Chapter Text
Shen QingQiu wanted to think he was ready for everything that came after this stunt. After all, it took him months to come up with all the details, find the right artifacts, tear some of them apart, and then combine them again. Weeks went for searching Tianglang-jun, days for convincing his stupid father-in-law, talking, planning and re-planning. The idea itself was years, if not decades old. He wanted to think he was ready.
But in reality, he felt hollow. Disassociated. Going through the plan, resurrecting his old, fading memories from his native world to formulate the tiniest details of their affair usually brought him back from the fogginess of his mind. Not today, it seems.
It must have slipped through his usual poker face because Shang Qinghua kept giving him those pitiful looks whenever the man thought Shen Yuan didn't see him. Or maybe it didn't. Airplane was like that for months, probably. No matter.
What did matter was a small mountain of talismans, jade pins, amulets and other once-in-a-century stuff that was carefully sorted through while the old demon was going through the plan with former A Ding Peak Lord again. The main star of said plan, the bronze mirror covered with silk, was placed in the middle of the room. There was also a body-shaped roll of fabric on his sheets. It would usually bother Shen Yuan to have a literal corpse lying on his bed, except he didn't plan to use it anymore. Not like the bed was used in the recent months at all.
Because he couldn't sleep.
And Luo Binghe was too dead to care.
The fleeing reminder of this fact almost has Shen QingQiu flinching, but he manages to abort the movement. Still, the uneasiness remains, and he channels it towards checking on everything again. Qi-replenishing amulets, so many of them, one golden talisman that goes together with dozens of grey ones, soul-trapping bells, truth-compelling spheres, and some unrecognizable stuff he took from the treasury. Some of them were lying all over the floor, dismissed while they were discussing the plan again and again and again.
Well, mainly Airplane and him. Tianlang-Jun had established his role and goals once and only made some adjustments from time to time. At first. Right now the man was taking his time discussing possible setbacks with the same enthusiasm he usually channeled into discussing trashy books.
"I mean, there's nothing you could do to make it worse, Cucumber-bro", said Shang Qinghua. "It's either complete and total win or… well, the history repeats itself."
"I see it like that too, Lord Shang," said the demon encouragingly, probably sensing Shen Qingqiu's mood in his rare moment of tactfulness. "It's either we succeed, or we don't. I don't see the outcome that would be worse than we have by now, son-in-law. And our chances of success are rather high."
"I mean, there's always a possibility to stuck somewhere in between the teleportation or blow-up in the process. Or for the mirror to malfunction and throw you alone in the wrong time and place…" Shang Qinghua spiraled into mumbling before Shen Qingqiu smacked him with the fan. Ah, this was one of his favorites. Binghe gifted it after their-
No matter. It's better to leave the fan here anyway.
"It's not me who would reappear under the mountain crushing my body," replied Shen Qingqiu dryly. "And I don't like being unprepared. The plan…" he shifts. "it still feels half-cooked. Maybe we should delay."
"Again?!" exclaimed Airplane. "Honestly, Shen-bro, no. You really shouldn't. This shit is fragile, and we don't have the System anymore. Which, for the most part, is a good thing of course. But it won't protect you with the same plot armor, ya know?"
Shen Qingqiu did. For all the shit System had put him through, it was always consistent with it's goal. The goal was "constructing the novel that wouldn't totally suck", but nonetheless. His plans before either turned out fine or were absolutely derailed, but it never was something to ruin the narrative. They never were a complete disappointment or a life-crushing mistake. Nothing ruined itself before he even tried.
The last eight months of his life were different. 'They would be a shitty novel,' thinks Shen Qingqiu bitterly. 'Not that the actual ending was better.'
"We can figure out the rest when we get there," says Tianlang-jun cheerfully. "I consulted with Peak Lord Tong about artifacts again: our modifications are theoretically working. And unless Qingqiu's blood is infected with my parasites without my knowledge, the Mirror would teleport us both at the same point in time. I really hope," he pauses, looking at decaying limbs of his, "that son-in-law's biggest regret is indeed The Immortal Alliance Conference. It would be unpleasant to wake up not even a year from this point. Worse, even, than to wake up trapped under my mountain."
