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Living in the world of Proud Immortal Demon Ways- or the altered one- Shen Qingqiu had discovered that the system had a myriad of strange and useless features that exceeded the repertoire and requirements of his current universe. Some of his personal favorites being a pedometer, a screenshot function (which he realized upon using was just a chunibyou camera where you could stare into, at opportune moments for that moment to be captured in the system’s gallery) and news. One would be inclined to think, well, having a news function can hardly be any bad! After all, the secret to an egalitarian and peaceful society is a public that is educated and aware! And one would be wrong. Because the news was hardly about the universe he currently resided in. No, no, no. It was the news of his previous life, the boring one without magic and medicinal jizz to cure all physical ailments as well as sociopolitical problems. Shen Qingqiu remembered one of his readings for a media and mass communication elective back in college- “Journalism is the fourth pillar of democracy.” It was cliché and adagic and perhaps a little unfit for the political system of the People’s Republic of China. But seeing the tabloid like, click-bait infused titles of the news flashing on his system, reminiscent of the porn ads on illegal anime sites, Shen Qingqiu could not help but think that perhaps there was indeed need for better journalism, in every universe, point blank, regardless of political systems.
Presently, he was being bombarded with news about heatwaves and the adversities of global warming, and celebrities of the private jet mile high-club and one would think, but Shen Qingqiu shouldn’t be particularly bothered right? After all, there is no global warming in PIDW! And one would be wrong, once again.
Summer was upon Qing Jing Peak and as the butterflies fluttered through the air and into the blooming flowers, Shen Qingqiu was on the verge of passing out. The heat beating down on Shen Qingqiu, as he sat in the garden of his bamboo abode in Qing Jing was perhaps enough to cook an egg and Shen Qingqiu’s brain. Or so he thought. As a self-aware unreliable narrator, Shen Qingqiu knew that context mattered and that he had always, always been extremely sensitive to heat. A snowflake if you will. And with that self-awareness check- because he cared about honesty and journalism unlike some- he could proceed to exaggeratedly complain about the world. There were patches of sweat on whichever surface his flesh happened to touch and his undergarments were soaked in his bodily brine, which did not smell like cucumbers, sadly. The wind that ruffled the dainty bamboo leaves and made a beautiful rustling sound, despite lending to such music was hot and nauseating. Even the frantic fanning of his face and neck with Shen Qingqiu’s largest silken hand-fan, dipped in scented water, could hardly alleviate the heat. Shang Qingqiu was melting. He could hardly remember the last time it had been this hot in Qing Jing Peak considering the fact that it was a bloody peak atop a mountain which was supposed to be cool and temperate throughout the year. This was the hottest it had ever been, journalism be damned! How come it was suddenly so hot that he could feel his toes melting off?!
“Sun of a bee-” Shen Qingqiu caught himself from cursing like a spongy sailor. He’d decided to cut down on his verbal profanities, lest he be a bad influence on his young and impressionable disciples and most of all his husband who would take to Shen Qingqiu’s modern profanities, like a fish to water. And it was truly awkward, trying to answer the innocent questions of his not-so-innocent Binghe.
“Shizun what does it mean to ‘deadass cumchuckle’? You told Shang shishu I made you ‘deadass cumchuckle’? But what does it mean, to ‘deadass cumchuckle’?” would ask Binghe with his starry eyes, glossing over with crocodile tears with the perfect tremble of his upturned lips and his hands folded in front of him like a coquettish belle waiting to cum-tackle you.
Currently, his beloved husband was in the kitchen, making a late breakfast, thanks to Shen Qingqiu’s stern opposition to getting out of bed himself or let his husband up. They’d cuddled in bed for hours until the loud rumbling of Shen Qingqiu’s stomach had indicated that enough was enough. Binghe with his superior hearing, would hardly let that go, like he would let any of Shen Qingqiu’s 8th grade curses. Binghe had decided to make a light and airy congee in the heat, though it seemed that he was dealing with the temperatures far better than Shen Qingqiu was, as he sat panting in the shade of his trees and biting his tongue for curses.
