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No enemy is worse than bad advice.
– Sophocles
***
Slipping a hand under his opponent’s attacking arm and finding his unguarded chest, Mobei-jun fired a blast of demonic energy from his palm. He observed, expressionless, as the smaller demon soared above the courtyard, maintaining an odd sort of grace in his flight, right up until the moment that gravity caught up with him and deposited him in the dirt. Mobei-jun strolled over, unhurried.
“Careless,” he remarked, prowling a circle around his downed opponent. “That sort of thing will get you killed, Fifteen.” Mobei-jun stuck out a hand and pulled the guard to his feet. “Go find Eight and practise your blocking forms; if that had been a real fight, you would still be airborne.” As Fifteen scrambled to obey, Mobei-jun cast his eye over the other sparring pairs on the training ground.
Many of the tasks involved in running the palace were now Shang Qinghua’s responsibility, including the training of the domestic staff. The household guards, though, were a different matter. Mobei-jun had tried to include Shang Qinghua in the training ground workouts; the man was a cultivator and had expertise that he could pass on, regardless of his protestations to the contrary. It had not gone well.
The Mobei clan guards had proven too cold for Shang Qinghua. His experience of demons had led him to believe that they could be much like humans: charismatic and affectionate, like Luo Binghe; cunning and manipulative, like Sha Hualing; loyal and sincere, like Zhuzhi-lang. Northern demons were a different breed – stoic and austere, all romance frozen out of them by the never-ending winter. Shang Qinghua had tried to be their friend; he’d even tried to give them names. Mobei-jun had been forced to intervene quite firmly.
Now, Shang Qinghua stuck to the warmer parts of the palace while Mobei-jun beat seven shades of shit out of the biggest and fiercest demons the Mobei clan had to offer.
It was getting late. Mobei-jun fired a volley of ice particles into the sky, a signal to end the session. The guards began to form a loose semi-circle, ready for the now customary final question. It had been Shang Qinghua’s idea. He’d called it something arcane, no doubt layered in the mysteries of cultivation. Pedagogy. Mobei-jun just liked watching his demons squirm.
What are the weaknesses of a fire-tailed manticore? How would you arrange the palace defences to repel an attack from the sky? Is it better to blade your halberd with orichalcum or sky iron? Today, the question would be somewhat different. Today, Mobei-jun had something else on his mind.
“What can you tell me about humans?”
There was a beat of silence while a dozen heavy brows furrowed, and two dozen feet scraped uncertainly.
“They are physically weak?”
“They have no natural armour?”
Holding his hand up for silence, Mobei-jun stemmed the trickle of responses before they became a flood.
“Not how to kill them, I could easily accomplish that.” Mobei-jun gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the way his guards took a half-step backwards in reaction. This was going to be difficult. Stone-cold killers were probably not the best option for this discussion, but who else could he turn to? The only other being he was close to in the palace – or anywhere – could not be included in these plans. Mobei-jun changed tactics.
“Who here knows nothing of humans except how to kill them?”
Fully two-thirds of the guards raised their arms.
“You are dismissed.” Mobei-jun waited until the general hubbub of footsteps and weaponry being sheathed had died away before continuing.
“Does anybody who is left like humans?”
There was a long silence; the remaining guards eyed each other warily. A demon in blood-serpent scale armour slowly raised his arm.
“Yes, Four?”
“When you say like, do you mean their flavour or…”
Silently, Mobei-jun raised a claw and pointed to the exit of the training grounds; Four and almost all of the other demons followed its path, murmuring amongst themselves in confusion. Mobei-jun turned to the single remaining guard.
“Nineteen. You like humans?”
The guard began to shrug before catching himself and stiffening to attention. “Before my father married into the clan, we lived on the borderlands. Most humans kept well away, but some were always willing to trade. They were brave; resourceful.”
“Then I have a task for you. I find myself in need of advice.”
“Of course, my lord, but, if it is about humans, shouldn’t you ask Shang-zhuzi? Surely he would —”
“That is who I need advice about,” interrupted Mobei-jun. “I have been trying to court him.” Surprise whispered across Nineteen’s face, gone as swiftly as it arrived. “It has not been successful.”
The guard’s brow creased in consideration. “In what way, my lord?”
“What I have learned of human courtship rituals suggested I should make offerings of plants and victuals.” Nineteen nodded sagely; such things were known, even among demons, since Regret of Chunshan had brought cross-species relationships to wider attention.
