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It starts innocently. Really. No seduction intended.
Shen Qingqiu hears of situations begging for this or that cliched plot device, and, finding no objections forthcoming from the system, begins to mine his <PIDW> knowledge for help.
A power-up here; a cure-all (cure- most, honestly, the majority of them) there. Sealed, ancient artifacts guarded by equally ancient demons. A scroll containing the exact phrase of a rite required to dispel... whatever needs to be dispelled.
Naturally, Shen Qingqiu, being a reasonable modern man (with a healthy sense of self-preservation) beneath his cultivator skin, has no interest in tackling these—purposely nearly impossible—missions on his own. He needs a partner in crime!
To his surprise, Yue Qingyuan is a hard sell; he seems disinclined to agree to allowing the missions at all, frankly, if Shen Qingqiu is involved. Shen Qingqiu has no idea what this guy's problem is, but the protectiveness is a bit stifling, sect-leader-bro! Give a guy a break!
Or at least tag along, so this squishy, far too mortal Immortal Peak Lord is not by HIMSELF when the scary demon/poisonous plant/giant sloth-bear-skeleton-jaw-thing appears!
After the most polite—yet frightening—denial he's ever received in his two lives, Shen Qingqiu summarily dismisses Yue Qingyuan's concerns (after the man is well and gone from his home) and prepares for his mission alone. It's fine.
He's hardly powerless, after all, and if he's able to retrieve the Elder Amber Vine (or whatever that hack of an author had called it), he can solve at least three different problems. One, a disease ravaging a nearby village. Two, the disappointing taste of An Ding's latest melon harvest.
And three, the absolutely TERRIFYING, foul disposition of their chief physician, Mu Qingfang, who has been bitching about everyone and their brother showing up to his clinic with a rash that responds to nothing in his vast medical herb-pository.
Scratching idly at his neck, then his wrist, then his calf, Shen Qingqiu thinks. No demons to encounter on this mission, as far as he can recollect. The bullshit vine apparently grows at the bottom of a lake, though, so there's all the typical grossness of being soaked to the bone while wearing acres of heavy fabric, and how he, despite his cultivated core and impressive spiritual powers, cannot breathe underwater. Not even a bit. Yes, he's tried.
He's eternally grateful he performed that experiment alone. Being found half-drowned and sprawled upon his own lawn, legs still in the decorative fish pond—by a disciple, no less—had been quite embarrassing enough.
As he perhaps should have predicted, the mission goes… poorly. He makes it back to the sect, barely, in crusty robes, sliced all to hell from a fight (GUESS WHAT, HACK AUTHOR, THERE WERE DEMONS AFTER ALL) and with only a pittance of the fucking Elder Amber Vine.
Which he'd had to rip from a demon's hands, by the way, rather than harvesting himself, because the lake in question is apparently always covered in several meters of ice. He's pissed. He's exhausted. He may have vomited on the front steps.
Gods bless Mu Qingfang, who is able to distill a potent liquid solution from the scraps Shen Qingqiu managed to deliver. A village is saved! The melons are lush and scrumptious! Shen Qingqiu no longer fears he will dig a hole through his own skin (fuck that rash)!
But clearly, his plans require an adjustment.
The answer arrives like a bolt of lightning only a few days later, during a 'blah blah Peak Lords blah whatever' meeting. Liu FUCKING Qingge. The man is constantly itching for an adventure, right?
Good with a sword? Doesn't hate Shen Qingqiu—quite—as much as he used to? Sure, the wretched silence of their monthly meridian cleansings is awkward as shit, and Liu Qingge's scowls are legitimately fearsome, but.
Of the seventeen wounds Shen Qingqiu suffered at the hands of those dastardly demons (one of whom had horns growing from its horns, fascinating, he needs to remember to look that up), he would have suffered seventeen less had the Bai Zhan war god been present.
Shen Qingqiu waits until their next scheduled medical intervention before he pounces. "Liu-shidi," he murmurs, startling the man's perpetually frowning face to his own. "I've been informed of a task requiring the attentions of a skilled cultivator."
Liu Qingge's brows furrow.
"But..." Shen Qingqiu pauses, shaking his head. "It will be dangerous."
"When do we leave," Liu Qingge asks. Fuck, Shen Qingqiu kinda loves this guy. Sorry, Yue Qingyuan! This lowly transmigrator will be skipping over the 'obtain the sect leader's approval' step this time!
They set out three days later. They return approximately TWO FUCKING HOURS after they left, the Burnished Silver Toad-Horn in hand. Shen Qingqiu has been holding in an ecstatic squeak for most of that time. Holy shit!
"Your technique with the Lavender-tongued Crickets was awe-inspiring," Shen Qingqiu says, feeling delighted as he glides up Cang Qiong Mountain's ridiculous entry steps. Not even Liu Qingge's surly grunt of acknowledgement can dim his enthusiasm. "How did you know the babies were the real danger?"