Shen Qingqiu thought back to that one time he’d said “I’ve got 99 problems but global warming ain’t one bitch” to pay his respect to the coolth and shade of Qing Jing’s flora and fauna and ideal temperature conditions, with Shan Qinghua cringing in the background. Maybe this was airplane bro getting back at him for the cringe! Maybe airplane knew something about why the heat had also transmigrated into PIDW! But then he remembered the frigid temperatures of the North and Shang Qinghua probably living his best life with his face tucked into Mobei-Jun’s tits. “Damn you airplane!” he said, raising a fist to the sky, as if addressing the creator of the universe. Which he was.
He's the cucumber, Shen Qingqiu thought grudgingly, as he quickened the speed of his hand fan, so shouldn’t it be him who was cool as a cucumber?! Truly, that hack author needed a logic and literature crash course! Was this the universe’s way of mocking him? Shang Qinghua’s husband, the lofty king of the north, Mobei-Jun could be considered his personal air-conditioning that followed him around everywhere. While Shen Qingqiu didn’t care about Mobei-Jun on most days (perhaps because of the sheer awkwardness of their acquaintance and the way Mobei-Jun had the habit of staring frigidly into one’s soul as if summoning their ancestors that, needless to say, gave Shen Qingqiu the heebijeebies), he was deeply envious of his ice powers right now, as the sweat made his clothes stick to his skin in a deeply uncomfortable way that give him heat goosebumps.
His ruminations about global warming and the politics of having an ice-demon boyfriend were interrupted by the delicious aroma of food wafting through the air. A smile unknowingly tugged at his lips as he awaited Binghe’s arrival into the garden, where they could lazily have their breakfast and spend quality time, heat be damned.
"Shizun~" his sticky husband greeted as he made his way to him with two swimming bowls of conge smelling of spring and fresh ginger. "This husband made breakfast" he said, placing the bowl in front of Shen Qingqiu.
“Thank you Binghe,” said Shen Qingqiu with a flush of red on his face… from the heat of course. His stomach rumbled at the sight of the delicious food and as he was about to lift the bowl, he caught Binghe’s coquettish gaze looking up at him though his long eyelashes.
“Can- Can this lowly husband feed shizun?” said Binghe, averting his eyes.
As if on reflex, Shen Qingqiu pulled his fan over his face as the tip of his ears rivalled the steaming of the congee. Shen Qingqiu was generally too squeamish about showing his affection when he was conscious and not inebriated with alcohol or sleep, to the point where airplane would often call him a “puritan in the streets and a libertine in the sheets.”
Damn you airplane! He thought, making a mental fist towards the sky.
But Binghe was still awaiting his response, emergency tears ready to roll out of his probably buffed up tear ducts. “Huh,” sighed Shen Qingqiu with a smile. How could he ever deny his beloved lotus of anything?
“Yes, please,” he said, as he opened his mouth, trying to keep a straight face to camouflage the blush of eagerness.
Binghe spooned the bright congee, which- as it got closer to Shen Qingqiu’s face- smelled threateningly of chillis. Time seemed to slow down at the moment, as that beautifully crafted silver spoon loaded with what was potentially ass-busting spice, made its way to Shen Qingqiu’s pink and supple mouth like an airplane. Shen Qingqiu could almost hear Shang Qinghua saying “here comes the airplane!” to sprinkle chilli powder on his wounds, while cackling like a hyena and making a “weeeee” sound. While it was questionable why Shen Qingqiu’s inner voice was Shang Qinghua’s, the problem at had was the fragile heart of his husband. He could already see Binghe over the stove, humming as he chopped spring onions and five kilo of chillies to season his husband’s breakfast. Shen Qingqiu cannot imagine what would lead Binghe to do this- maybe he had read of some miraculous health benefits of eating chilli- but the point remained that nothing Binghe did for Shen Qingqiu was ever devoid of heart and his utmost love and devotion. Shen Qingqiu had to husband-up, and eat it.
And so he did. His pink lips closed around the spoon and the pungent heat of chillies entered his brain and bloodstream. Binghe too, took a bite and hooted.
