Chapter Text
Shen Yuan awakens in what, frankly, has to be Proud Immortal Demon Way.
He’s not just being hopeful here! Isn’t that how it always works? If he’s walking around in an immortal cultivator’s body, brimming with spiritual energy and knee deep in a majestic fantasy grassland populated by (luckily) nonaggressive browsing monsters, what other novel could he have transmigrated into than the one he just finished reading? There’s been no one else for him- er, nothing else for him, for the last three years of suffering through terrible plot lines and badly written pornography.
Second, and topically, the unconscious man next to him- tall even lying down, gorgeous eyelashes flat against his sculpted cheeks, long dark hair half tied back and the rest left to run riotous against the ground, dressed in all black and gray- has an undeniable aura. One might say a demonic- even an imperial one. The stark red mark upon his brow- and his overwhelming beauty- scream “heavenly.”
Heart thumping in his chest, Shen Yuan manfully refrains from reaching out his hand to touch the perfect skin of what must be a sleeping Luo Binghe. Mostly refrains. At the last minute, he pulls it back so that it only skims his cheek. Even that is enough to cause him to stir.
Scrambling backwards, Shen Yuan is only saved from falling flat on his ass by his general physical competence and the hovering air of dignity that this body came with. Thank the gods for his quick reactions, if Luo Binghe woke up to find a stranger touching him he probably wouldn’t hesitate to cut off any bits he saw fit!
And on that note…
Whose body is Shen Yuan in?
It’s certainly not his own- his hands don’t look this muscular, and his hair is certainly not this glossy and long. Patting down his body with only the occasional lingering glance at the sleeping Luo Binghe, Shen Yuan manages to find a sect token.
Qing Jing- he was right, this is Proud Immortal Demon Way! And he must be from Cang Qiong! Luo Binghe’s shidi? Or shixiong, perhaps?
Then, tucked into his belt- a fan.
Shen Yuan takes it out, frowning at it, and snaps it open. As if of its own accord, his hand snaps it open, beginning to fan himself gently with it.
Why is he getting an ominous feeling from this instrument…?
The beauty on the ground stirs again, a gentle noise escaping his lips; Shen Yuan instinctively covers his face with the fan, eyes widening. How should he approach it when Luo Binghe wakes? Do they know each other? What’s their relationship? Is he one of Luo Binghe’s faithful minions? Better that than one of the bullies from the peak- what if Luo Binghe is just waiting for an opportunity to off him?!
A warm puff of wind moves Shen Yuan’s hair, accompanied by a quiet snort from behind him. Shen Yuan whips his head around, fan lowering, forgotten.
One of the… friendly…? grazing animals has approached. It is much larger than it looked from a distance; the purple fuzz cresting its spine quite passes the height of Shen Yuan’s head. Its nostrils are wide enough that he could probably fit his whole fist up there; the beast’s tongue pokes out and chases a dusting of grass seeds that coats the nostril, worming all the way inside. Disgusting.
Lolling its head to the side to regard him with one tiny eye, it puffs out another heavy breath of wet air and begins stomping and scraping the earth with its gigantic front hoof, leaving gouges the size of Shen Yuan’s thigh. The beady eye rolls, the thick, pointed horns on its head lowering in Shen Yuan’s direction.
The blade that materializes in Shen Yuan’s hand as it begins its charge is unexpected, but welcome.
The flash of light that accompanies the sword’s sudden appearance clearly startles the beast, breaking its momentum; with a snort it slows and veers off to the side, then trots off in another direction without a backward look, tail flicking behind it. Shen Yuan watches it go, the light sweat dusting his forehead cool in the slight breeze across the plain.
“You scared it off,” a deep voice comes from behind him.
With absolutely no startled jump, Shen Yuan turns around to see that the sleeping Luo Binghe is no longer lying on the ground, but casually standing behind him. The clumps of tall grass surrounding them bracket him like so many decorative displays, simply highlighting the elegance of his figure. The persistently sticky grass seeds have chosen not to cling to the protagonist’s robes, in deference to his image; not even a stem rests in his gently curling hair.
“You’re awake!” Shen Yuan says, swallowing down his nerves.
“I am,” Luo Binghe replies, eyes tracing up and down Shen Yuan’s body. “But… I’m afraid that I don’t remember who you are.”
Great- the protagonist doesn’t know him? What sort of story is Shen Yuan supposed to come up with, dressed like this? How can there be someone from Qing Jing peak that Luo Binghe doesn’t know? Is he young? Is he just a baby disciple, that Luo Binghe hasn’t met? But then why would they be out here together?
