Work Text:
Shang Qinghua really had thought no one remembered him diving down on his sword and scooping Mobei-Jun up from certain death. It had been a very chaotic battle, after all. Everyone else had been really very busy when his king had been falling through thin air.
Shang Qinghua had hoped, at least, when he was feeling uncertain about it. Even if the sects were in alliance with the demon realm now, not being able to fly was a pretty big weak spot. He should know: he’d written it that way on purpose, so that novel-version Luo Binghe could plausibly defeat Mobei-Jun despite his portals and ice powers. It figured Shang Qinghua would have to be the one to deal with the aftermath of that now, of course. It was a good thing it really didn’t come up that often.
But now here was Liu Qingge, standing in the rapidly-emptying audience hall of the Northern Palace with a staggering array of really alarmingly large swords laid out in front of him and ice shards all over the floor and embedded in the walls. Here was Liu Qingge, glaring right back at Mobei-Jun like he had no idea how much danger he was putting himself in by suggesting that the King of the Northern Deserts needed remedial sword cultivation training.
“I know you can fight,” Liu Qingge said. “You’re not weak.”
Shang Qinghua bit back an alarmed squeak out of sheer stubbornness, and maybe a little bit of cowardice. He really didn’t want to draw their attention to himself when they both looked so incredibly intensely focused. And scary, fine, they also looked very, very scary.
“What.” Mobei-Jun said.
It was not a question. It was the same tone of voice that made his advisors offer up literal pounds of flesh, made merchants flee, made normal humans faint dead away.
Liu Qingge just scowled.
“You fell,” he said, like that was self-explanatory.
Shang Qinghua glanced around, relieved to see the audience hall was empty by now, everyone having fled when his king had attacked the Bai Zhan War God on sight with a flurry of neatly-parried ice daggers.
(Shang Qinghua wasn’t sure Liu Qingge realized that wasn’t a friendly greeting, no matter how customary it had become in the last few months of fight-visits. Then again, Liu Qingge had a crush on Shen Qingqiu — on Cucumber-bro! — so he definitely wasn’t a good judge of character.)
Mobei-Jun didn’t reply. He looked, frankly, absolutely terrifying, but Shang Qinghua could tell he was uncertain by the curve of his wrist, the intentional pace of his breath.
“Maybe you can’t fly,” Liu Qingge said. “But you won’t know if you don’t try. And next time we might not notice in time.”
We, Shang Qinghua thought, rolling the word over in his mind. He looked at the other Peak Lord, realizing how much time he’d been spending here recently, how often he’d visited for no reason more pressing than “a monster in the area” when the Northern Palace was so far from the sect.
Oh, Shang Qinghua thought, seeing the faint flush on Liu Qingge’s cheeks for what it was. He really does have terrible taste in men, doesn’t he.
Shang Qinghua started to open his mouth, not sure what he was going to say. Something encouraging: of course his king deserved an upgrade, didn’t he?
“Of course I can learn,” Mobei-Jun announced. “You will not be deficient as a teacher.”
And he strode down from the dais to begin sorting through the various swords.
It wasn’t exactly accepting a letter under a cherry tree, Shang Qinghua thought, biting back nervous laughter, but it definitely fit their tsundere character types.
“Well?” Mobei-Jun demanded, looking at Shang Qinghua and holding out a hand, gesturing with the other at the various weapons. “Come here. You always have opinions.”
Liu Qingge met his eyes, still flushed, and nodded, giving a small, almost shy smile, and gesturing him towards them as well. Shang Qinghua’s understanding of the situation reconfigured itself again, settled into something stable, like that three-legged camping stool he’d used as a desk chair for a while.
They BOTH like me? They have absolutely abysmal taste in men, Shang Qinghua thought, feeling almost dizzy with glee, and went to join the two of them in the middle of the abandoned audience hall to kick at ridiculous, extravagant, stupidly huge swords until he could get his fluttering heart under control.