Work Text:
The Endless Abyss combined all the worst aspects of the world of humans with the world of nature. The demonic wasteland overflowed with nightmarish monsters, beings with all the strength and savagery of an animal combined with the malice and cruelty of a man. Horned creatures that sharpened their antlers on the bones of their young. Hunting cats that oh so carefully skinned their prey while the poor wretch still lived, all to hear their screams. Trees with searching eyes and roots that grasped at anything passing by and constricted them until their victims choked on their organs.
There were no rulers as there were in the Demon Realm, those who enforced order and protocol, twisted thought they might be.
In the Abyss, there was only blood and cruelty.
Once again, Luo Binghe was alone in a world that would as soon crush him as look at him. Now, though, there was no Shen QuingQiu to lift him out of his misery.
But maybe that was a good thing.
In the Endless Abyss, there was no Shen QuingQiu to give him false hope and delude him into thinking the world could be kind. Binghe had no distractions as he fought for survival and planned his revenge for Shen QuingQiu the moment he made it back to the mortal realm.
It was the only thing that kept Binghe fighting through pain and exhaustion that made him want to die.
When he found his old teacher, when he finally wrapped his clawed hands around his slim, pale throat…
The Abyss’s horrors would seem like a child’s daydream in comparison.
Grip tightening on the old sword he’d scavenged in his early days in the Abyss, Binghe slowed his breathing, tensing behind a blind of dead, twisted vines. He was being hunted; likewise, he was hunting. He and a demon had been stalking each other for days, circling each other, slowly coming closer to an inevitable final confrontation. There wasn’t much water in this part of the abyss, and the demon would likely come to drink at the dirty pool of water that sat at the bottom of the rock pit Binghe had staked out.
The bushes below him rustled. A dark shape slinked across the ground, tail flicking lackadaisically as it approached the water.
The demon looked like a massive cat, larger than a tiger, with pitch-black fur and flat yellow eyes. Its paws were metallic, and its claws scraped against the ground with s sound like steel on a whetstone.
The beast lowered its head, as if to drink – then stopped. A rounded ear flicked. It sat back on its haunches and licked its paw like a spoiled housecat. It opened its mouth and – bizarrely – a lilting warble came from its throat.
The moon is bright, the wind is quiet,
The tree leaves hang over the window.
My little baby, go to sleep quickly,
Sleep, sleep, dreaming sweet dreams.
Exhaustion washed over Binghe like a warm summer wind. His muscles, pushed past their limit in the Abyss, ached anew. The vision of his mother, washing laundry while singing to a dozing Binghe beside her, flashed through his mind. Warm weight pulled at his bones. He should just lie down for a bit. Just a few moments wouldn’t hurt…
When he opened his eyes, the feline demon was standing right before him, its eyes flashing with bloodlust. Binghe couldn’t bring himself to lift his sword – he could barely even stand.
The monster was still singing.
The moon is bright, the wind is quiet,
The cradle moves softly.
My little one, close your eyes,
Sleep, sleep, dreaming sweet dreams.
Binghe stumbled. The monster leaped forward the length of at least five men and slammed into his middle, pinning him to the ground. Pain exploded through his sides – the creature’s claws, cold and hard like steel, sliced through his robes, skin, and muscles.
It stared down at him, licking its chops with a pink, forked tongue. Binghe stared back, stone-faced. If this was to be his end, he wouldn’t give the beast the satisfaction of seeing a single tear from him.
The creature’s split into a grin. “Goodbye, little pup.”
Squinting through the pain, Binghe looked up at his murderer – and instead saw his teacher, looking down at him with the same disgust and scorn he’d worn before shoving Binghe into the Abyss.
Binghe roared, baring his teeth like the beast pining on him, before pulling his legs in and kicking out with all his strength. The big cat yowled in surprise as it was flung back, not expecting such resistance from sleep-stunned prey.
Binghe stood, gripping his sword. Hatred burned through his veins – hatred of the Abyss, the world, his teacher. It burned away sleeping magic like cleansing fire, and the drowsiness evaporated in seconds.
He wasn’t dying before he could face his teacher again.
