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Awareness returned the way it always did: instant, absolute, inescapable. There was no immediate threat; that, at least, he was still sure of. He breathed deeply and parsed the details. The steady drip of liquid was water rather than blood, this time; the rough under his fingertips was stone, not a weapon.
Liu Qingge opened his eyes.
Lingxi Cave was the same as it always had been. The rocks lay in familiar shapes; the water in the pool next to him was flawlessly clear. The feeling of wrongness which pulsed through him wasn’t coming from his surroundings but, then, he knew that already.
He looked into the pool at his reflection. The power flowing through his meridians after his seclusion felt vast, like he should be vibrating with it, like he should be able to see it shifting under his skin. His reflection stared back, impassive.
Deep gouges still marred the rock walls of the cave, stained with dull blood so old it had turned black; they were a reminder of a rescue, of a debt owed, of a relationship remade.
Five years. For almost two thousand days he’d fought for his shixiong’s body: to reclaim it, bring it home, give it the rites and respect it deserved. Anger rose through Liu Qingge, and it tasted like bile. So much time had passed and then, in the same instant he’d learned Shen Qingqiu lived, he was gone once more. The anger swirled around him; it stung his nostrils, acrid like the stench of Qiong Ding Peak burning around him.
Five years. The memories crowded Liu Qingge. His shixiong’s body, tumbling through the air like a stricken bird. A thousand battles, each one lost. A thousand hurts and broken bones. Mu Qingfang, trying to mask both his concern and his pity, and failing to fully hide either. Humiliation after humiliation, each one swallowed until Liu Qingge feared they would distort him into a different person.
And behind each memory, Luo Binghe.
In the crystal water of the pool, Liu Qingge’s reflection snarled and he struck the water, his image warping before his eyes. It wasn’t a choice; the decision had been made long ago. Liu Qingge stood and began to navigate the labyrinthine passages that led back to the surface.
Outside once more, Liu Qingge unsheathed Cheng Luan. Not once in those five years had he ever contemplated stopping his contest with Luo Binghe over Shen Qingqiu’s body. His shixiong may have gone willingly on this occasion, but how irrational, how unreasonable to imagine Liu Qingge would suspend his efforts now he fought for a man rather than a corpse.
He mounted his sword and headed north.
***
Demons, by their nature, preferred the darkness. When he reached Luo Binghe’s territory in the northern borders, Liu Qingge was unsurprised to find he kept his palace underground: a sunless, shrouded place.
His footsteps echoed as he stalked the halls, moving between lavish chambers and cells which stank of blood and effluent – a place of dizzying contrasts, much like its ruler. Near the centre of the palace, a high-pitched chiming joined Liu Qingge’s footsteps; a lively noise at odds with its surroundings. Liu Qingge dropped his hand to Cheng Luan’s hilt and waited.
Sha Hualing rounded the corner in a cloud of gauzy red fabric and silver bracelets. Seeing Liu Qingge, she stopped dead before cocking a hip and crossing her arms, doing her best to project a lack of concern. Liu Qingge was not fooled.
“Oh, it’s you.” Sha Hualing’s smile showed too many teeth. ”I remember you from my little contest on Qiong Ding Peak; you ruined my day. Are you here to do it again?”
Liu Qingge had no interest in exchanging witticisms with demons. He unsheathed Cheng Luan and cast a duplicate sword of pure spiritual energy at Sha Hualing before she could register the movement, controlling it so the tip hovered a hair’s breadth from her throat.
“Where is Shen Qingqiu?”
Sha Hualing looked down at the energy sword pointing at her throat and smiled again, sharp and off-kilter. “And if I won’t tell you?”
Never breaking eye contact with the demon, Liu Qingge exerted enough pressure to draw a single drop of blood. It trickled down Sha Hualing’s chest, and they both watched as it disappeared into the folds of flimsy red fabric.
“Well, this could certainly be fun, but I’m afraid I don’t know. Luo Binghe shares nothing with me, I promise you.” A bitter edge bled into Sha Hualing’s voice, naggingly familiar to Liu Qingge.
There was nothing of use to be found here, and Liu Qingge had wasted enough time already. He aimed a burst of spiritual energy at Sha Hualing’s temple, crumpling the demon to the floor, and moved on.
