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It was like a dream.
All of it was, from beginning to end—sometimes a nightmare, sometimes a haven—and sometimes more so than others. A dream he never wished to wake from, one he would grab and hold tight to for the rest of his life, kicking and screaming no matter how undignified if anyone tried to pull him out of it. He hadn’t fought so long, hadn’t suffered so much, hadn’t died and almost died and betrayed the ones he most cared for so many times, just to be dragged back by his ankles to a world that had little left for him.
Because it was like a dream—one where he had finally gotten his happily ever after he never thought he’d get, and some nights, after a particularly blissful or long day, he’d lay awake and stare at the ceiling and pray to whoever would listen.
Don’t take this away from me, he’d plead in silence. Arms wrapped tightly around the one he loved most; a hand stroking dark hair attached to a head that buried itself under his chin. Don’t ever take this away.
And they never did—whatever omniscience was listening, if they were. Nor did the System, which he’d not heard a peep out of for a blessedly long time.
The night of his wedding, and the next night after that, he pleaded the most, though. He knew then, if he were to go back to his old life—a life which felt more than a lifetime ago—he would never be the same.
Slowly, though, as time passed, he grew more and more sure of his place in this finished story. More and more certain he’d never get ripped away suddenly. And before he knew it, three months into his marriage, he had stopped pleading to whoever may listen—stopped keeping an alert ear open for the irritating voice of the System that dropped him there in the first place. Slowly, as Shen Qingqiu navigated his new married life with Luo Binghe, he grew more and more secure.
And maybe it was more obvious than he thought—his previous insecurity, his distant fear of being snatched back now that the novel had technically reached its end.
Maybe, he was more see-through than he knew, maybe his guard was lacking, because one day, while sitting for breakfast in their Bamboo House, Luo Binghe commented on it.
“Shizun has been happier lately.”
It was such a little comment, but still, Shen Qingqiu found himself coughing as he choked on his congee.
“Binghe?” he asked, startled, once his throat was clear and he could breathe again.
But he didn’t elaborate. Luo Binghe merely smiled, a bright and joyful smile, and ducked his head down, continuing to eat instead.
Shen Qingqiu thought about it all morning. Had he been happier lately?
Of course he had! He was on the honeymoon-high of being married, and the secondary-high of nothing going wrong recently! He should be happier! Was it odd? Was he behaving strangely?
Or, Shen Qingqiu asked himself, was Binghe just happy to see him happier?
The sappy fool of a disciple he was, that was likely the case. So love-struck even three months into their marriage. Their marriage, which, they’d still not formally announced. Why should they, though? It wasn’t as though anyone needed to know. Though, the people at Cang Qiong Mountain were his family, after all… He supposed they did deserve to know sometime.
Ah, they would tell them sooner or later, though...
Let the live in peace a moment longer!
Who knows the hell and chaos that would come when all know! Though, maybe nothing like that would happen. Not if it really was as obvious as Binghe made it seem, that he was so much happier as of these days.
It was only because he’d stopped fighting with himself. Stopped doubting his security and place in this world. Realized he was there to stay even when the plot wasn’t raging on and found a great sense of relief in the knowledge.
“I don’t miss it.”
Shen Qingqiu surprised himself with the confession, later that same day when he shared tea with Shang Qinghua on An Ding Peak. Luo Binghe was in the demon realm, a court meeting that was taking ages, and Shen Qingqiu had business to discuss with the other transmigrator anyway, so he’d promised himself he’d be back before dinner and set out after his husband left.
Shang Qinghua was surprised, as well, cut off mid-sentence complaining about something-something-Mobei-Jun, and confusion tugged at his brow. “Miss what?”
Shen Qingqiu paused. Looked down at his half-empty teacup. Exhaled.
“My old life—our old world,” he finally elaborated, voice low. There was a strange sort of guilt tugging at his chest that urged him to explain further, voice slightly strained as he hurried to get the words out. “Not—it’s—I don’t not miss it at all, I mean. I did have a family, and there are some foods that the craving for just never faded, but I mean, I do miss it, just…well…in a different...way than before?”
He cringed at how unsure his own voice sounded, then let out a sigh and looked away. It was pointless trying to explain. Opening his fan, Shen Qingqiu leaned back in his chair and lightly fluttered it towards his face. There was no good way to put what he was trying to say.
Shang Qinghua seemed to understand anyway, though.
“There are things here we never could have found there,” he voiced Shen Qingqiu’s thoughts as his own. “I feel you, bro, I mean, really. I long for instant noodles and my computer all the time! I wouldn’t trade what I got here for them, though. Makes you really wonder. What good deed, you know?”
Shen Qingqiu hummed lightly in agreement, relieved he didn’t have to try and scramble to explain or retract what he’d said.
“In the end, we’re not really from here, we were just…gifted bodies of men who died early to fix your story,” he opted to say instead, fan pausing centimeters from his chin. He swung it closed and rested his hands in his lap, letting out another short sigh. “The idea that this is our life now, forever…” He paused, then admitted, “I only recently stopped wondering if I’d suddenly be dragged back… Binghe said I’ve looked happier recently this morning.”
Silence fell over the pair, Shang Qinghua staring for a moment at Shen Qingqiu. Then, carefully, almost thoughtfully,
“You have.”
Their conversation reached a strange halt after that.