The beast leaped, and Binghe readied his blade, swinging upward.
He roared a battle cry, maybe his last –
- Only to blink and find himself flat on his back, staring at an ordinary wooden ceiling.
He reached forward, searching for his sword, and an ugly jolt of shock shot down his spine. He didn’t recognize his hand. It felt like him, but it was too muscled, the nails too pointed.
His body was all wrong. His body was broader as if he had aged years in mere seconds. Sharpened canines rested against his tongue. Even stranger was how healthy he felt. He wasn’t hungry or thirsty, and he didn’t ache from any of the dozen wounds he’d earned in the Abyss.
The surprises didn’t end after he sat up. He was in a small room. It didn’t look like a prison cell; The windows were too bright, and it looked too lived in. Spare odds and ends - a discarded shirt in the corner, a pair of shoes tossed aside carelessly, and a potted vining plant - painted the scene with a calm, domestic brush. An open window let in the rich warm scents of summer and the sounds of birds and a distant river.
His mind raced. Plenty of demons used illusions - any one of them could have trapped him in a dream world like a spider snaring a beetle. But the last demon he’d seen had been the giant cat. Why would it trap him in an illusion when he was already within its grasp? What’s more, illusion demons seemed to enjoy the suffering of their prey. Why stick him in an illusion where he was free from pain?
The floor creaked. Binghe’s head snapped up. A child crouched in the corner, eyes wide as it stared at Binghe. It looked like a girl, dressed in a small set of robes resembling those of Qing Jing Peak, but she didn’t look human – fangs poked out from the corners of the child’s mouth, and a pair of small horns jutted out from her forehead.
Binghe and the child stared at each other for a heartbeat – then she dashed away through the door. Binghe heard her footsteps on wood, then on earth, before the sound faded into the distance.
He made to follow, but a pain in his left leg forced him back down onto the bed. A peek under his blanket and pant leg revealed two recently scabbed puncture wounds on his now much more muscular thigh. The skin there was whole, but it was bruised a sickening mosaic of purples, greens, and yellows. Even though it hurt, it was still mild compared to the wounds he’d earned in the Endless Abyss.
The puncture wound looked like a snake bit, albeit a massive one. But Binghe didn’t feel sick – in fact, he was actually hungry. Could the venom have accelerated both his healing and growth?
Binghe was still marveling at his new form when he heard footsteps in the hall again. At least one pair was small, probably belonging to the child from earlier. The other pair was larger and walked more slowly.
“Will Uncle Luo be angry?” a young voice whispered from the other side of the door.
“No, not angry. Just confused.” A man’s voice answered.
Luo Binghe stopped breathing.
Shen QingQiu.
His teacher was on the other side of the door.
So many feelings rose in him at once that he felt dizzy. Certainty that he wasn’t in an illusion – no illusion could capture his teacher’s voice so well. He’d memorized its tenor and cadence until he could dream of it without effort. Confusion – if he wasn’t in an illusion, what was going on? And who was the child? And why would they call him uncle?
But chief of all was hate.
Binghe didn’t understand why he was where he was, but that didn’t matter. The chance for revenge had quite literally walked up to him like a deer blundering into a hidden hunter. He would be a fool to let it slip by.
“He may be hungry,” the child said. “What if congee isn’t enough? I can add – “
“No!”
Shen QingQiu cut the child off quickly, harshly. Luo Binghe growled under his breath. Was he showing his true colors now, openly treating his students like trash? Like he’d treated Binghe?
“No.” His old teacher said again, this time more gently. “Uncle Luo is still recovering. He doesn’t need anything – ah – heavy on his stomach. Now, tend to him. I am taking your sister down to the river. Find us if you need anything.”
Binghe listened as his teacher’s footsteps faded into the distance. He’d been so close – so close! But springing upon his old teacher when he was aware and alert and Binghe was reeling from a yet-unknown poison was a one-way path to defeat. He would have to be smarter than that.
Binghe took a deep breath, then called out in a confused and innocent voice, “Hello? Is someone there?”
The door opened. A child stood in the doorway holding a tray bearing congee and a steaming cup.