“But,” Mobei-jun continued, “Shang Qinghua did not accept my gift of three dozen rotting-corspe flowers – a servant reported seeing him bury them beyond the palace walls less than a shichen later.”
Nineteen shook his head, apparently bewildered by the response to this most considerate gesture. “And the victuals, my lord?”
“Worse,” replied Mobei-jun, biting off the word as though it had offended him. “He did not seem to want to eat the glutinous bat-blood pudding I’d prepared for him, even when I explained how I’d harvested the ingredients myself.” Mobei-jun paused in thought. “Perhaps especially once I explained that.” Both demons fell silent, eyes scanning the horizon, contemplating the unknowable vagaries of human nature.
“Maybe…” Nineteen, began, chewing at his lip. “Could it be – with the greatest of respect – that you are approaching this in the wrong manner?”
“Explain,” snapped Mobei-jun, the sudden drop in ambient temperature suggesting that the forthcoming explanation had better be a good one.
“Play to your strengths, my lord. These human trifles are meaningless to you, to a northern demon. What is unique about you? What could you bring him that no human could?”
Slowly, something that almost resembled a smile curved Mobei-jun’s lips. “I can fight.”
“My lord,” Nineteen replied, carefully, “I think that the humans can fight too. Even within our realm, the fame of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect has —”
Clearly unhappy, Mobei-jun clenched his fists at his side, strangling whatever remained of Nineteen’s objection. “Fight?” he sneered. “They can’t fight – they flounce around on their little swords, relying on tricks and sorcery. No self-respecting demon would ever attack using foliage. But…” Mobei-jun trailed off, hands and whole demeanour relaxing. “That could work to my advantage. I can show him some real moves.”
“Oh!” Nineteen shifted his weight from one foot to another in a garish display of excitement. “Humans love gifts, so you could also teach him some of your more rudimentary moves, too. Give him something to take away from the experience.”
With a nod of agreement, Mobei-jun reached out and awkwardly clapped Nineteen on the shoulder, either ignoring or not aware of the way the guard froze in terror as he did so. “Your idea has merit,” he said, pivoting on his heels and making for the exit. “I will bring Shang Qinghua to our next training session and woo him here.”
***
Despite his best efforts, Mobei-jun was not achieving the outcome he’d hoped for.
He had flowed around the training ground, effortlessly besting each member of the household, first individually, and then in trios. It was, even if Mobei-jun did say so himself, a most impressive display. Throughout, although his eyes had never left Mobei-jun, Shang Qinghua said nothing, side-stepping felled demons as he followed Mobei-jun around the training grounds.
Changing tactics, Mobei-jun embarked on a blinding display of demonic power: arrays of spiritual swords swooped and danced in tight choreography; stalagmites of glittering ice thrust from the ground, close enough to the few guards still on their feet to set their robes fluttering around them. Finally, Mobei-jun cast the whole arena into darkness, stepping silently behind Shang Qinghua before shattering the gloom and leaving himself in a spotlight of glowing energy.
Whirling to face the light, Shang Qinghua’s head bumped Mobei-jun’s chin; he reared backwards, simultaneously trying to shield his eyes and scramble away, ending up in an undignified heap at Mobei-jun’s feet.
Allowing the level of illumination to return to normal, Mobei-jun offered Shang Qinghua his hand and a question. “What did you think?”
From his position on the ground, Shang Qinghua stared up at Mobei-jun, eyes wide, lips parted, stunned into silence. The man was clearly overcome with admiration. Mobei-jun made a mental note to thank Nineteen later.
Realising his hand was still hovering untaken in the air, Mobei-jun grasped Shang Qinghua by the shoulder and pulled him to his feet, urging a response. “It was impressive, yes?”
“Impressive?” Shang Qinghua squeaked. “That would be one way of putting it. Loud would be another. Some,” he continued with a nervous laugh, “might even say terrifying.” He looked around the training ground and took a deep breath. “My king, much as it is a privilege to spend time with you, I don’t understand why I am here.”
A privilege. Mobei-jun growled low in his throat and tried to stop the way that made his lips curl back. He had learned this particular display of pleasure tended to get a negative reaction from Shang Qinghua.
“I will show you why you are here.” Mobei-jun signalled to the guards who were sufficiently uninjured to join him, and they began to form a circle around himself and Shang Qinghua.
Eyes darting between the approaching demons, Shang Qinghua tried to back away from them all at once, succeeding only in crowding himself into Mobei-jun. “What is going on?” he asked, voice tight.
“I am going to give you another gift.”