They finished their tea in silence, only occasionally reminiscing over some silly small thing they missed even now—like chocolate, or the internet (on occasion). Even that came to a stop soon enough, though, and they finally got down to the business Shen Qingqiu originally visited for. It was nothing major, nothing serious, and nothing worth expending extra thought for—just usual business between Peak Lords who needed an excuse to catch up because Shen Qingqiu would rather fall on his sword than admit he just wanted to spend time with Shang Qinghua and chat about random little things.
Eventually, though, remembering the promise he made himself, Shen Qingqiu bid Shang Qinghua farewell—humming a non-committal agreement to visit again soon—and made his way home.
“Shizun!”
Shen Qingqiu blinked when he was immediately leapt upon the moment he stepped into his home. Luo Binghe wrapped his arms tightly around him in greeting, hugging as if he’d been gone a century. It made him stumble slightly, caught off guard, the embrace more of a tackle than a hug.
“Binghe!” Shen Qingqiu gasped as the wind was knocked from his lungs, eyes wide.
A face nuzzled into his neck and Shen Qingqiu suppressed a chuckle, opting to click his tongue instead. Slowly, he wrapped his arms back around Luo Binghe and lightly patted his back with one hand while the other found its way to the back of Binghe’s head, fingers burying into dark hair.
“Alright, alright,” he murmured after a few minutes passed and his husband still hadn’t released him. “Come now, this master has only been gone a half day. Why is—” he cleared his throat and turned his gaze upward, a light flush on his face, “why is husband so distressed?”
Three months and Luo Binghe was still sticky as ever, three months and Shen Qingqiu was still flustered by a single word.
“…didn’t know where you were…” came muffled from the face buried in his neck, just barely audible enough for Shen Qingqiu to hear.
His heart melted a little and he gave a light smack to the back of Luo Binghe’s head with the hand there (but didn't dare remind him he could have just used his blood to track him if he was really so worried). When he got a small whine in response, he gave a small pat, then carefully grabbed Luo Binghe by his shoulders and wrenched them apart. The pitiful, big-eyed, sad stare Binghe gave him in return was almost enough to make Shen Qingqiu tug him right back into his arms and keep him there all night.
Almost.
“Now, now, it’s all alright, now,” he said lightly, “we are both home now. Shall we eat?”
Luo Binghe nodded once. Then, ducking out of Shen Qingqiu’s hold, he grabbed his hands and led him to the table where dinner was already waiting. Still hot, and delicious looking as ever. Shen Qingqiu’s mouth watered just seeing it. After having tea and snacked with Shang Qinghua, he hadn’t even realized he was still so hungry until his eyes caught notice of his Binghe’s cooking waiting for him.
“Binghe’s food is so good,” Shen Qingqiu praised as they sat down together. “A wonderful thing to come home to, indeed… Was the meeting productive?”
“Boring,” Luo Binghe sighed, sounding truly pained. He motioned for Shen Qingqiu to take a bite of his meal and waited until he did before he continued. “There was nothing of urgency, only minor things of little importance.” He paused and put on a pout, picking at his food. “This disciple would rather have been with Shizun...”
Shen Qingqiu for some reason doubted that there truly was nothing of importance or urgency in the meeting. He didn’t comment on it, though. Instead, he gave a small, sympathetic hum. After all, he did understand how long and boring large meetings could be—especially if they were just typical routine meetings…
“Eat,” he ordered. “Before it goes cold.”
He got another short nod in reply before Luo Binghe finally started to properly eat his food. Shen Qingqiu watched for a moment before going back to eating his own. They finished their meals in relative silence, only occasionally breaking it to talk a little about their respective days when asked.
Shen Qingqiu was relieved to hear Luo Binghe ran into no problems at his meeting (that he’d tell him of, at least), meanwhile Luo Binghe was less than excited to hear who Shen Qingqiu had spent the day with (at least, Shen Qingqiu assumed so, considering Binghe then proceeded to suggest they go on a trip just the two of them to get away from things for a few days).
Before he knew it, both had finished their meal and settled into bed for the evening.
It wasn’t quite time for them to go to sleep yet, but both were tired and had nothing more to do that night. So, Shen Qingqiu settled down on the bed first after stripping his outer robes off, then Luo Binghe followed. He wiggled around until he was right snug up against Shen Qingqiu’s side, their legs tangled and half laying on top of his husband.
Shen Qingqiu waited until he was comfortable, then reached over and grabbed the book he’d set aside the previous night. Holding it open in one hand, while the other rested upon Binghe’s hair, stroking absentmindedly, he stared at the words in front of him.
It was such a calm evening. Calmer and quieter than most, even. His eyes flicked down to his husband snuggled into his side. He must have been more tired than he let on… Not that anyone was complaining. No, Shen Qingqiu was more than happy with the calm and the quiet. After all they’d been through, they deserved a few nights like that…
Still, as his eyes trailed back to the book in his other hand, he couldn’t help but let his thoughts shift back to all that led him to that moment. A moment he never would have expected when he first came to this world, but one he wouldn’t trade for anything now that he had it.
After what was at least over a decade, Shen Qingqiu was used to his life in PIDW, accustomed and adapted to the world after so long of living in it. He remembered how distressed he’d been when he first came, though—desperate to save his own life, only to end up dying and coming back to life twice anyway. Then, he thought of how far he’d personally come since then.
So much had changed… Himself and Binghe perhaps the most.
The corners of his lips twitched up a moment before he exhaled slowly and tilted his head back, the arms around his waist warm and the legs tangled with his own comfortable.
A dream.
It felt like a dream…
This moment, this calm quiet, this tranquility.
It was a dream he’d never wake from, a dream that was his reality.