She walked carefully and placed the tray beside him before taking a seat herself. She looked similar to the other child - same chin, same eyes, same nose. She, like the other, was small and nervous, but she bore no fangs or horns. Instead, her human appearance was marred by a green sigil resting in the center of her forehead.
“Please, eat.” She said. “You must be hungry.”
Binghe ate, more to show obedience than anything. Before he took a first bite of the warm bowl, the hair on his neck stood on end. He could swear there was another presence in the room, but when he looked around, he couldn’t sense anything.
“Are you all right?” the child asked.
Binghe made himself smile. “Of course.” He said, and took a bite of the porridge. It wasn’t bad congee, but it was lumpy, and it tasted like one part may have burned.
The girl was peering closely at him. “Is it good?” she asked.
“Wonderful,” Binghe said. It certainly was not, but the beaming smile he got in response was worth the lie. Clearly, the child has a weakness for praise. It was the knowledge that could come in handy. “Could you tell me where I am?”
“In our Shizun’s mountain cabin. It’s safe here.” She said. “Shizun told me to ask you what the last thing you remember was.”
Binghe mulled over his response. The Shen QingQiu here may be suspicious of him, hence sending in a child to see him in his stead. He had no idea what the child knew about him or how he felt about his old teacher.
Binghe shook his head. “I’m not sure.” He said. “I remember preparing to fight in a tournament. My Shizun was there… but I don’t remember anything after that.”
He glanced at his lone audience member. If she knew anything about what that tournament meant, she didn’t show it. “Shizun said that this could happen. You were bitten by a Crimson Ivory Cobra. The venom affects memory, and he said you may have lmuch of your memories.”
“Is there an antidote?” Binghe asked.
“Shizun gave it to you already,” The child answered, “But he said it takes a long time to work. So may take a bit before your memories return.” She lowered her eyes, looking a bit abashed. “He said it would be best if you stay in here, so you don’t get tired. I wanted to add things to congee to make you feel better faster, but Shizun said no.”
“Add things?”
She nodded. “Like worms or bugs! There are some really good ones under the river rocks! But Shizun stopped me.”
As she spoke, Binghe caught a glimpse of small fangs in her mouth.
Binghe frowned. Maybe his teacher’s harsh words were not meant to admonish the child, but were instead to ensure that Binghe wasn’t fed any strange things while he recovered.
He had no idea if the child was telling the truth. Hurting her to find any answers was not even in the realm of possibility – he felt low and alone but he wasn’t so debased quite yet.
“Mh.” Binghe made a noncommittal noise. He ran his fingers through his hair as he thought. It was well brushed and felt healthy, as opposed to the bloody, dirty mess it had become as he’d roamed through the Abyss.
Something snagged on his fingers. He frowned and tugged a small woven thing from his curls. It looked like a hair tie, made of woven grasses with small, white flowers braided in.
“My sister made that for you.” The child explained. “Shizun showed us how. She wanted to help you feel better.”
He returned the tie to his hair. “It’s beautiful. What’s your sister's name?”
“Her name’s Useless. And I’m Trash.” The child tilted her head. “Or, sometimes she’s Trash, and I’m Useless. We share it.”
Binghe’s face fell, and his concern was genuine when asked. “Your Shizun calls you that?”
Shizun had treated him well - had practically spoiled him - before turning on him, but being so cruel to children seemed the kind of thing his old teacher used to do, before his sudden change in demeanor. Maybe his new cruelties extended to all of his students, not just Binghe.
But the child – Binghe refused to even think of her as ‘Trash or ‘Useless’– shook her head. “No, those were our names when Shizun and Uncle found us. Shizun won’t call us by our old names – he says we can pick new names now.”
“So what’s your name now?”
She looked down. “I don’t know. It’s hard to pick. I think Useless will pick a bird name. She really likes them.”
Binghe had been eating as the child spoke. Lumps or not, he was hungry. He quickly reached the bottom of the bowl.
“So you liked it, right?” the child asked. “I tried really hard. You made us really good food when you and Shizun found us, and I want to learn to make good food too!”
“It’s good,” Binghe said, placing the dish down, “but if you show me how you made it, I can help you make it even better.”