***
Here, in the centre of the palace, it became clear the ridiculous woman hadn’t been lying. If there was anyone else who still remained, they were hiding, and nobody Liu Qingge was looking for would do that.
Before, it’d been easy. What remained of Shen Qingqiu could be found where Luo Binghe was, and the half-breed was not difficult to locate. Until now. As out of character as it would have been, perhaps, now he had what he’d always wanted, Luo Binghe was covering his tracks. If he didn’t want to be found in the demon realm, hunting him down would be close to impossible. He could simply take Shen Qingqiu and…disappear. The thought had claws, and they tore at Liu Qingge, lending desperation to his movements, and he splintered the door to the next antechamber he came across with a fractious burst of qi.
There. Movement. Slight, almost lost in the cloud of debris from the destruction of the door, but movement nevertheless. Something had taken cover behind the heavy desk in the corner. It took one strike to reduce it to kindling. The squeal that emanated from the figure huddled behind it was familiar: Shang Qinghua.
The last time Liu Qingge had seen him, Qiong Ding Peak was ablaze. While all the other cultivators of the Cang Qiong Mountain sect were preparing to fight, Shang Qinghua had stood with the demons. Or rather, he’d stood behind them, fleetingly visible as he goggled at the destruction from behind Mobei-jun. Traitor. Coward.
When he realised who was in the room, Shang Qinghua scrambled back on his haunches, pressing himself into the wall. There would, Liu Qingge deduced, be no need to draw Cheng Luan this time. He advanced slowly on Shang Qinghua, raising his fist and suffusing it with spiritual energy.
“No need for that, Liu-shidi!” Shang Qinghua’s tone was cheerful, but his eyes were cutting around frantically for an exit, and if he pressed any harder into the wall, he was in danger of fusing into it. “Let’s not do anything reckless.”
“Then make yourself useful,” Liu Qingge sneered, “since you seem to be in the business of selling information now.”
“No problem! What is it you want to know? Wait, I think I already know – it’s Shen shixiong, right? You want to hear about him?”
Liu Qingge drew breath to answer, but Shang Qinghua’s nervous energy had built an irresistible momentum – he probably couldn’t have stopped talking if he tried.
“He was here for a long time. Let me see, what can I tell you…” Shang Qinghua snapped his fingers and resumed talking with even greater intensity. “I know! The bamboo! All of the servants were planting bamboo so he would feel more at home while he was here, and he got access to books so he could read, and —“
“I don’t CARE what he was reading. What I want to know is —“
“Yes, yes; of course!” Shang Qinghua interrupted him almost immediately, either not noticing or choosing to ignore the way Liu Qingge clenched his fists at his side. “You want to know that he was treated well. He was looked after with the utmost care; all of his meals were prepared by Luo Binghe himself. In fact, when I last saw them, they were in the bedroom and —“
The shot of spiritual energy Liu Qingge released shattered a stone in the wall above Shang Qinghua’s head, showering him with a fine powder and leaving the report echoing around the palace.
“Where. Is. He. Now.” Liu Qingge ground every word out through gritted teeth, his nails pressing black crescents into his palm.
When he replied, Shang Qinghua sounded cowed, like the consequences of pissing off a war god had finally sunk into his over-excitable skull. “He was kidnapped by Tianlang-jun and taken to the southern border. Luo Binghe is there now, trying to get him back.”
That was all the information Liu Qingge needed. He unsheathed his sword and moved towards Shang Qinghua.
Shang Qinghua had gone wide-eyed again, his voice rising in fear. “WAIT! What are you doing, Liu-shidi? Did I not cooperate? I told you everything I know!”
“You are a spy and a traitor; you sold out Cang Qiong Mountain and stood with demons while they burned it down. Why should I not execute you here and now?” Liu Qingge had only meant to scare the man, but the effect on Shang Qinghua was electric. He flew across the room with speed to rival that of any of Liu Qingge’s most skilled opponents.
“Aiya! Surely you cannot blame me?” Shang Qinghua wrapped both arms around one of Liu Qingge’s thighs, and now held it in a death grip as he continued to babble. “I didn’t give them any information they didn’t already know, and if you couldn’t stop them from destroying Qiong Ding Peak, I’m not sure what you could have expected me to do about it!”
