Archive of Our Own ^omega

“-- and that is why you are technically not real,” Shang Qinghua finishes, visibly sweating. “Sorry.”

Shen Qingqiu’s years of experience pretending at composure sure come in handy when being faced with the idea that his entire life is a lonely man’s desperate attempt to create a- what. Best friend? Mortal enemy? If he was created by Shang Qinghua, which his brain is beginning to accept is actually a possibility, then why didn’t he make sure Shen Qingqiu liked him? Not to say he doesn’t enjoy the man’s company - annoying though he might be, he's still one of Shen Qingqiu's closest friends - but wouldn’t it have made more sense to create someone who doesn’t feel so much schadenfreudic glee at seeing him suffer?

“Uhm, bro? Are you alright?” Shang Qinghua asks, fiddling anxiously with the fabric of his robes.

“I am fine," Shen Qingqiu says, the perfect picture of someone calmly learning their entire life back on Earth, their family, their friends, even their interests, were made up for funsies by the rat bastard in front of him for unknowable and inexplicable reasons. “This is fine. I am not bothered by this.”

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe reaches out and lays a hand on his arm, sliding it down until he can interlace their fingers. He gently pulls their joined hands up to his mouth, pressing his lips against them in a soft kiss.

Shen Qingqiu glances up, meeting his husband’s eyes. His husband, who was also created by the rat bastard in front of him, sculpted in his perfection from a stone of flawless jade.

Luo Binghe doesn’t seem upset to learn his husband is fake. That he was created for - what was he created for? - someone else. His gaze hasn’t turned cold and distant, his hands don’t hesitate to reach for him. He just seems concerned.

“I really am fine,” he insists weakly. “I mean -- I’d be a hypocrite if I weren’t, right? I didn’t lie to you when I said you were real in all the ways that matter, so… I must be too.”

"Except you're technically even less real than this world, because at least they actually formed their memories throughout their life instead of springing into existence fully formed," Shang Qinghua points out.

Shen Qingqiu stiffens, gripping his fan tight enough to squeak. "Don't make this worse for yourself,” he says, trying to ignore the horrible flip-turn in his stomach at the thought. If he’s ‘less real’ than Binghe, if he simply sprung into existence when Binghe was fourteen, he’d be.. eleven? Binghe is twenty five now, he was dead for five of those years- oh god he’s only six years old-

“Shizun is the best thing shishu has ever created,” Luo Binghe interjects in his sticky-sweet loving-shizun voice. Shen Qingqiu feels his heart unclench at the clear care his disciple is showing him, at his gentle concern. Such a sweet boy, so kind to this old man. Shen Qingqiu pointedly doesn’t think about how over half the years he’s lived weren’t actually lived at all.

Nope. Not thinking about it.

Shen Qingqiu buries his face in Binghe’s chest, clutching at his shoulder. The thing stuck in his ribs loosens further at his familiar pine-and-spice scent, comforting in a way he knows is real, even if he isn’t.

“No, Binghe is,” he says admonishingly. He won’t allow Binghe’s rose tinted shizun-glasses to make him think he’s not still Shang Qinghua’s best work. “Binghe is amazing.”

Luo Binghe pouts, hand lovingly stroking the small of his back.

“Shizun is a thousand times better than anything else in this world. The decades of extra experience Shang-shishu acquired shine through in him.”

Shen Qingqiu bites back a sharp bark of laughter. This disciple of his is truly blinded by love. That hack author was decades out of practice when he created this master, after having poured his heart and soul into Binghe!

Not that he’d ever praise Airplane for it. Not after he abandoned his best creation to the whims of a shitty, angst ridden plotline.

“Oh Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu says, an easy smile cracking his habitually stern mask. “There is no amount of experience that could rival the insane beginner’s luck he must have had when creating you.”

“Shizun,” Binghe says breathily, leaning down. His eyes flicker down to Shen Qingqiu’s lips. Shen Qingqiu feels his cheeks warm, suddenly aware of the way his disciple's hands clutch greedily at the thin fabric of his robes. He feels like he’s about to be swallowed whole.

He doesn’t think he’d really mind being devoured, right now.