“Oof!” he said, breathing through his mouth. “This recipe certainly packs a punch with the spice!” No shit, inwardly thought Shen Qingqiu, as his eyes progressively turned redder to match his now berry-like face.
“I found this recipe from the Yiling Book of Summer Food which says that there is nothing better than chilli congee to beat the heat! Like beating fire with fire, right shizun? Shizun…?”
There was evident confusion and horror on Binghe’s face. Shen Qingqiu’s distress perhaps showed on his face as he swallowed the spicy congee and his mouth bloomed into a shade of blood with his eyes watering. He was breathing short and huffing from the spice. He tried to hide the trainwreck behind a fan, lest he hurt Binghe’s feelings but anyone with any sort of sensory input would be able to tell otherwise, let alone Binghe with his superior demonic senses.
“Is… is the food not to shizun’s liking?” said Binghe, his voice shaking and sounding so meek.
“Nonononono! Binghe’s food is delectable as always!” said Shen Qingqiu as he took another bite, and tried to power through the convulsions in his esophagus. “This master is just a little hot.”
Binghe, contrary to Mobei-Jun’s belief, was no idiot, and could see that Shen Qingqiu was clearly suffering. His eyes watered with tears, which Shen Qingqiu knew, were real.
“This husband is useless! I should have known that this would be too spicy for Shizun but I still made it believing a piece of unknown writing! This disciple is so usele-”
“Binghe!” Shen Qingqiu interrupted, angry and alarmed. “How many times have I told you not to berate yourself like this! Binghe’s food is always good and I know how much care he puts into his craft. The problem is… this master.” He paused with a sigh. “I’ve always been too sensitive to heat and my spice tolerance would significantly lower in the summer.”
“Is- is shizun feeling ill?” Binghe said, sounding alarmed as he tried to check Shen Qingqiu’s meridians. But Shen Qingqiu caught Binghe’s hand. He shook his head.
“This master is fine. But…” he said, as his mind thought of solutions. “Yes. I know just the answer!” exclaimed Shen Qingqiu, as he abruptly got up, summoning Xiu Ya. and mounting it.
“Wait for me, Binghe!” he yelled, as he lifted off into the sky and disappeared from the horizon.
Shen Qingqiu was headed to the Northern Palace. He had a fool proof, time-tested, meticulous solution. Something as potent and effective as a heavenly demon’s jizz and menstrual blood. Of course! He thought.
As his sword cut through the atmosphere and zoomed past dense forest ground to a deserted topography covered with pine needles, frozen lakes and the occasional, wild aurora borealis, the cooling temperature felt like a healing balm on his skin. It felt nostalgic, like entering an airconditioned laboratory after spending hours in the scorching school field, practicing cheerleading for annual sports days. But the feeling soon transformed as the temperature shifted to an extreme cold and Shen Qingqiu’s sweat soaked robes started to freeze from the cold and became crisp like cardboard.
“Achoo!” he sneezed like everyone’s father and when he reached the Northern Palace, he was hardly stopped by the tight security. Everyone and their grandmother knew who the royal consort of Junshang was and in the rare chance that they were utterly politically unaware and lived under the heaviest rock, they must have at least read The Resentment Of Chunshan.
He entered the palace through a window, slightly shivering with ice hanging on his sweat-drenched hair.
“Mobei-Jun!” he yelled. He was aware that this was quite odd; rather unceremonious; calling for the King of the Fucking North thus. But desperate times called for desperate measures, he told himself.
As he consoled himself, a dark void appeared behind him, that seemed like it was fit to suck all matter into oblivion and the temperature significantly plummeted. Instead, matter seemed to emerge from it and it was quite an exceptional, magnificent matter.
Mobei-Jun appeared in all his icy regalia. He was draped in various shades of blue from head to toe and his clothes made a generous display of his chest, with a cut reaching just above the naval. And his chest was ornate with jewels of many shades that accented his porcelain blue skin. But these details missed Shen Qingqiu who was currently a man on a mission. Mobei-Jun stood there, staring at him, saying nothing, as if examining a specimen.
It’s the heebijeebies damn it! Internally lamented Shen Qingqiu.
“Uh-” began Shen Qingqiu only to be interrupted.