Mind scrambling to come up with a good cover story, Shen Yuan glances down at the high-quality spiritual sword that glows softly in his hand. There, inscribed on its blade, are two characters.
Xiu… Ya.
FUCK.
—
It’s been two days.
Luo Binghe, it turns out, remembers nothing at all- not even his own name. An excellent outcome, because elsewise Shen Yuan can’t imagine a single situation in which he wouldn’t have been killed immediately, stuck alone in the middle of nowhere with a Luo Binghe who has obviously embraced his demonic heritage and is fully able to kill anything he likes with a simple flick of his fingers. Or a complicated and slow de-limbing process. Not that Shen Yuan has been thinking about it.
In truth they are, totally and unarguably, stuck. Shen Yuan has no idea which direction will get them out of this accursed plain; eventually, he’d simply picked a direction and had them start flying. His body doesn’t seem to become particularly tired or hungry, but there’s no way he can just dally around in a grassland with the protagonist forever, no matter how picturesque the tiny flowers and intimidatingly large bison are. Luo Binghe keeps pointing out the pretty clouds and rock formations as they go, and occasionally quoting what sounds like some sort of verse. Very scholarly, as befits a Qing Jing disciple. Shen Yuan hasn’t figured out what to tell him yet, about their identities.
“You’re… Luo Binghe,” he ventures one night, after they’ve finally managed to light a fire with careful application of spiritual energy. The less careful attempts had, unfortunately, cleared a bit of a charred patch across the west side of the hill. They’ve moved to the east.
“I am?” Luo Binghe says, frowning. It doesn’t seem to spark any further recollection in him, and Shen Yuan’s shoulders relax. Mentally, he releases his hold on Xiu Ya. “You remembered something?”
“Only that,” Shen Yuan says with as lofty an air as he can manage. He certainly doesn’t remember anything about Shen Qingqiu’s identity! Nor his own! “I simply remembered a description of a Luo Binghe; you match it.”
“Hm,” Luo Binghe says contemplatively, attempting to sharpen a stick into a skewer. He’s not doing a particularly good job; the ground squirrel that ran out of the burning hillside and into their laps is approximately the same diameter as the skewer. Shen Yuan has no idea how it’s supposed to fit on it.
“You don’t remember anything?” Shen Yuan ventures, carefully. Luo Binghe shakes his head, and accidentally lops off the end of the skewer, staring down at it in dismay.
Shen Yuan shakes his head, and adjusts the sticks in the fire.
—
“Yes, it’s the same rock formation,” Luo Binghe says mildly, as Shen Yuan clenches at his own sleeve in frustration. “The burned side is very recognizable.”
“We’ve been traveling for a whole day, how can we have just gone in a circle!” Shen Yuan demands, refraining from kicking at the bare rock. Barely. “Haven’t we been following the path of the sun?!”
“Didn’t you say we were in the demon realm?” Luo Binghe says with a frown. “You can’t follow the path of the sun, it’s too variable. You didn’t calculate our trajectory?”
Shen Yuan’s face goes pale; he does remember that aside from a rambling, indigestible chapter. A rookie mistake, not noting down the details! He’s biting back his defensive commentary on how badly paced that section was when a loud scream echoes from across the plain.
“Who’s there?!” Shen Yuan calls, appropriately dramatically, and flies to the origin of the sound in a few light taps of his foot. There, in a hollow in the earth, is a small stream; a large maroon and purple bison; and a cowering man with his hair in a bun.
“This thing is going to kill me, help!” the man yelps, scrambling to his feet and running to hide behind Shen Yuan’s sleeve. He’s too tall to really manage it, but he seems invested in trying.
The bison, undisturbed, grunts and trods towards the stream, where it lowers its head to drink.
“Everything alright?” a voice comes, and a second man hares into view, his tall frame backlit by the late afternoon sun.
“There you are!” the shorter man gasps, releasing the corner of Shen Yuan’s sleeve that he’d grabbed and turning towards him. “Luo Binghe, how could you leave me to get trampled to death?!”
“What?” Shen Yuan snaps, as the second man steps more fully into view. At the same time, his Luo Binghe- the real Luo Binghe- alights next to them, cocking his head at the other two. He and the new arrival are almost perfect copies of each other: a match in height, in beauty, in poise- and both adorned with identical red demon marks on their brows.
“That is not Luo Binghe,” Shen Yuan says decisively. “This is Luo Binghe,” and he gestures at his- obviously, undeniably the real deal- Luo Binghe.
The short man’s jaw drops, before his face reforms into an expression of stubborn anger. “WTF are you talking about?!” he demands.