His mouth opens thoughtlessly - “Binghe” - as he leans in for a kiss. He lets himself get lost in the soft press of lips against his own, the teasing stroke of a skillful tongue, the firm pressure of broad hands as they knead his waist. It's comforting, to be so clearly cherished, to be wanted, even after...

He catches Binghe's lip between his teeth, frustrated. He doesn't want to think about that right now. The thought drifts away as he throws himself boldly into the kiss, buoyed on a slowly rising tide of want.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when the front door slams shut with a thoughtless, startling bang.

Shen Qingqiu does his best to pretend his heart isn’t jackrabbiting in his chest as Luo Binghe kisses along his cheekbone, his jaw, down the side of his throat, eager and messy and wonderful, but the twist in his guts has unfortunately returned. Best to deal with this now, if he's going to be so distracted. He pulls back, kissing his disciple chastely on the cheek and looping linked fingers around the back of his neck. Binghe whines at the sudden cessation of what he surely thought was going to move far beyond a simple makeout session.

“This master needs to sort his thoughts," he says, staying strong despite Binghe's maximum strength sad-puppy eyes, tears glistening like fresh snow on the boughs of his lashes. "Would Binghe mind finding a stack of paper and some ink?”

His reluctant disciple obediently complies after being bribed with a dozen more kisses and promises of even more later. With a table full of blank paper and a mind full of confusing, bouncing thoughts, Shen Qingqiu sets to work.

Page one. Backstory.

Shen Qingqiu begins by writing down everything he recalls of his time- of his backstory on Earth. The son of a wealthy family - older brothers, younger sister, married parents - loving but not overly clingy. His awkward middle school crush on the girl who kept sneaking her hampster into school. The one time he got lost in the mountains as a child and was rescued by a mysterious stranger. His discovery of web novels in high school. The time he got kidnapped. The first time he posted a thousand character flame comment. His memories of university, the classes he’d liked (philosophy, linguistics, literature), the classes he did his best to rush through (history, math, economics), the late night class that got cancelled due to a supposed haunting in the south wing.

He writes down the list of books he remembers reading for his literature classes, which balloons into a list of every story he remembers reading, curious how many of them actually existed back on Earth. How many of them were Shang Qinghua’s abandoned creations? How many were him stealing copyrighted content to bulk out his OCs lore?

Shen Qingqiu reads through his list again, checking for anything he's missed.

...

Alright, now that he's looking for it, yeah, maybe he is Airplane's OC. He'd just thought he had a weirdly eventful childhood, but Shen Yuan's backstory is full of tropes! Talk about lazy writing. He spends another three pages expanding upon the parts of his life story he wants to criticize Shang Qinghua for later.

After getting that out of his system, Shen Qingqiu gets swept along in the joy of making more lists. TV shows he knows. What sports he’s tried. Places he’s gone. The people whose names he remembers.

That list takes a while. He ends up expanding his “only those with names” rule after realizing he doesn’t remember that many after not talking to any of them for years. (Has he ever talked to them?) That one substitute teacher who encouraged him to try writing, even if he deleted the cringy 20 page self insert power fantasy right after. The nice lady next door who just so happened to make extra food on the weeknights when his parents were on business trips. The family dog. His elementary classroom’s pet fish. His best friend in kindergarten. The random stranger who gave him an umbrella when he was stuck waiting for the rain under the awning at the corner store down the street from his apartment.

Were any of these people created with free will, or were they simply NPCs necessary to fill out his backstory? Did they exist at all? It's possible that none of them did - not his neighbors, his friends, his family. He can’t tell if it's a relief to think that the people he loved might not exist to miss him back.

Ink drips down the tip of his brush, pooling in an unsightly blob.

If the system had sent him back to Earth, would it have sent him back to Shang Qinghua’s Earth, absent of everyone he’d ever known? Or filled with familiar strangers who’d he’d never actually met? Was it ever possible for him to return at all?

Does it even matter?

...

Shen Qingqiu is going to decide it doesn’t.

Moving on.

Page two, character traits.

He gives up after he’s scribbled out half of what he’s written on technicality. Turns out it’s surprisingly hard to describe what you were supposed to be from the vantage point of having lived a few very eventful and life changing years afterwards.

“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu calls. His disciple peeks his head out of the kitchen, listening attentively. ”You said you got a look at his- his description of this master, yes?”

