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Shang Qinghua would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed, of course.
After the whole running-away-for-a-month thing only to be rescued from Linguang Jun by his king and then agreeing to go back to the Northern Desert as long as Mobei Jun made him some hand pulled noodles, he’d expected things to go a little differently.
For one, he’d expected noodles – six months later, he still hadn’t gotten them.
Secondly, he expected better treatment from the rest of Mobei Jun’s court, but that didn’t seem to be happening either. Despite the fact that Mobei Jun was significantly more respectful towards him, the rest of the court had either not gotten the message or had been ignoring it, because every time they ran into him without Mobei Jun, he always found himself the target of tasteless jokes or rude comments.
Thirdly, although this one he would admit was a bit of a stretch, he’d… Well, he’d hoped for him and Mobei Jun to become a little more than king and servant.
Instead, one of the clan elders had instructed him to arrange a meeting with the royal matchmaker because “king Mobei Jun was seeking to take a spouse”.
He’d laughed it off at first – surely it was a joke. Mobei Jun had never shown an interest in absolutely anyone before – but after he’d been chased by one of the elders he’d finally realized it was true.
He tried not to let it get to him at first and did as he was told.
Soon enough Mobei Jun was being set up on dates with eligible demon bachelorettes left and right, and Shang Qinghua was there, in the palace, doing his job and pretending like he didn’t care.
Mobei Jun could take a wife! In fact, Mobei Jun should take a wife! Maybe if he did he’d finally stop being so overworked having to deal with all the palace affairs and he could finally give more focus to his actual Peak Lord responsibilities.
Yeah! Mobei Jun should definitely get a wife!
He told himself this one time, two times, ten times, and then one day he heard Mobei Jun was actually going on a second date with one of his prospects, and that was when he finally snapped–
“My king, I need to return to An Ding,” he said the next day, after having been caught by Mobei Jun himself while trying to leave inconspicuously.
“Why,” Mobei Jun asked, looking as bored as ever.
“I’ve been summoned by the Sect Leader,” he lied. “I should be back in a few weeks.”
Of course, there had been no summons – Yue Qingyuan couldn’t care less about where he did his work, as long as it was done and Cang Qiong kept working like a well oiled machine, at this point – and he also had no intention of returning anytime soon.
In fact, he hoped he stayed away for so long that Mobei Jun got married and forgot he ever needed him to do work for him in the first place!
(No, Shang Qinghua wasn’t depressed. Really.)
Weeks passed and Mobei Jun only visited him twice, each time asking him when he would be able to return – to which Shang Qinghua always gave him a demure look, paired with an “I’m sorry my king, there’s been a termite infestation in the sect” or any equivalent excuse –, and Shang Qinghua felt increasingly more restless.
Mobei Jun was getting married. Really? After everything they’d gone through??
He was sad and mad and numb and drunk at one point and then numb again, and then one day he woke up and thought “why did you even ever expect Mobei Jun to feel the same about you as you do about him?” and then he was still sad, but at least he wasn’t angry anymore. He was just resigned.
So–
“A Peak Lord of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect,” the matchmaker said, looking him up and down and looking through the small leaflet Shang Qinghua had brought her full of information about himself. “Shouldn’t be hard to find you a match, even with your preferences.”
She did find him a match, only six days later, and Shang Qinghua was surprised to find he actually knew who it was.
“Lai Yong?” he asked, surprised, when he arrived at the teahouse where they’d scheduled their first meeting.
He shouldn’t have been surprised; in fact, he should have read the small booklet the matchmaker had sent to him to days earlier.
“Shang Huan!” Lai Yong greeted, smiling brightly at him. “Or– I believe it’s Shang Qinghua now?”
Lai Yong was one of the few people Shang Qinghua hadn’t actively disliked back when he was younger, before he’d traveled from his hometown to join the sect.
Their families had been neighbors and they’d grown up together, though Lai Yong was a few years younger.
They had ran into each other a few years earlier as well, when Lai Yong had been passing by the town at the foot of the mountain, but other than that they’d never kept in touch.
“I was very surprised to see your booklet,” Lai Yong said, pouring tea for the two of them, “so I thought I definitely couldn’t miss out on this chance to court you.”
“Ah?” Shang Qinghua asked, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Ah, Huan-ge,” Lai Yong said, slightly embarrassed – and Shang Qinghua startled at the fact that he was technically older than Lai Yong despite the fact that he now looked significantly younger due to his cultivation, “you must have known I had a huge crush on you back then?”
He… really hadn’t known. And it was nice to know, really, even if he’d always imagined he would be receiving a similar confession from someone very different.
They chatted for hours on end, catching each other up on their lives, and by the end of it they’d agreed to go on a second date.
“I live nearby now,” Lai Yong explained. “So we can see a lot more of each other now.”
