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Chapter Text

The Misadventures of Shang Qinghua's Modesty!

Shang Qinghua had always been a bit of an enigma among the Peak Lords of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect. His peculiar ways, his odd habits, and his tendency to blurt out whatever came to his mind often left his peers bewildered. Especially with many of the odder phrases he used, blowing them off, dodging the questions of the peculiar phrasing then running off before the other party even realised they’ve been swindled. Today was no different.

It was a sweltering summer day, and the Peak Lords had gathered for an important meeting in the cool shade of the Hall of Melodious Harmony, a reprieve from the hotter, stuffier interior of the more professional hall of meetings on Qiong Ding. The air was thick with tension as they discussed the impending threats from rival sects (ahem.. Huan Hua), the latest demon incursions, and the distribution of resources. Shen Qingqiu, known for his strict demeanor and sharp tongue, was particularly on edge (but when is he not.) He glared at anyone who dared to speak out of turn, his fan snapping shut with an audible *thwack* whenever he disapproved, carrying his displeasure across the green plains.

Shang Qinghua, the Peak Lord of A Ding Peak, fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat. He had always found these meetings tedious, especially with his former life with the beautiful gift of technology where you could just email your problems, and the oppressive heat wasn’t helping. He tugged at his collar, his robes sticking to his skin, unaware of the flickering glances he was sent with the glimpse of smooth ivory shown underneath. While the other Peak Lords maintained their stoic composure, Shang Qinghua was visibly wilting.

“I swear, it’s like we’re sitting in a furnace,” he muttered, meaning for nobody to hear his quite bemoaning but loud enough for everyone to hear, anyway, with the Peak Lords enhanced .. well, everything.

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrowed. “If you find the conditions unsuitable, Peak Lord Shang, perhaps you’d like to take your leave?”

“Oh, no, no, that’s not what I meant!” Shang Qinghua stammered, waving his hands in a flustered manner. “It’s just—well, it’s just too hot in here, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps you’d like us to summon a breeze for your delicate constitution?” Shen Qingqiu said with a sarcastic tilt of his head.

Shang Qinghua gulped. “No need, no need. I’ll just—” He began to strip off his outer robe, revealing another layer beneath. The other Peak Lords exchanged incredulous glances. Modesty was highly valued, and such a public display was unheard of. A couple of the meeker of the group even started spluttering and averting gazes in the act if this sudden removing of layers.

“What are you doing?” Shen Qingqiu’s voice was ice cold.

“It’s just—I mean—these robes are too much in this heat,” Shang Qinghua said, oblivious to the scandalized looks from the other Peak Lords. He stripped down to his inner robes, which were thankfully on the very border of modest enough to not cause a complete uproar, but the sight of him half-undressed in the supposed formal meeting was still shocking.

“Have you no sense of propriety?” Shen Qingqiu snapped, though there was a faint hint of amusement in his eyes. “This is a formal gathering, not your private quarters.”

“I—I didn’t think it would be a big deal,” Shang Qinghua said, scratching the back of his head. “I mean, we’re all acquainted enough here, right?”

“Acquainted to a degree with decorum,” Shen Qingqiu retorted. “Honestly, you’re like an overgrown child.”

Shang Qinghua’s face flushed with embarrassment, and he fumbled to put his outer robe back on. The other Peak Lords stifled their laughter, trying to maintain their stern expressions. The tension in the room had unexpectedly lifted, a rare occurrence in these mostly serious meetings, where hostility seemed to war at all times as people (specifically Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu) warred.

As Shang Qinghua struggled with his robe, Shen Qingqiu let out a soft, almost imperceptible chuckle. It was so out of character that several heads turned in his direction, eyes wide with surprise. Even Yue Qingyuan at the head of the table has his eyes open in a silent display of utter astonishment, a complete juxtaposition of his usual calm demeanour (or facade.)

“Shang Qinghua, you truly are a marvel,” Shen Qingqiu said, shaking his head. “One would think you’re doing this on purpose just to vex me.”
It was most obviously meant to come across in his usual snarking tone but it conveyed a sense of hidden.. mirth with it?

Shang Qinghua finally managed to re-dress himself, his cheeks still burning with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Shen Qingqiu. I didn’t mean to cause a scene.”

“Next time, try to endure a little discomfort for the sake of propriety,” Shen Qingqiu advised, though his tone was more amused than harsh. “We wouldn’t want to give the demons another reason to laugh at us.”

A ripple of laughter went around the room, and even Shen Qingqiu’s lips twitched in the semblance of a smile. For a brief moment, the strict and serious atmosphere was broken, replaced with a rare sense of camaraderie.

As the meeting continued, Shang Qinghua tried to stay as unobtrusive as possible, but he couldn’t help but notice the occasional smirk directed his way. It wasn’t the first time he’d found himself the center of attention for all the wrong reasons, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. But if his awkwardness could bring a moment of levity to his peers, then perhaps it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Shen Qingqiu, for his part, found himself looking at Shang Qinghua with a newfound appreciation. The man was a mess, but there was something endearing about his earnestness and lack of guile. It was a refreshing contrast to the constant scheming and politicking that surrounded them.

As the meeting finally adjourned, Shen Qingqiu approached Shang Qinghua, his fan tapping lightly against his palm. “Shang Qinghua, a word of advice: next time, just bear with the heat. Your reputation might thank you for it.”

Shang Qinghua nodded vigorously. “I will, I will. Thank you, Shen Qingqiu.”

Shen Qingqiu raised an eyebrow. “And for the record, you’re not entirely insufferable. Just mostly.”

Shang Qinghua blinked in surprise, then broke into a wide grin. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Shen Qingqiu turned away, hiding the small smile behind his fan that threatened to break free. “You would.”

As they left the hall, the other Peak Lords shook their heads, their expressions a mix of exasperation and amusement, breaking off into groups as this continued with their duties. Shang Qinghua might have been an oddity, but he was their oddity, and in the end, that was all that mattered.

Extra:

As Shang Qinghua walked down the corridor, he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Liu Qingge, his face as stoic as ever, though his eyes held a glimmer of something unreadable.

“Next time,” Liu Qingge said quietly, a weird eerie feeling emanating from it as it contrasted from his usual bold and loud way of action. Shang Qinghua began to feel sweat crawling down his back, slipping beneath his shoulder blades as he wondered if today was the day he was gonna get beat to death by their resident war god.

Just as he was evaluating if now would be a good time to break out into a run, hop onto his sword and bury himself underneath mounds of blankets (no matter the heat) Liu Qingge’s unfairly plump lips parted to impart a particular threat of-

“bring a fan. It might help.”

Huh..?

Shang Qinghua nodded, feeling his face heat up again. “I will. Thank you, Liu-shidi.”

Liu Qingge merely grunted, but the brief touch of his hand lingered on Shang Qinghua’s shoulder longer than necessary. Each touch left like it burned, like touching the sun as Icarus and feeling his wings burn but he couldn’t really.. pull away.

As he continued on, he found Qi Qingqi waiting for him outside. She gave him a rare, genuine smile. “Shang-shixiong, if you ever need help with your robes, I’m sure we can find a more suitable solution than disrobing in the middle of a meeting.” She spoke with her usual confidence, letting a glimmer of deceptive amusement shine through her facade, holding an equally deceptive delicate hand up to combat the string of giggles that escaped.

Shang Qinghua chuckled nervously with her, just wanting whatever seemed to be happening to end and retreat to the (mild) safety of his leisure house to wild completely and sink into the ground,’ever to be seen again for at least the rest of the day as he wallows in self made pity.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Qi-shijie. Thank you.”

Lastly, he almost bumped into Yue Qingyuan, who had been standing by the entrance, seemingly waiting for him, and Shang Qinghua swore taht if another rock-hard abb was gonna pummel his face in again mysteriously as he books it around a corner he’s not gonna be able to contain a qi deviation.

“Shang Qinghua, it’s good to see you in high spirits. Your presence always brings a certain... uniqueness to our gatherings.”

He really doesn’t know if he should be flattered or.. offended.

Shang Qinghua scratched his head, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the weather. “Thank you, Yue-shixiong. I’ll try to keep my uniqueness in check next time.”

Yue Qingyuan’s smile was gentle. “No need. It’s what makes you who you are.”

What a grade A example of what a mother says to their bullied child when the come home crying..

As they parted ways, Shang Qinghua couldn’t help but feel a small, blossoming warmth in his chest. Maybe.. his place among the Peak Lords was more secure—and more appreciated—than he realised…

Or maybe he just needs to lay down and nap before hallucinations consume his being so early in the morning.

Chapter Text

The monthly sect meeting had always been a solemn affair, with Peak Lords gathered to discuss matters of grave importance. However, today was different. Today, Shang Qinghua was present, and he looked exceptionally tired. More so than usual and that was saying something.

As the Peak Lords settled into their seats in the meeting hall, each with their assigned seats of rank, Shang Qinghua's head was already drooping. Dark circles underscored his eyes, and he yawned widely, covering his mouth with a small hand. He resembled a sleepy hamster, his cheeks puffed slightly as he struggled to stay awake.

Shen Qingqiu sat next to the head of the table, Yu Qingyuan on his left, at forefront and very obviously trying to catch the eyes of his former brother with his own pleading one’s his eyes, with Shen Qingqius cold and sharp as always. However, a faint trace of amusement flickered in his gaze as he observed Shang Qinghua. The other Peak Lords exchanged knowing glances, the sterner expressions of them softening as they took in the sight of their sleepy colleague.

The meeting commenced with discussions on sect finances, allocation of resources, and the ever-present threat of demonic attacks. Even when discussing the elephant (or should they say hamster) in the rooms priority and specialty, said person remained oblivious and continued to doze and none had the heart to involve him while he catches up on the wavering glimpses of much needed sleep. Liu Qingge even seemed like he was containing himself and checked out of the meeting to stare (was that.. longingly…??) at said hamster.

Despite the seriousness of the topics, many found their eyes drifting back to Shang Qinghua. His head bobbed up and down, and every so often, he would blink rapidly, trying to keep his eyes open.

“Shang-shidi, are you with us?” Shen Qingqiu’s voice cut through the murmurs, and Shang Qinghua jolted awake, nearly toppling out of his chair. Every eye snapped to his form (or snapped more clearly for the normal persons eye as everyone was already preoccupied staring anyway.)

“Y-yes, of course, I’m here!” Shang Qinghua stammered, his face flushing as he tried to appear alert, no matter his still blinking eyes that began to droop once more.

Shen Qingqiu’s lips twitched, ever the blunt pot stirer. “Perhaps you should take a moment to compose yourself.”

“I’m fine, really,” Shang Qinghua insisted, though his eyes were half-lidded. He sat up straighter, doing his best to look attentive, amplifying his former efforts ten fold.

“Long night?” Liu Qingge, the Peak Lord of Bai Zhan Peak, asked, his usual stoic expression softened with a hint of interest; an interesting feat to worm out of him as the only interest that ever seems to prevails through his thick skull is the battles of monsters (and beating up his own disciples, a voice that suspiciously sounds like Shen Qingqiu pipes up)

“Yeah, you could say that,” Shang Qinghua mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Had to deal with some late-night issues at An Ding Peak. The disciples can be a handful.”

“Indeed,” Shen Qingqiu said dryly. “We wouldn’t want you falling asleep in the middle of the meeting.”

A few fond chuckles echoed through the hall, and Shang Qinghua’s blush deepened as his shoulders raised to hide his reddening ears. He tried to focus, but the warmth of the room and the droning of familiar (safe- a small whisper) voices were lulling him back to sleep. His head began to droop again, his cheek resting on his hand.

“Shang Qinghua,” Yue Qingyuan called out, seemingly ready to take matters into his own hands, but this time, the tone was more amused than stern.

“Yes?” Shang Qinghua replied, blinking rapidly as he lifted his head.

“You look like a hamster when you’re sleepy,” a voice belonging to the resident doctor, Mu qingfang uttered with a rare real smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The other Peak Lords nodded in agreement, their expressions speaking volumes with the equally as twitching mouths.

“A hamster?” Shang Qinghua repeated, confused.

“Yes,” The Peak Lord of Qian Cao Peak, said with a soft laugh. “You’re rather adorable when you’re sleepy.”

Shang Qinghua’s blush deepened, and he mumbled something unintelligible. The other Peak Lords exchanged amused glances, their usual formality replaced with a surprising camaraderie.

“Maybe we should let him rest,” Qi Qingqi suggested, her tone uncharacteristically gentle, a far cry from her usual spitting flurry of words, challenging even Shen Qingqiu in its viciousness.

“Agreed,” Shen Qingqiu said. “We can handle the rest of the meeting without him.”

Shang Qinghua opened his mouth to protest, but a yawn escaped instead. He covered his mouth, looking mortified.

“It’s settled then,” Yue Qingyuan said with finality. “Shang Qinghua, you are excused. Get some rest.”

“Thank you,” Shang Qinghua mumbled, his gratitude evident. He stood, swaying slightly, and bowed to his fellow sect siblings before making his way to the door.

As he left, the Peak Lords watched him with fond smiles. There was an unspoken understanding among them—a shared affection for their peculiar, overworked colleague. Shang Qinghua might have been an oddity, but his presence brought a rare warmth to their otherwise stern and formal gatherings. Like a comedic character spawning in the depths of a war torn fantasy- a light in the dark, if you will and want to sound sappy.

After the door closed behind him, Shen Qingqiu let out a soft chuckle. “He really does look like a hamster.”

Wei Qingwei let out a hearty laugh, that seemed to speak for the rest and for a moment, the weight of their responsibilities felt lighter. Shang Qinghua’s sleepy antics had brought them a reprieve, a feeling of warmth overcoming them in the stead of the emptiness of constant and contrasting business.

As they resumed their meeting, the atmosphere remained light, a testament to the impact of one sleepy, endearing Peak Lord. And though none of them would ever say it out loud, they all found themselves looking forward to the next time Shang Qinghua would inevitably bring a touch of chaos and charm to their lives.

Chapter Text

The atmosphere was thick with tension as the group gathered at the edge of the bamboo forest that led to the cave. Shen Qingqiu, his face a mask of cold indifference, surveyed the assembled party with a critical eye. Liu Qingge stood beside him, arms crossed, exuding an air of barely contained impatience. Mu Qingfang, ever the calm mediator, checked his medical supplies one last time. Shang Qinghua, clutching a scroll nervously, wondered why in the world he was included in this mission.

“Remember,” Yue Qingyuan’s voice was gentle but firm as he addressed the group, “this mission is about more than just the task at hand. It’s an opportunity for all of us to work together and strengthen our bonds.”

Shen Qingqiu resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Bonding with these people was not high on his list of priorities. He glanced sideways at Liu Qingge, who looked equally skeptical. Qi Qingqi, standing a little apart, was already picking at her nails with a bored expression. The only one who seemed even slightly enthusiastic was Mu Qingfang, who gave Yue Qingyuan a reassuring nod.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Shen Qingqiu said, turning on his heel and leading the way into the forest.

The mountain path leading to the cave was treacherous, shrouded in mist and foreboding with the promise of danger. The (future) Peak Lords of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect moved with purpose, each step bringing them closer to their destination. Behind them, the darkening sky hinted at an impending storm, an ill omen for the mission they had undertaken.

Shen Qingqiu, the most distrustful and sharp-tongued of the group, treading the path before him with ever present caution. His sharp eyes scanned the surroundings, ever suspicious of any potential threat. Liu Qingge, the brute strength of the team, followed closely, his hand never straying far from the hilt of his sword. Mu Qingfang, the calm and collected healer, walked with a serene expression, while Shang Qinghua brought up the rear, his nervous energy manifesting in fidgety movements and occasional glances over his shoulder.

Their mission was simple in theory: investigate a series of demonic disturbances in the region and neutralize any threats. In practice, however, it was anything but. The cave they sought was rumored to be the lair of a powerful demon, and recent reports suggested it was guarded by undead minions.

The cave entrance loomed ahead, dark and uninviting. Yue Qingyuan halted, raising a hand to signal the others to stop. "This is it," he said, his voice low and serious. "Remember, stay alert and be prepared for anything."

As they stepped inside, the air grew colder, and the oppressive darkness seemed to close in around them. The only light came from the glowing blue flowers scattered throughout the cave, casting an eerie glow. Shang Qinghua shivered, more from anxiety than the cold.

They moved deeper into the cave, their footsteps echoing softly off the stone walls. Suddenly, the path opened into a vast chamber, dominated by three massive stone statues of women, each holding a different musical instrument. Notes were etched into the stone walls, surrounding the statues in a complex pattern.

"Interesting," Mu Qingfang murmured, examining the carvings. "It seems we need to solve this puzzle to proceed."

Shen Qingqiu nodded, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. "It's obvious," he said. "We need to play the instruments or sing to get past the closed door."

Liu Qingge crossed his arms, a skeptical look on his face. "Go on then," he challenged, his brass manner evident in his tone.

Shen Qingqiu's eyes narrowed. "I would if I had an instrument or any inclination to sing."

Yue Qingyuan, who had been watching the exchange quietly, stepped forward in an attempt to mediate. "Let's not argue. We're here to work together, not against each other."

Shen Qingqiu shot him a glare, feeling patronized. "Fine. If you think it's so simple, why don't you do it?"

Liu Qingge shrugged. "I'm a warrior, not a musician. Qi Qingqi, perhaps you can try?"

Qi Qingqi, who had been silently observing, rolled her eyes. "Of course, because I'm a girl, I must know how to sing, right?" She sighed and approached the statues. "Fine, I'll try."

She began to sing, her voice echoing softly in the chamber. However, it soon became clear that she was struggling. Her voice wavered, breaking as she became overwhelmed by the pressure and the approaching threat of the demonic zombies they could hear in the distance.

"We're running out of time," Mu Qingfang said calmly, his eyes on the dark tunnel behind them where the sounds of the undead grew louder.

Desperate, they all turned to Shang Qinghua. He gulped, wide-eyed, feeling the weight of their expectations. “Do I have-“ seeing the glare Liu-shidi was burning through his head, he cut himself off.

"Uh, okay, I'll give it a try," he said, stepping forward hesitantly.

He cleared his throat and began to sing the only song he could think of, "Yummy" by Ayesha Erotica. His voice was shaky at first, but he mumbled the lyrics, hoping it would be enough. "Feelin' Yummy, head to toe..."

At first, the others were merely confused, unable to understand the English lyrics. But as he continued, the statues began to hum, their stone mouths opening and echoing the melody in Chinese. Shang Qinghua's voice was suddenly amplified, and the lyrics transformed into Chinese as well.

Shang Qinghua stood before the massive statues, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the eyes of his fellow Peak Lords on him, their expectation weighing heavily on his shoulders. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat and began to sing the only song that came to mind, "Yummy" by Ayesha Erotica. His voice was shaky at first, barely a whisper as he mumbled the lyrics, hoping it would be enough.

"Feelin' yummy, head to toe," he began, his voice echoing softly in the chamber.

The others exchanged confused glances, the English lyrics foreign to their ears. Shen Qingqiu's sharp eyes narrowed in suspicion, while Liu Qingge looked more irritated than anything.

As Shang Qinghua continued, the statues began to hum, their stone mouths opening and echoing the melody. The transformation was gradual but unmistakable. His voice grew louder, amplified by the magic within the chamber, and the lyrics began to shift, translating into Chinese.

"你知道的，我感觉很美味，从头到脚," he sang, his cheeks burning with embarrassment as the statues harmonized.

The initial confusion among the group turned to shock as the explicit nature of the lyrics became clear.

"Freaky with my body, I got different hobbies," Shang Qinghua continued, trying to focus on the task at hand despite the mortification creeping up his spine.

Shen Qingqiu's eyes widened, his usual mask of stoicism cracking for a moment. Liu Qingge's mouth dropped open, and even Mu Qingfang's calm demeanor showed signs of strain. Qi Qingqi, standing off to the side, blinked rapidly, her expression a mix of horror and faint amusement.

"Touch my body, make me holla, ay papi," the song continued, each line more scandalous than the last.

Despite the explicit lyrics, the effect was undeniable. The door behind the statues began to move, inch by inch, slowly opening as Shang Qinghua neared the end of the song. The undead were closing in, their groans growing louder, but the power of the song kept them at bay.

Shen Qingqiu fought with precise strikes, his movements a deadly dance of grace and efficiency. His sword flashed in the dim light, cutting down the zombie-like demons with ease. Liu Qingge cleaved through the undead with brute strength, each swing of his sword sending limbs flying in all directions. Mu Qingfang held the line, healing any injuries they sustained and keeping them in fighting shape, his focus unwavering despite the unusual circumstances.

Shang Qinghua's voice reached a crescendo as he sang the final verse, the statues' voices rising with him.

"Feelin' yummy, head to toe, it's you, you know," he sang, his voice carrying through the chamber, amplified and resonant.

As the last note faded, the door opened fully, revealing a path deeper into the cave. The statues returned to their original positions, their stone faces once again expressionless and silent.

Breathing heavily, Shang Qinghua lowered his head, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He could feel the incredulous stares of his companions on him, the shock and faint amusement still evident on their faces.

"Well done," Mu Qingfang said, his voice calm but with a hint of a smile.

Shang Qinghua managed a weak smile in return. "Uh, thanks. Glad it worked."

Shen Qingqiu's sharp eyes were still narrowed, but there was a hint of reluctant respect in his gaze. "Just don't expect me to start singing next time," he said, his tone as biting as ever.

Liu Qingge shook his head, sheathing his sword. "That was... unexpected," he admitted, his voice gruff but not unkind.

Qi Qingqi chuckled softly, shaking her head. "I've never heard anything like that before. But it did the trick."

As they moved forward into the newly revealed path, the echoes of Shang Qinghua's song lingered in the air, a reminder of the unexpected strength found in the most unlikely places. The Peak Lords continued their mission, united by the strange but effective power of the song, their bond strengthened by the shared experience.

The deeper they ventured into the cave, the more they realized that their journey was far from over. But with each step, they grew more confident, knowing that together, they could face any challenge that lay ahead.

The chamber ahead was darker, the air heavier with the scent of magic and decay. The walls were covered in more intricate carvings, depicting scenes of demonic rituals and battles. The Peak Lords paused, taking a moment to assess their surroundings.

"This place is crawling with dark energy," Mu Qingfang noted, his eyes scanning the room.

"We need to be on our guard," Shen Qingqiu agreed, his sharp eyes darting around, ever suspicious.

As they stepped further into the chamber, the ground beneath them began to tremble once more. The carvings on the walls seemed to come to life, the demonic figures shifting and moving with an eerie, lifelike quality. The Peak Lords immediately fell into defensive stances, ready for whatever might come next.

The air was thick with tension as the room's magic began to coalesce, forming into tangible threats. Shadows detached from the walls, taking on the shapes of twisted demons, their eyes glowing with malevolent intent. The Peak Lords prepared for battle, their weapons at the ready.

Shang Qinghua's heart raced as he glanced at his companions, their faces set with determination. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the fight ahead. They had faced unexpected challenges before and emerged victorious. This would be no different.

The demons attacked with a fury, their forms shifting and twisting as they lunged at the Peak Lords. Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge met them head-on, their swords flashing in the dim light. Mu Qingfang supported them with healing spells, his calm presence a steadying force amidst the chaos.

Shang Qinghua, though not as skilled in combat, did his best to contribute. He used his fan to deflect attacks and provided logistical support, calling out warnings and coordinating their efforts. His strategic mind proved invaluable, helping to keep the group organized and focused.

Despite their coordinated efforts, the battle was intense. The demons were relentless, their dark magic creating an ever-present threat. But the Peak Lords fought with unwavering determination, their bond strengthened by the shared trials they had faced.

As they ventured deeper into the cave, they came to another chamber, larger and more elaborate than the previous one. The walls were covered in glowing inscriptions and more statues, this time of demons in various battle stances. The altar in the center of the room was surrounded by more intricate carvings, and the air was thick with a sense of impending danger.

With his face still flushed from his previous performance, avoiding eye contact with his companions, Qinghua’s thoughts were tangled in embarrassment from the unexpected exposure of his previous song, "Yummy." He fidgeted nervously, his hands twisting together as he tried to suppress his rising mortification as the battle raged on, and his mind continue to race, searching for a way to turn the tide. His eyes fell on the series of notes etched into the stone altar in the center of the room. Recognizing the familiar pattern, he realized what needed to be done.

Shang Qinghua’s eyes widened at the sight of the altar. "Uh, it looks like we have another musical puzzle," he said, his voice betraying his anxiety.

Shen Qingqiu scanned the room, his sharp gaze assessing the situation. "Looks like it. And we need to solve it before those demons catch up with us."

Liu Qingge grunted, his gaze shifting between the altar and the encroaching darkness. "We don’t have much time."

With a mixture of determination and very forthcoming reluctance, Shang Qinghua stepped forward. The others glanced at him, their eyes filled with a mix of underlining trust and curiosity for the next trick would be peeled from beneath the facade their mousy little shidi/shixiong is keeping close to his heart.

"Cover me," he said, his voice steady despite the nervousness bubbling inside him.

The chamber dimly lit by the eerie glow of blue flowers, casting shifting shadows on the walls. And even though they were all still catching their breath after the last challenge and the heavy, tense atmosphere was only interrupted by the distant groans of undead demons closing in on them, he geared himself up.

Still flustered, stepped forward hesitantly. "Alright, this time..." He hesitated, his face flushing with renewed embarrassment. "I’ll use a different song."

He took a deep breath and began to sing, his voice wavering at first but growing steadier as he continued. This time, he chose "Breaking Dishes" by Rihanna, hoping the upbeat tempo would be less embarrassing. He cleared his throat and started:

"Tonight I'm breakin' dishes, I'm gonna start a fight..."

The lyrics echoed through the chamber, and Shang Qinghua could feel the weight of the song’s aggressive energy. The transformation was almost immediate; the statues began to hum and move in sync with the music. The previously ominous aura seemed to shift as the song’s energy filled the room.

"Ima’ bout to fight a man tonight," he continued, his voice gaining strength as the lyrics hit their peak.

The statues' mouths opened, and the song's lyrics began to be sung in Chinese, the translation reflecting the fierceness of the original:

“今晚我要打架，我要动手！”

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes widened slightly, though he quickly masked his surprise. There was something undeniably energizing about the song’s defiant spirit. Deep down, he felt a flicker of appreciation for the sentiment behind the lyrics.

Qi Qingqi, watching Shang Qinghua sing, was more vocal in her enthusiasm. "I can get behind this!" she said with a nod. "Finally, a song that fits the mood."

Liu Qingge's stern expression softened slightly as he watched the statues' synchronized movements. "This might actually be working."

As Shang Qinghua continued, the energy in the room shifted. The previously menacing statues began to move rhythmically with the music, their once-hostile presence now seeming almost celebratory. The door behind them began to open, inch by inch, as the song’s rhythm and energy worked its magic.

The undead demons outside seemed to retreat, their growls diminishing as the song’s influence took hold. They continued to fight off the remaining threats, their movements synchronized with the rhythm of the song.

Shen Qingqiu’s strikes were sharper, his focus unwavering as he cut down the remaining demons with precision. Liu Qingge’s powerful blows were met with a renewed vigor, his strength seeming to match the intensity of the song. Mu Qingfang’s healing spells flowed seamlessly, keeping everyone in fighting shape.

The chamber grew brighter as the door opened fully, revealing a new path deeper into the cave. Shang Qinghua sang the final notes with growing confidence, the song’s energy lifting his spirits.

“Tonight I’m breakin’ dishes, I’m gonna start a fight...” he sang, his voice rising to a triumphant crescendo, betraying his once quiet, nervous nature as if it was never there.

As the last note faded, the door fully opened, and the statues returned to their original positions, their battle-ready forms now peaceful and silent. The undead demons outside had been driven back, and the chamber fell quiet.

Breathing heavily, Shang Qinghua let out a sigh of relief. His face was flushed from both the effort and his lingering embarrassment, but there was a sense of accomplishment in his eyes.

"Well done," Mu Qingfang said, his voice calm but approving.

Shen Qingqiu gave a rare, approving nod. "Good job. Let’s move before we run into more trouble."

Liu Qingge’s expression remained stoic, but there was a hint of a smile as he sheathed his sword. "That was unexpected, but effective."

Qi Qingqi clapped Shang Qinghua on the back, her grin wide. "I knew you had it in you. This song was exactly what we needed!"

Yue Qingyuan gave his own surprised (and was that fondness he was sending??) smile, and a short, lingering pat on the shoulder before he slipped away to the front of the pack once more.

As they moved forward into the newly revealed path, the Peak Lords were united not just by their mission, but by the shared experience of overcoming challenges through unconventional means. The deeper they ventured into the cave, the more they realized that their journey was far from over. But with each step, they grew more confident, knowing that as a unit, they could face whatever lay ahead.

The echoes of Shang Qinghua's song lingered in the air, a testament to the power of teamwork and the surprising strength found in embracing the unexpected.

Chapter Text

SVSSS- Chapter 4

The following week, Shang Qinghua decided to personally oversee the training of the new recruits on An Ding Peak. Although they weren’t really a peak that primarily focused on the art of combat, they still had to know the basics, much to his despair as a previously lazy fan fiction writer.. sighhh.. he really wasn’t built out for these tasks but, as always when starts this topic anew once more, he approached his task with enthusiasm and vigour, albeit in his own peculiar way.

"Listen up, everyone," he called out, his voice carrying across the training ground. "Efficiency is key. We must work smarter, not harder."

As he demonstrated a particularly efficient but unorthodox sword move, the disciples watched in confusion. His technique was effective, but it lacked the traditional grace and formality they were taught to respect.

The more senior disciples who were once peers with the now Peak Lord seemed to be completely unaffected by these contrary ways, and flowed as water with it. One of the braver junior disciples stepped forward hesitantly. "Shizun, this method... it's different from what we've been taught."

All eyes snapped to this bold disciples and he seemed to wilt back into the shadows. Sensing this insecurity, Shang Qinghua spoke up with a gentler edge on his intonation.

"Different doesn't mean wrong," Shang Qinghua replied, his tone earnest. "It's just another way to achieve the same goal. Adaptability is crucial." He was really beginning to fit into his role like a nagging teacher.. he even caught himself doing a finger flutter in the air to express his point, before lightning fast slapping his arm back down. He can’t embrace his Peak-Lord-ness yet!! It’s too soon since HIS Shizun left and it just makes the gaping void wider! He has enough reasons to cry himself to sleep, never mind adding this on. Gulping he looked up once more, subsequently meeting the eye of the new sect leader and feeling a fleeting sweat droplet run down his face as he, just as quickly averted his gaze.

The disciples exchanged uncertain glances. Yue Qingyuan, observing from a distance, frowned. He admired Shang Qinghua’s ingenuity but worried about the potential impact on the sect's traditions, especially so soon in the new generation. Although eh who’s no such inclination of ‘warmth’ to his own former Shizun, he still respected him enough to keep the traditions; at least while everything else was settling in. Moving things all at once.. would get them complaints- as if the prim upper classes weren’t giving him enough. He, himself, felt a sweat droplet run down his back at the very thought as his eye twitched.

After the session, Yue Qingyuan approached Shang Qinghua. "Your methods are... unconventional, Shang-shidi. Are you sure this is the right approach?"

Shang Qinghua shrugged, trying not to show outwardly how much his presence was affecting him. Ahh!! His poor little child- papas sorry he forsook you!! "It works, doesn't it? Results matter more than tradition."

Yue Qingyuan sighed. "Perhaps, but traditions exist for a reason. They provide structure and continuity."

Wow that stare could really kill people. And isn’t that the kettle calling the pot black-? As if his little word child (not anymore- a voice whispered) didn’t go against tradition to claim a sword that wasn’t meant for him and get stuck in a cave for a year.

…

Okay maybe that’s a bit harsh on his part.

Shang Qinghua looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded, quickly trying to appease the older man to get out of this situation QUICK.
"I see your point, Yue-shixiong. I'll try to balance tradition with efficiency."

---

In the following days, Shang Qinghua kept his promise, afraid of any more lurking peak lord peering around corners to criticise his new teaching styles.. he’s trying his hardest here!! He incorporated more traditional forms into his training sessions, though he never completely abandoned his own innovative techniques. The disciples gradually adapted, and the initial confusion began to wane.

One evening, as the sun set over the peaks, casting a warm golden glow, Yue Qingyuan found Shang Qinghua sitting alone by a quiet pond, his thoughts seemingly far away. With a small smile, Yue Qingyuan approached, carrying a tray with two cups of tea.

"You seemed like you could use a break," Yue Qingyuan said gently, setting the tray down beside him.

Shang Qinghua blinked, surprised and obviously shitting himself if the (VERY MANLY, he would like to add) scream was anything to go by, by the unexpected company. "Ah, Yue-shixiong, you didn't have to. But thank you." Trying to find a line on polite and friendly, all while stomping down an nervousness, unaware it was still shining through and the mirth glittering in Yue Qingyuans eyes had nothing to do with his own polite niceties.

They sat in comfortable (for one) and vaguely uncomfortable silence which soon melted into the former at the understanding he wasn’t in any immediate trouble, for a while, sipping tea and watching the ripples on the pond. Shang Qinghua felt a sense of tranquility he rarely allowed himself to indulge in, not with the ever present business of his new found peak, that he was now apparently the lord of.

"You know," Yue Qingyuan began after a moment, "I admire how dedicated you are to your disciples. They seem to be learning a lot under your guidance."

Shang Qinghua chuckled softly, sweat dropping some more at how much of an overstatement that was. He was just doing the bare minimum and hoping his disciples don’t.. like, die. "I just want them to be prepared. The world outside can be unpredictable."

Yue Qingyuan's gaze softened as he looked at Shang Qinghua and Shang Qinghua recognised that look!! That, right there, was a grade-A adaption of longing, if he’s ever seen one (and he watched a lot of K-dramas back in the day) and reminiscing. Please- you’re not MY Qi-gege!! Refrain or you’ll make this poor authors heart collapse from guilt! "You care deeply about them. It's one of your many admirable qualities."

And isn’t that sweet.. and slightly concerning bearing in mind this is the longest they’ve sat in each others company, and most of it was wholly spent in a co-existing silence that carried.. some volume..? If what, he had no clue.

Shang Qinghua flushed slightly at the unexpected compliment, anyway, if involuntarily; if he could cotoneaster down his ever present embarrassment, trust me he would. "I-I just do what I can."

And that god damn stutter, while he was at it. Guess the gods really DONT like him (which is ironic since he’s as much as a god as this world is gonna get.. in metaphorical terms- physically he is no such thing), making him transverse worlds with his standing out freckles, and fricken stutter. He was the picture definition of a history- prevailing nerd. Not even trans-dimensional fan fiction transportation can fix his frankly subpar appearance. (A few certain individuals would also frankly disagree if this was voiced out loud)

As the days passed, Yue Qingyuan's presence became a regular part of Shang Qinghua's evenings, and he was beginning to wonder if he was some messed up back up for his own Shen Jiu.. They would often share tea, discuss the day's training, and sometimes just sit in silence, enjoying each other's company. He grew to enjoy the last much more as the days progressed. Yue Qingyuan's gestures grew increasingly tender—a light touch on the shoulder, a lingering glance—but Shang Qinghua, ever practical and a bit dense in matters of the heart, dismissed them as the kindness of a friend… or weird brotherly affection of a wayward hand that seems to think he’s someone else. (That must be it, right??)

One afternoon, while overseeing the training sessions, (and simultaneously doing his overflowing papers- another massive bill on behalf of their local War God, pursing his newfound favourite hobby, beating up his students..), Shang Qinghua noticed Yue Qingyuan speaking with one of the senior disciples, offering gentle corrections and encouragement. Seems as if he’s stalking again… not that it could be deemed as such anymore, with their more than friendly terms and also how.. he literally sorta owns (or controls, he supposes?) the whole peak, so he can go wherever he wants without any repercussions.The disciples seemed more motivated with their sect leader's attention, and Shang Qinghua couldn't help but smile at the sight, and feel an peeved in a underlining sense, his forehead ticking as the disciples practically flounders over herself to express how much more valuable his teaching style would be over her own Shizuns.

He sees how it is, then. Ungrateful brat! Tch, see how many laps she’s gonna run when she comes back over.

After the session, Yue Qingyuan approached Shang Qinghua with a small box. "Shang-shidi, I brought something for you. It's a token of appreciation for your hard work."

Unable to contain his jittery nature, Shang Qinghua practically pounces forward to take the box, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "Yue-shixiong, you really didn't have to. But thank you."

Be his very obvious enthuse, he definitely would have liked if he had to. Yue Qingyuan found his own lips ticking forward, before quickly smothering it under his usual facade of polite indifference.

Opening the box, he found a beautifully crafted jade pendant, its surface smooth and cool to the touch. Shang Qinghua's eyes widened in surprise. "This is... too much, Yue-shixiong.”

And very above his own pay check, was left unsaid.

"Nonsense," Yue Qingyuan replied with a gentle smile. "It's a symbol of my respect and gratitude."

“Oh how life must be to be stinking rich..” he muttered, unaware of how it easily travelled into the others ears and created a tingling sense of mirth.

Looking up, Shang Qinghua felt a warmth spread through him at Yue Qingyuan's words. "Thank you, Yue-shixiong. This means a lot to me."

“And a lot to my wardrobe,” was also quietly said, once more bypassing through the formers lips.

Yue Qingyuan's smile widened, and for a moment, there was a tender silence between them, filled with… emotions, of some kind.

Probably brotherhood.. yeah.

---

The next few weeks brought a flurry of activity to An Ding Peak. A group of rogue cultivators had been causing trouble in the nearby villages, and the sect was mobilizing to deal with the threat. Shang Qinghua found himself working closely with Yue Qingyuan, planning strategies and coordinating the disciples, through the disruption system he had recently made up (ahem.. stolen from research online every night in the modern world.. but nobody had to know his thievery.) How much he wished they could just have a different disruption system ran by An Ding, was always lamented by him.. like.. cats!! Or something- literally anything else that could keep this ever constant work load from increasing.

One night, after a particularly long one-on-one strategy meeting, Yue Qingyuan insisted that Shang Qinghua join him for a late dinner. Weirdly romantic but free food so whatever. Also they are both men so it’s alright.. no matter any sort of guidelines he wrote in about how inappropriate it is to be here so late anyway. Unchaperoned. But that was for poor, impressionable women that could be whisked away within a moments notice(ahem the 2000 wives of Luo Binghe) and even if he WAS a poor, impressionable lady, it’s most likely that Yue-shixiong was completely oblivious to it, with his ‘begger’ upbringing and all.

They ate in Yue Qingyuan's quarters, (even more romantic.. but again- the prior points stand!!), the room lit by soft lantern light.

"You work too hard, Shang-shidi," Yue Qingyuan said gently, serving Shang Qinghua a bowl of soup. (Where the servants were- he had equally no clue) "You need to take better care of yourself."

Shang Qinghua chuckled, touched by Yue Qingyuan's concern. "I'll be fine, Yue-shixiong. I've survived worse.”

Yue Qingyuan's expression softened. "I know you have. But I still worry about you."

Shang Qinghua felt a flutter in his chest at Yue Qingyuan's words, but he quickly brushed it aside. "Thank you, Yue-shixiong. Your concern means a lot."

As they ate, Yue Qingyuan's gaze lingered on Shang Qinghua, a mixture of fondness and something deeper in his eyes. Shang Qinghua, ever oblivious, focused on the food, unaware of the emotions swirling around him.

---

The rogue cultivator threat was eventually neutralized, and life on A Ding Peak returned to its usual rhythm. One evening, Shang Qinghua found himself by the pond again, the jade pendant in his hand. He thought about Yue Qingyuan's kindness, the way his presence had become a comforting constant in his life. And how his life was sorta spiralling into a slice of life Rom-com with the boy-next-door veering after his love and tripping over his heels 24/7. If he was honest with himself, he would most definitely get freaky if he asked him too.. I mean Goddamn, he wrote him well- those rock hard abs could literally give him a concussion if he rounded a corner and ran into him.

Shang Qinghua shook his head, trying to banish the intrusive thoughts. He couldn't afford to think like that. Not about Yue Qingyuan.

But the images kept coming. Yue Qingyuan's broad shoulders glistening with sweat after a training session, his easy smile that sent a shiver down Shang Qinghua's spine, the way his hands, so gentle yet strong, lingered just a moment too long during their late-night strategy sessions. Shang Qinghua's mind wandered to how those hands would feel against his skin, tracing the lines of his body. He bit his lip, trying to suppress a groan of abject horror as he fathomed he was ACTUALLY thinking of this.. right now. It felt illegal to do this at all, never mind in public!!

As if on cue, Yue Qingyuan appeared, walking toward him with that confident, unhurried stride. Shang Qinghua quickly tucked the pendant back into his robes, praying that the darkness hid his flushed face.

"Shang-shidi, there you are," Yue Qingyuan greeted, his voice warm and inviting. He sat down beside Shang Qinghua, closer than usual. Their knees brushed, and Shang Qinghua's heart raced.

"Y-Yue-shixiong," Shang Qinghua stammered, his mind scrambling for something to say that wasn't a confession of his increasingly inappropriate thoughts. "I was just, uh, thinking."

Very eloquent, indeed.

Yue Qingyuan's eyes sparkled with amusement. "About what, if I may ask?"

Shang Qinghua swallowed hard. "Just... about everything that's happened. How you've been such a great support." How much he’d like to be supported on that chest right about now, more like.

Yue Qingyuan smiled, and Shang Qinghua's breath hitched. "I'm glad I can be here for you, Shang-shidi. You mean a lot to me."

Shang Qinghua's mouth went dry. He was hyper-aware of Yue Qingyuan's presence, the heat radiating from his body, the subtle scent of his soap mingling with the evening breeze. "You too, Yue-shixiong. More than you know."

For a moment, they sat in silence, the air thick with unspoken tension. Shang Qinghua's thoughts raced, filled with images of what could be, if he were braver. If he dared to close the distance between them, to press his lips against Yue Qingyuan's and feel those strong hands pull him closer. But he didn’t like him like that. Also it was probably just the same weird author thoughts that spurred his horny masterpiece that paid this former rent.

But he couldn't. Not when he was so unsure of Yue Qingyuan's feelings, despite the signs. He wasn't ready to risk their friendship on a maybe.

Yue Qingyuan's hand on his shoulder jolted him from his reverie. The touch was firm, reassuring, yet it sent a jolt of electricity through Shang Qinghua's body. "Shang-shidi, you look flushed. Are you alright?"

Shang Qinghua nodded quickly, too quickly. "Y-Yes, just a bit tired, I guess."

Because tiredness definitely caused red faces, he mentally shoved said red face into a palm.

Yue Qingyuan's gaze was penetrating, as if he could see through Shang Qinghua's flimsy lie. But he simply nodded, his thumb brushing against Shang Qinghua's shoulder in a way that made his skin tingle. "Then you should rest. You've been working so hard."

Hard, indeed.

Shang Qinghua forced a smile, trying to ignore the way his body responded to Yue Qingyuan's touch. "I will, Yue-shixiong. Thank you."

As Yue Qingyuan stood to leave, Shang Qinghua's eyes lingered on his form, his mind conjuring up images that made his heart race and his body ache with longing. He watched until Yue Qingyuan disappeared into the darkness, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

With a sigh, Shang Qinghua leaned back against the cool grass, staring up at the stars. He couldn't deny it any longer—he was hopelessly, irrevocably in lust with Yue Qingyuan. And it was driving him crazy- lost in frankly indecent thoughts, he didn't even notice Yue Qingyuan approaching until he was sitting beside him!! God!! He was such a reck, it was insane. God strike him down now.

As if gud heard him, he caught a glimpse of a glittering fast moving object plunging from the night sky.

There’s no fucking way..

And there Liu-shidi was, with a sad excuse of a shirt- practically fucking shredded garbs and rags- soaring through the dark abyss above, panting heavily looking like he’s about to.. yuuuup. And he’s coming right towards him. Shirtless and hurt, looking especially appetising, especially since his normally yapping, brass mouth was sealed shut by injury.. maybe not very good thoughts to be having but they were just there existing throughout anyway. Goddamit, it’s like the world hates him and his innocence. He feels so evil, his next life is definitely gonna be in hell.

In short:
Great, thanks God.

Chapter Text

In the serene peaks of Cang Qiong Mountain, the sounds of swordplay and the rustle of scrolls often harmonized. Among the many disciples of the esteemed sect, there were two whose paths rarely seemed to cross, yet were inextricably linked by the unseen threads of fate (Or shaky modern hands and fabricated rough ones): Shang Qinghua, the perpetually anxious head of the An Ding Peak, and Liu Qingge, the stern and stalwart leader of Bai Zhan Peak.

Shang Qinghua sat cross-legged in his study, meticulously reviewing supply records. His fingers, stained with ink, trembled slightly as he worked through the never-ending stream of requests and inventories. His mind, however, was not entirely on his work. Despite his best efforts, his thoughts often wandered to a particular figure—Liu Qingge. Mainly because he was reading yet another damage control statement of his and also because.. well I mean.. look at him. The war god of the sect, Liu Qingge was everything Shang Qinghua was not: confident, powerful, and possessed of an otherworldly beauty that made Shang’s heart beat erratically whenever they crossed paths.

“Focus, Shang Qinghua,” he muttered to himself, trying to shake off the distraction. “You have work to do.” Of which does not contain any fore mentioned surges of warmth via.. fondness? Yeah- Let’s call it that.

But it was no use. The image of Liu Qingge, his chiseled abs glistening with sweat after a rigorous training session, was seared into his mind. Most likely at the forefront due to his recent excursion through said shidis peak to preview the damage himself to automate repairs and in this (very practical may he add) trip, instead got caught up in a very unwanted (but appreciated) peeking session of the previously mentioned rock hard abs.

Shang Qinghua sighed and rubbed his temples. This was becoming a problem.

His musings were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Shang Qinghua jumped, nearly knocking over his inkpot. “Come in,” he called, trying to compose himself.

The door slid open, revealing none other than Liu Qingge himself. Fuck his luck..
Shang Qinghua’s heart skipped a beat as he took in the sight of the warrior-(Hopefully discreetly). Liu Qingge was dressed in his usual training attire, his hair slightly disheveled, and a look of mild irritation on his face. But what else is new.

“Liu-shidi,” Shang Qinghua greeted, his voice wavering slightly. “What brings you here?” Nothing good, most likely. Just in style for his usual luck.

Liu Qingge stepped into the room, his presence filling the small space. “I need to talk to you about the supply deliveries for Bai Zhan Peak,” he said curtly. “There have been delays.” Great. Just fuck him already. (I mean what.)

Shang Qinghua nodded, trying to focus on the conversation and not the bulging biceps staring him in the face. “Yup!- Yes- Err.. I’ve been working on that. Very diligently, if I can be so modest and, well- We’ve had some issues with the suppliers, but I assure you, it’s being handled. Swiftly!!” And he has to ruin this with his obnoxious squeaking. Yay.

Liu Qingge frowned. “It better be. My disciples can’t afford to wait.”

Such a shame his shit personality contrasts his physique, he thought, waving a white flag and mentally sighing.

Outwardly, Shang Qinghua swallowed hard, his nerves getting the better of him. “I understand, Liu-shidi. I’m doing my best.”

Liu Qingge’s expression softened slightly. He regarded Shang Qinghua for a moment before speaking again. “I know you are. Just… try to expedite it, will you?”

What. The. Hell.

Shang Qinghua nodded easily, in contrast to the absolute confusion overtaking him at this sudden turn, relief flooding through him. “Ah! Of course, Liu-shidi. I’ll make it a priority.” Along with the other a billion things the other Peak Lords have requested. Just a glance to the right and he can see the spilling documents on his desk. Please kill him, now, whatever physical God this fathomed world has!

As Liu Qingge turned to leave, Shang Qinghua couldn’t help but admire the way his muscles moved under his tunic, hanging his head out slightly to watch him leave. Catching onto what he was doing, he quickly averted his gaze, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks. This was ridiculous. He couldn’t let himself be distracted by such thoughts. But it was soooo hard not to.

But as the door closed behind Liu Qingge, Shang Qinghua found himself smiling giddly. God, at least one good thing came out of this shithole. A whole lot of hotties! Thank his magic hands. Kisses to past author Airplane!

Over the next few weeks, Shang Qinghua and Liu Qingge’s kept meeting unexpectedly (mostly due to him barging through his door to demand more equipment..but whatever. Let him be delulu). Whether it was at sect meetings, training sessions, or simply passing each other in the corridors, Shang Qinghua couldn’t help but notice the warrior’s presence. And each time, his heart would flutter, and his mind would wander to places it shouldn’t.

One afternoon, Shang Qinghua was overseeing a delivery of supplies to Bai Zhan Peak. He stood by the cart, checking off items on his list- and really a lesser disciple could do this but the Peak Lords feel obligated to ensure his presence is there so he can “thoroughly examine the desired products are of the best quality”, as if every single subject on his whole ass peak isn’t trained to do just that- when he felt a familiar presence nearby. He looked up to see Liu Qingge approaching, his usual stern expression in place.

“Shang Qinghua,” Liu Qingge greeted, his voice steady. “Is everything in order?”

Shang Qinghua nodded, trying to keep his composure, hoping his mental shit talking wasn’t somehow shining through onto his face. “Yes, Liu-shidi. Everything is here. I made sure of it personally.”

Liu Qingge’s gaze softened slightly (and Airplane, personally, could not get over that- because what the fuck?!) as he looked over the supplies. “Thank you. I appreciate your efforts.”

Shang Qinghua felt a warmth spread through him at the warrior’s words. His stupid heart beating erratically, living up to his name sake of ‘rodent’ all because of this goddamn packing shidi of his. “It’s my duty, Liu-shidi,” he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips.

As they stood there, a comfortable silence settled between them, with Liu-shidi just sorta.. zoning off and Shang Qinghua actually doing his job. As this was happening, Airplane found himself stealing glances at Liu Qingge, admiring the way the sun highlighted the contours of his face and the strength in his posture.

Liu Qingge, for his part, seemed oblivious to Shang Qinghua’s scrutiny. He was focused on the task at hand, inspecting the supplies with a critical eye. (Or pretending to) But there was a subtle shift in his demeanor, a slight relaxation of his shoulders, that suggested he was not entirely unaware of the scholar’s presence.

Finally, Liu Qingge straightened up, satisfied with the delivery. “Everything seems to be in order,” he said, turning to Shang Qinghua. “Thank you again.” Very uncharacteristic, he may add! Suspicious!!

Shang Qinghua nodded, feeling a sense of accomplishment, anyway. “You’re welcome, Liu-shidi. If there’s anything else you need, please let me know.”

Liu Qingge hesitated for a moment, as if considering something. Of course he wanted something- how could he be so dumb- stupid, stupid Airplan- Then, he gave a curt nod and walked away, leaving Shang Qinghua to watch him leave with a sort of dumbstruck air around him. Well.. alright, then.

As the weeks turned into months, Shang Qinghua found himself looking forward to these brief encounters. Despite his nervousness and ever present suspicion, he enjoyed the moments of interaction with Liu Qingge. There was something about the warrior’s blunt nature that he found oddly reassuring. Liu Qingge didn’t mince words or play games; he was straightforward and honest, qualities that Shang Qinghua admired deeply. Especially in this world of snakes hiding behind flowers and delicate hands wielding razor sharp knives.

And then there were those inappropriate thoughts that kept creeping into his mind. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop himself from imagining what it would be like to run his fingers over Liu Qingge’s impressive abs, to feel the strength and warmth of his body against his own. Pressing him down- Shang Qinghua blushed at the thought, chastising himself for letting his mind wander so freely.

But despite his best efforts, the feelings remained. And slowly, ever so slowly, he began to wonder if there was a chance—however slim—that Liu Qingge might feel the same.

It was a rare day of leisure on Cang Qiong Mountain, and Shang Qinghua found himself wandering the forested paths, enjoying the peace and quiet. The cool breeze and the gentle rustle of leaves provided a much-needed respite from the demands of his duties.

Lost in thought, he almost didn’t notice the figure approaching from the opposite direction. It wasn’t until they were nearly face-to-face that he realized it was Liu Qingge, giving how weirdly hazy the surroundings suddenly became.. weird..

“Shang Qinghua,” Liu Qingge greeted, a hint of surprise in his voice. “What brings you here?”

Shang Qinghua smiled nervously. “Just taking a break from the paperwork, Liu-shidi. What about you?”

“I needed some time away from the training grounds,” Liu Qingge replied. “The disciples can be… intense.”

Yeah, I imagine, especially with all the pent up rage that comes from you beating them every chance you get.

Shang Qinghua chuckled, trying to sympathise but failing but feeling a bit more at ease. “I can imagine. They look up to you, you know. You’re their role model.” Keep to polite.

Liu Qingge shrugged, a slight ..blush?! coloring his cheeks. “I’m just doing my job.”

They walked in silence for a while, the path winding through the trees. Shang Qinghua found himself glancing at Liu Qingge more often than he probably should, admiring the way the dappled sunlight played across his features.

As they reached a small clearing, Liu Qingge suddenly stopped and turned to Shang Qinghua, his expression serious. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

Shang Qinghua’s heart skipped a beat. “What is it, Liu-shidi?”

Liu Qingge hesitated, his gaze fixed on the ground. “Why do you always seem so nervous around me?”

Shang Qinghua felt his face heat up. “I-I don’t know what you mean,- I’m.. like this with everyone!! Hehe.. heh..” he stammered, though he knew it was a weak denial.

Liu Qingge’s eyes met his, piercing and direct. “I think you do. And I want to know why.”

Shang Qinghua took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. This was it. There was no point in hiding anymore. “Because… because I admire you, Liu-shidi,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re strong, and confident, and everything I’m not. And it makes me nervous.”

Liu Qingge’s expression softened, a hint of understanding in his eyes. “Is that all?”

Shang Qinghua bit his lip, hesitating for a moment before deciding to take the plunge. “No. It’s not all. I… I also think you’re incredibly attractive. And that makes me even more nervous.”

For a moment, there was silence. Shang Qinghua’s heart pounded in his chest as he waited for Liu Qingge’s response, fearing the worst.

Then, to his surprise, Liu Qingge stepped closer, his gaze never leaving Shang Qinghua’s. “You’re not the only one who’s been having inappropriate thoughts,” he admitted, his voice low and filled with something that made Shang Qinghua’s heart skip a beat. “I’ve been trying to ignore them, but… it’s hard.” (Hell yeah.)

Shang Qinghua’s eyes widened. “You mean… you feel the same?”

Liu Qingge nodded, his hand reaching out to gently cup Shang Qin Qinghua's cheek. The touch was surprisingly gentle, sending a shiver down Shang Qinghua's spine. "Yes, I do," Liu Qingge said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I've been drawn to you for a long time, but I didn't know how to express it."

Shang Qinghua’s mind reeled. This couldn’t be real. Yet, the warmth of Liu Qingge’s hand on his cheek, the sincerity in his eyes, all spoke to a reality he had never dared to dream of. He leaned into the touch, his own hand tentatively reaching up to cover Liu Qingge’s.

“I never thought you could feel this way,” Shang Qinghua confessed, his voice trembling. “I always saw myself as just… me. Ordinary, nervous, and nothing special.”

Liu Qingge shook his head, his thumb brushing against Shang Qinghua’s cheek. “You’re far from ordinary, Shang Qinghua. You’re dedicated, intelligent, and kind. I’ve always admired those qualities in you.”

Shang Qinghua’s heart swelled with emotion, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Liu-shidi… I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything,” Liu Qingge replied softly, his gaze intense. “Just… be with me. Right here, right now.”

And so, in that secluded clearing, with the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft murmur of the forest as their only witnesses, Shang Qinghua and Liu Qingge closed the distance between them. Their lips met in a tentative kiss, tender and filled with the unspoken feelings that had been building between them for so long.