“Yes, shizun.” Luo Binghe nods.

“Would you mind writing it down? I’d like to know what he meant for me to- what my-” Shen Qingqiu shakes his head. “What he thinks I was supposed to be.”

Binghe looks nervous, the sweet man, but still complies, writing out a full page of what he recognizes as Shang Qinghua’s rambling style of writing in quick, confident strokes of his brush.

Shen Qingqiu begins taking notes.

NOTES ON SUPPOSED OC STATUS

Transmigrator / seer

• True
• What would being a seer have been like? Interesting to think about.

Few siblings but isn’t too close with them - older brothers + little sister

• True
• Why not an orphan? (He’s so fond of those 🔪)
• Why not a loving attentive family? Helicopter parents, pushy siblings (meimei is was pushy over text but never visited so it doesn't count) Never specified grandparents - caused them to die when I was young?
• Why specify this at all? What’s so important about my family life? Did he want someone he can relate to, or someone who got what he didn’t have??
• Ask Shang Qinghua about his family back on Earth - exes, parents, siblings, childhood friends, etc.
• I have memories of things/details he didn’t specify. Point against god-creator status. If still true - what filled in the gaps? Is there an entire Earth out there created solely for me? Was it the System? Was it me? No, I would've given Shen Yuan writing skills. Will blame Airplane.

Knows things about writing. Maybe tried it once themself?

• True
• If OC status is true then that ill begotten foray into fanfiction was his fault. “Maybe” means there was a possibility that I’d never try to write. Bastard
• More examples of flexibility in interpretation: themself? Why did system/world/etc choose man? Chance I could have been a woman?
• “Must know things” <- horribly vague - criticize Airplane on lazy backstory.

Puts up with whining, enjoys arguing over details

• Masochist <-
• Mock Airplane for creating an entirely new person rather than actually try and improve his writing
• Note to self :  if Airplane ever complains about me ranting about how much PIDW sucks remind him he (supposedly) literally created me for this purpose

Read the entirety of PIDW front to back, didn’t like it just for the smut

• What sort of brainless plebeian would like PIDW for the smut
• Didn’t like the smut at all <- further proof of room for nuance in interpretation of backstory/character traits. Even if Airplane gave the outline, he didn’t pick the details. Not much of a creator-god if something else is editing his rough drafts

Cold and dignified, pretty, sharp-tongued, totally my type

• -> Masochist <-
• Dignified???
• Transmigrated into Shen Qingqiu without ever having a body?? Why did it matter if I was pretty??? Planned transmigration into Shen Qingqiu, needed to look similar????
• “Totally my type” <- Another example of the System interpreting things very liberally

Leaves detailed criticism

• -> Masochist!! <-

Shen Qingqiu draws a few more arrows for additional emphasis, circling the word in thick black ink. He doesn’t realize he’s been mumbling to himself until Binghe sticks something sweet in his open mouth, thumb swiping presumptively against his lower lip as his hand withdraws.

“Is Shizun still upset?” His disciple asks. He settles demurely on the bench next to him, looking up bashfully through his unfairly long, dark lashes.

Shen Qingqiu savors the candied plum in his mouth, rolling it around with his tongue to buy time. It’s perfect, a delicious mixture of sour and sweet, impossibly tasty like everything else Binghe makes.

He swallows, opening his mouth for another, but Binghe just pouts, clearly upset at his avoiding the question.

Shen Qingqiu huffs. “No, Binghe, this master is not upset.”

Luo Binghe frowns disbelievingly, scooching closer. He hooks an ankle around Shen Qingqiu’s, wraps a hand around his waist. The scent of caramelized sugar wafts from the plate he's set on the table.

“This disciple asks shizun not to lie to him,” Binghe says, pinching another candied fruit and holding it out encouragingly.

Bribery. This devious disciple of his, prying information from him with treats.

Shen Qingqiu pretends his mouth isn't watering as he attempts to wrangle his tangled thoughts into something coherent.

“This master truly isn’t upset anymore. Not at Shang Qinghua. Not for c- supposedly creating me, at least.”

His hands are covered in ink, so he eats the candied fruit straight from Binghe’s fingers, having paid his due. Binghe eagerly grabs another.

Fine.