“Consort Shen,” said Mobei-Jun at length with his brooding baritone.
“Ahem,” Shen Qingqiu cleared his throat, only now realizing the sheer awkwardness of barging into someone’s palace though a window unannounced.
“Mobei-Jun,” he said dumbly, trying to mentally asses how on earth he was going to tell Mobei-Jun what he was up to. “I- uh…” he began but couldn’t finish. Moments of silence ensued
It’s getting awkward he things he thought, to which he replies to himself, No shit!
“Does Consort Shen wish to meet Qinghua,” asked Mobei-Jun flatly.
“Um…no.”
Another round of silence ensued.
“I was wondering…” said Shen Qingqiu finally, “if… if Mobei-Jun could help me prepare something.”
“What could this king help you with that Junshang cannot?” he asked, perhaps perplexed, perhaps amused. No one could tell but Shang Qinghua’s trained eyes.
“Well, it is a power that Mobei-Jun boasts of,” and a crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, as if he was secretly excited about something, like a scientist on the verge of a discovery.
It strangely reminded Mobei-Jun of the moments before Shang Qinghua wrote his most brilliant and inspired literature. Justly, they share the title of the Besties, Mobei-Jun inwardly thought as he was filled with a sense of foreboding.
His foreboding was correct, for they soon found themselves situated in the kitchen of the Northern palace. Needless to say, it was enormous and bountifully stacked with an unfamiliar pantry; not because of the strangeness of the ingredients, but because Shen Qingqiu- often incapable of even telling the difference between water and white vinegar- was a noob.
Identifying milk shouldn’t be too hard, he thought as he started frisking along the ceiling high shelves that seemed to go on forever. Eventually he found a jug of white liquid, convinced that it was milk. However, once he opened it, he was assaulted with an overwhelmingly marine stench.
“What is this?!” he shrieked.
“Is Consort Shen fond of the mucous of the eight-headed snail clam?” asked Mobei-Jun. He wasn’t sure if the smug amusement on Mobei-Jun’s face was his imagination. It seemed as though Mobei-Jun had just become privy to a deeper understanding of the necessity of Luo Binghe’s domestic prowess.
“Ahem- no,” said Shen Qingqiu clearing his throat and at last decided that it would probably be better for food safety standards for Mobei-Jun to acquire the ingredients. “Would Mobei-Jun be able to find ingredients?”
And that is how they found themselves seated around a cauldron with a jar of milk, a heaping bowl of sugar and an assortment of fruits. The cooks found themselves fumbling and thoroughly confused but rightly thought it best to leave them at whatever science experiment they were up to.
Shen Qingqiu mixed the milk and sugar together, with a hysterical glint in his eyes as he watched them lump together into a thickened mass in the cauldron that Mobei-Jun had been instructed to keep frozen.
“Okay Mobei-Jun. Since you’re helping me, it’s only right that you choose the flavor. Go ahead, add your favorite fruits and berries to this mixture and stir it until the milk thickens,” said Shen Qingqiu.
Mobei-Jun was at home with his confusion so he decided to just go with the flow. He chose mint and pine nuts.
“An excellent choice!” commented Shen Qingqiu and Mobei-Jun replied with a dainty raise of his eyebrows.
To Shen Qingqiu’s excitement, as Mobei-Jun stirred, the milk and the flavors started to thicken into a familiar texture. A guttural laughter left his throat at the sight and Mobei-Jun was yet again reminded of his own puny husband. No wonder they share the title of the Besties, he thought. When Shen Qingqiu’s laughter subsided, Mobei-Jun spoke up.
“Consort Shen is yet to tell me what this is.”
Shen Qingqiu looked up at him and another fit of hysterical laughter ensued. After that had subsided, he clarified.
“You see Mobei-Jun, it is exceedingly hot in Qing Jing today. In fact, there seems to be a heatwave at Cang Qiong. So I kept thinking about Shang Qinghua and what a lucky bastard he was, living in the cold temperatures of the north and having a husband who was basically a walking popsicle!” Mobei-Jun was unfazed by the strange vocabulary jargon, for he had developed the intellectual repertoire of guessing the meanings of the strange words his husband seemed to throw around. He applied the same here and arrived at the conclusion that a ‘popsicle’ was perhaps a form of transportation. Maybe Shen Qingqiu was talking about his teleportation powers. So he eagerly nodded in agreement.