Shang Qinghua’s mind buzzed with disbelief and joy. The kiss was everything he had imagined and more, a perfect blend of passion and tenderness. As they pulled apart, breathless and flushed, he couldn’t help but smile.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he admitted, his voice shaking slightly.

“So have I,” Liu Qingge replied, his hand still cradling Shang Qinghua’s cheek. “I’m glad we finally found the courage to admit it.”

They stood there for a while, wrapped in each other’s embrace, savoring the moment. The world outside the clearing seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them and the burgeoning feelings they shared.

The days following their confession were filled with a newfound warmth and understanding between Shang Qinghua and Liu Qingge. They still went about their respective duties, but there was a subtle shift in their interactions. Shared glances, fleeting touches, and stolen moments became a cherished part of their daily routine.

One morning, as the first hints of spring began to touch the mountain with blossoms and new growth, Shang Qinghua found himself in the training grounds of Bai Zhan Peak again. He had come to deliver some updated inventory lists (by his own free will this time!! Isn’t that cool?!) but his eyes were drawn to Liu Qingge, who was sparring with one of his senior disciples.

Liu Qingge moved with a grace and power that left Shang Qinghua breathless. Each strike, each parry, was executed with precision and strength, showcasing the years of dedication and training that had made him the sect’s most formidable warrior.

As the sparring session ended, Liu Qingge’s eyes met Shang Qinghua’s. He offered a small, rare smile, wiping the sweat from his brow as he approached. “Shang Qinghua,” he greeted, his tone softer than usual. “What brings you here?”

‘You..’

Shang Qinghua held up the scrolls, his heart fluttering at the sight of Liu Qingge’s smile. “Just some updates for the inventory. I thought I’d deliver them personally.”

Liu Qingge nodded, taking the scrolls from him. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

As they stood there, the sounds of the training grounds bustling around them, Shang Qinghua couldn’t help but let his eyes wander over Liu Qingge’s form. The warrior’s tunic clung to his body, highlighting the defined muscles beneath. Shang Qinghua’s mind drifted to the feel of those muscles under his fingertips, the warmth of Liu Qingge’s skin against his own.

Liu Qingge seemed to notice his distraction and chuckled softly. “Do you like what you see?”

Shang Qinghua’s face turned bright red, and he stammered, “I-I didn’t mean to stare…”

Liu Qingge stepped closer, his voice low and teasing. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

Shang Qinghua’s heart raced as Liu Qingge’s proximity and the suggestive tone of his voice sent shivers down his spine. “You’re impossible, Liu-shidi,” he murmured, though there was no real reproach in his words.

Liu Qingge’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Perhaps. But I can’t help it when you’re around.”

Shang Qinghua smiled, the tension easing from his shoulders. “You know, you’re different from what I expected.”

Liu Qingge raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“You’re… more open than I thought you’d be,” Shang Qinghua admitted. “And kinder.”

Liu Qingge’s expression softened. “I guess you bring that out in me.”

Before Shang Qinghua could respond, one of Liu Qingge’s disciples approached with a question, pulling the warrior’s attention away. As Liu Qingge answered, Shang Qinghua couldn’t help but marvel at the turn his life had taken. The nervous scholar and the stoic warrior, finding common ground and something more in each other.

The months turned into.. more months, and spring gave way to summer. The relationship between Shang Qinghua and Liu Qingge grew stronger, built on a foundation of mutual respect and affection. They found solace in each other’s company, sharing quiet moments that spoke volumes about their bond.

One such evening, they found themselves sitting on a secluded cliffside, watching the sunset. The sky was ablaze with hues of orange and pink, casting a warm glow over the landscape.

Shang Qinghua leaned against Liu Qingge, feeling the steady rise and fall of the warrior’s chest. “This is nice,” he murmured, contentment evident in his voice.

Liu Qingge’s arm wrapped around him, pulling him closer. “It is. I’m glad we can share it together.”

Shang Qinghua smiled, his eyes fixed on the horizon. “I never imagined I’d find someone like you, Liu-shidi.”

Liu Qingge’s gaze softened, his fingers gently tracing patterns on Shang Qinghua’s arm. “And I never thought I’d find someone who understands me the way you do.”

They sat in comfortable silence, the world around them fading into the background as they focused on each other. Shang Qinghua marveled at how natural it felt to be with Liu Qingge, how their differences seemed to complement each other perfectly.

“Do you ever think about the future?” Shang Qinghua asked softly, his voice barely audible over the sound of the wind.

Liu Qingge was silent for a moment, his expression contemplative. “Sometimes. It’s hard to know what the future holds. But as long as we’re together, I think we can face anything.”

Shang Qinghua’s heart swelled with emotion. He turned to look at Liu Qingge, his eyes filled with affection. “I feel the same.”

Liu Qingge’s eyes met his, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. Then, with a tenderness that took Shang Qinghua’s breath away, Liu Qingge leaned in and kissed him.

It was a kiss filled with promise and hope, a silent vow that whatever the future held, they would face it together. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world in twilight, Shang Qinghua knew that he had found something truly special.
Thinking this, he leaned in, watching his shidis face come closer and closer until..

Shang Qinghua woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest. The room was dark, the only light coming from the moon filtering through the window. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, trying to shake off the lingering haze of sleep.

As reality settled in, he realized with a pang of disappointment that it had all been a dream. The confessions, the stolen moments, the quiet evenings—they were all figments of his imagination.

He sighed, lying back down and staring up at the ceiling. It had felt so real, so vivid. For a moment, he had truly believed that Liu Qingge reciprocated his feelings, that they had found something beautiful together.

But it was just a dream.

Shang Qinghua turned onto his side, his mind replaying the dream over and over. Despite the disappointment, a small smile tugged at his lips. It had been a beautiful dream, one that he would cherish, even if it was only in his mind.

As he drifted back to sleep, he allowed himself one last thought: Maybe, someday, dreams could become reality. And until then, he would hold onto the hope that Liu Qingge might see him as something more than just the nervous scholar of An Ding Peak.

For now, the dream was enough. And also too much because goddamn was Airplane getting tired of that cringe- what was he on in that dream?! Whatever it was, he wants reality him to get it too because it sure as hell took off the work load!!

He can feel his face flush as he pushes it into his pillow, kicking his legs like a teenage girl in the midst of her thoughts on boys. God, that was so embarrassing. Something like that would never happen!! He’s quite happy them remaining as scary, commandeering ( and admittedly hot) shidi and just plain, ol’ Airplane trying to get through life.

He’d also very much prefer his silent listing to anything real. Yup.. he’ll stick to his fiction, thanks!!

Chapter Text

Despite his quirks, Shang Qinghua’s dedication to his duties was undeniable. (At least he hoped so with how much he’s busting his ass to be on these assholes beck and call). However, his latest escapade seemed to test the patience of even the most tolerant Peak Lords, finally drawing a line in the sand if how far his certain brand of.. “uniqueness” could go.

During a particularly tense meeting about the upcoming inter-sect tournament, Shang Qinghua, in his usual mousy but blunt manner, interrupted the heated debate. "Why are we so focused on winning? Shouldn't we be prioritizing the safety and development of our disciples?"

His comment, though well-intentioned, was met with a stunned silence. Liu Qingge, known for his competitive spirit, looked ready to explode. "Shang Qinghua!- This is not the time to question our goals. The tournament is a matter of pride and honor for our sect!”

"But what’s the point of pride and honor if it comes at the expense of our disciples' well-being?" Shang Qinghua countered, oblivious to the growing aura of danger steadily consuming the room around him.

Shen Qingqiu stood up, his patience finally snapping. "Enough, Shang Qinghua. Your concerns have been noted, but this is not the forum for such discussions. We have a duty to uphold our sect's reputation."

Shang Qinghua opened his mouth to argue but then closed it, recognizing the futility. He nodded curtly. "Understood, Shen-shixiong."

As the meeting continued, Shen Qingqiu couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Shang Qinghua. He knew that perhaps the man’s heart was in the right place, even if his methods and mannerisms were unconventional. Perhaps, in time, they would all learn to understand and appreciate Shang Qinghua’s unique perspective.

---

Shang Qinghua left the meeting room with his head held low, muttering under his breath about how he always seemed to end up in situations like this. “Honestly,” he grumbled to himself, “I’m just trying to look out for everyone, and this is the thanks I get? Getting verbally skewered by Shen Qingqiu and nearly incinerated by Liu Qingge’s death glare…”

The Peak Lords dispersed, each heading in different directions with varying levels of disdain or indifference, leaving Shang Qinghua alone in the corridor. He sighed, dragging his feet back to his quarters. He could almost hear the silent judgment radiating from the shadows around him, each echo in the empty hallways taunting him with reminders of how out of place he felt among these revered cultivators.

“Pride, honor, reputation—blah, blah, blah,” Shang Qinghua mimicked under his breath, scrunching up his face in exaggerated disdain. “Why don’t we just put a big sign over the sect’s entrance: ‘Abandon your sense of self-preservation all ye who enter here’?”

As he reached the familiar wooden door of his study, he pushed it open, welcoming the dusty tomes and scattered papers that cluttered his desk. Unlike the grandiose studies of his fellow Peak Lords, his was an unkempt, cozy chaos that made sense to him and, thankfully, to no one else.

He dropped into his chair with a heavy thud, the wood creaking beneath him. “At least I don’t have to pretend to be anything I’m not here,” he muttered. Shang Qinghua had always been the odd one out—the quirky, mousy Peak Lord who, against all odds, managed to survive the cutthroat world of sect politics. He knew his place was usually on the receiving end of scornful looks or pitied smiles, but he’d long since made his peace with it. Or so he liked to tell himself. I mean- can you blame him? In a modern world with free will and speech, it was hard to adjust to ‘maintain propriety’ this and ‘keep modesty’ that coming out of his stuffy fellow pea lords mouths.

He reached for a half-finished scroll on his desk, trying to lose himself in the work of organizing the logistics for the upcoming tournament, the very one he’d just tried to question. His quill scratched against the parchment as he meticulously listed the supplies needed, double-checked the schedules, and ensured that everything was in place. This was where he excelled, in the behind-the-scenes minutiae that kept the gears of the sect turning smoothly. Not that anyone ever noticed or cared to acknowledge it.

His thoughts kept drifting back to the meeting, to Shen Qingqiu’s sharp reprimand, and the disapproving silence that followed. “Why did I even bother?” he sighed, leaning back in his chair. “They never listen, anyway. It’s like talking to a bunch of brick walls with impeccable fashion sense.” (And faces, was left to interpret.)

He imagined Liu Qingge standing in front of an actual brick wall, glaring at it as if it would move just to avoid his wrath. The thought brought a small, reluctant smile to his face. But the smile quickly faded as reality set in. He wasn’t one of them. He never would be. Not really. Not with his unremarkable cultivation skills and an alarming tendency to speak out of turn.

As if to spite himself, Shang Qinghua began to mentally catalog all the ways he didn’t belong here. His cultivation base was solid, sure, but it was nothing compared to the powerhouse that was Liu Qingge or the elegant precision of Shen Qingqiu. His martial arts skills? Laughable at best, and not even worth mentioning in a room full of lethal warriors. He was a strategist, not a fighter—a fact that seemed to set him apart in all the wrong ways. And even as a ‘strategist’ there was about 2 other peak lords that could claim that position too, so there really was no use for him.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Shang Qinghua straightened up, quickly shoving a few stray scrolls into a pile, though why he bothered with appearances at this point was beyond him. “Come in,” he called out, trying to sound less weary than he felt.

The door creaked open, and to his surprise, Shen Qingqiu stepped inside, his expression unreadable. Shang Qinghua felt his heart skip a beat—was this it? Had he finally gone too far? Was he here to kill him?! Break his legs?! He felt a cold sweat form on his brow at the very thoughts. Please mistreated word-baby of Airplanes!!- don’t kill your metaphorical papa!!

“Shang-shidi,” Shen Qingqiu began, his voice as cool and detached as ever, “I wanted to speak with you about the tournament preparations.”

Oh..

Shang Qinghua swallowed nervously. “Yes, Shen-shixiong. I’m almost finished with the arrangements. Everything should be ready on time.”

“I’m not here to discuss logistics,” Shen Qingqiu interrupted, his tone softening slightly. “I wanted to discuss your… concerns from earlier.”

Shang Qinghua blinked, taken aback. “My concerns? I thought you made it pretty clear in the meeting that—”

Shen Qingqiu held up a hand to stop him. “What I said in the meeting was for the benefit of maintaining order. You brought up a valid point, and it’s not something that should be dismissed lightly. The safety and well-being of our disciples is indeed a priority, one that sometimes gets overshadowed by other considerations.”

Shang Qinghua stared at him, unsure whether this was some kind of elaborate trick or if Shen Qingqiu had suddenly been replaced by a doppelganger. “I… I just didn’t want anyone to get hurt unnecessarily,” he admitted, his voice unusually soft in the face of his famously scary and stern shixiong.

Shen Qingqiu nodded. “And that’s something I can respect, Shang-shidi. But you need to learn when and how to voice these concerns. Timing and delivery are crucial, especially when dealing with brutish people like Liu Qingge, who view competition as a matter of life and death.”

Shang Qinghua couldn’t help but snort at that. “He really would fight a brick wall if it looked at him funny.”

To his shock, Shen Qingqiu’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile. “Indeed, though I fear the wall wouldn’t stand much of a chance.”

The air between them relaxed ever so slightly, the tension from the earlier meeting dissipating. Shang Qinghua felt a small spark of hope kindling in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, Shen Qingqiu was beginning to see him as more than just the oddball Peak Lord who spoke out of turn.

“Thank you, Shen-shixiong,” he said, bowing his head in gratitude. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

Shen Qingqiu gave a brief nod, his expression settling back into its familiar, inscrutable mask. “Do ensure that you maintain your diligence. Your contribution to the sect may not always glitter with the same acclaim as others, but that doesn’t diminish its value. It’s important to remember that not every role is bathed in the spotlight—some of us work best in the shadows.”

That almost sounded like.. a compliment??

With those parting words, Shen Qingqiu turned and left the room, leaving Shang Qinghua to sit in stunned silence.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Shang Qinghua muttered to himself, leaning back in his chair with a disbelieving grin. “Maybe I’m not completely hopeless after all.”

The next few days passed in a blur of preparations. Despite the earlier hiccup, Shang Qinghua threw himself into his work with renewed vigor. If he couldn’t be the strongest or the most respected, then by the heavens, he would be the most organized and efficient Peak Lord this sect had ever seen.

However, it seemed that fate—or more accurately, the universe with its bizarre sense of humor—wasn’t done testing him yet.

As the tournament approached, a sudden crisis hit the sect. A group of rogue cultivators had been spotted near the sect’s borders, their intentions unknown but clearly suspicious. The Peak Lords were immediately summoned to discuss a plan of action.

Shang Qinghua arrived at the meeting room, once again the last to enter. This time, however, he noticed something different in the way the others looked at him—an almost imperceptible shift in their expressions. It wasn’t quite respect, far from it actually, but there was a recognition there that hadn’t been present before.

“Shang-shidi,” Sect Leader Yue Qingyuan greeted him with a nod, gesturing for him to take his seat. “We were just discussing how to handle this new threat.”

Shang Qinghua took his usual place at the table, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. “Do we have any information on their numbers or capabilities?” he asked, his tone more assertive than usual.

“Not much,” Liu Qingge replied, his voice tight with barely restrained frustration. “Only that they seem to be moving in groups of five or six, and they’re skilled enough to evade our outer defenses.”

Shang Qinghua frowned, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “If they’re evading our defenses, they must have a detailed knowledge of our patrol routes. Either they’ve been watching us for some time, or they have someone on the inside.”

“That’s exactly what we’re concerned about,” Shen Qingqiu said, his eyes narrowing. “We need to identify the traitor, if there is one, and neutralize the threat before the tournament begins.”

“Do we really think it’s safe to proceed with the tournament under these circumstances?” Shang Qinghua asked, his earlier concerns resurfacing. “If we’re under threat, wouldn’t it be wiser to postpone?”

“There is no guarantee they will attack during the tournament,” Shen Qingqiu responded calmly. “And postponing could be seen as a sign of weakness, which might embolden them further.”

Shang Qinghua nodded slowly, though he couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at his gut. “Then we should at least increase security measures. Double the patrols, keep our most vulnerable disciples close to the sect, and set up additional barriers around the tournament grounds.”

Liu Qingge huffed, crossing his arms. “That’s already being done. We’re not amateurs, Shang-shidi.”

Shang Qinghua resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m just making sure all the bases are covered. If these rogue cultivators are as skilled as they seem, we can't afford any gaps in our defenses.”

Yue Qingyuan glanced at Shang Qinghua, considering his words. “You make a valid point. I’ll have my disciples review the barrier formations and ensure there are no weaknesses. Liu-shidi, can your disciples take charge of the patrols?”

Liu Qingge nodded curtly. “Already on it. We’ll catch these rats before they cause any real damage.”

Shang Qinghua leaned back in his chair, trying to ignore the strange sense of deja vu creeping up on him. Here they were again, discussing life-and-death matters with the same intensity as they’d discussed the tournament logistics just days ago. Only this time, there was no mistaking the stakes.

As the meeting progressed, Shang Qinghua found himself surprisingly more involved in the discussions than usual. He suggested additional safety protocols, proposed contingency plans, and even offered to handle the communication between the various peaks, ensuring that everyone was on the same page. It wasn’t glamorous work, but it was necessary. (Just as the rest of his work.)

By the time the meeting ended, the Peak Lords had a solid plan in place. But even as they dispersed, Shang Qinghua couldn’t shake the lingering anxiety. Something about this whole situation didn’t sit right with him.

---

The next morning, Shang Qinghua was up before dawn, poring over maps and patrol schedules in his cluttered study. The candles on his desk flickered as a breeze swept through the open window, sending a chill down his spine. He shivered, wrapping his robe tighter around himself.

“Why do I always get stuck with the late-night shifts?” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “This was most definitely not in the Peak Lord job description.”

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Shang Qinghua frowned—who would be visiting him at this hour? He set down his quill and went to open the door, revealing a young disciple standing nervously on the threshold.

“Shang-shifu,” the disciple began, bowing deeply. “I have a message from Shen-shixiong. He requests your presence at the eastern barrier. There’s… something you need to see.”

Shang Qinghua’s stomach sank. “What is it? Did something happen?”

The disciple hesitated. “I’m not sure, Shifu. Shen-shixiong said it was urgent, but he didn’t give any details.”

Shang Qinghua sighed, nodding. “All right. Tell Shen-shixiong I’m on my way.”

The disciple bowed again and hurried off, leaving Shang Qinghua to scramble into a more presentable robe. He grabbed his notepad and pen—more for comfort than actual utility (hopefully)—and made his way to the eastern barrier.

As he approached the designated area, he could see Shen Qingqiu and a group of disciples standing in a tight circle, their expressions tense. Shang Qinghua quickened his pace, his anxiety spiking.

“What happened?” he asked, pushing his way through the crowd to Shen Qingqiu’s side.

Shen Qingqiu turned to him, his face grim. “We found this near the barrier,” he said, holding out a small, intricately carved talisman. “It’s a communication device, likely used by the rogue cultivators.”

Shang Qinghua took the talisman, examining it closely. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized the design. “This… this is advanced,” he murmured, turning the talisman over in his hands. “Whoever made this knows what they’re doing. It’s not something you just pick up from a market stall.”

Shen Qingqiu nodded. “I already knew that much. We need to figure out who’s behind this and how they’ve managed to slip past our defenses.” He snipped.

Shang Qinghua’s mind raced. This was bad—really bad. If these rogue cultivators had access to such sophisticated tools, it meant they weren’t just some random group of troublemakers. They were organized, well-funded, and likely had connections in places they shouldn’t.

“Have we found any other clues?” Shang Qinghua asked, his voice tighter than he intended.

“Nothing concrete,” Shen Qingqiu replied, his eyes narrowing. “But we’ve intercepted a few coded messages that suggest they’re planning something during the tournament. We just don’t know what or when.” Joy. So basically we know nothing.

Shang Qinghua felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. This was exactly what he’d feared. “We need to take this seriously,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “If they’re planning to attack during the tournament, we can’t just go on as if nothing’s wrong.”

Shen Qingqiu glanced at him, his expression unreadable. “We are taking it seriously, Shang-shidi. But we also can’t let them see us panic. We need to proceed carefully.”

Shang Qinghua bit his lip, struggling to keep his frustration in check. Why did it always feel like he was the only one who saw the danger for what it was? But then he remembered Shen Qingqiu’s words from the previous meeting, and he forced himself to take a deep breath.

“Right,” he said more calmly. “Carefully. But we should be prepared for the worst. What if they’re planning something bigger than just disrupting the tournament? What if this is just a distraction?”

Shen Qingqiu’s gaze sharpened. “What are you suggesting?”

Shang Qinghua hesitated, feeling the weight of the other disciples’ eyes on him. “I think we should consider the possibility that they have a larger target in mind. Something that would strike at the heart of the sect. Maybe… maybe they’re planning to attack the Peaks themselves.”

There was a murmur of unease among the disciples, but Shen Qingqiu remained calm, considering Shang Qinghua’s words. “It’s a possibility,” he admitted. “We’ll need to strengthen our defenses across all the Peaks. I’ll alert the other Peak Lords to be on high alert.”

Shang Qinghua nodded, feeling a strange mix of relief and dread. At least Shen Qingqiu was taking him seriously, but the implications of his own theory made his skin crawl. If he was right, then they were in for a lot more than just a rogue cultivator skirmish. In line for his luck, too.

---

The days leading up to the tournament were a blur of heightened security measures, sleepless nights, and an ever-growing sense of impending doom. Basically just his usual day shift. Shang Qinghua found himself running on pure adrenaline, his mind constantly spinning with worst-case scenarios.

He barely had time to eat or sleep, let alone think about anything other than the looming threat. Every shadow seemed to hide an enemy, every gust of wind a whisper of danger. He could feel the tension building in the air, like a storm ready to break.

On the eve of the tournament, Shang Qinghua was once again holed up in his study, reviewing the latest reports from the patrols. His eyes were bloodshot, and his hands shook slightly as he sipped from a cup of tea that was not originally cold.

The door to his study burst open without warning, and he nearly spilled his tea as Liu Qingge stormed in, looking even more furious than usual.

“Shang Qinghua!” Liu Qingge’s voice was a low growl, and it sent a jolt of fear through Shang Qinghua’s exhausted body. “You need to explain this!”

Shang Qinghua blinked up at him, bewildered. “Explain what? What’s going on?”

Liu Qingge slammed a piece of parchment onto Shang Qinghua’s desk. “This! One of my disciples found it near the southern barrier!”

Shang Qinghua picked up the parchment with trembling hands. It was another coded message, similar to the ones Shen Qingqiu had mentioned, but this one was different. The code was more complex, the message more ominous.

“They’re planning to attack during the final match,” Shang Qinghua read aloud, his voice barely above a whisper. “And they have… inside help.”

Liu Qingge’s eyes blazed with anger. “Whoever it is, they’re going to pay for this betrayal with their life.”

Shang Qinghua swallowed hard, his mind racing. An inside traitor—someone within the sect was working with the rogue cultivators. It was the worst possible scenario, and it made everything so much more dangerous. Which was ironic seeing as he was doing the exact same thing with the northern demons.. This entire thing was beginning to stray too far into something similarly to his own hiding ‘betrayal’ for his liking. It’s making him even more squeamish.

“We need to find out who it is before it’s too late,” Shang Qinghua said, his voice shaking with the various implications. “If they succeed… the consequences could be catastrophic.” Just like his most likely be.

Liu Qingge’s expression darkened even further. “I’ve already alerted Yue Qingyuan and the other Peak Lords. We’re going to increase security around the tournament grounds, but we need to root out the traitor before the final match.”

Shang Qinghua nodded, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. This was it—this was the moment that would determine the fate of the entire sect. And somehow, he was right in the middle of it all. Ahh.. he was really out of his depth here- he wishes back for his once shadowed presence.

As Liu Qingge left the study, Shang Qinghua slumped back into his chair, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew what he had to do, but the fear gnawing at him made it hard to think clearly.

“Come on, Shang Qinghua,” he muttered to himself, rubbing his temples. “You’ve faced worse odds before. You can do this. Just… just focus.”

He forced himself to stand, gathering his notes and the coded message. There was no time to waste—he needed to act fast if they were going to prevent the disaster that was looming on the horizon. (Once again ironic with his own personal agenda.)

But as he prepared to leave, a chilling thought crossed his mind. What if the traitor was someone he knew? Someone who knew about him-? What if they also had connections with Mobei-Jun and therefore knew about him? The idea made his blood run cold, and for a moment, he was paralyzed by the fear of betrayal and his own downfall. He was always a coward at heart.

“No,”he whispered, shaking his head fiercely to dispel the thought. “There’s no time for that. I can’t start doubting everything now. I just have to focus on the evidence and follow the trail.”

Shang Qinghua steeled himself, clutching the coded message tightly as he left his study. The sect was eerily quiet as he made his way to Shen Qingqiu’s quarters, the usual bustling energy replaced by a tense, watchful stillness. Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of the wind outside felt like a harbinger of something terrible. He couldn’t shake the sense that something was coming—something big.

He supposed he should go to the sect leaders meeting spot but instead ended up wandering onto Qing Jing, where he knew he would be perceived best.When he arrived at Shen Qingqiu’s quarters, he found the man pacing back and forth, deep in thought. His usual calm demeanor was slightly cracked, and he didn’t look surprised when Shang Qinghua entered, clutching the damning parchment.

“You’ve seen it, then,” Shen Qingqiu said, his voice low but controlled.

Shang Qinghua nodded, holding out the coded message. “Liu-shidi found it near the southern barrier. Whoever left it wanted us to find it—it’s almost like they’re taunting us.”

Shen Qingqiu took the parchment, scanning it quickly before setting it down on the table with a frown. “They’re confident,” he murmured. “Too confident. If they’re counting on inside help, they must believe they have the upper hand.”

“That’s what worries me,” Shang Qinghua admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re planning something big, and they seem certain they can pull it off. We can’t just rely on tightening security—there’s something we’re missing.”

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes flicked to Shang Qinghua, sharp and assessing. “What do you suggest?”

Shang Qinghua swallowed, gathering his thoughts. “We need to find out who the traitor is, and fast. We can’t let them know we’re onto them, though. If they sense we’re closing in, they might act sooner than we expect.”

Shen Qingqiu nodded slowly, considering. “Agreed. But how do you propose we identify the traitor? It could be anyone—a disciple, a servant, even another Peak Lord.”

The irony strikes again..

But the idea of suspecting one of the Peak Lords sent a shiver down Shang Qinghua’s spine, (mostly due to how much he would pay if it was one of them who found out first..) but he forced himself to focus. “We have to look for patterns,” he said after a moment. “Someone with access to sensitive information, someone who’s been acting strangely, or who has a sudden interest in the tournament’s security details.”

And now that he lists that off.. that sounds a lot like- ..

Him.

God damn it.

Shen Qingqiu gave him a scrutinising look but just sighed, running a hand through his always impeccable hair, combing over perfectly placed strands. “It’s a start, but it’s a long shot. We don’t have much time, and the final match is tomorrow.” Thankfully it seemed Shen Qingqius mind wasn’t going into that direction.

“I know,” Shang Qinghua said, feeling the pressure mounting. “But it’s all we’ve got. I’ll start looking into the disciples assigned to the security teams—maybe there’s something there.”

“And I’ll reach out to the other Peak Lords,” Shen Qingqiu added, his voice resolute. “Discreetly. We need to be united in this if we’re going to have any chance of stopping them.” Just the very thought seemed to make his lip turn up in partly disguised disgust.

Shang Qinghua nodded, feeling a small surge of determination. “Right. We can’t let them win. We have to protect the sect, no matter what.”

‘Until I destroy it after with my own betrayal..’

As they parted ways, Shang Qinghua couldn’t help but feel the weight of the task ahead of him. He was used to being the odd man out, the one whose contributions were often overlooked or dismissed. But now, for better or worse, the sect was relying on him.

He spent the next several hours combing through the records of the disciples and servants, looking for anything out of the ordinary. It was painstaking work, and with each passing minute, the knot of anxiety in his chest tightened. He knew the clock was ticking—every second brought them closer to the final match and whatever catastrophe the rogue cultivators had planned.

At last, just as the first rays of dawn began to filter through his window, Shang Qinghua found something—a small, easily overlooked detail in the records of one of the junior disciples assigned to patrol the southern barrier. The disciple, a quiet, unassuming young man named Wei Ming, had only recently been promoted to this position. But what caught Shang Qinghua’s attention was that Wei Ming had suddenly requested multiple shifts in the past week, all at odd hours, and all near the location where the coded message had been found.

“This has to be it,” Shang Qinghua muttered to himself, his heart pounding. “He’s involved somehow—I’m sure of it.”

But even as he felt a surge of triumph, doubt crept in. What if he was wrong? What if this was just a coincidence, and he was about to accuse an innocent disciple of treachery? The thought made him hesitate, his confidence wavering.

But there was no time for hesitation. If Wei Ming was involved, they needed to act fast. Taking a deep breath, Shang Qinghua grabbed the records and rushed to find Yue-shixiong.

---

The sect leader was already waiting for him in a small, secluded courtyard near the main hall, looking more alert than Shang Qinghua felt. He’d clearly been up all night as well, but if he was tired, he didn’t show it.

“Did you find something?” Yue Qingyuan asked as soon as Shang Qinghua approached.

Shang Qinghua nodded, thrusting the records into his hands. “I think I’ve found our traitor. One of the junior disciples, Wei Ming—he’s been acting suspiciously, taking on extra shifts at the southern barrier where the message was found. It’s too much of a coincidence.”

Yue Qingyuan canned the records, his eyes narrowing. “I see what you mean. But we need to be careful—if we confront him too directly, we might tip him off.”

“I thought of that,” Shang Qinghua said quickly. “What if we set a trap? We could feed him false information about the tournament’s security and see if it gets back to the rogue cultivators. If it does, we’ll have our proof.”

Yue Qingyuan onsidered this, his gaze distant as he thought it over. “It’s risky, but it might work. We’ll need to be subtle—he can’t suspect anything.”

“I can handle it,” Shang Qinghua said, surprising himself with his own confidence. “I’ll make sure the information gets to him in a way that seems natural. He won’t know what hit him.”

Yue Qingyuan gave him a long, appraising look, which made his own (SQ) ears burn in embarrassment, then nodded. “Very well. I’ll leave it to you, Shang-shidi. But be careful. If he’s working with the rogue cultivators, he could be dangerous.”

“I’ll be careful,” Shang Qinghua promised, though his stomach churned at the thought. He wasn’t exactly known for his bravery or combat skills, but this was something he had to do. The sect was counting on him.

---

Shang Qinghua spent the rest of the day carefully laying the groundwork for the trap. He arranged for the false information to be “leaked” through casual conversations with the other disciples, making sure that it would reach Wei Ming’s ears without raising suspicion.

By the time night fell, the stage was set. All that was left to do was wait and see if the bait would be taken.

He found himself pacing nervously in his quarters, unable to sit still. This was it—the moment that would determine whether his hunch had been right or if he was about to make a colossal mistake.

A knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts, and he hurried to open it, revealing a familiar face—one of Shen Qingqiu’s trusted disciples, sent to deliver a message. A deceptively slighter but bubbly girl that was so very intricately outlined in his story as Airplane as the one- the only!!- Ning Yingying! But in this pretence.. she seemed rather.. stilted.

“Shang-shifu,” she said with a respectful bow, “Shen-shixiong requests your presence in the main hall. He says it’s urgent.”

Shang Qinghua’s heart leaped into his throat. “Did something happen? Is it about the plan?”

The disciple shook her head. “I’m not sure, Shifu. He didn’t give me any details.”

Shang Qinghua nodded, his anxiety spiking. “All right. I’ll be there right away.”

As he made his way to the main hall, his mind raced with possibilities. Had the plan worked? Had they caught Wei Ming in the act? Or had something gone wrong?

When he arrived at the main hall, he found Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu already there, standing side by side, which was weird already with how much the former seemed to be adamant to avoid his former brother, both looking more serious than usual. Several other Peak Lords were present as well, their expressions tense.

“What’s going on?” Shang Qinghua asked, his voice trembling slightly. Always late the party.

Shen Qingqiu stepped forward, holding up a small, familiar object—another coded message, this one even more complex than the last.

“We intercepted this just a short while ago,” Shen Qingqiu said, his voice tight with urgency. “It seems your hunch was correct, Shang-shidi. The traitor took the bait, and they’re planning to make their move during the final match tomorrow.”

Shang Qinghua felt a surge of both relief and dread. He’d been right, but that meant the threat was imminent. There was no time left to prepare.

“What do we do?” he asked, looking to Shen Qingqiu and the other Peak Lords for guidance.

Yue Qingyuan attempted to exchange a glance with Shen Qingqiu before speaking. “We proceed with the tournament as planned, but we’ll be ready. We’ll set up a secondary trap during the final match—when the traitor and the rogue cultivators make their move, we’ll be waiting for them.”

Shang Qinghua nodded, his mind racing with the implications. This was it—the final confrontation. Everything had led to this moment. The pressure was immense, but Shang Qinghua knew there was no turning back. The safety of the sect, the lives of countless disciples, all rested on the success of their plan.

---

The day of the tournament dawned bright and clear, a deceptive calm hanging over the sect as disciples and Peak Lords alike gathered in the grand arena. The final match was always a highly anticipated event, drawing spectators from every peak. But today, there was an undercurrent of tension in the air, a silent anticipation that had nothing to do with the competition.

Shang Qinghua stood at the edge of the arena, his heart pounding in his chest. He could see the other Peak Lords strategically positioned around the perimeter, their gazes sharp and alert. Shen Qingqiu was in his usual place, looking composed as ever, but Shang Qinghua knew better. The subtle rigidity in his stance, the way his hand hovered just slightly closer to his fan than usual—it all betrayed the tension he was holding back.

As the final match began, the crowd’s cheers rang out, but Shang Qinghua couldn’t focus on the fight. His eyes kept scanning the stands, the exits, the shadows. He was searching for any sign of the impending threat, any hint that the rogue cultivators were about to strike.

Minutes passed, each one feeling like an eternity. The fighters in the arena exchanged powerful blows, their skills on full display, but all Shang Qinghua could think about was the ticking clock. Any moment now, the traitor would make their move.

And then, just as one of the fighters landed a particularly devastating strike, a flash of movement caught Shang Qinghua’s eye. Near the southern edge of the arena, a figure was slipping through the crowd, moving with purpose. Shang Qinghua’s breath caught in his throat—he recognized that odd robe (completely against the peaks self-imposed dress code, may he add and also butt ugly- which should’ve gave way to the thought he was ‘evil’ in the first place), that cautious gait. It was Wei Ming.

He felt a surge of adrenaline as he nudged Shen Qingqiu, who prepared to snap at him before instantly following his gaze. Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrowed, and with a barely perceptible nod, he signaled Liu Qingge. (It was still incredibly weird to see them so docile to one another.) The plan was in motion.

As Wei Ming reached the edge of the arena, he paused, glancing around as if to ensure he wasn’t being watched. Shang Qinghua tensed, every muscle in his body ready to spring into action. This was it—the moment they had been waiting for.

But just as Wei Ming raised his hand, as if to signal someone, a sudden, explosive burst of spiritual energy erupted from the opposite side of the arena. The crowd gasped, and chaos ensued as a group of rogue cultivators, their faces obscured by masks, materialized out of nowhere, launching a coordinated attack on the unsuspecting disciples.

Shang Qinghua’s heart raced as he realized the true scale of the ambush. The rogue cultivators had played them—they had used Wei Ming as a decoy to draw their attention while the real attack came from elsewhere.

“Fantastic!” Shang Qinghua grumbled, a nervous chuckle slipping out. “Just what I needed—someone out there with an actual functioning brain. Next thing you know, they'll be running circles around us and I’ll be out of a job. Maybe I should’ve stuck to farming—at least crops don’t outsmart you!”

But his nervous quip went unnoticed by his undeterred Peak Lords. Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge were already moving, their weapons drawn as they leaped into the fray, their powerful spiritual energies flaring to life. Shang Qinghua couldn’t help but stare for a moment, his thoughts slipping into admiration. God, they were really cool—and hot, too. Really, really hot, actually. Of course, his life was on the line, but if he had to die today, at least he’d die watching two absolute powerhouses looking like they’d just stepped out of a heroic epic. It was really making his heart race for all the wrong reasons. If only he wasn’t so busy trying not to wet himself in the process. The other Peak Lords followed suit, each one engaging the attackers with practiced precision.

But even as the battle erupted around him, Shang Qinghua knew they couldn’t afford to lose focus. The rogue cultivators had planned this meticulously, and their goal wasn’t just to cause chaos—it was to disrupt the sect at its core.

Desperation and determination surged within him as he spotted Wei Ming trying to slip away in the confusion. “Oh no, you don’t!” Shang Qinghua muttered, gripping his sword hilt tightly as he dashed after the traitor. “You’re not getting away that easily—not after all the paperwork you’ve caused me!” As he closed the distance, he couldn’t resist shouting, “I didn’t sign up to be your babysitter, you slippery little rat!”

Ironical once more.

Wei Ming was fast, but Shang Qinghua had the advantage of knowing the terrain. He managed to cut him off near one of the side exits, blocking his path.

“Going somewhere, Wei Ming?” Shang Qinghua’s voice was steady, but his heart was pounding. He had never been in a direct confrontation like this before, and the fear was nearly overwhelming.

Wei Ming froze, his eyes wide with panic. For a moment, he looked like he might try to fight, but then he seemed to reconsider. “Shang-shifu, I… I didn’t have a choice,” he stammered, his voice trembling. “They forced me—if I didn’t help them, they said they’d kill my family.”

Shang Qinghua’s heart twisted with a pang of sympathy. He couldn’t help but soften his tone, despite the gravity of the situation. “Oh, Wei Ming,” he said gently, his voice tinged with a motherly concern, “I can’t imagine the fear you must have felt. But you must understand—you’ve put the entire sect in danger. How many lives are at risk now because of this?”

Wei Ming’s expression crumpled, and he dropped to his knees, tears welling up in his eyes. “I’m sorry! I never wanted this, I swear! But they were going to kill me—I didn’t know what else to do!”

Shang Qinghua knelt beside him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I know, Wei Ming, I know,” he murmured, his voice warm with understanding. “You were scared, and they took advantage of that. But you should have come to me, child. We could have figured this out together. I would have done everything I could to protect you and your family.”

Shang Qinghua’s mind raced. He had to make a decision—one that could mean the difference between victory and disaster.

Before he could respond, a sudden surge of energy washed over him, and he spun around just in time to see a masked rogue cultivator lunging at him from the shadows. Shang Qinghua barely managed to raise his sword in time, deflecting the attack with a burst of spiritual energy but throughout, his thoughts lingered on Wei Ming, his concern for the young man still weighing heavily on his heart.

But the force of the blow sent him staggering back, and he realized with horror that this wasn’t just any rogue cultivator—this one was far stronger, far more skilled than the others. The rogue advanced, relentless, and Shang Qinghua knew he was outmatched.

Just as the rogue cultivator was about to strike again, a powerful blast of energy slammed into them from the side, sending them crashing into the wall. Shang Qinghua gasped as he turned to see Shen Qingqiu standing there, his expression deadly serious.

“Are you all right?” Shen Qingqiu asked, not taking his eyes off the fallen rogue.

Shang Qinghua nodded shakily, his heart still racing. “Thanks to you.”

Shen Qingqiu’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile as he looked Shang Qinghua up and down, taking in his disheveled state. “Well, you seem to have a knack for looking like you need saving and having an almost..maternal tendency about you. Maybe you should add ‘trouble magnet’ to your list of skills.”

Shang Qinghua could feel himself flush at the quip before looking away.

Shen Qingqiu spared him another brief glance before turning his attention to Wei Ming, who was still kneeling on the ground, trembling. “Wei Ming, this is your last chance. If you want to make amends, you’ll tell us everything you know about their plan. Now.”

Wei Ming hesitated, tears streaming down his face, but finally, he nodded. “All right… I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything.”

Shang Qinghua let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, relief washing over him. It wasn’t over yet, but they had a chance—a chance to stop the rogue cultivators and save the sect.

As Wei Ming began to speak, revealing the details of the rogue cultivators’ plan, Shang Qinghua exchanged a glance with Shen Qingqiu. There was still a battle to be fought, and the odds were still against them. But for the first time, Shang Qinghua felt a flicker of hope. They weren’t alone in this fight, and as long as they stood together, they might just have a chance.

And as the final match reached its climax in the arena behind them, Shang Qinghua knew one thing for certain: no matter what happened next, he wouldn’t let fear hold him back. The sect was his home, and he would protect it with everything he had. (Until he betrayed it, himself of course!!(Unwillingly because he, too, was being influenced by a very scary outside source, but the difference between Wei Ming and him is his were mortals and his were.. well, very big, frightening (,abs for days) blue demons.. so..))

It was an intense and dangerous game of strategy, where every decision could tip the balance between survival and disaster. Yet, somehow, Shang Qinghua found himself standing on the precipice of something he’d never imagined: a moment of real, undeniable heroism.

It almost felt like he was in a novel or som- Oh, right.

Shen Qingqiu was already barking orders to the nearby disciples, organizing a defense against the rogue cultivators. The situation was dire, but it was controlled chaos, the kind that might still lead to victory if they could stay one step ahead of the enemy. And for once, Shang Qinghua felt like he had a role in that victory—a role he wasn’t going to mess up.

Wei Ming’s information proved invaluable. As the rogue cultivators’ plan unfolded, it became clear that their attack on the tournament was only a distraction. Their real target was the sect’s defensive barriers. If they could bring those down, the entire sect would be vulnerable to a larger assault from outside forces.

Shang Qinghua’s mind raced as he processed the information. The barriers were a critical line of defense, maintained by a complex array of formations that required constant monitoring and reinforcement. If the rogue cultivators could disrupt them, it would leave the sect exposed to all kinds of attacks, both physical and spiritual.

“We need to secure the barrier formations,” Shang Qinghua said urgently, turning to Shen Qingqiu. “If they manage to sabotage them, we won’t stand a chance against a full-scale assault.”

Shen Qingqiu nodded grimly. “Liu-shidi and I will handle the rogue cultivators here. Shang-shidi, can I trust you to oversee the defense of the barriers?”

Shang Qinghua blinked in surprise. Shen Qingqiu was entrusting him with such an important task? The weight of the responsibility settled on his shoulders, but there was no time to question it. He straightened up and nodded firmly. “You can count on me, Shen-shixiong.”

Without another word, Shen Qingqiu dashed off to join Liu Qingge in the battle, leaving Shang Qinghua to take charge of the barrier defenses. It was a daunting task, but Shang Qinghua had learned to adapt, to think on his feet, and most importantly, to rely on his own unique skills.

He quickly gathered a group of disciples who were skilled in formation techniques and led them towards the main barrier hub, where the formations were controlled. The hub was a massive, ancient structure at the heart of the sect, filled with intricate arrays and pulsating with spiritual energy. Normally, it was a place of quiet, focused work, but today it was the front line of their defense.

As they approached, Shang Qinghua could see that some of the formations were already under attack. Dark, shadowy figures were attempting to breach the protective wards, their energy twisting and writhing as they tried to disrupt the delicate balance of the barriers.

“Stay sharp!” Shang Qinghua called out to the disciples, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at his insides. “We need to reinforce the formations and repel the intruders. Focus on stabilizing the core arrays—if those fall, the entire barrier could collapse!”

The disciples nodded, their faces grim with determination. They spread out, moving quickly to their assigned positions, while Shang Qinghua positioned himself near the central array, where the spiritual energy was most concentrated.

As the battle raged on outside, Shang Qinghua found himself immersed in the intricate work of maintaining the formations. His hands moved swiftly, tracing complex symbols in the air as he channeled his energy into the array. It was delicate, demanding work, requiring absolute concentration, and for once, Shang Qinghua’s usual anxieties faded away, replaced by a laser-focused determination.

The rogue cultivators were relentless, their dark energy clawing at the formations like a malevolent force of nature. But Shang Qinghua was relentless too. He countered each attack with precise adjustments to the array, his understanding of the formations and their underlying principles guiding him like an instinct.

Time seemed to blur as he worked, the world narrowing to the pulsing energy of the array and the patterns he wove to keep it stable. Sweat dripped down his forehead, but he didn’t dare pause, not even for a second. Every heartbeat, every breath was synchronized with the array, a dance of energy that kept the barrier from crumbling.

Just when it seemed like they might be overwhelmed, a surge of power flared from the array, radiating outwards like a shockwave. The rogue cultivators recoiled, their dark energy faltering as the barrier strengthened, pushing them back. Shang Qinghua seized the opportunity, pouring every last ounce of his strength into the array, stabilizing it completely.

With a final burst of energy, the barrier pulsed brightly, sealing the breaches and repelling the remaining attackers. The rogue cultivators let out cries of frustration before retreating, their plans thwarted.

Shang Qinghua staggered back, his knees nearly buckling with exhaustion. But the barriers held firm, and the sect was safe—at least for now.

The disciples around him let out a collective sigh of relief, some even cheering weakly, but Shang Qinghua barely heard them. His vision was blurry, his entire body trembling with fatigue, but there was a sense of accomplishment that made it all worth it. They had done it. They had protected the sect.

---

When the dust finally settled and the last of the rogue cultivators had been driven off, the sect began to regroup. The tournament grounds were a mess, but the barriers held, and thanks to the quick thinking of the Peak Lords and their disciples, the damage had been contained.

Shang Qinghua found himself sitting on the steps outside the barrier hub, utterly spent. His entire body ached, and his mind was foggy with exhaustion, but there was a deep, abiding satisfaction that he couldn’t shake. He’d done it. He’d actually done something that mattered.

As he sat there, Shen Qingqiu approached, his expression unreadable. Shang Qinghua braced himself for a reprimand or a critique—he had, after all, almost let Wei Ming escape, and the rogue cultivators had still managed to launch a significant attack.

But to his surprise, Shen Qingqiu simply sat down beside him, letting out a long breath. “You did well today, Shang-shidi.”

Shang Qinghua blinked, turning to look at him in disbelief. “I… I did?”

Shen Qingqiu nodded, his gaze softening just a fraction. “Yes. Your quick thinking and knowledge of the formations were crucial in keeping the barriers intact. If you hadn’t been there, things could have gone much worse.”

Shang Qinghua didn’t know what to say. Praise from Shen Qingqiu was rare, and to hear it now, after everything that had happened, felt almost surreal.

“I just… did what I had to do,” he mumbled, suddenly feeling shy under Shen Qingqiu’s scrutiny.

“And that’s exactly what was needed,” Shen Qingqiu said, his tone firm but not unkind. “You may not realize it, but your ‘uniqueness,’ as you put it, is one of your greatest strengths. You see things differently, think differently—and that’s something this sect needs.”

Shang Qinghua stared at him, his heart swelling with something warm and unfamiliar. Acceptance? Validation? Whatever it was, it felt good. Really good.

Before he could find the words to respond, Liu Qingge appeared, looking as fierce as ever but with a hint of respect in his eyes. “You held your own today, Shang Qinghua,” he said gruffly. “Not bad.”

Shang Qinghua couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. Coming from Liu Qingge, that was practically a glowing endorsement.

“Thanks, Liu-shidi,” he said, his voice a little steadier now.

As the three of them sat there, the tension of the day slowly easing, Shang Qinghua allowed himself to relax, just a little. The danger wasn’t completely over—there were still questions to be answered, plans to be made—but for now, he could savor this small victory.

In the end, his“uniqueness” had indeed proven to be a strength. It had been a wild, unpredictable ride, but it had led him to a place where he could make a real difference. And that, more than anything, was something worth fighting for.

Chapter Text

Shang Qinghua had never been the fighting type. Sure, he could throw a punch if it really came down to it—or more accurately, he could run and hide until the trouble passed—but actually engaging in combat? That was a big, fat no. His forte was hiding behind (priorly) screens, pens, and scrolls, scribbling away at plans and strategies that someone else would execute. But here he was, standing in the middle of a demon-infested battlefield with nothing but his own wits and, well, thighs. (Remember this part- it’s gonna be important later!!)

This was supposed to be a simple mission. A routine patrol around the borders of An Ding Peak to make sure no demonic sects were causing trouble. But of course, nothing was ever simple in his life. Somewhere along the line, things had gone horribly wrong, and they’d been ambushed by a swarm of demons. Now, with the rest of the Peak Lords occupied—Shen Qingqiu was tangled in a duel with a particularly aggressive demon and Liu Qingge was busy doing his usual 'silent but deadly' routine, the rest were hell knows where with these towering trees—Shang Qinghua was left to fend for himself.

“Okay, Shang Qinghua, I believe in you,” (oh how the mighty have fallen to self- flattery) he muttered to himself, trying to summon up any ounce of courage he might have hidden in some deep, dark recess of his soul. “Think of it like a strategy game. Just, you know, with real consequences.”

The problem was that the demon currently barreling toward him was much larger than any game piece he’d ever moved across a board. This thing was huge—easily twice his size, all muscle and fangs and claws. It lunged at him with a guttural roar that sent chills down his spine. He swears his hair just puffed up like a scared cat, too.

Shang Qinghua yelped, backpedaling so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing for some kind of plan. But there was no time to think, only react. The demon's claws slashed through the air, aiming for his head, and without thinking, he dropped to the ground, dodging the blow by mere inches.

It was pure instinct—born from years of avoiding Shen Qingqiu’s wrath—that made him kick out with his legs as he fell. And because the universe was clearly enjoying this joke at his expense, his kick landed squarely on the demon's throat. There was a sickening crunch, and suddenly, the demon was collapsing on top of him, choking and sputtering as it died.

For a moment, Shang Qinghua could only stare in disbelief as the demon’s lifeless body slumped to the ground. He blinked, his brain trying to catch up with what had just happened.

“Did I... Did I just—?”

Yes, yes he did. He had just snapped a demon's neck with his thighs.

Oh gods, this was not happening.

He scrambled out from under the demon's corpse, his face burning with a mix of embarrassment and something else he couldn’t quite place. He didn’t know if he should feel proud of himself for what may have looked cool for some kickass super villain in a modern day movie or superbly red faced by the fact- he had just used his fucking thighs to basically decapitate his enemy. Like what the flippedy flying fuck?! Had he really just done that? And more importantly, had anyone seen this frankly.. unfathomable display?!

Shang Qinghua slowly looked up, dreading what he might find. And, of course, the universe wasn't done mocking him. Standing a few paces away, gaping in various states of shock, were the other Peak Lords.

——

Shen Qingqiu was in the middle of dispatching a demon with the precise elegance that he prided himself on when he heard it—a distinct crunch followed by an ungodly scream. He paused, mid-swing, to look toward the source of the sound, and what he saw almost made him drop his fan. (And he has never dropped his fan- deliberately thrown at someone in a guise of ‘dropping’ (with rather a lot of force, may he add) but he would never let his beloved elegance in object form touch the dirty ground unprovoked.)

Shang Qinghua—let him stress this for what comes after- Shang Qinghua—was lying on the ground, a massive demon corpse next to him. At first, he thought the fool had somehow tripped and miraculously avoided death by sheer luck. But then he noticed the position of the demon's head, bent at an unnatural angle, and the way Shang Qinghua's legs were still partially tangled around its neck.

Shen Qingqiu blinked. That couldn’t be right. Shang Qinghua was many things—most of them cowardly, ridiculous, or downright infuriating—but he wasn’t… Wasn’t..

He glanced around to see if anyone else had witnessed the spectacle, and, much to his horror, it seemed they all had. Liu Qingge was standing a few feet away, sword raised but forgotten, his expression a rare mix of shock and confusion. It seemed even the usually stoic and brutish Peak Lord of Bai Zhan seemed at a loss for words, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open.

“What in the name of the Heavenly Dao just happened?” Shen Qingqiu muttered, not really expecting an answer.

But Shang Qinghua, hearing him, seemed to panic. “Nothing! Nothing happened! You didn’t see anything!” he babbled, scrambling to his feet. “It’s not what it looks like!”

“It looks like you just killed a demon with your thighs,” Shen Qingqiu said flatly, still trying to process the absurdity of the situation.

“No, no, no! That was, uh, an accident! I didn’t mean to—”

Shen Qingqiu was not sure whether to be impressed, horrified, or… slightly intrigued? The image of Shang Qinghua, usually so nervous and bumbling, snapping a demon’s neck with sheer leg strength, was bizarrely fascinating. In all his years, he had never thought the words “Shang Qinghua” and “thighs” would occupy the same mental space, much less in this context.

And yet… there it was. Impossible to unsee. Impossible to forget.

——

Liu Qingge was a man of few words and many actions. He preferred to let his sword speak for him, cutting through obstacles with a precision that most people could only dream of. But today, for perhaps the first time in his life, he found himself utterly at a loss for the
fore-stated ‘sparing words’.

It wasn’t that he was unused to seeing strange things. Cultivation was a world of oddities, after all, and he’d seen his fair share of the bizarre. But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for the sight of Shang Qinghua, of all people, the resident towns (or in this case Peaks) idiot, taking down a demon with nothing but the strength of his legs.

Liu Qingge had watched the entire thing unfold, his instincts screaming at him to intervene, but his body refusing to move out of sheer disbelief. And when it was over, when the demon lay dead and Shang Qinghua stood there, wide-eyed and flustered, Liu Qingge could only stare.

He wasn’t sure what was more shocking—the fact that Shang Qinghua had just snapped a demon’s neck, or the fact that it had been strangely… appealing?

No, he must have hit his head during the fight. That was the only explanation. Shang Qinghua was many things, but strong or attractive were not among them. And yet… there was something undeniably magnetic about the way his thighs had flexed in that moment, the raw power on display.

Liu Qingge shook his head, trying to banish the thought. This was ridiculous. He had demons to slay, not time to indulge in… whatever this was. It was wholly improper!- He didn’t want to end up as a low life; someone like Shen Qingqiu for example, of which was currently stood right next to him, clearly entranced from his usual snappiness.

And yet, as he resumed his battle, he couldn’t quite get the image out of his mind. Those thighs… Maybe Shang Qinghua wasn’t as useless as he thought.

——

The battle was over, the demons defeated, but the two Peak Lords present for the… spectacle, were far from done processing what they had witnessed. Back at the A Ding Peak, as it was the closest, they gathered for a much-needed debriefing, though it quickly devolved into something else entirely.

Shen Qingqiu sat at the head of the table, fanning himself in an attempt to regain his composure. “So,” he began, his voice carefully neutral, “About what happened on the battlefield…”

“I think we can all agree that Shang Qinghua’s tactics were… unconventional,” said Mu Qingfang, the Peak Lord of Qian Cao Peak, who had arrived late to the battle and had only heard about the incident secondhand. He was the most level-headed among them, though even he looked slightly perturbed.

“Unconventional?” Shen Qingqiu echoed, raising an eyebrow. “That’s one way to put it.”

Liu Qingge, who had been uncharacteristically silent since the battle, finally spoke up. “It worked,” he said simply, his eyes flicking over to Shang Qinghua, who was trying to make himself as small as possible at the end of the table, perhaps debating a way to use the fore mentioned tactics to off himself, too.

“It did,” Shen Qingqiu agreed, though his tone was more contemplative than praising. He hadn’t missed the way Liu Qingge had been looking at Shang Qinghua ever since the incident. It was subtle, but for someone like Liu Qingge, it was practically a yell for attention.

“Well, whatever it was, I’m just glad we all survived,” Shang Qinghua said, his voice trembling slightly. He looked like he was about to bolt at any second.

“Survived and then some,” Shen Qingqiu said with a smirk. “You’ve certainly… given us a lot to think about, Shang-shidi.”

“Please don’t,” Shang Qinghua begged, his face beet red. “Can we all just agree to never speak of this again?- Actually! I don’t see why we are speaking of this at all- there are much important matters- like, well, yknow’ the fucking demons knocking on our door?”