Stung by the reminder of his inability to save any of the things he’d most wanted to that day, Liu Qingge kicked out, trying to free himself, but Shang Qinghua’s hands were manacled around his leg: the harder he tried to shake him off, the tighter Shang Qinghua’s grip became, increasing in parallel with the volume and intensity of his pleas for mercy.
The entire situation was most unsatisfactory. Liu Qingge raised Cheng Luan with the intention of using the hilt to knock out Shang Qinghua. Seeing the glint of the blade, Shang Qinghua squeezed his eyes shut and wailed to wake the heavens.
“MY KING!”
There was a moment’s silence while Liu Qingge tried to work out who or what the man was swearing fealty to. A distorted crackle came from behind him and a cold breeze caressed the nape of his neck before he was airborne.
***
Once again, awareness returned to Liu Qingge. This time though, the steady drip of liquid was blood, and a sense of threat surrounded him – so thick he imagined he could feel it brushing against his skin like fingertips.
He levered himself up on his arms from where he lay face down on the flagstones of the great hall at the centre of the underground palace. A steady stream of crimson flowed from between his lips, and he stemmed it with a tightly controlled stream of spiritual energy before exploring the ruin of his mouth with his tongue.
The thick column above where he landed sported a spiderweb of cracks and a smear of red halfway up. It wasn’t difficult to recreate the scene. Some fucker had thrown him several zhang across the hall, hard enough to damage the stone.
Thanks to Shang Qinghua’s propensity for giving up information, Liu Qingge now knew where Shen Qingqiu was being held. He should be leaving this infernal place, mounting his sword and hastening south.
But.
Five years. The account of his hurts, battles, defeats and frustrations had grown precipitously, and now there was going to be a reckoning. Liu Qingge stood with a growl and looked around to find his bearings. Across the hall was the antechamber containing Shang Qinghua: the same one he’d since been hurled from with great force. Shang Qinghua was still on his knees, but now there was another figure looming over him, fingers tilting his chin upwards to meet their eyes. Mobei-jun.
Stepping away from the column and into the open, Liu Qingge allowed his killing intent to build. Cheng Luan lay a body’s length from where he stood, and Liu Qingge waited until Mobei-jun sensed the threat and snapped his head towards him before calling the sword to his hand, deliberately letting the blade rasp against the stone floor, shattering the dark silence.
In the antechamber, Mobei-jun moved to block Shang Qinghua before advancing out and into the hall. Interesting. As the demon approached, Liu Qingge cast an array of energy swords at him, probing his defences. Each sword was met and deflected by wicked-looking black blades; Mobei-jun even cast a few of Liu Qingge’s spirit weapons right back at him and smiled as he was forced to use the real Cheng Luan to divert them. Arrogant bastard. When he was a few swords’ lengths away, Mobei-jun stopped.
“Your shixiong is not here. Leave.”
A demon of few words, then.
“And if I don’t?”
Mobei-jun’s regard was dismissive, his tone when he spoke even more so. “I have seen your efforts with Junshang – you are in no position to make threats.”
Oh, Liu Qingge was going to enjoy teaching this self-important prick a lesson. “But I’m not threatening him, I’m threatening his…how should I refer to you? His underling? His subordinate? His inferior?”
The demon snarled, lips sliding over his canine teeth. The temperature dropped and Mobei-jun hurled a jagged chunk of dark ice at Liu Qingge’s head. He sidestepped easily, and the projectile smashed into the already weakened column behind him; it fractured further, a crazed mosaic covering over half its height.
As Mobei-jun flicked his attention to the damage they were causing, Liu Qingge threw another energy sword at the demon’s head and stepped towards him. When Mobei-jun swayed to his left to avoid the projectile, Liu Qingge was ready to rock his head back with a qi-infused fist. They could dazzle each other all day with energy sword arrays, but sometimes the demands of violence could only be silenced by a fistfight.
Mobei-jun’s canines were on show again, this time by way of a grin ignited by the attack. He ran his tongue across his teeth, pink on red, and spat at Liu Qingge’s feet – who answered with a grin of his own, and a flurry of brutal jabs. It was all so satisfying Liu Qingge almost forgot it was a pure-blood demon he was hitting repeatedly in the face.