Shen Qingqiu was a little taken aback by such an acknowledgment and was bombarded by the intrusive mental images of his best friend licking his husband, which he had to violently shake off.
‘Anyway,” he said after a moment of rehabilitation, “so I thought. It was so obvious! The politics of having a best friend with an ice-demon husband was so simple! It simply meant that it was well within my rights to use said ice-demon husband’s powers to make ice cream! Haha!” he cackled.
“Iced cream,” repeated Mobei-Jun, thoughtfully. “I might have heard Qinghua mention it before.”
“Of course! It is a confection from… from our home. A healing balm to the assaults of the sun, the best companion in one’s sadness, a secret symbol of protest, the voice of the unheard- ice scream you scream, gimme that gimme that ice cream!” Shen Qingqiu ended his passionate speech with a display of jazz hands.
Mobei-Jun was unfazed by the display, in fact looked rather unimpressed to Shen Qingqiu’s embarrassment.
“Hey! Shang Qinghua loves this to death!” he said to which Mobei-Jun’s eyes widened with clear interest.
“So now you show enthusiasm,” said Shen Qingqiu snidely. “I can’t believe airplane hasn’t thought of this yet! This clearly means that he ought to take my literary advice more seriously.”
Mobei-Jun failed the see even the slightest connection between the two but was amused and excited nonetheless to have discovered one more puzzle piece of Shang Qinghua’s past and his interests. Shen Qingqiu minded the texture and when it seemed that it was just right, he asked Mobei-Jun to stop.
He took a spoon and scooped out a little of the textured, white mass, colored with green mint and the beige of the pine nuts. “Here taste it,” he said shoving the spoon into Mobei-Jun’s mouth. This time Mobei-Jun was visibly appalled but was interrupted by the cold taste flooding his mouth. The creamy solid melted to a smooth texture tasting freshly of mint and pine. It was a little too sweet and a bit lumpy though, but had an interesting experiential curve inside his mouth. The iced cream, despite the slight blandness due to using the mints and pine nuts whole and not grated or syruped, was still interesting enough.
“How is it?” Shen Qingqiu asked with excitement bubbling in his voice.
“It’s too sweet… and yet it tastes not of much,” said Mobei-Jun to which Shen Qingqiu looked visibly deflated. “But it’s an interesting texture and being frozen, it is quite delightful.”
Shen Qingqiu seemed to perk up again. “That’s right!” he exclaimed. “Ice cream is all about the experience and temperature! I mean who likes to drink sweet milk? But make it into vanilla ice cream and we love it!”
He procured a container which into which he scooped some of the ice cream, asking Mobei-Jun to charm it so that it kept frozen, like a portable refrigerator. And because he (sometimes) had a conscience, he kept the greater part of the ice cream for Mobei-Jun and Shang Qinghua.
“Thank me later airplane!” he said.
He turned solemnly to Mobei-Jun, who had been eating more of the goop and caught him mid-chew. He put his hands on his shoulders and peered into his frosty, topaz eyes.
“Mobei-Jun. Your power is truly a force to be reckoned with,” he said and Mobei-Jun, with his puffed cheeks full of ice cream, simply raised a dainty eye-brow at the extremely obvious statement.
“Shang shidi is truly lucky,” he continued, wiping a fake tear, to which there was a smattering of purple blush on Mobei-Jun’s cheeks, as he continued to eat the ice cream.
As if on cue, the voice of Shang Qinghua was heard as he entered the kitchen.
“Da wang! Where did you suddenly go leaving this husband all by- wtf! Cucumber bro! With da wang? And in the kitchen too? That’s a bio hazard!” Shang Qinghua said, as he made an exaggerated ruckus.
“You won’t be saying that when you see what I made! You stupid hack! Hmph!”