The child glanced at the door, hands fidgeting. “Shizun said I was supposed to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself. You’re still weak.”
Binghe smiled and stood up. “I’m feeling much better now, see?”
The statement was betrayed by Binghe’s own body as he stumbled a bit, but he quickly caught himself.
The child looked uncertain, but said, “If you don’t run, I guess it’s okay…”
Binghe followed the child as she led the way. The child would point to things in other rooms. “Do you remember this? Or this?” Whenever Binghe said that no, he didn’t, the child didn’t seem dissuaded at all., and seemed to be excited to show him things anew.
Again, Binghe thought he felt another presence with them, but try as he might, he couldn’t tell what it was.
Once they reached the kitchen, the child almost leaped with excitement and began showing him things. “This is where the rice is, and this is where we keep meat from hunts, Shizun loves that food best, so you try to make it for him a lot, and this is where we keep…”
She went on and on. Binghe was mildly overwhelmed. The kitchen was – odd. He had a disorienting feeling that he’d been there before. He didn’t remember doing so, of course, but it was a cooking space designed as if he’d designed it – every simple provision or spice he would keep in his ideal kitchen was in the space and was in the exact space he would keep it in.
He limped along as the child gave him a tour. If she was telling the truth, she’d helped him collect a lot of the supplies in the cupboards of the supplies.
She seemed curious and innocent and eager to please, and Binghe felt as if he were looking into a mirror. “You’ve done a good job here...” He trailed off. “I still don’t know what to call you. Do you have any names you like yet?”
The child’s excitement quickly gave way to a more subdued, pensive expression. ”Well… maybe part of it can be Jun.” She rubbed the mark on her forehead. “I hated this thing. But when I first met you, Uncle, you said it wasn’t bad. That it was handsome and noble.”
Binghe nodded. “Okay. So, Jun, why are we here? What was I doing before…” He trailed off and gestured to his leg.
The girl puffed out her thin chest in pride. “Because we’re Shizun’s students! He said he’d train us until we could take care of ourselves, and then we can join Cang Qiong Mountain or go anywhere else we want to go!”
As long as he didn’t push them into a hellpit first, Binghe thought. He smiled down at the child, Jun. “The congee was good! But you know what would make it better?” He nodded toward the open window, where the ground sloped upward and turned into a denser forest. “I think I’m starting to remember things – and I remember that there are some perfect coking herbs further up the mountain, in the middle of a grove of magnolia trees. Your food will taste wonderful if you can find them.”
Jun’s eyes widened. She ran toward the kitchen’s door, then stopped so short she almost fell over. “But Shizun said –“
Binghe smiled and gingerly patted his injured leg. “I can’t get very far on this. Go! I’ll be fine here.”
Jun hesitated, but temptation won out; she dashed out of sight and disappeared into the forest.
Binghe waited and listened until she was out of sight and hearing range. Once he was sure he was alone, he picked up a large kitchen knife from the counter and left the small house.
He felt a brief swell of guilt at lying to a child who clearly trusted him, but he shoved it down. He wasn’t hurting her, and it was unlikely that such young children, half-demon or not, would be taken to a dangerous forest as a training ground. She would obviously be devastated to learn her Shizun suddenly disappeared, but she’d adjust. Better to remember him as a wise teacher and role model than to realize what a monster he truly was.
He moved slowly. The wounds from the snake attack still pained him, and moving through the trees and grasses pulled on muscles he didn’t even know were injured. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he almost turned back. But then he thought of his old teacher, and the flame of hatred sparked in him. He nurtured the hatred the way a fire was nurtured with kindling so dry it cracked like bone.
Jun didn’t matter. Her sister didn’t matter. Why Binghe had woken up in a world where he and his teacher were teaching together didn’t matter. Whether Binghe survived after attacking Shen QingQiu didn’t matter. All that mattered was that SHizun was here and Binghe had a chance to catch him with his guard down.
He tracked Shen QingQiu and Jun’s sister easily. They weren’t trying to cover their tracks, Binghe knew they were heading to the river, and a peaceful summer mountainside was an almost comically serene environment compared to the death pits in the Abyss.