Some of the tension drained from Shang Qinghua’s body. “That will not be necessary, much as the flowers and the…whatever else it was you gave me were…lovely.”
“I have something different in mind this time,” replied Mobei-jun. The guards were closing ranks, tightening up the loose circle, and Shang Qinghua seemed caught between the urge to escape the other demons and to not press himself bodily against Mobei-jun. Discreetly, Mobei-jun motioned them closer. “I’m going to show you how to defend yourself.”
“There is no need, my king," Shang Qinghua demurred. “I have a foolproof method already – playing dead. It is most convincing and has helped me in any number of situations.” He glanced over his shoulder nervously at the encroaching guards. “I may well end up giving a demonstration.”
“That’s not defending yourself,” Mobei-jun scoffed. “That’s avoiding the problem altogether.” Behind Shang Qinghua, the guards were moving closer, almost shoulder to shoulder; the only gap in the ring was now in front of Shang Qinghua, and Mobei-jun had made sure to place himself squarely in the way.
Sensing that all his escape routes had been cut off, Shang Qinghua looked up and met Mobei-jun’s eyes. “What’s wrong with avoidance?” he asked. “I’m good at it. Do I really need to learn to protect myself?”
Leaning down, Mobei-jun answered close to Shang Qinghua’s ear, his response for the two of them alone. “Of course not,” he breathed, admiring the way this stirred the hair at Shang Qinghua’s neck. “I would kill anyone who dared touch you.”
A soft noise escaped Shang Qinghua, and Mobei-jun leant back to observe the effect of his words. Shang Qinghua made to step back, then shot a worried look at the assembled guards and stopped himself. Shang Qinghua’s increasingly wild eyes flicked between Mobei-jun’s face and the gap behind him. Shang Qinghua wailed mournfully and shot out a qi-infused palm, striking Mobei-jun flush in the chest.
Mobei-jun rocked back on his heels.
The household guard gasped collectively.
Shang Qinghua fled in the direction of the palace, the eyes of every demon following him.
***
The barracks were almost deserted when Mobei-jun let himself in later that evening, the last of the sun bleeding from the sky. The few pockets of guards in attendance fell silent, watching Mobei-jun cautiously as he scanned the room. There. In a corner, oiling his halberd, was Nineteen. He put aside his rag and weapon when Mobei-jun’s shadow fell across him.
“My lord,” said Nineteen, rising to his feet. “How can I be of service?”
“Your plan; the one I enacted today. You saw how it went?”
Nineteen nodded, eyes searching Mobei-jun’s face as if for clues. “It was…”
“MAGNIFICENT,” rumbled Mobei-jun, eyes glittering ice blue. He fluttered a hand to his chest, fingers brushing the spot where Shang Qinghua had struck him. “It worked even better than I imagined – I can’t remember the last time someone dared to strike me like that.” Mobei-jun looked down, where his palm was cradled to his body. “I can still feel it now,” he added, voice dropping to a low growl. “There is but one problem.”
“And what is that, my lord?” Nineteen prompted.
“Why did he then run away?” Mobei-jun fixed his full attention on Nineteen. “Is there anything you have learned of humans that could help me understand?”
Shaking his head, Nineteen tutted sympathetically. “Who could ever know? Humans are such fickle creatures. Fascinating too,” he added swiftly, “but incomprehensible.” He stared, baffled, into the middle distance. “Perhaps,” he ventured at length, “the presence of the other demons made him uncomfortable? For humans, at least, courtship is often undertaken in private. Or, at the very least, without the participation of a whole platoon.”
That made sense. Now Mobei-jun had been led to consider it, Junshang did nothing but spend time alone with his human since they got married. He pushed for more. “And what else?”
While his lips formed almost soundlessly around streams of words, Nineteen fell deep into thought. Eventually, the muttering petered out, and he looked at Mobei-jun with renewed conviction. “From what I can remember from the ballads, humans seem to enjoy certain landscapes and light conditions – open vistas, particular flowering trees, the time between daylight and nightfall.”
“But…why?” asked Mobei-jun, genuinely perplexed.
“There is no way to tell, my lord. These things should have no bearing on their readiness to mate. It may simply be an evolutionary quirk, or a fault in their genetic code; regardless, it is something that could be exploited.”
Keen to ensure success this time, Mobei-jun lined Nineteen’s suggestions up in his mind, approaching them as he would a tricky opponent. How best to exploit each component?
Alone. That was easy; he could access Shang Qinghua’s quarters at any time.