Shang Qinghua smiled and ignored the way his stomach turned at the idea of their dates continuing for so long.
He flew back up to the mountain, slightly dazed from the unexpectedly pleasant date and the coincidence of it being with a childhood friend who’d had a crush on him of all people, only to be met with none other than the object of all his emotional torment smack dab in his bedroom.
“My king?” he asked, surprised, taking in the figure lying contentedly on his bed. “Have you been here long?”
“En,” Mobei Jun confirmed, opening one eye to look at him. “Where were you? I asked your Head Disciple but she didn’t know.”
“I-I- I was…” he trailed off, not knowing what to say. He felt hesitant to reveal the truth, not wanting Mobei Jun to know he too was seeking a match, but he didn’t know why.
In the end, he didn’t need to tell him; Mobei Jun spotted the small red booklet he’d been leafing through on his way to his house, wanting to see what he’d missed about Lai Yong, and in a flash he’d gotten up and snatched it from him.
“Who’s Lai Yong?” he asked, frowning. “Why do you have his marriage prospect?”
Shang Qinghua swallowed nervously, but resolved to get it all out in the open anyway. Mobei Jun wouldn’t care either way.
“The town’s matchmaker set us up on a date,” he revealed. “That’s where I’m coming from, we met for the first time today.”
Mobei Jun appeared to be frozen in place, dead silent, and Shang Qinghua could see the creases from where he was gripping the booklet too tightly.
“So this is what Qinghua has been doing,” Mobei Jun gritted out, glaring at him so fiercely he almost felt weak in the knees. “Qinghua has been telling me he’s too busy to return to this king’s palace, and as it turns out he’s busy going on dates .”
“M-My king–“
“Is that not the truth?” Mobei Jun continued, taking a step closer to him. “Why are you doing this? What happened to serving me for the rest of your life?”
Shang Qinghua laughed, unable to help himself. “My king?” he asked, incredulously. “Am I supposed to stay virgin and unmarried for the rest of my life just because I work for you? And– what, while I watch you marry one of your dozens of matches? What sense does that make?”
“Qinghua–“
“No!” Shang Qinghua snapped, glaring back at him just as fiercely. “Why should I have to put my life on hold for you? Have I not given you enough? I went back to the palace for you and all I asked was for a simple bowl of hand pulled noodles and what has that gotten me? Absolutely nothing! You couldn’t even keep such a simple promise, so why should I keep serving you with my entire being? When is it enough?!”
He was panting heavily by the end of his tirade, and by the time he finished Mobei Jun’s glare was gone, replaced by what appeared to be shock.
“My king–“ he tried, not even knowing what he wanted to say, but it was too late. Before he could say anything else, Mobei Jun was already gone.
❁❁❁
Weeks passed.
Shang Qinghua met Lai Yong two more times, but it was harder and harder to pretend like he had any interest in him.
He really didn’t; the only one he’d ever wanted, even before he’d died by electrocuting himself and thought his silly characters could never be real, had been Mobei Jun.
So on their third date, when Lai Yong’s eyes were shining with excitement as he slid a neatly wrapped package across the table – a courting gift –, Shang Qinghua had the extremely difficult task of telling him he was no longer interested in meeting him.
“It’s not you,” he said, thankful that romantic comedies weren’t a thing in that world, “it’s me. I’ve decided to forgo marriage in the end.”
He thought he would feel terrible afterwards, seeing the light leave Lai Yong’s eyes as disappointment set in, but he just felt relieved.
“Good luck,” he’d told him, after they agreed to keep in touch, knowing full well that it didn’t matter if it was Ancient or Modern China – they wouldn’t.
Life kind of went on after that.
There was plenty of work to busy himself with in the sect, and he told himself it was fine. Really. Most cultivators didn’t marry and, anyway, marrying a non-cultivator would only inevitably end in his spouse dying much earlier than him, so. Why bother, really?
Mobei Jun didn’t visit him anymore either, which– he’d expected. He’d expected it before, when he’d told himself Mobei Jun would have little use for him after his marriage, and he definitely expected it after, after he’d snapped at him and told him he didn’t want to serve him anymore.
(It was a lie, of course. He wanted nothing else but to serve his king for the rest of his life, as pathetic as it sounded.)
And then one day, unexpectedly, he received a letter.
It was an official letter, containing the seal of the Mobei clan, where he was asked to meet the king the next evening, at sunset, back at the Northern Desert palace.
There was a small dark blue pendant included, which would allow him to directly teleport there without needing to travel an extensive length.
Naturally, Shang Qinghua knew why Mobei Jun was summoning him – it’d been weeks since their last meeting and even longer before he’d done any work for him, and the logical step would be for him to let him know, officially, that he was relieved of his position in the North.
(And, very likely, he was going to tell him he was getting married too. Two birds with one stone.)