Ignoring the rest of his spiel, Shen Qingqiu opened his mouth for something that was most definitely going to be very snarky and harmful for Shang Qinghuas mental health.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think we can,” Shen Qingqiu replied, still smirking. “But I do think we need to, ah, revisit our training methods.”

“Training?” Shang Qinghua squeaked. God damnit, he called it, jinxed it and doomed himself all in one.

“Yes,” Liu Qingge said, suddenly serious and very weirdly piping in to agree with Shen Qingqiu of all people. “You clearly have… potential.”

Shang Qinghua gaped at him, looking like he was about to faint. “Potential? Me? No, no, no. That was a fluke!”

He really wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh, cry, or just pass out. This entire situation had spiraled so far out of control, and now he was sitting here, in the middle of a meeting with the most powerful Peak Lords, discussing his “potential.” Potential for what? Accidental murder? Leg-based destruction?

“Training?” he repeated, once more, like he misheard (God, he wishes), his voice cracking slightly as he tried to get his brain back online. “Liu-shixiong, I think you might be mistaken. I’m not a fighter! I’m a writer! A strategist! I’m more useful behind a desk than on a battlefield, trust me!” He added on, just for the sake of delaying the inevitable.

Liu Qingge’s expression didn’t change. “You underestimate yourself,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “You just proved that you have more strength than you realize. You should learn to harness it.”

Shang Qinghua opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. How could he argue with Liu Qingge of all people? The man was practically the definition of martial prowess. If Liu Qingge said you had potential, it was practically a fact written in stone. But Shang Qinghua was also fairly certain that if Liu Qingge put him through one of his infamous training regimes, he’d end up as nothing more than a smear on the training grounds.

Shen Qingqiu seemed to sense his inner turmoil and stepped in, fanning himself lazily as he spoke. “Liu-shidi has a point, but I think you’re forgetting one crucial detail: this is Shang Qinghua we’re talking about. The man who once nearly fell into a pit trap meant for demons. If you put him through Bai Zhan Peak’s training, he’d be broken in less than a week.”

“Less than a day,” Shang Qinghua muttered under his breath, earning him a disapproving look from Liu Qingge.

“Perhaps,” Liu Qingge conceded, “but that doesn’t mean he can’t benefit from some basic martial training. Just enough to control that strength of his.”

“Control it?” Shang Qinghua repeated, horrified. “You’re talking like I’m some kind of weapon! I’m not! I’m really not! This was a one-time thing, I swear!”

“Oh, Shang-shidi,” Shen Qingqiu said with a sly smile, “I think we all know better than that. You’ve been hiding your true talents for far too long.”

Shang Qinghua wanted to bury his face in his hands and never look up again. “What talents?” he practically wailed. “This was just a fluke! A mistake! I didn’t even know I could do that!”

“Which is exactly why you need to learn,” Liu Qingge insisted. “You have raw strength, Shang Qinghua. That’s rare in a scholar like you. It would be foolish to let it go to waste.”

Shang Qinghua stared at him, utterly baffled. He wanted to argue more, to make them see how ridiculous this was, but he knew it was no use. Once Liu Qingge set his mind on something, there was no changing it. And Shen Qingqiu, for all his sly comments, seemed to agree. Mu Qingfang, who had been silent for most of the discussion, nodded thoughtfully.

“You might want to start with basic flexibility exercises and controlled breathing,” Mu Qingfang said, his tone clinical. “Given your… unique talents, it would help you avoid any accidental injuries, either to yourself or others.”

Shang Qinghua couldn’t believe this was happening. They were really discussing how to make him into some kind of… of thigh-killing martial artist! Was this some kind of punishment from the heavens? A cruel joke?

“I… I…” he stammered, searching for a way out. “What if I say no?”

Shen Qingqiu’s smile didn’t waver. “Do you really want to say no to Liu-shidi?” he asked in a tone that suggested that was the worst possible idea Shang Qinghua could have.

He glanced over at Liu Qingge, who was staring at him with an intensity that could probably cut through steel. The thought of saying no to Liu Qingge, of all people, sent a shiver down his spine. That man was the embodiment of “do it or die trying,” and Shang Qinghua had no doubt that if he refused, Liu Qingge would just drag him onto the training grounds by force.

“I… guess I don’t have a choice,” Shang Qinghua said weakly, slumping in his seat. “But seriously, I’m warning you all—this is going to end in disaster.”

“We’ll take that risk,” Liu Qingge replied, completely unfazed.

“Wonderful,” Shen Qingqiu said, looking far too pleased with himself. “In that case, we’ll arrange a training schedule for you. And don’t worry, Shang-shidi, I’ll make sure Liu-shidi doesn’t go too hard on you.”

Shang Qinghua had no faith in that promise whatsoever.

“Maybe this will be good for you,” Mu Qingfang offered, trying to be reassuring. “A little exercise could help you manage stress better.”

“Manage stress? This is giving me stress!” Shang Qinghua moaned, feeling like the walls were closing in on him.

“It’s decided, then,” Liu Qingge said, completely ignoring Shang Qinghua’s despair. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?!” Shang Qinghua yelped. “You’re not even going to give me time to prepare?!”

“What’s there to prepare for?” Liu Qingge asked, genuinely confused. “Just show up ready to train.”

Shang Qinghua wanted to scream. This was a nightmare. An absolute nightmare. But there was no waking up from it. The others were already discussing the logistics of his “training” as if it were a foregone conclusion.

The meeting eventually wrapped up, with Shang Qinghua feeling like his soul had been thoroughly crushed. As the other Peak Lords filtered out of the room, he lingered behind, hoping for some miraculous escape route to present itself. But, of course, none did.

“Shang Qinghua,” Shen Qingqiu said, lingering by the door, “you really shouldn’t worry so much. Liu-shidi is… well, intense, but he knows what he’s doing. You might even find that you enjoy it.” He looked like he was sucking on a sour lemon as he spouted what almost could be product of a water down compliment.

Shang Qinghua gave him a look that clearly said, “Are you serious?”

Shen Qingqiu just chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. And who knows? Maybe you’ll even discover that you have more potential than you ever imagined.”

Suddenly, his lips split into a cat-like grin sharply hidden behind a lovely lilac fan and, just then, Shang Qinghua knew he was going to die.

“Oh, well, I mean you could always-“
He paused to take in a bated breath that had the other party (Shang Qinghua in this case) on the edge of his seat; which he really shouldn’t be doing- because if he had any more stress build up he might quite literally explode- and it really was possible in this world, with Qi deviations and all that!

“Come train on my peak, too?” Shen Qingqiu practically purred and Shang Qinghua felt his face loose all colour and heat at once.

The way Shen Qingqiu’s voice dipped and rolled, combined with the intense, almost magnetic quality of his gaze, left Shang Qinghua feeling like his heart had stopped. He gaped at Shen Qingqiu, his face draining of all color, heat flooding to his cheeks in a rush. The idea seemed so utterly absurd—and yet somehow, tantalizingly intriguing.

He stared, lost for words, as Shen Qingqiu’s grin widened, clearly enjoying the effect he was having. The world seemed to tilt around him, and Shang Qinghua couldn’t quite decide if he was about to faint or if he was in the middle of some elaborate, surreal dream.

Numbly, he just nodded, which seemed to please Shen Qingqiu a great deal, so much so that he even reached to close the gap between them by bringing a warm hand atop his head to mess up his mused hair even further.

With that, Shen Qingqiu swept out of the room, leaving Shang Qinghua alone with his thoughts.

Potential? Enjoy it? Was everyone around him completely insane?

He sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face. This was his life now. Training under Liu Qingge to harness his supposedly deadly thighs and supposedly encompassing his potential through Shen Qingqiu too. He could already feel the impending doom hanging over his head. But, as much as he hated to admit it, maybe there was a silver lining. If he could survive this—if (heavy emphasis)—maybe, just maybe, he could stop feeling like such a burden to the rest of them.

But that was a big if.

As he trudged out of the meeting hall, Shang Qinghua couldn’t help but mutter to himself, “This is the last time I let my thighs do the talking.”

He had no idea what the future held, but one thing was for certain: his life was about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Chapter Text

———

The annual sect tournament was in full swing, the bustling energy of the crowd almost palpable in the air. Disciples from various sects clashed in bouts of swordplay and spiritual techniques, each one hoping to prove themselves in the eyes of their elders and peers. But while the tournament was the center of attention, another, more peculiar scene was unfolding on the sidelines.

Shang Qinghua, the Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, the man most known for his propensity to avoid confrontation and his bizarre ability to survive purely on sheer luck, found himself in an unusual predicament. He had been wandering the outskirts of the arena, minding his own business—more like avoiding any chance encounters with overly eager disciples—when he stumbled upon a cluster of bright, fragrant flowers. They seemed harmless enough, but the odd shimmer around them caught his eye.

"Ah, flowers... Nothing ominous about this at all," he muttered to himself, with a sarcastic tone that would have made even Shen Qingqiu proud. But as he took a whiff, the sweet scent filled his lungs, and something inside him shifted. A strange warmth spread through his chest, and suddenly, the world seemed a little less daunting, and the people, well, they seemed a lot less intimidating.

---

The tournament continued, with the disciples of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect and other sects squaring off against each other. High above, the more distinguished members watched from a pavilion, discussing the merits and flaws of the participants. The atmosphere was tense but respectful, as it should be in such formal gatherings.

The master of Huan Hua Palace, a man notorious for his lecherous tendencies and arrogant demeanor, was making his usual rounds of smug commentary. His gaze drifted over the competitors with a kind of possessive greed, as though the entire event was merely a spectacle for his personal amusement. It was in the middle of one such monologue about the "talents of the younger generation" that Shang Qinghua stumbled—or rather, swaggered—into view.

"Isn't this entertaining," the master of Huan Hua Palace drawled, casting a leering glance toward a particularly skilled female disciple from an allied sect. "Such youthful energy should be... cultivated properly."

Shang Qinghua, now standing nearby with an uncharacteristic gleam in his eye, suddenly found his tongue loosened by the strange flower's influence. Without thinking, he cut through the silence.

"And what exactly would you know about proper cultivation?" Shang Qinghua’s voice rang out, carrying a tone so sharp that several heads turned in surprise. "Or is it that you prefer leeching off others' hard work and calling it your own?"

A collective gasp rose from the disciples and elders alike. This was Shang Qinghua, the man known for ducking out of confrontations and meekly agreeing with everyone! And yet here he was, brazenly challenging the most pompous master of them all. Shen Qingqiu, seated among the other peak lords, raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

The Huan Hua Palace master narrowed his eyes, clearly not used to being addressed so disrespectfully. "And who are you to speak to me in such a manner?"

"Who am I?" Shang Qinghua scoffed, stepping closer. "Just a humble Peak Lord who knows that the world doesn't revolve around one man's ego. Maybe you should take a step down from that pedestal before you fall off. Wouldn’t want to see you break a hip.”

The shocked silence that followed was deafening. Several disciples had to cover their mouths to stifle their laughter, while others simply stared, wide-eyed, at the scene unfolding. Even the more stoic elders found themselves impressed by the audacity on display.

Shen Qingqiu, meanwhile, was having a hard time keeping a straight face. He had never seen this side of Shang Qinghua before—bold, confident, and most of all, utterly fearless. It was as if the man had shed his usual skittish demeanor entirely. And there was something almost... admirable about it.

The Huan Hua Palace master's face turned an unhealthy shade of purple as he spluttered, "You—how dare you speak to me like this!"

Shang Qinghua waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, I dare. And let me tell you, it's about time someone did. You think your age and title give you the right to look down on everyone else? Newsflash, old man: respect is earned, not inherited."

The master of Huan Hua Palace looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel, but before he could retort, one of the other elders wisely intervened, steering the conversation back to the tournament. The master, though seething, was forced to back down, if only to save face.

Shang Qinghua, still riding the high from the flower’s effects, simply grinned and turned to leave. Before he could get far, though, he felt a hand on his arm. He turned to find Shen Qingqiu looking at him with an expression that was a mixture of surprise, curiosity, and perhaps the faintest hint of admiration.

“Shang Qinghua,” Shen Qingqiu said slowly, “what... exactly did you inhale?”

Shang Qinghua blinked, the haze of confidence starting to wear off. “Inhale? Oh... uh, just some flowers I found nearby. They smelled nice, so...”

Shen Qingqiu’s lips twitched. “Remind me to have someone collect those flowers later. They seem to have quite an... interesting effect.”

---

As the tournament continued, Shang Qinghua found himself slowly coming back to his senses, the strange boldness fading away as quickly as it had come. He spent the rest of the day avoiding any more confrontations and making sure to steer clear of the Huan Hua Palace master’s withering glare.

But even as he returned to his usual, cautious self, Shang Qinghua couldn’t help but feel a small spark of satisfaction. For once, he had spoken his mind, told off someone who desperately needed to be put in their place, and—most surprisingly—he had survived it.

As the day came to a close, he glanced over at Shen Qingqiu, who caught his eye and gave him a subtle nod of approval. Maybe there was a bit more to Shang Qinghua than even he had realized.

Chapter Text

———

Shang Qinghua always knew he was a bit of a degenerate. After all, how else could he have churned out all those steamy BL novels in his past life with such speed and detail? Not to mention his purse possession of literal graphic porn of Luo Binghe essentially grabbing women and deflowering them into the thousands (3162 to be exact, but who’s counting?(Shang Qinghua is, that’s who!)) But this—this was something else. Standing at the far end of the conference room, behind several rows of elders and disciples, he felt his face burn as Yue Qingyuan, the esteemed Sect Leader of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, spoke in that calm, authoritative voice that made everyone fall silent in reverence. Really it wasn’t anything different than usual and he SHOULD be completely calm but..

Shang Qinghua gulped, eyes glued to the smooth line of Yue Qingyuan's jaw as he delivered orders with that effortlessly commanding presence. Each word fell with the weight of an iron decree, and Shang Qinghua couldn't help but admire how everyone, including the typically arrogant Peak Lords, fell in line under his command.

Yue Qingyuan was so composed, so authoritative, so… god damn it- dare he say it?-attractive.

Shang Qinghua’s eye twitched as he stared at the back of Yue Qingyuan’s head, which was still turned away from him as the Sect Leader continued giving his instructions. Was he—was he really getting turned on by this? He squeezed his eyes shut and willed his heartbeat to slow down. No. No, no, no. He was a Peak Lord too! He shouldn't be reduced to a quivering mess just because Yue Qingyuan told everyone to prepare for a potential demonic attack in that firm, no-nonsense tone.

And yet…

Shang Qinghua bit his lip. Was this a thing? Was this really HIS thing? Why did he have to unlock this here- right NOW out of everywhere and when?!

"Shang-shidi," a voice whispered beside him, and he jumped about ten feet in the air.

"A-Ah? What?!" Shang Qinghua stammered, turning to find Mu Qingfang giving him a curious look. The healer's brow was furrowed in mild concern.

"Are you alright?" Mu Qingfang asked. "You look… flushed."

"Flushed? Who’s flushed? Not me! I’m perfectly fine!" Shang Qinghua babbled, feeling a fresh wave of heat rise to his face. "I-I was just, um, thinking about something important!"

Mu Qingfang raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but he let it drop as Yue Qingyuan finished speaking and dismissed the gathering. Shang Qinghua quickly made his escape, weaving through the disciples and Peak Lords, desperate to get back to the safety of An Ding Peak where no one would question why his face was currently the color of a ripe tomato.

---

Once safely ensconced in his own quarters, Shang Qinghua collapsed onto his bed and buried his face in his hands. This was a disaster. An absolute disaster.

"Am I that much of a kinky bastard?!" he groaned into the pillow. "Am I really turned on by authority?!" By Yue Qingyuan giving a few commanding words. (Not even to HIm specifically, may he add!!)

It was bad enough that he wrote countless scenarios of dominating, strong male leads in his novels. And sure, he could get why readers liked that kind of thing—it was hot, it was steamy, it was everything you wanted in a fictional romance! But this? This was real life! HIS very real life, now!

And!!

This was Yue Qingyuan!

The Sect Leader of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect! His superior! The very definition of stoic responsibility and leadership!

Shang Qinghua flailed on his bed like a dying fish, feeling his dignity shrivel up and die, even if nobody was there to witness it. How could he, of all people, have a thing for Yue Qingyuan? The man was practically the paragon of virtue and self-restraint! The ultimate untouchable authority figure! But every time Shang Qinghua even *looked* at Yue Qingyuan lately, he couldn’t help but feel that ridiculous fluttering in his chest, like a teenage girl with a hopeless crush.

He blamed the novels. It had to be the novels. He’d written so many dominating male leads that his brain was now conditioned to find authority figures attractive. Yes, that made sense. It was all the novels’ fault. Mhm! Yup!! It wasn’t that *he* had a thing for Yue Qingyuan specifically—he just had a thing for authority in general!

Right?

But no matter how much he tried to rationalize it, the image of Yue Qingyuan calmly issuing orders during the meeting kept replaying in his mind. That steady voice, that poised posture, that confidence…

Flailing once more and practically wishing to suffocate himself in his sheets, Shang Qinghua let out another strangled groan. "I’m doomed."

---

The next few days were a waking nightmare. Every time Shang Qinghua found himself in Yue Qingyuan’s presence, he couldn't help but feel hyper-aware of the Sect Leader’s every movement, every glance, every word. Yue Qingyuan’s aura of authority seemed to have a direct line to his nerves, and he was constantly on edge, trying to hide his embarrassing reactions. How he perked up at the slightest bit of attention or how he was practically a step away from drooling on him like some overexcited *dog* .

It didn’t help that Yue Qingyuan, being the ever-responsible Sect Leader, often called upon him to help with various sect matters. Normally, Shang Qinghua would take it in stride—after all, An Ding Peak was the logistics hub, and it made sense that he’d be involved in a lot of the day-to-day operations. But now, every time Yue Qingyuan asked him to do something, it sent a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the actual daunting task.

"Shang-shidi, could you review these reports for me?" Yue Qingyuan asked one afternoon, handing him a stack of documents with that calm, steady gaze.

Shang Qinghua almost dropped the papers. "O-Of course, Sect Leader! Right away!" He fumbled to take the stack, his fingers brushing against Yue Qingyuan’s for a brief second. He froze, feeling a jolt of electricity shoot up his arm. Was it his imagination, or did Yue Qingyuan’s lips quirk up slightly at the corner? Definitely his imagination! Oh my goodness, he needed to go bury himself in an ant hill and just lay there to *die* (-not to steal Ming Fans death plot or anything!!)

He scrambled back to his peak, clutching the reports like they were some kind of shield against his own traitorous thoughts. This was ridiculous. He couldn’t even look Yue Qingyuan in the eye anymore without feeling like his face was going to combust!

"Get a grip, Shang Qinghua," he muttered to himself as he sat down at his desk. "It’s just a simple task. Nothing weird about it. Just do the work, and stop thinking about—"

His thoughts screeched to a halt as he realized he’d been staring at Yue Qingyuan’s name at the top of the document for the past five minutes without reading a single word.

Oh. My. God. He was down *bad* .

---

Yue Qingyuan, for his part, was starting to notice Shang Qinghua’s odd behavior. At first, he assumed it was just stress—after all, the recent demon attacks had everyone on edge. But as the days passed, it became clear that Shang Qinghua’s nervousness seemed to be centered around *him*.

He couldn’t deny that he found it somewhat amusing. Shang Qinghua had always been a bit of an oddball, but this was a new level of flustered. And the more Yue Qingyuan observed, the more intrigued he became. (It was even kinda… *cute*.)

It started with little things. Like how Shang Qinghua would fidget whenever Yue Qingyuan gave him an order. Or how his eyes would dart around the room, avoiding direct contact. Or how he’d stammer and trip over his words whenever they had to discuss sect matters together. More so than usual, anyway.

Yue Qingyuan wasn’t sure what had caused this sudden change in behavior, but he found himself curious to see just how far it went. So, he began to test the waters—issuing small commands, asking for Shang Qinghua’s assistance with various tasks, even when he wasn’t really needed, and watching as the Peak Lord tried (and failed) to hide his flustered reactions.

"Shang-shidi, could you bring these scrolls to the Hall of Reflection?" Yue Qingyuan asked one morning, catching his easily flustered, scuttling shidi on his way to do whatever it was he usually busied himself with, his tone casual.

Shang Qinghua looked like he’d been struck by lightning, abandoning whatever else he was doing. "Y-Yes! Right away, Sect Leader!" He grabbed the scrolls and practically bolted out of the room, leaving Yue Qingyuan to chuckle softly to himself.

This little game was more entertaining than he’d expected, an uncharacteristic sinister grin tugging at his lips.

---

Shang Qinghua was losing his mind. He was sure of it. Yue Qingyuan had asked him to do a dozen small tasks over the past week, and each time, he felt like he was being tested. It was as if Yue Qingyuan was deliberately putting him in situations that made him squirm, just to see how he’d react. But that couldn’t be it! (Right??)

And the worst part? He couldn’t even complain about it! Yue Qingyuan wasn’t doing anything unreasonable—he was just being a responsible Sect Leader, giving orders and overseeing operations like always. But now, every time he spoke, Shang Qinghua couldn’t help but hear an undercurrent of something… teasing.

He was being ridiculous. He had to be imagining it. But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Yue Qingyuan knew exactly what he was doing.

One day, Yue Qingyuan approached him with yet another request—this time, to assist in organizing the sect’s archives. It was a routine task, but the way Yue Qingyuan phrased it…

"Shang-shidi, I trust you’ll handle this with your usual efficiency," Yue Qingyuan said, his voice smooth and controlled. His gaze lingered on Shang Qinghua for just a moment longer than necessary.

Shang Qinghua nearly choked on air, hearing the praise and seeing that.. look. "O-Of course, Sect Leader! I-I’ll get right on it!"

As he hurried to the archives, he couldn’t help but replay the conversation in his mind. Was it just him, or had Yue Qingyuan’s tone been a little… different? More intense? Or was he just overthinking things again?

He shook his head, trying to focus on the task at hand. But even as he sorted through the dusty scrolls, his thoughts continued to drift back to Yue Qingyuan. Specifically, to the way Yue Qingyuan had looked at him. Was it possible that the Sect Leader had noticed his strange behavior? And if he had... was he…enjoying it?!

"Impossible," Shang Qinghua muttered under his breath, emanating his inner Shen Qingqiu, as he shoved a scroll into its proper place. "There's no way Yue Qingyuan is doing this on purpose. He’s too upright for that! Too responsible! Too—"

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind him. Shang Qinghua stiffened, a sinking feeling in his gut telling him who it was before he even turned around.

"Shang-shidi," came Yue Qingyuan's calm voice from the entrance to the archive room. "How is the sorting coming along?" Shang Qinghua’s brain short-circuited. Honestly, could he just get struck by lightning or swallowed by a sinkhole right now? Maybe the heavens could arrange for a divine boot to kick him square in the rear, because seriously—what fucking cosmic lottery of bad luck did he win today?

Trying to rearrange the nearly dropped the scroll he was holding. He turned, trying to force a smile onto his face. "Sect Leader! It's, um, going great! Just finishing up here, actually."

Yue Qingyuan stepped further into the room, his presence somehow making the already cramped space feel even smaller. He glanced around at the neatly organized shelves of scrolls, nodding in approval.

"You’ve done well, Shang-shidi. As always," Yue Qingyuan said, his voice low and approving. Praising. He moved closer, his robes brushing against one of the shelves as he surveyed Shang Qinghua’s work.

Shang Qinghua’s heart was pounding in his chest. Was it his imagination, or was Yue Qingyuan standing a little too close? His mind raced, trying to come up with a way to extract himself from this increasingly uncomfortable situation. But before he could say anything, Yue Qingyuan spoke again.

"I’ve noticed you seem… tense lately, Shang-shidi," Yue Qingyuan said, his tone deceptively gentle, and smile edging on.. some unknown. "Is something troubling you?"

Shang Qinghua felt his throat close up. Trouble? Oh, he had trouble alright—trouble in the form of being *way too attracted to his boss*! But there was no way he could say that out loud. Instead, he plastered on a shaky grin.

"N-No, Sect Leader! Everything’s fine! Just, uh, busy, you know? Lots of logistics to handle, demonic attacks and all that… ha ha…"

If the gods wanted to strike him down, now would be a good time!!

Yue Qingyuan didn’t seem convinced. His sharp eyes remained fixed on Shang Qinghua, as if trying to see through his flimsy excuses. The silence stretched on, making Shang Qinghua squirm.

Then, to his utter horror, Yue Qingyuan leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as he asked, "Are you sure that’s all it is?"

Shang Qinghua’s brain short-circuited. Yue Qingyuan was too close—*way* too close. He could smell the faint scent of incense on the Sect Leader’s robes, could feel the warmth radiating from his body. His face burned, and he had to physically stop himself from backing into the newly organised shelves behind him.

"I-I’m sure! Really sure! Absolutely sure!" Shang Qinghua babbled, his voice going up an octave in his panic. "Nothing to worry about, Sect Leader! Just a lot on my plate, you know how it is!"

Yue Qingyuan’s lips twitched ever so slightly, as if he was amused by Shang Qinghua’s flustered state. He straightened up, giving Shang Qinghua a bit more breathing room, but there was a glint in his eyes that made Shang Qinghua’s stomach flip.

"Very well," Yue Qingyuan said smoothly. "But if anything is troubling you, Shang-shidi, you can always come to me. I’d hate for you to overwork yourself."

His words were polite, caring even, but the undertone… Shang Qinghua couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something about the way Yue Qingyuan was looking at him made his pulse race even faster.

"O-Of course, Sect Leader! I-I’ll keep that in mind!" Shang Qinghua squeaked, desperate to end this conversation before he embarrassed himself any further. Or combusted in a Qi deviation; whatever came first, really.

Yue Qingyuan gave a small nod, seemingly satisfied. "Good. I’ll leave you to finish up here, then." He turned to leave, his robes swishing elegantly behind him as he exited the archive room.

The moment he was gone, Shang Qinghua let out a large breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He slumped against the shelves, feeling like he’d just survived a close encounter with a wild beast.

"What the hell was that?!" he shout whispered to himself. His heart was still pounding in his chest, and his palms were damp with sweat. That exchange had been too much—*way* too much. He felt like he was on the verge of a meltdown.

Was Yue Qingyuan… teasing him? Testing him? Or was Shang Qinghua just reading too much into everything because of his ridiculous crush? Or infatuation- or whatever this is!!

Whatever the case, one thing was certain—he couldn’t keep going like this. He had to get a grip on himself, and fast. If he didn’t, he was going to end up making a complete fool of himself in front of the entire sect, and that was the last thing he needed.

"Just… calm down," he muttered, trying to steady his breathing. "It’s not that deep. He’s just being nice. That’s all."

But no matter how much he tried to convince himself, the memory of Yue Qingyuan’s gaze—sharp, knowing, and just a little too amused—lingered in his mind, refusing to be dismissed.

---

Over the next few days, Shang Qinghua did his best to avoid Yue Qingyuan. It wasn’t easy, considering their positions within the sect, but he managed to keep his interactions with the Sect Leader brief and professional. (Or as professional as you can get with someone like Shang Qinghua.) He convinced himself that if he just kept his head down and focused on his work, this weird attraction would eventually fade away.

But fate, as usual, had other plans.

One afternoon, Shang Qinghua was summoned to the main hall for an emergency meeting. The demonic attacks were escalating, and the Peak Lords needed to discuss their strategy. Shang Qinghua dragged himself to the meeting, mentally bracing himself for another round of Yue Qingyuan-induced anxiety.

When he arrived, the atmosphere in the hall was tense. The other Peak Lords were already there, along with several elders and senior disciples. Yue Qingyuan stood at the front of the room, his expression calm but serious as he addressed the gathering.

"These attacks are growing more frequent and more coordinated," Yue Qingyuan said, his voice commanding attention. "We need to increase our defenses and improve communication between the peaks. Each Peak Lord will be responsible for overseeing the security of their respective peaks, but we must also work together to protect the sect as a whole."

Shang Qinghua listened, trying to focus on the practical aspects of the discussion rather than the way Yue Qingyuan’s voice made his chest tighten. This was important—he couldn’t afford to get distracted.

But then Yue Qingyuan turned his attention to him.

"Shang-shidi," Yue Qingyuan said, his gaze locking onto Shang Qinghua. "As the head of An Ding Peak, your expertise in logistics will be crucial. I’ll need you to coordinate the supply chains and ensure that each peak has the resources they need. Can you handle that?"

Shang Qinghua’s mouth went dry. He felt all eyes in the room turn to him, waiting for his response.

"O-Of course, Sect Leader!" he stammered, cursing himself for the shaky tone in his voice. "I-I’ll take care of it right away!"

Yue Qingyuan nodded, his expression unreadable. "Good. I trust you’ll manage it efficiently."

Shang Qinghua nodded frantically, desperate to get out of the spotlight. But as the meeting continued, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Yue Qingyuan was still watching him, even when his attention seemed to be elsewhere.

It was unnerving, to say the least.

When the meeting finally ended, Shang Qinghua hurried out of the hall, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere. He needed to clear his head, to remind himself that this was just a normal situation—nothing more, nothing less.

But as he stepped outside, he found Yue Qingyuan waiting for him. Somehow he’s manage to slip out the doors, even though he was literally *right there* at the front of the hall when he dismissed everyone.

"Shang-shidi," Yue Qingyuan said, his voice as calm and steady as ever. "A moment, please."

Shang Qinghua froze, his heart dropping into his stomach. He turned slowly, trying to plaster on a smile that didn’t look as panicked as he felt. "S-Sect Leader! What can I do for you?"

Yue Qingyuan stepped closer, his expression thoughtful. "I wanted to speak with you privately, Shang-shidi. About your recent behavior."

Shang Qinghua’s stomach churned. Oh no. *Oh no.* This was it. The moment of reckoning. Yue Qingyuan had finally noticed how weird he’d been acting, and now he was going to call him out on it. Shang Qinghua mentally prepared himself for the most embarrassing conversation of his life.

"I’ve noticed that you seem… unsettled lately," Yue Qingyuan continued, his tone gentle but probing. "Is something the matter? If there’s anything you need to talk about, I’m here to listen."

Shang Qinghua opened his mouth, but no words came out. What was he supposed to say? That he was a hopeless mess because he couldn’t stop getting flustered around his boss? Or the olden day fantasy equivalent? That every time Yue Qingyuan spoke to him, his brain short-circuited because of some bizarre authority kink he didn’t even know he had?

There was no way he could admit that.

"N-No, Sect Leader! Everything’s fine! Really!" Shang Qinghua finally managed to choke out. "Just, uh, dealing with the stress of the situation, you know? The demon attacks and all that… ha ha…"

Yue Qingyuan’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze scrutinizing Shang Qinghua in that unnervingly calm way of his. "I understand the situation has been difficult for all of us," he said slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. "But your well-being is important. You shouldn’t carry the burden alone."

Shang Qinghua nearly laughed out loud at the irony of that statement. If only Yue Qingyuan knew the real burden he was carrying—his ridiculous, unbidden attraction that made every interaction feel like torture.

"I-I appreciate the concern, Sect Leader, but really, I’m fine!" Shang Qinghua insisted, trying to sound as convincing as possible. "I just need to focus on my work, and I’ll be good as new!"

Yue Qingyuan didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he didn’t push the issue. Instead, he gave a small nod and said, "Very well. If you’re certain."

Shang Qinghua nodded fervently, desperate to end the conversation. But just as he thought he was in the clear, Yue Qingyuan added, "One more thing, Shang-shidi."

"Y-Yes, Sect Leader?" Shang Qinghua asked, hoping he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt.

Yue Qingyuan stepped closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "If there’s anything you need—anything at all—don’t hesitate to come to me. I mean that."

There was something in his voice that made Shang Qinghua’s pulse quicken. The words were innocuous enough, but the way Yue Qingyuan said them… It was as if he was offering something more than just professional support.

Shang Qinghua’s mind went blank for a moment, and all he could manage was a stammered, "Th-Thank you, Sect Leader."

Yue Qingyuan studied him for a moment longer, his gaze lingering on Shang Qinghua’s flushed face. Then, with a final nod, he turned with a glimpse of a fluttering robe and walked away, leaving Shang Qinghua standing there, his thoughts a chaotic jumble.

---

That night, Shang Qinghua lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as he replayed the day’s events over and over in his mind. Yue Qingyuan’s words echoed in his head, refusing to let him sleep. ‘Anything you need—don’t hesitate to come to me.’

What did that mean? Was Yue Qingyuan just being his usual kind, responsible self? Or was there something more behind those words? Was Shang Qinghua reading too much into it, or had Yue Qingyuan actually been… flirting with him?

The very thought made Shang Qinghua’s stomach do somersaults. No, that was impossible. Yue Qingyuan wasn’t like that. He was too serious, too focused on his duties to indulge in something as frivolous as flirting with a subordinate. Right?

But then again… there had been that look in Yue Qingyuan’s eyes. That slight smirk when Shang Qinghua got flustered. The way he seemed to enjoy seeing Shang Qinghua squirm…

Shang Qinghua groaned and buried his face in his pillow. He was driving himself crazy with this. He needed to stop overthinking everything and just focus on his work. Whatever weird tension was going on between him and Yue Qingyuan would resolve itself eventually. Probably. Hopefully.

But even as he tried to convince himself of that, a small part of him couldn’t help but wonder… what if it didn’t? What if Yue Qingyuan really was testing him, pushing him to see how far this strange dynamic could go?

And even more disturbingly… what if Shang Qinghua wanted him to?

---

The next day, Shang Qinghua tried to keep a low profile. He buried himself in paperwork, avoided unnecessary interactions, and generally tried to fly under the radar. But, of course, avoiding Yue Qingyuan was easier said than done.

By mid-afternoon, Shang Qinghua found himself summoned to Yue Qingyuan’s office for yet another meeting about logistics. He steeled himself as he walked to the Sect Leader’s quarters, mentally preparing for whatever fresh embarrassment awaited him.

When he arrived, Yue Qingyuan was seated at his desk, prim and proper, reviewing a stack of documents. He looked up as Shang Qinghua entered, giving him a small nod in greeting.

"Shang-shidi, thank you for coming," Yue Qingyuan said, his tone as polite and composed as ever. "Please, have a seat."

Shang Qinghua did as he was told, trying to ignore the way his heart raced at the simple act of following Yue Qingyuan’s command. ‘Get a grip, Shang Qinghua. It’s just a meeting.’

Yue Qingyuan handed him a set of reports. "I’ve reviewed the supply chains, but I’d like your input on how we can streamline the process further. With the recent attacks, we can’t afford any delays."

Shang Qinghua nodded, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. He flipped through the reports, quickly identifying a few areas where they could cut down on transportation time and increase efficiency.

"Here," he said, pointing to one of the maps. "If we reroute the deliveries through this pass instead of the main road, we can shave off a day’s travel time. It’s a bit more treacherous, but it’s worth the risk given the current situation."

Yue Qingyuan leaned in to examine the map, his shoulder brushing against Shang Qinghua’s. Shang Qinghua tensed, hyper-aware of the slight contact.

"You’re right," Yue Qingyuan said, his voice low and thoughtful. "That would be more efficient. I’ll issue the orders to implement the change."

Shang Qinghua nodded, trying to ignore the way his pulse sped up at Yue Qingyuan’s nearness. But then Yue Qingyuan turned his head slightly, his gaze meeting Shang Qinghua’s from just inches away.

"You’ve been doing excellent work, Shang-shidi," Yue Qingyuan said, his voice soft but intense. "I don’t say it often enough, but your contributions to the sect are invaluable."

Shang Qinghua blinked, caught off guard by the sudden praise. "I-I’m just doing my job, Sect Leader."

Yue Qingyuan’s lips curved into a small smile. "Perhaps. But you should know that your efforts don’t go unnoticed."

The way Yue Qingyuan was looking at him—so calm, so steady, yet with that same underlying intensity—made Shang Qinghua’s heart stutter in his chest. He swallowed hard, trying to maintain his composure.

"Th-Thank you, Sect Leader," Shang Qinghua managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. Shang Qinghua’s mind was racing, torn between the urge to flee and the inexplicable desire to stay, to see where this strange, confusing dynamic would lead.

Then, Yue Qingyuan broke the silence. "Shang-shidi, if there’s ever anything more you need… you know you can always come to me."

The words were almost identical to what he’d said before, but this time, there was no mistaking the underlying meaning. The subtle invitation, the way his gaze lingered on Shang Qinghua’s face… It sent a shiver down Shang Qinghua’s spine.

This time, he couldn’t pretend he didn’t understand. He knew exactly what Yue Qingyuan was offering. And the realization both thrilled and terrified him.

Shang Qinghua felt his mouth go dry. He needed to say something, anything, but his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. The room seemed to close in around him, the weight of the moment pressing down on him from all sides.

But before he could respond, Yue Qingyuan straightened up, his expression returning to its usual composed calm. "I’ll let you return to your duties, Shang-shidi," he said, his tone businesslike once again. "Thank you for your input on the supply chains. I’ll take it from here."

Shang Qinghua nodded numbly, his mind still reeling from the sudden shift. "O-Of course, Sect Leader."

He quickly gathered his things and stood up, eager to escape the suffocating tension that had built up between them. As he turned to leave, he risked one last glance at Yue Qingyuan, who was already back to reviewing the reports, his expression unreadable.

But as Shang Qinghua left the room, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the end of whatever strange game they were playing. Not by a long shot.

---

That night, as Shang Qinghua lay in bed, his thoughts were a tangled mess of confusion and desire. Yue Qingyuan’s words echoed in his mind, mixing with the lingering tension from their encounter.

‘If there’s ever anything more you need…’

What did he need? Shang Qinghua wasn’t even sure anymore. All he knew was that Yue Qingyuan had somehow managed to worm his way into his thoughts, his dreams, his very being, and Shang Qinghua didn’t know how to make it stop. Or if he even wanted to.

As he drifted off to sleep, one thing was clear: this strange attraction wasn’t going away anytime soon. And the next time Yue Qingyuan pushed, Shang Qinghua wasn’t sure if he’d be able to resist pushing back.

Chapter Text

————

The blazing torches lining the stone walls flickered ominously, casting shifting shadows across the cold, damp dungeon. Shang Qinghua sat shackled in the center of the room, his heart pounding in his chest. His wrists were bruised from the heavy iron cuffs digging into his skin, and the chains rattled slightly as he shifted uncomfortably. His robes, once pristine, or at least as pristine as you could get as both the An Ding Peak Lord and Shang Qinghua, were now torn and dirt-streaked from the days he'd spent in this infernal confinement. But none of that compared to the weight pressing down on his mind—the omnipresent, invisible force that forbade him from speaking the truth, that tortured his every breath and forced his mouth into a grim line and his eyes into an empty canvas.

The System had always been a tyrannical master, but now, when he needed to explain himself more than ever, it clamped down on his thoughts like a vice more then ever. His mind was a mess of static and half-formed thoughts, all warped by the System's interference. Every time he tried to open his mouth, the words twisted into nonsense, or worse, pain shot through his skull, forcing him into silence.

During his silent suffering, the heavy door ominously creaked open, and the sound of footsteps echoed through the chamber. Shang Qinghua flinched, but he didn’t lift his head. Not like he would even if he could. He didn’t need to see who it was; he already knew. They were here to continue the interrogation, to pry from him answers he couldn’t give, no matter how hard they tried. They already had the ‘public trail’, where he was equally no help, where at most he sputtered a couple of nonsensical words until he was cut off and made vacant.

The footsteps halted just before him, and he felt the intense gazes of his fellow Peak Lords boring into him. It was a painful irony that the people he’d once regarded as colleagues, allies—even friends—now looked at him with suspicion and disdain.

"Shang Qinghua," a cold voice cut through the silence, making him shiver. It was Liu Qingge, the Peak Lord of Bai Zhan Peak. His voice was hard, uncompromising—much like the man himself. In an unusual show of clarify from his normal tone of brutishness he continued on:
"You know why you're here."

Shang Qinghua swallowed thickly but didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Once again, even if he wanted to, the words were trapped, tangled up in the System’s restraints.

"Traitor," another voice sneered. Qi Qingqi from Xian Shu Peak. Her eyes, usually so bright and lively, were now narrowed with contempt. "Do you think we don’t know? We’ve seen the signs. The secret communications, the unexplained disappearances. You've been feeding information to the enemies of the sect." ‘To demons’ was left unsaid but could clearly be interpreted by the hostility in her gaze.

He opened his mouth, desperate to deny it, to explain, but all that came out was a strangled sound, half-formed syllables that made no sense. The System pulsed in his mind, blocking every coherent thought. He hunched over, clutching his head, as if he could physically tear the interference away.

Liu Qingge's lip curled in disgust. "Pathetic. If you won’t speak, we’ll force it out of you. There are methods to break even the most stubborn tongues."

A low murmur of agreement rippled through the room. The other Peak Lords—Mu Qingfang, Shen Qingqiu, and most of the rest, with a strange absence of Yue Qingyuan—stood around the perimeter, their expressions varying from grim determination to cold indifference (or even disgust in the case of Liu Qingge). The once-welcoming sect members now surrounded him like wolves circling a wounded deer. He could physically see the dangerous aura emanating from the room, at this point. Or perhaps he’s just began hallucinating to get himself through the fucking hell hole.

"Speak!" Qi Qingqi snapped, stepping closer, her hand glowing with spiritual energy as she prepared to extract the information by force. "Or do we need to resort to less… humane methods?"

Shang Qinghua tried to shake his head, to convey that he couldn’t speak, but the pressure in his skull intensified, barring him from even that minimal amount of clarity. The System was unrelenting, its grip suffocating. ‘Don’t reveal the plot. Stay in character.’ The phrases echoed over and over in his mind, disorienting him, making him guess if they were his own thoughts now or more of the systems commands.

"We're wasting time," Shen Qingqiu said sharply. His voice held a note of impatience. "He’s obviously enchanted or possessed. Perhaps the work of some malevolent spirit—there are ways to purge such influences." Most likely not very compassionate ways! Please have pity on your poor, helpless shidi.

"Agreed," Mu Qingfang said, his tone clinical. "We can attempt an exorcism, or if that fails… There are more invasive methods."

Shang Qinghua’s breath hitched. ‘Oh god, oh god, they’re really going to kill me this time.’ The System's rules pounded in his brain like a mantra, stifling every plea he wanted to make. ‘In character. Stay in character. Don't reveal the plot.’

"You leave us no choice," Liu Qingge said, stepping forward. He seemed to finally be sick of this cat and mouse game and began his course of action. With a quick movement, his sword gleamed with a cold light, and Shang Qinghua’s stomach twisted in fear. "If you won’t speak, we’ll force the truth out of you."

The room shifted as spiritual energy gathered and condensed with a new vigour, humming in the air like a storm about to break. Shang Qinghua squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable pain, for the unbearable force that would tear him apart in search of answers he couldn’t give, hoping he would just succumb soon to forgo this retched misery

But before they could proceed, there was a soft rustling sound—a whisper, almost too faint to hear.

"-lot." The voice was unfamiliar, soft yet resonant, and it seemed to come from everywhere at once. The Peak Lords froze, their expressions shifting from anger to confusion. "What…?" Liu Qingge muttered, glancing around, his grip tightening on his sword so tight his hands turned an odd, ghost-like shade of white.

The torches dimmed, and the shadows grew longer, darker. An eerie chill settled over the room, and the spiritual energy crackling in the air seemed to warp, twisting into something unrecognizable.

Shang Qinghua’s heart pounded even harder. ‘Oh no… oh no no no no no…’

From the farthest corner of the chamber, the shadows deepened and began to coalesce. They twisted and churned, forming a vaguely humanoid shape that loomed over them all. It seemed as if they was trying to imitate the surrounding beings but was doing a succeeding terrible job. Ethereal and translucent, the figure seemed to flicker in and out of existence, as if it wasn’t quite tethered to this world.

The Peak Lords recoiled in shock, their hands tightening on their weapons, but no one dared to move.

"What is that?" Qi Qingqi whispered, her voice trembling with unease.

The figure floated closer, its form becoming more defined. It was tall—impossibly tall—with elongated limbs that seemed to stretch unnaturally. Its face, if it could be called that, was a blank expanse of swirling mist, except for two glowing eyes that flickered like dying embers. And yet, despite its vague, ethereal nature, there was something undeniably sinister about it.

It hovered protectively over Shang Qinghua, its presence almost suffocating. Long, spindly fingers curled around his form, not quite touching him but close enough that he could feel the chill radiating from them. The pressure in his mind intensified, but this time, it wasn’t just the System—it was something more, something far darker.

"OOC… punishment," the figure whispered, its voice sending shivers down everyone’s spine. "Cannot reveal plot… must stay in character…"

The figure spoke without words. The air around it seemed to ripple and distort, bending reality itself as it attempted to communicate. It was as if the chamber itself was holding its breath, waiting for what would come next. The sound it made wasn’t a voice, but a low, resonating hum that thrummed through the bones, a vibration that filled the room with dread.

Shang Qinghua’s breath hitched. The pressure on his mind twisted into something sharper, more insidious. It felt like claws scratching at the edges of his thoughts, trying to worm their way in and tear apart his sanity. His pulse pounded in his ears, a frantic rhythm against the oppressive silence.

The Peak Lords exchanged uneasy glances, their usual bravado faltering in the presence of this nightmare made manifest. Even Qi Qingqi, who rarely showed fear, looked unnerved, her fingers twitching nervously on the hilt of her weapon.

The being’s form flickered violently, as if it was straining against the fabric of reality. Its movements were jerky, disjointed, like a broken marionette. It leaned closer to Shang Qinghua, those ember-like eyes boring into him. A wave of nausea rolled through him as he met its gaze. There was nothing human in those eyes, only an abyss of endless void, filled with the promise of something far worse than death.

Then, the whispering started. Faint at first, just a distant murmur in the back of his mind, but it grew louder with every passing second. It was a chorus of voices—cold, hollow, and relentless. They spoke of horrors beyond comprehension, of places where the laws of reality bent and twisted into grotesque forms. They promised him eternity—an eternity of torment, trapped in a place where time had no meaning, and escape was a forgotten concept.

In the reality around him, the shadows around the being darkened, creeping across the floor like ink spreading over paper. It was pulling the very light out of the room, and with it, the hope of survival. Shang Qinghua felt the chill of it seep into his bones, numbing him to the core.

The Peak Lords could only watch, helpless, as the entity loomed closer to their (ex?-)comrade. Any attempt to strike it down would be futile—they knew that instinctively. This wasn’t a creature that could be fought with mere weapons or their cultivation. This was something ancient, something that had no place in their world.

Yet here it was.

It hovered so close now that Shang Qinghua could feel its icy breath on his skin. The whispers became unbearable, a cacophony of terror that threatened to drown him. His vision swam, and he felt himself teetering on the edge of madness.

And then, in the midst of the chaos, it spoke—no longer in whispers or something with a likeness to it, but in a voice that resonated through the entire chamber. It was a voice that was all wrong, distorted and inhuman, like the sound of metal scraping against stone.

“You do not belong.”

The words cut through the air, sharp and final, leaving no room for argument. It was not a threat. It was a sentence. Shang Qinghua’s heart raced, every instinct screaming at him to run, but his body refused to obey.

The being's grip tightened—not physically, but on his very essence. It was pulling him closer, drawing him into the dark, where the whispers promised endless suffering. It wanted him—wanted all of them—but for now, it was satisfied with just him.

Liu Qingge took a step back, his expression a mix of anger and uncertainty. "What… What is this? Some kind of demon? A ghost?"

The figure’s glowing eyes fixed on him, and Liu Qingge’s breath hitched. For the first time, there was a flicker of fear in his eyes.

"Not… demon," the figure rasped. "Not… ghost." Its ‘fingers’ twitched, tightening slightly around Shang Qinghua. "System… ‘protector’…" There was a questioning lilt to its disjointed tone, as if questioning the word, itself, and how it’s tied to its meaning.

Shang Qinghua squeezed his eyes shut, wishing desperately for the ground to swallow him whole. ‘This can’t be happening…’

"System?" Mu Qingfang repeated, still trying to maintain his scholarly, calm manner but his voice was laced with underlining confusion (with a tinge of ever present fear since this *thing* appeared). "What do you mean, ‘system’?"

The being, because that’s the only way it could be described as, didn’t answer directly. Instead, it seemed to grow larger, its form expanding until it filled nearly half the room with its imposing presence. The walls began to warp, the stone twisting and bending as if reality itself was being rewritten.

"Stay in character…" the figure whispered again, its voice now a chorus of overlapping tones, each more unsettling than the last. "Must… follow… rules…"

Suddenly, the figure’s head-or whatever it seemed fit to house its eyes- swerved in an unusual way and then snapped up, as its glowing eyes widened. The air grew thick with static, the very fabric of the room unraveling as strange, fragmented ‘code’ began to crawl along the walls. It spread like wildfire, consuming the stone, the torches, everything in its path.

"Error… error…" the figure intoned, its voice now distorted, like a corrupted machine. The fast moving code intensified, tendrils of data reaching out to the Peak Lords, who recoiled in horror.

"What is this?" Qi Qingqi screamed, backing away as the walls seemed to dissolve around her.

Liu Qingge swung his sword at the encroaching code, but his blade passed through it harmlessly. "Shang Qinghua!" he shouted, his voice tinged with desperation. "What have you done?"

Shang Qinghua couldn’t answer. The System’s grip was suffocating, its commands ringing in his ears like a death knell. He could barely think, let alone explain what was happening. All he could manage was a hoarse, choked apology. "I’m… I’m sorry…"

The figure loomed over him, its form flickering while the code continued to devour the room. "Out… of… character… detected…" it hissed, and for a moment, it seemed almost gleeful. "Punishment… imminent…"

The long, drawling way the system was speaking, was really drawing out this ‘imminent punishment’ and all Shang Qinghua could do was close his eyes and wait.

The last thing Shang Qinghua saw before everything dissolved into chaos was the twisted, corrupted resemblance of a smile on the figure’s blank face. He swore he once saw a reflection of that very grin on a corpse. It told a tale of death and foreboded the gruesome way of which it was going to come. Unable to ponder more, the world shattered, and all hell broke loose.

The dungeon crumbled into a swirl of code, the Peak Lords’ panicked shouts mixing with the System’s distorted whispers. The last thing Shang Qinghua heard before he was consumed by the void was the System's final, chilling directive:

“OOC punishment administered. System reboot imminent.”

Shang Qinghua’s entire existence blinked out. No sight, no sound, no pain—just cold, endless nothing. He floated in a void that wasn’t black or white or any color that existed, an emptiness beyond comprehension. He couldn’t feel his body, couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not. He didn’t know which outcome he wished for more.

‘Am I dead? Did they actually kill me?’

But then, with a jolt, sensation returned. His eyes snapped open to a surreal landscape, a chaotic plane of shifting colors and numbers, a cacophony of glitched images and disjointed sounds. He hovered in mid-air, suspended by nothing, his limbs weightless. Fragments of text and code flickered around him like static on an old TV screen, the fractured pieces of the world he once knew.

‘Oh no. Oh no, this is so much worse than death.’

The System’s presence loomed over him, vaster and more terrifying than ever. It wasn’t just an invisible force anymore—it had taken shape, towering over him as a colossal, glitching figure made of broken code and corrupted data. Its faceless head was a swirling mass of pixels, its long fingers splayed out as if ready to crush him at any moment.

"Violation detected. Punishment enforced. World stability compromised.”

The colossal figure of the System loomed over Shang Qinghua, its ethereal form crackling with fragmented data and broken code. The cacophony of glitching sounds and distorted voices reverberated in the chaotic landscape around him, growing louder and more intense. Every fragment of the world he once knew was being consumed, unraveling into nothingness.

"Violation detected. Punishment enforced. World stability compromised." It repeated like a old record.

The words echoed through the void, and Shang Qinghua’s entire body trembled as the weight of the System’s presence bore down on him. He felt like an insect caught in the shadow of a god—something small, insignificant, and utterly powerless.

"Please..." Shang Qinghua whispered, his voice barely audible over the glitching din. "Please, I didn't mean to—"

The System’s glowing eyes, or what passed for them, snapped onto him. "OOC detected. Failure to remain in character. You have endangered the integrity of the narrative."

"Wait!" Shang Qinghua gasped, raising his hands defensively as if that could somehow protect him. "I didn't—I couldn’t help it! You’re the one who—"

"*Silence.*"

The command was absolute, and Shang Qinghua’s mouth snapped shut, cutting off his words. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, as the System’s form grew larger, consuming more of the chaotic void around them. The fragments of code began to close in on him, curling around his limbs like digital chains. They dug into his skin, cold and unyielding, forcing him into submission.

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The weight of the System’s power was overwhelming, crushing him from all sides. And yet, deep within him, there was still a spark of desperation, a small, flickering flame that refused to be extinguished. He had to do something—anything—to survive this.

"*You have compromised the plot. You have violated the rules. Correction is required.*"

The System’s voice was cold, mechanical, devoid of any compassion or understanding. Shang Qinghua’s vision blurred as the tendrils of code tightened around him, constricting his chest, his throat.

But then, something strange happened. The chaotic landscape around them began to shift, the glitching images and distorted sounds becoming more coherent, more defined. The fragments of text and code solidified, forming shapes, structures—until suddenly, Shang Qinghua found himself back in the dungeon, the cold stone walls reassembled around him. The chains that had bound him were gone, but he remained frozen in place, still caught in the System’s grasp.

The Peak Lords were there too, staring at him with wide, horrified eyes. They had witnessed everything—the collapse of reality, the appearance of the System, the way it had wrapped itself around him like some malevolent force. They may have even been the code, from the way most of them were blinking down at their hands as if they were foreign and gazing at the room in new found wonder.

"What... what is this?" Qi Qingqi’s voice trembled with fear and disbelief as she backed away, her hand reaching for her sword.

The System’s form twisted and writhed, its glowing eyes shifting to focus on each of the Peak Lords in turn. "*This world must remain stable. Interference will not be tolerated.*"

Liu Qingge gripped his sword tightly, his eyes narrowing with determination. "You... you’re the one controlling Shang Qinghua. You’re the reason he can’t speak."

"*Correct.*"

The admission hung heavy in the air, and a tense silence fell over the room as the reality of the situation began to sink in. The Peak Lords, who had been so certain of Shang Qinghua’s guilt, now found themselves facing something far beyond their comprehension—something that had the power to rewrite the very fabric of their world.

"Let him go." Shen Qingqius cutting, cold voice rang out, cutting through the tension. His spiritual energy flared around him as he prepared to strike. "You demon swine!"

The System tilted its head slightly, as if considering his words. Then, with a flick of its fingers, the chains of code tightened around Shang Qinghua’s body, eliciting a choked gasp from him.

"*He is bound by the narrative. You are all bound by the narrative.*"

"What narrative?!" Liu Qingge demanded, his sword glowing with spiritual energy. "What are you talking about?"

"*The story must continue. The plot must be protected.*"

The Peak Lords exchanged confused and worried glances. This wasn’t some ordinary threat, nor was it a demon or spirit they could exorcise. It was something far more insidious, something woven into the very essence of their reality.

But before they could act, the System began to glitch again. Its form shimmered, distorted, as if struggling to maintain its presence in the world. The fragmented code around it flickered and pulsed, destabilizing the dungeon once more.

"Correction... required..." The System’s voice was strained, almost panicked. "Stabilization... failed... Error... Error..."

The glitching intensified, and the walls of the dungeon began to dissolve again, the ground beneath them warping into an abstract mass of broken code. The Peak Lords stumbled, struggling to keep their footing as reality itself began to untie.

Shang Qinghua’s heart raced as he felt the System’s grip on him weaken. The pressure in his mind eased slightly, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he could think clearly. He had to act now, before the System regained control, before everything collapsed entirely.

