Chapter Text
There wasn’t much in the world Luo Binghe couldn’t do, if not simply because there was little he dare not try. That authority deserves no inherent respect was a hard-won lesson, slowly beaten into him through years under Qing Jing Peak’s Lord, Shen Qingqiu’s rule, then carved into his flesh by the claws of the Abyss.
Since then he has defied convention to forge his own path, casually opening the tombs of old masters, fusing together demonic and orthodox techniques, even upending the order of both the human and demon realms to become Junshang, the supreme ruler. The cowards who clung to their “righteousness” couldn’t stop him, and the fools who merely aped his homegrown techniques couldn’t match him. He stood at the apex, master of all things, where nothing could harm him. Even death itself had its grasp pried from his lovely flowers more than once…though, he could begrudgingly admit, death was a far trickier customer than most. It had even left its marks upon some of his precious flowers, and they cried so prettily over them before he kissed the tears away, and they learned to wear the marks as badges of ultimate loyalty.
It was only when he first used the Heavenly Mausoleum to revive his precious Ning Yingying that he paused for a moment and considered. He considered searching for a way to bring back his mother. Not the cold woman who tried to poison the half-blood in her womb, as the Old Palace Master once explained, but the dearly departed washerwoman, whose only sin was her weakness. The Mausoleum wouldn’t do, of course, it needed a body in pristine condition, and there was likely nothing left of the washerwoman, buried with neither shovel nor casket. But perhaps there was another way? Surely, from this wide world, he would be able to drag together enough knowledge and resources to call a person back from beyond, no matter the state of their body?
But as time wore on, he began to grow less and less keen on the idea. The few incidents with defying death he encountered after had fleeting, unique solutions, less rare herbs and lost spells and more stellar alignments and remnants of divine powers from long dead gods. Not to mention, the more he pondered the washerwoman and the Jade Guanyin, rubbing it between his fingers through long, dark nights, the more he thought it would be best for her to stay buried. She lived a long life, and though it was one full of strife, she died knowing she’d cared for her child as best she could. Even if he revived her, and brought her to his palace, would she be proud of how far he’s come? At the gold and jewels and respect he’s earned? Or would she be horrified at the rivers of blood he’d left in his wake?
His fingers paused their rhythmic movements across the fake jade’s surface, and he found that he did not want to contemplate that question.
Nothing in his life was simplified by stepping into that other world. That strange warped copy of his own, where “he” called Ying’er as shijie, where Liu Mingyan regarded him as little more than Shen Qingqiu’s errand boy, and where Shen Qingqiu called him husband…and doted on him…and fussed about him like was some—some fragile thing. Something that could get hurt. Something that shouldn’t get hurt.
And his intimacy…it was something without any fanfare, without any “Lord Luo, you’re truly going to stay the night with me?” It was something more than that, more than a gift, it was something…natural. Something right. And that made it so very wrong.
In the days following his stumbling into the other world, the sting of pain he felt when the other Shen Qingqiu turned him away, his own pitiful retreat, he stalked around the palace, glaring daggers at all who disturbed him, avoiding the Water Prison like the plague. His heart felt uncomfortable, his whole being disquieted by the warmth in that other place, the gentleness of that touch.
How? How could that be natural to him? To Shen Qingqiu, the cold, stubborn, feral little creature he tore down from the lofty mountaintops, ripped the clean human skin from, and revealed the heart of beast to all? How could anything kind and indulgent be in that man? Or at least…how could any of that man’s indulgence be aimed at him, at Luo Binghe, the half-demon upstart whom he saw as an eyesore? Because he knew, he saw how indulgent Shen Qingqiu could be with little Ying’er. He saw how softly he treated her, how tolerant he was of her clumsiness, and he’d wanted. Oh, he’d wanted so, so badly for just a sliver of that softness to be aimed his way, for that slightly tired but patient reprimand to settle around him like silk cords and make him feel…feel what? Small? Powerless? Out of control? No, he hated all of those feelings. Then what? What was he missing? What was it about that other Shen Qingqiu that made him feel like he’s finally found what he’s been looking for this whole time? And why did even his dreams torment him with what he could never have? A teacher that not only cared from him, but loved him, guided him, looked after him, in much the same way as Luo Binghe himself looked after his own wives…
In a moment of weakness, he attempted to cross again, but his efforts proved futile. Alas, it would seem this parallel world was another finicky customer.