An impressive landscape. This would also prove no issue; the far northern territories were awash with ‘open vistas’, vast swathes of rock-strewn tundra, as desolate as it was beautiful.
That left only one further requirement to be met – light conditions. This could well be the simplest of all to achieve. Mobei-jun was a creature of the cold and dark; a nighttime excursion would suit him well.
Reviewing the scheme in his head, Mobei-jun was well-satisfied; he could even see ways in which he could add an element of surprise and show off his physical prowess once more.
It was going to be the perfect date.
***
Loitering outside Shang Qinghua’s chambers, Mobei-jun allowed himself a rare moment of doubt. Every unexpected gift or gesture he’d made thus far had fallen short, an outcome that Mobei-jun was utterly unaccustomed to. He shook his head to banish his concerns. Previous efforts may have contained unforeseen flaws; this time, all was carefully planned, and both he and Nineteen were in agreement that humans, however absurd it may seem, enjoyed being caught off-guard in romantic situations.
Without further ado, Mobei-jun vaporised the doors and strode into the room through the smouldering hole in the wall.
At first, Shang Qinghua was nowhere to be seen; then, through subsiding clouds of smoke, he gradually came into view. He had flattened himself against the far wall, fingers clutching at the stone, hand resting uncertainly on the hilt of his sword. His shifting eyes found Mobei-jun and some of the tension eased from his body.
“My king! Thank the heavens you are here!” Shang Qinghua peeled himself from the stone and stepped towards Mobei-jun. “I am under attack, but I can’t see who…” When Mobei- jun did not break stride, did not immediately begin searching for an intruder to smear across the walls, Shang Qinghua’s narration stuttered and died. The room had cleared of smoke and dust, and Shang Qinghua’s increasing confusion made it clear he’d realised the only intruder was Mobei-jun himself.
“My king?” Shang Qinghua’s voice was cautious now, and he backed himself up warily, pressing against the wall. “What are you —” The remainder of his sentence was choked off as Mobei-jun swept him off his feet, lifting him into an effortless bridal carry.
Immediately, Shang Qinghua began to babble. It was difficult to understand words delivered at such extremes of speed and pitch, but Mobei-jun was able to discern some breathy pleading as the man squirmed distractingly in his arms. This was escalating faster than he had imagined. Before he could become hopelessly sidetracked, Mobei-jun clapped a hand over Shang Qinghua’s mouth to better concentrate, focused on his intended destination in the far northern plains, and opened a teleportation rift.
He emerged into inky darkness and biting cold. Mobei-jun looked to the sky accusingly. He must have miscalculated; the sun was meant to be setting, but the stars told him he’d missed that by at least a shichen. No matter – moonlight was also said to be ‘romantic’, and everything else was going well. Mobei-jun placed Shang Qinghua gently on his feet and watched in bewilderment as he scrambled backwards, tripping on his robes in his haste and completing a backwards roll which would have been impressively athletic, had it been deliberate.
“Where. Are. We?” Shang Qinghua seemed to be forcing out every word, even more overwhelmed than Mobei-jun had anticipated.
“We are in the far north.”
“Well, yes.” Shang Qinghua climbed to his feet before asking his next question. “Let me rephrase. Why are we here?”
Because I hoped you would like it. Because I am trying to court you. Because I have fallen in love with you. What level of honesty to go for? Best to keep it simple; less chance of misunderstandings that way.
“For the view.”
Shang Qinghua looked out into the nearly impenetrable darkness, then back to Mobei-jun, before settling into a sort of stunned silence. He appeared, for the first time in Mobei-jun’s acquaintance with him, to be at a loss for words.
“And the hunting.”
“The hunting,” Shang Qinghua repeated, faintly. “There will be hunting?” Despite having comprehensively established there was nothing to be seen but darkness, he peered around once more. “Nothing…too dangerous, right?”
“Thorny ice mammoths.” Mobei-jun puffed his chest a little, hoping the effect would be visible in the limited light. “You once expressed surprise that I had killed one; I thought you might appreciate a demonstration.”
“Oh no, my king,” Shang Qinghua protested, beginning to back away slowly. “There is no need. I am sure that — Wait. Mammoths? Plural?”
“A herd,” Mobei-jun rumbled, unable to keep the pride from his voice. As he spoke, a low thunder began in the distance, growing louder and beginning to reverberate through the earth.