Soon he came across the river. Binghe ducked behind a copse of young trees.
Jun’s sister, the one with horns, was running alongside the river. If she was supposed to be training, she didn’t seem very concerned with it – she was running back and forth along the water, picking up plants or chasing after the birds in the trees.
Walking slowly alongside her, idly fanning himself, was Shen QingQiu.
The sight of him knocked the air out of Binghe’s lungs. He looked the same as he did in Binghe’s nightmares. He wore simpler robes, as he wasn’t at his Peak, but he held a similar fan, and the same dark, shiny hair stretched down his back. His eyes smiled down at the child. Those eyes - so bright, so knowledgable.
So deceiving.
The child dashed back toward her teacher and pointed toward something in the distance. He nodded, and the girl dashed off out of sight.
His old teacher was relaxed, strolling along the river and enjoying the calm summer day. Binghe wouldn’t get another chance like this.
He slipped out from the cover of the trees and said, “Shizun.”
Binghe‘s grip tightened on the knife’s handle. An attack while his back was turned, a stab to the kidneys, or a slash through his carotid artery, would have been best. But Binghe wanted to see Shen QingQiu’s eyes when his student plunged a knife into him. He wanted to see his fear and pain. He wanted Shen QingQiu to feel just as shocked, helpless, and alone as Binghe had been when he’d been shoved into the Abyss.
Shing QingQiu turned around, lowering his fan. He frowned. “Binghe? You should be resting.”
Binghe lunged, his blade flashing in the sun like a flame– and fell as a shock of pain jolted from both his thigh and an as-yet unnoticed wound on his back. His muscles spasmed, and he fell hard onto the riverbank. The kitchen knife slipped sideways and sliced through his sleeve, nicking his skin and drawing blood. The little sting was the most humiliating part of it all, somehow.
“Binghe!”
Binghe grunted and tried to right himself. Hands settled on his shoulder – and, oh, he remembered the feel of those hands, or his smell, or the mere presence of him. He could never forget them, even when he tried.
He looked up to see Shen QingQiu staring at him, pain and worry on his face. Beyond him, Binghe saw his old teacher’s fan, lying in the reeds and mud where he’d dropped it.
“Binghe, are you all right?” His Shizun asked. His hands lightly traced his shoulders, the side of his neck, and his face, as if searching for injuries.
Binghe stared at the man. Copper flooded his tongue, and hatred burned behind his eyes. He should spit at the man, or bite him, maul him as if he were the dog Shen QingQiu treated him like.
“Why did you leave me?”
Shen QingQiu blinked, clearly startled. So was Binghe – he hadn’t known the words would come out of his mouth.
The medicine was affecting his mind. It seemed to be affecting Binghe’s senses, too, because his eyes were watering. “Why did you leave me?” He choked. “What did I do? Why did you do that to me?”
Shen QingQiu’s face softened. He pulled Binghe into his arms. “Oh, Binghe.”
Binghe wanted to fight back – this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, he was supposed to hurt his teacher and now he was blubbering like a child – but when he felt his teacher’s arms around him, felt the fabric of his traveling robes under his cheek, something broke.
“I loved you!” What should have been an accusation came out like a desperate plea, choked out from a tear-sained throat. “I loved you, I loved you, I love you! I don’t understand, why, why…”
His voice broke as all the feelings he’d suppressed in the Abyss came to the fore.
He cried, and his teacher never left him.
=
He felt as if he would cry forever, but, eventually, his eyes ran dry. His Shizun, who’d been soothing him all the while with soft words and a gentle hand on his back, said, “This must be very confusing for you.”
Binghe sniffed loudly and lifted his head from Shen QingQiu’s now very damp shoulder. He nodded.
Shen QingQiu smiled. Binghe was still a slave to that smile, and maybe always would be. “I apologize for this morning,” he said, “But I didn’t know what state you would wake in, if you remember me, from now or… before.”
Seeing that Binghe’s first thoughts upon waking were how to kill him, that made sense. “But the children…”
“I trust you.” Shen QingQiu said. “No matter how you felt about me, I doubted you’d hurt children. And they’re more capable than you’d think. They fended for themselves for a long time.”