Shen Yuan felt familiar anxiety overwhelming him. God, he hoped so too. The Mirror of Eternal Regret was a part of a tiny arc, and even he with his almost perfect PIDW knowledge didn't know what exactly it deemed as "regret". The wife #78 used it only once, and it turned out disastrous for her: instead of saving her brother like she originally planned to, she appeared in her past moments too late to do anything. Her biggest regret was not shielding her little brother from the vicious demon attack: instead, she was forced to re-live her worst nightmare second by second. Sure, this time the girl saw more faces, caught on more details, and knew to go to Luo Binghe for revenge.
The arc ended with a bloodbath and two more wives in Emperor's harem.
It left the ashy feeling in his mouth the first time he had read it. Right now, though, it left him anxious: Qin Weimin for sure knew she could have prevented the tragedy, be her teleportation a minute earlier. It was the curse of the Mirror: to give false hope about fixing the main mistake of a person's life, only to snatch this opportunity right in front of their noses.
So what was the anchor? The moment of lost opportunity, the one that was there in the first place, or the grief that followed? What made the artifact choose this as the biggest regret of Qin Weimin's life?
The bronze mirror stood in the middle of the room unbothered.
What if it chose the latter? What if Weimin's devastation was the key point of its work? There weren't any written instructions for this thing, so it could be either.
He doesn't want to think about the biggest threat to this plan.
Because Shen Qingqiu remembers his devastation during the Conference. He remembers the immense guilt after choosing his own life instead of saving Binghe from the Abyss. He remembers almost giving up, almost letting the System kill him. He knows how years after Maigu Ridge Binghe would suddenly flinch from his touch when he accidentally brushed the scar on the half-demon's chest. About the nightmares decades later, about the rage that fuelled Xin Mo. The trauma he caused was long forgiven and faded but never disappeared.
There's nothing bigger than this regret. Not Jinlang city, not his self-destruction, not even the Maigu Ridge itself. It was something he could avoid if he tried hard enough, if he took the threats System gave him seriously. If he stopped treating Binghe like a character from the trashy stallion novel earlier. If Shen Yuan let himself-
But if the mirror wanted him to suffer through something he desperately wants to prevent right now, not exactly his regret, but the worst experience of his life…
Binghe's shallow breathing, his panicked gaze that goes over Shen Yuan's head, hands holding on the covers so desperately, the ragged "A-Yuan, stay with me, please stay with me, I'm so scared-"
…then their plan is doomed from the very beginning.
He is somewhat prepared for this scenario as well. Not that Qinghua or Tianlang know: they insisted on carrying the least items possible, so every single trinket went through a thorough inspection. The matter traveling through time needs excessive amounts of energy: nine out of every ten talismans they had was for that exact purpose. The small vial of drugs he carried in his sleeve definitely wasn't on the list. It was almost weightless: lighter than a hairpin. It won't cause disruption. Not in a meaningful way.
If the mirror chooses Binghe's death as the time to teleport, he wants to go with him.
‘Binghe wouldn't give up,’ Shen Yuan thinks with sad fondness. He would trap his soul in one of the bells, would try to use every single reanimating potion for Shizun, or maybe would find some plant to grow him a body again. Even without System and Protagonist Halo, he would do everything. He would go to the Holy Mausoleum to revive his beloved and sit with his body for years for a small chance of him living. He did it before when he still thought of his Shizun as a person who heartlessly threw him to the Abyss. Shen Yuan didn't doubt that Binghe would wait a hundred more years for his husband, for Shen Yuan of now, the person who loved him back, who at least tried to explain. He was married to his vicious, adorable, protective husband for twenty years: with his previous five-year absence, he was sure Binghe would fight till his own last breath.