The next punch was intercepted, his fist enveloped in Mobei-jun’s. The follow-up blow with his free hand was automatic, muscle memory created by years of training; it was also what Mobei-jun was waiting for. He caught the second one easily, and kicked Liu Qingge towards the damaged column.
The stone hammered into Liu Qingge’s back with a sickening crack and he crumpled to the floor, hitting his head in a way that snapped his broken teeth together and made the world swim around him. As though in slow motion, the column succumbed, toppling towards the ground like a felled tree. The ceiling above him groaned and spat out chunks of stone the size of his head. Liu Qingge looked around at the vast hall with renewed interest – so much stonework supported by such slender structures…
Slowly, Liu Qingge rose and approached Mobei-jun, settling into a fighting stance in front of him and beckoning the demon towards him.
“You wish to continue?” Mobei-jun sneered the question, but his eyes glittered in anticipation.
“Always.” Liu Qingge curled his tongue and spat his own glob of blood at Mobei-jun’s feet. The demon studied him like a specimen under glass.
“He said you must like it; I think he was right.”
“What?” Perhaps Liu Qingge was still suffering the after-effects of the blow to his head, because nothing Mobei-jun had just said made any sense.
“Junshang. He thought one of the reasons you kept coming back for more was because you liked it. Not the fighting, that goes without saying: the pain. I think you like the pain.” Mobei-jun moved closer, tilting his head like he wanted a better view of his opponent.
“Maybe,” Liu Qingge shrugged, bracing himself and gathering as much spiritual energy as he could contain. “Let’s find out if you do.” He launched himself at the demon, burning through a foolhardy amount of energy to lift him off his feet and propel him through the air, accelerating so hard his vision dimmed around the edges.
He angled Mobei-jun with calculated precision, smashing the demon into another of the stone pillars. There was a moment’s resistance which Liu Qingge overcame with the same impatience he would any other stubborn opponent, gritting his teeth and pushing until his mouth was brackish with blood once more. The pillar gave way with a series of nauseating cracks, and Liu Qingge made sure to drop Mobei-jun in the shadow of the falling rock.
With grudging respect, Liu Qingge watched the demon spring to his feet and brush aside chunks of rock that would have felled a three-tongued hornet serpent with his bare hands. The question of whether Mobei-jun also enjoyed a bit of pain was fated to remain unanswered; more urgent matters were becoming apparent. Between the two destroyed pillars, a series of deep fissures were spreading across the length of the great hall's ceiling. Trickling dust created a fine mist which was beginning to fill the room, and the sound of falling masonry punctuated the silence.
With the last of the larger blocks of stone deflected, Mobei-jun scanned the weakened ceiling, eyes following the deep fractures that twisted towards the antechamber where Shang Qinghua was presumably still huddled behind the biggest thing he could find. He twitched towards the smaller room, coming close to turning his back on Liu Qingge before hauling himself back to face him.
When he’d first left the antechamber, Mobei-jun had placed himself between Shang Qinghua and Liu Qingge’s line of sight. Now, he was visibly distracted, torn between different dangers. It was an unexpected turn of events. What could a being like Mobei-jun see in Shang Qinghua? Some part of Liu Qingge recognised the reaction, though; the urge to protect. No part of him understood it, but he’d come to realise emotions can rule a person with an iron grip, whether they are comprehended or not. The knowledge that he shared something in common with a demon rang through him like struck crystal, reverberating in his head until it threatened to shatter him. The urge to lash out was irresistible.
“He is spineless; a turncoat. It would be kinder to leave him to die.”
His face remained impassive, but Mobei-jun stiffened, the air around him crackling with unspent power. “How did it feel,” he snarled, “to be the last to know? Junshang knew, I knew; even the spineless turncoat knew. So how is it you missed the return of the man you’ve been humiliating yourself over for so long?”
Cheng Luan was in Liu Qingge’s hand before the demon had finished speaking. He flew at Mobei-jun, a lifetime of tactical cultivation renounced in favour of unguarded savagery. He drove the hilt of his sword into the demon’s nose, crumpling it in a satisfying spray of blood and pressed on, raining blows so fast the lack of finesse barely mattered.
