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Shen Qingqiu only suspected he was dreaming when he opened his eyes because he knew he’d just felt them slide closed against his will in Mu Qingfang’s private patient room. Otherwise, he was in a very convincing approximation of Hell.
A prickle on the back of his neck was the only warning he got to neatly sidestep a blast of sulfurous fumes belching out of a crevice. What a bother. His fan before his face didn’t help with the stench, but he could at least pretend it was wafting in fresh air.
If he was dreaming, Binghe was here, and that’d be his ticket out. His poor husband. Already exhausted from the fighting today, and now his mind had brought him here, to what could only be the Abyss.
Technically, the Abyss he was experiencing could have been infinite, but Shen Qingqiu had dreamt with Binghe enough to gain a sense of the rules. Paths tended linearly towards the dreamer, other distant features warping like mirages as a visitor approached. His clearest option was to follow a river of magma into the distance, so that’s what he did, keeping his robes in hand and out of the way of errant sparks.
Walking gave him plentiful time to go back over the Abyss years in his mind; the nights he’d sat wondering where his white-lotus disciple was, whether he was hurt, whether there were demons challenging him, drawn to his protagonist aura. Whether he was lonely. Whether he was angry.
It was long in the past now, which was usually the perfect excuse for Shen Qingqiu to keep the memories of his biggest mistake at bay, but there was no hiding from them here. He walked, and thought, and looked forward for Binghe with all his mortal and immortal senses.
The sound of fighting was his clue, and he leapt forward towards the commotion, qinggong steps carrying him through the Abyss like the wind.
A raw, broken scream echoing off the rock walls of the passageway nearly stopped his heart in his chest. It was unmistakably Binghe, although Shen Qingqiu hadn’t heard such desperation in his husband’s voice since Maigu Ridge. His panicked flight overrode the rough physics of dreams and the ground melted away beneath his feet, hundreds of meters sliding by in a few steps.
He leapt from a cliff edge and landed lightly in a recessed clearing. Binghe was in the center of the depression, but – he was not his husband who had fallen asleep in Mu Qingfang’s sickbed, but the teenaged disciple Shen Qingqiu had sent into the Abyss all those years ago.
His hands were up, still shielding his face from falling blood splatters, fingers stretched fully into demonic claws. A freshly dismembered bat demon, or the pieces thereof, smacked to the floor between them, leaving the air quiet between them.
Shen Qingqiu sighed. “Binghe. Let’s – “
“Go home” was cut off before he could give it voice. Binghe howled, a raw and wordless noise. “Why are you here?” He cried. He curled into himself, shielding his head with his arms.
Poor thing! Terrified by his own dreamscape. He must have been truly exhausted to have lost so much control. Shen Qingqiu folded his fan and dropped his hands to his sides. “Binghe…” he began again, entreating. “We’re dreaming. Do you remember falling asleep?”
Binghe shook his head, eyes wide with terror. “You shouldn’t be here! Why are you lying to me?”
“We were fighting on the Northern border today. You were wounded, and Mu-shidi is keeping you overnight. We fell asleep.” He was waiting for the light of comprehension to dawn in his husband’s eyes as he spoke; when it didn’t, he was at a loss for words.
“Shizun… why did you bring us to the North?”
What did that mean? Binghe was the one who had needed to lend aid to the North in Mobei-jun’s absence; Shen Qingqiu would have no business there otherwise. “Binghe. What’s the last thing you remember?”
“Before I was here?”
Shen Qingqiu nodded.
“Shizun really wishes to hear this one say it?” This in a hoarse whisper.
(Obviously – he wouldn’t have asked otherwise!) He nodded again.
“Shizun put this lowly disciple into the Abyss. A punishment this one deserved.”
Ah, shit. Dreams! Binghe didn’t just look like the teenaged disciple; for the moment, he was that child, scared and alone in the Abyss.
“Has Shizun come to finish his work? Did he expect this disciple to have fallen already?” His voice had taken on a dangerous edge, demon mark blazing as he dropped his arms. His feet were shifting into a ready stance, textbook perfect as always. “This one is sorry to disappoint Shizun with his continued existence. Perhaps the Abyss suits this one – my power has grown here!” He launched himself towards Shen Qingqiu with this last sentence, forcing him to spin away from a wild swipe of his bloody claws.