Shang Qinghua barely slept that night, too anxious about seeing his king the following day, and when his Head Disciple barged into his house with a bowl of lukewarm congee by mid day he was only able to eat a few spoonfuls.
By the time he was expected to teleport to meet Mobei Jun, he was halfway decided not to go at all. However, when he looked at his half opened closet and spotted one of the cloaks Mobei Jun had gifted him about a month after he’d returned to the Northern Desert, he decided to meet him – he supposed he owed him at least that. After all, it’d been 20 or so years since they’d met.
He activated the pendant with a small amount of his qi, and before he knew it he was standing in– Mobei Jun’s rooms?
“Shang Qinghua,” he heard Mobei Jun say from behind him, and he whirled around to meet him, looking as impossibly handsome as he’d always been.
“My king,” he greeted, because old habits died hard.
Mobei Jun motioned towards the low table on one end of the rooms, and Shang Qinghua nodded, heading towards it, only to see–
“Are you having dinner?” he asked, feeling slightly awkward.
“These are for you,” Mobei Jun said, and when Shang Qinghua took a seat, he looked over to the single bowl in the middle of the table to find that it was a bowl of hand pulled noodles.
“My king?” he questioned, feeling at a loss. “Is this because of what I said?”
Was he trying to make their final meeting between king and servant even more awkward by giving him the noodles he’d accused him of never making for him?
“No,” Mobei Jun said, staring at him intently. “Eat.”
Shang Qinghua obeyed, too hungry and too curious to refuse the mouth watering bowl of noodles in front of him, and his eyes widened as he took the first bite.
“Did you make these yourself?” he asked, before immediately eating another mouthful, unable to control himself.
“En,” Mobei Jun confirmed. “Since your return to the palace I’ve been… learning,” he admitted. “My first few attempts were not edible.”
Oh. Oh, how he’d misunderstood him. Not only had Mobei Jun remembered his promise, he’d been actively trying to fulfill it and learn how to make hand pulled noodles so he could– so he–
“Ah, my king,” he said, resting his chopsticks for a moment, “this lowly servant didn’t remember you wouldn’t know how to make them.”
He felt oddly ashamed, and he found he didn’t know how to act now that this side of Mobei Jun had been revealed to him. Still, “Why did you summon me, my king?” he asked, in between bites of his food.
“To make amends,” Mobei Jun said, very matter of factly. “To ask you to stay.”
Ah. He wasn’t sure he could, no matter how much he wanted to.
“I’m sorry, my king,” he said, keeping his gaze on the bowl in front of him, though his stomach suddenly felt too tight and he didn’t feel capable of eating anymore. “I’m not sure there’s a place for me here anymore.”
“Qinghua,” Mobei Jun said, and he hated how frustrated he sounded. “Are you getting married? To that human?”
“Lai Yong?” he asked, before shaking his head. “No, I– I’m not getting married at all. To anyone.”
“Then why?” Mobei Jun asked. “How is there not a place for you here when this palace isn’t the same without you at all?”
Shang Qinghua swallowed, still refusing to look at Mobei Jun, and ignored the sting of tears in his eyes. “Most of my duties will be taken over by your wife,” he said, after a long moment. “What will I do then?”
“There will be no wife,” Mobei Jun said, the frustration evident in his voice, and Shang Qinghua looked up at him in surprise.
“What?”
“There was never going to be any wife,” Mobei Jun said, staring at him intently. “The elders– they were meddling and forcing their will on me, and I had to go along until I could solidify my political position. I’ve only been recently crowned, I needed to conquer more territories to add to the kingdom before I could start disobeying their will,” he explained, saying more words in a row than Shang Qinghua had ever heard him say in the last 20 years.
“Oh,” he said, trying to process his words. “So you’re not getting married?”
“No,” Mobei Jun confirmed.
“And you don’t want to get married?” he asked, doubtfully.
“Not to them.”
“Huh.” Pause. “Wait. So you do want to get married? To who–“
“Qinghua,” Mobei Jun interrupted, impatience coloring his voice. “I hounded the kitchen staff for months on end to teach me how to cook hand pulled noodles and even had to resort to Junshang,” he pulled a face, clearly displeased, “and you don’t know who it is I want to marry?”
Somehow, during their entire conversation, Mobei Jun had gravitated closer to him, sitting almost flush against him.
“Maybe,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper, “I need to hear you say it.”
“Qinghua,” Mobei Jun murmured, so close to his face that he could hear him clearly, and before their lips could touch, “you’re the only one I would ever want to marry. Never think otherwise,” and then he dipped his head and brushed his lips against his, surprisingly gentle.
“My king,” he whispered, and then their lips met again, and again, and he nearly climbed into his lap really, but then–
“What was that?” Mobei Jun exclaimed, gripping Shang Qinghua’s arms protectively.
“Ah, my king,” he said, too embarrassed. “That was my stomach, I’m very hungry… let me finish my noodles?”