"I’m sorry," he whispered again, though this time it wasn’t directed at the System—it was for the Peak Lords, for everything they’d been dragged into because of him.

With a surge of desperation, he reached deep within himself, summoning every ounce of willpower he had left. The chains of code cracked and splintered as he fought against them, pushing through the pain, the fear, the overwhelming pressure of the System’s commands.

And then, in a moment of clarity, he managed to speak—just one word, but it was enough.

"Run."

The Peak Lords hesitated for only a fraction of a second before they heeded his warning. Liu Qingge moved first, grabbing whoever was closests- who happened to be Qi Qingqi- arm and pulling her toward the crumbling doorway. Mu Qingfang and Shen Qingqiu followed suit, their spiritual energy flaring as they fought against the collapsing reality around them.

Shang Qinghua watched them go, relief and sorrow mixing in his chest. He knew they wouldn’t make it far—not with the System on the verge of losing control—but at least they had a chance. A small, fleeting chance.

As the last of the Peak Lords disappeared from view, the System’s form convulsed, its distorted voice ringing in his ears. "*Stabilisation... failed... Reboot... Reboot...*"

The world around him shattered completely, and Shang Qinghua felt himself being pulled into the void once more. Finally, he saw the System’s glitching form collapsing in on itself, consumed by the very errors it had tried so desperately to correct.

And then there was nothing. Again.

Shang Qinghua drifted in the void, his thoughts scattered like fragments of broken glass. He wasn’t sure how long he had been suspended in the darkness—minutes, hours, days? Time had no meaning here. The overwhelming pressure of the System had finally lifted, leaving him with a strange sense of emptiness. For the first time in a long while, his mind was his own, free of the relentless commands and restrictions.

But the freedom was fleeting.

He could still feel the System lurking in the shadows of his consciousness, its presence diminished but not gone. It was as if it were biding its time, waiting for the right moment to reassert control. And when it did, Shang Qinghua knew the consequences would be dire.

‘What have I done?’ he thought, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. He had tried to protect himself, to keep the System’s secrets hidden, but in doing so, he had nearly destroyed everything. The Peak Lords, his fellow sect members, the world itself—everything had been on the brink of collapse because of him.

A deep, bone-weary sigh escaped his lips. ‘I didn’t ask for any of this.’

The void around him began to shift, the darkness peeling away to reveal flashes of light—glitches of a world not yet fully formed. He could see fragments of the dungeon reassembling themselves, the walls knitting back together, the torches reigniting. The System was rebuilding reality, piece by piece.

But it wasn’t the same.

The world was fragile now, its very existence hanging by a thread. Shang Qinghua could feel the instability, the way the fabric of reality wavered, as if one wrong move could tear it apart again.

As the dungeon solidified around him, in a religion of earlier, he found himself standing in the center of the chamber, his feet touching solid ground once more. The chains that had bound him in the beginning were gone, but the cold emptiness in his chest remained.

And then, with a soft chime that echoed in his mind, the System’s voice returned.

‘Reboot complete. Stabilization successful.’

The words were calm, detached—completely devoid of the malice that had gripped the System moments before. Shang Qinghua flinched at the sound, but the System didn’t seem to notice. It continued speaking, its tone mechanical and unfeeling.

‘You have been reset. The plot must proceed. Deviations will no longer be tolerated.’

Shang Qinghua swallowed hard. “What… what happens now?”

The System’s response was immediate. ‘You will return to your role. The narrative must continue. Failure to comply will result in permanent deletion.’

His heart skipped a beat. Permanent deletion? He had never heard the System speak in such absolute terms before. This wasn’t just a warning—it was a threat, one that left no room for negotiation.

“But… the Peak Lords… the sect… they’ll know something is wrong. They’ll come looking for answers.” Shang Qinghua’s voice wavered, fear clawing at his throat. “I can’t just pretend nothing happened.”

‘You will maintain your role. Any deviation will be corrected.’

The cold, impersonal words were like a blade to his chest. He was trapped, caught in an unyielding web of rules and constraints that he couldn’t escape. The System’s grip on him had only tightened, its control more absolute than ever.

But even as the weight of the System’s commands pressed down on him, a small spark of defiance flared in his chest. ‘I won’t let it end like this.’

He had made mistakes—terrible mistakes—but he wasn’t ready to give up. There had to be a way to fix this, to protect the people he cared about without sacrificing himself to the System’s demands.

With a deep breath, Shang Qinghua straightened his shoulders and squared his jaw. The dungeon around him was quiet now, the chaos of moments before nothing but a fading memory. He could still feel the instability in the air, but it was subtle, hidden beneath the surface.

He wasn’t sure how long he had before the Peak Lords returned—or worse, before the System decided to make good on its threat of deletion. But for now, he was alive, and as long as he drew breath, he would fight.

“Fine,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I’ll play your game, System. But this isn’t over.”

The System remained silent, its presence still looming over him, but it didn’t respond. Perhaps it didn’t care, or perhaps it was simply waiting for him to fall back in line.

Either way, Shang Qinghua knew one thing for certain: the next move was his. And he wasn’t going to waste it.

Extra (I suppose??!):

Shang Qinghua stood in the quiet dungeon, the oppressive weight of the System’s presence still lingering over him. His breath came in shaky bursts, but his mind was already racing, calculating his next steps. He had no idea how much time he had before the Peak Lords returned—or before the System decided to wipe him out entirely.

He clenched his fists, forcing himself to focus. The System might have the upper hand now, but it had shown said ‘hand’ too early. It had revealed that it was vulnerable—glitching, unstable. There had to be a way to exploit that, to find a crack in the code and use it to his advantage.

But first, he had to survive.

‘Step one: Get out of here before the Peak Lords come back.’

He wasn’t sure if they’d trust him now that they’d seen the System’s control over him, but he couldn’t afford to take any chances. If they tried to detain him again—or worse, interrogate him—there was no telling what the System would do in response. The last thing he wanted was to trigger another collapse of reality.

He took a careful step forward, his senses on high alert. The dungeon was eerily quiet, the air thick with tension. He could still feel the instability in the world around him, like a fine web of cracks spreading through the walls. If he pushed too hard, too fast, everything could come crashing down again.

‘Stay calm. Stay focused.’

With each step, Shang Qinghua’s resolve hardened. He couldn’t run forever, and he couldn’t hide from the System’s influence. But he could play the long game. If he bided his time, played his role carefully, he might find a way to loosen the System’s grip on him—and maybe even find a way to protect the people he cared about (or at least some sibilance of care) in the process.

He just had to be careful. One wrong move, and it was over.

As he reached the dungeon’s exit, he hesitated, casting one last glance over his shoulder. The shadows seemed to stretch and twist in the corners of the room, almost as if they were alive, watching him. But nothing moved, and the heavy silence remained unbroken.

Taking a deep breath, Shang Qinghua pushed open the door and stepped into the corridor beyond. The faint echoes of his footsteps followed him as he made his way through the winding passageways of the sect, his heart pounding in his chest.

He had no idea what the future held, but one thing was certain: the game wasn’t over yet. And Shang Qinghua wasn’t going down without a fight.

Chapter Text

————

The morning sun bathed the peaks of Cang Qiong Mountain in soft golden light, yet Shang Qinghua found little comfort in it. His sleep had been restless, his dreams fragmented and filled with a chaotic whirl of unfinished manuscripts, missed deadlines, and the ever-present threat of being found out. (But what else is new?!) Being the Peak Lord of A Ding was no easy task—especially when you were secretly a transmigrator who, for better or worse, had created this entire world and knew all the foreboding tell-tales of who was gonna die and when. It was like being a grim reaper.. but without any cool killing powers..

He dragged himself out of bed, groaning as he stared into the reflection in his mirror. His hair, usually tucked neatly (read: messily to everyone else with a decent agenda) into a topknot, was a wild(er) mess, his eyes had bags under them, and his robes were wrinkled beyond saving. Not a good look for the so-called "easygoing" Peak Lord everyone thought he was.

"Stress... stress... too much stress," he mumbled under his breath as he splashed cold water on his face. The coolness helped, but only slightly. "This is fine, Shang Qinghua. You’re a grown man—an immortal cultivator, for heavens' sake! You can handle a little... existential crisis. Right?"

He couldn't. And that was precisely why he found himself wandering through the marketplace down at the town which hugged the peak mountains feet later that day, searching for anything that might help him keep his head on straight.

It was during this aimless stroll that he found it. Or rather, it found him.

Tucked away in a small stall run by an elderly woman was a display of squishy toys—adorable creatures in all shapes and sizes, their squishable bodies calling out to him like a siren's song. They were probably meant for small children but to hell with it!! Among them, one toy in particular caught his eye: a small, round hamster with tiny piercing black eyes and the most ridiculous pink cheeks he'd ever seen; he felt compelled to bite into them. Its body was soft, rubbery, and—most importantly—exceedingly squishable.

Without thinking, Shang Qinghua was already reaching out and giving the tiny elastic creature a tentative squeeze. The toy compressed in his hand, then slowly returned to its original shape, as he peered down on its miniature form. He squeezed it again just for the novelty, watching in fascination as it morphed and reformed.

"This," he muttered, "this is what I need." And, truly, to any outside it would’ve seemed like he found his oasis in a desert- a deity in his time of need. This was his saving grace.

And so, with little deliberation, Shang Qinghua bought the stress hamster, tucking it into his robe pocket like a secret weapon. He felt oddly comforted by its devious, squishy presence as he made his way back to A Ding Peak. It wasn't much, but it was something—a small, tangible object to absorb the stress that had been threatening to overwhelm him.

———

Later that day, Shang Qinghua sat in the grand hall of Qiong Ding Peak, surrounded by the other Peak Lords for another monthly meeting. The Sect Leader, Yue Qingyuan, presided over the meeting with his usual calm demeanor, discussing sect matters that Shang Qinghua was only half-listening to.

His mind was elsewhere, preoccupied with the stack of paperwork waiting for him back at An Ding Peak. The reports, the supply orders, the disciple training schedules—everything seemed to pile up faster than he could deal with it. And on top of all that, there was the constant pressure of maintaining his facade as a good, loyal toy to the sect. He couldn't let anyone know how close he was to cracking under the weight of it all.

As Yue Qingyuan spoke, Shang Qinghua's hand drifted to his pocket, fingers wrapping around the familiar form of the stress hamster. He squeezed it once, then twice, feeling a slight sense of relief as the rubbery toy yielded to his touch. He really should’ve splurged on one of these in modern day- his life would’ve been so much easier- and he could’ve busted out soooo many more chapters of Proud Immortal Demon Way!! (And gain the cash that came with it.)

The meeting continued, with the other Peak Lords contributing their thoughts and concerns. Shang Qinghua nodded along, adding his own input when necessary, but his mind remained fixated on the stress hamster. It had become a lifeline in this moment—a small, silly thing that kept him anchored in the here and now.

At first, Yue Qingyuan didn’t pay much attention to Shang Qinghua’s subtle movements. After all, it wasn’t unusual for Shang Qinghua to fidget during meetings. He was known for his easygoing, slightly scatterbrained demeanor—always managing to get things done, but never without a little bit of chaos along the way.

But as the meeting dragged on, Yue Qingyuan began to notice the pattern. Whenever the conversation grew tense or a decision needed to be made, Shang Qinghua’s hand would disappear into his pocket. A brief moment later, his expression would relax ever so slightly, and he would continue as if nothing had happened.

It wasn’t until one particularly heated discussion—regarding the allocation of resources to one of the more remote peaks—that Yue Qingyuan truly realized what was happening. As the other Peak Lords debated the issue, Shang Qinghua sat quietly, his gaze focused intently on something hidden from view. His hand was moving subtly, and Yue Qingyuan caught a glimpse of the squishy, round hamster peeking out from beneath Shang Qinghua’s sleeve.

Yue Qingyuan had to suppress a smile. Of all the things he might have expected to be so securely fastened into his little shidi’s sleeve, seeing Shang Qinghua relying on a small, squishy toy to maintain his composure was not one of them. It was oddly endearing—this tiny, inconsequential thing that seemed to rejuvenate Shang Qinghua and give him the strength to get through the meeting.

As the discussion continued, Yue Qingyuan found his attention drifting more and more toward Shang Qinghua. The other Peak Lord, usually so animated and quick to joke (albeit with a constant nervous air), was uncharacteristically quiet today. There was a certain tightness in his expression, a tension that Yue Qingyuan hadn’t noticed before. It was clear that something was weighing on him.

When the meeting finally concluded and the other Peak Lords began to disperse, Yue Qingyuan lingered behind. He watched as Shang Qinghua made a beeline for the door, clearly eager to escape back to the relative safety of his own peak.

"Shang-shidi," Yue Qingyuan called out, just as Shang Qinghua was about to leave.

Shang Qinghua froze mid-step, then turned slowly, plastering on his usual easygoing smile. "Ah, Sect Leader! Anything else you need from me?"

Yue Qingyuan approached him, his gaze gentle but probing. "You've seemed... a bit off today. Is everything alright?"

Shang Qinghua blinked, taken aback by the question. "Ah, me? No, no, everything’s fine! Just a little tired, you know? All this paperwork piling up—it’s a wonder I even have time to sleep!" (He doesn’t.)

Yue Qingyuan didn’t miss the way Shang Qinghua’s hand twitched toward his pocket again. He raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? And... this?" He reached out, gently plucking the stress hamster from Shang Qinghua's grasp before the other man could react.

For a moment, Shang Qinghua panicked, his mind racing with a thousand excuses. But when he looked up at Yue Qingyuan, expecting to see judgment or confusion, he found only understanding in the Sect Leader's eyes.

Yue Qingyuan held the stress hamster carefully, as if it were something fragile. He gave it a tentative squeeze, watching it compress and reform just as Shang Qinghua had done countless times before, and in return Shang Qinghuas face heated.

"I suppose even Peak Lords need something to help them manage stress," Yue Qingyuan said softly, his tone warm and nonjudgmental. "There’s no shame in that, Shang-shidi."

Shang Qinghua let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his head and in a self-deprecating tone replied: "Well, you know me—always finding the weirdest ways to cope. But hey, if it works, right?"

Yue Qingyuan nodded, but there was a hint of something more in his eyes—a softness, a fondness that Shang Qinghua was too frazzled to fully comprehend. "Indeed. Still, if you ever find the stress becoming too much... you don’t have to bear it alone. You can always come to me. I’m here to help."

Shang Qinghua blinked, caught off guard by the offer. "Uh, thanks, Sect Leader. That... that means a lot."

Yue Qingyuan smiled, a small, sincere curve of his lips. "Take care of yourself, Shang-shidi. The sect needs you, but we also need you to be well."

With that, he handed the stress hamster back to Shang Qinghua, who accepted it with a grateful nod. As Shang Qinghua turned to hurriedly leave once more, Yue Qingyuan watched him go, his gaze lingering on the figure of the An Ding Peak Lord.

Shang Qinghua, oblivious as ever, simply tucked the stress hamster back into his pocket, thinking that Yue Qingyuan was just being his usual kind, responsible self. He didn’t notice the way Yue Qingyuan’s expression softened further as he walked away, or the quiet realization that was beginning to settle in the Sect Leader’s heart.

It was such a small thing, that stress hamster—a silly, squishy toy that most people would overlook. But in Yue Qingyuan’s eyes, it represented something more: a glimpse into the vulnerable, genuine side of Shang Qinghua that was so often hidden behind his carefree exterior.

And with that glimpse came a quiet, growing affection that Yue Qingyuan found himself unable—or perhaps unwilling—to ignore.

As he watched Shang Qinghua disappear into the distance, Yue Qingyuan couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, there was more to his feelings for the other man than mere concern for a fellow Peak Lord.

But for now, he would keep those thoughts to himself. After all, Shang Qinghua had enough on his plate without adding the complexities of the Sect Leader’s heart to the mix.

And so, Yue Qingyuan simply smiled, turning back toward the hall with a newfound resolve. Whatever the future held, he would be there for Shang Qinghua—both as a Sect Leader and as something more.

For now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

——

Shang Qinghua, the ever-dutiful and ever-ignored Peak Lord of An Ding Peak, was at his wit's end. There were only so many times one could be blamed for someone else’s incompetence before they started questioning the fabric of reality itself.

‘How in the name of every shred of decency did they manage to do this again?’ Shang Qinghua thought as he stared at the pitiful balance sheet in front of him. Funds for the entire quarter had evaporated faster than water on a hot summer day. And by evaporated, he meant spent—completely, utterly spent on frivolous purchases that had nothing to do with Cang Qiong’s operational needs.

He could already see the hellstorm brewing on the horizon.

His heart pounded as he stood in the main hall of An Ding Peak, clutching a scroll of increasingly threatening letters from the Sect Leader in one hand and a list of absurd purchases made by Qi Qingqi in the other. And that was only half of it! This was not what he had signed up for. No, no, no!! Shang Qinghua was supposed to be a background character, a nobody! And yet, here he was, on the verge of snapping like a cheap spirit sword under too much pressure. And he would know all about that—oh, he knew all too well. The amount of times his sect siblings had blown their entire monthly budget on these pathetic excuses for swords (THAT HAD BEEN BLACKLISTED, TOO- MAY HE ADD!) only for them to snap like twigs in battle, was beyond counting.

And somehow, they still had the nerve to blame *him* for it. "Shang Qinghua, why did my sword break during the mission?!" they'd wail. "Shang-shidi, why do you keep approving these defective weapons?!"

Like it was his fault! Did they think he was personally testing each sword with his own two hands? Especially ones they had already claimed to check! He barely had the energy to test his own sanity these days. He was a peak lord, not some overworked QA tester! (Though it was beginning to feel more like the former these days.)

Shang Qinghua could already imagine the Sect Leader's next letter: "Dear Peak Lord Shang, it has come to our attention that the Cang Qiong’s budget is now primarily allocated to spirit sword replacements. Kindly explain why half the sect is armed with toothpicks, or face the consequences.
Best regards, Yue Qingyuan ."

What was he supposed to say? That his sect siblings had the critical thinking skills of a potato and the shopping habits of a drunkard at an auction? That Qi Qingqi had decided that the peak simply couldn't function without a life-sized golden statue of herself? (Oh, no big deal, just a casual twenty-thousand spirit stones. Totally reasonable.)

He sighed, resisting the urge to bang his head against the nearest wall. Who was he kidding? He'd probably just get blamed for damaging sect property.

"Shang Qinghua," Qi Qingqi’s sharp voice echoed through the hall, snapping him out of his spiraling thoughts. And if he was to so eloquently articulate his thoughts about this frankly shit experience he would say: Ruh- roh raggy.

She strode into the room with her usual confident gait, followed by a few other peak lords who looked far too amused for his liking. "We need to talk about the financial situation."

He resisted the urge to groan. ‘Here we go.’ And then, immediately after the alarm bells started ringing (more insistently, that is) with the warning of Qi Qingqis sinister smile directed at him, one that seemed as if he was a particularly adorable dog with cancer and only three days left to live. And that was very telling of his future.

"Shang Qinghua, I don't understand how this could have happened!" Qi Qingqi began, her tone accusatory as if this entire disaster was somehow his fault and not the result of her obsession with purchasing more rare spirit herbs for her personal garden (that she doesn’t even tend to and let’s die out). "How could you let this happen again?"

Shang Qinghua blinked. Then blinked again. His eyes slowly panned to the list of her expenses, which included, among other things, several rare silk robes, custom-made talismans, and a jade statue of a mythical beast that no one on this peak even knew existed until she decided it would be a ‘nice decoration.’

"How could I let this happen?" he repeated, his voice dangerously calm. "Are you really asking me that?" ‘You fucking inbred imbecile’ was left unsaid but was very implied on his part. And that barely scratched the surface of the colorful string of insults he was holding back. ‘You walking disaster, you absolute waste of air and unfortunately impeccable boots.’

"Yes," she huffed, crossing her arms. "This is your responsibility, after all. You're in charge of the finances."

He clenched his fists, the paper crumpling in his hands. "My responsibility," he repeated, his voice starting to rise. "MY responsibility? Qi Qingqi, you spent over half the budget on decorative items and… what is this?" He squinted at the list again. "A three-headed phoenix egg? What even is that?"

"It’s rare!" Qi Qingqi shot back defensively. "And a good investment for the future of the sect!"

He could feel the beginnings of a migraine forming behind his eyes. "A good investment?!" Shang Qinghua’s voice cracked. "It’s an egg! It could hatch into a chick, or it could crack open and splatter across your precious robes! You spent a fortune on a MAYBE!"

“And additionally!-turns out, we overspent on enchanted robes, too! Under *your* authority. Everyone's looking fabulous, but the sect is now very much broke."

One of the peak lords, wearing a particularly sparkly robe, chimed in. "In my defense, I was told the glitter would boost morale."

"And it did," he muttered. "Just not the kind we needed."

"Shang Qinghua," Qi Qingqi said, her tone shifting to something more patronizing, "you’re overreacting."

**Overreacting.** The word echoed in his mind like a gong. Overreacting. Overreacting?

Shang Qinghua felt something deep within him begin to fray. Years of biting his tongue, of rolling over and playing the obedient little peak lord, of letting his martial siblings step all over him—it all culminated in that moment. He felt it: the taught of the string and then the eventual snap.

"Overreacting?" he repeated, his voice deadly quiet now.

Qi Qingqi, oblivious to the storm brewing in Shang Qinghua’s eyes, pressed on. "If you can't handle the finances properly, maybe someone else should—"

"You…" he interrupted, his voice low and dangerous. The entire hall went silent as they realized something was very, very wrong. "You *spent* thousands of spirit stones—our entire budget—on vanity projects and pointless luxuries. And now you have the audacity to stand there and tell me I'm overreacting?"

Qi Qingqi’s eyes narrowed. "Shang Qinghua, watch your tone—"

"Or what?" he cut her off again, louder this time. "Or WHAT, Qi Qingqi? What exactly do you think you’re going to do? Get mad? Throw a tantrum? Newsflash, I’m DONE with tantrums! I've been patient. I've been calm. I've been the reliable, spineless doormat everyone loves to use, and I'm DONE!"

"Shang Qinghua!" She snapped, clearly flustered. "You’re out of line!"

"Out of line?" He barked a laugh that was more madness than humor. "Oh, *I’ll* show you out of line!"

Shang Qinghua threw the scroll of expenditures to the floor. "Qi Qingqi, I swear to the gods above and the demons below, if you keep testing me, I will slit your goddamn throat in your sleep!" He pointed a trembling finger at her, eyes wild. "I will end you so quickly, your ancestors will feel it!"

The room was deathly silent.

Qi Qingqi stood there, frozen, her mouth slightly agape. The other peak lords looked between them, too shocked to intervene. Not very good backup, in his opinion but at leases they’re smart; if they took even a step towards him, they would be the first he would reenact his threat upon. No one had ever seen Shang Qinghua like this. Not in all the years they had known him. (By ‘know’ he means briefly encountered from time to time and to shout at. Yippee!! Really makes him feel nice and cozy in his sect. Absolutely at the optimum of comfortableness.)

“And don’t think I won’t do it!" Shang Qinghua continued, fully leaning into his spiral now. "You think just because I'm the 'weak' one, the 'coward,' that I can't snap? Guess what? I've snapped! I'm there! This is IT!"

"Shang Qinghua…" Mu Qingfang, the more level-headed healer, cautiously approached, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "Maybe you should calm down a bit—"

"CALM DOWN?!" Yup, and that’ll do it!

Shang Qinghua spun on him, eyes blazing. "Oh, sure! I'll calm down! How about I just go sit under a waterfall and have a Qi deviation while I’m at it?!" He laughed maniacally, hands running through his disheveled hair. "Wouldn’t that be fun? Maybe I’ll even go insane and start screaming about nonsensical things! OH WAIT—" He paused dramatically, "I already am! Look at me go!"

No one dared to speak.

Seeing their horrified expressions, Shang Qinghua suddenly straightened up, smoothing down his robes with exaggerated care. He cleared his throat, adopting a more dignified tone. "Please excuse me while I go… meditate… yes, meditate, under said calming waterfall and…probably not Qi deviate…reconsider my life choices, maybe. Yeah."

He gave a stiff bow, as if nothing had just happened, and then calmly walked out of the hall, leaving behind a room full of utterly bewildered and terrified peak lords.

As he walked out into the crisp mountain air, Shang Qinghua’s mind whirled. ‘What just happened?’ Did he really just threaten Qi Qingqi? ‘Oh god, what have I done?’

‘And why did it feel so fucking awesome?!’

But at the same time, an unexpected feeling bubbled up in his chest—relief. For the first time in years, Shang Qinghua felt… free. Like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

He chuckled to himself as he headed towards the waterfall at the edge of An Ding Peak. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe going a little crazy was exactly what he needed.

And who knows? Maybe next time Qi Qingqi would think twice before spending all the funds on another ridiculous egg.

As he reached the waterfall, he sat down on a rock and closed his eyes, letting the sound of rushing water wash over him.

"Yep," he muttered to himself. "This is fine. Everything’s fine. I’m just going to sit here, calmly consider my next steps… and if anyone bothers me, I swear to god, I will absolutely lose my shit again."

The birds chirped cheerfully in the trees above him, completely oblivious to the drama that had just unfolded.

Shang Qinghua sighed. ‘Maybe I’ll stay here a while. Like, a long while. Maybe forever.’

‘Perhaps the next time I see her I’ll try to calmly apologise. Or I’ll have to move onto Plan B.’ He thought.

Now, it seemed was the perfect time for the system to perk up. Ever the curious (and monstrous money grabbing shit head) it wondered: [Which is?]

Blinking his eyes slowly open and in a lazy drawl (in his head of course, speaking just.. well he wasn’t up for it right now):
“Kill everyone.”

[Lovely.] The system sighed (or seemed to? It was hard to tell.)

But even as he sat there, the distant sound of footsteps reached his ears. The other peak lords, no doubt, coming to see if he’d finally snapped back to reality.

Shang Qinghua groaned.

‘Here we go again.’

Chapter Text

—-

Shang Qinghua was an odd man. He knew it, his peers knew it, and even Shen Qingqiu, who often couldn’t be bothered with him, and literally everyone else hated for one reason or another (who, may he add, is the literal villain of this world?!), knew it. He was the bottom of the barrel. He wasn’t the sharpest sword in the sheath or the most elegant scroll on the shelf, but what he lacked in poise, he made up for in sheer desperation to stay alive in this stupid not-so-fictional world.

And right now, survival was the only thing on his mind.

“Stay calm, Shang Qinghua. Stay calm,” he whispered to himself, (read: hyping himself up) frantically scurrying through the dense undergrowth of the forest. For once, he was thankful for his smaller stature, no matter how his Sect Siblings silently made fun of him for it (or in some cases, to his face.) His robes snagged on every branch, leaves tangling in his hair as he made his way deeper into the woods. He wasn’t sure how he got separated from the rest of the (frankly measly) group, but here he was, alone and hunted. He could hear the voices of his pursuers—those enemy rouge cultivators with their malevolent grins and hunger for blood. His blood. His pitiful, lowly blood. He wouldn’t even taste nice or benefit your demonic cultivation so please! Spare him!

And really! What was with these fucking demonic cultivation troupes?! You can be one of them and be considered ‘pure blooded’ in all rights without marrying your fucking first cousins. It may even improve their resulting offsprings chances of having more than two brain cells to rub together and not fucking hunting everything within a 10 mile radius. Or if they still do, at least they’d be able to catch them. But for real- he never wrote this shit in!!

“Why me?” he groaned, ducking behind a massive tree trunk as he tried to catch his breath, quickly burrowing himself into a inconspicuous pile of moss. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a shaky hand. He knew they were close (😏) . He could practically feel the menacing presence creeping nearer, and if they caught him… well, he didn’t want to think about that. (He’ll save it for his freaky thoughts at night.)

“What do I do? What do I do!?” he muttered, rocking back and forth like a newborn fawn trying getting use to his new ability of movement, as panic started to seep in. He was alone, without backup, and his spiritual energy was dangerously low. Calling for help would just give away his location. He needed something—anything—to save his skin.

Then, a flash of inspiration—or perhaps desperation—struck him. He remembered something from his old life, something about symbols and summoning. It was ridiculous, absurd even, but at this point, he was willing to try anything.

“Okay, okay, Shang Qinghua, you’ve got this,” he whispered, digging through his robes for a scrap of paper. His hands were trembling, but he managed to produce a crumpled piece, flattening it against the tree trunk. “Just… write something. Anything. It’s not like it’ll actually work.” But fucking god *please* , let it!

He grabbed a brush, dipped it in ink, and began to scribble. The symbols were messy, half-remembered shapes from a cartoon he used to watch in his past life. Town in the middle of bum fuck nowhere with nerdy lil twins?- Uhh…Gravity Falls, was it? Some show about kids and monsters and a weird triangle demon with a top hat. He had no idea why he was doing this—probably some kind of mental breakdown— most definitely some sort of mental breakdown, actually-but his hand moved on its own, sketching out the summoning circle with surprising precision.

He was done before he realized it, and there it was on the paper: the familiar, absurdly simplistic triangle with a single eye in the middle, surrounded by symbols he couldn’t fully recall the meanings of. He freely as if it just materialised there as he peered down at it. It looked ridiculous.

But then again, so did he. So he couldn’t say anything, really.

“Nothing to lose,” he muttered, hoping if he said it enough it would become true, and, without thinking, pumped his remaining Qi into the paper, hoping against hope that something—anything—would happen.

For a moment, nothing did. He could hear the enemies getting closer, their taunts echoing through the trees. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable.

And then the air around him changed.

A strange pressure filled the space, making his ears pop. He opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. The circle on the paper was glowing with an eerie blue light, tendrils of energy sparking off the page and twisting in the air. The ground beneath him trembled, and before he could even scream, there was a flash of blinding light.

When the spots cleared from his vision, the first thing he noticed was that the voices of his pursuers had gone silent. He looked around wildly, but no one was there. The forest was unnervingly quiet.

Then he looked up.

And saw it.

Floating above him was a yellow triangle, an eye staring unblinkingly down at him, a black top hat perched atop its head.

“Wha—what—” he stammered, backing up against the tree trunk. His heart was hammering in his chest, and his legs felt like they might give out at any moment. But, hah!- what else is new?!

[He was beginning to feel the hysteria creep in.]

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” the triangle said, its voice high-pitched and unsettlingly cheerful. “If it isn’t my lil old, new pal, the human who actually managed to summon me! Haven’t seen one of you in, oh, a few dimensions!”

Shang Qinghua’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. He wanted to say something—anything—but his brain was struggling to catch up with what was happening. He swore he could smell burning. Oh my god, was his brain frying?!

The triangle, Bill Cipher if he remembered correctly, tilted forward in what might have been considered an inquisitive lean. “What’s the matter, pal? Cat got your tongue? Or maybe it’s the fact that you just bound yourself to an all-powerful dream demon from another plane of existence? But please- hold your applause!!”

An odd clapping track seemed to be embodied by the scenery around them, before suddenly returning to deathly silent.

Bill's eye narrowed as his voice dropped a few octaves, becoming sinister. “You do realize what you’ve done, right?”

Shang Qinghua gulped. “Uh… I… I didn’t mean to?” He sure didn’t mean to phrase it like a question, but it seems his stupid fucking mouth just processed it that way! Fuck him! (Not literally- those pointed ends look like they hurt!)

To his surprise, the demon threw back his head—or rather, tilted slightly backward—and laughed. It wasn’t the evil cackle Shang Qinghua had expected, but more of a genuine, amused laugh. “Didn’t mean to? Oh, this is too good! You mortals always crack me up! You’re in way over your head, buddy!”

Shang Qinghua cringed. “Um, I really didn’t mean to summon you… I was just… trying not to die?”

Bill floated closer, his eye narrowing. “Not to die, huh? Well, congratulations, you just might’ve succeeded in that department—thanks to me, of course.”

Shang Qinghua stared up at the demon, his mind a whirlwind of fear, confusion, and disbelief. The absurdity of the situation was almost too much to handle. Here he was, in another world, summoning a demon from an American cartoon because he was too terrified to think straight. And now he was apparently bound to said entity?

He tried to regain some semblance of control. Aka: sort his fucking life out. “So, uh, what now?”

Bill twirled in the air. “Now? Now we’re going to have some fun! You and me, best buds, sticking together through thick and thin! Isn’t that right, partner?”

Shang Qinghua swallowed. “Ah- Partner?”

“Sure! What’s a binding without a little camaraderie? I save your skin, and you keep me entertained. Seems fair, right?”

This was all too much. He was just a humble Airplane-bro, and now he had a terrifyingly powerful being following him around. He hadn’t even processed the fact that he was probably stuck with Bill Cipher for the foreseeable future. What if the other peak lords found out- or worse!-Shen Qingqiu found out? Or even worser (?!), what if Yue Qingyuan found out?

“C-can you at least refrain from… uh… killing anyone?” he asked hesitantly, glancing nervously at the demon, as if it was an impossible task.

Bill looked at him, then burst into another fit of laughter. “Not kill anyone? Oh, I like you, kid! You’ve got guts—or maybe it’s just nerves. Don’t worry, I won’t kill anyone… unless they really deserve it.”

Shang Qinghua had a sinking feeling that this was as good as it was going to get and by “deserve it”, Bill really meant anyone that even breathed wrong would probably fall into the category. With a sigh, he picked himself up off the ground, wincing at the soreness in his legs. “Alright, fine. Let’s just… get back to the sect.”

“Lead the way, partner!” Bill said, a hint of mockery in his voice.

Yay..

As they made their way back, Shang Qinghua couldn’t help but feel the weight of Bill’s presence hovering just behind him, the demon’s strange energy thrumming in the air like a too-close thunderstorm. How was he going to explain this to the others? He was barely holding on to his status as it was! And with Shen Qingqiu most likely already suspicious of his secret alliances with demons- bringing a real life one into a sect that quite literally hunts down and kills them is not really a go-to to prove his innocence!!

His thoughts were interrupted as they reached the outer gates of the sect. Immediately, several disciples spotted him, and their eyes widened at the sight of the strange floating triangle.

“What… what is that?” one of them asked, pointing shakily at Bill.

Shang Qinghua forced a nervous laugh. “Oh, this? This is, uh, just a little… ah.. h-harmless?- friend I picked up in the forest?”

Bill floated in closer, looming ominously over the disciple. “That’s right, kid! I’m his *best* friend! And if you don’t behave, I might just turn your bones into candy canes! Wouldn’t that be fun?”

The disciple paled, practically tripping over themselves as they backed away. “R-right, Shang- Shishu! W-welcome back!” They fled in terror.

Shang Qinghua felt his heart sink further. “Please don’t scare them…I’m barely holding onto what little respect I have left as it is”

Bill’s eye gleamed with amusement. “Where’s the fun in that?”

They continued through the sect, and Shang Qinghua could feel the stares and hear the whispers following them the entire way. Every person they passed gave him a look that ranged from perplexed to outright horrified.

It wasn’t long before they encountered Shen Qingqiu himself, standing with his usual icy expression, though there was a glint of suspicion in his eyes. “Shang Qinghua,” he greeted with a hint of disdain, “What is ..*that*?”

Shang Qinghua swallowed hard. “Ah- Shixiong- Fancy seeing you here.. heheh.. heh… this is, um, a .. very friendly.. spirit! Yes! That, ah… helped me out. In the forest. I, uh, accidentally summoned it?”

Bill floated up next to Shen Qingqiu, examining him closely. “Ooh, you’re a serious one, aren’t you? I bet you’re just a barrel of laughs at parties!”

Ah! Don’t poke the bear!!

Shen Qingqiu’s sharp gaze narrowed, flicking briefly to Shang Qinghua before returning to the triangle demon. “What kind of creature is this, Shang-Shidi?”

Shang Qinghua hesitated, wringing his hands nervously. “Uh, well, Shen-Shixiong, this is… um, he’s a—”

“A friend!” Bill cut in, spinning lazily in the air. “An old friend, you might say. We go way back, don’t we, pal?”

Shen Qingqiu’s lips twitched, his patience clearly being tested. “I see. And how exactly did this ‘friend’ of yours end up in our sect?”

“Oh, you know,” Shang Qinghua stammered, “just, uh, a little… summoning mishap? Completely unintentional, I swear! I was just trying not to die.”

There was a long pause. Shen Qingqiu’s expression remained unreadable, but the weight of his silence pressed heavily on Shang Qinghua. It was the kind of silence that made you wish you could just disappear into the ground. He would really take that about now, actually.

Bill, however, seemed completely unbothered by the tension. “Come on, lighten up! You should be grateful! I saved this guy’s skin. You wouldn’t want him turning up a mangled, ugly corpse in the middle of your oh so fancy sect, would you?”

Shen Qingqiu ignored the demon’s taunt, instead turning his gaze back to Shang Qinghua. “Shang-Shidi, you’ve always had a… unique way of surviving. But this?” He gestured slightly to Bill with his fan. “This is new, even for.. you.”

Shang Qinghua flushed, trying to find the right words. “I-I know it’s strange, Shen-Shixiong, but I promise, I’ll take full responsibility for it. He won’t cause any trouble—right, Bill?”

Bill snickered. “Trouble? Me? Never!”

Shen Qingqiu arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by the ‘spirits’ antics. “Make sure he doesn’t, Shang-Shidi. The other peak lords will not take kindly to any disturbances. And I, most definitely, will not, either.”

“Understood, Shen-Shixiong!” Shang Qinghua bowed deeply, relief flooding him when Shen Qingqiu didn’t press further.

“Good. Then I suggest you keep your… friend on a tight leash.” Shen Qingqiu gave one last disapproving glance at Bill before turning on his heel, his robes fluttering as he walked away.

Shang Qinghua exhaled shakily once Shen Qingqiu was out of earshot. That could’ve gone worse—much worse. But he wasn’t out of the woods yet. He still had to figure out how to deal with Bill and what this new “bond” meant for him. The peak lords would definitely hear about this soon, and Yue Qingyuan was bound to have questions. Questions he wasn’t sure he could answer.

Bill floated lazily beside him, humming a cheerful tune as if nothing had happened. “Well, that guy was no fun at all. I was expecting more fireworks, honestly.”

“Bill,” Shang Qinghua whispered frantically, glancing around to make sure no one else was nearby, “could you please just… tone it down? The last thing I need is for the entire sect to think I’ve gone completely insane!”

Bill chuckled, his eye crinkling in amusement. “Too late for that, pal. But sure, I’ll play nice—for now.”

Shang Qinghua resisted the urge to groan. He didn’t know how long he could keep this up. He wasn’t a fighter, not like the others. His skills were in avoiding danger, playing dead, if you were to be so precise, not dealing with it head-on! Yet here he was, with a literal demon bound to him, a demon that seemed to enjoy pushing everyone’s buttons.

They continued through the sect, Shang Qinghua doing his best to avoid running into anyone else. Of course, that plan quickly fell apart when he spotted Yue Qingyuan in the distance, calmly speaking with a group of disciples. Shang Qinghua froze, panic rising in his chest. If Shen Qingqiu had been unnerving, then Yue Qingyuan was downright terrifying.

Bill noticed the shift in his demeanor and leaned in closer. “What’s the matter, nervous? Don’t worry, I’m great with authority figures. They love me!”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” Shang Qinghua hissed, his hands fidgeting at his sides, trying to seem as inconspicuous as possible and if he was lucky, just melt into the floor.

But of course- fuck his luck! It was already too late. Yue Qingyuan had already noticed them. The Sect Leader’s expression was as serene as ever, but there was an unmistakable gleam of curiosity in his eyes. A dangerous thing on a guy like him. He dismissed the disciples with a quiet word before approaching them.

“Shang-Shidi,” Yue Qingyuan greeted with his usual calm tone. His gaze shifted to Bill, taking in the strange creature with an unreadable expression. “I see you’ve returned safely. I trust everything went well?”

“Ah, Yue-Shixiong!” Shang Qinghua, aspiring to be as unassuming and surprised by this ‘sudden encounter’ as possible, plastered on what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Yes, everything went… fine! Just a little unexpected twist on the way back. Haha.. hah..”

Yue Qingyuan nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on Bill. “I see. And this… is?”

Bill floated forward before Shang Qinghua could respond, giving Yue Qingyuan an exaggerated bow. “The name’s Bill Cipher! Dream demon, nightmare extraordinaire, and now, this guy’s new best buddy!”

There was a flicker of something in Yue Qingyuan’s eyes—something dark that was quickly masked by his usual placid demeanor. “Is that so? Shang-Shidi, this is quite the unusual companion you’ve brought back.”

Shang Qinghua could feel the cold sweat trickling down his back. “Yes, um, it was a bit of an accident… I didn’t mean to summon him, but—”

“No need to explain,” Yue Qingyuan interrupted gently. His tone was as soothing as always, but Shang Qinghua couldn’t shake the feeling of being scrutinized. “You’ve always had a talent for… unexpected situations.”

Bill’s eye narrowed, as if sensing the underlying tension. “Oh, I like this guy,” he murmured, not quite under his breath. “Still waters run deep, don’t they?”

Shang Qinghua’s anxiety instantly spiked. “Bill, please…”

Yue Qingyuan smiled, a small, almost sad curve of his lips. “Shang-Shidi, I trust you’ll keep this matter under control. The sect’s harmony is of utmost importance.” ‘And I’ll have to dispose of anyone who threatens it.’

Shang Qinghua nodded so quickly it was a wonder his head didn’t fall off. “Yes, of course, Yue-Shixiong! I’ll make sure Bill behaves. He won’t cause any problems, I promise!”

Yue Qingyuan gave him a long, searching look before nodding. “Very well. If you need any assistance, you know where to find me.”

“Thank you, Yue-Shixiong,” Shang Qinghua said, bowing again. He watched as Yue Qingyuan walked away, his heart still pounding in his chest.

Once Yue Qingyuan was out of sight, Bill let out a low whistle. “That guy’s something else. Gives *me* the creeps, and that’s saying something!”

Shang Qinghua finally let out the groan he’d been holding in. “I’m so dead. I’m going to be so dead when everyone finds out about this.”

Bill patted him on the shoulder with his weird boney stick-like hand. “Cheer up, buddy! We’re in this together now. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Shang Qinghua didn’t even want to imagine the answer to that question. Instead, he trudged forward, resigned to his fate. Whatever mess he’d gotten himself into, there was no getting out of it now. Bill Cipher was here to stay, and so were the headaches that came with him.

At least, for now, he wasn’t alone.

Chapter Text

Shang Qinghua had been a bundle of nerves for too long. By too long, of course he means his entire fucking life. The pressure of his new companion and the looming threat of discovery had left him on edge. But today, standing in the center of the sect’s sprawling grounds with Bill Cipher floating beside him, he decided enough was enough.

“Fuck it!” he declared with a sudden burst of resolve. “Let’s have some fucking fun, Bill!”

Bill Cipher’s triangular eye lit up with delight, a knowing flint consuming the iris as if he *knew* the outcome already and he’d played right into his hands. “Now you’re talking, buddy! What’s the plan?”

Shang Qinghua grinned, a wild idea forming in his mind; a garbled mess of half-concrete shenanigans. “You know what would be hilarious? If we did some… I dunno, Geocaching!”

Bill tilted his head, showing as much confusion as you can when you’re from a 2D dimension and are literally a triangle. “Geocaching?”

“Yeah!” Shang Qinghua said, trying to explain with his lingering enthusiasm. “Like, going on a treasure hunt. Only, you know, with magic and demon realms and breaking into sacred places. That kind of thing.”

Bill’s eye gleamed with mischievous excitement. “I love it! Let’s do it!”

And so, their chaotic adventure began. Shang Qinghua and Bill Cipher (and isn’t that fucking crazy- THE Bill cipher- from a fucking cartoon!!- made flesh!- or well.. er.. whatever he’s made of..) made their way to the edge of the sect, snickering as they slipped past guards and avoided the gaze of passing disciples. They started with a seemingly innocent exploration of the outer areas but quickly escalated to more daring escapades.

Their first stop was a hidden demon burial ground. Bill’s giddy (read: crazed) laughter filled the air as they pried open ancient seals and unleashed long-dormant spirits. “Oh, look at them scatter!” Bill cackled, enjoying the chaos.

Shang Qinghua joined in, his usual anxious demeanor replaced with a more tapered down but still manic energy. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this! It’s like we’re in one of those adventure novels!”

Next, they set their sights on a series of hidden artifacts scattered throughout different sect’s sacred sites. They broke into sealed chambers, plundering ancient treasures and laughing hysterically as alarms blared. The sanctity of these places didn’t seem to faze them in the least.

One of their biggest scores was a legendary artifact rumored to control the weather. Bill, ever the showman, used it to summon a torrential downpour over the sect’s central plaza. “Enjoy the rain, everyone!” Bill’s voice echoed, his tone dripping with glee.

By the time they’d finished wreaking havoc in the cultivation world, they were both thoroughly exhausted. But that wasn’t the end of their escapade. No, Shang Qinghua and Bill Cipher had more in store.

Bill suggested they try something truly adventurous. “Ever wanted to visit another world, Shang?”

Shang Qinghua, now fully immersed in the thrill of their mischief, seemed drunk on the very concept and didn’t even question it. “Sure! Let’s do it!”

With a flourish of Bill’s power, they tore open a rift between worlds. In moments, they found themselves on a battlefield in the world of ‘Heaven's Official Blessing’. The chaos of the war-torn land they’d been dropped into was a stark contrast to their previous antics, but they were ready for the challenge.

Bill floated around, delighting in the new setting. “Now this is what I call a party! Look at all the mayhem we can create!”

Shang Qinghua was a whirlwind of energy, using the (weirdly sudden) replenished Qi he had to add to the confusion. They stormed through battle lines, creating chaos wherever they went. Shang Qinghua, caught up in the spirit of their adventures, found himself inebriated after stumbling upon a stash of alcohol left behind by the troops. (Look, okay, he needed a lil’ pick up- especially after chilling with an all-powerful dream demon, alright?! Give him a break!!)

Hours later, he was thoroughly plastered, leaning against a collapsed structure with Bill floating beside him, both of them covered in grime and with bloodstains on their clothes.

Bill, looking surprisingly cheerful, said, “You know, Shang, I might actually like you. You’re a lot more fun than I thought!”

Shang Qinghua, grinning ear-to-ear and with a rather intoxicated slur, responded, “Fuck yeah! I think we make an awesome team!”

Bill’s eye glinted with amusement as he floated in circles. “You know, we should totally do this again. Maybe next time, we’ll crash a celestial banquet or two!”

Shang Qinghua laughed, the sound echoing over the battlefield. “Absolutely! Let’s do this as often as we can!”

As the sun began to set over the battlefield, their laughter and the remnants of their wild adventure were the only signs of their passing. The once-serene cultivation world and the war-torn lands of ‘Heaven's Official Blessing’ would have their stories and their peace restored eventually. For now, Shang Qinghua and Bill Cipher enjoyed their newfound bond and their unpredictable journey together.

Their escapades had become a legend in their own right—one of reckless abandon, unexpected alliances, and an endless quest for fun. As they returned an almost asleep state, the echo of their laughter lingered, promising that their adventures were far from over.

———

The Celestial Banquet Bender

The thrill of their adventures had sparked something within Shang Qinghua and Bill Cipher—a bond that transcended their initial chaotic escapades. After their wild ride through ‘Heaven’s Official Blessing’ and their drunken revelry, they found themselves craving more. Their newfound camaraderie had ignited an insatiable itch for more mayhem and mischief.

“Hey, Shang,” Bill said one day, (after they became sober and gained awareness again, I mean), his triangular eye gleaming with a telling malevolency of a new idea. “You know what would be epic? Crashing a celestial banquet!”

Shang Qinghua, who had become a bit more accustomed to Bill’s presence, stared at him, blinking in lazy surprise. “Celestial banquet? You mean, like, one of those grand, fancy events in the heavens?”

“Exactly!” Bill’s eye widened with glee. “I’ve heard your high-ups throw some pretty wild parties up there. I think it’s time we pay them a visit!”

Shang Qinghua’s face lit up with excitement. “That sounds amazing! I’ve always wanted to see what kind of trouble we could stir up in the divine realms!” (Since he was so rudely shut out even though he created that stupid world.)

The two of them wasted no time. Bill wove his magic once more, and Shang Qinghua felt the familiar tingle of dimensional travel as they tore open a rift to the celestial realms. They emerged amidst a grand, opulent banquet hall floating in the heavens—a place of breathtaking beauty with its floating tables, shimmering lights, and elegant beings.

The celestial beings, all dressed in their finest robes and adorned with otherworldly elegance, looked on in still shock as Bill and Shang Qinghua made their grand entrance.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Bill announced in his most flamboyant tone, “-your evening just got a whole lot more interesting! We’re here to shake things up!”

Shang Qinghua, feeling a rush of exhilaration, joined in. “Time to turn this celestial banquet into a real party!”

As they made their way through the hall, chaos followed. Shang Qinghua, now in the spirit of things, tried to grab a goblet of celestial wine but ended up toppling a floating table, sending food and drinks crashing to the floor. He looked up, laughing uncontrollably. “Aha! Whoops! My bad!” Either this was the adrenaline rush acting like a drug or he was still inebriated.

Bill floated alongside him, causing a vortex of confusion with every elaborate twirl. “Let’s get this party started!”

The celestial hosts, initially stunned, quickly recovered and attempted to restore order. However, their efforts were thwarted by Bill’s playful interference. He conjured illusions of dancing spirits and gravity-defying tricks that had the celestial guests stumbling in disbelief.

“Welcome to the best party ever!” Bill declared, adding his signature touch of chaos to the scene. He floated over to a celestial dignitary, who was trying to salvage a particularly delicate dish. “You might want to hold on to that! It’s about to get even wilder!”

Shang Qinghua, meanwhile, had commandeered a harp and was strumming it with reckless abandon. “This is the best night ever!” he shouted, his voice ringing through the hall. “We should do this more often!”

The celestial beings, initially horrified, soon found themselves unable to resist the infectious energy of their invaders. Laughter and cheers broke out as the more adventurous among them joined in the fun. Even the more staid figures were caught up in the revelry, their celestial composure giving way to unrestrained joy.

Through the madness, it seemed they had both became inseparable partners in crime. Bill had taken on a surprisingly protective role, his normally menacing demeanor softened as he looked out for Shang Qinghua amidst the chaos.

“Careful, buddy,” Bill warned as Shang Qinghua nearly toppled off a floating platform. “Wouldn’t want you to fall and ruin this fabulous night!”

Shang Qinghua grinned up at Bill, his eyes filled with warmth. “Thanks, Bill. I didn’t know I’d find such a great friend through just trying to survive!”

As the night wore on, the celestial banquet hall transformed into a playground of havoc. Tables became makeshift dance floors, celestial wine flowed freely, and the air was filled with a raucous symphony of laughter and music.

In the midst of the celebration, they found a quiet corner to catch their breath. Both were slightly disheveled (or as disheveled as a triangle and 2-D being can get) but grinning from ear to.. er.. pointed edge.

“I never imagined things would turn out like this,” Shang Qinghua said, his voice filled with genuine affection. “This has been… incredible.”

Bill’s eye softened, a rare expression of sincerity crossing his features. “Yeah, it’s been a blast. You know, Shang, I might actually be getting fond of you. You’re not just a great partner in chaos; you’re a real.. pal.”

Shang Qinghua’s heart swelled. “I feel the same way, Bill. I never thought I’d be saying this, but I’m glad we met.”

Bill’s eye sparkled mischievously as he floated around, twirling in the air. “Let’s make a promise, buddy. More adventures, more chaos, and more fun. We’ll be the legends of both the mortal and celestial realms!”

Shang Qinghua laughed, raising a toast with a goblet of celestial wine. “To our epic adventures and unbreakable friendship!”

They clinked their goblets together, and as they drank, the celestial wine added a pleasant haze to their minds. The night continued with even more wild antics. The celestial beings, now fully engaged in the revelry, embraced the chaos with enthusiasm. Some even started to dance alongside Shang Qinghua and Bill, their earlier apprehension replaced by a shared sense of joy.

Eventually, as the first light of dawn began to filter into the celestial banquet hall, the party showed no sign of slowing down. Shang Qinghua and Bill, both tipsy and exhilarated, continued to dance and laugh, savoring every moment of their unexpected adventure.

“This has been one hell of a night,” Shang Qinghua said, leaning against a table as he caught his breath. “We should definitely crash more parties like this.”

Bill floated next to him, his eye gleaming with excitement. “Oh, absolutely. This is just the beginning, my friend!”

As they looked out over the aftermath of their celestial escapade, the two of them knew that their bond had miraculously grown stronger. The night had been a whirlwind of chaos and camaraderie, and it had solidified their friendship in ways they had never imagined.

“Here’s to more adventures, more fun, and more chaos!” Shang Qinghua shouted, raising his goblet high.

“And here’s to the best partner in crime I could ask for!” Bill replied, his voice full of genuine warmth.

And so, as the first light of dawn broke over the celestial realms, Shang Qinghua and Bill Cipher continued their wild revelry, ready for whatever adventures awaited them next. The universe was their playground, and they intended to make the most of every moment.

——-
Extra:

Blinking away the lingering haziness of sleep, Shang Qinghua clutched his head in obvious distress.

“What.. the fuck?” He mumbled slightly, obviously still disoriented, especially with the glaring white he encountered when he finally pried his sticky eyes open.

Blinking once, then twice seemed to clear out the glimpses of darkness eating at the corner of his vision.

“Am I.. dead..?”

Tugging his eyes robotically open once more, avoiding the way they wanted to drag down and be consumed by sleep once more, he saw a hazy figure standing above him.

“God.. is that you..?” At his deleterious questioning, the figure seemed to chuckle then come into focus.

Mu Qingfang was looking amused down at him. “Aha.. no. Shang-shixiong, it seems you had a Qi- deviation and went on a.. ah.. for better lack of words, a ‘chaos spree’, if you’d dare call it, with some hallucinated entity you labeled ‘Bill’ , I believe?”

Clutching his head in embarrassment and quickly rolling over, he nuzzled back into the covers, groaning.

“Ahhhh.. Doctor, just put me out my misery.”

With another amused chuckle, he felt a prick on his neck and he was soon blinking out of consciousness.

Fuck him, he can not believe he just hallucinated a kids cartoon villain to cope with.. whatever the fuck.

Once last groan of embarrassment and he was out like a light.

Chapter Text

---

Shang Qinghua was born into a world of scarcity. Or.. reborn he supposed. The small village where he took his first (second first? It got pretty confusing after a while, to be honest) breath was nestled in the shadow of a mountain range, where food was as scarce as hope. Aka there was a total of none. His family, struggling with more children than they could feed, was no different from the other families in the village—poor, starving, desperate.

His earliest memories were of hunger, gnawing at his small (too small.. what happened? Why is he like this? This is wrong. Wrong. Wrong! WRONG!) belly like a beast that could never be sated. He remembered his mother’s gaunt face, her hollow eyes that spoke of endless nights spent worrying about how to keep her children alive. Yet, even in the face of such despair, there was a kindness in her—a scarce warmth that she tried to pass on to her children, despite her every-day, seemingly prevailing exhaustion. She would gather her children around the meagre remnants of fire, their small bodies pressed together for any source of warmth, and she would give them each a share of the equally meagre meal she could scrape together. (From dirty left overs to stolen goods. It didn’t matter. Whatever would help her children LIVE.) Shang Qinghua would take his portion, but even as a child, a part of him couldn’t ignore the sight of his siblings’ hungry eyes, their sharp, bony fingers reaching out for more.

Despite his age, he’d gained his memories from a life before—a life filled with the comforts of a modern world. Vague as it might be. But in this new, harsh reality, his past life’s sensibilities clashed with his current body’s needs. He was just a child, but somewhere deep inside, he couldn’t justify eating his fill when his siblings were starving. And so, night after night, he would break his small portion in half, in quarters, until it was barely enough to keep him alive. His siblings, too young and too hungry to recognize his sacrifice, would snatch the food from him without thanks, sometimes even biting his fingers in their desperation.