Shen Qingqiu, however, isn't like that. Never this dedicated and strong-willed, he never was and never will be. Luo Binghe's soul left him without a trace, not being bothered by the bells from its journey. The Holy Mausoleum didn't work for half-bloods: it did its job for full-blooded demons and even humans, but not those of mixed descendance, what a mockery. It became obvious after fruitless attempts to revive Zhuzhi-lang. (Shen Yuan tried it anyway: almost a month of fighting, draining his core, preserving the body from decaying, only for a crushing failure. Qinghua had to call for Mobei-jun to drag him to the bamboo house after the month-long absence.) The Mirror of Regrets was the only option left.
Shen Yuan isn't like his husband. He can't fight till he is physically unable to anymore. Every failed attempt, every day of silence in his bamboo house (it's theirs, it's still theirs. He barely remembers living here alone) is torture. Shen Yuan may have been a cultivator for more than thirty years, but he still hates pain, and recently his existence is nothing but.
He misses his husband dearly.
He knows that this attempt is the last one.
He never said it out loud, not in front of his friends and allies. The vial was purchased silently from the apothecary hundreds li from the Sect. (Still, Shang Qinghua looked at him like he knew. Maybe he did.)
Shen Yuan sighed almost soundlessly, packed the qiankun pouch, picked the body on his shoulder, and wordlessly stood in front of the mirror, not touching the silk yet. Airplane was right: there was no point delaying it further. Said man gave him a quick firm hug, squeezed his free hand in silent support, and stepped out of the circle. Tianlang-Jun stood on his left, the side where the body lay. Qi-holding talismans flew through the room almost immediately, glowing light blue. Several artifacts activated, binding two traveling souls together (for the travel itself, and nothing else. Peak Lord Tong did a great job). The pouch in his hand glowed too and immediately felt far heavier (the vial in his sleeve did as well). Finally, the wrapped corpse in his arms started glowing, paler than the other objects. Tianlang-Jun wasn't. Shen Yuan sighed in relief.
All three bodies shouldn't travel through. Too much energy to prepare beforehand, and too much stuff could go wrong with a bigger mass. Not that Tianlang would miss his half-stable body anyway. The lack of glow indicated that the body mirror chosen was indeed his.
Just to be sure, Shen Qingqiu slashed his palm with a small burst of qi and smeared the frame again. The glow stayed stable.
"Ready?" asked Qinghua, taking the silk cover in both hands.
"Yes."
Airplane rips off the silk coating.
.
Nothing happens.
.
A second, two, three more, ten more. All the blood drains from Qingqiu's face. No, this wasn't even an option. He was prepared for the Abyss, after a long time of working the plan he made into life. He was prepared to appear near Binghe's cooling corpse and follow his husband in death (because dying together was also "together"). He was almost expecting the mirror throwing them somewhere random, or even ripping them apart. Not… not for the mirror not activating at all.
He suddenly feels deceived. Fooled, like a child. Of course, the world doesn't work as a novel anymore. Of course, because it isn't a novel, wasn't a novel for nearly a year.
(Of course, he isn't even worthy of a chance-)
'Please' thinks Shen Yuan desperately, feeling how his eyes start feeling with tears. 'Please, at least let me properly say my goodbyes this time. At least give me a chance to die trying.'
He hadn't cried since the funeral. He couldn't. His body denied him even this small relief from his grieving.
'Haven't I done enough? Was even my regret not enough for you?'
Shen Qingqiu saw his reflection in the bronze mirror, tears finally leaving his body for the first time in months.
'Come on, please. Give me the mercy to fix my own mistake. At least one of them.'
His reflection stared back at him.
And the world collapsed.
***
The Immortal Alliance Conference took place under the huge shield. On any normal Conference, the shield was merely a precaution: it didn't allow disciples to wander off the battlefield, prevented rouges from stumbling upon disciple's prey, and kept the monsters inside. One of the major sects had to provide at least two hundred disciples that would maintain the shield during Conference days, the duty transferred according to the decades-old order. It was an exhausting task, to hold the temporary dome of this level, but the disciples managed, till the last trace of demonic energy was eliminated inside of it. The Endless Abyss clothed quickly, leaving nothing but the red fog over the previous place of the rift. Demonic creatures, especially ones without consciousness, followed the emanations of demonic energy and left through it.