“It’s just- he didn’t specify anything. Can you claim to have created someone if you only contributed a few hundred words to their backstory? He spent millions on you. Millions! And you’ve become someone completely separate from the Luo Binghe he made.”

“Sounds like Shang Qinghua isn’t a very powerful god.” Binghe says sweetly, feeding him another treat.

“He’s quite pathetic, isn’t he,” Shen Qingqiu mumbles around a mouthful of plum.

Binghe smiles, continuing to pry words from him by offering a new delicious morsel every time he pauses to think. It’s thoroughly distracting. Especially with how Binghe keeps taking liberties with the fingers in his mouth, stroking along his tongue, gently tracing his lower lip...

Somehow he manages to push through.

“-wasn’t even a rough draft - this is all just outline." Shen Qingqiu smacks Luo Binghe’s knee for emphasis - his disciple has managed to nearly scoot onto his lap while he was distracted. He can feel Binghe's breath against the base of his throat, muscular thighs pressing against his own, a broad hand stroking a burning path up and down his side. He perseveres regardless. "The only thing he can actually take credit for is making me read his disappointment of a novel. He didn’t even flesh out my backstory- he had the opportunity to create someone from scratch and he didn’t even put in any effort!”

Luo Binghe feeds him the last of the candies. Shen Qingqiu licks his fingers clean without a thought, too infuriated at Airplane to second guess himself like normal.

“He literally created me to criticize him,” Shen Qingqiu seethes, chewing angrily. “This master is going to-”

His tirade is cut short by a silent, humiliating gasp.

This- this shameless, insatiable man!

Luo Binghe gentles, smile pressed against his skin where he kisses the mark he just left. He hums a feigned apology, the hand resting on Shen Qingqiu's waist drifting lower, lower...

“Shizun can deal with him later,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to the underside of his jaw. Shen Qingqiu feels his cheeks flush with heat. “After a bath, perhaps? This disciple is somewhat sticky after working in the kitchen.”

Sticky indeed, with how Binghe is sprawled across his lap!

Well. If his disciple needs... attention, who is he to deny the all powerful stallion protagonist what he wants?

He clears his throat decisively before sweeping his husband into a princess carry. Luo Binghe clutches at his robes, gasping in delighted surprise.

“This master will finish this later,” he says loftily, giving in with grace. He strides off towards the bathroom, careful not to knock Binghe's head on the doorway.

Scrubbed clean and thoroughly relaxed, Shen Qingqiu’s anger has mostly dissipated. Rather, something oddly mushy has begun taking its place.

Shang Qinghua’s hunched form and panicked glances keep floating to the surface of his mind as he attempts to put brush to paper. He’d wanted to cuss him out - still does - but he can’t help but think about how the man must have been feeling, when he realized what he’d done.

He must have been so utterly lonely, to actually want to create someone like Shen Yuan.

So what if he feels pity for that hack author! That’s only further proof Shang Qinghua doesn’t control him!

Not that he’s not still mad at him for hiding it for so long. Just- he can’t help sympathizing. Being the only real person in a world of your own creation, the only one with memories of another world, it's lonely. Even Shen Yuan was lonely when he first transmigrated, though not (he thinks) to the same extent. He'd been too busy fanboying and trying not to die.

Compare that to Shang Qinghua's lackluster recounting of his decades of living here... he can't help but feel that Airplane doesn’t actually like this world of his. Obviously, what with the complete and total lack of effort he put into the later chapters, but there was always a frustratingly brilliant something hidden just below the surface, buried deeper as hackneyed plots and new wives were piled on top. He’d died writing something he hated, and was dumped in a purgatory that shoved his mistakes back in his face.

He still could’ve done something to fix things, though.

But that’s what Shen Yuan was made for, wasn’t he? To critique PIDW? To fix it?

His brush begins moving before he can doubt himself. He’ll just have Binghe burn the damning thing after Airplane reads it.

Dear Airplane,

I wasn't too sure if I had made it clear during our last talk, so I wanted to reiterate this point; You are still my friend, regardless of your status as my supposed creator-god.

Don't get too excited now. Binghe has strict instructions to burn this when you are done reading.

There. Emotions dealt with. Onto his life’s purpose. Shen Qingqiu grabs another sheet of paper, mind already whizzing with ideas.