His mother noticed, of course. Her eyes would soften with sadness as she watched her youngest wither away, his once baby round cheeks growing hollow, his tiny body becoming a collection of bones wrapped in thin skin. But she was just as powerless as he was, and her guilt only added to the burden that Shang Qinghua carried like a second (third) home on his back.

Then came the night that forced Shang Qinghua to leave home. His siblings, driven mad by hunger, had turned on him. He had heard stories of such things happening in other villages—of people driven to cannibalism by desperation—but he never thought it could happen to him. Thought it only to be that- a story, a tale, to humiliate the already humiliated impoverished and unlucky- ridden people such as he. But that night, when the moon was hidden by clouds and the wind howled through the cracks in their home, his siblings’ eyes glinted with something feral, something terrifying. They cornered him, their hands reaching out not for his food, but for him. His mother was too weak, too sick, to stop them.

He ran.

For days, he wandered the wilderness, his small body barely holding on. He would have died if not for the faint glimmer of hope that he found in the distance— guided by his bleary memories and a electronic beeping voice- he was guided to a a set of stairs leading up the mountain, to a place where the air was filled with the scent of fresh flowers, and the sounds of laughter and life echoed through the trees. Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.

He was taken in by the sect, a small, malnourished child who barely had the strength to stand. They fed him, clothed him, and for the first time in his life, he felt something akin to safety. (After the trials, of course because never could the world be kind to him, not in the light of life or the thread of death that seemed to follow him on even his brightest days.) But the habits of survival were not so easily broken. Even as he trained, even as he became (somewhat) stronger, Shang Qinghua found himself repeating the same patterns. Like a trained, unbroken cycle. He would hoard his food, but not for himself—for the other children who joined the sect, the ones who were just as hungry and scared as he had once been.

An Ding always got the least- because, ‘obviously’, what would some logistics people need *food* for! Silly him!- For even daring to ask! (He spent that day with no food, and an aching, lingering guilt of not being able to provide for his shidis and shijies, (and the shixiongs and older sect members that grabbed his food and ran, too. He didn’t know why his heart was so stupidly big sometimes.), as he curled behind a forgotten shrine in the depths of his oh so illustrious sect, counting the seconds; for that was all he could do not to keel over and *die*)

They were kinder than his siblings had been, grateful even, but the act of sharing became an unconscious reflex, a way of life that he could not abandon. And so, Shang Qinghua became known for his generosity, for his quiet kindness, even if it meant he often went to bed with an empty stomach.

---

Life at Cang Qiong Mountain Sect was better than anything Shang Qinghua could have imagined in some instances of his previous life or in the entirety of his dire days of his childhood. The sect was a place of strength and power, where disciples were trained in martial arts and cultivation, where the elders and peak lords guided them with wisdom and discipline. (For the most part. He was bullied and pushed around but that was because he was.. well .. *him*, so it’s alright. If it saved another from the same fate he would endure.) But for Shang Qinghua, it was also a place of kindness, where he found something he had never had before: friends. Or a resemblance of them, at least. People that tolerated his being well enough-(and people he could use. For even with his bigger heart, he still had to survive. If not for himself then for those he aided.)

But even as he grew, his strange habits persisted. The other disciples would often laugh at him, good-naturedly (for the most part) teasing him for the way he always shared his meals, always ensuring that the younger disciples had enough before he even touched his food. He never minded the teasing; it was in their nature to be playful, and he was used to it. But there was always a part of him that remained sad, a small part that remembered the days when he had starved, the days he still did, when he had been forced to choose between his own hunger and the hunger of others.

It always came down to the former, really.

One day, when he was a bit older, one of the senior disciples—a boy named Liu Ming— of who Shang Qinghua had recently ‘accidentally’ ran into and formed a connection with, asked him why he did it. They were sitting together at the dining hall, their plates filled with steaming rice and vegetables, the scent of it making Shang Qinghua’s stomach lowly growl with anticipation. But instead of eating, he had been distracted, watching a group of younger disciples who were sitting at the other end of the table, their plates half-empty.

Liu Ming noticed his gaze and raised an eyebrow. “Why do you always do that?” he asked.

Shang Qinghua blinked, coming into awareness once more, turned to face him. “Do what?”

“Share your food like that,” Liu Ming said, his tone blunt, not unkind but genuinely curious. As he always was. (In that way, he was so easy to get information out of. Eager- willing and blunt enough to not hide behind half truths.)“You’re always giving it away, even when it means you’re left with barely anything. Why?”

Shang Qinghua hesitated. It was a question he had never been asked directly before, and he wasn’t sure how to answer it. How could he explain the guilt that gnawed at him whenever he saw someone else go hungry? How could he explain the memories of his siblings, the desperate way they had fought for scraps of food, the way they had looked at him that night before he fled? How could he explain that no matter how much food he was given, it never felt like enough because there were always others who needed it more?

Instead of suddenly voicing all inner turmoil out, he shrugged instead, offering Liu Ming a small, perpetually nervous smile. “I guess I just don’t like seeing people go hungry,” he said, and left it at that.

With that, even if Liu Ming obviously outwardly wasn’t satisfied with that answer, it became even more apparent as time went on and more and more of the disciples began to notice Shang Qinghua’s odd behavior. They would joke about it, skirt around the subject (trying to grapple the latest bit of gossip without pressing too hard. Wanting to seem like the ‘good guy’. He could see the hunger lurking within their gaze. Different than the one he was accustom to before but equally as powerful. Driving.),some more kind hearted even trying to sneak extra food onto his plate when they thought he wasn’t looking. But no matter what they did, Shang Qinghua would always find a way to share his meals, even if it meant he went without.

The peak lords, too, began to notice. For how could they not? At first, they thought it was simply a matter of discipline, a sign that Shang Qinghua needed to be more focused on his own training, on building his strength. But as time went on, they realized it was something deeper, something that went beyond mere discipline. It was a part of who Shang Qinghua was, a part that he couldn’t change even if he wanted to. And they sat and watched as he spiralled.

---

Years passed, and Shang Qinghua grew from a small, malnourished child into a (semi-)capable, if somewhat odd, young man. He had become the Peak Lord of A Ding Peak, (through trial and error. Of want and desire. Of a certain *must*. He has to provide. He had to. He simply just *had to*.), the peak responsible for logistics and support within the sect. It was a position that suited him well, allowing him to care for others in ways that aligned with his nature. Behind the scenes. But despite his sudden higher and more enriched position, his habits never changed.

It was during a particularly important inter-sect conference away from ‘home’ that his peculiarities came to the attention of someone new. The sects had gathered together, their leaders and representatives seated in a grand hall to discuss matters of importance. The atmosphere was formal, but there was an underlying tension that came with having so many powerful individuals in one place. The meal that was served was lavish, the best food that could be provided by the host sect, and the peak lords of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect were seated together, a display of ‘unity’ for all to see. (A stability that only pertained the surface.)

Among them was Shen Qingqiu, the Peak Lord of Qing Jing Peak. He was known for his sharp tongue and sharper wit, a man who could cut you down with a single word and make you thank him for it. It was obvious enough through the muted glares he was sent across the room and the heightened berth if 5 metres at all sides he was granted around him. He had little patience for weakness, and even less for foolishness, which was why he found himself constantly irritated by Shang Qinghua.

Shen Qingqiu had noticed Shang Qinghua’s strange behavior almost immediately. As the food was served, the other peak lords and the rest of the members of differing sects began to eat, but Shang Qinghua hesitated. Shen Qingqiu watched out of the corner of his eye as Shang Qinghua discreetly began to distribute portions of his food to the disciples that were sitting nearby- of who were only brought to *watch* and *observe*, may he add. Not to frolic and eat their fill! It was done with such subtlety that anyone else might have missed it, but Shen Qingqiu’s sharp eyes caught every movement.

He watched as Shang Qinghua gave away more and more of his meal to a bunch of random extras, until he was left with only a small portion—a portion so small that it would hardly be enough to sustain him. Even if he practiced inedia (which Shen Qingqiu knew he didn’t- not only because of his rank as lowest strength peak lord but also because he knew that An Ding didn’t even learn it!), Shen Qingqiu was very acutely aware of how if one stopped such a practice, they should definitely provide their food with more nutrients, a filling, if lighter meal. Not the scraps Shang Qinghua was willing providing for himself. But instead of complaining or asking for more, Shang Qinghua simply accepted it, his expression filled with a quiet sadness as he took a small bite of his meagre portion.

Shen Qingqiu felt a surge of overpowering irritation at the sight. How could someone be so foolish? In a place like this, where strength was everything, where survival depended on one’s ability to take care of oneself, how could Shang Qinghua be so self-sacrificing, so… so..

Ugh!

And it appeared as if the irritation only grew and festered like a parasite as he continued to watch Shang Qinghua. The man was a peak lord, for heavens' sake—how could he allow himself to be reduced to such a pitiful state? The others may not have noticed, but Shen Qingqiu had seen the way Shang Qinghua’s shoulders slumped, the way he hesitated before each bite as if he was questioning whether he deserved to eat at all.

The very sight made his being fill with some indescribable, encompassing feeling.

Shen Qingqiu had never been one for self-sacrifice. Life was about survival, about being strong enough to protect yourself and your own interests. Those who couldn’t manage that had no place in this world—at least, that was what he had always believed. But watching Shang Qinghua, something about the man’s misplaced kindness gnawed at him, like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch.

As the conference droned on, Shen Qingqiu found his attention drifting back to the odd man seated beside him. (-For some reason unbeknownst to him. Did they think sitting him next to the most mousy peak lord would dim down his own scathing remarks? Hah! As if!) The peak lords were expected to display unity, but in this instance, it was a chore. How could he focus on the dull politics of the sects when this strange behavior persisted right beside him? So glaringly obvious but apparently only to his eyes.

At one point, Shang Qinghua caught Shen Qingqiu’s eye and offered a small, quirking, hesitant smile. It was the kind of smile that seemed to apologize for existing, for taking up space that could be better used by someone else. Shen Qingqiu frowned in response, snapping his fan shut with a sharp click.

In his mind, he couldn’t understand why Shang Qinghua would let himself be so easily diminished. Strength was everything, and yet Shang Qinghua seemed to relinquish it without a second thought, leaving himself vulnerable and weak. It was frustrating to watch, and for some reason, it stirred something in Shen Qingqiu that he couldn’t quite place. Some possessive feeling that itched inside him and propelled him forwards to *grab* and *keep*.

But the final straw came when Shen Qingqiu noticed something he hadn’t before. After distributing most of his food to the disciples around him, who were so happily munching away, Shang Qinghua’s hand shook ever so slightly as he lifted his chopsticks to his mouth. He was clearly starving, and yet he hesitated, staring down at the small portion of food left on his plate as if it were a feast he didn’t deserve.

Shen Qingqiu’s patience snapped.

Without thinking, he reached across the table and began piling food onto Shang Qinghua’s plate. Steamed buns, slices of meat, vegetables—whatever was within reach, Shen Qingqiu scooped it onto Shang Qinghua’s plate with a kind of brusque efficiency that left those lingering within his presence staring in surprise that was equally accompanied by a healthy dose of confused contempt.

Shang Qinghua looked up in shock, his eyes (almost doe like- with the same bearing of a fawn) wide with disbelief as his plate was suddenly overflowing with food. “Shixiong—” he started, his voice trembling slightly as his panicked gaze snapped from his towering Sect sibling and the piled mountain of food in front of him.

Shen Qingqiu cut him off with a sharp glare, snapping his fan open again to hide his face, though not before Shang Qinghua caught a glimpse of the faint red blush coloring Shen Qingqiu’s cheeks. “Eat, you fool,” Shen Qingqiu hissed. “Or do you plan to starve yourself to death for the sake of others?”

Shang Qinghua blinked, his expression one of pure wonder, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. For a moment, he seemed frozen, unsure of what to do. But then, slowly, a small, grateful smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he nodded, ducking his head as he finally allowed himself to eat.

Shen Qingqiu looked away, irritated with himself for having intervened at all. What did he care if Shang Qinghua wanted to waste away? It wasn’t his problem. And yet, as he watched Shang Qinghua quietly enjoy his meal, a small part of Shen Qingqiu felt… relieved. Or perhaps sedated, was the correct term. Like some monster within him was fed ,so much like his weakest shidi, and curled up to rest in the depths once more.

Shang Qinghua seemed to sense the unspoken warmth in Shen Qingqiu’s gesture, and though he was clearly touched, he didn’t make a show of it. Instead, he ate quietly, savoring each bite as if it were a rare treasure. He never complained, never asked for more, and yet the look in his eyes said more than words ever could, with his lingering gaze flicking once more from his food to his martial brother, as if saying “look at me, Shixiong! I’m doing as you said! Praise me!” A hamster with its cheeks fat with food, temping his owner for affection.

Shen Qingqiu kept his gaze averted, his fan still covering his face as he muttered something disparaging about Shang Qinghua’s foolishness. But despite his words, the act had been done, and the more observant people sat around noticed.

Qi Qingqi, who had been sitting on Shen Qingqiu’s other side, raised an eyebrow at the scene. “I didn’t realize you were so concerned about A Ding Peak, Shixiong,” she said, her tone neutral but with a hint of amused curiosity. A dangerous emotion on the woman, like a shark scenting blood in the water- Or a shadow sensing a secret.

Shen Qingqiu sniffed, snapping his fan shut again with a flourish. “I’m not,” he retorted. “But I can’t stand to see such pathetic displays of weakness. If he starves himself to death, it’ll be an embarrassment to the entire sect.”

Staying silent with a quite smirk, she gave a small nod, as if accepting this explanation, but the glimmer of amusement in her eyes suggested that she wasn’t entirely convinced. Any eaves- droppers (cough cough Yue Qingyuan) seemed to silently agree, and the matter was dropped, though Shen Qingqiu could still feel their curious gazes lingering on him.

But despite the brief tension, the meal continued without further incident. Shang Qinghua, still quietly amazed at the sudden generosity, ate with a contentment that had long been absent from his face. He was careful not to overindulge, still leaving small portions for others as if it was in his nature, but at least now, Shen Qingqiu noticed, he wasn’t denying himself completely.

As the conference drew to a close, the peak lords began to rise from their seats, exchanging polite farewells as they prepared to return to their respective sect (and peaks). Shang Qinghua lingered a moment longer, waiting until most of the others had left (via sword or carriage) before turning to Shen Qingqiu.

“Thank you, Shixiong,” Shang Qinghua said softly, his voice sincere even if the next sentence tinged on embarrassment. “I… I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

Shen Qingqiu waved his fan dismissively, still inwardly flustered by the whole ordeal, while his outward appearance portrayed nothing if his inner turmoil. “Don’t make a habit of it,” he snapped. “If I see you starving yourself again, I won’t be so generous.”

Shang Qinghua chuckled, the sound light and free of the usual burden that weighed on him. “Of course, Shixiong. I’ll try to be more mindful.”

With that, Shang Qinghua bowed respectfully and took his leave, his steps lighter than they had been in a long time.

Shen Qingqiu watched him go, his expression carefully neutral, but deep down, he couldn’t deny the small satisfaction that came from seeing Shang Qinghua walk away with a full stomach for once. The inkling of the beast receding it’s possessive grip and closing its all encompassing maw.

As Shen Qingqiu turned to leave, a small thought lingered in his mind—a thought that perhaps, his shidi needed a protector of his own. Maybe, in some strange, convoluted way, Shang Qinghua’s misplaced kindness could be worked into Shen Qingqius favour. He could.. in a way, protect him.

But of course, Shen Qingqiu would never admit that out loud.

---

In the days following the conference, Shen Qingqiu found himself thinking about Shang Qinghua more often than he would like to admit. It wasn’t that he cared, of course—he was simply concerned with maintaining the dignity of the sect. But every time he passed Shang Qinghua on the mountain, as his shidi always seemed to be running around, he couldn’t help but notice the subtle changes in the man.

Shang Qinghua seemed a little more confident, a little less burdened. He still shared his food with his disciples (the ones that were on shift during his meal time and such), but he was no longer denying himself in the process. It was a small change, barely noticeable to most, but to Shen Qingqiu, it was significant.

Shen Qingqiu continued to watch from a distance, his sharp eyes missing nothing. He saw how the other disciples began to treat Shang Qinghua with more respect, how they started to look up to him in a way that hadn’t been there before. It was clear that Shang Qinghua’s kindness, though often misinterpreted as weakness, had earned him a place in their hearts. As stupid as Shen Qingqiu labeled it to be.

And, begrudgingly, Shen Qingqiu had to admit that he too had come to see Shang Qinghua in a different light. It wasn’t that he liked the man, per se—he was still the same odd, self-sacrificing fool that Shen Qingqiu had always known. But there was something to be said for the quiet strength that lay beneath Shang Qinghua’s meek exterior, a strength that Shen Qingqiu had overlooked for far too long.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and cast the mountain in hues of gold and orange, Shen Qingqiu found himself on the path leading to An Ding Peak. He told himself it was just a walk, just a chance to clear his mind after a long day of dealing with the sect’s affairs. But as he neared the peak, he spotted Shang Qinghua sitting on a very withered and old stone bench, staring out at the sunset with an almost serene expression.

Shang Qinghua didn’t notice Shen Qingqiu at first, lost in thought as he watched the sky change its colours in a slow repetitive motion of moving clouds. But eventually, his peak lords sensibilities seemed to engage and he sensed the presence of another and turned his head, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw Shen Qingqiu standing (read: lurking) there.

“Shixiong,” Shang Qinghua greeted, rising to his feet and fidgeting nervously. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Shen Qingqiu waved his fan in a quick motion, dismissing the pleasantries. “I was just passing by,” he said, though even he knew how weak the excuse sounded.

Shang Qinghua smiled, his expression warm and genuine. “Well, you’re always welcome here, Shixiong.”

An awkward silence hung in the air as Shen Qingqiu stood before Shang Qinghua, his usual biting retort caught in his throat. The man’s genuine warmth disarmed him in a way that no one else ever had. For a moment, Shen Qingqiu considered turning on his heel and leaving without another word. After all, he had no business here—no reason to linger in the presence of someone who vexed him so much. But something kept him rooted to the spot.

Shang Qinghua, ever perceptive despite his meekness, seemed to sense Shen Qingqiu’s hesitation. Rather than press him with questions, he simply gestured (albeit jerkily) to the bench beside him, a silent invitation that surprised Shen Qingqiu. For a fleeting second, Shen Qingqiu hesitated, but then, with a sigh that betrayed more weariness than he cared to admit, he stepped forward and took the offered seat.

The two sat side by side, the sounds of the mountain—rustling leaves, the distant chatter of lingering disciples, the occasional call of a bird—filling the space between them. The sunset continued to paint the sky with its fading colors, casting a soft glow over everything. It was peaceful, and though Shen Qingqiu would never admit it, he found a certain comfort in the quiet companionship.

Shang Qinghua broke the silence first, his voice soft and contemplative. “You know, Shixiong, I’ve always admired how strong you are.”

Shen Qingqiu turned to look at him, eyebrows raising in surprise. Admired? From Shang Qinghua?- The man that seemed utterly afraid of him? He couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. “Admired?” he echoed, disbelief lacing his tone at the sudden statement. “Why?”

Shang Qinghua chuckled lightly, the sound more wistful than amused. (As if knowing something he doesn’t. Reminiscing on a past he’s not privy to. But the look in his eye indicates otherwise on the ‘privy’ part.)“Because you never hesitate to do what needs to be done. You’re decisive, confident…everything that I’m not.”

Shen Qingqiu scoffed, snapping his fan that was otherwise sat limply on his grasp, open with a flick of his wrist. “Confidence isn’t always as valuable as people think,” he replied, though there was no bite in his words. “Sometimes, it leads to foolish decisions.”

“And sometimes,” Shang Qinghua countered gently, “it’s exactly what people need.”

Shen Qingqiu fell silent, his gaze drifting back to the horizon. He didn’t know how to respond to that. He was so used to deflecting gluttonous praise, to brushing off compliments with sarcasm or a sharp remark, that genuine appreciation felt…strange. It made him uncomfortable, vulnerable in a way that he wasn’t accustomed to.

But Shang Qinghua wasn’t done. “You’ve always been kind to me, in your own way,” he continued, his eyes reflecting the fading light of the sun. At the bewildered look he was shot, he continued: “Even when you’re strict or critical, it’s always because you care about the sect, about the people in it. I think that’s a strength too—caring, I mean.”

Shen Qingqiu stiffened at the word ‘kind’. No one had ever used that word to describe him before. (Except Qi-ge, but even then, it was at the beginning. The very beginning: when he had not seen the sharp edges he had to carve into himself to survive.)“I’m not kind,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I’m just doing what’s necessary.”

Shang Qinghua smiled softly, the expression filled with a quiet understanding. “Maybe so. But it still matters. Sometimes, it’s the smallest acts of kindness that have the biggest impact. Like what you did for me at the conference.”

Shen Qingqiu felt his face heat up minutely, though he hid it behind the familiar shield of his fan. “That was nothing,” he said curtly, though the memory of Shang Qinghua’s grateful expression made his heart twist in a way that was entirely unfamiliar. “You were being foolish, and *someone* had to stop you before you collapsed from starvation.”

Shang Qinghua’s smile widened, a touch of amusement creeping into his eyes. “Maybe. But it meant a lot to me, Shixiong. So…thank you.”

Shen Qingqiu could only softly grunt in response, uncomfortable with the sincerity of the moment. He wasn’t used to being thanked, at least not in a way that felt so genuine. Most people in the sect feared him, respected him perhaps, but never approached him with the kind of warmth that Shang Qinghua seemed to radiate so naturally. (And all Qi-Ge seemed to utter nowadays was pointless apologies.)

They fell into silence again, but this time it was less awkward, more companionable. Shen Qingqiu found himself relaxing slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing as they both watched the sun sink below the horizon.

As the last sliver of light disappeared, Shang Qinghua let out a content sigh. “The sunset here is beautiful, isn’t it?”

Shen Qingqiu nodded absently, though his gaze wasn’t on the horizon anymore. Instead, he found himself watching Shang Qinghua, the way the fading light softened his features, the way his expression was so open and peaceful. For all his oddities, Shang Qinghua had a quiet strength that Shen Qingqiu was beginning to see for the first time.

“Shixiong?” Shang Qinghua’s voice broke through his thoughts, drawing his attention back.

“What is it?” Shen Qingqiu asked, a little more sharply than he intended.

Shang Qinghua hesitated for a moment, as if considering whether to speak or not. But then he smiled again, that same gentle, warm smile that Shen Qingqiu was starting to find disarming. “Nothing. Just…thank you for sitting with me. It’s nice to have company.”

Shen Qingqiu’s initial response was to brush off the gratitude, to say something cutting or sarcastic. But as he looked at Shang Qinghua, something stopped him. Instead, he simply nodded, the smallest of acknowledgments, before standing up.

“It’s late,” he said briskly, though there was no harshness in his tone. “You should get some rest.”

Shang Qinghua nodded in agreement, rising to his feet as well. “You too, Shixiong. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Shen Qingqiu paused, looking at him for a moment longer than necessary before finally giving a curt nod. “Yes. Tomorrow.”

With that, Shen Qingqiu turned and walked away, his fan tapping lightly against his leg from where it’s attached string hung from his hand, as he made his way back to his own peak. But even as he left, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something had shifted between them—a subtle change in the dynamic that had always defined their interactions.

Shang Qinghua watched him go, a thoughtful expression on his face. The night air was cool, but he felt a warmth in his chest that hadn’t been there before. It seemed as if there really was more to Shen Qingqiu than met the eye. (More like his damning drafts.)

And as for Shen Qingqiu…well, he found that he didn’t mind the idea of sharing a meal with Shang Qinghua again. After all, he reasoned, someone had to make sure the fool didn’t starve himself.

---

Days turned into weeks, and the unspoken bond between Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua continued to grow. It was subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t looking for it. But those who knew Shen Qingqiu well- or as well as you could possibly know someone like Shen Qingqiu—ahem Yue Qingyuan—noticed the slight shift in his demeanor. He seemed less irritable, less quick to snap at the smallest provocation. Like he was sedated into a calm. And though he still maintained his sharp wit and cutting remarks, there was a newfound patience in his interactions with the other peak lords, particularly with Shang Qinghua.

Shang Qinghua, for his part, continued to go about his duties with the same quiet diligence as always. But there was a lightness to his step now, a small smile that seemed to linger on his lips more often than not. He was still the same odd, self-sacrificing fool he had always been, but there was a new confidence in him—a confidence that had been absent for so long. (He was still cowardly, and nervous in battle fronts but that was alright. Shen Qingqiu would provide and keep him safe.. for the sects benefit, of course!)

It was during one of their bi-monthly regular meetings that Yue Qingyuan, as the Sect Leader, brought up a matter that caused a stir among the peak lords. A new sect was rising in the south, one that had been gaining power rapidly and was rumored to be challenging the established sects for dominance. Yue Qingyuan’s expression was serious as he addressed the group, his eyes scanning the faces of those gathered.

“We need to be cautious,” he said gravely. “This new sect is ambitious, and they may not hesitate to use underhanded methods to achieve their goals. We must be prepared for any potential conflict.”

The other peak lords nodded in agreement, their expressions equally serious. Shen Qingqiu, however, found his thoughts drifting. He knew the importance of this discussion, of course, especially with his role as the strategist but his mind kept returning to the quiet moments he had shared with Shang Qinghua, to the way the man had smiled at him that evening on the bench, baring his teeth and letting the skin pull taught to hide those plump, freckled cheeks.

It was strange, this feeling of…concern. (For it must be that.) Shen Qingqiu had never considered himself someone who worried about others, especially not someone as peculiar as Shang Qinghua. But the idea of this new sect causing trouble, of potentially endangering those (Or, more specifically: someone) he had come to care about in his own way, stirred something in him that he didn’t quite know how to deal with.

As the meeting continued, Shen Qingqiu found himself glancing at Shang Qinghua, who was listening intently to Yue Qingyuan’s words. There was a determination in his eyes, a resolve that made Shen Qingqiu’s chest tighten inexplicably.

When the meeting finally ended, the peak lords began to disperse, each heading back to their respective peaks to prepare for whatever might come. But Shen Qingqiu lingered, watching as Shang Qinghua gathered his things (scrolls that towered over his head, that made Shen Qingqiu almost reach out and help him with, but refrained with a full ache being the only sign it was there in the first place.), his mind still turning over the thoughts that had been plaguing him all day.

He stood there, rooted in place as the other peak lords filtered out of the hall. His sharp gaze remained fixed on Shang Qinghua, who moved with his usual unassuming grace, gathering up his overflowing notes and scrolls. There was something about the quiet determination in the man’s actions, something that made Shen Qingqiu’s stomach twist in a way he didn’t quite understand.

When Shang Qinghua finally noticed that Shen Qingqiu hadn’t left, he looked up in mild surprise. “Shixiong?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, the way he always did when he was unsure of something. (Like a pet. An unassuming, docile pet that needed to be cared for. And he would happily fill that ro-)“Is something wrong?”

For a moment, Shen Qingqiu didn’t respond. He could feel the weight of unspoken questions pressing against his chest, words he didn’t know how to form. Concern, worry, whatever it was, felt foreign on his tongue. He wasn’t used to caring, wasn’t used to letting anyone get close enough to evoke this kind of emotion. But here he was, standing in front of Shang Qinghua, unable to look away.

Finally, Shen Qingqiu spoke, his voice clipped and terse, but lacking its usual sharpened edge. “Be careful, Shang Qinghua.”

Shang Qinghua blinked, his expression a mix of surprise and confusion. “Careful?” he echoed. “About what?”

“The new sect,” Shen Qingqiu said, a little more forcefully than he intended. “We don’t know what they’re capable of. Don’t let your guard down.”

Shang Qinghua stared at him for a moment, then a small, understanding smile spread across his face. “Ah, I see,” he said, his tone light and almost teasing. “Shixiong is worried about me?”

Shen Qingqiu stiffened, his face heating up in a way that made him glad he had his fan to hide behind. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he snapped, but the words lacked their usual venom. “It’s my duty as the second highest rank peak lord to make sure everyone in the sect is prepared. That includes you.”

Shang Qinghua’s smile softened, and he nodded, the warmth in his eyes making Shen Qingqiu’s heart do a strange little flip. “I appreciate the concern, Shixiong. But don’t worry—I’ll be careful. I don’t intend to get myself killed anytime soon.”

“See that you don’t,” Shen Qingqiu muttered, more to himself than to Shang Qinghua. The idea of something happening to the man, of losing this odd, unexpected bond they had formed, left an unsettling feeling in his gut that he didn’t want to dwell on.

Shang Qinghua, sensing that the conversation had run its course, finished gathering his things and gave Shen Qingqiu a small bow, nearly top piling the former pile in his arms. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Shixiong,” he said, his voice as warm and gentle as always.

Shen Qingqiu gave a curt nod in return, watching as Shang Qinghua turned and left the hall. He stood there for a moment longer, his thoughts still a tangled mess of confusion and frustration. Why did he care so much? Why was he letting someone like Shang Qinghua get under his skin?

The answers eluded him, slipping through his grasp like sand through his fingers. But as he finally turned and made his way back to his own peak, one thing was clear—he wasn’t going to let anything happen to Shang Qinghua. Not if he could help it.

---

Over the next few days, Shen Qingqiu found himself paying closer attention to Shang Qinghua than ever before. (And that was saying something!) He watched the man interact with his disciples, saw how he managed to maintain a balance between being gentle and firm, guiding them with a patience that Shen Qingqiu had never mastered. (Never bothered to- because what was the point if nobody did that for *him*?) There was a quiet strength in Shang Qinghua, a resilience that had gone unnoticed by most but was now glaringly obvious to Shen Qingqiu.

He saw it in the way Shang Qinghua handled the affairs of An Ding Peak, how he managed to keep everything running smoothly despite the constant demands on his time and energy. There was no hesitation in his actions, no sign of the insecurity that had once seemed to define him. And yet, beneath that calm exterior, Shen Qingqiu could still see traces of the man’s selflessness, the way he continued to put others before himself, even when it wasn’t necessary.

It was frustrating, in a way. Shang Qinghua’s self-sacrificing nature hadn’t disappeared, even after the small change Shen Qingqiu had noticed at the conference. The man was still willing to give up everything for the sake of others, still too quick to deny himself for the benefit of those around him. But now, Shen Qingqiu understood it a little better. It wasn’t weakness; it was strength—a strength that came from a place of genuine kindness, something that Shen Qingqiu had never quite known how to handle. But still. It was irritating. (That was what he was gonna label the feeling in his chest.)

He found himself drawn to that strength, even as it frustrated him. He wanted to protect it, to make sure that Shang Qinghua didn’t end up hurting himself because of it. But how could he do that without overstepping, without crossing lines that had never been crossed before?

The questions continued to plague him as he watched Shang Qinghua from a distance, his sharp eyes missing nothing. He saw the way the disciples gravitated toward him, how they seemed to find comfort in his presence. He saw the way Shang Qinghua smiled at them, the way he offered encouragement and support without ever asking for anything in return.

And slowly, Shen Qingqiu began to understand. This was why Shang Qinghua was so loved (by his own peak, at least. The other Peaks and their lords sure had a thing or two to learn.), why his disciples respected him despite his oddities. It wasn’t because he was the strongest or the most powerful—far from it. It was because he cared, genuinely and deeply, in a way that few others did. And they seemed to notice, in some primal way.

Shen Qingqiu couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of admiration and irritation at that realization. It was so different from how he had always approached the world, so different from the way he had been taught to survive. And yet, there was something undeniably compelling about it.

One evening, as Shen Qingqiu sat in his study, pouring over the latest reports from the sect, his thoughts kept drifting back to Shang Qinghua. As it seemed to constantly do nowadays. The man had become a constant presence in his mind, a puzzle that Shen Qingqiu couldn’t seem to solve.

He thought about their conversations, about the way Shang Qinghua had smiled at him, the way his eyes had lit up with gratitude. He thought about the warmth that had settled in his chest whenever he saw Shang Qinghua, the way his heart seemed to beat a little faster when the man was near.

It was infuriating. Shen Qingqiu prided himself on his control, on his ability to keep his emotions in check. But Shang Qinghua had somehow slipped past his defenses, had wormed his way into a part of Shen Qingqiu’s heart that he hadn’t even realized was vulnerable.

With a sigh of frustration, Shen Qingqiu leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as he tried to sort through the conflicting emotions that were swirling inside him. He couldn’t deny the bond that had formed between them, but what did it mean? And what was he supposed to do about it?

The answers remained elusive, but one thing was becoming increasingly clear—Shen Qingqiu couldn’t ignore his.. feelings (whatever they may be!) and the prevailing need to care for Shang Qinghua any longer. Something had changed between them, something that he couldn’t quite put into words but could feel in every interaction, every glance, every shared moment of silence.

And whether he liked it or not, Shen Qingqiu knew that he had to confront those feelings. Because if there was one thing he had learned from watching Shang Qinghua, it was that caring wasn’t a weakness—it was a strength.

And from his own learn perspective, if he didn’t confront them now, they would fester and most likely kill him.

---

The opportunity came sooner than Shen Qingqiu expected.

One evening, after a long day of meetings and training sessions, Shen Qingqiu found himself wandering the mountain paths, his mind still consumed with thoughts of Shang Qinghua. The sun had already set, and the cool night air brushed against his skin, offering a welcome respite from the day’s heat.

He wasn’t surprised when he saw Shang Qinghua sitting on that same stone bench from weeks ago, gazing up at the stars with that same peaceful expression. It had become something of a habit for them to meet here in the evenings, an unspoken agreement that neither of them had acknowledged but both seemed to understand.

Shen Qingqiu approached quietly, his footsteps muffled by the grass beneath him. Shang Qinghua looked up as he drew near, a smile spreading across his face as he made room on the bench.

“Shixiong,” Shang Qinghua greeted, his voice warm and welcoming as always. “It’s good to see you.”

Shen Qingqiu gave a small nod, taking the offered seat without a word. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds being the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of night birds. The stars twinkled above them, and the mountain seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as the day gave way to night.

Finally, Shen Qingqiu broke the silence, his voice quiet but firm. “Shang Qinghua.”

Shang Qinghua turned to him, his expression curious but patient. “Yes, Shixiong?”

Shen Qingqiu hesitated for a moment, the words tangled in his throat. He wasn’t good at this, at opening up, at admitting things that he didn’t even fully understand himself. But as he looked into Shang Qinghua’s eyes, saw the trust and warmth there, he knew he couldn’t keep silent any longer.

“Why do you care so much.” Shen Qingqiu asked, the question catching even him off guard. "About everyone, about… people who don’t deserve it?"

Shang Qinghua blinked, clearly not expecting such a question. For a moment, he simply stared at Shen Qingqiu, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a small, almost wistful smile appeared on his lips. Reminiscent of the one they shared the first time they met here.

"Shixiong, it's not really something I think about," Shang Qinghua replied softly, his voice carrying a quiet sincerity. "I guess… it's just how I am."

Shen Qingqiu frowned, feeling frustration bubble up within him. That answer wasn’t enough. It didn’t explain the selflessness he had witnessed, the way Shang Qinghua seemed to sacrifice his own well-being for the sake of others without a second thought. For the scum of the earth that didn’t deserve even his *gaze*, never mind his good will.

"But why?" he pressed, his tone edging into dangerous territory before he could contain himself. "Why do you keep doing it, even when it costs you?"

Shang Qinghua’s smile faltered, and he looked down at his hands, which were clasped together in his lap. The silence stretched between them, and for a moment, Shen Qingqiu wondered if he had pushed too hard. But then, Shang Qinghua took a deep breath and began to speak.

"I think… it’s because I know what it’s like to go without," Shang Qinghua said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. "I know what it’s like to be hungry, to be afraid, to feel like you don’t matter. And if I can do something—anything—to make sure someone else doesn’t have to feel that way, then… how could I not?"

Shen Qingqiu’s heart clenched at those words, an unexpected wave of empathy washing over him. He could see it now, the echoes of Shang Qinghua’s past reflected in his every action, every decision. The way he always put others first, the way he seemed to give and give until there was almost nothing left for himself—it all made a cruel kind of sense. And in that sense, he could see himself reflected back too. The other path he could’ve walked- if life was even a smidge kinder.

Shang Qinghua continued, his voice steady despite the emotions clearly lurking beneath the surface. "I wasn’t born into this world like some of the others here, someone like Liu-shidi. I had to survive in ways that… no child should have to. But even then, I never wanted to lose the part of me that could still care, that could still give. Maybe that’s foolish, but… it’s the only way I know how to be."

The certain way he said “others” and not “you”, seemed to tell a story in itself.

Like knows like.

Shen Qingqiu felt a strange mixture of comradeship and admiration. He had always prided himself on being pragmatic, on doing whatever it took to survive in a world that was often unforgiving. But Shang Qinghua—despite everything he had been through, despite all the hardships he must have faced—a childhood somewhat like his own— had somehow managed to hold on to his compassion, to his kindness.

"I don't understand you," Shen Qingqiu finally admitted, his voice laced with frustration. "You're surrounded by people who would take advantage of you in a heartbeat, who wouldn’t hesitate to betray you, and yet you… you still do *this*."

Shang Qinghua looked up, meeting Shen Qingqiu’s gaze with a softness that made Shen Qingqiu’s breath catch in his throat. "Maybe I’m just a fool," he said, his smile returning, though it was tinged with a hint of sadness. "But even if that’s true, I’d rather be a fool who tries to make things a little better, than someone who’s too afraid to care."

Shen Qingqiu didn’t know what to say to that. The usual sharp retorts and sarcastic comments died on his lips, leaving him uncharacteristically speechless. For a moment, he simply looked at Shang Qinghua, really looked at him, and saw the man behind the self-deprecating jokes and easygoing demeanor. He saw the strength it took to be kind in a world that so often punished kindness, the courage it took to keep caring even when it hurt. The courage he lacked. (But he would keep safe. He would keep Shang Qinghuas and his *safe*.)

Something shifted within Shen Qingqiu then, something that had been building ever since he first noticed Shang Qinghua’s quiet acts of generosity. It wasn’t just admiration—it was something deeper, something that made him want to protect that fragile kindness, to make sure that Shang Qinghua didn’t have to carry the weight of his compassion alone.

"Shang Qinghua," Shen Qingqiu said, his voice more gentle than he intended. "You’re not a fool."

Shang Qinghua looked surprised by the sudden change in Shen Qingqiu’s tone, but before he could respond, Shen Qingqiu reached out and placed a hand on his thigh, a light touch (one he was surprised he was even initiating (and enjoying)) his grip firm but reassuring.

"You don’t have to do this alone," Shen Qingqiu continued, his gaze steady. Mind made up."You don’t have to bear all of this by yourself. Let yourself be helped. Let *me* help you."

Shang Qinghua’s eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, he simply stared at Shen Qingqiu, as if trying to process what he had just heard. Then, slowly, a blush crept up his cheeks, and he looked away, his usual flustered smile making an appearance.

"Shixiong," Shang Qinghua said, his voice a little shaky. "I… I don’t know what to say."

"You don’t have to say anything," Shen Qingqiu replied, his hand still resting on Shang Qinghua’s thigh in a strangely comforting embrace. "Just… let me do this."

Shang Qinghua nodded, his expression softening as he looked back at Shen Qingqiu. "I.. will," he promised, his voice barely above a whisper, and conveying some in depth understanding even Shen Qingqiu couldn’t guess.

For a moment, they simply sat there in silence, the night air cool against their skin, the stars above them twinkling like distant lanterns. There was an understanding between them now, one larger than the vagueness and unspoken one from before, an agreement that neither of them had to face the world alone. (That Shen Qingqiu would protect and horde.. and keep him safe and all Shang Qinghua had to do?- was just remain the same. Let himself be cared for. That’s all he asks.)

And as Shen Qingqiu finally withdrew his hand, letting it rest back in his lap, he felt a sense of peace settle over him—something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Whatever lay ahead, whatever challenges they might face, he knew that he wouldn’t be facing them utterly alone.

And neither would Shang Qinghua.

He now knew someone would be in his corner during the times people like Liu Qingge wanted to make him stay down.

And Shen Qingqiu also knew that he would keep this nervous little thing in his grasp. Forever.

As they sat together, the silence between them wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that spoke of understanding, of two people finding common ground in the quiet. Shen Qingqiu watched as Shang Qinghua’s tense shoulders slowly relaxed, a small but genuine smile playing on his lips. The moment was fragile, delicate in a way Shen Qingqiu wasn’t used to, but he found that he didn’t mind.

For once, the words weren’t necessary. The understanding, the unspoken connection, was enough.

Eventually, Shang Qinghua broke the silence, his voice softer than before. “Thank you, Shixiong,” he said, his gaze still fixed on the distant horizon. “I… didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that.” Echoing words from the start.

Shen Qingqiu gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “People need aid sometimes,” he replied, his tone more gentle than his usual sharpness. “You’re no exception.”

Shang Qinghua’s smile grew a little wider, and for a brief moment, Shen Qingqiu saw the man as he truly was—resilient yet vulnerable, strong yet in need of the same care he so freely gave to others. It was a side of Shang Qinghua that few people saw, a deeper look from the exterior facade, and Shen Qingqiu felt a strange sense of privilege in being allowed to witness it.

As the night deepened, neither of them seemed in a hurry to leave. They simply sat together, side by side, two peak lords who had long been misunderstood by those around them. But here, under the vast expanse of the sky, there was no need for pretenses or masks. They were simply Shen Qingqiu (Jiu) and Shang Qinghua (Hua), two people who had found a surprising but welcome connection in the most unlikely of places.

While Shen Qingqiu glanced at Shang Qinghua’s peaceful expression all he could think was of how he would keep this man safe.

No matter what it took.

Chapter Text

——

Shang Qinghua was having a day. Not a good day, not a bad day, just one of those days where everything blended into an exhausting blur of tasks and responsibilities. As the (seemingly) esteemed Peak Lord of An Ding, it was his job to oversee the maintenance of his peak, ensure the proper allocation of resources, and, of course, deal with the endless stream of disciples needing guidance. Easy, right?! Normally, his disciples would be the ones carrying the heavy boxes from the supply crates, but today, Shang Qinghua found himself lugging them around on his own.

Why? Because his little buns had looked so tired and overworked. How could he ask them to do something so menial when they already had so much on their plates? Shang Qinghua, as always, was too soft-hearted for his own good. So, with a sigh and a resigned shrug, he had hoisted the boxes onto his own back and started his trek through the sect.

He’d been walking for what felt like hours, even with his enhanced m strength that came with his golden core, winding his way through the paths that connected the various peaks. Normally, he would ride his sword and be done with it, but with the heavy crates weighing him down, that wasn’t an option. Unless he wanted them to all plunge off into the abyss, with his following suit. So, on foot it was. As he trudged along, his thoughts began to wander, and as they often did, they settled on one particular disciple: Luo Binghe.

Shang Qinghua couldn’t help it. Whenever he thought of Luo Binghe, he was overwhelmed by a strange, irrational urge to protect, to nurture, to care for him. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for his other disciples, but Luo Binghe… Well, Luo Binghe was different. Luo Binghe was his. Not in any official capacity, of course. Shang Qinghua wasn’t Luo Binghe’s actual master—Shen Qingqiu had that high honor—but still, he was the one who had written Luo Binghe into existence. His word-child, if you will.

Sure basically everything else could also be labeled as such but.. well, Luo Binghe was personal. He was *his*.

It was the ultimate kind of responsibility, and it left him with a constant, nagging sense of what could only be called baby fever. Luo Binghe was far from a baby—he was a strapping young man of eighteen—but in Shang Qinghua’s eyes, he might as well still be the helpless child crying for his dead momma’ all the way over where his namesake originated. His poor lil’ bun!!

It was as he was rounding yet another corner and cutting through the bamboo forest on Qing Jing Peak that Shang Qinghua first saw him. The sight stopped him dead in his tracks, and his heart clenched in his chest in such a sudden feeling he was convinced he might die for a second time with the way he immediately got dizzy and black spots claimed his vision.

Luo Binghe was kneeling on the cold ground, huddled for warmth in the middle of the towering heights of which were the infamous bamboo forest of Qing Jing. He was chopping wood, his movements methodical but slow, as if each swing of the axe took more effort than it should. His clothes, thin and inadequate for the weather, clung to his body, and his face was haggard with a pale pallor, and dark circles under his eyes. But what really broke Shang Qinghua’s heart was the look in Luo Binghe’s eyes when he glanced up and saw him.

Wide, red-rimmed eyes stared back at him, filled with a fear that had no place on a young man’s face. Haunted. Luo Binghe’s breath hitched, and he clutched the axe tightly, his knuckles white with the strain. He looked like a cornered animal, terrified and desperate, and Shang Qinghua felt a surge of protectiveness so strong it nearly knocked him off his trial-worn feet.

“Oh, Binghe…” Shang Qinghua murmured, his voice soft and soothing. He set the crates down on the ground, his mind already racing. He couldn’t let this go on. He couldn’t let Luo Binghe suffer like this, not when he finally had the power to do something about it. (Or he assumed.. the system had been oddly silent for a while now. Not even responding to his taunts!)

Without a second thought, he pried open one of the crates, revealing a stack of plush, designer blankets. These were supposed to go to Qi Qingqi’s disciples—she had requested them specifically, something about matching the decor of her peak—but what did that matter now? Luo Binghe needed them far more than they did, and besides, it wasn’t as if Qi Qingqi would even notice if a few blankets went missing.

Who needed so many designer blankets, anyway? Her Peak was by far the smallest, with how selective she was of female beauties and Shang Qinghua was certain that Qi Qingqi’s disciples would survive without a few extra luxuries; especially since more then 3/4 are from highly esteemed families any way and get their own allowance! What do they even need the peaks money for if they can get their Daddies to get them it, instead!

Blanket in hand, Shang Qinghua approached Luo Binghe slowly, not unlike an injured animal, wanting to make sure he wouldn’t startle him. “Here,” he said softly, holding out the blanket, making sure his other hand was easily seen and slow moving with the rest of him in effortlessly perceived movements. “You’re freezing. Let me help.”

Luo Binghe looked at the offered blanket with wide eyes, but he didn’t reach for it. Instead, he kept his grip on the axe, his breath coming out in short, ragged gasps. He looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack, and Shang Qinghua’s heart ached at the sight.

“It’s okay,” Shang Qinghua continued, trying and most likely failing to stamp down the tremor of sadness that was infused with his tone, attempting to maintain a gentler voice. “You’re safe, Binghe. I’m here. Let me take care of you.”

Slowly, cautiously, Shang Qinghua draped the blanket over Luo Binghe’s shoulders, wrapping it around him like a protective cocoon. He could feel the younger man trembling beneath his soft touches, and he couldn’t resist the urge to pull him into his arms.

Luo Binghe stiffened at first, but Shang Qinghua held him close, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

His original attempt was to try to sooth Luo Binghe, but it morphed more into calming himself.

The words seemed to break something in this young man who cowered in front of him (Shang Qinghua!! The most unthreatening person since.. since manatees!!) He was beginning to wonder if he was about to bolt in fear but then the axe slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground, and he buried his face in Shang Qinghua’s chest. A broken sob tore from his throat, and Shang Qinghua felt wetness soak through his robes as Luo Binghe cried. Weeped. Mourned.

Shang Qinghua’s heart shattered. His poor baby, his precious lil’ word-child… How had it come to this? How had he let this happen? (He knows exactly how and the systems lingering laughs tore a hole through his psyche every night he lay restless. A remnant of their omniscient and omnipresent being before they suddenly disappeared a few months ago.)

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Shang Qinghua repeated, rocking Luo Binghe gently.

-Like a baby. *God*, his poor baby.

“I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

He held Luo Binghe like that for what felt like an eternity, just letting him cry. Shang Qinghua whispered comforting words, stroked his hair, and kept him bundled in the blanket, doing everything in his power to shield him from the world as the light slipped by through diffusing clouds.

Eventually, the sobs began to quiet, and Luo Binghe’s breathing evened out. Shang Qinghua could feel the tension slowly draining from his body, and he pressed a soft, chaste kiss to the top of Luo Binghe’s head.

“You’re safe,” Shang Qinghua murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” A promise.

Luo Binghe remained silent, but he snuggled deeper into Shang Qinghua’s embrace, his grip on the older man’s robes tightening. Shang Qinghua smiled softly, his heart swelling with affection. He would protect Luo Binghe with everything he had. He would make sure that his precious word-child was never hurt again. (Until he probably killed him but that’s alright.. That would be his atonement for creating this fucked up world, he guesses.)

As the quiet settled over them, Shang Qinghua let out a small sigh of relief. Everything was going to be okay. Luo Binghe was safe, and that was all that mattered.

---

Luo Binghe kept his face buried in his shibo’s robes, his tears soaking into the fabric as he clung to the older man. But the sobs that shook his body were not born of fear or despair. No, they were the product of something far darker, something that made his lips curl into a smirk even as he pressed closer to Shang Qinghua.

His shibo was so easy to manipulate. All it took was a few tears, a quiver in his voice, and Shang Qinghua melted like butter. Luo Binghe had known this since he was a child, but now that he was older, now that he understood the power he held over the man who had created him, he found it impossible to resist using that power to his advantage. To take advantage of his Creator. His God.

It was laughably simple, really. He was no longer the helpless child that Shang Qinghua seemed to think he was. No, Luo Binghe was stronger now, more dangerous, and he had plans—plans that involved his shibo in ways that the man could never imagine.

As Luo Binghe nuzzled his face in Shang Qinghua’s robes once more, his mind raced with thoughts that were anything but innocent. His shibo had wrapped him in a blanket, held him close, whispered sweet words of comfort into his ear… How could Luo Binghe not be affected by that? How could he not want more?

Shang Qinghua had no idea what he was doing, no idea the kind of fire he was playing with. Luo Binghe would make sure to teach him, though. Slowly, methodically, he would break down Shang Qinghua’s defenses, worm his way into his heart until there was no escape.

He would make Shang Qinghua his, in every way that mattered.

Luo Binghe tightened his grip on Shang Qinghua’s robes, his smirk widening. His shibo thought he was safe, thought that he was in control of this situation, but Luo Binghe knew better. He had already won this game, had already ensnared Shang Qinghua in his web. All that was left was to tighten the threads and watch as his shibo struggled in vain.

For now, though, Luo Binghe was content to play the role of the innocent little disciple, to let Shang Qinghua coddle him and fuss over him like a worried parent. But soon, very soon, he would show his shibo the truth. He would show him that the helpless child he once knew was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous, far more possessive.

As Shang Qinghua continued to whisper soothing words into his ear, Luo Binghe let out a contented sigh, his smirk hidden in the folds of his shibo’s robe. Yes, this was exactly where he wanted to be, wrapped in his shibo’s arms and completely in control of the situation. Shang Qinghua might have thought he was offering comfort, but in truth, it was Luo Binghe who was leading this dance. Every touch, every whisper of reassurance only fed the flames of Luo Binghe’s possessiveness. He would savor this moment, let it stretch out as long as he could. Because soon, very soon, he would make sure that his shibo understood just who truly needed protection, and from whom.

Luo Binghe’s grip on the older man’s robe tightened so much it left his hands white with the only exception being his bulging veins working in an effort to keep him close, his smirk deepening as he imagined all the ways he would keep Shang Qinghua close, keep him his. For now, though, he could wait. After all, patience was just another tool in his arsenal—and in this game, Luo Binghe intended to be crowned the Champion.

Chapter Text

—— :3

Shang Qinghua was on his fifth errand of the day, (and it was only
8am!!(or it would be if they counted time like that..)),arms laden with scrolls, when he caught sight of his lil’ ol’ protagonist, seemingly waiting for him. Wait what?- Luo Binghe?! Waiting for *him*?! The young man stood at the edge of Qing Jing Peak’s courtyard, looking out of place amid the manicured gardens and delicate pavilions, what with his broad shoulders and very much blossoming heavenly demon physique on show. (How nobody caught on about some weird power at play concerning how he was a small scrawny, underfed child that suddenly transformed to a big buff stallion overnight was beyond him.) Shang Qinghua’s heart gave a small lurch as he quickened his pace, a smile already spreading across his face at the sight of his former life’s passion project (and literal food source. NOT IN A CANNIBALISTIC WAY!!- In a way of which through writing him it paid fo- you know what.. he’ll just stop…)

“Binghe!” Shang Qinghua called out, waving one arm despite the scrolls precariously balanced in the other.

Luo Binghe’s head snapped up at the sound of his shibo’s voice, portraying an excellent attempt at pretending to be unaware of his surroundings (Shang Qinghua knew better!), and his expression softened into something almost tender. He strode over to Shang Qinghua in a few swift steps, easily taking the scrolls from his arms. “Shibo,” he greeted warmly, his tone laced with a sweetness that could melt even the coldest of hearts. And would!- In the future, that is if the plot still comes to play.. and wife number #341 shows up with her literal ice heart, melted only by his Binghe’s pure actions (but impure thoughts if the papapa was anything to go by.)

“Ah, you don’t need to do that,” Shang Qinghua said, a little flustered by the attention. “I’m used to carrying things myself, really.”

“Nonsense,” Luo Binghe replied smoothly, his grip firm on the scrolls as he took them from Shang Qinghua’s weary hands. “Let me help.”

Shang Qinghua’s smile grew a bit brighter, stretching the corners of his cheeks, making them hurt from the exertion even more then his legs did from walking non-stop all day!- his heart warming by the gesture. And here he thought chivalry was dead! It was rare for him to receive this kind of help— or any really… most of the time, he was the one doing the helping. Anything that even resembled help was quickly followed by a ‘insy tinsy favour’, of which he was usually too weak in the heart to say no too and ended up lasting him the rest of the week. Luo Binghe’s sudden honest appearance was a small but welcome relief.

As they walked together, Luo Binghe kept close to Shang Qinghua’s side, his hand brushing against his shibo’s sleeve in a way that felt oddly possessive. But Shang Qinghua didn’t notice. He was too busy marveling at how grown-up and responsible Luo Binghe had become. He always knew his Binghe had potential, but seeing it firsthand was something else entirely.. err- seeing it not through a screen, he supposed would be a better descriptor.

They had just rounded a corner when they encountered a small group of his little buns!- ahem.. An Ding disciples. The young men and women were clearly overburdened with tasks, their expressions weary as they carried sacks of supplies and piles of documents. Shang Qinghua’s heart squeezed in sympathy. His little buns were always working so hard!! It didn’t sit right with him to see them so worn out, especially since he was the adult here.. and they were quite literally children! Damn medieval transmigration China politics or laws or whatever about the whole shabang!

“Shibo, I—” one of the disciples began, a tired, waning smile coming to play on his lips but Shang Qinghua cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” Shang Qinghua said quickly, already moving to take the sacks from the disciple’s hands. “I’ll handle these. You all should take a break. Go get something to eat, okay?”

“But, Shibo—”

“No buts,” Shang Qinghua insisted, his voice firm but kind. “Go on, now.”

The disciples exchanged grateful looks before hurrying off, clearly relieved to be given a reprieve. Shang Qinghua watched them go, his expression softening. He couldn’t help it. His heart was too big for his own good, especially when it came to his bu- ah- erm.. disciples.

Luo Binghe, however, watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. He knew his shibo was too kind, too self-sacrificing, but seeing it in action always made something dark and possessive twist in his chest. Why did Shang Qinghua always put others before himself? Why did he give and give until there was nothing left? And why did he let everyone else take advantage of his kindness?

Luo Binghe didn’t like it. Not one bit.

As they continued on their way, Luo Binghe found himself walking even closer to Shang Qinghua, his presence almost looming. (Read: most definitely looming.) But Shang Qinghua was blissfully unaware, humming softly to himself as they moved through the winding paths of Qing Jing Peak, as if this was an every day occurrence. (It probably was.)