“Oh my.” As he continued to back up, Shang Qinghua stumbled, almost ending up on the ground again. With a squeak, he righted himself and fumbled his sword from its sheath. He looked, wild-eyed, in the direction of the disturbance accelerating across the plain towards him. Without another word, he mounted his sword and sped off, bearing south.
That was twice. Twice Mobei-jun had watched Shang Qinghua not just disregard his overtures, but actively run from them. Was he doing something wrong? He dismissed the idea. He would simply need to do a little more research. The thunder of hooves was deafening now; Mobei-jun turned to face it with a snarl, fashioning a sword of black ice from the air. At least tonight wouldn’t be a total write-off.
***
Moonlight flooded Mobei-jun’s quarters through an open shutter, illuminating the low table set for two and gleaming from the edges of the twin porcelain cups set upon it. The stage was set, thought Mobei-jun, settling himself on one of the cushions; unfortunately, the wrong leading man was opposite him.
On the other side of the table, Nineteen knelt, spine stiff, hands braced on his thighs.
“You seem uncomfortable,” stated Mobei-jun, ever astute to the reactions of others.
“I am your guard,” replied Nineteen, voice as rigid as his posture. “I should be patrolling your hallways, not sitting at your table.”
“Regardless of the task, you are still in my service,” countered Mobei-jun. “I need more advice.”
“Shang Qinghua,” Nineteen responded, not even framing it as a question.
Nodding, Mobei-jun reached into thin air and produced a bottle of glacial moonshine. Nineteen eyed the bottle warily as Mobei-jun poured two generous measures, thick condensation forming around the liquid when it hit the air. Mobei-jun slid one of the cups across to Nineteen. “Drink it quickly,” he advised, “and don’t spill any on your robes.”
As Nineteen drained his drink, Mobei-jun began to relate the events of the previous night. “Everything was going to plan…”
“...and then he got on his sword and fled.” By the time the tale was finished, half the bottle was gone, and Nineteen sat far more comfortably at Mobei-jun’s table.
“Again?” lamented Nineteen. “It is, indeed, baffling, my lord. Who could fail to appreciate the lengths you went to? Truly, humans are a conundrum.”
“Yes,” agreed Mobei-jun, “but I think this may be part of the appeal. I am unused to challenges I can’t solve by force. And that,” he continued, “is where you come in. I need more ideas. We need to…” Mobei-jun paused. Shang Qinghua had taught him a word which would suit the occasion. What was it? Ah, yes. “We need to workshop it.”
Frowning, Nineteen began to make suggestions, haltingly at first, then gathering momentum as the ideas came to him. “You could confine him to the dungeon? It is remarkable how persuasive a stay in the dark cells can be.”
“Hmm. I would like to avoid using force. Apparently, it does not play as integral a part in human courtship as it does for demons.” Mobei-jun looked up to find both Nineteen’s grip around his cup and his mouth had gone slack. “I know; it is difficult to comprehend, but it is the truth. That one is to be kept as a last resort. Next?”
Nineteen drained the contents of his cup and then contemplated the bottom of it as if searching for inspiration. “How about annihilating his enemies? Driving them before him in chains of ice and torment?”
“A solid plan,” agreed Mobei-jun. “Unfortunately, he has none. In this realm, nobody would dare threaten him. In the human realm…Well, some of his fellow cultivators see him as a traitor, but they are still his xiongdi. He would object if I painted the twelve peaks with their viscera.”
“Get the palace fool to perform for him? I hear that demonic music is tolerable for humans if they remain at an appropriate distance.”
Dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand, Mobei-jun refilled Nineteen’s cup and settled back on his cushion. “He stumbled across a rehearsal by accident once before and disappeared; I found him some time later in his room, crying.”
“His room?” Nineteen tapped on the table – finger just a touch unsteady – and looked up with shining eyes. “You could adorn his room with symbols of affection: trophies from your victories, strings of bright glass beads, skins from your hunts.
“I wish that I could,” said Mobei-jun, slumping a little where he knelt. “Once he had them rebuilt, he reinforced the doors to his chambers with talisman magic. It is a shame; I have many treasures from the mammoth hunt which would suffice.” The ensuing silence drew out long enough for Mobei-jun to prompt Nineteen with a raised eyebrow. He sighed and placed his cup on the table with a clink.
“I’m sorry, my lord; that is all I can think of. Unless…”
“Unless…” echoed Mobei-jun.
“Those treasures you mentioned from the hunt? Perhaps you could try something truly symbolic.” Nineteen leaned forwards and explained his latest scheme; when the guard finished speaking, Mobei-jun sat back on his heels, a faint smile exposing the tips of his fangs.