There was no chance of Shen Qingqiu fighting back here; any damage dealt to this Luo Binghe would only hurt his convalescing husband, and, more importantly, it would take a monster to raise a hand against this poor suffering disciple!
Shen Qingqiu skipped a few steps backwards, playing for distance. He needed time to think – what would this Binghe believe from him? What magic words would make him lower his guard against his beloved Shizun who had thrown him away to suffer down here?
Shen Qingqiu groaned internally. This was hopeless! What did he know about this Binghe? He hadn’t even realized teenaged Binghe had been nursing a crush on him! Now it was so far in the past that that was about all he could say about this era. God willing that would be enough!
He kept his hands by his sides, deliberately unthreatening. “Luo Binghe, do you really think this master would be so cruel?”
…Might have been the wrong thing to say. Binghe flinched, wide eyes stricken. “I… I don’t know.”
Of course. His Shizun had thrown him down here, after all! He had wanted to do this without lying to his husband, but his brain could only work so fast, especially when he kept getting distracted by how miserable poor teenaged Binghe looked. He had to end this before someone got hurt; he’d just have to apologize to him when they woke up.
“You’ve already grown so strong since I saw you last – this master only wished to see your progress.” He could see Binghe struggling with this and pressed his advantage. “You’ve done so well; you might be ready to come home already. Would you like that?”
The look in Binghe’s eyes could have broken his heart. Stay focused!
“Shizun… this was-?”
Shen Qingqiu nodded encouragingly. Let Binghe’s own subconscious fill in whatever logic he needed; Shen Qingqiu treaded safer ground responding to his lead.
Binghe shook his head. “I don’t understand. Were my skills not already adequate?”
“When has Qing Jing peak settled for adequate?”
“I would have done any training Shizun asked of me! Why did you have to – why did I have to be alone?” This last was barely above a whisper.
Aiyah, this was really too tragic. Wake up, wake up, wake up! “No challenge in Cang Qiong could have been a sufficient test for you. This master needed to seek other options.”
“You really… you meant for me to live?”
“Binghe. This master would never send you somewhere if I did not have full faith that you would return.” That, at least, was the truth, whole and complete. He’d always known that Binghe would triumph over the Abyss.
At his words, something in Binghe seemed to crumble. His disciple stood raw and trembling, hands limp at his sides, eyes pinned to Shen Qingqiu.
He couldn’t stop himself any longer; he crossed the clearing towards Binghe. “Are you ready to go home?” He reached out and pulled his disciple – his husband – into his arms. “Come here. There – rest a moment.”
Before he’d even finished speaking, Binghe was collapsing into him, face pressed into the shoulder of his robes. Shen Qingqiu lowered them both to the ground. He could feel Binghe shaking, exhausted, and let his husband worm half into his lap. (He felt a pang of nostalgia, at this; he should’ve hugged Binghe more when his disciple was still so small – so fragile.)
He petted over Binghe’s hair, shushing him. He wasn’t surprised to feel his robes grow damp with silent tears, and he brought his free hand up to rub his disciple’s back.
“You must have been so frightened. Poor Binghe.” He sighed. “You did so well. Of course you did. Still – this master should have accompanied you. I was neglectful.”
He was still sitting on the rocky floor of the Abyss, stroking Binghe’s hair, when he realized his husband’s form had shifted. He was heavy in Shen Qingqiu’s lap, now, broad with muscle, legs sprawling out a little farther. The grown man of the present was back.
“Shizun?”
“Binghe. I’m here.”
His husband sighed, contented with that little explanation, and wound his arms around Shen Qingqiu’s middle, nuzzling into his neck. “Let’s go home.”
Shen Qingqiu needed no second invitation. When he blinked, he was in the chair by Binghe’s bedside, predawn light creeping through the windows of the private room. His husband was awake in bed, soft eyes meeting his own. When Binghe reached out for him, Shen Qingqiu went without hesitation.