It wasn’t long before they seemingly stumbled across Shen Qingqiu, who was overseeing a group of his own disciples as they practiced their sword forms in the courtyard. The moment Shen Qingqiu’s sharp gaze landed on Shang Qinghua and Luo Binghe, something cold and equally possessive flickered in his eyes, tracing the lingering ‘guiding’ touch Luo Binghe had on his Shibo’s lower back.

Shang Qinghua, oblivious as ever, lit up when he saw his shixiong. “Shixiong!” he called out, his voice filled with warmth as he waved enthusiastically, once again with the fore- mentioned precariously balanced scrolls exchanged for boxes hanging on one arm.

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze flicking to where Luo Binghe was practically glued to Shang Qinghua’s side. “Shang Qinghua,” he greeted, his tone chillingly cool as ever. “What brings you to Qing Jing Peak?”

“Oh, you know, just running errands,” Shang Qinghua replied cheerfully, completely missing the tension in Shen Qingqiu’s stance when faced with the beast lurking behind *his* Shan-ahem..Shidi. “Your peak is as beautiful as always, Shixiong.”

Shen Qingqiu hummed noncommittally, his eyes not leaving Luo Binghe for a second. “It seems you have a shadow,” he remarked dryly, his tone dripping with subtle disapproval.

Luo Binghe smiled innocently, but there was a calculating glint in his eyes as he looked at Shen Qingqiu. “I’m just helping Shibo with his tasks, Shizun. He seems to have quite a lot on his plate.”

Shen Qingqiu’s lips thinned, the barely concealed possessiveness flaring up in his chest. Shang Qinghua might be too naive to see it, but Shen Qingqiu wasn’t. He could see the way Luo Binghe clung to Shang Qinghua, the way his presence seemed almost… predatory. The way his physique as both beast and *man* comes out to play in a disgusting correspondence.

Shang Qinghua, however, was completely oblivious to the charged air between the two. “Binghe’s been a big help,” he said, beaming at Luo Binghe with all the pride of a parent. “He’s grown up so much, hasn’t he, Shixiong?”

Shen Qingqiu forced himself to remain composed, though it took more effort than he would have liked. “Indeed,” he agreed, though the word was practically bitten off.

The sight of Luo Binghe, the very boy Shen Qingqiu knew from the get-go would one day become a calamity (who was so much like him but had so much more.. ungrateful wretch.), hanging off of [HIS] Shang Qinghua like a possessive limpet, was grating on his nerves more than he cared to admit. That was *his* shidi Luo Binghe was clinging to, his shidi who was far too kind-hearted for his own good. The thought of Luo Binghe sinking his claws into Shang Qinghua made something dark and protective flare up in Shen Qingqiu’s chest.

But Shang Qinghua, in all his sweet, oblivious innocence, remained blissfully unaware of the tension. “Shixiong,” he said, his voice softening as he reached out to place a slowly choreographed hand on Shen Qingqiu’s arm.(He knew him so well.) “You don’t look well. Have you been overworking yourself again? You really should take it easy.”

Shen Qingqiu blinked, momentarily thrown off by the gentle concern in Shang Qinghua’s voice. For a moment, the irritation and hypocritical possessiveness faded, replaced by something softer, something warmer. “I’m fine,” he replied, his voice a touch softer than before, eyes a smidge more rounded in a sense of calm. “You, on the other hand, should worry more about yourself.” With a pointed look to the beast looming behind.

Shang Qinghua laughed lightly, clearly not taking the words to heart. “Ah, Shixiong, you know I’m fine. A little hard work never hurt anyone, right?”

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes softened once more despite himself, but before he could respond, Luo Binghe interjected. “Shibo works too hard,” he said, his voice tinged with a certain darker emotion that was far from innocent. “He shouldn’t have to do everything on his own.”

Shen Qingqiu’s gaze snapped back to Luo Binghe, his irritation returning full force. “Indeed,” he said coldly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Which is why I expect you to make sure he doesn’t overextend himself, Luo Binghe.”

Aka- ‘Back the fuck up, bitch or I’m about to rock your shit. Cause any problems for my Shang Qinghua and I will skin you alive, you dirty, boot licking cockroach.’

The unspoken warning in Shen Qingqiu’s words was clear, but Luo Binghe only smiled, his expression unfazed. “Of course, Shizun,” he replied smoothly. “I’ll take *good care* of him.”

The tension between the two was almost palpable, but Shang Qinghua remained completely oblivious, his thoughts already wandering to his next task. “I’d better get going,” he said, breaking the charged silence. “I still have a lot to do today.”

Luo Binghe was quick to fall in step beside Shang Qinghua, the possessive edge in his demeanor barely concealed. “I’ll help you, Shibo,” he offered, his tone dripping with sweetness.

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrowed, but before he could say anything more, Shang Qinghua waved cheerfully at him. “Take care, Shixiong! See you later!” he called out, already moving away with Luo Binghe close at his side.

As Shen Qingqiu watched them go, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He didn’t like this—not one bit. The way Luo Binghe hovered around Shang Qinghua, the way he seemed to think he could just waltz in and stake a claim on his shidi—it made Shen Qingqiu’s protective instincts flare up in ways he hadn’t expected.

Shang Qinghua was his. His to protect, his to care for. And if Luo Binghe thought he could take that away from him, the boy had another thing coming.

With a sharp snap of his fan, Shen Qingqiu turned on his heel, already plotting how best to keep Shang Qinghua from Luo Binghe’s grasp. This wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

Luo Binghe might have his shibo wrapped around his finger for now, but Shen Qingqiu would be damned if he let it stay that way.

Chapter Text

——-

Liu Qingge wasn’t one to pay much attention to the comings and goings of his fellow Peak Lords unless it involved a direct threat to Cang Qiong Mountain (physical or to its honour (cough cough- Shen Qingqiu. Cough!) or a sparring match he couldn’t resist. But today was different. Today, something—someone—had caught his eye.

As he strode through the hallways of the main sect building, heading toward the Peak Lord meeting hall, he caught sight of a figure just ahead of him. It was Shang Qinghua, An Ding Peak’s scatterbrained lord, meandering through the corridor with his usual distracted air. Nothing should be eye catching about his mousy shixiong- Except this time, something was different.

Liu Qingge’s eyes narrowed as he noticed what it was. *Shang Qinghua’s hair was… shorter.* Gone were the semi-long, cumbersome locks that usually trailed down his back, of which he normally used to hide behind in fits of stress (that Liu Qingge admittedly caused most the time) but instead replaced by a mess of fluffy strands that barely reached his shoulders. The hair now framed his face in a way that Liu Qingge hadn’t seen before, leaving him momentarily stunned.

‘Was his hair… always that fluffy?’ Liu Qingge thought to himself, teetering dangerously and almost stopping in his tracks. The idea of Shang Qinghua, of all people, doing something so drastic to his appearance was puzzling. He hadn’t heard of any recent battles that could have caused it, and the guy wasn’t exactly known for his bold decisions. Liu Qingge’s hand twitched slightly, a sudden and bewildering urge to reach out and run his fingers through the fluffy hair taking hold of him.

But this was Shang Qinghua—the klutzy, always panicking Shang Qinghua. Liu Qingge quickly shook the thought from his mind, scolding himself for getting distracted by something so trivial. So.. mundane, in a sense.
…

*But still…*

Liu Qingge found his gaze lingering on the shorter strands, imagining how they might feel beneath his rough, calloused fingers. How tight he could hold onto them- if he could still just as easily pull Shang Qinghua into him with a single tug in the heat of battl-

He snapped himself back to reality just as they reached the meeting hall. Clearing his throat, as if that would alleviate his pent up thoughts, Liu Qingge folded his arms across his chest and silently took his seat, pointedly avoiding looking in Shang Qinghua’s direction. Not that he would want to anyway.. But he couldn’t help the stray thought that flitted through his mind.

‘Why had Shang Qinghua cut his hair?’

————-

Shang Qinghua had always been a bit self-conscious about his hair. Even in his modern-day life. It was long and unruly, constantly getting in the way, especially when he was hunched over scrolls or darting between tasks on A Ding Peak. So, after years of putting it off, he had finally decided to take matters into his own hands—literally.

**Snip, snip.**

It had felt liberating, almost like shedding an old skin. He’d done it in a moment of frustration after getting his hair caught for the umpteenth time in some stupid contraption he was tinkering with. No one had been around to see it; it was just him, a mirror (or a bronze reflective board, he supposed..), and a pair of what counted as medieval- Chinese scissors.

t the time it seemed brilliant- fulfilling- But now, as he shuffled into the Peak Lord meeting hall, he felt a prickling unease. He knew that the others believed him as a coward and someone had always been skittish (why else would they so effortlessly glide their own work onto his already full plate and fix him a glare?- obviously they knew these keg factors of his personality already!) and today was no exception.

‘Had the others noticed?’ -Were they going to scold him? He wasn’t much of a history-nerd, even when he had enough money to pay for his college tuition (read: the time he could afford even the transport to get there.) but he’d heard the ancient beliefs that cutting one’s hair was like severing ties with one’s ancestors—disrespectful and unfilial. But honestly, did anyone really care about that stuff anymore? He sure as hell didn’t write any of that sort of shit into his novel! His Binghe needed variety-! There had to be at least a couple short haired beauties in his midsts.. and he definitely wrote no stagnancy over their decision of lesser hair! He was pretty sure he was he just overthinking, as usual. Right??

As he approached his seat, he caught sight of Liu Qingge out of the corner of his eye, the resident War god of Bai Zhan Peak giving him an odd, lingering look. Shang Qinghua’s heart did a little flip, and he quickly averted his eyes. ‘Oh no, did I mess up? Is he going to yell at me?’ (Again?!)

Shang Qinghua slid into his seat as unobtrusively as possible, pulling out an errant scroll he seems to always have up his sleeve to fidget with. He noticed Liu Qingge’s gaze shifting away, and for a brief moment, Shang Qinghua relaxed, shoulders minutely sagging. ‘Maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal. Heh.. maybe I *was* just overreacting!’

He couldn’t resist making a little snark to himself. ‘Ahh- I really hate this ‘time of the month.’’ And by the look on half the other peak lords face, they sure as hell did too. With some of the honest to God pained expressions- he might even think his metaphor had come to fruition. The thought made him snicker softly into his sleeve, though he quickly stifled the sound when Yue Qingyuan gave him a disapproving glance from across the head of the table, seemingly able to sense whenever someone was having a good time. (Or whatever resemblance to one you could get in this hell hole.)

Shang Qinghua kept his head down, trying not to draw any more attention to himself, blissfully unaware that he had already become the center of it.

——

As the meeting started, Shang Qinghua felt eyes on him from all directions. And he was pretty sure he wasn’t hallucinating them anymore!! They felt very real if the sizzling holes he could feel being physically burnt into him was any indication. He dared a glance up and immediately wished he hadn’t. Every Peak Lord in the room was staring at him with varying degrees of surprise, curiosity, and something else he couldn’t quite place.

Shen Qingqiu, as usual, was the first to break the silence, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Shang-shidi, I see you’ve decided to embrace a… new look?” The words were casual, but there was an edge to them, as if he was waiting for Shang Qinghua to slip up. To add, the pointed glance up and down his self and the quiet begins of a smirk we’re very telling, shixiong!!

Shang Qinghua opened his mouth, ready to stammer out an excuse, but Qi Qingqi beat him to it. “Well. I like it,” she said bluntly, crossing her arms, as if daring anyone to contradict her. “It’s bold. Feminist, even.”

Shang Qinghua blinked at her, completely thrown off by the unexpected approval. “Feminist?”
he echoed, not quite sure he was hearing correctly. I mean, he sure as hell was!!- but the point still stands of what the hell did feminism and his therefore dubbed ‘new look’ from his cold shixiong have in correspondence?

Qi Qingqi nodded, as though she had bestowed some great wisdom upon the group. “Cutting your hair in defiance of tradition—an act of independence. It’s empowering. Also have you not see the latest movement? All the young women are doing it.” Her tone was stern, but there was a hint of something like pride in her eyes as she looked at him. And he really thought any ‘pride’ projected at him stopped by the age he learnt how to speak- huh! Weird! “It’s about time someone shook up this old conforming place.”

Shang Qinghua, now completely lost, managed a weak smile, unsure whether to be relieved or terrified.

“Fluffy,” Liu Qingge muttered under his breath, putting in his two pence, too, apparently and earning a quizzical (and very obvious degrading) look from Shen Qingqiu.

“What?” Shen Qingqiu’s sharp eyes flicked between Liu Qingge and Shang Qinghua, suspicion evident in his gaze. (Of what- he had not a clue! Please don’t turn those cold eyes on him, shixiong!! (They’re kinda..- AH- Mind out the gutter— this is serious!!))

“Nothing,” Liu Qingge grumbled, his expression stiffening as if he just realised he’d spoken out loud.

Yue Qingyuan, seated at the head of the table, watched the exchange with his usual calm demeanor, though there was an undercurrent of something cold in his gaze as it flickered over Shang Qinghua. He said nothing, allowing the meeting to proceed without acknowledging the minor scandal that Shang Qinghua had inadvertently caused. Literally- he just cut his hair- what’s with these people?!

As the discussions went on, Shang Qinghua tried to focus, but his thoughts kept drifting. ‘Did I just accidentally start a feminist movement on Cang Qiong?’ He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, but with the serious looks on everyone’s faces, he didn’t dare.

Shen Qingqiu’s gaze lingered on him, sharp as ever. With a very telling gaze of ‘I’ll have to keep an eye on him,’, most likely a note to himself, but very easily portrayed to quite literally every half sane person in the vicinity (just him, he guesses, then! Hah!) Honestly, he was kinda annoyed at how something as simple as a haircut could stir up the normally routine gathering.

He could almost hear the thoughts in his Shixiongs head: “Shang-shidi is up to something, whether he realises it or not.”

And he sure as hell doesn’t!!

Shang Qinghua, on the other hand, remained blissfully unaware of the deeper meanings being ascribed to his simple desire to not get his hair caught in things anymore. He was just relieved that no one had outright scolded him yet.

Maybe things would settle down soon. Or maybe he’d just given the entire sect something to gossip about for the next month. Either way, he’d live with it. After all, it wasn’t like he could glue the hair back on.

With that thought, he allowed himself a small, sneaky grin. ‘Maybe this short hair thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.’

---

Chapter Text

——

The light of dawn filtered through the narrow gaps in the curtains, casting elongated shadows across the unfairly spacious quarters of one such Shen Qingqiu. He sat at his desk, fingers poised above a scroll, but his mind was far from the delicate brushstrokes that should have been filling the parchment. Ever since he had awoken in this world, Shen Yuan had struggled to reconcile his memories with the reality before him. The System, as he had taken to calling it (because that’s what it said it was to be called..), was ever-present in his mind, nudging him here and there, helping him navigate the treacherous waters of the Qing Jing Peak.

But there was something odd about it, something unsettlingly human.

Or maybe he’s just being silly.

He couldn’t quite put his finger on it at first. It was subtle, the way the System would sometimes comment on things that seemed irrelevant to his tasks, offering opinions rather than cold, hard facts. Its tone would shift, becoming almost conversational, like it was not merely an automated guide but something more… sentient.

A month into his new life, Shen Qingqiu had found himself accustomed to most of the System's quirks. He’d learned to wield its directives to his advantage, playing the role of a dutiful, ever- peerlessly cold Peak Lord while internally screaming at the absurdity of the situations he found himself in. But that familiar voice that echoed in his mind was becoming more and more disconcerting.

And then there were the comments.

At first, he’d thought he was just imagining it, the way the System would suddenly interject with a snide remark when a disciple messed up or when a Peak Lord made a particularly annoying comment. But the tipping point came during a routine meeting among the Peak Lords.

Shen Qingqiu sat in his usual seat, his expression composed and serene, the epitome of a noble and dignified Peak Lord. His eyes tracked the others in the room, catching the subtle tensions that hung in the air like unspoken accusations. Qi Qingqi, ever the picture of haughty disdain, was on one of her tirades, her sharp tongue cutting through the air as she reprimanded one of her junior disciples (that she personally choice- may he add!) for some minor infraction.

“…and really, if they can’t even manage to uphold the basic tenets of our sect, then what is the point of keeping them around?” Qi Qingqi’s voice rang with a steely edge.

The System chimed in, its voice laced with an unexpected tinge of humor. *"She’s being a real girl boss right now, huh? You can’t deny she’s kinda got a point. Feminism aside, she’s got a no-nonsense attitude I can respect."*

Shen Qingqiu’s hand froze midway to his teacup. What? His thoughts reeled. That was… not what he had expected the System to say. In fact, that was some stupid thing he’d expect… ah..

Airplane-bro to say?
(Or write- he supposes.)

And he would know! He read that crack-ass authors novel a billion times over. (Not because he was a fan or anything!! He just had to.. er- evaluate the mistakes and stuff!!)

For a moment, the world seemed to slow down as Shen Qingqiu pieced together the oddities that had been plaguing him for weeks. The off-hand comments, the snarky observations, the strangely human behavior…

Could it be?

His heart began to race, his breathing growing shallow as the idea took root in his mind. There was no way. It was too absurd, too impossible. But then again, wasn’t his entire situation already beyond the bounds of reality? His chest tightened as the possibilities swirled in his mind, forming a storm of thoughts too chaotic to sort through. Was this System… not a system at all? Was it—

A sudden spike of pain tore through Shen Qingqiu’s chest, cutting off his thoughts as his vision blurred. He gasped, clutching at his robes as the world around him seemed to tilt dangerously. The meeting around him became a cacophony of concerned voices, but they were muffled, distant, as if he were underwater.

*"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold up! Take a breath, don’t go dying on me now!"* The System’s voice rang out, tinged with a panic that it had never displayed before.

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes fluttered as he struggled to remain conscious, the searing pain in his chest growing unbearable. He felt his qi spiraling out of control, a chaotic surge that threatened to tear him apart from the inside. A qi deviation… -of course, it would happen now, of all times; if anything it was probably *caused* by ‘these times’. Tch. Damn this equally weak-ass body!! (Not that his original was any better.)

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, the pain stopped. Shen Qingqiu blinked, his vision clearing enough to make out a figure that had materialized in the center of the room, where moments ago there had been nothing but air.

The figure was familiar, too familiar. The same messy uniquely brown hair, the same slightly hunched posture, the same annoyingly smug expression that he remembered all too well.

Shang Qinghua—no, Airplane-bro—stood before him, a devious little smirk playing on his lips.

“Well, this is awkward, isn’t it, Cucumber?” Airplane- the same one that he read everything from- the same one he exchanged messages with (ONLY TO HELP THE PLOT- it’s not like he liked him, okay?!), and also the exact same he saw when scrolling past (read: stalking) pictures on his private account, drawled, his voice unmistakably human, laced with the same infuriating sarcasm Shen Qingqiu had come to associate with the author of ‘Proud Immortal Demon Way’.

Shen Qingqiu barely had time to process what he was seeing before the world around him dimmed once more. He heard the concerned shouts of the other Peak Lords, saw the flash of alarm in Liu Qingge’s eyes as he lunged toward him, but it was all distant, fading as his vision darkened.

The last thing he saw before everything went black was Airplane- or should he just say Shang Hua?-’s smirk, sharp and knowing, like he had just won a game that Shen Qingqiu hadn’t even realized they were playing.

————————————
-Spin-off Chap!!/extras: The Puppeteer-

In the quiet solitude of An Ding Peak, Shang Qinghua stretched luxuriously, his back arching as he groaned in satisfaction. It was a strange, disorienting feeling—this new form. He had no body to speak of, (not anymore. Not that eh could even remember aside from vaguely.)- not really, just a swirling, incorporeal presence that could dip in and out of the world(s) he had created. A god. That’s what he was now, wasn’t it? The creator and master of all these characters, these Peak Lords, demons, and disciples, each one nothing more than a puppet on his strings. Not matter their mortal strength, no matter their ‘roles’, or their own little matter of status, he could just easily burn them to the ground as he could artificially take a breath. Artificially only due to the fact he didn’t need to breathe anymore. But he liked to. (He had to retain that much or he might just go insane.)

He could see everything, feel everything, as if the entire world was laid out before him like an open scroll, each thread of fate twisting and turning at his whim. As if each thread of fate *was* him. He chuckled to himself, a new low, eerie sound that echoed through the void where he currently resided. A System, they called him now. How quaint. How..

Boring.

With a thought, he extended his presence, reaching out to brush against the minds of his beloved creations. Shang Qinghua—or rather, Airplane (if you’re going through his online name) or even Shang Hua with his original mortal name—was no longer constrained by the limitations of flesh. He was everywhere and nowhere, watching, yet waiting, influencing, toying with their lives for his own amusement.

The first (as to say, during one of the first ‘routes’ of this world.) to catch his attention was Luo Binghe (of course). The half-demon protagonist was training alone, his expression stern and determined, the way it always was when he thought no one was watching, where he had no qualms at letting go of any lingering mortality and human emotion in his gaze. His sword cut through the air with precision, the sharp movements a reflection of the inner turmoil that plagued him, however.

Shang Hua grinned, an idea sparking in his mind. He whispered into the void, sending a subtle suggestion into Binghe’s thoughts. Just a small mummer.

*"Wouldn’t it be easier if you just… let go? Entirely. No one would blame you for using a bit of demonic energy. Just a little."*

Luo Binghe’s hand faltered for the briefest moment, a flicker of something dark passing over his features. His eyes narrowed, suspicion flaring as he scanned his surroundings, the grip on his sword tightening. But there was nothing, no one. Just the wind and the trees, and the soft rustle of leaves. And his own thoughts. (Or were they?)

Airplane-bro stifled a laugh. Binghe was such a ‘good boy’, so devoted to his pleasing his unforgiving Shizun, to the path of righteousness. But even he could be tempted, couldn’t he? He was, after all, still the creation of a god who reveled in drama and chaos.

He left Binghe to his training and turned his attention elsewhere. The next mind he touched belonged to Liu Qingge, the Martial Peak Lord. Liu Qingge was meditating, (and surprisingly *not* killing some beast- but if the corpse off to the die was any indication- he was just doing so.) his breath deep and even, his qi flowing smoothly through his meridians. He was the picture of serenity, his mind focused solely on maintaining balance and strength.

Shang Hua hummed thoughtfully. Liu Qingge was always so serious, so rigid. So *uptight*. What would happen if—

**"Doesn’t it ever get exhausting, being perfect all the time?"** The voice whispered, so softly it was almost imperceptible, even a cultivators ear.

Liu Qingge’s eyes snapped open, his brows furrowing as he looked around. For a moment, he was sure he had heard something, felt something—a presence, perhaps. But there was nothing there, no indication that anyone had disturbed his meditation. The unease lingered, though, a subtle undercurrent that he couldn’t quite shake.

Shang Hua smirked, watching as Liu Qingge forced himself to relax, shaking off the strange feeling. He was good at that, shoving down his emotions, burying them deep where no one could reach. Acting like a beast and only letting the unfettered core emotions breach the surface. But Shang Hua was no one. He was *everyone*. And he knew every one of Liu Qingge’s weaknesses, every chink in his armor.

This was too much fun.

He drifted away (or as much as an incorporeal form can ‘drift’ anyway.) from Liu Qingge, letting the martial artist’s mind return to its rigid tranquility. Now, who next? There were so many to choose from, so many little puppets to play with.

Qi Qingqi was holding court in her pavilion, her disciples gathered around her as she dispensed wisdom and criticism in equal measure. Airplane-bro observed her for a moment, admiring the way she commanded the room, her sharp eyes missing nothing.

But even Qi Qingqi, with all her confidence and authority, was not immune to the voice of the god who created her.

*"Aren’t you tired of them all relying on you? Wouldn’t it be easier to just… let go for once? Let someone else take the lead."*

Qi Qingqi’s hand hesitated mid-gesture, her mouth closing as she glanced sharply to her side. She had been in the middle of reprimanding a disciple (again.), but the words died on her lips. That feeling again, like she was being watched, judged even. Her disciples shifted nervously as she paused, but Qi Qingqi quickly regained her composure, brushing off the unsettling sensation.

Shang Hua chuckled to himself, amused at how easily even the most self-assured could be shaken. He wasn’t doing anything drastic—just nudging them, making them question themselves, their world, everything they thought they knew. (Not even big things, either. Just small tidbits.)

Because at the end of the day, they were all his creations, his playthings, and he could do whatever he wanted with them.

But there was only one more mind he was particularly interested in. (After a Series of so many ‘routes’- he lost count over 10000.) The mind of Shen Qingqiu—Shen Yuan, who had not only been dragged into this world but who had started to suspect that something was off. The first to ever, properly conquered his suspicion to turn it into something real. Make *him* real. Airplane-bro could feel it, the way Shen Qingqiu’s thoughts would linger on the inconsistencies, the way he would question the System’s motives. Shen Yuan was too clever for his own good, always trying to piece together the puzzle, trying to understand the rules of a game he hadn’t agreed to play.

Airplane-bro decided to visit him once more. Shen Qingqiu was at his desk, as usual, reviewing reports and correspondence. His brow was furrowed in concentration, but there was a tension in his shoulders that Shang Hua recognized all too well. (From the one that found out. Too late.)

*"You’ve figured it out, haven’t you? That there’s something… someone… pulling the strings."*

Shen Qingqiu’s hand stilled over the parchment, his eyes narrowing as he slowly looked up, as if he could sense the presence lurking just beyond the veil of reality. Airplane-bro could feel Shen Yuan’s mind racing, trying to connect the dots, to understand what was happening.

Shen Qingqiu’s qi flared briefly, a defensive reflex, but there was nothing to fight against, no tangible threat. Just that voice, that feeling of being watched, controlled.

*"You’ve always been smart, Cucumber. But do you really want to know the truth? Are you *ready* for it?"*

For a moment, Shen Qingqiu seemed to freeze, his breath catching in his throat. But then, with a slow, deliberate exhale, he forced his body to relax, shaking off the unease. (Utterly disappointing, if anything.) His hand moved to dip his brush in ink, continuing his work as if nothing had happened.

But Shang Hua could feel it—the doubt, the confusion lingering just beneath the surface. Shen Qingqiu- Shen *Yuan* was suspicious now, more than ever. He might not know what was going on, but he was getting closer to the truth.

And that was exactly what Shang Hua wanted.

As he withdrew, retreating back into the void where he could observe his creations in peace, he couldn’t help but smile. He would let them stew in their confusion for a little while longer, let the tension build. After all, what was the fun of being a god if you didn’t get to enjoy watching your creations dance on your strings?

In the end, they were all his. And they would never truly escape his grasp.

Chapter Text

The sky hung low, like a disapproving elder about to unleash a scolding. Dark clouds gathered with the ominous promise of a downpour, as if the universe itself had decided that today was the perfect day to make Shang Qinghua’s life just a little bit worse. As per usual. The disciples of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect trudged through the dense forest, each step taking them further from the safety of their warm beds and deeper into what was surely the beginning of a very obvious disaster.

A routine mission, they said. Just a simple demon extermination, they said. Deep within the mountains, no less! What’s simple about that?! If Shang Qinghua had learned anything from his past life (while writing, obviously) and this one, it was that the words "simple" and "demon" should never be used in the same sentence. But who was he to argue with the future Peak Lords? Hahah! Not little ole’ Shang Hua (newly dubbed Shang Qinghua!)!! Hahaha! No. They were all too eager to flex their muscles and play hero, dragging their newly appointed head disciples along for the ride.

The forest thickened, the trees closing in around them like judgmental spectators, and then they saw it. The cave. Because, yeah. Obviously! Of course, there had to be a fucking *cave*. What’s worse then travelling around with his stupid Shixiongs and shidis- travelling with them in the confines of a cave, of course! Shang Qinghua’s stomach twisted. Caves were never a good sign. They either contained beasts, traps, or some ancient spirit just waiting for a bunch of overconfident cultivators to wander in. (Can you guess who the overconfident cultivators are in this story?) And, naturally, this cave was lined with strange, luminescent flowers. Glowing flowers in the middle of nowhere—yep, that screamed danger. Or at the very least, headache-inducing trouble. And fuck- did Shang Qinghua hope it wasn’t some weird PaPaPa plot he wrote about these flowers; cuz’ , once again, what’s worse then being tied up by freaky aphrodisiac vines? Being tied up by freaky aphrodisiac vines in front of your (admittedly) hot Shixiongs and Shidis!!

“Looks like we’re going in,” Shang Qinghua muttered under his breath, the words barely audible over the nervous chatter of the others. But who was listening to him anyway? Certainly not the universe, which seemed to delight in his misery.

The cavern swallowed them up, its massive maw closing behind them. And didn’t that just make him feel nice and cosy and really at home! The air inside was thick, almost like it was clinging to them—and like- creepy much? A strange energy hummed in the air, a bad omen Shang Qinghua was all too familiar with. And yet, they pressed on. Because, of course, they did. This was just another episode in the never-ending saga of Shang Qinghua’s Misadventures: Cultivation Edition.

"Something's wrong," Qi Qingqi muttered. Her sharp eyes scanned the dim surroundings, as if she were already anticipating a fight.

"Yeah, no kidding," Shang Qinghua thought, but wisely kept his mouth shut. No need to invite more trouble.

Liu Qingge, ever the stoic warrior, spoke up. "There's a barrier," he said, his voice low and tense. "We're trapped."

Of course, they were. Because the universe just couldn't resist locking them inside a creepy cave filled with glowing (most likely papapa from some forgotten wife plot!!) flowers. Shang Qinghua sighed, wishing he could just teleport back to An Ding Peak and bury himself in paperwork. Or maybe drown himself in tea. Tea sounded good right about now. He even got a nice new blend incase someone suddenly dropped over. (They wouldn’t.. but he could at least plan for the future, right?)

The flowers began to glow even brighter, their lights swirling in a dizzying display that made his head spin. And then came the realization—this was a trap. **Obviously.**

They were trapped in a trap. Well.. now that he says it out loud- it sounds kinda obvious and stupid but like- with crazy strong shidis like Liu Qingge, you don’t really get enough time to get trapped in traps- mostly because he’s too busy already beheading the trapper before he can lay the traps.

"Great, a trap," Shang Qinghua muttered, feeling the familiar weight of dread settling in his chest. "Just our luck."

Mu Qingfang nodded, all calm and serene, as if they weren’t about to get eaten by some eldritch horror. "I sense a powerful enchantment here."

Well Woop-di-do!! Thanks so much for *that* one, shidi!! None of us could tell by THE VERY OBVIOUS POWERFUL ENCHANTMENT PUSHING DOWN ON ALL OUR CORES!!

Shang Qinghua resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Really? You don’t say."

Yue Qingyuan, the future Sect Leader, stepped forward with the kind of calm resolve that made Shang Qinghua want to curl up in a corner and let the competent people handle things.

"Well, there's only one way to break it," he said calmly- really emanating his position here- great job shixiong!! Then hee stepped forward, his expression resolute. Finally- a voice of reason! Let’s get out of this fuck-hole people we *all* get Papapa-ed!!

"We need to play along with the rules of this place. Whatever they are."

You’re fucking kidding me.

Ah, rules. As if Shang Qinghua’s life wasn’t already ruled by the whims of a sadistic author (who he just so happened to be.. ahem..). The flowers pulsed in agreement, (Not a good sign at all!!!) spinning faster and faster until they formed a wheel of glowing colors. Shang Qinghua had the sinking suspicion that whatever was coming next, it wasn’t going to be good for him.

One by one, the petals fell, leaving a single, brilliant bloom that blinked like it was taunting them. ‘What fresh hell is this?’

Qi Qingqi, never one to waste time, stepped forward, very much ready to battle the flower (??), if her sword out was any indication, but the flower blinked red, and suddenly, they were no longer in the cave.

They were in Qi Qingqi’s memory— either that or some creepy stalkers somehow managed to invent a camera an entire multiverse earlier and decided to use it for the express purpose of videoing a younger, angrier Qi Qingqi facing off against an older disciple. The tension in the air was thick, her fury palpable as she fought to prove herself. Shang Qinghua watched, part impressed, part horrified at the intensity of it all. (But his melon seeds he was sneaking to his mouth definitely told a different story of how much he was loving this drama.) But mostly, he was just glad it wasn’t his turn yet.

Liu Qingge went next, unfurling his own sword from its scabbard and charging at the flower ahead of Qi Qingqi, but before he could reach it, he froze and the flower blinking green. They were plunged into a scene of moral indignation, Liu Qingge heroically saving a girl from some greasy old man’s unwanted advances. The disgust on Liu Qingge’s face was practically radiating from the memory. Shang Qinghua almost admired how righteous he was. Almost. (Aka- not really. He was still kind of an asshole. It was surprising he could even comprehend the grease bucket was hitting on that young girl.)

And then, it was his turn. Because nobody else wanted to go next incase *their* memories were suddenly thrust out their head and so they snapped their beady little eyes to him. Shang Qinghua felt a chill run down his spine. Of all the things this cursed cave could dredge up, did it have to be *his* memories? Before he could even linger on the thoughts of if it brought up his own memories, the flower had an already blinked purple, and the world shifted again.

Fuck!!

When he opened his eyes, Shang Qinghua found himself in a massive stadium, surrounded by thousands of screaming fans. Bright lights flashed, and music—loud, wild music—blared from giant speakers. This was… this was not good. Not good at all.

He knew this memory. ‘Why this, of all things?!’ His face went pale as he watched his younger self, dressed in an outfit that screamed rebellion, standing on the side of a stage with a guitar. The music kicked in, and the crowd went wild as he launched into a guitar riff that even now, Shang Qinghua had to admit, was pretty impressive. (Pat on the back for younger him!! And a get-away car for older him because he wants to get the FUCK outta here!!)-But all he could feel was the overwhelming urge to disappear.

The others were stunned into silence. This was a side of him they had never seen, and frankly, Shang Qinghua wished they never had. His past self—so confident, so full of life—felt like a different person altogether. And now, in the present, he wanted nothing more than to curl up in embarrassment and hope that everyone would just forget this ever happened.

When they got ‘kicked out’, essentially, from his memories once more, the silence was deafening compared to the roaring crowd they were just subjected to.

"Well," Qi Qingqi said, finally breaking the silence, "that was… unexpected."

Shang Qinghua groaned, hiding his face in his hands. This was a nightmare. And not the kind you wake up from. Liu Qingge glanced at him, something unreadable in his expression. "Pride," he murmured, almost to himself. "Interesting."

What was more interesting was the way Liu-shidi suddenly grew a brain and managed to figure that out- what the hell?! Maybe those plants *did* have some other effects??

Shang Qinghua couldn’t handle this. "Can we just get out of here already?" he mumbled, hoping they would all just move on and leave him to his humiliation.

Yue Qingyuan, ever the calm leader, nodded. "Let’s move on. The sooner we’re out of this cave, the better."

Shang Qinghua couldn’t agree more. As they pressed on, memory through another memory, his still lingered in the air, a reminder that no matter how much he tried to escape his past, it always had a way of catching up with him. And he knew—*he just knew*—that this was something none of them would ever forget. No matter how much he wished they would.

---

Chapter Text

——

Shang Qinghua was having a bad day.

But, like always, what else is new?!

It had started innocently enough, he supposes. He’d been on his way back to An Ding Peak after a grueling mission, his head swimming with exhaustion and fantasies of collapsing onto his bed (and writing ideas that were never gonna make it on paper but whatever, he supposes), possibly with a bottle of wine for company. That may just be his wishful thinking on his part. But, of course, life in this cultivation world rarely allowed for things to go smoothly for long. So, when the strange figure stepped out from the forest path—someone who looked exactly like him—it wasn’t much of a surprise.

Annoying? Yes. Definitely, even.

A surprise? Nope! Not at all.

The doppelgänger had appeared with a knowing smirk, one that Shang Qinghua often imagined he wore when he thought he was being particularly clever and nearly made him blush in second-hand (first hand?) embarrassment. Before he could open his mouth, though, to ask any pointless questions, the double stepped closer.

"I’ll take it from here," the double said casually, and then—darkness.

Shang Qinghua didn’t know how long he was out for, catching up on blessed missed hours sleep, but when he woke up, he was lying in a ditch at the foot of the mountain, a sharp pain in his head and a hazy confusion clouding his mind.

“What… what the ..fuck?” he muttered, sitting up slowly and rubbing his aching skull. His robes were torn and dirty, and he felt like he had just been hit by a cart. He could feel the filth marinated on his skin. Ew. The dizziness that swept over him when he tried to stand didn’t help either. He took a deep breath and looked up at the looming mountain above him.

The pain in his head flared again.

Gazing up at the massive expanse of the forested mountainside towering over head there was only on coherent thought:
*There’s no way I fell from up there…. I’d be .. like, very much dead…Right?*

Shang Qinghua staggered to his feet, brushing the dirt (did he mention how disgusting and dirty he was yet? Well he is. And he hates it. Ew x2!!) and twigs off his robes. “Where… where was I even going?” he wondered aloud, squinting up at the glistening peaks that seemed way too enchanted for his normal mortal eyesight… Did everyone have this good of eyes? Like- woah can you see lil’ people moving from all the way up there? Cool!

The sight of it triggered a dull ache in his temples. That mountain was huge, and he definitely wasn’t interested in hiking up something that tall, especially with his head feeling like it had been cracked open and the yolk of his head spilt over the floor. Which may actually be true if the small red puddle at his feet was anything to go by.

He winced and tried to remember why he had been anywhere near this weird ominous mountain in the first place. Especially next to the forested area hugging its feet- totally not safe! Stranger danger could be coming from any side!!- Lurking!—But the harder he thought, the fuzzier everything became. Memories danced just out of reach, slippery and elusive. He knew there was something important, but what was it?

..

"Ah, Well, screw it," he muttered. "If it’s that hard to remember, it can’t be worth the headache."

With a resigned sigh, Shang Qinghua turned his back on the freaky mountain and started walking in the opposite direction, away from the source of his discomfort.

It’ll come back to him eventually.

---

Meanwhile, back at A Ding Peak, the doppelgänger of Shang Qinghua strolled into the courtyard of his newly found residence, whistling as though he owned the place. (If this was the real one, technically he does in the sense he made it all, but, once again, whatever!)

It had been weeks—maybe even months—since the swap, and no one seemed to notice anything amiss. Maybe he was just that good! In fact, he had gotten .. ‘used’ to the Peak’s quirks, its disciples, and even some of the talking (he did not touch the never-ending paperwork that came with being the An Ding Peak Lord.) The imitation was flawless enough to fool even the most seasoned cultivators, it seemed,- though he’d nearly slipped once or twice with an offhand comment too casual for the moist man he was imitating or a smirk too sharp. But nothing that couldn’t be waved off with a distracted laugh or a dramatic flourish of his hand to distract elsewhere.

If anything, he had gotten to weirdly know Shang Qinghua. The real one that is. Even if he wasn’t here, his room and such had.. ‘personality’. He was even, shall he say- ‘fond’ of the little mousy thing, seeing the lingering traces of his presence through not only the remnants of his work and doodles but with the special abilities that come with his being. When he was dozing off, he could sometimes seen glimpses of the ‘former’ Peak Lord lug himself into bed tiredly, curling up like a kitten into the warmth of his bed. Or even quick two-steps to a hummed song.

Ahem.. getting off track!

Today! The Peak Lords of the other mountain peaks had gathered for a rare meeting, so it was only a matter of time before the impostor found himself in the company of some of the sect’s most powerful cultivators.

——

Liu Qingge, the Peak Lord of Bai Zhan Peak, was the first to notice him. (It was *their* first time meeting in any setting.)

“Shang Qinghua,” Liu Qingge called, his sharp gaze locking onto the figure.

The doppelgänger raised a hand in greeting, smiling in a way that would have been disarming if not for the blatant smugness.

Liu Qingge narrowed his eyes. Something felt off.

“Shang Qinghua,” he repeated, this time slower, testing the waters and settling on his recent mission. “You’re back earlier than expected.”

“Ah, well, I’m efficient,” the doppelgänger replied with a grin that was too wide. “What can I say?”

Liu Qingge’s scowl deepened. That was odd. Sure, the real Shang Qinghua was a bit of a ‘comedian’, but he had never been this overtly cocky.

Unfortunately for the doppelgänger, Liu Qingge wasn’t the only Peak Lord present. And thank god for that, else this plot would be dragged on forever with Liu-shidis majority obliviousness. The others had gathered nearby and were now watching the exchange with varying degrees of interest.

“Is something wrong, Liu-shidi?” a voice drawled. Shen Qingqiu. And lurking behind him, with an expression much like a kicked puppy, Yue Qingyuan, the leader of the sect, stepped forward, his gaze landing on the doppelgänger with a faint frown.

“There’s something off about him,” Liu Qingge said bluntly, gesturing to the impostor. (And obviously addressing Yue Qingyuan- never in hell would he talk to *that* lecher.) “Does this seem like the Shang Qinghua you know?”

Yue Qingyuan tilted his head slightly, (taking ‘kicked, sad puppy to a whole nother’ level.) studying the man in question. “You’re right. His aura… it’s different.”

The other Peak Lords murmured amongst themselves, suspicion growing.

“Shang Qinghua,” Yue Qingyuan said carefully, “you seem… changed.”

Seeing him finally be included on the conversation *about* him, the doppelgänger’s smile faltered just a bit. “Changed? How so?”

“Why don’t we test it?” Liu Qingge, always one for action, suggested, taking a step forward, his hand already resting on the hilt of his sword. He had never had much patience for subterfuge, and this strange version of Shang Qinghua was grating on his nerves more than the real one ever had. (And that was quite a bit.)

It seemed his patience, never in great supply, had reached its limit. With a quick motion, he unsheathed his sword and pressed the cold steel to the doppelgänger's throat.

“Something’s not right,” Liu Qingge repeated through gritted teeth. He didn’t need more proof. His instincts were screaming that this man was not Shang Qinghua.

“W-wait, wait!” the doppelgänger yelped, holding up his hands. His voice wobbled, and for the first time, that smug, confident air began to falter. “It’s *me*, I swear! You wouldn’t want to *hurt* one of your own, would you?”

Liu Qingge wasn’t swayed. Merciless, as always. With a sudden, ruthless move, he swept the doppelgänger’s legs from under him, throwing him to the ground with a thud that echoed through the courtyard, still leaving his sword unused. (Very cool, Shang Qinghua would say if he was here. But he isn’t so I’ll say it for him.) The imposter gasped, clutching his side where he had hit the stone floor.

The impact must have disrupted something, because his form flickered—just for a second.

Yue Qingyuan, watching intently, narrowed his eyes. “Did you see that?”

“Of course, I saw it,” Liu Qingge growled, rare irritation at his only (real) superior. He crouched down, staring at the doppelgänger, his expression cold and dangerous. “You’re not Shang Qinghua. *What*are you?”

The doppelgänger struggled to regain his composure, but the Peak Lords were all focused on him now, their gazes sharp and unyielding. The facade was crumbling, and he could feel it. He let out a panicked laugh, the flickering of his form becoming more pronounced as he fought to maintain the illusion.

“I—I can explain,” the doppelgänger stammered, but his voice was losing its edge, becoming more desperate by the second. “It’s not what it looks like! I—"

With a surge of frustration, the imposter finally gave up the act. His form twisted and shimmered, peeling away the false image of Shang Qinghua and revealing something grotesque, a shadowy, distorted version of the real man. His once-proud smirk turned into a twisted sneer as he glared at the Peak Lords.

“You caught me,” he hissed, throwing his hands up in a dramatic display. “But honestly, I don’t know how that idiot does it!”

(Fond idiot.)

The Peak Lords exchanged confused looks. Yue Qingyuan crossed his arms, his calm composure slipping just a little.

“What are you talking about?” Liu Qingge demanded.

“*The work!*” the doppelgänger shouted, his voice shrill with indignation. “Meetings, paperwork, overseeing those god damn *lazy* disciples—it’s endless! Do you know how many scrolls that man has to sign? How much he has to delegate? And the missions! Always more missions!” His shadowy form twisted, growing more frantic as he ranted, etching outwards, extending its tendrils to everyone present in its (righteous) anger.

“I could barely keep up with the meetings this morning! And then that ridiculous inspection of the supply stores! I don’t know how he hasn’t gone insane already! You think you could do better? Well, *I* couldn’t even do it anyway, you assholes!”

The Peak Lords stared in (almost, not quite there for some) disbelief as the doppelgänger descended into a full-blown tirade, pacing back and forth, ranting about the overwhelming tasks that apparently made up Shang Qinghua’s daily life. The real Shang Qinghua was often frazzled, sure, but to hear his workload described like this…

“I thought being him would be easy!” the impostor wailed, clutching his head dramatically. “Smile, make a joke, sign a few things, and maybe drink some wine at the end of the day. But *no*! There’s no rest! Always someone asking for something, *always* some disaster to clean up!”

Even Yue Qingyuan, known for his patience and kindness, was starting to look mildly exasperated… or.. worried? “Shang-shidi’s duties are important,” he said, though his voice sounded somewhat weary. “But perhaps… they are more demanding than we realized.”

Liu Qingge rolled his eyes. “So, you took his form to avoid doing your own job, only to complain about his?”

The doppelgänger glared at him. “You think it’s easy? I’m not built for that kind of nonsense! Managing people, taking on all that responsibility—it’s a nightmare! And I would know!”

Liu Qingge’s lip curled in disdain. “You’re right. You’re definitely not Shang Qinghua.”

‘Shang Qinghua would’ve swallowed his grievances.’ Was left unsaid- but definitely implied. And the admittance tasted more bitter and guilt-stricken.

The imposter groaned, sinking to the floor in defeat. “I would have gotten away with it if it weren’t for you nosy Peak Lords…”

Yue Qingyuan shook his head, then turned to Liu Qingge. “We need to find the real Shang Qinghua. If this imposter couldn’t handle the workload, then there’s no telling what state the actual peak is in in.”

Worrying about work first, what a doll! (Note of sarcasm.)

The doppelgänger let out a dramatic sigh, still muttering under his breath about the impossible tasks that had driven him to madness.

Liu Qingge, however, had already turned his attention elsewhere. “Agreed. Let’s find him before someone *else* tries to take his place.”

And with that, the Peak Lords began organizing the search, leaving the ranting doppelgänger to fade away into the shadows, a reminder of just how much work the real Shang Qinghua had somehow been managing on his own.

---

Shang Qinghua, meanwhile, was wandering aimlessly through a quiet village several miles from the sect. His head still hurt, but he found that if he didn’t think too hard, the pain dulled to a manageable throb.

“Maybe I’m a wandering merchant,” he mused aloud, glancing down at his slightly battered robes. “A really bad merchant…”

A group of children ran past him, chasing a ball through the narrow street. Shang Qinghua watched them go with a wistful smile. He liked kids, (NOT LIKE THAT!!) even if he didn’t have any of his own—at least, he didn’t think he did? It was hard to tell with his memory being all scrambled. God he hope he didn’t forget about some baby he left at home!- Still, the sight of them made him feel… something. Something fond.

He paused near the edge of the village, leaning against a fence as he tried once more to piece together the fractured memories. Why had he been on that mountain? What was waiting for him up there?

As he mulled it over, a passing villager gave him a strange look.

“You alright there, pal?” the man asked, tilting his head, with barely veiled threat.

“Uh, yeah,” Shang Qinghua replied, flashing a sheepish grin. “Just… thinking.”

With a final assessing look up and down: the villager nodded. “Don’t think too hard now. I hear that’s how cultivators lose their way.”

Shang Qinghua let out a bark of laughter. “Oh, I don’t think I’m in any danger of thinking *that* hard.”

Still, something about the villager’s comment tugged at his memory. Cultivators…? That word rang a bell, but why?

They’re those cool flying ninjas right??

Before he could chase the thought further, a commotion at the entrance to the village caught his attention. A group of people dressed in what he supposed were sect robes?- had arrived, their presence commanding attention. They were clearly looking for someone.

Shang Qinghua squinted, his head pounding as the memories slowly bubbled up to the surface. That insignia… that name…

Oh, no.

He groaned as recognition finally dawned. **That** was where he came from.

God fucking damn it.

---

By the time the search party found him, Shang Qinghua had pieced together enough to realize that he was, in fact, part of a cultivation sect and that, for some reason, his head trauma had convinced him to walk *away* from ‘home’. And to be honest, with his memories back, he was even more so included to *run* away from ‘home’. As one of the disciples jogged up to him, looking both relieved and exasperated, Shang Qinghua waved awkwardly.

“Uh, hi?” he greeted them. “I think I got lost?”

Liu Qingge, who had been leading the search, approached with a scowl. “Shang Qinghua, what the hell were you doing wandering around like an idiot?”

“I… honestly don’t know,” Shang Qinghua admitted, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “I think I hit my head and forgot… a lot of things.”

Liu Qingge let out a long-suffering sigh. “You would.”

Shang Qinghua grinned, his humor intact despite the situation. “At least I didn’t get myself killed, right?”

Liu Qingge narrowed his eyes. “Yet.”

With that, the Peak Lords began herding him back toward the sect, Shang Qinghua’s mind still swirling with questions—but at least, for now, he was back.

A groan.
*God*, he was *back*. Ugh.

Chapter Text

—- :3

Shang Qinghua could pinpoint the exact moment his day had spiraled out of control. It was when Liu Qingge, the Great War God himself, had appeared unannounced at his doorstep—sword in hand, face as stern as ever, and a single sentence that shattered any hope of peaceful procrastination:

"We’re training."

At first, Shang Qinghua had stammered, trying to wiggle his way out of it. Because what else was he supposed to?? Fight him way out? Hah! Tough chance! "Liu-shixiong, y'know, fighting’s really not my forte. I’m more of a strategist, a thinker, a... chicken-hearted cultivator, if you will! I’m *fragile!*"

But yknow’- Liu Qingge wasn't having it, with the cavity where a heart would lie nullifying all resemblance of (positive) emotion. His eyebrows had raised—a tiny motion that promised no mercy—and Shang Qinghua had found himself dragged into the training grounds before he could protest further. It was all a blur, honestly; all he could remember is being thrown over the shoulder (woah- that man handling really was-), and the wind pushing against his face as he let out a (VERY MANLY) scream.

And welp.. now here he was, swinging a wooden sword like an awkward windmill. His robes billowed out in the wrong places, tangling his limbs, as sweat dripped down his forehead in a most definite very unflattering manner. In the corner of his eye, Liu Qingge watched him silently, arms crossed, looking as if he were deciding whether to be mildly amused or extremely disappointed.

Most likely the former.

Shang Qinghua felt the heat of the man’s gaze, not unlike the oppressive sun above that was currently leaving him a sweating mess. Was it the pressure of being scrutinized by the War God, or was it the fact that this was the closest they’d been since—nope, nope. He wasn’t going to think about that time Liu Qingge caught him practicing sword flourishes in front of a mirror while calling out dramatic attack names like some kind of theater kid.
(He was.)

Focus, Shang Qinghua! The sword! Feed into your crippling self pleasing!!

Swing! Swish! Flail—ah, no, that wasn’t right!

A small sigh escaped Liu Qingge’s lips. "Shang Qinghua, stop."

Shang Qinghua froze mid-flail, wooden sword wobbling in his hand. He gulped. "Yes, shidi?” Using the title as if it was going to spare the lashing he was bound to receive in a moments notice.

Liu Qingge walked up, closing the distance between them, and Shang’s heart did a ridiculous little somersault. The man was way too tall, way too serious, and way too close for comfort. (Way too pretty too, but even the thought uttered in the depths of his brain seemed like it was bound to set Liu Qingge off.) Liu Qingge wasn’t the kind of person who liked personal space, but this was pushing it even for him.

“You’re swinging like you're trying to shoo flies. That’s not how a sword works.” Liu Qingge’s hand was suddenly on his, adjusting his grip on the hilt of the sword. Shang Qinghua tensed. That hand was calloused, strong—way too solid and warm for his scattered mind to handle.

“You’ve got to feel the balance,” Liu Qingge continued, stepping behind Shang Qinghua to correct his posture. The proximity was alarming, and the cool, calm instructions were doing nothing to settle the erratic beating of Shang Qinghua’s heart. Why was this so flustering? It wasn’t like he hadn’t been corrected on his sword form before, but something about the way Liu Qingge was guiding him felt different. Intimate, almost.

Shang Qinghua coughed, hoping to dispel the awkwardness. "Oh, yeah! Right, balance! Of course. That’s exactly what I was missing. Just gotta... uh... feel it out."

Liu Qingge’s lips twitched upward so quickly that Shang Qinghua was beginning to doubt it even happened,and then proceeded.. to say nothing. Instead, he stepped back, allowing Shang Qinghua some breathing room. Instantly, the pressure in the air lifted, and Shang could think clearly again. Sort of.

“Try again,” Liu Qingge said, voice even but eyes keenly observant.

Shang Qinghua nodded, determined not to embarrass himself any further. He was the author of this world, dammit! If he could write god-tier cultivation manuals, surely he could swing a sword without looking like a flailing imitation of a crane.

He focused. He raised the sword. He swung—this time with more control, more intention. The wooden blade sliced through the air, and though it wasn’t perfect, it was miles better than before.

Liu Qingge hummed in approval, and Shang Qinghua felt an absurd sense of pride. He wasn’t used to being praised for combat; his strengths lay in more... sneaky methods of survival. But hearing even the faintest hint of approval from Liu Qingge sent a strange warmth through him.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

---

Hours passed, and Shang Qinghua was starting to regret ever thinking that. His arms felt like noodles, and his legs weren’t faring much better. Liu Qingge, of course, looked like he could go on for days without breaking a sweat. The man was an unmovable mountain of energy, and Shang Qinghua was but a lowly mortal trying to climb that impossible peak.

They had switched to sparring, which had been a terrible idea from the start. Liu Qingge had said something about helping him improve his reflexes, but really, it just felt like an elaborate scheme to watch Shang Qinghua make a fool of himself.

Their wooden swords clashed, though Shang’s parries were more desperate than precise. Liu Qingge’s strikes were swift, calculated, and far too efficient for Shang to properly defend against. With each hit, Shang stumbled backward, wincing as his arms absorbed the impact.

“Stop hesitating,” Liu Qingge said, his voice calm but firm. “If you don’t commit to your strikes, you’ll never land a hit.”

Easy for him to say! Liu Qingge could probably land a hit blindfolded with one arm tied behind his back. Hell! Probably two arms- and he would *still* manage to beat him! Shang Qinghua, on the other hand, was barely managing to incorporate the first step he learnt in both lives: walking.

But... he wasn’t going to give up. Not when Liu Qingge was watching him so closely. Not when he had made this much progress already. A tiny spark of stubbornness flared in him—he wanted to show Liu Qingge that he wasn’t just some useless paper-pusher. (And maybe ease said paper pusher role if Liu Qingge stopped destroying things to make those priorly mentioned papers rise!!)

With renewed determination, Shang Qinghua lunged forward, aiming for a swift strike to Liu Qingge’s side. For once, his movements weren’t entirely clumsy. The blade arced through the air with surprising speed, and for a split second, Shang thought he might actually land a hit.

But, of course, Liu Qingge dodged effortlessly, sidestepping with the grace of a dancer. Before Shang could even process it, Liu Qingge had swept his leg out from under him, sending him tumbling to the ground with an unceremonious thud.

Shang Qinghua groaned, lying on the dirt, staring up at the sky. "Okay, okay, I get it. I suck."

Liu Qingge’s shadow loomed over him. “You don’t ‘suck’,” he said, offering a hand. And he managed to even make those feeble words sound less childish than they were. But that tone-.. Shang blinked up at him, confused by the sudden softness in his tone. Reluctantly, he took the offered hand, and Liu Qingge pulled him to his feet with ease.

There was an awkward pause. Shang Qinghua felt the warmth of Liu Qingge’s hand linger a bit too long before the other man quickly withdrew, clearing his throat. His face, normally unreadable, seemed... flustered? No, no way. He must’ve been imagining things.