In the end, he would not find any answers sulking around above, he knew that. He also knew he wouldn’t find the answers from Shen Qingqiu’s mouth, either, given his lack of tongue and the general quietness that came over him with Yue Qingyuan’s death, but still, at this point it had been too long since he paid a visit to his dearest prisoner. Who knows, maybe seeing his decrepit teacher again would reignite the flames of hatred and allow him to end these maddening visions once and for all.
Shen Qingqiu was dead
And everything was wrong
Of course. It had been…days? Weeks? Since he’d last visited, and no one else was allowed inside while Luo Binghe was within the palace, because he would always visit regularly when he was able.
There was no one else to care for Shen Qingqiu’s broken body and fragile core.
Of course he wouldn’t last long alone, in the dark, surrounded by the acrid mists and suppressant magics.
Of course, anyone subjected to such torture for years on end would grow weak.
Of course, he couldn’t just keep playing with his listless body like a rag doll.
Of course, eventually, Shizun would…die.
And that was alright. That was the endgame…right? That was the goal, the stopping point, the curtain call, that’s what would have always happened in the end, right?!
A delicate hand with a soft touch, slipping through the locks of his hair. On a whim, they make a small braid on one side, and the man smiles to himself as if Luo Binghe wouldn’t be able to tell. A small, private moment of a very plain kind of joy.
A sound, something horrible and animalistic, claws its way out of his throat. There’s a tidal wave of something welling up inside him, something desperate and anxious and sickening, something that tastes like shattered hopes. He needs to do something but he can’t, there’s nothing to be done. He turns and lashes out at something, anything, everything.
When he’s done, the Water Prison is in shambles, its seals flickering, barely present. His chest is heaving, his heart is pounding, his skin burns from the acid soaking his clothes but he can’t bring himself to care.
Shen Qingqiu is dead, and he feels so, so hollow for it.
It takes shockingly little time for Luo Binghe to decide to revive Shen Qingqiu. Though perhaps it is only a shock to others, as Luo Binghe himself found his only surprise was how naturally the impulse came to him.
Revive his scum villain of a teacher? If it had been at any other point in his life, he would have laughed at the thought, but now…now it felt like he had no other choice. What was he supposed to do? Let Shen Qingqiu run away into the cycle of reincarnation? No, for as long as Luo Binghe lived, Shen Qingqiu would be by his side, whether that be as a prisoner or…whatever was going on over there, Shen Qingqiu was not allowed to leave.
Naturally, none of the methods he’d previously used to revive his wives would work here. Shen Qingqiu was far too battered to use the Mausoleum, and the others were hardly replicable, but perhaps he now had enough knowledge to stitch together his own revival ritual, following in the footsteps of his Heavenly ancestors.
As he worked gathering pieces of information and testing small spells, he also worked on repairing what he could of Shizun’s body, replacing or reattaching the limbs, trying to make him somewhat presentable…his wives, they had made admittedly lovely corpses, looking as if they were merely asleep, but the same could not be said for Shen Qingqiu. Shizun had been dead for days by the time Luo Binghe had found him, his skin was sallow and spotted, his limbs stiff, his cheeks hollow. It took great effort just to make him appear human again, though no matter what he did, he could not successfully replace Shizun’s missing eye. Every time he tried, it either did not quite fit or rotted despite his efforts. No matter, at the least the limbs remained intact. An arm and a leg he’d kept preserved, and returned to Shizun now, the other pair were salvaged from a few upstart cultivators who’d tried to challenge his rule.