So the moment after the Endless Abyss closed, the spiritual shield dissipated over Jue Di Gorge.
And by all the rules of dramatic novel moments, it started raining.
[Congratulations! You have successfully completed the important task "Birth of a Legend: The Fall and Rebirth of Luo Binghe". Reward: increasing the coolness level of the main character. Current balance: 10,000 points.]
He hasn't heard this mechanical voice since Binghe's death. The System was back.
Shen Qingqiu could feel the raindrops falling over his robes, making them wet and heavy. They weren't the robes he was wearing a moment ago, and it wasn't his body: the core, on the other hand, was his. As was the corpse he was currently holding on his left shoulder. As were the qiankun pouch and the vial with poison.
His body didn't travel with him, Shen Yuan thought as he tugged the remains of the soul connection (and felt the response somewhat hundred li to the west. Good.) This one was his old, the one with weaker meridians and Without a Cure circulating through it. His twenty years of slow progress were manifesting through the core alone: the small spinning ball inside his chest slightly eased the pain from the poison.
This could be an obstacle. Shen Yuan was used to operating without the poison holding him back: several steps in his plan heavily relied on his strength and speed. Yet he couldn't bring himself to care much. Not yet.
Because he was back.
Tears streamed down Shen Qingqiu's cheeks, fat and unrestrained: he sobbed and wailed with his full chest, not caring about the risk of being seen like that. The System notified him about partly shutting itself due to a 'temporary lack of the power source'. He paid almost no mind to it. He carefully placed the corpse under the nearest tree and searched for the remains of Zheng Yang. It took him some time: Shen Yuan was still disoriented from the time-space jump, and his tears and the rain didn't help. The shards laid under dissipating red mist: collecting them in one of the pouches grounded the transmigrator a little bit. The hollowness he felt for so long was slowly disappearing, replaced by small, trembling hope.
He was married to Luo Binghe for two decades. The sword was destroyed, yes, yet he could feel Binghe’s qi and the energy from the blade didn’t fully fade. The Luo Binghe of this time was in Abyss, freshly betrayed, confused and in pain. But he was alive.
He fixed the pouch with Zheng Yang remained directly near Xiu Ya. The one from the future was placed deeper inside his robes, but not before he dug out the golden talisman and hid the poison. The rest of the cultivators should come within minutes: by that time, no traces of his time jump should be seen. The corpse was the hardest to get rid of, but luckily for him, Shang Qinghua from the future instructed fellow transmigrator beforehand.
In the next hour, Luo Binghe of Qing Jing Peak would be pronounced dead. Shen Qingqiu would ask to leave Jue Di Gorge immediately due to Without a Cure flare-up and would take Ning Yingying to accompany him. The disappearance of Shang Qinghua would be noticed by Yue Qingyuan, but the man would reappear with several new bruises and a dislocated shoulder. Peak Lord Shen would publicly deny Luo Binghe's death (even with Zheng Yang shards on his belt), but not a soul would believe him. Several Cang Qiong members along with Huan Hua disciples would quietly point out almost unnoticeable tear streaks. 'Peak Lord Shen is just grieving', they would say. 'Peak Lord Shen refuses to acknowledge the reality', they would add with bitter pity. He wasn't the only one who lost someone close, after all. Almost every person in Jue Di Gorge did, today.
Tianlang-Jun wasn't there, because of course he wasn't. He was trapped in his prison, where he had stayed twenty-three years before that, a hundred li farther from the Immortal Alliance Conference. He didn't hear the voices, didn't see faces.
Yet he would probably be the only person in the whole world who would look at Shen Qingqiu's face, glance at the puffy, reddened eyes, hear the public denial of Luo Binghe's death and see the utter relief blending from his shoulders.