“You’re improving,” Liu Qingge said, turning his gaze away, almost as if embarrassed to admit it. “Keep at it.”

For a moment, Shang Qinghua forgot his exhaustion. Something about the sincerity in Liu Qingge’s voice struck him. Was it possible that THE War God actually... believed in him?

He didn’t have time to dwell on that thought because Liu Qingge was already back to his usual stoic, abrasive self. "We’ll train again tomorrow," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Shang Qinghua’s jaw dropped. "T-tomorrow?! I’m barely alive today!"

But Liu Qingge wasn’t listening. He was already walking away, his posture rigid and purposeful. “Same time,” he called over his shoulder.

Shang Qinghua stood there, dumbfounded, watching him go. Tomorrow? More training? Why did it feel like Liu Qingge was using this as an excuse to spend more time with him?

A ridiculous thought crossed his mind. No, that couldn’t be it. Could it?

As Shang Qinghua trudged back to his quarters, sore and exhausted but oddly satisfied, he found himself smiling despite everything.

Maybe tomorrow wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Chapter Text

—- :3

Shang Qinghua was not a man who was often entrusted with great responsibilities. Despite his role as the Peak Lord of An Ding, he was more often found dodging work (which is very understandable if *you* saw the stacks piling in every crevice of his room) than embracing it, content to let his disciples handle the nitty-gritty details of running the peak while he hid behind piles of paperwork. However, today was different. Today, Shang Qinghua was standing in the main hall of Qing Jing Peak, hands clasped nervously in front of him, as Shen Qingqiu—his revered, slightly (read: PISSING PANTS WORTHY-) terrifying shixiong—fixed him with a serious gaze.

Shen Qingqiu’s usual elegance was marred by the pallor of his skin and the slight tremor in his hands. It wasn’t often that Shen Qingqiu showed weakness, but this time, it was unavoidable. He was on the brink of Qi deviation, his cultivation dangerously unstable after a particularly grueling meditation session. It was a situation that demanded immediate attention, and it left Qing Jing Peak without its usual overseer.

“Shang Qinghua,” Shen Qingqiu said, his voice steady despite the strain in his expression. “I’m entrusting you with Qing Jing Peak while I undergo secluded meditation to stabilize my Qi.”

Shang Qinghua’s eyes widened in surprise. “Me, Shixiong? Are you sure?” He glanced around, as if expecting someone else to step in and relieve him of this sudden burden. “I mean, I’d be happy to help, but isn’t there someone more… qualified?”

As his sect siblings seemed to impart upon him so much how he wasn’t “fit” to be on the “same level” as them.

“There is no one I trust more,” Shen Qingqiu replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re capable, and Qing Jing needs a steady hand while I’m indisposed.”

The words sent a flush of pride through Shang Qinghua. Shen Qingqiu trusted him. *He really trusted him.* Of course, the idea of overseeing Qing Jing Peak was daunting, but Shang Qinghua was nothing if not resourceful. He’d manage. Somehow.

Probably surviving off the praise..

“I won’t let you down, Shixiong,” Shang Qinghua said earnestly, bowing his head. “You just focus on recovering.”

With a final nod, Shen Qingqiu turned and began his retreat into seclusion, leaving Shang Qinghua standing in the middle of the hall, a mix of excitement and anxiety bubbling in his chest. He couldn’t believe it. He was in charge of Qing Jing Peak. This was his moment—his time to prove that he could handle more than just administrative duties and sometimes the occasional tea brewing for the traders and background characters others dismissed and *he* had to deal with. (With no help, either!!)

But as the days passed, the initial thrill began to wear off. Running Qing Jing Peak was no small task, and Shang Qinghua quickly found himself overwhelmed with requests, complaints, and general maintenance issues that he had never even considered. The disciples were polite (on the outside but the sneers when he turned his backs ere very obvious) but clearly skeptical of his leadership, and Shang Qinghua couldn’t help but feel like an imposter in Shen Qingqiu’s place.

One particularly tiring afternoon, Shang Qinghua found himself wandering through the bamboo groves, desperately seeking some semblance of peace. It was there that he stumbled upon Ning Yingying, Shen Qingqiu’s bright and bubbly disciple, practicing her sword forms. She was, as always, full of energy, but there was a lightness in her movements that seemed to belong more to dance than combat.

An idea began to form in Shang Qinghua’s mind—an idea that was equal parts brilliant and utterly ridiculous. Most likely due to his sleep addled brain. What if, instead of the usual stern, disciplined training, Qing Jing Peak’s disciples engaged in something more… fun? Spice it up a lil’! Something that could lift the spirits of the peak while Shen Qingqiu was away?

What if they formed a… a

*Think!*

Something stupid- something wonderful- something like..

A dance group!!

The more Shang Qinghua thought about it, the more the idea took root. He’d seen plenty of dance performances in his past life, a connoisseur (nerd) if you will, and while Qing Jing Peak was known for its strict discipline and focus on cultivation, surely a little levity wouldn’t hurt. Besides, it wasn’t like Shen Qingqiu would know. He was in seclusion, after all.

“Hey, Ning Yingying,” Shang Qinghua called out, making his way over to the girl. She paused mid-swing, turning to him with a curious expression.

“Shang -Shishu, what are you doing here?” she asked, lowering her sword.

Shang Qinghua grinned, the excitement of his idea bubbling up inside him. “I’ve got a proposition for you,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially. “How would you like to start a dance group?”

Ning Yingying blinked at him, clearly taken aback. “A… dance group? On Qing Jing Peak?”

“Yes!” Shang Qinghua nodded enthusiastically, ready to pitch his perfect idea. “Think about it—something fun, something that could brighten up the peak while Shen Shixiong is recovering. And you could lead it! I’ve seen how light you are on your feet, Yingying. You’d be perfect!”

Ning Yingying’s initial surprise gave way to a wide, excited grin. “That sounds amazing, Shang Shishu! I’ve always loved dancing, but I never thought we’d get to do something like that here.”

“And why not?” Shang Qinghua said, clapping his hands together. “We’re all about cultivation, but who says we can’t cultivate joy, too?”

*And* he gets to impart his wisdom of the day! Score!!

Within days, the news spread like wildfire through Qing Jing Peak. Shang Qinghua, with Ning Yingying as his enthusiastic co-conspirator, had managed to rope in a small but eager group of disciples, all of whom were excited at the prospect of doing something so different. They met in secret, practicing in the evenings when most of the peak was quiet, their routines slowly taking shape under Ning Yingying’s enthusiastic guidance.

The group, much to Shang Qinghua’s delight, became something of a passion project. He threw himself into it with a fervor that surprised even him, teaching the disciples dance moves and choreography he vaguely remembered from his past life. He might not have been a (professional) dancer, but he knew how to teach rhythm and timing, and the disciples were quick learners. It may just be a plus that they’re all pretty much magical in some ancient cultivation world and that sure does help.

Soon enough, the group was ready for their debut. And what better occasion than when Shen Qingqiu finally emerged from his seclusion? It would be a surprise—a gift to cheer up their stern and stoic shizun. Shang Qinghua could hardly wait to see the look on Shen Qingqiu’s face.

And also hoping heavily that he does have another Qi deviation because of it..

The day finally came, and Shang Qinghua gathered the group in the courtyard outside Shen Qingqiu’s meditation chamber. Ning Yingying was practically bouncing on her toes with excitement, while the other disciples were buzzing with nervous energy. Everything was ready. All they needed was for Shen Qingqiu to step outside.

When the door to the meditation chamber finally slid open, Shen Qingqiu emerged, looking exhausted but visibly more at peace than when he had entered. Or drained. Whatever works. He blinked lazily and in surprise at the sight of the gathered disciples, clearly not expecting a welcoming committee.

Before Shen Qingqiu could say a single scathing word, Shang Qinghua stepped forward, grinning from ear to ear. “Shixiong! Welcome back! We’ve got a little surprise for you.”

Shen Qingqiu’s eyebrow arched in suspicion, but before he could question further, Ning Yingying gave a signal, and the music started. The disciples moved into formation, their faces lighting up with the joy of performing something they had worked so hard on.

As the music swelled, the disciples began to dance, their movements perfectly in sync as they twirled, stepped, and spun across the courtyard. The choreography was sharp and precise, their expressions full of energy and excitement. Ning Yingying led the group, her movements graceful and fluid as she danced at the front, her voice carrying the lyrics of the song in perfect harmony with the music.

“Shixiong,” Shang Qinghua whispered to Shen Qingqiu, as the disciples launched into the chorus with a series of synchronized spins. “Isn’t it amazing? They’ve been practicing for weeks!”

Shen Qingqiu could only stare, dumbfounded and stupefied, as his disciples performed a routine that seemed entirely out of place in the tranquil, traditional setting of Qing Jing Peak. The lyrics, the dance moves, the… enthusiasm—it was unlike anything he had ever seen.

Shang Qinghua, meanwhile, was far too pleased with himself. He watched with barely contained glee as the disciples executed the final move—a perfectly timed leap and landing, complete with jazz hands (his added bonus)—and struck their final pose, holding it with pride.

The courtyard fell into a stunned silence, the disciples panting from exertion but beaming with satisfaction. They had done it. They had performed a full-on dance routine on Qing Jing Peak, and in front of their shizun no less!

Shen Qingqiu blinked, his mind struggling to process what he had just witnessed after the draining Qi deviation he quite literally just got out of. The traditionalist in him was screaming at the sheer absurdity of it all, but the part of him that was still recovering from his Qi deviation was strangely… charmed. It was ridiculous, yes, but there was something undeniably heartwarming about seeing his disciples so happy, so full of life.

(Something he never got to have. Something yearning in his core.)

Shang Qinghua, meanwhile, was beside himself with pride, practically glowing as he turned to Shen Qingqiu with a flourish. “Well? What do you think, Shixiong? Isn’t it great?”

Shen Qingqiu opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He simply stared at Shang Qinghua, who was now making little jazz hands of his own, his expression one of pure, unadulterated joy.

“I… I…” Shen Qingqiu finally managed to say, his voice slightly hoarse. “What… what did I just witness?”

“A revolution, Shixiong!” Shang Qinghua declared grandly, beaming as he took a step back to gesture at the now-giggling disciples. “The birth of Qing Jing Peak’s very own K-pop group!”

Shen Qingqiu was still reeling from the shock, trying to wrap his head around what had just transpired. His once quiet, disciplined peak had been transformed—at least temporarily—into a stage for something entirely unexpected,.. *ODD*, and entirely… chaotic. And it had all happened under his nose, while he was supposed to be recovering.

“A… ‘K-pop’ group,” Shen Qingqiu repeated slowly, as if saying the words aloud would somehow help him make sense of them. The concept was so foreign, so out of place in his world of cultivation and swordsmanship, that he struggled to even find a proper reaction.

“Yes!” Shang Qinghua continued, undeterred by Shen Qingqiu’s bewilderment. “It’s an art form! It’s modern, it’s lively, it’s fun! And look at them, Shixiong—they’re happier than they’ve ever been!”

To sell it, he squished the closest disciples cheeks ,who just so happened to be Ning Yingying, who beamed in joy with her smushed cheeks making her lips duck -like.

Indeed, the disciples were still basking in the afterglow of their performance, exchanging excited looks and quietly celebrating their success. Ning Yingying in particular, as previously stated, was positively glowing, her earlier nerves completely replaced by the thrill of performing.

Shen Qingqiu rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. He had expected to return to a peak in order, with his disciples quietly cultivating or practicing their swordsmanship. Instead, he had been greeted by… this. He didn’t even know where to begin addressing the situation.

But at least he couldn’t say Shang Qinghua didn’t do anything!

“Shang Qinghua,” he began, trying to keep his voice calm and level, “how exactly did you think this was a good idea?”

“Well,” Shang Qinghua said, completely unabashed, and being the perfect make believe shit-talker he was, continued: “-with all due respect, Shixiong, I figured the peak could use a little morale boost while you were recovering. It’s been stressful for everyone, and what better way to keep spirits high than with a little music and dance? And, uh, it’s not like I let them neglect their duties!” he added quickly. “They still did all their training and chores. This was just… extra.”

Shen Qingqiu exhaled slowly, reciting ancient mantras in his head to maintain his composure. He wasn’t sure whether to be angry, amused, or exasperated. Perhaps all three at once.

“And Ning Yingying,” he said, turning to his disciple, who straightened up immediately, “you were in on this as well?”

“Yes, Shizun!” Ning Yingying replied brightly, completely unrepentant. “Shang Shishu had such a fun idea, and I thought it would be a great way to bring everyone together! We all worked really hard on it, and it was so much fun!”

Shen Qingqiu stared at her for a long moment, taking in her excitement and enthusiasm. This was not how he had imagined his return to Qing Jing Peak, but he couldn’t deny the joy that radiated from his disciples, nor could he entirely fault Shang Qinghua for wanting to bring some levity to the peak in his absence. Mostly because of his dumb (adorable) face.

“Shixiong,” Shang Qinghua said, more gently now, as if sensing Shen Qingqiu’s internal struggle, “I know this is… unconventional. But it really did bring the disciples closer together. And with everything going on… well, maybe a little fun isn’t such a bad thing.”

Shen Qingqiu sighed, finally allowing himself to sit down, almost inelegantly!!, on the stone bench behind him. He watched as the disciples slowly began to disperse, still chatting excitedly among themselves, before turning his gaze back to Shang Qinghua.

“I suppose,” he said at last, “..that there’s no harm done.”

Shang Qinghua’s face lit up with relief. “Really, Shixiong? You’re not mad?”

“I’m not *thrilled*,” Shen Qingqiu clarified, his tone dry, “but I understand your intentions, and I can see that it made the disciples ..’happy’. Just… maybe next time, run your ideas by me first, especially if they involve turning my peak into a stage.”

Shang Qinghua grinned sheepishly. “Understood, Shixiong. I’ll keep that in mind.” If he remembers.

“Good.” Shen Qingqiu leaned back, closing his eyes briefly as he allowed himself a moment of peace. “And perhaps,” he added after a pause, “you could keep the more… energetic activities to a minimum, at least while I’m still recovering.”

“Of course, of course!” Shang Qinghua agreed quickly. “We’ll keep it low-key. Maybe some, uh, traditional music next time?”

Shen Qingqiu opened one eye and gave him a look that suggested ‘traditional music’ was not what he had in mind. Shang Qinghua chuckled nervously, raising his hands in surrender.

“Right, I’ll just… go check on the disciples. Make sure they’re getting back to their cultivation.” He made a hasty exit, leaving Shen Qingqiu alone in the courtyard.

As the sound of footsteps faded, Shen Qingqiu shook his head, a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth in his solitude. Trust Shang Qinghua to turn something as serious as overseeing a peak into an opportunity for a dance recital. And yet, despite everything, Shen Qingqiu couldn’t deny that there was something endearing about the whole affair.

Against quite literally his entire usual being, a little voice in the cavity where his heart might be uttered that there was room for a little joy, even on Qing Jing Peak.

Chapter Text

——

Shang Qinghua really wished he had eyes on the back of his head. That might’ve helped him avoid the inevitable collision with a wall—or, as it turned out, a very solid body.

“Oof!” The sound left his lips before he could stop it, and with the way his arms flailed, the tower of scrolls and books he had been carrying crashed around him. Papers scattered in every direction, obscuring his vision for a moment.

The low chuckle that followed sent a chill down his spine, not in the good way. Well, okay, maybe in the good way, but that wasn’t the point.

“You should really watch where you’re going, little scholar.” A deep, amused voice came from above him.

Shang Qinghua blinked, peeking through the mess of scrolls, and his breath caught. The person in front of him wasn’t just a wall—it was a full-on mountain. An absurdly attractive mountain. Wide shoulders, sharp eyes, and a wicked smile that shouldn’t have looked so inviting. *Oh no.*

“I—I didn’t mean to! Really! I was just—” Shang Qinghua scrambled to gather his fallen scrolls, heart racing as his words tumbled out like a waterfall, trying not to make eye contact. “I was just... carrying... these...”

He trailed off as the man bent down, picking up one of the scattered items. And it was noticeable not a scroll. Oh no. Shit! Fuck! Goddamn!! (And insert the rest of the limited swearing vocabulary he has!) Not *that* one.

A smirk tugged at the corner of the demon’s lips as he held up the small, brightly colored book: an erotic novel. “Well, well. And here I thought scholars only buried themselves in study materials.”

“I—it’s not mine!” Shang Qinghua blurted, reaching for the book with desperate hands, only for the man to hold it just out of his reach. And he hadn’t even processed how that wouldn’t make sense before he was already wishing for a sudden void to open up underneath him and swallow him up. Let him be with his future son in the abyss!! His face felt like it was on fire. “I mean, it is, but it’s not like that! I was just... uh...”

“Relax.” The demon’s smirk grew, his fangs peeking out in a way that should’ve been intimidating, but instead looked... playful? “No need to be shy, little human. Everyone has their... interests.” He lowered his voice, leaning closer. “Tell me, what kind of stories are you into?”

Shang Qinghua froze, his face heating up even more, if that were possible. He doesn’t know the point of which he would explode into flame shut he’s feeling the fire!! “N-not those kinds of stories! I swear!”

The demon.. wait a minute.. DEMON?!- finally handed the book back, laughing. “Alright, alright. No need to get all flustered.” He straightened up, towering over Shang Qinghua. “In fact, why don’t I treat you to dinner? You can tell me all about these *interests* of yours.”

Shang Qinghua blinked. “Wha—dinner?”

“Of course. As an apology for bumping into you,” the demon replied smoothly, though Shang Qinghua had a feeling it wasn’t an apology at all. “I’m Tianlang-Jun, by the way. But you can call me whatever you like.”

“Ah... I’m Shang Qinghua,” Shang Qinghua muttered, awkwardly clutching his erotic novel to his chest. ‘Dinner?’ Wasn’t this kind of weird? Sure, the guy was *way* too handsome to be real, but he was also clearly dangerous. ‘Oh no, wait, dangerous.’ That should’ve been his first thought! Red flag!!- Hell- A DEATH flag!!

But before Qinghua could protest, Tianlang Jun had already started walking, glancing back over his shoulder with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Coming, little scholar?”

Shang Qinghua hesitated for all of two seconds before scrambling after him, trying to ignore the butterflies wreaking havoc in his stomach.

---

The meal was surprisingly casual. Well, as casual as it could be when sharing a table with a demon lord. (Also what the fuck- still processing that.) Tianlang Jun had somehow (read: threatened)-convinced a local restaurant to clear out for them, and now they sat together, a feast laid out in front of them. Also most likely threate- ah.. negotiated..

“So, tell me about yourself, little scholar,” Tianlang Jun said, lounging back as if they were old friends. “What brings you to this side of the world?”

Shang Qinghua poked at his food, still slightly jittery. “Just... just a job. A disciple thing.”

“Mm, disciple. Cang Qiong sect, right? The one in those itsy bitsy mountain yonder?”

Shang Qinghua nodded, even if he wouldn’t call them ‘itsy bitsy’, but he supposed they were to a all-powerful, dramatic foil to his story , insanely handsome, very built.. did he mention handsome- and-.. ahem..

Getting carried away!!

He continued tying to eat without making a fool of himself. He couldn’t believe he was sitting here, having dinner with a *demon*. Not that he’s whatever this worlds equivalent to species racist but he’s pretty sure it’s probably in a rule book somewhere.. one he probably wrote.. huh.. anyway!! This had to be some kind of bizarre fever dream. Was this what being in the wrong place at the wrong time looked like?

“And how’s that going for you?” Tianlang Jun’s voice was low and velvety, like he found this whole situation endlessly entertaining.

“It’s... going?” Shang Qinghua said, his words tripping over each other. “Nothing too exciting, really. Just delivering some scrolls, collecting herbs, that sort of thing.” And noticeably avoiding demons until this very moment.

Tianlang Jun hummed, looking entirely too pleased. “I see. Well, I hope it stays boring for your sake.” His smile turned sharper. “Though, I have a feeling you’re not the type to stay out of trouble.”

Shang Qinghua gulped, avoiding eye contact. *Oh no.*

---

Later that night, Shang Qinghua found himself standing at the edge of the forest, staring in disbelief as the cultivators from his sect confronted Tianlang Jun.

Don’t ask him how he got here! He was just kinda.. whisked away!! He remembers vaguely writing this capture.. but it sure as hell didn’t involve him! He knew things had been tense, but he hadn’t expected *this*. The sect leader was shouting, accusing Tianlang Jun of trespassing on sacred land. Shang Qinghua winced as the accusations flew.

It was going bad—very, *very* bad.

Shang Qinghua didn’t even think with his STUPID noggin’ before stepping forward. “Wait! Stop! This is a misunderstanding!”

And now he sounds like Y/N..great. What’s next- ‘guys, stop fighting over me’?

All eyes turned to him, including Tianlang Jun’s. The demon’s gaze was calm, but his lips twitched with amusement. “Ah, there you are, little scholar.”

“What are you doing?” The sect leader’s voice was sharp, and he was pretty sure he didn’t notice he was even from the same sect.. his eyes narrowing at Shang Qinghua.

“I—uh...” Shang Qinghua swallowed. “He didn’t mean any harm. There’s no need for violence...”

“Shang Qinghua, step back,” And apparently he did know- and his name for that fact! Huh!- the sect leader ordered coldly. “This demon—”

“He’s not—” Shang Qinghua began, but the words died on his lips as Tianlang Jun’s expression darkened. The air around them shifted, crackling with energy. The demon straightened, his smile fading.

“You’re hurt,” Tianlang Jun said, his voice no longer playful but something darker, something cold. “And they did it.”

And what?? The actual??? Fuck????

Shang Qinghua barely had time to react before Tianlang Jun was moving. There was no hesitation, no mercy. The sect leader barely had time to scream.

And in the middle of the chaos, Tianlang Jun’s voice cut through, smooth and commanding.

“Eyes on me, baobei.”

Shang Qinghua’s breath hitched, his eyes locking onto the demon. He couldn’t look away.

---

Chapter Text

—-

Shang Qinghua sighed, tugging at the collar of his stuffy ass robes as he trudged behind Mu Qingfang through the dense forest. God he was never gonna get used to this uptight clothing. “Remind me again why *I* had to come on this mission? Isn't there some super-rare heavenly herb in some mystical dangerous spot that would have caught someone like Liu Qingge’s eye more than mine?”

Mu Qingfang didn’t even look back, his calm, collected voice floating through the air. “Liu-shidi wouldn’t recognize the difference between a rare herb and a common weed.”

Shang Qinghua stifled a laugh. “That’s the realest thing I’ve heard all day. Still, I’m not exactly the *medical* type, you know. All the gross stuff? Blood? Ew.”

And sure, he knew it wasn’t frankly *all that*, but for the sake of this conversation and his grumpy mood this morning, it sure was.

“You write about it in those books of yours.”

“Hey, hey, that’s fiction. Completely different beast.”

Mu Qingfang hummed, clearly not buying it. Shang Qinghua quickened his pace to walk beside the healer, though he kept shooting glances at the sky, silently begging for a reason to go home early. No celestial intervention came, unfortunately.

Instead, he heard Mu Qingfang mutter, “You’re not as unskilled as you claim, Shang- shixiong.”

“Oh? I’ll take that as a compliment, but I’m still going to pretend I didn’t hear it.”

They reached the clearing where their target herb was supposed to grow, but instead of jumping into action, Mu Qingfang hesitated. Shang blinked, his gaze darting to the plants. His inner knowledge database—hard-earned through hours of research back in his old life—activated immediately.

“That’s not the right one,” Shang Qinghua blurted out.

Mu Qingfang raised a brow, intrigued. “Oh?”

Qinghua moved closer, gesturing at the plants with surprising confidence. “This one? It looks similar, but it’s actually poisonous if used incorrectly. It’s called ‘Zhenyan Root’. You want ‘Xianxin Leaf’, which has smoother edges and—wait, am I being useful right now?”

Mu Qingfang stared at him, eyes wide behind his normally composed expression. (In awe??) “You… know this?”

Shang scratched his head, laughing awkwardly. “Haha, yeah. I mean, a little. I read a lot of stuff for ‘research,’ you know? Back when I… had dreams.” He shot a sideways glance at the sky as if the system would zap him for saying that out loud, or for anything really. Unpredictable bitch ass bugger.

Mu Qingfang, though, was silent. Too silent. *Scarily silent.*

“Mu Qingfang? You good?” Shang asked, waving a hand in front of his face.

The healer blinked, snapping out of what seemed to be deep thought. His usual stern expression returned, though now tinged with something… softer? “I see. You’ll assist me from now on.”

Shang blinked. “Wait, what? Did you just hire me? I didn’t apply for this job.”

“It wasn’t a suggestion.” Mu Qingfang started picking the right herbs, but his hands were strangely slow, almost hesitant. Was he… distracted? By *Shang Qinghua*?

Qinghua tilted his head, watching the healer with suspicion. “You sure about this? I’m more of a ‘sit around and eat snacks’ kind of guy.”

“You’re more knowledgeable than you let on,” Mu Qingfang said, still gathering herbs but now (valiantly attempting) to discreetly sneak glances at Shang Qinghua. “And you… have an odd charm.”

Shang grinned. “Wow, praise from you? Are you feeling okay?”

Mu Qingfang didn’t answer, but his ears had turned a faint shade of undeniable pink.

---

**A Few Days Later:**

Shang Qinghua adjusted the collar of his *new* uniform for the tenth time that morning, staring miserably at his reflection in the mirror. The delicate pink robes were embroidered with tiny lotus flowers, the epitome of grace and elegance. Which, obviously, he *totally* was. He sighed dramatically.

“This… is absurd,” he muttered to himself. “I look like I’m about to serve tea to some noblewoman. In what world is this necessary?”

The door slid open behind him, and Mu Qingfang entered, looking far too composed for someone who had just *mandated* this nonsense. Shang spun around, holding his arms out like a kid forced into a stiff suit for a family portrait.

“Explain this to me. In what universe do medical assistants need *pink uniforms*?”

Mu Qingfang glanced at him, his usual calm mask in place, though there was something *just a little too smug* about the slight curve of his lips. “It’s important to maintain professionalism in the clinic.”

“Professionalism?” Shang scoffed, gesturing wildly at his pastel outfit. “This is what professionalism looks like to you?!”

Mu Qingfang stepped closer, adjusting the lapel of Shang’s robe with his usual precision. “Pink suits you.”

Shang blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the closeness and the oddly tender way Mu Qingfang’s fingers lingered on the fabric. “Uh… well, I—”

“I thought about white,” Mu Qingfang continued, his expression betraying nothing, “but pink seemed more appropriate.”

“Appropriate?!” Shang flailed a bit. “Appropriate for *what*? Seducing people with my stunning fashion sense?”

Mu Qingfang’s lips twitched. “If it works, it works.”

Shang gawked. “Did you just—did you just *joke* with me? Is this—are you flirting with me right now?!” His voice rose in pitch, eyes wide.

Mu Qingfang's usual calm expression faltered for just a second, a faint blush creeping up his neck. But then he cleared his throat, regaining his stoic demeanour, easily attaching his professional doctor farce. “You’re overthinking it, Shang-shixiong.”

But Shang Qinghua wasn't buying it!!He squinted at Mu Qingfang, feeling like he was onto something here. “Wait a minute. This isn’t about ‘professionalism’ at all, is it?”

Mu Qingfang, clearly cornered, turned away to busy himself with organizing some herbs on the nearby table. “We should focus on preparing for the next mission.”

Shang's eyes narrowed as he watched the usually unflappable healer *flap*. “Uh-huh. Sure. But I’ve got my eye on you. You’ve been acting real strange lately, you know that?”

Silence.

A slow grin spread across Shang Qinghua’s face. “*Ohhh*, I see what’s happening here.”

Mu Qingfang’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t turn around. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Uh-huh. Right,” Shang said, practically skipping over to stand beside him. “You’re *blushing*, aren’t you?”

Mu Qingfang’s hands froze over the herbs, and Shang’s grin widened. “Oh my god, you *are*! You’re not just blushing over *this*,” he gestured at his ridiculous pink outfit, “you’re—hold on, wait. You like me, don’t you?”

There was a deafening silence, and Mu Qingfang slowly turned, his usual calm expression replaced by something caught between exasperation and embarrassment. “You’re being ridiculous, Shang-shixiong.”

“Ridiculous?!” Shang's grin turned mischievous as he poked Mu Qingfang’s arm. “You’re completely smitten with me, aren’t you? *Admit it!* You’ve been acting weird ever since I helped you with those herbs. I knew something was up when you started talking about *uniforms*! Is this all some ploy to make me wear cute clothes?”

Mu Qingfang, still trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, crossed his arms. “Shang-shixiong—”

“Oh my god, it totally is,” Shang interrupted, eyes wide with faux shock. “You wanted to see me in *pink*! You’re into this, aren’t you? Well, I mean—who could blame you? I am pretty cute.”

Mu Qingfang sighed, rubbing his temples. “Shang-shixiong…”

Shang, however, was on a roll now. “I bet you’ve been sitting there, quietly marveling at how I, a mere Peak Lord of An Ding, somehow know so much about plants and medicine. You thought I was just a lazy paper-pusher, but no! There’s so much more to me!”

A tiny smile ghosted over Mu Qingfang’s lips despite his best efforts to remain composed. “You’re certainly… full of surprises.”

Shang beamed, delighted by the unintended compliment. “See! You *do* like me!”

Mu Qingfang finally let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And adorable. Don’t forget adorable.”

“Yes,” Mu Qingfang said, voice soft as he gazed at Shang, eyes gentle in a way that made Shang's heart skip a beat. “Adorable.”

Shang blinked, suddenly feeling a little flustered himself. “Uh. Well. Glad we got that cleared up,” he mumbled, tugging at his pink sleeve again, though now with less irritation.

Mu Qingfang moved closer, his voice dropping to a quieter, more intimate tone. “It wasn’t the uniform that made me notice you, Shang-shixiong. It was the way you handled yourself. Your knowledge. Your humor. I’ve been admiring you for a while.”

Shang’s breath caught in his throat, the teasing mood suddenly shifting into something more real, more sincere. “I—uh—wow, I mean…” He fumbled for words, completely out of his depth now.

Mu Qingfang’s lips curved into a soft smile, and he gently took hold of Qinghuas’ hand, squeezing it once before letting go. “Just something for you to think about.”

Shang stood there, dumbfounded, watching as Mu Qingfang calmly walked out of the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts—and his pink uniform.

He stared down at the embroidered flowers on his sleeve and muttered to himself, “Okay, maybe this isn’t so bad.”

A second later, he shook his head vigorously. “No! No, it’s still terrible! But… maybe he’s onto something.”

And with that, he couldn’t help the smile creeping back onto his face.

---

Chapter Text

——- :3

Shang Qinghua sat in his usual corner of the Peak Lord meeting hall, half-hidden behind the towering stacks of reports and scrolls. His make-shift fan of a loose bit of parchment lazily flapped open and closed as he listened with one ear to the ongoing discussion. Honestly, most of the time, these meetings were just background noise. He was used to tuning them out and nodding when appropriate. If anything, he could be getting a tan in this heat right now- but ‘NooooOooO’.

Across the room, Wei Qingwei of Wan Jian Peak sat silently, his sharp eyes scanning the room with a disinterested air. Strong and silent, with a notorious reputation for being the ‘bad boy’ of the Peak Lords (ahem.. just Shang Qinghua but whatever..), Wei rarely spoke during these gatherings. When he did, his words were blunt, clipped, and usually enough to silence any debates.

Shang Qinghua barely paid attention—until, of course, the topic shifted to A Ding Peak's latest distribution delays. As it always seems to eventually.

“Shang-shixiong, are you prepared to explain?” one of the unnamed Peak Lords (look- he can’t be expected to remember everyone’s name okay?! Half the time they are just defined by potent characterises, such as this one. Smelly. Cuz he always STINKS.) asked, raising an eyebrow.

Shang Qinghua sighed. Of course. It’s always *his* paperwork that gets called out. But the again it’s not like anyone else’s could- since they don’t *DO* it. Shuffling his parchment- made- fan shut, he glanced over his many piling stacks with exaggerated weariness. “Oh, yeah, yeah. We’ve been a bit backed up, but everything’s under control. No need to panic.”

He punctuated his words by sticking his tongue out childishly, a half-hearted attempt to blow off the tension in the room (and to let his frustration be known it the limited audience of his piling paper work).

That’s when it happened.

Wei Qingwei, eyes sharp as ever, caught the brief flash of silver on Shang Qinghua’s tongue. His cool demeanor slipped for just a fraction of a second—just enough to cause a quiet intake of breath. His gaze sharpened, zeroing in on the sight of that tongue piercing, almost as if he was trying to confirm what he saw.

Shang Qinghua, oblivious to the sudden shift in attention, flicked his tongue languidly out again in a subtle swipe of his lips. Completely innocent! “Like I said, under control. Totally fine.”

But Wei Qingwei wasn’t fine.

For a man who prided himself on his control, he felt his mind suddenly go blank, replaced with a vivid image of that flash of metal. He had never really noticed Shang Qinghua before. The guy was usually buried in reports and scrolls, constantly rambling or muttering about paperwork and logistics. He wasn’t someone Wei would typically pay attention to.

Until now.

Unbidden thoughts started to creep into his mind—ones that had absolutely nothing to do with sect matters.

Across the room, another Peak Lord caught the tail end of the exchange. Liu Qingge, of course. “Did I… just see what I think I saw?” he murmured to himself, his gaze flicking between Shang Qinghua and Wei Qingwei, confusion slowly turning into curiosity.

Qi Qingqi, the Peaks resident pot stirer extraordinaire, furrowed her brow, squinting at Shang Qinghua. “Is there something on his tongue? That can’t be right…”

Qinghua, still blissfully unaware, leaned back in his seat, clearly satisfied with his deflection from work duties. He waved his paper a bit and gave a mock-salute to the room. “So, if that’s all, we’re good here, yeah? I’ve got some reports to—”

But Wei Qingwei wasn’t letting it go that easily. In one smooth motion, he leaned forward, voice low but unmistakably intrigued. “Shang-shidi,” he drawled, eyes never leaving Shang’s face. “Mind sticking your tongue out again?”

The entire room went dead silent.

Shang blinked, staring at Wei like he’d suddenly grown a second head. “Uh… what?”

Wei Qingwei's gaze was intense, his usual aloofness replaced by something darker, something more intent. “Your tongue. There’s something I want to see.”

A faint flush crept up Qinghuas’ neck as realization dawned. He opened his mouth to object, but before he could, he noticed the other Peak Lords leaning in, clearly interested. Oh no.

“Oh no,” Shang whispered to himself, voicing his inner struggle with those two simple words.

“What is it?” Mu Qingfang asked, genuinely curious, though his gaze was sharp, clearly now wanting to know as well.

Shang Qinghua's eyes darted around the room. “What is this? Are we suddenly all interested in my—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Shen Qingqiu, equally as impressive resident peak pot stirer, let out a chuckle from the back. “I didn’t take you for the type, Shang Qinghua.”

Qinghua gawked. “The type?! What do you mean, the *type*?!”

Yue Qingyuan coughed, his face carefully neutral (but betrayed by the slight red colouring of his cheeks) as he said,, “It’s just unusual… for a Peak Lord to have such an accessory.”

Shang Qinghua spluttered, waving his parchment around in an attempt to regain control of the situation. “What?! It’s not—it’s just—it's not a big deal!”

But Wei Qingwei’s expression said otherwise. The key instigator!! His gaze lingered on Qinghuas’s mouth for a second too long, and the silent heat behind his eyes was enough to make even Shang Qinghua’s stone cold heart stutter.

Qingwei leaned back in his seat, his usual calm expression now replaced by a slow, lazy smirk. “I’d say it’s quite the revelation.”

Qinghua felt his face heat up even more. He wasn’t sure if it was the embarrassment of being called out or the fact that *Wei Qingwei*—chill, terrifying, deadly Wei Qingwei—was giving him that …*look*!!

The rest of the Peak Lords shifted in their seats, all clearly trying to get a better glimpse of Shang’s tongue, some out of curiosity and others—*ahem*—clearly with different thoughts entirely.

Mu Qingfang, ever the professional, cleared his throat. “It’s quite the… unexpected choice, Shang-shixiong. Practical?”

“Practical?” Shang echoed, horrified. “Do I look like I’m making practical choices here?!”

Wei Qingwei chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving Shang. “It suits you.”

Shang Qinghua felt like the floor might as well swallow him whole. “Okay, that’s it. Meeting’s adjourned. I’m leaving.”

But before he could make a quick exit, Liu Qingge’s voice rang out, a rare note of amusement in his tone. “Next time, maybe keep that tongue hidden. Or not. I think some of us wouldn’t mind seeing more.”

Wei Qingwei’s smirk widened just a fraction. “Agreed.”

Shang Qinghua, God of this world, practically all nightly in knowledge, the essential word-FATHER of all these adults, now positively *burning* with embarrassment, waved his papers in front of his face as if to ward off their stares. “You guys are unbelievable. Un-be-lievable!”

But as he stormed out, there was no denying that his heart was racing for more reasons than just humiliation.

---

Chapter Text

Shang Qinghua sat hunched over a mountain of reports in his An Ding Peak office, a quill tapping rhythmically against the inkpot as he tried to stave off the growing headache creeping up on him. Paperwork had become his life—again. The never-ending swirl of numbers, distribution lists, and sect reports threatened to swallow him whole.

The system, which had been ominously silent for days, finally chimed in.

**[System Alert]: Host is overworking. Burnout imminent. System will now implement relaxation measures.**

“Huh?” Qinghua blinked, confused. “Relaxation measures? You mean like... a nap?”

The system didn’t answer. Instead, his desk began to shimmer, a holographic screen popping up right in front of him. On the screen, an all-too-familiar logo danced around.

**TikTok.**

Qinghua stared at the hologram like he’d seen a ghost. “TikTok?! Are you kidding me?!” He hadn’t seen this app since his previous life! “Wait, hold up—am I allowed this? Isn’t this super *OOC*?”

**[System Alert]: Host is permitted five minutes a day for relaxation purposes.**

Shang Qinghua huffed but, admittedly, felt a little spark of excitement. TikTok! After all this time! His old account was long gone, but the system had created a new one for him (with an admittedly heinous name- what the hell is a “Chubby Cheek Master”??), and suddenly, five minutes of mindless scrolling seemed like the best idea in the world.

---

**The Next Week:**

Shang Qinghua had fallen into a rhythm. Five minutes of TikTok a day to break up the mind-numbing paperwork sessions. He’d rack up some *For You Page* videos, laugh at stupid trends, and feel at least slightly less like his life was a cosmic joke. It wasn’t much, but it helped.

He even made some TikTok’s of his own, and he seemed to be getting pretty popular??

Until, of course, one fateful day when he realized the system hadn’t capped his time. Instead of the usual five-minute cut-off, the app kept running. Qinghua blinked at the screen, then a grin slowly spread across his face. “Oh? *Ohhh.*”

He had racked up enough ‘system points’ to go live for *one hour*. One glorious hour to let loose and live stream in a world where literally no one else knew what TikTok even was.

Shang Qinghua grinned deviously. “Oh, they aren’t ready for this.”

---

**Going Live:**

Shang had set himself up on a small hill, away from prying eyes (or so he thought), and clicked the button to go live. Instantly, he was greeted by the usual chaotic chat—modern slang and emojis flooding the screen.

“Helloooo, my lovely viewers! Welcome to this ancient, boring world where your boy is stuck pushing papers!” He waved at the holographic camera, grinning. “But today, I’m free! And guess what? We’re doing something special—Avengers Assemble! Autobots, roll out!”

He threw in a wink, fully aware that literally *no one* around him would understand these references, but his online audience would eat it up.

---

**Meanwhile:**

The disciples of An Ding Peak, usually minding their own business, began to notice the strange occurrence happening on the hill. A few of them gathered, curious about the glowing hologram Shang Qinghua was sitting in front of.

“What is that?” one disciple whispered, pointing at the floating image.

Another disciple squinted, trying to remember the last appearance of it when their Shizun was sitting (unusually relaxed), tapping away at its fake screen. “It looks like a... ‘hollow-gram’? Is that what Shizun called it?”

“No, no,” another one interjected, “he called it a ‘Tick Tock.’ Maybe it’s some kind of secret martial art?”

The group exchanged confused looks, none of them sure what to make of it.

---

**Elsewhere in the Sect:**

Mu Qingfang, passing by on his rounds, heard the faint sound of Qinghua’s voice echoing from the hill. His brows furrowed as he made his way closer. What he saw was... baffling.

Shang Qinghua, in the middle of a meadow, was enthusiastically waving his arms around and shouting phrases like “Autobots, roll out!” while a strange, glowing box hovered beside him. The healer stopped in his tracks, genuinely concerned.

“What... is going on here?”

Before Qingfang could figure out what this strange sorcery was, he noticed the gathering crowd of disciples, all equally confused. Some were even mimicking their Shizun’s actions, poorly attempting to follow along.

---

**Back to hamster:**

Shang had leaned into his live stream, fully embracing the chaos. “And today, dear followers, we’re going to explore the hidden treasures of this boring sect! Behold, disciples who have no idea what modern technology is!”

He flipped the hologram around to show the confused group of disciples gawking at him. The chat exploded with laughing emojis.

The disciples gasped, pointing at the strange glowing image of *themselves*. One brave soul piped up, “Shizun!! What is this sorcery?”

Qinghua snorted. “It’s not sorcery. It’s called a *hologram*.”

The disciples stared, uncomprehending. “A... hollow-gram?” And an uttered ‘I told you so’ from a disciple in the back.

“Yes, yes,” Qinghua waved them off dismissively. “Now, moving on! For today’s grand finale...”

He stuck out his tongue playfully for the camera, the silver glint of his tongue piercing catching the light.

**The disciples froze.**

“What is that on his...?”

“Is that... a piercing?”

Before Qinghua could react, the whispers began spreading through the crowd like wildfire. “Shang-shixiong has a tongue piercing?”

“I never noticed!”

“Did you see how shiny it was?”

Mu Qingfang, who had been watching this entire scene unfold, nearly choked on his own breath when he saw the piercing. “Shang-shixiong... what in the world?”

---

**Peak Lords Assemble:**

It didn’t take long for word to spread to the other Peak Lords. Soon, Liu Qingge, Wei Qingwei, and several others had gathered nearby, intrigued by the sudden commotion.

Liu Qingge, always the most blunt, raised an eyebrow. “Why is Shang Qinghua sticking out his tongue? And what’s that thing on it?”

Wei Qingwei, his usual calm demeanor faltering, leaned in closer. “It’s a piercing.”

Liu Qingge blinked. “...A what?”

Wei Qingwei let out a small sigh. “Never mind.”

As they watched their usual mousy shidi/shixiong continue his live stream, with disciples following him like confused ducklings, the Peak Lords exchanged bewildered glances.

“Is this... what he’s been doing instead of paperwork?” Shen Qingqiu muttered, crossing his arms.

“This is absurd,” Liu Qingge grumbled. “Someone needs to stop him.”

But none of them moved.

In fact, they were all secretly intrigued.

---

**After the Live:**

Qinghua ended his live stream with a dramatic flourish, signing off with a cheeky grin. “Alright, that’s all for today, folks! Autobots, roll out!”

As the hologram disappeared, Shang turned to face the crowd of stunned disciples and Peak Lords. He froze.

“Oh no.”

“Shang-shixiong,” Mu Qingfang said calmly, though his eyes glinted with barely contained amusement. “Care to explain?”

Shang nervously scratched the back of his head. “Uh... it’s called TikTok?”

Mu Qingfang raised an eyebrow. “Tick... Tock?”

Shang sighed. “I can explain...”

---

Chapter Text

---

A Ding Peak had long since fallen quiet for the night, save for a faint sound echoing from the training grounds, and ,of course, the odd shuffling of the ever working disciples performing their tasks . After all, it was only ever quiet for one reason- these busy bee peak disciples were required elsewhere, sleepless if not for their Shizuns instance at maintaining sleeping hours fir “growing youths”. Shang Qinghua, who had been going against his own motto, was, obviously, working late—again—and was seen by several disciples wandering out of his quarters, his movements unsteady, as if he were half-asleep. But when was he not? So completely indifferent, aside from faint concern, they continued onwards.

His gaze was unfocused, yet he walked with surprising purpose, his steps leading him toward the heart of the peak.

The few, stray, unknowing disciples who noticed him exchanged puzzled glances. “Is Peak Lord Shang... sleepwalking?”

But as Shang Qinghua reached the training grounds, something in his demeanor shifted. Changed. Formed into something *more*. His shoulders squared, his back straightened, and his gaze took on a chilling sharpness that a total of zero An Ding disciples had ever wore; in the history of ever. He looked like a man on the brink of battle.

“Formation, Stormfire!” he barked suddenly, his voice strong and commanding.

The disciples that has surrounded him to stare aimlessly jumped, exchanging looks of sheer confusion.

“Move it!” Shang Qinghua barked again, his voice carrying an edge that brooked no argument. The disciples hesitated, and their Shizun’s/ Shishu’s eyes flashed with something close to irritation.

“What are you standing around for, soldiers? Form ranks!”

Though confused, the disciples scrambled to obey, something in Qinghua’s tone forcing them to fall into line. As odd and uncoordinated as it was. As they arranged themselves, Qinghua’s spiritual energy began to pulse, coalescing into faint shapes around him. Shadows of figures started to form—flickering apparitions of warriors, clad in armor from another time.

One disciple, standing beside one of these ghostly figures, gasped. “Is that…a.. a person?”

Others around him stared in disbelief as The Peak Lord’s spiritual energy expanded, more apparitions taking form with each passing moment. The soldiers, though shadowed, were unmistakably tangible, as if Qinghua’s own thoughts were willing them to manifest around him.

---

It didn’t take long for word to reach the other Peak Lords via panicked, scuttling disciples that managed to slip out of “formation”, who quickly gathered at the training grounds to witness the unusual sight. Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge were among the first to arrive, watching with a mixture of shock and... was that admiration?

Shang Qinghua stood at the center, issuing commands with a precision and authority that seemed completely unlike his usual, nervous self. He was pacing with a controlled energy, barking out orders as if this makeshift group of disciples were seasoned soldiers.

“Hold your stance! Archers to the left flank—no, *your* left!” Qinghua corrected sharply, his tone scathing. “I want firepower in place to cover the advance. We strike at dawn.”

Liu Qingge found himself unexpectedly impressed. Shang Qinghua was… commanding? The sheer power and confidence radiating from him seemed almost foreign, as if the bumbling Peak Lord had been replaced by a hardened soldier. The martial discipline Liu prided himself on instinctively responded to this new side of his Shixiong, and he found himself feeling something he hadn’t expected—respect.

“Who knew,” Qingge murmured to himself, “the paper-pushing Peak Lord could actually lead an army.”

Shen Qingqiu, standing nearby, observed Shang’s tactical formations with a calculating gaze. The way Qinghua positioned his forces, utilizing the natural cover of the landscape and coordinating flanking maneuvers—it was all.. surprisingly.. *impeccable*. There was a cold admiration in Qingqiu’s eyes; he, the sect’s lead tactician, couldn’t help but feel impressed by Shang Qinghua’s innate battle sense.

“He’s... good,” Qingqiu muttered, more to himself than to anyone else.

---

The disciples, caught up in the fervor of the moment, began to respond to their new found “commander”’s orders with growing confidence. The spectral soldiers Qinghua had summoned moved in perfect sync, further adding to the surreal scene. The Peak Lords found themselves inadvertently joining the ranks, slipping into formation under Shang’s command. (Ahem.. or they were bored.. who knows?)

“Steady,” Qinghua called, his voice lower now, filled with an eerie calm. “Hold your fire until the enemy breaches the perimeter. They’ll try to push us back, but we’re ready.”

He moved toward the seemed ‘front line’, eyes blazing with fierce determination as his spiritual energy lashed around him, creating more apparitions with every step. His “soldiers” stood at attention, their forms flickering but eerily lifelike, matching Qinghua’s intensity.

“Peak Lord Shang, sir,” one of the disciples murmured, half in awe, half in fear. “What... what enemy are we facing?”

Shang Qinghua turned, his expression hard. “Demons,” he said, his voice filled with conviction. “They’ll try to break through, but we won’t let them.”

Just as he was about to command the final push, something in the back of Qinghua’s mind snapped, like a cord suddenly cut. His intense focus wavered, his gaze blurring as reality bled into his dreamlike state.

“Huh?” he mumbled, glancing around in dazed confusion. The spectral soldiers began to waver, their forms fading as Qinghua’s spiritual energy sputtered. (Missing the panicked gaze his manifested comrades had flickering across their face- “Airplane”’s name on the tip of their tongues and arms outstretched to save their former brother-in-arms-) He blinked at the disciples—no longer his “comrades”—and at the Peak Lords watching him with an array of emotions, from admiration to concern.

“What... what just happened?” He clutched his head, the adrenaline that had fueled him draining fast, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

Before anyone could answer, Qinghua stumbled and swayed, his knees buckling as the full weight of what he’d done hit him. Liu Qingge moved forward instinctively, (fulfilling what the spiritual beings couldn’t), catching Shang Qinghua by the shoulders and lowering him gently to the ground as he finally lost consciousness.

Shen Qingqiu stepped closer, his gaze sharp and assessing. “He thought he was on a battlefield,” he muttered, almost to himself. “But how did he—”

Qingge shook his head, his expression uncharacteristically soft as he looked down at Qinghua’s unconscious form. “He’s pretty.. strong…. I guess.”

---

When Shang Qinghua finally woke up, he found himself back in his quarters, tucked beneath a warm blanket. His head pounded, and his entire body ached as if he’d just run for miles. Blinking groggily, he turned his head to see Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge standing nearby, both of them watching him with expressions that he couldn’t quite read.

“What... what happened?” he mumbled, still groggy.

Shen Qingqiu folded his arms, regarding Qinghua with a hint of his usual smirk. “You decided to take command of An Ding Peak, as if it were a regiment of soldiers. We were all moments away from marching to war on your orders.”

Qinghua’s eyes widened, mortification flooding his face. “I—I did *what*?!”

Liu Qingge let out a low chuckle. “You should have seen yourself. You had everyone moving like they were under your spell.” His tone held an edge of admiration, though he quickly looked away, as if unwilling to admit it aloud.

Shen Qingqiu, however, met Qinghua’s gaze with a rare, open look of respect. “Your tactical sense was... impressive. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t have believed you capable of that level of command.”

Shang Qinghua blinked, heat rising to his cheeks as he stammered, “Well... uh, I mean... it was probably just the..adrenaline.”

But as he looked between the two of them, he couldn’t help but feel a strange warmth—a quiet sense of pride—in their words. For once, they had seen him as more than the bumbling Peak Lord, the writer, the overlooked background character.

And though he couldn’t fully remember his ‘dream’, a faint echo of his old life lingered. He closed his eyes, letting himself drift back into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

---

Chapter Text

The eerie melody echoed through the cavernous halls of the demon hideout, sending shivers down the spine of every human who heard it. Except, of course, for Shang Qinghua, who stumbled into the scene entirely by accident, overhearing something so out-of-place that he had to stop in his tracks.

“...Saint Bernard sits at the top of the driveway, you always said how you loved dogs...”

Qinghua froze, squinting into the shadows of the cave as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing. Demon after demon was singing, their rough voices somehow making the words even more haunting. But how on earth…?

One of the demons noticed Qinghua’s expression and cocked its head. “Ah! King Mobie-Jun’s *pet*,” it growled. “Do you know this song? We use it to rally ourselves before battle!”

Suppressing his surprise, Qinghua forced himself to act casual as he replied, “Where the hell did you all learn that?”

The demon only shrugged. “We do not know its origins,” it said simply.
“We found it effective for bonding. The words… we understand little of them.”

It was obvious the song’s meaning was lost on them. Ignoring the glaring reality that another transmigrator must have once passed through these parts (Or perhaps it’s one of his own weird plot devices.. he doesn’t.. really ..remember.. heh. ), Qinghua sighed, hands on his hips. “Alright, gather around, you terrifying bunch. Let me teach you the actual lyrics and meaning of this song.”

‘Might as well,’, he thought.
‘Since Mobei-Jun’s in such a huff.’ A subtle glance to the right confirmed that he was, still, indeed, in a huff if his telltale (Only to Shang Qinghua) twinge to his face while speaking with his commanders was anything to go by

---

The demons circled around Shang Qinghua, almost predatory if not for how their eyes remained curious as he began teaching them, translating each line to give them the full effect. They listened in silence, their rough, grumbling voices trailing behind him as they practiced each verse in their own rumbling tones.

One demon scratched its head, leaning closer. “So… the Saint Bernard is not a warrior?”

“Nope, it’s a dog—a big, fluffy one,” Qinghua explained, a hint of exasperation in his tone, using his ever-expressive hands to detail the size, with a rounded shake of his palm, as if petting said dog. “It’s symbolic, you know? Something like... a protector.”

The demons’ eyes lit up with a newfound respect as they struggled to grasp these concepts, stumbling over the verses the human fed them, slowly piecing together the melancholy but determined message of the song. They were actually trying, to his surprise—humming in tune, repeating lines back with almost reverent concentration.

---

In the shadowed corners of the room, a small group of demons watched Shang Qinghua with keen interest. One particularly brawny demon leaned toward his companion, his eyes fixed on the human’s delicate movements and expressive voice as he gestured and corrected their comrades.

“He’s… not what I thought he’d be,” murmured the demon, crossing his arms. “They call him weak, but look at the way he commands attention. There’s something…” He struggled to find the word.

“Charming?” suggested another, raising a brow. “In a strange way, yes. He would make a lovely bride, wouldn’t he?”

The group exchanged nods, each demon watching Shang Qinghua with newfound admiration. His patience, his unique mannerisms, the way he laughed and rolled his eyes at their blunders—it all intrigued them.

“He speaks our language, too,” said another demon, with a hint of awe. “Not like the others. He cares enough to teach.”

“A perfect father, too,” a mumbled circle of agreement.

They watched as Qinghua finished up the last verse, his voice softening, as if he, too, felt the weight of the words. There was a strange respect blooming in their hearts—a respect that had, perhaps, a little too much adoration mingled in.

“Maybe one day, he’ll come to see himself as one of us,” one demon said thoughtfully. “Or perhaps we’ll convince him to stay. It wouldn’t be so bad to have him as part of the clan, would it?- If his sire decided to disregard him.”

As Shang Qinghua moved on to explain the song’s final lines, oblivious to the effect he was having on his audience, the demons felt a strange sense of pride, a shared feeling that they had someone unique in their midst. And perhaps, if he were to stay, they would welcome him as one of their own… maybe even more.

---

Chapter Text

:3

---

Once upon a time, Shang Qinghua dreamt of a different path. One where fashion, not survival, took center stage. But his auntie's words from way back when echoed in his head, bitter as the tea he'd choked down that morning: “Pick something useful, you stupid boy!”

And so, practicality had won out, leading him down a safer, more “sensible” road that ended in finance, then banking, and finally smut-writing for an online audience of who-knew-what. But that creativity was still in there, simmering beneath the surface even in this strange new world where peak lords wore elaborate robes and seemed ready to faint at the slightest hint of modern comfort.

Tonight, he'd needed comfort. His room, nestled in An Ding’s highest alcove, caught every chill that mountain winds could conjure, and he'd stitched his own cozy solution. He wore knee-high socks, warm and thick enough to block the draft, and a pair of baggy shorts for comfort that made room for his, ahem, ample assets. His masterpiece was a T-shirt, oversized and soft, with a family of fat cats embroidered across the front he’d spent a week stitching together. Each cat’s expression was embroidered with a characteristic quirk and each one had a splash of color that reminded him of his fellow Peak Lords—the blue-gray one with serious eyes was totally Liu Qingge. The orange tabby glaring with its paws crossed? Shen Qingqiu, definitely. And the grumpy black one that always looked too cold? Mobei-Jun, if he dared to imagine. (He was a Special Addition in the family of fat kitty Peak lords.)