Time and time again he checked the compatibility between all elements, from the foundations of the spell, to Shizun’s spiritual root, to the meridians of the borrowed limbs, everything had to be perfect. Again and again, he cross referenced the Mausoleum as he tweaked and adjusted the spell. It didn’t need to be drastically different, it just needed to allow him to summon back a human soul into a slightly incomplete body. That was it. It should be fine. It should work fine.
He researched, he adjusted, he checked, he adjusted again…every element weighed heavy on his mind, and he found himself running through permeations even as he sat in court, staring off into space. He knew he was just delaying the inevitable plunge, but the anxiety felt like it would chew through him alive.
Eventually, a few of his wives arranged a special night together for him…and that’s when he knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. If the suspense has been affecting him to the point other’s took notice…best to just get it over with.
In a stone chamber, deep below the palace, Luo Binghe knelt at the edge of an array. It glowed with a sickly green light, its lines carved harshly into the earth. Shen Qingqiu lay in the center, his body repaired to the best it could be, a simple white robe to help purify the aura of death around him. At the four corners sat treasures beyond compare…and beyond replication.
Luo Binghe would have one chance, and this was it.
He took a deep breath, steadied himself, circulated his qi one final time, and began channeling power into the array.
The lines glowed stronger, rippling with light. He kept the stream steady, a bit of human qi, a bit of demonic qi, never too much at one time. This was a subtle, delicate affair, not something that required brute force.
He guided his power carefully, slowly but surely casting his web, calling out for the soul of Shen Qingqiu, preparing to trap him inside. Reaching, searching, slipping through the narrow cracks in the walls of reality to draw back the known and missing, the one desired, the one far gone. Yes, that one, the one with pent up rage and sorrow, he would draw him so delicately into hand, a most fragile, decaying blossom, now cupped within large palms, returned so carefully to the cold carcass below…
When Luo Binghe returned to himself, he had no concept of how much time had passed. He gasped for breath, his hands shaking from exertion, cold sweat beading his forehead, his vision swam, his ears rang, still, he braced himself against the ground and lifted his head.
His eyes barely managed to focus on a pale figure across the room, sitting up, straining his back against the wall. Luo Binghe’s chest filled with a sort of wild hope, but when the ringing in his ears subsided and his vision cleared, he found there was something strange.
The sounds Shen Qingqiu was making were not, well, human. A low growl rumbled through the room, punctuated by defensive snarls as he dug his heels into the stone floor, seemingly straining to back away from Luo Binghe even further, despite being plastered against the wall. His appearance was strange as well, his skin waxy with an awful pallor, with protruding veins streaked with grey, and his one eye dulled to whiteness. His lips pulled back with a snarl, bearing sharpened teeth and drool, with no care for decorum.
Luo Binghe blinked.
A fierce corpse.
Was that the best he could do?
Well, it was certainly a powerful fierce corpse, he could at least sense that much, but still…was this it? Was there no way for him to try again?
He looked down at the floor for a long time and forced himself to come to terms with the fact that the answer was…probably not.”Killing” Shen Qingqiu again so he could try something else would be difficult even for him, and would likely leave Shizun’s body in such a state of ruin that it may well prove impossible to repair to the same extent.
He scowled at the fierce corpse cowering on the other side of the room.
Whatever. A snarling, feral, hate-fueled Shizun wasn’t that far off from the real thing. He would just have to find some more creative ways to…what? Continue to punish him? Make him as kind as the other Shen Qingqiu? …both of those things felt further off than ever before.
But maybe, as a fierce corpse, Luo Binghe could simply command him to act kindly, and he would?
The fierce corpse snapped at him again with a sound akin to a bark, spittle flying, shoulders hunched in animal wariness, put on guard by Luo Binghe’s powerful aura.
…yeah, that seemed supremely unlikely.
Luo Binghe sighed deeply. “Whatever, you’ll stay in my chambers for now. I’ll find a use for you somehow.”
For now, Luo Binghe was tired, and he wanted to sleep.