He would put the plan into action at first light.
***
Long before Mobei-jun laid eyes on Shang Qinghua, he heard him coming. It started with the faraway bang of a door being kicked open and furious footsteps, faint at first but getting louder as their owner approached. Mobei-jun took the opportunity to arrange himself to his best advantage before Shang Qinghua arrived, leaning with feigned casualness against one of the stone columns, three-quarter profile to the door. By now, an unbroken stream of outraged muttering could be discerned alongside the footsteps. There was a pause, then the sound of a fist hammering at his door. Mobei-jun opened his mouth to respond then hesitated, hastily tugging his robes open a little to expose more chest before answering.
“Enter.”
The command had barely left his mouth before Shang Qinghua burst in, panting slightly, colour high on his cheeks, holding something at arm’s length.
“Why,” he demanded, “is there offal on my desk?” He thrust his hand aloft. The object clutched in his fingers was an angry puce red, and glistened wetly. As his arm remained raised, gravity began to operate, pinkish liquid and black, spongy clots sliding down Shang Qinghua’s palm and towards his wrist. He exclaimed in disgust, dropping what he held and startling backwards as it hit the floor with a moist smack.
“Well?” Shang Qinghua’s eyes bored into Mobei-jun, insistent.
“I put it there. It was intended as a —”
“Stop!” Shang Qinghua cut across the rest of the answer, his palm held aloft as though he could physically halt the word in the air. “Please do not complete that sentence. Please do not tell me that this is another ‘gift’ – I don’t think I could stand it.”
“It is not a gift, it is a symbol.” Mobei-jun stressed the last word, giving it the weight and importance Nineteen had the previous night when explaining the concept.
“A symbol? Of what?” Shang Qinghua’s voice was becoming shrill as he pleaded for answers. “My king, what is going on here? What is that?” He pointed his finger at the red mass on the floor, finger quivering.
So many questions; so much to explain. Actions, it seemed, were not enough. The accurate answer was a simple one.
“It is the heart of an ice mammoth.”
Barely missing a beat, Shang Qinghua responded, speaking at twice his previous speed and volume. “Why, in the name of all the realms and everything in them would you put a still-bleeding heart in my office?”
Ever a poorly restrained beast, Mobei-jun’s patience snapped its harness.
“I AM TRYING TO COURT YOU.” Ice particles generated by Mobei-jun’s outburst floated through the stunned silence that followed, drifting to the floor and settling by their feet. Shang Qinghua watched the little flakes melt away to nothing before responding.
“You were courting me?” he asked, voice barely more than a whisper.
“I gave you flowers and made you a meal,” replied Mobei-jun, trying and failing to keep the sullen edge from his voice.
“That was food?”
Stiffening, Mobei-jun closed his arms across his chest and remained silent.
“What else?” When Mobei-jun didn’t answer, Shang Qinghua moved towards him, forcing eye contact. “What else, my king?”
“I shared my hobbies with you.” Mobei-jun glowered at Shang Qinghua, but got no response beyond a quizzical look. “At the training ground,” he clarified.
“You surrounded me with armed guards and forced me into combat.” Shang Qinghua stepped closer still, barely suppressing a smile.
“I took you on a moonlit date.”
“You kidnapped me.” One at a time, Shang Qinghua unpeeled Mobei-jun’s arms from his chest. “And that?” he asked motioning vaguely to the floor behind him.
Staring over Shang Qinghua’s shoulder, Mobei-jun faltered, the words too big, at first, to leave his throat. “My heart. I was giving you my heart.”
Warm fingers cupped Mobei-jun’s chin, tilting his head down. “I accept your gift.” Shang Qinghua lifted up on his toes, pressing his lips to Mobei-jun’s, warm and sweet, maintaining the kiss long enough for the promise of heat to curl through Mobei-jun’s body.
Bouncing back on the balls of his feet, Shang Qinghua grabbed Mobei-jun’s arm and tugged him towards the door. “Come with me,” he grinned. “Human dating is a far less terrifying business.”
“Where are we going?” Shang Qinghua had succeeded in dragging Mobei-jun out into the hallway, and he kept up the pressure, pulling him towards the kitchens.
“We,” Shang Qinghua announced happily, “are going for pizza.”
Mobei-jun’s feet stuttered to a halt at the unfamiliar term. “What is…pizza?”
“Here,” said Shang Qinghua, twining his fingers firmly through Mobei-jun’s and leading the way. “Let me show you.”