A black rift opened behind Mobei-jun, and he stepped into it, leaving Liu Qingge fighting thin air and struggling to stop his forward momentum. The now-familiar crackle sounded behind him, and Liu Qingge was seized by the neck and driven across the room, slammed this time into a wall. For a moment he was pressed flat against it, the demon’s weight crushed against his body, before he was spun around and Mobei-jun’s fingers wrapped around his throat.
The demon’s hand was so cold it burned, and big enough that it spanned Liu Qingge’s neck effortlessly, his long fingers cradling his jaw with a sort of twisted intimacy. One hard black claw pushed into the pulse point on one side of his neck while another trailed down his jaw on the opposite side, the pressure just short of drawing blood.
Mobei-jun was so close that Liu Qingge could see himself reflected in his eyes; his mouth, framed by Mobei-jun’s fingers, curled into something deranged. Reaching behind the demon, he shot a focused beam of spiritual energy across the room, crumbling the pillar closest to the antechamber where Shang Qinghua sheltered.
The gradual collapse of the underground palace quickened, its disintegration now inevitable. Huge chunks of stone smashed to the floor, leaving gaps so large the ice the palace was built under could be seen high above through clouds of swirling grit, and the whole structure groaned like a wounded animal. Mobei-jun moved to disengage, and Liu Qingge snatched a double handful of his robes, hooking a leg behind his knees and toppling them both to the ground.
They tumbled down in a confusion of limbs, Liu Qingge the first to force dominance. He bracketed Mobei-jun’s hips between his thighs, bearing down as the demon snarled and bucked under him. He leant forward to hammer a fist into Mobei-jun’s already broken nose, and the demon used the slight change in his centre of gravity to flip Liu Qingge, swapping their positions.
Before Mobei-jun could lift himself and gain the ability to punch down, Liu Qingge wrapped his arms around him, trapping his arms and crushing their bodies together. With Mobei-jun’s substantial mass pinning him to the ground, Liu Qingge gasped for air, close enough to Mobei-jun’s face to feel the demon’s breath on his own cheeks. Before Liu Qingge could consider whether they were close enough for biting to be a feasible option, Mobei-jun slammed his head down into Liu Qingge’s face – the blow lacked the momentum needed to cause real damage, but the shock and pain were enough to loosen his grip on Mobei-jun, and the demon leapt to his feet, dragging Liu Qingge with him by the hair.
Mobei-jun tightened his grip, his claws dragging fiery lines of pain across Liu Qingge’s scalp. A thick demonic aura surrounded Mobei-jun, the air around him turning heavy and oppressive. He raised his fist; dark smoke coalesced around his hand then faded quickly when a wail rang out, piercing the cacophony caused by the death throes of the palace.
Shang Qinghua was emerging from the room he’d been hidden in, forced out when it began to disintegrate; he dodged some falling debris and flattened himself against the nearest wall. Mobei-jun turned away instantly, and the sting of once again being an option rather than a priority compelled Liu Qingge to lash out one final time.
“He’ll betray you – that’s what he does.”
“At least he chose me in the first place,” Mobei-jun growled, whipping round to fix Liu Qingge with an icy stare. He pointed a claw, still wrapped with strands of Liu Qingge’s hair, at the ever larger gap in the roof and loosed a beam of power, smashing the ice above and revealing a sliver of sky. “Go – find your shixiong and see how it avails you. Nothing has changed; nothing will change. In every way that matters, you are still chasing a dead man.”
A rift opened in front of Mobei-jun, and he stepped into it, reappearing next to Shang Qinghua; the demon gathered him in his arms, and then they were both gone.
Calling Cheng Luan, Liu Qingge cast spirit swords to further open the ice above and flew out as everything collapsed around him.
***
High above the remains of the palace, Liu Qingge hovered, the frigid air tangling his hair and prickling at his latest array of injuries. He closed his eyes, picturing the way Mobei-jun had held Shang Qinghua. He did not picture Shen Qingqiu’s body, cold in his own arms. Some things are best not dwelt on, and if that meant staying in perpetual motion, so be it.
Liu Qingge reassembled his mental armour, and turned his face to the south.