Shang Qinghua stared at him with confusion but Shen Qingqiu ignored him. He turned to Mobei-Jun again. “Until, next time!” he announced, indicating that this would be a regular thing and Mobei-Jun simply shrugged as he continued to eat the ice cream.
And to preserve the mystery, Shen Qingqiu wasted no more time. He flicked Shang Qinghua in the forehead, ignoring his loud ow! What the fuck bro and disappeared out of the window on his sword. A smug smile tugged at his lips when he heard the sound of Shang Qinghua exclaiming “omg ice cream! Aww bro!” He tuned himself out to the rest where Shang Qinghua proceeded to coddle Mobei-Jun, as he exited the palace.
It didn’t take long for Shen Qingqiu to return, with the lightness of his heart at his success making his sword lighter still.
Binghe was still seated in the garden, head hung low with the pall of gloom around him. But he seemed to perk up a little, at the arrival of his husband.
“Shizun!” he said, welcoming him back as he held his hands. “Where did you suddenly go? I was so worried! I thought you might have gone to eat elsewhere and you didn’t want to eat this husband’s cooking anymore,” he said with his eyes glossing over.
A sharp ache thrummed in Shen Qingqiu’s ribs hearing that. He took Binghe’s face in his hands.
“How can that be, silly? I love Binghe’s cooking the most in the world.”
“But I made a mistake-”
“Not at all!” Shen Qingqiu interrupted. “Binghe did what he thought was best for this master. It’s me who has always been too sensitive to heat. So I decided… that I should remedy it. Binghe is always trying and taking care of me. I ought to do the same.”
“Just Shizun’s existence is enough for me. You care for me just by existing,” said Binghe with his clever yet earnest tongue.
“There you go with your silver tongued sweet talk again!” Shen Qingqiu said, paying no heed to his husband’s protests.
As they seated themselves again, Shen Qingqiu seemed hesitant. “This mas- husband,” he began, “tried… tried making something for Binghe. I went to seek Mobei-Jun’s help. I don’t know if it’s very good. I know it’s nothing like how the real thing is… but would Binghe like to try it?” he said, looking sheepishly away.
Binghe’s eyes seemed to sparkle with the overwhelmed tremble of his lips. “Of course! I so happy that Shizun wanted to make something for me. The thought itself delights me.”
“Binghe ought not be so easily pleased,” said Shen Qingqiu, chidingly. “But… but this is the best I could do today. I’ll learn more in the future,” he said, as he nervously placed the charmed jar in front of Binghe. Binghe curiously looked at the jar, cradling the coldness in his palms as he opened it to be hit with a pleasant minty aroma.
“What is this?” he said, curious and exited as he stirred the creamy contents with his spoon.
“It’s a confection from… from- where I’m from,” said Shen Qingqiu meaningfully and Binghe knew. He’d always known without asking further. “It’s called ice cream.”
Binghe raised the spoon to his lips and his eyes widen.
“I- I know it might not be very good or as good as I thought but-”
He’s interrupted by Binghe who shook his head. “Not at all. I love it shizun. This cream of ice is truly delecious and a pleasant companion to a hot day like this,” he said with a serene smile spreading over his face that made Shen Qingqiu’s heart pound faster. He stareed at the beautiful face with the sun setting his honeyed skin aglow. He truly loved him to death. A little temperature was nothing to the smile on Binghe’s face. To him, that was the only politics ever, system be damned.
And so they sat there in the sweltering heat, enjoying the coarse flavor of the cream of ice, as the system suddenly showed Shen Qingqiu news- the newest scoop- about celebrities racing their private jets to see who could get to Starbucks faster. But he was cool as a cucumber and the only scoop he cared about was the one Binghe was feeding him. He sat next to his husband, in the bamboo shade, among the sprawling flora and fauna of Qing Jing.
Huh, he signed mentally. This is why some people can’t have good things. But not me haha, he thought as he snuggled deeper into Binghe’s side. I’ve got 99 problems but global warming ain’t one bitch. That’s on my Airplane.
In the northern palace, Shang Qinghua sneezed as he gobbled the ice cream, seated snugly in Mobei-Jun’s lap, not sure if it was from the cold-overload or from someone remembering him.