Part of his heart was thrilled to hear Shen QingQiu say he trusted him. “So, I’ve forgiven you, now?”
Shen Qingqiu glanced away and made an aborted motion with his hand as if he wanted to cover his face with an absent fan. “I can’t speak for you,” he said slowly. “Especially because I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself. But you survive the Abyss, and you are magnificent. Your students – the few you take on – adore you.” His Shizun glanced away, a faint blossom of red blooming on his cheeks. “I… also, care for you as well. Very much so.”
Binghe’s heart shot from despair to confused elation that his head swam. Care for him… did that mean… could that mean ..?
He was dizzy with the possibilities.
When he tried to stand, his vision swam, and he fell into his old master’s lap.
Now Binghe’s face was flushed red. He made to leave, but Shen QingQiu put a hand on his shoulder. “Stop, stop. You’ll hurt yourself. Just relax, settle.”
Still blushing madly, he followed his old teacher’s orders. He didn’t get up, but he still made a conscious effort to not lean back into Shen QingQiu’s chest. If he did, he felt like he’d fall apart all over again.
Shen Qingiu idly ran a hand through Binghe’s hair, even though his hair wasn’t tangled at all. He hummed something under his breath, the melody underscored by the wind through the leaves and the river flow.
Eventually, Shen QingQiu’s humming coalesced into words.
I watch you leave until you are lost,
I watch water flowing,
I watch ferns drifting
Endlessly away.
It was his mother’s song. Binghe just barely remembered her voice, loud and strong, as she sang it while washing clothes, or putting him down to sleep.
If he really had lost his memories, and he was in his future, then he must have taught it to Sheng QingQiu or must have sung it himself so often that Sheng QingQiu learned it.
That more than anything finally put him at ease.
He closed his eyes.
=
When Luo Binghe opened his eyes again, he was still lying on his Shizun by the riverside.
Three pairs of concerned eyes were staring down at him; Shen QingQiu’s and the half-demon twins.
Binghe smiled up at his husband. “Hello, Shizun.”
Shizun smiled back.
“You’re okay!” Jun slammed into his middle, her sister immediately following suit. “You’re okay, you’re okay!” She peeked up at him, eyes watering. The sight tore at him. He remembered now finding the pair years ago when traveling with Shen QingQiu - how the girls had been left to die in winter because of their parentage, and how Shen QingQiu took them under his wing without a second thought.
“Usel- My sister said she wants part of her name to be Niao,” Jun said, face muffled by his chest. “That’s as much as she’s got so far.”
Binghe smiled at the silent twin. “Very fitting! It’s beautiful, Niao.”
Niao beamed as bright as the sun.
“I’m sorry I left you,” Jun went on, eyes downcast. “I’m really, really sorry.”
He patted her head. “It’s fine.” He glanced past the top of her head into the trees. “And I wasn’t truly alone, was I?”
The ghostly presence always on the edge of his sense revealed itself. The feline demon he’d fought to a draw so long ago in the Abyss, Black Fang, stepped out from the shadows, flicking an ear in irritation.
In another life, if Binghe had sought to mend his heart by conquering lands and coveting wives, the demon could have been one of his most feared spies and assassins, acting as an extension of his eyes and ears in his vast empires.
In this life, however, Black Fang fulfilled her life debt to Binghe for sparing her life by carrying out errands.
She frowned as much as a cat could frown. “I don’t care what snake or scorpion or leech bites you next, I’m not playing nursemaid again. It’s undignified. Look after your own mate and cubs.”
He nodded, straight-faced, and did not mention the times she’d almost preened as Shen QingQiu fawned over her monstrous fangs and claws, or when she’d let the children climb on her like a tree. “Of course.”
=
Later that night, much later, as the twins slept in their bedroom and Binghe was settling down to sleep, his husband nudged him in the dark. “Are you okay, Binghe? Really?”
Binghe thought about it. A part of him, a fairly large part, would always be the raw and wounded young man fighting for his life in the Abyss. But that emotion was tempered now with years and experience and knowledge of his Shizun’s love for him.
Binghe pulled his husband close and kissed him. “I am, husband. I really am.”