an for sect affairs, and Shen Qiao found himself staring out of the windows at the setting sun after a busy day of instructing his pupils and having long meetings with other elders of the sect, a cup of cooling tea cradled in his hands, vaguely missing the teasing chatter of a certain demonic sovereign, the contrasting warmth and familiarity of his presence.
This kind of longing – quiet, unassuming, simmering just beneath the surface of his skin – wasn’t an emotion Shen Qiao was used to. So deep in thought he’d been that he didn’t even notice someone had entered the room until the man spoke with a low, amused chuckle, effectively breaking Shen Qiao’s trance.
“Ah-Qiao, it’s not like you to be so absent-minded. What if it hadn’t been me but someone else more sinister, hmm?”
“Yan-zongzhu’s footfalls are too recognizable,” Shen Qiao replied, the initial tenseness melted away swiftly once he realized who it was. “You’ve returned sooner than expected. Everything went well, I presume.”
“Bian Yanmei can take care of the rest,” Yan Wushi replied, taking the few steps required to erase their distance.
Natural and easy as handling his precious Shanhe Tongbei sword, Shen Qiao carefully placed down his unfinished tea and met him halfway, arms enclosing his partner around the waist and pulling him closer, breathing him in deeply as if to ensure that he really was here with him.
“Did Ah-Qiao miss me that much?” Yan Wushi teased, running his fingers through Shen Qiao’s hair, bringing a lock to his lips, eyes enraptured by the beauty before him.
Shen Qiao didn’t rise to the bait, but the tinge of red on the tips of his ears had already betrayed him.
“My invitation still stands, you know?” Yan Wushi whispered into Shen Qiao’s ear, breaths warm, words tempting. He was referring to his (mostly childish quipping) suggestion of leaving all their responsibilities behind and journeying to a faraway place where they could live out the rest of their lives at their own pace.
Shen Qiao laughed lightly and leaned back to look at Yan Wushi with a fond but helpless expression, “from the Yan-zongzhu I’ve come to know, would you not find such lifestyle too dry and mundane?”
“Nothing with you is ever dry and mundane,” Yan Wushi replied immediately with a grin.
“Uh huh. And what of the rest of the jianghu? Many who wish to challenge you and take your spot as the top martial artist will be disappointed if you were to disappear without a trace.”
“What’s the rest of jianghu compared to my one and only Ah-Qiao?”