"They looked suspicious," Liu Qingge replies, solemn and sure, as if his words make any sort of sense. After a pause, in which Shen Qingqiu's eyebrows settle near his hairline, Liu Qingge deigns to continue. "Venom is often more potent in the young."
Ah. This is not untrue, even back in Shen Qingqiu's original world. Perhaps this meathead has more going on upstairs than Shen Qingqiu thought. "Liu-shidi is formidable indeed," he squeaks (WHOOPS, one can only hold it in for so long). "This shixiong is grateful for your assistance."
"Hm," Liu Qingge says, then hops on his sword and disappears. Blinking, Shen Qingqiu watches him, an arc of light in the direction of Bai Zhan peak. Well. Mission accomplished.
He heads to the bamboo house, already planning how to sneak the horn into the pillowcase of his stunted (and criminally smelly) newest disciple, whom even the ever-doe-eyed and patient protagonist Luo Binghe seems to be avoiding at this point. Poor kid.
This horn will cure even the rankest stank. Shen Qingqiu commends himself for his altruism.
Then there's the Widow's Relic, which bestows good fortune in love upon its wearer. It's fucking tacky, Shen Qingqiu thinks, lip curling, but Liu Qingge looks staggeringly cool in battle, and the demons guarding it never stood a chance.
"It's very..." Liu Qingge pauses, eyes lifting from the giant, piss-yellow quartz Shen Qingqiu is holding toward him. "...unsettling."
Shen Qingqiu unfurls his fan to hide his smile. My thoughts exactly, Shidi! "Huan Hua sent out a request," he says instead, doing his best to look grave and serious. "If we can deliver it unharmed, it will be a diplomatic triumph."
"Why is it a ring," Liu Qingge reasonably asks, as the damned thing was a necklace three seconds ago. Now, the gaudy nightmare has wrapped itself around Shen Qingqiu's finger like it formed there.
"Fuck," Shen Qingqiu says.
Liu Qingge's eyeroll is one for the ages. "Gods. Give it to me." Shen Qingqiu eagerly tears it from his hand, tossing it over. Tilting his head, Liu Qingge gives it a considering glower, then presses it to the collar of his robes.
In a move Shen Qingqiu should have seen coming—but still manages to scare the shit out of him—the grody thing becomes a necklace once again, fitting itself around the war god's neck like it belongs.
"I thought the color was creepy," Shen Qingqiu whispers, earning himself yet another eyeroll.
"Let's go," Liu Qingge says, and is flying away on his sword before Shen Qingqiu can reply.
Then there's the Multi-tiered Fang Mushroom. The Enchanted Pants. The Winsome Dizi of Despair. Now, Shen Qingqiu is scouring his memory of <PIDW> for ANYTHING, because no matter what ridiculous quest Shen Qingqiu drags him into, Liu Qingge ANNIHILATES it. Screw the protagonist halo; Liu Qingge is a force of nature! A vengeful and terribly beautiful vision descended from heaven to speed the beating of Shen Qingqiu's heart! It's impressive enough to distract Shen Qingqiu from his thoughts of dying a slow, tortured death at the hands of his white lotus disciple!
Liu Qingge skids to a stop beside him, wrapping up YET ANOTHER seemingly impossible mission without producing a bead of sweat. Fucking gods, the man is hot. WAIT, what? No, he is impressive.
He's obviously NOT hot, Shen Qingqiu is staring at his collarbones, which are no more dewy and intriguing than they were when the mission began. And why is Shen Qingqiu hard?
"Liu-shidi," Shen Qingqiu greets, and blinks at how breathless he sounds. Liu Qingge blinks too.
Which is fair, since Shen Qingqiu has no right to be winded; the sum total of Shen Qingqiu's efforts in this endeavor had been 'convince an elderly man to loan them his donkey'. In his defense, the donkey made fantastic bait, and is still whole and hale, braying at them from its tether to a tree.
Liu Qingge steps closer. Oh no. The man has eyelashes for days. Abruptly, Shen Qingqiu realizes he wants to plaster his mouth to Liu Qingge's neck. How embarrassingly unexpected. In that he should have expected it, because—he notes in a flash of understanding—he's wanted to do so for months.
"Shen Qingqiu."
Was Liu Qingge's voice always so low? Has it always been so melodic? So inviting? And why can he feel Liu Qingge's breath on his—
The kiss, for that is exactly what it is, scrubs all thought from Shen Qingqiu's brain.
Virgin that he is, he has no basis for comparison, but every movement—every sigh, every press and gasp—seems to shake him from the inside out.
"Oh fuck," he manages, garbled against Liu Qingge's lips. "Oh fuck yes."
"Shameless," Liu Qingge has the audacity to say while slipping his smile along Shen Qingqiu's jaw, nibbling at his neck.
"But—" When did Shen Qingqiu's fists end up in Liu Qingge's hair? Is he even in control of his body? "But the donkey..."
"It can wait," Liu Qingge informs him, steady as a mountain, and topples him backward into the grass.