Chapter Text
Copper filled his mouth, blood spilling from his lips and staining his robes. His throat gurgled with blood, attempting to inhale air that he neither desired nor required.
Yue Qingyuan, that idiot. Why did he come back for him now? Why did he attend the meeting? Why would he start to care now? What did he expect to do? Beat Luo Binghe? Then what? His legs were gone. Living as a cripple was worse than death.
Why would he honor a decades late promise now? When it was too late, again?
Shen Qingqiu sucked in a breath, coughing out blood. It splattered across the gleaming sword shards that lay scattered across the floor. Dead, Yue Qingyuan, Qi-ge was dead, for him. Why? Was the guilt too much to bear?
With his good eye, Shen Qingqiu glared at the shattered sword fragments, as black spots danced across his vision.
Pathetic, he mused. Starting as a street rat and slave, rising to peak lord, only to descend back into slavery. The rise and fall of his worthless life. Qi-ge would have been wise to abandon him to his fate when they were younger. Enduring all the pain and suffering only to contemplate suicide now.
His fingers feebly clenched the blood-covered sword shard, to his chest. The sharper end of the shard, embedded into Shen Qingqiu’s throat. Crimson steadily flowed to the floor. His fingers were numb from the blood loss, and even his golden core’s strength was rapidly fading. The blade cut into his palms, and he was slowly losing consciousness.
Gathering all of his remaining strength, he pushed the blade shard further into his neck. The wound pulsed with warmth, muffled choked noises leaving his throat.
He had to die before Luo Binghe returned. The deceptive bastard’s cruelty was beyond the others. He couldn’t take it anymore. He wouldn’t. This was his last act of rebellion, of freedom.
His body lay atop rapidly cooling blood, seeping into his white robes and staining one side as it continued to spread. Shen Qingqiu's slender torso curled into a protective ball, cradling the shard embedded in his throat. His one remaining arm pressed the shard into his throat in a white knuckle grip.
Red bloomed, and white gradually faded. Inky black hair, once vibrant and envied by all, strewed across the soiled floor, filthy and matted. Shen Qingqiu’s death was just a soft exhale. For all the biting words and scathing remarks, his death had been peaceful.
A shadow in the corner moved, and long muscular legs stepped out of them, followed by a lean, well-toned body. Luo Binghe calmly took a few strides forward. His form was unsullied by anything. He moved with elegance, charismatic with every move. His face was perfectly symmetrical, with even brows, well-defined cheekbones, a jaw, and deep-set eyes. He was both handsome and beautiful, excluding a charm that was irresistible to all.
The sound of his footsteps reverberated throughout the empty room. His white boots splattered with red as he walked across the bloodied floor. His form was intimidating as he watched the probe body of his former Shizun.
His eyes were filled with indescribable emotion. His proud Shizun was crippled, taking his own life, in despair. He should have been happy. Or even mad, at the audacity of Shen Qingqiu who took his own life. But why did he feel nothing?
He tore his eyes away from the weak, haggard dead body of Shen Qingqiu. The body caught on fire the moment Luo Binghe turned. Flames devoured his body, and the raging fire behind him did nothing to ward off the coldness in his bones.
He didn't take another look back at the body, as he left. The door swung open with a heavy thud. He left it open, walking away. The hallway was empty. He didn't need anyone to guard Shen Qingqiu. He wouldn’t…
His mood soured as he walked down the empty wing of the palace- the one he'd specifically dedicated to Shen Qingqiu, to torture him.
What was the use of this wing now? Could he have it destroyed? Or allow his harem to reoccupy the space?
Shen Qingqiu’s tear-stained face, as he clutched a sword fragment to his chest, flashed in his mind. His heart throbbed and he clutched his chest. That bastard, tormenting him even in death.
Luo Binghe should have never let him die. He should have kept him alive, longer, waited, and dragged out his death. Why didn’t he?
Shen Qingqiu in his last moments had looked so human . Even when Luo Binghe, tore off his limbs, whipped him, and tortured him, he looked unobtainable. Something converted but never in reach.
Laying on the ground, broken and bleeding, he looked too human . He loathed it.
He could only watch as he pitifully crawled closer to the scattered sword shards. Each movement drew out a hoarse sound from his throat, agonizing even to Luo Binghe. Then he plunged the shard into his throat without hesitation. Red spilled from a flawless white throat, and the stubborn light inside his eyes died out, snuffed out. Luo Binghe did nothing to prevent it.
His unpleasant temper lasted throughout the day. His harem, the lowly lustful creatures he’d bedded once, were useless. Their flattering, honey-soaked words and voluptuous figures scad in tight revealing clothes didn't appease him at all.
“My lord,” One of his numerous wives, he didn’t care enough to know all their names, batted her eyes. She was slender and pretty with perfect curves. Her voice was sweet and melodious, sinking into one’s mind and captivating them instantly. Refusing such a gentle, seductive beauty with a voice like a lure wasn’t possible.
“Get lost.” Luo Binghe snapped, rubbing his temples. Soft fingers immediately moved to his temples, massaging the area with expert skills. He leaned back and sighed. A fan blew on him, providing a light breeze, while the others moved to massaging, and caressing his arms and legs. There was no more talking, just the pleasant flutter of a fan waving. His mind was clear. Shen Qingqiu’s suicide wasn’t something he cared about.
“Luo Binghe,” A cold yet silk-like voice whispered, like a silvery sharp thread that pressed to his throat. The faintest touch of warmth pressed against his outer ear. “You liar .” The strand felt like a knife pressed against his throat.