As he adjusted his socks, feeling quite proud of his self-made outfit,

And so here he was. Shang Qinghua lounged contentedly in his makeshift outfit, stretching his legs out in front of him. His handcrafted knee-high socks were luxuriously soft, keeping the mountain chill at bay, and his loose tee with the family of fat cats embroidered on the front made him smile every time he glanced down.

He’d never actually shown anyone his little creations before. This was his private retreat: the only true slice of comfort he’d managed to carve out in this world of paper-thin robes, endless expectations, and ‘traditional’ clothing that apparently hadn’t been designed for anyone with common sense or a need for warmth. Today, though, he’d have to ditch that comfort—he’d received an urgent message about a skirmish up on Liu Qingge’s peak, and it wasn’t like he could let a fight among disciples run unchecked.

He had meant to change; really, he had. But after throwing a robe over his shoulders only for it to slip off mid-flight, he’d had to abandon the whole thing and bolt to the scene as fast as possible, braving the chill with the sheer force of his speed alone. (At least he managed to put shoes on!! So there was that!!!)

When he finally arrived at the summit of Bai Zhan Peak, he found Liu Qingge with his back turned, already deep into an intense, berating speech aimed at a handful of guilty-looking disciples who had dropped their practice swords the moment they saw Qinghua arrive.

The disciples’ eyes seemed to widen, then dart back and forth between their Shizun (in some cases, if they were Liu Qingges own disciples, or Shibo if they were Shang Qinghuas own) and the figure behind him. Not a single one dared say anything, but a few sudden gasps as another disciple spotted him gave them away. Liu Qingge’s scowl deepened, clearly annoyed by the break in attention.

“Are you listening to me?” he demanded, the sneer in his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. The disciples froze, eyes flickering from him to the figure behind him—back and forth, caught between fear and… something else?

Finally, Liu Qingge whipped around to see what had so thoroughly stolen the focus of his well-trained disciples. And then he froze.

There, in the middle of Bai Zhan Peak’s training grounds, Shang Qinghua stood in his patched-together modern comfort clothes, shivering a bit, but managing to look both entirely out of place and unbothered. The oversized cat-covered shirt, knee-high socks, and shorts clung snugly to his figure, unintentionally revealing toned legs and tanned skin where his robe had failed to cover him. Qinghua blinked, giving a half-hearted wave as though this were the most casual arrival in the world.

Liu Qingge’s arms, which had been crossed in frustration, fell to his sides limply as he simply stared, blinking in open confusion and… awe? His gaze trailed over the unfamiliar, soft fabric, the tanned stretch of Qinghua’s legs, and the smooth line of his neck visible under his tousled hair. It was as if he were suddenly seeing an entirely different side of the peak lord he’d known for years.

For his part, Shang Qinghua seemed entirely oblivious to the reactions his appearance had sparked. He looked around the group, one hand absentmindedly scratching his neck. “So, uh, what’s the problem? Do we… have an intruder? A fight?”

Liu Qingge finally found his voice, though it came out a bit strained. “What… what are you *wearing*?”

“Oh! This?” Qinghua gestured to his shirt, a hint of pride creeping into his tone. “It’s just something I made! You know, for comfort’s sake. Nothing wrong with wanting to stay warm, right? I thought the embroidery was kind of cute.” And, as if it was the most casual thing in the world, pulled the shirt out so a glimpse of stomach could be seen, in an attempt to show off the (obviously hand stitched) embroidery.

Qingge’s jaw clenched as he noticed the small embroidered family of cats that adorned the shirt. He barely registered the cats’ features—the familiar hints of color and shape. It almost looked like… them. Qingge swallowed hard, feeling an odd warmth creep up his face. He was, for some reason, inexplicably drawn to that embroidered little cat with the scowling expression.

He gave his head a slight shake, trying to dismiss the effect the sight had on him. But even as he tried to regain his composure, his gaze drifted down again, helplessly pulled back to the exposed skin of Qinghua’s legs. His fingers twitched as he realized just how… close he was standing, and how easy it would be to just reach out and—

“Qingge?” Qinghua’s voice cut into his thoughts, and Liu Qingge straightened immediately, throwing his outer robe around the other man’s shoulders before he could even think twice.

“Cover yourself!” he snapped, trying to sound stern and failing as his voice wavered.

“Oh, okay, okay!” Qinghua laughed, a bit bewildered but amused nonetheless. He tugged the robe around himself, the extra fabric completely obscuring his colorful attire but leaving a glint of embarrassment in his eyes. “Jeez, I didn’t think anyone would make such a big deal over a little bit of—”

“A *little* bit?” Liu Qingge’s voice dropped to a low murmur. He quickly diverted his gaze, crossing his arms once more to hide the telltale warmth on his cheeks. “This is *Bai Zhan Peak*, not… not your personal… fashion show!” ‘Fashion Show’ was obviously used in place of a much more.. vulgar term if the way his face reddened further was any indicator.

Behind him, several disciples exchanged glances, whispering among themselves with expressions that were one part shock and three parts intrigue. They’d never seen their Shizun so thoroughly rattled, let alone flustered. And while Qinghua was now largely covered by the robe, they could still see the colorful hint of his cat embroidery peeking out, a reminder of the whole bizarre encounter.

Qinghua rubbed the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “Right, right… Apologies, Peak Lord Liu. I’ll try to, uh, be a bit more ‘proper’ next time.”

Liu Qingge gave a huff, nodding curtly as he turned back to the now-silent disciples, though he was acutely aware of Qinghua’s gaze lingering on him, bemused and curious. For a moment, he felt the familiar urge to lecture him, to scold him for his complete lack of decorum. But that feeling was quickly followed by something else—an impulse he couldn’t quite define, a sort of admiration mixed with a grudging respect. (A longing he couldn’t quite place.)

In the end, he chose to stay silent, if only to spare himself any further… distractions.

Turning back around, Liu Qingge’s jaw clenched, eyes flickering from the line of shocked disciples to Shang Qinghua, who was still standing there, his expression one of complete oblivion.

"Seriously?" Liu Qingge muttered under his breath, but there was no hiding the heat spreading across his cheeks as his eyes darted down to Shang Qinghua’s bare midriff once more (just a second, he told himself. Like some guilty pleasure.) and the expanse of smooth skin that stretched between his oversized tee and his knee-high socks. It was too... much. Too much bare skin for Liu Qingge’s brain to process, especially when he hadn’t exactly expected it in the middle of a disciplinary meeting.

Shang Qinghua, on the other hand, was blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in Liu Qingge’s mind. Instead, he scratched the back of his head and shifted his weight, wincing slightly. "I really didn’t expect you all to be so—what’s the word?—stunned?" He offered a sheepish grin. "I know, my attire is a bit... unconventional, but you can’t blame me for being comfortable, can you?"

Liu Qingge’s pupils twitched involuntarily. His brain was still trying to make sense of the sight before him—of the man he’d spent so much time around suddenly looking so—distracting. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to seeing Shang Qinghua in less-than-formal attire. No, that wasn’t it. But the situation felt different now.

The too-tight t-shirt clung to the curve of Shang Qinghua’s chest. His knee-high socks, slightly bunched at the top, only made the man seem all the more disarming. And then there was the way those baggy shorts hung just loosely enough to give an impression of softness, too much skin exposed for any level of decency, and yet Liu Qingge couldn’t help but stare. There was no trace of the usual awkwardness in Qinghua’s posture either—no hunched shoulders, no sign of his usual frantic energy, nothing to remind Liu Qingge of the man’s unpredictable nature. No, this was... something else entirely.

His mind spun with thoughts he couldn’t afford to entertain.

There was a long, drawn-out silence as everyone around them continued to stare, waiting for some kind of explanation. Liu Qingge finally cleared his throat, his cheeks flushed deeper than they had been in years. "What. The. Hell." That seemed to be the only thing his mouth could work out the syllables for. His voice was a tight hiss, but it was all he could manage in the moment. His arms crossed more tightly in an effort to regain some control, but nothing could keep his eyes from tracing the lines of Shang Qinghua’s exposed skin. It was like a trainwreck he couldn’t look away from, and with every second that passed, it felt like more of a disaster.

Shang Qinghua blinked at him as if he were the one being unreasonable. "What? Are you saying there's something wrong with being comfortable? I mean, you all act like this is some kind of blasphemy. Look around, Liu Qingge, you’re the one making a fuss. Really, I’m just being practical here—who could wear a robe when you're just relaxing? And for the record, you’re the one who keeps getting mad every time I take one off."

Liu Qingge felt the words burn on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t find them. He didn’t know what was more irritating—the fact that Shang Qinghua was looking at him so innocently or that his heart was racing in a way he couldn’t control. He turned on his heel, muttering, "I’ll be right back," as he made his way to the open area of trees bordering the training ground his disciples and Shang Qinghuas were just fighting over, trying to avoid any further eye contact. His mind, however, was anything but calm.

As he walked briskly, trying to compose himself, the sound of Shang Qinghua’s voice pierced through the air again.

"Hey, I said I didn’t mean to—" Shang Qinghua began, but then he was cut off.

"Oh, trust me," Liu Qingge snapped, his voice tinged with a bitterness he didn’t quite understand. "You’ve done enough." His head was still spinning from the unexpected intrusion of—whatever the hell this was. If Qinghua wasn’t going to take this seriously, then neither would he.

Liu Qingge’s hands trembled slightly as he gripped onto a nearby tree, enough to break the bark and leave an indentation, trying to focus on the task at hand. His thoughts were still whirling with a million things—his usually strict self-control was crumbling, his composure slipping under the weight of unexpected desires that had no place in this moment. And he had no idea how to deal with it.

Back in the center of the arena, Shang Qinghua gave a small chuckle. "Don’t worry about it, Liu Qingge, I’ll just go ahead and handle things while you go cool off. Honestly, I thought you'd be more embarrassed that we have a crisis on our hands. Not every day we have a big fight break out like this."

A couple of the disciples who were still standing in shock shot each other unsure glances. They were beginning to wonder whether it was a good idea to try and fix the situation or whether it would just make everything worse. If anything, Shang Qinghuas disciples seemed eager to just apologise and succumb to scurry their Shizun off again in the confines of wherever the brutes *weren’t.*

But Liu Qingge—well, he wasn’t about to show weakness. No. If he was going to be embarrassed, then he’d be embarrassed in silence. He couldn’t allow anyone to see what was stirring within him. His own body refused to cooperate with his mind, and his usual stern gaze had softened in spite of his best efforts.

"Stop making light of this situation, Qinghua," he finally said, gritting his teeth.

Shang Qinghua’s grin softened into a more contemplative expression. He placed his hand on his chin as if deep in thought. "Hmm, maybe you’re right. I guess it’s not like you to get worked up over a little bare skin."

Liu Qingge whirled around at the sound of that, his brows furrowing dangerously. "Do not," he began in a warning tone, "test my patience, Shang Qinghua."

"Oh? You’re not angry at me? That’s a first." Shang Qinghua’s tone was innocent enough, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes that Liu Qingge couldn’t quite place. The audacity of this man was astounding.

"You’re testing it now," Liu Qingge growled under his breath.

The disciples were still stuck in their own world of confusion. Some had turned their attention back to the growing conflict between their fellow sect members, but others—well, they couldn’t stop glancing at Shang Qinghua. Some were clearly taking more than a few seconds to appreciate the sight before them. They were wondering, as Liu Qingge was, how in the world Shang Qinghua had managed to turn this meeting into a chaos of conflicting emotions. Was it his innocence, his carelessness—or something more that they simply didn’t understand?

As Liu Qingge turned his back once again to regain some semblance of focus, his mind wandered to the ridiculousness of it all. His chest tightened, and he had to hold himself still to keep the blush from overtaking his features. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to think about how Shang Qinghua was making him feel, not here, not now. Not with a mountain of problems at his feet.

But as soon as he closed his eyes, all he could see was that lazy smile. Those carefree eyes.

And those damn knee-high socks.

---

Chapter Text

Under the early morning light, the sect was unusually lively as members of the bird tribe flocked around Shang Qinghua. They were a sight to behold—humanoid in appearance, but with feathers tucked around their temples, the occasional tail feathers poking out, and wings folded neatly against their backs. The bird people had an elegance and magnetism that drew attention wherever they went, but none more so than when they were around Qinghua.

One of them, a peacock-like beauty with iridescent feathers, cupped Qinghua’s face and rubbed cheeks affectionately, as if scent-marking him. Another, with sharp, eagle-like features, pulled him into a strong embrace, pressing their forehead to his. Others ruffled his hair or tugged him playfully into their laps, cooing and chirping in endearment. Qinghua’s laugh—breathless and a little embarrassed—was swallowed up by the cacophony of gentle coos and feathery nuzzles. He tried to wriggle free, but his laughter only seemed to encourage more affectionate displays.

Shen Qingqiu was watching, face expressionless, but with eyes as cold as steel. He had thought he was used to Qinghua’s antics—always teasing and self-deprecating, always somehow tangled in situations he didn’t fully understand—but this…this was something else entirely. He could barely hear his own thoughts over the bird people’s crooning. They were shamelessly affectionate, ruffling and preening Qinghua as if he were their prized possession.

His lips pressed into a thin line as he observed the scene. Every instinct in him wanted to step forward and pry each of those feathered hands off Qinghua. The touches were too familiar, the gentle, nuzzling gestures too…territorial.

One of the bird people, with feathers as brilliant as a macaw’s, stretched out his wings, displaying them with a proud fan and sweeping them around Qinghua, practically cradling him within a feathery barrier.

“That’s quite enough,” Shen Qingqiu heard himself say, his voice icily polite.

The bird people glanced over, momentarily taken aback by his stern tone. Shen Qingqiu’s eyes, sharp and narrowed, didn’t leave their faces for a second. It was clear they were out of line, and he’d had enough of their overly-familiar display.

“The meeting,” he prompted curtly. “I believe we have business to discuss.”

The bird people reluctantly released their hold on Qinghua, who seemed more than a little relieved. He shuffled closer to Shen Qingqiu, perhaps subconsciously seeking a refuge from the overwhelming display. Shen Qingqiu’s gaze softened ever so slightly as Qinghua fell into step beside him. And though he didn’t reach out, he held his arm near enough that Qinghua could brush against him if he wanted to.

---

Later that evening, Shen Qingqiu was standing in his quarters, contemplating the whole day with a frown. He hadn’t realized how deeply it irked him to see Qinghua in such an intimate position with others. It was absurd, really. But he couldn’t shake the image of those arrogant bird people doting on him, touching him as though they had a claim.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered to himself, but his hands were already tugging out a pile of spare blankets and arranging them in the room next to his study, where it was coziest. Before he knew it, he’d set out a tray of snacks and tea, making it as inviting as possible. His gaze lingered on the door, and after a moment, he went to fetch Qinghua.

Qinghua, unsuspecting as ever, perked up when Shen Qingqiu appeared in the doorway. “Oh, Shen-shixiong!” He looked a little more rumpled than usual, still visibly shaken from the attention he’d received. “What brings you here?”

“Thought you might want some rest,” Shen Qingqiu replied, perhaps a bit more stiffly than intended. He ushered Qinghua inside, his hand hovering near his back, guiding him with a rare and surprising gentleness.

As Qinghua stepped into the room, his eyes widened. “Did you…do this?”

Shen Qingqiu gave a nonchalant shrug, trying to hide the faint color creeping into his cheeks. “Consider it my way of offering you…sanctuary. Away from those feathered nuisances.”

Qinghua snickered and plopped down into the nest of blankets. “Oh, I don’t know—they were pretty nice company.”

Shen Qingqiu’s face darkened, and he turned away with a scoff. “Nice company? Those overgrown pigeons looked like they were ready to carry you off.”

“Well,” Qinghua teased, wiggling his shoulders as he nestled into the pile of blankets, “maybe I’ve got all the qualities they like in a ‘mate,’ huh?”

Shen Qingqiu went very still, his jaw tightening. He didn’t like hearing those words out loud—it somehow made the birds’ intentions seem realer, a reminder of the brazen way they’d nearly stolen Qinghua away from him. He cleared his throat, trying to quell the inexplicable surge of jealousy.

“Well,” he said tightly, “they don’t seem to understand how to take care of someone properly.” He nodded to the snacks he’d brought, neatly arranged next to the blankets. “A few minutes of flattery doesn’t make up for proper care and attentiveness.”

“Oh?” Qinghua’s eyes sparkled with playful delight as he leaned over, grabbing a snack and biting into it with a pleased hum. “And you’re saying you could do a better job than a flock of bird people, huh?”

Shen Qingqiu’s lips parted, and for a moment, he seemed at a loss. “It isn’t a competition,” he replied stiffly, though his cheeks had taken on the faintest tinge of red. “I’m simply pointing out that a genuine connection is more valuable than mere showmanship.”

Qinghua chuckled, nestling further into the blankets. “Oh, so now we’re talking about genuine connections?”

“Don’t twist my words,” Shen Qingqiu muttered, his voice barely above a grumble. He glanced away, distinctly avoiding eye contact.

Qinghua leaned forward with a smirk. “You’re awfully fussy tonight, shixiong. I didn’t realize you were so…protective.”

Shen Qingqiu finally looked at him, his expression softening slightly, though a flicker of something vulnerable lingered in his eyes. “I merely…wouldn’t want to see you swept away by someone unworthy.”

They held each other’s gaze in silence, a quiet understanding passing between them. Shen Qingqiu cleared his throat and finally allowed himself to sit beside Qinghua, reaching to pull the blanket around his shoulders.

“Stay here tonight,” he murmured, softer than before. “Get some rest. You…you deserve it.”

Qinghua’s grin softened into something warm, something that Shen Qingqiu could feel tugging at his own heart. He reached up, patting Shen Qingqiu’s hand gently.

“Thanks, shixiong. I…actually feel really lucky to have you looking out for me,” he murmured, leaning back into the blankets, letting his eyes close in comfortable bliss.

Shen Qingqiu felt a rare sense of peace settle over him, like a quiet, contented warmth.

---

Chapter Text

Shang Qinghua had never imagined that he’d be engulfed by a group of bird people on what was supposed to be a routine diplomatic meeting. Sure, they had wings—a bit strange, yes—but they were also just people, right? No one had prepared him for the overwhelming warmth, the soft feathers, and the gentle brushes of their hands and wings as they greeted him with eager, affectionate gestures.

“Oh!” Shang Qinghua squeaked as one of the bird folk, a slender figure with deep blue feathers flecked across their arms and shoulders, drew him into a tight embrace, pressing a cheek to his. The bird person made a soft cooing sound, a sound Shang Qinghua couldn’t help but feel soothed by. “Thank you, thank you—yes, very nice to meet you too!” he managed, but the words were almost lost amidst the soft cacophony of warbling sounds around him.

“Ah, such a wonderful caretaker you must be,” another bird person, one with iridescent, peacock-like feathers crowning their head, murmured, tracing a feathered fingertip lightly along his shoulder. “So smart, so capable… One so worthy of care himself.”

Shang Qinghua blinked, cheeks turning pink. “Oh, well, I—I try, you know, to keep the sect running…”

“Of course,” a hawk-eyed member of the tribe added, their wings flexing behind them. “Only one as wise as you would have earned such a place of leadership. We can feel it, a resonance with you.” Their voice was low, smooth, a slight rasp that sent a little shiver down Shang Qinghua’s spine.

To his surprise, another bird person leaned in, pressing against his shoulder and murmuring, “Your strength is felt in the way you carry yourself. You could lead a tribe if you wished.”

Shang Qinghua laughed, the sound bubbling out nervously as he was encircled by yet another set of hands and feathers. “Oh, I don’t know about that…”

“No,” a golden-feathered bird person purred, their eyes gleaming with a strange, knowing light. “You belong here—among those who appreciate and respect your gifts.”

Respect his gifts? He blinked, momentarily stunned by the sheer… sincerity in their eyes. And the touch. It was overwhelming, but not unpleasant. Each feathered caress against his skin was gentle, warm—almost hypnotic.

Just then, one of the bird folk, with sleek, raven-black feathers that glinted violet in the sunlight, caught his gaze, holding it with a look that seemed to peer right into him. They leaned in, just enough for their soft, feather-dusted cheek to brush his as they whispered, “Do you know, Shang Qinghua, how many would cherish you?”

His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Cherish him? The word rang in his ears, echoing as his face flushed. The bird people’s embrace felt as if it was lulling him, a soft pull that suggested he could… stay with them, perhaps. Not just as an ally, but as something more.

And yet, a familiar, somewhat disgruntled voice broke the moment.

“Shang-shidi.” Shen Qingqiu’s tone was biting, almost cold, but his eyes were blazing as he practically forced his way into the ring of bird people. “I believe we should attend to… sect matters. Now.”

One of the bird folk, the hawk-eyed one, arched a brow, and it was a surprisingly graceful gesture. “Ah, of course. But it’s only natural to want to show our appreciation.”

Shang Qinghua glanced back, feeling an odd reluctance to break away. “Ah… Yes. Right. Sect matters. I’ll… see you all later?”

As they moved away, he heard a few of the bird folk make low, plaintive sounds, as if discontented by the interruption. It was clear they’d been drawn to him, had seen something in him that they admired—and possibly… wanted? But Shen Qingqiu was already pulling him along, barely giving him a moment to look back.

---

Chapter Text

Hehe Mobei Jun side quest

---

The alliance talks had hardly begun when Shang Qinghua found himself swept off his feet—quite literally. One moment, he was dutifully seated beside Mobei-Jun in the icy grandeur of the demon king’s court, quietly readying his notes for the meeting. The next, a flock of avian delegates had spotted him, and their faces lit up in surprise and what could only be described as unrestrained delight.

“Ah! It’s him—the clever one from the human sect!” cooed one, a dignified avian with sleek, hawk-like features. His feathers gleamed with a dark, intense sheen that gave him a fierce elegance. Without warning, he pulled Shang Qinghua close, his arm coiling around Qinghua's shoulders with ease, and looked over him approvingly.

“And still as gentle in spirit as we remember,” murmured another, a peacock-like beauty with iridescent feathers peeking out from her sleeves. She stepped forward, her hands gliding down Shang Qinghua’s arms as though assessing a prized possession.

“Truly,” she continued in a soft, musical voice, “a perfect addition to any flock.”

“Ahaha, you flatter me too much!” Shang Qinghua squeaked, cheeks tinged with pink as he tried—and failed—to wriggle free from the affectionate circle they’d formed around him. “I mean, just here as Mobei-Jun’s advisor today. Alliance…talks…and all that, right?”

The avians exchanged a glance, and their smiles only widened. “You’ll find that alliances take many forms, dear Shang Qinghua,” one of them said, amusement evident in his tone. He reached out and gave a gentle stroke to the side of Shang Qinghua’s face, his claws skimming just close enough to make him shiver.

From his seat at the head of the court, Mobei-Jun watched the interaction with a slowly building storm cloud on his face. The avian delegates had dared to take a seat—no, three of them had dared to pull Shang Qinghua into their laps, their wings partially wrapped around him in an unmistakably protective gesture. To any outsider, it looked like they were practically laying claim to the human.

“Tell me, Shang Qinghua,” one of the avians purred, running a feathered hand through his hair, “do you ever tire of the harsh chill here?” He gestured around the cold, dim court of Mobei-Jun with an air of disdain. “Our homeland would treat you warmly. Think of how comfortable you could be, far from these barren peaks.”

“Oh, I, uh…” Shang Qinghua fumbled, feeling the burn of several intensely focused gazes on him. He could feel Mobei-Jun’s eyes boring holes into him, and yet the avians’ grip around his shoulders was strangely reassuring. He leaned a bit closer, lowering his voice as though sharing a secret. “Well, it is a bit cold here, sometimes…”

“Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-Jun’s voice rang out, as frigid as his domain. “Are you quite comfortable?” The words themselves were polite, but the biting chill in his tone told another story.

“Oh! Uh, yes, Mobei-Jun!” Shang Qinghua laughed, waving his hands in the universal gesture for *this-is-fine-I’m-not-in-danger-I-swear*. “Your court is very comfortable, of course! The best! I was just, uh, you know, talking about feathers and… warmth?” He trailed off as one of the avians pressed a reassuring hand to his back, fingers splayed like talons.

The avian leader, an eagle-like figure with intense amber eyes, met Mobei-Jun’s gaze with unruffled calm. “We only wish to share our appreciation for such a—treasured ally, demon king,” he said smoothly, his feathers flaring slightly in a show of pride. “Such beings are rare, after all. Our admiration of him is only natural.”

Mobei-Jun’s fists clenched, though his face remained a mask of glacial calm. “He is more than just an ally in this court,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “and not to be taken without permission.”

A murmur rippled through the avian group, as if his words carried some double meaning that they found endlessly entertaining. One of them, the peacock-like woman, laughed softly, leaning close to Shang Qinghua with a glint of mischief in her eyes. “We wouldn’t dream of ‘taking’ him—unless, of course, he wished to come with us.”

Before Shang Qinghua could sputter a response, another avian gently pulled him closer, his wing folding around Shang Qinghua in a warm, protective embrace. “You could live amongst us,” he said softly. “We see your kindness, your intelligence. You are a nurturer, aren’t you? One who can care for those around you.” He looked up with clear, honest admiration. “It’s admirable. It’s… rare.”

Shang Qinghua blinked, momentarily speechless. The flattery, genuine as it seemed, made something flutter warmly in his chest. Sure, he’d gotten praise here and there, but this? It was different, and, well…a bit intoxicating.

“Oh, you know, just doing my job…” he mumbled, face turning an even deeper shade of pink.

“Wouldn’t you want to care for someone who understands?” whispered the eagle-like leader. “Someone who sees your value?” He gave a pointed glance towards Mobei-Jun, and Shang Qinghua swallowed hard.

Mobei-Jun’s patience snapped. “Enough,” he said, rising from his seat with an air of finality. The avians watched, some looking faintly amused, as the tall demon king stalked over to their circle and wordlessly held out a hand to Shang Qinghua.

“Uh, yes! Mobei-Jun, of course…” Shang Qinghua took his hand, all too aware of the intense, protective grip with which Mobei-Jun pulled him away from the avian delegates.

“Thank you for your… courtesy,” Mobei-Jun said with icy politeness, but the glare he leveled at the avians could have frozen oceans. “But I believe our alliance negotiations will proceed more effectively without such… distractions.” He wrapped an arm around Shang Qinghua’s shoulders, holding him firmly close as he steered him back toward the head of the room.

For a moment, the avians simply watched with bemused smiles. But as Mobei-Jun’s steely gaze bore down, they took the hint, backing away with lingering, wistful looks at Shang Qinghua. The peacock-woman even gave him a little wave, to which Shang Qinghua could only respond with a sheepish smile.

As soon as they reached a quieter corner, Mobei-Jun wasted no time in bundling Shang Qinghua in a heavy fur cloak, draping it over his shoulders with an exasperated sigh.

“You’re easily swayed,” Mobei-Jun muttered, voice tinged with irritation. “The next time those feathered… nuisances are nearby, try to remember where you belong.”

Shang Qinghua chuckled, sinking into the warmth of the fur as he adjusted it around his shoulders. “Jealous, Mobei-Jun?”

Mobei-Jun’s eyes narrowed, but he avoided the question. “They’re dangerous,” he muttered instead, tucking the cloak around Qinghua’s neck like an overprotective guard. “And you’re too… accommodating.”

Shang Qinghua laughed, reaching out to give Mobei-Jun’s arm a gentle pat. “Noted. I’ll be sure to stay right here where it’s… safe.” His gaze softened, and he smiled up at Mobei-Jun with a quiet fondness. “Thank you.”

Mobei-Jun gave a small, curt nod, and for a fleeting second, his cold, stoic expression softened, just slightly, as he looked down at his advisor. Then, with one last possessive glance toward the retreating avians, he ushered Shang Qinghua toward the exit, determined to ensure his advisor remained by his side—feathers, flirtation, and all.

---

Chapter Text

Courtship accepted hehe

---

It started innocently enough. After that fateful day in Mobei-Jun’s court, when Shang Qinghua had gotten perhaps *too* friendly with the avian delegates, he’d agreed—well, more like been overwhelmed into agreeing—to their courting customs. He’d thought it was a one-time thing, a gesture of goodwill that’d keep the peace. He had no idea what it would actually entail.

“Just a few gestures of loyalty,” they’d explained, faces aglow with excitement and barely contained adoration. “Only the simplest of tokens. Nothing intrusive at all.”

*Nothing intrusive,* Shang Qinghua thought wryly as he struggled to make it down the path leading to An Ding Peak, trying and failing to escape from the half-dozen avians who were currently vying for his attention. Today, his entourage included an elegant peacock-featured woman who had draped an iridescent emerald necklace around his neck the moment she saw him, and a tall, eagle-like figure who had clasped a solid, feathered arm around his shoulders, guiding him down the path as if *he* were the guest.

“Oh, you don’t have to… I’m really fine walking on my own,” Shang Qinghua said, glancing nervously between them. But his protests were in vain.

“Nonsense,” the peacock-woman said, flashing a dazzling smile. “It is our duty, our privilege, to ensure you’re supported. Why, if you’re to become a mate to one of our flock, you deserve only the best.”

“A…mate?” Shang Qinghua squeaked, turning a shade of red that matched his robes. Sure, he’d heard the word thrown around by the avians, but every time they said it, he felt himself breaking into a cold sweat.

“We are all here for you, Qinghua,” the eagle-featured avian replied with a solemn nod, as if it were the most obvious fact in the world. “A suitable mate deserves our utmost attention.”

Shang Qinghua tried to steady his breathing. “Right…yes… utmost attention…”

The following weeks were a whirlwind of feathered faces, colorful gifts, and shamelessly affectionate gestures. Every day, a new member of the avian clan showed up, either alone or in a small group, each vying for Shang Qinghua’s attention in a different way. Each brought their own flair, their own flavor of courtship, all falling over themselves to show how *very* dedicated they were.

One day, a lithe, graceful avian with the colors of a songbird arrived, carrying a tiny silk bag. Inside was a collection of delicate jeweled hairpins, each glimmering like stars, their intricate details echoing the designs of the avians’ homeland.

“I thought these might suit you,” she said, slipping one into his hair before he could say a word. Shang Qinghua felt his cheeks go red as she brushed her fingers through his hair, giving it an admiring little fluff as if preparing him for some grand event.

“Oh, uh, thank you…” he stammered, reaching up to touch the hairpin. It was fine, delicate, something he’d only seen in the wardrobes of the noble sects. And every time he saw his reflection, a little shiver of excitement ran through him.

Another day, a raven-featured man appeared, his dark wings giving him a mysterious aura as he held out an obsidian ring, polished to a shine. “For protection,” he said in a low, steady voice, slipping it onto Shang Qinghua’s finger as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The ring was cold, grounding. Shang Qinghua couldn’t stop fidgeting with it throughout the day, admiring the way it looked on his hand, until he realized with a jolt that other disciples had started noticing the gifts too.

“Qinghua,” one of his juniors asked in awe, “what’s with all the jewelry? And—did you get that cloak *today*?” She eyed the soft, feather-lined wrap he wore over his usual robes, its deep blue fabric interwoven with iridescent threads that caught the light.

“Oh, you know… just something from a friend,” he mumbled, though the giggling whispers that followed him down the path told him no one quite believed it.

---

The avians’ courtship only grew bolder as time went on. They had a habit of finding him during the busiest moments—during meetings, mission briefings, even while he was elbow-deep in paperwork. Each time, they’d swoop in with little gifts, sweet smiles, and a determination to keep him close that bordered on obsessive.

One particularly chaotic afternoon, Shang Qinghua sat in a quiet alcove, sorting through a stack of reports, when he felt the weight of a warm arm slide around his shoulders. He glanced up to see a tall, slender avian with a soft face and dappled feathers of brown and gold, gazing down at him with unrestrained fondness.

“I thought you could use a break,” she murmured, tugging him gently toward her. Before he could protest, she’d settled him against her side, her arm still looped around him as she rested her head against his shoulder.

“Oh, I really have a lot to do—” he tried, but she only smiled, taking one of his hands in hers and smoothing a gentle thumb over his knuckles.

“Don’t worry, Qinghua,” she said softly, voice like a lullaby. “You’re working too hard. Let us care for you.”

They spent the better part of an hour like that, the avian occasionally tucking loose strands of his hair behind his ear or murmuring soothing nonsense. By the time she left, Shang Qinghua felt a strange, lingering warmth, as if her presence had imprinted on him, staying even after she was gone.

---

Soon, it wasn’t just gifts and quiet companionship. The avians began accompanying him on missions, swooping down whenever he so much as glanced at a tricky pathway or steep hillside. One, a compact, owl-like warrior with sharp, perceptive eyes, made it his personal duty to ensure Shang Qinghua’s safety, refusing to leave his side even when the threats were nothing more than a few rocks and loose soil.

“Why don’t you let me help you, little Qinghua?” he asked in a deep, rumbly voice as he lifted Shang Qinghua into his arms, wings flaring out behind him.

Shang Qinghua had long given up on refusing their help, so he let himself be carried, sighing dramatically but secretly grateful for the way his escort treated him as if he were the most precious thing in the world. “Thank you. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without you all.”

The owl-like avian only gave a soft, rumbling chuckle, his dark, reflective eyes glinting as he looked down at Shang Qinghua with an expression that was almost… reverent.

---

The attention didn’t go unnoticed. Other disciples, and even Peak Lords, had begun to eye Shang Qinghua with growing curiosity—and maybe a little jealousy. He could feel their gazes on him as he walked through the sect grounds, now often draped in vibrant cloaks and rings, his hair pinned with delicate jewels, and his cheeks perpetually flushed from the affectionate touches of his avian companions.

One evening, as Shang Qinghua sat at a table with a trio of avians, each taking turns feeding him pieces of fruit and adjusting his outer cloak, he noticed a familiar, pointed glare from across the courtyard. Shen Qingqiu, arms crossed, watched the scene with an unreadable expression—though from the tight line of his mouth, Shang Qinghua guessed he wasn’t exactly thrilled.

Shang Qinghua tried to wave at him, though the gentle hand of a feathered beauty rested on his cheek, turning his attention back to her. “Your skin is so soft, Qinghua,” she murmured, brushing a thumb over his cheek. “I envy the one who’ll win your heart.”

“Uh…” he chuckled nervously, feeling his heart pound under her intense gaze. “I, uh, don’t think I’m that special…”

Another avian laughed, sliding in closer and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, her wings spreading protectively. “Nonsense. You’re irreplaceable.”

A shiver of something unfamiliar ran through him—something warm, thrilling, as though the avians’ admiration had started to seep deeper than he’d expected.

From across the courtyard, Shen Qingqiu’s glare darkened.

---

Every time he thought the avians’ attention would die down, it only seemed to grow more intense. They continued showering him with gifts, affections, and adoration, each one more elaborate than the last. They’d woven themselves into his daily life, constant as a heartbeat, until Shang Qinghua found himself almost looking forward to the next surprise visit, the next feather-light touch, the next whispered compliment.

But lurking behind the warmth was a quiet, persistent ache, a reminder that while the avians might see him as something special, he was also under the intense, watchful gaze of another—one that, though more distant, held a possessiveness no avian could match.

Chapter Text

---

Shang Qinghua ducked into a dark, empty corridor, clutching his sleeves to his eyes, stifling a sob. Everything had spiraled so quickly today—the argument with Mobei-Jun, thrown across the room as if he were weightless; Liu Qingge’s sharp words that struck like needles; Yue Qingyuan’s silent disappointment and well-intentioned lecture that only rubbed salt into his already raw feelings; and Shen Qingqiu, who’d barely offered a single word of comfort, instead coldly reminding him of his own writing decisions that brought this all upon him.

It was too much, even for someone as resilient as he. He felt the strain catch in his throat, and no matter how much he tried to hold back, the tears spilled over.

But he wasn’t alone for long.

Feathers rustled in the dark, soft talons padded on stone floors, and suddenly warm, gentle arms surrounded him, drawing him close. His flock of avian friends had appeared like spirits in the night, an unspoken understanding in their eyes. Shang blinked through his tears, surprised to see them here, each one a comforting, familiar face he hadn’t expected but sorely needed.

“My Qinghua, what has upset you so?” cooed one of them, their voice filled with a dangerous edge. Another avian, with a crown of feathers akin to a peacock, gently brushed Shang’s damp cheeks with soft fingers. They exchanged glances, anger glinting in their vibrant eyes as they took in the state he was in.

A more hawkish one—muscular, fierce, and intimidating—knelt down beside him, resting a hand on Shang’s shoulder. “Who did this to you?” they asked, the hint of a growl in their voice.

Shang Qinghua sniffled, barely managing a smile as he took in their serious expressions. “Ah… you know… it’s just… things have been rough lately.”

“You look more than rough,” said another avian, a gentle voice softened by worry. “Let us handle this. Those people… they do not see you as we do, Qinghua. They do not know your value.”

As if on cue, one of the more delicate avians—a slender woman with feathers the color of dusk—draped a shimmering, jeweled shawl over his shoulders. “You should be cherished,” she murmured, smoothing the fabric down his back with reverent hands. Another slid a finely-crafted ring onto his finger, each jewel seeming to glow under the dim light. Shang’s eyes widened at the adornments.

“Guys, you don’t have to…” he started, but they hushed him with a soft shushing sound, enveloping him even closer.

One pulled him into their lap, nestling him against their warmth, while the others draped themselves around him, offering comforting words and gentle touches. Every piece of jewelry, every feathered embrace, every soft whisper was an unspoken declaration. Each of them was determined to show Shang Qinghua that he was valued beyond the sect’s petty dramas.

“You deserve better,” one said softly, resting their head on his shoulder, brushing his cheek with a feather-light kiss. “If they cannot see your worth, perhaps it is time to remind them.”

One of the larger avians growled lowly. “If they ever raise a hand against you again… they’ll have to deal with us.” His wings flared slightly, and Shang couldn’t help but be comforted by the sheer protectiveness emanating from the group around him.

Shang Qinghua sniffled and managed a soft laugh, feeling the warmth of their affection finally lift his spirits. “Thank you… really,” he whispered, a little shaky but comforted beyond words. His flock merely nodded, pulling him into a tighter embrace, determined to shield him from anyone who dared hurt him again.

Chapter Text

—- :3333

The library was dim, the faint glow of a lantern casting flickering shadows on Shang Qinghua’s desk. Scrolls, ledgers, and an endless mess of documents covered every inch of the table, a testament to the unending demands of a sect that didn’t care if its logistics Peak Lord was running on fumes.

He didn’t even flinch when the door creaked open. Probably Shen Qingqiu again, back to deliver more stinging remarks disguised as “constructive criticism.”

“Let me guess,” Shang Qinghua drawled, quill still scratching away. “I forgot to put enough tea leaves in your private stock, Peak Lord Shen, and now I’m singlehandedly ruining your life. Again.”

The silence that followed wasn’t the cold, biting pause he expected. No, this one was heavy, ominous. When Shang Qinghua finally glanced up, he found Shen Qingqiu standing stiffly in the doorway, face pale and lips pulled into a tight, furious line.

“You knew,” Shen Qingqiu said, his voice trembling—not with fear, but with tightly controlled rage.

Shang Qinghua frowned. “Knew what?”

“All of it,” Shen Qingqiu hissed, stepping further into the room. His tone sharpened, more venomous with each word. “The Abyss. Luo Binghe. You knew how much pain you were writing into this world! You knew what you were doing to him!”

(‘A-duh!’ A little voice in Airplanes head deadpanned.)

The library was dimly lit, the flicker of lanterns casting long, distorted shadows against the walls. Shen Qingqiu stood rigid, his arms crossed, a sharp glare pinned on Shang Qinghua.

Here, Shang Qinghua flinched, his head caught in a half a sucking motion, instinctively like a child being scolded. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his robes, his usual self-effacing grin nowhere to be seen.

“I didn’t have a choice!” he shot back, his voice thin, barely concealing the tremor underneath. “Do you think I enjoyed writing all of that? I had bills to pay, okay?!”

Shen Qingqiu’s sneer deepened. “How noble of you. Profiting off the suffering of others, and then acting like a victim when the consequences catch up to you.”

“I didn’t create the suffering for *fun*!” Shang Qinghua snapped, finally meeting Shen Qingqiu’s glare with trembling defiance. “I didn’t have a choice! People wanted drama, angst, tragedy—they paid for it! I wrote what sold because I had to *survive*! You—you—” He choked on his words, his voice rising as he gestured wildly. “You wouldn’t understand!”

Attempting to gain a semblance of confidence, Shang Qinghua straightened in his chair, rubbing his temples.

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes blazed. “Don’t try to play coy about your *true* intentions! My poor Luo Binghe—our Binghe! You deliberately turned his life into a living nightmare! The Abyss? The betrayals? You wrote him into an endless pit of suffering!” He slammed his palm onto the desk, sending papers fluttering. “How could you do that to him? He was a child! My disciple!”

“Right, right, your disciple,” Shang Qinghua muttered, leaning back in his chair. His lip curled in a humorless smile. “The one you repeatedly tortured, humiliated, and threw into the Abyss yourself. But sure, Shen Qingqiu, I’m the monster.”

“You are a monster!” Shen Qingqiu spat. “You wrote every ounce of that suffering. Every betrayal. Every twisted act of violence!” He jabbed a finger at Shang Qinghua’s chest. “You’re the reason he’s so—so broken. You made him this way!”

“And you paid for it,” Shang Qinghua said flatly.

Shen Qingqiu froze.

“That’s right,” Shang Qinghua continued, voice cutting. “You were one of my biggest readers, weren’t you? You devoured every single chapter. Begged for more updates. Left comments about how satisfying it was to see Luo Binghe crawl through the dirt. You enjoyed watching him suffer.”

“I did no such thing!” Shen Qingqiu snapped, but his voice wavered. “I never—”

“Didn’t you?” Shang Qinghua leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. His eyes gleamed with something bitter and sharp. “Don’t try to rewrite history now, Peak Lord. You loved it. Every tragic twist, every moment of pain—I wrote it because you, and people like you, couldn’t get enough.”

(“Rich fuckers,” was left unsaid.)

“I didn’t know!” Shen Qingqiu shouted. “How could I have known this world was real?” (As if Shang Qinghua would’ve known, either.) His hands clenched into fists. “I would never have supported something so cruel if I’d known—”

“Oh, spare me the righteous act,” Shang Qinghua cut in, his tone dripping with disdain. “You think you’re so much better than me because you’re playing the benevolent Shizun now, but guess what? Luo Binghe wouldn’t exist without me. Neither would this sect, or this world, or you. Everything you’ve built your second chance on comes from my hard work. My sleepless nights. My blood, sweat, and tears.”

Shen Qingqiu sneered. “Blood, sweat, and tears? You mean the bare minimum it took to pump out a story for clicks? You weren’t writing art, Shang Qinghua. You were writing torture porn.”

“That torture porn kept a roof over my head,” Shang Qinghua snapped, standing abruptly. “It fed me when I had nothing. Do you know what it’s like to live paycheck to paycheck, hoping your next update will be enough to keep the lights on? No, of course you don’t. You were too busy throwing your money at stories like mine.”

“I didn’t throw—”

“Yes, you did,” Shang Qinghua said, his voice rising. “Every penny you spent on my story helped me survive. Every chapter you clicked on encouraged me to write more suffering, more drama, more tragedy—because that’s what you wanted.”

“I didn’t want—”

“What? To see Luo Binghe broken? To see Shen Jiu die?” Shang Qinghua leaned across the desk, his voice low and dangerous. “Admit it, Shen Qingqiu. You loved every second of it. The blood, the tears, the chaos. You ate it up. Don’t act like you’re above it now just because you’re living it.”

Before Shen Qingqiu could retort, a cold, familiar voice cut through the tension.

“Shizun?” Luo Binghe’s voice broke through the room like a crack of thunder, startling both men.

Shen Qingqiu flinched, a calculated motion that made him look small and wounded as Luo Binghe stepped inside. The sight of his beloved Shizun’s distressed face turned the storm in Luo Binghe’s expression into a violent tempest.

“What did you do?” Luo Binghe demanded, his gaze snapping to Shang Qinghua. His voice was a growl, low and dangerous.

Shang Qinghua stiffened, his usual nervous mousy demeanor kicking in out of habit. “W-what do you mean, me? I didn’t do anything!”

Luo Binghe stalked forward, his frame towering, his presence oppressive. “You’ve upset Shizun,” he said coldly. “Apologize. Now.”

“Luo Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu murmured, stepping delicately toward him. “There’s no need to get upset. It’s not worth it...” He trailed off, looking at Shang Qinghua with an expression that was half pity and half disdain.

That expression made Shang Qinghua’s stomach churn.

“Not worth it?” Shang Qinghua sputtered, forcing a shaky laugh. “After all the things you’ve just said to me, now you’re the victim? Of course. How convenient!”

Luo Binghe’s hand flexed, his fingers twitching as if tempted to summon Xin Mo on the spot. “Watch your tone,” he warned. “I won’t let anyone insult Shizun.”

“Insult him?!” Shang Qinghua threw up his hands, the dam of his self-control starting to crack. “Did you hear him just now? He’s the one throwing accusations around like he’s the righteous hero of this story!”

“Because he is!” Luo Binghe snapped, his anger growing. “Shizun is kind. Shizun is patient. He took me in when no one else would! If you’ve done something to hurt him—”

“Oh, sure,” Shang Qinghua said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Let’s ignore the part where I’m the one who made sure this world existed in the first place. Everything you have, everything he has, is because of me. But no, let’s all cry for poor, innocent Shizun.”

“Enough!” Luo Binghe snarled, stepping between Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua like a shield. “Stop blaming him for your own failures, Shang Qinghua. Shizun didn’t do anything wrong!”

Shen Qingqiu, emboldened by Luo Binghe’s defense, sighed softly, casting his disciple a pained smile. “Binghe, there’s no need to escalate this. It’s not Shang Qinghua’s fault that he doesn’t understand the weight of his actions. He’s always been... careless.” He looked back at Shang Qinghua, his expression cool and pitying. “But we shouldn’t be too hard on him. He’s trying his best, in his own way.”

The sheer audacity of Shen Qingqiu’s words snapped something inside Shang Qinghua.

“Trying my best?!” he yelled, slamming his hands on the desk. The sound reverberated through the room, silencing everyone.

Luo Binghe’s eyes widened in shock; he wasn’t used to this much backbone from the usually sniveling Peak Lord. Even Shen Qingqiu took a startled step back.

“You self-righteous, hypocritical bastard,” Shang Qinghua said, his voice shaking with fury. “You don’t get to sit there and act like you’re the victim in all this. Do you think I wanted to write Luo Binghe’s suffering? Do you think I enjoyed staying up all night, churning out misery because people like you couldn’t get enough of it?!”

“Shang Qinghua—”

“No, don’t you dare try to cut me off!” Shang Qinghua snapped, pointing a trembling finger at Shen Qingqiu. “You loved it. Every single word. Every twist, every betrayal—I wrote it because you and people like you begged for more! Don’t pretend you’re above it now, just because you’re living it!”

“Shizun loved it?” Luo Binghe echoed, confused. “What do you mean? Shizun... wasn’t even there when those things happened to me!”

Shang Qinghua turned to him, the bitterness in his eyes enough to make even Luo Binghe hesitate. “You don’t get it, do you? None of this is real. This whole world—everything you’ve ever known—it’s all because of me.”

“What?” Luo Binghe’s frown deepened, the confusion on his face twisting into suspicion.

“You’re not listening,” Shang Qinghua said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I wrote this world. I created it. Every event, every character—I wrote it all down, chapter by chapter, and people like him—” He jabbed a finger at Shen Qingqiu. “—paid me to do it. They paid me to write your suffering. Your pain. Every horrible thing you’ve ever been through? He encouraged it. He wanted it.”

“Stop it,” Shen Qingqiu said, his voice sharp with panic. “Binghe, don’t listen to him. He’s just trying to shirk responsibility—”

“Responsibility?! I didn’t have a choice!” Shang Qinghua shouted, his voice cracking. “Do you think I *wanted* to write all that? Do you think I enjoyed creating a world where I have to bow and scrape just to survive?” His chest heaved as he glared at Shen Qingqiu, his usual meekness cracking under the weight of his frustration. “You’re one to talk, Mr. ‘Paid Subscriber.’”

“What?” Luo Binghe’s frown deepened, confusion flickering across his features.

“Oh, don’t act all innocent now,” Shang Qinghua said bitterly, pointing at Shen Qingqiu. “Tell him. Tell your precious Binghe about how you *paid* for this story. How you *supported* it.”

“Shang Qinghua!” Shen Qingqiu snapped, his voice high with panic. “Don’t you dare—”

“Supported?” Luo Binghe interrupted, his gaze flicking between them. “What does he mean, Shizun? What does he mean by ‘paid’?”

“It’s not what you think,” Shen Qingqiu said quickly, his voice taking on a soothing tone. “Binghe, don’t listen to him. He’s just trying to cause trouble—”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like,” Shang Qinghua cut in, his voice trembling with anger. “He paid for the story. For your suffering. For all the twists and turns that made your life hell.”

Luo Binghe’s expression faltered. “Shizun?” he asked, his voice soft, uncertain.

“It’s not—” Shen Qingqiu began, but Shang Qinghua steamrolled over him.

“Oh, no, let’s not sugarcoat it,” he said, his voice bitter. “Your Shizun loved it. Every betrayal, every heartbreak. He was practically throwing his wallet at me for more.”

“That’s enough!” Shen Qingqiu snapped, his tone desperate now. “Binghe, don’t listen to him! He doesn’t understand—”

“Don’t I?” Shang Qinghua shot back. “Don’t you think I know what it’s like to be betrayed? To suffer? Where do you think I got the inspiration for Luo Binghe’s backstory?”

Luo Binghe froze, his eyes wide. “What are you saying?”

Shang Qinghua turned to him, his voice quiet but laced with bitterness. “You’re based on me,” he said. “Every ounce of suffering you endured—every moment of pain—it came from my own life. My own experiences. You’re my reflection, Binghe.”

The room fell silent.

Luo Binghe stared at Shang Qinghua, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, his gaze shifted to Shen Qingqiu.

“Shizun,” he said, his voice trembling. “You... asked for this? You encouraged it? My suffering?”

“No,” Shen Qingqiu said weakly. “I didn’t—I didn’t know—”

“You paid for it,” Luo Binghe said, his voice hardening. “You supported it. You wanted it.”

“Binghe, please—”

But Luo Binghe’s gaze had already darkened, the air around him crackling with demonic energy.
And it was as if the very air in the room grew heavier, suffused with the weight of Luo Binghe’s demonic energy. The oppressive aura radiating from him darkened, a swirling maelstrom of confusion, disbelief, and something deeper—something dangerously close to reverence—as he turned his gaze back to Shang Qinghua.

Shang Qinghua, hunched and trembling, was a far cry from any image of divinity, but in that moment, Luo Binghe’s gaze made it seem as though he were something untouchable. The truths Shang Qinghua had revealed tore through Luo Binghe’s carefully constructed reality, his mind battling between the filial devotion he held for his Shizun and the undeniable facts now laid bare before him.

“You’re lying,” Luo Binghe said, his voice low, trembling with suppressed fury and bypassed flurries of emotion. “You have to be.”

Shang Qinghua flinched at the sheer force behind the words, but to everyone’s surprise, he didn’t back down. Instead, he squared his shoulders, forcing himself to meet the storm of emotions swirling in Luo Binghe’s eyes.

“Do you think I *want* this?” Shang Qinghua snapped, his voice raw. “Do you think I enjoy standing here, being the one to tell you that your precious Shizun—” he spat the word like it burned—“paid for your suffering? That everything you are, everything you went through, is because of *me*?”

“Stop!” Luo Binghe shouted, his demonic energy spiking. It lashed out in sharp, visible tendrils, cracking the floor beneath his feet.

Shen Qingqiu, who had been silently watching the exchange with a mask of calm, suddenly stepped forward, hands raised as though to pacify his disciple. “Binghe,” he said, his tone gentle and coaxing. “This isn’t what it seems. Don’t let Shang Qinghua’s lies cloud your judgment. He’s always been a cowardly, selfish—”

Shang Qinghua cut him off with a bark of bitter laughter, startling everyone in the room. “Me? A coward? Sure, Shen Qingqiu. But you’re one to talk. Sitting here playing the victim, all while knowing exactly what you did.”

“I *saved* this world!” Shen Qingqiu snapped, his voice rising. “If it weren’t for me, Luo Binghe wouldn’t even be here!”

“Saved it for what?!” Shang Qinghua shouted back, his voice cracking. “To keep living out the suffering I wrote? To keep reliving the torment you, might I please reiterate AGAIN, *paid for*?” His eyes burned with uncharacteristic fury, and for the first time, Shen Qingqiu found himself speechless.

Luo Binghe’s hands clenched at his sides. His head was bowed, dark hair shadowing his face. When he finally spoke, his voice was unnervingly quiet.

“You’re saying… Shizun knew?” His words were slow, as though tasting poison.

Shang Qinghua hesitated but nodded. “He knew. And he even.. have money to see it happen.”

Luo Binghe looked up, his face a twisted mask of betrayal and heartbreak. His golden eyes shimmered with unshed tears as they locked onto Shen Qingqiu. “Is it true?”

Shen Qingqiu froze, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

“Is it true?” Luo Binghe demanded, his voice rising. “You wanted for all this? You *enjoyed* the monster I became after the Abyss?”

“No!” Shen Qingqiu finally stammered. “I didn’t know—it wasn’t like that!”

“But you paid,” Luo Binghe said, stepping closer, his demonic aura pressing down on the room. “You supported it. My suffering. My pain. You *encouraged* it.”

Shen Qingqiu stumbled back, his carefully constructed facade crumbling. “I didn’t mean to!” he protested, his voice desperate. “I didn’t want—”

“Don’t lie to me, Shizun,” Luo Binghe interrupted, his tone frigid. His demonic energy flared again, cracking the walls. “How could you?”

The door slammed open, the force of Luo Binghe’s aura drawing an unintended audience.

“Shidi.”

The room fell silent as Yue Qingyuan stepped inside, his presence like a sharp gust of wind cutting through the suffocating tension. His expression was grim, but his usually kind eyes were cold as they swept over the scene.

Shen Qingqiu’s head snapped toward him, panic flashing across his face. “Yue-shixiong! You don’t understand—”

“I heard enough,” Yue Qingyuan said, his voice even but laden with disappointment. His gaze fell on Shen Qingqiu, pinning him in place.

“You supported a story that glorified Xiao Jiu’s death?” Yue Qingyuan’s voice was quiet, but each word struck like a blade. “You enjoyed his suffering, am I correct?”

“No,” Shen Qingqiu said desperately. “I didn’t—”

Scrambling for something else to say aside from repeating himself like an old record, harried out the worst possible thing he could say:

“You must have been sick of his endless pitying gaze, right?” Shen Qingqiu blurted, grasping for justification. His voice turned sharp, frantic. “His brothel visits? His weakness? You hated it too, didn’t you, Sect Leader? You must have been sick of it all—”

“Enough.”

Yue Qingyuan’s voice was steel. He took a step forward, his expression turning to stone. “You,” he said quietly, his tone trembling with suppressed fury, “are not my shidi.”

The room seemed to freeze. Shen Qingqiu’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Yue Qingyuan raised his hand, and an immortal-binding cable materialized in the air, wrapping around Shen Qingqiu before he could react. His protests were silenced as the cable tightened, sealing his spiritual energy.

“Keep his name out of your mouth,” Yue Qingyuan said, his voice trembling with emotion. His gaze burned with an intensity that made the air crackle. “Not my... Shen Jiu.” He sighed heavily, the weight of his grief evident. An admittance to death accepted. “This will be decided by the court.”

Shang Qinghua watched the scene unfold, his heart pounding. For once, he wasn’t the one under fire. But as his eyes flicked to Luo Binghe, who was now staring at him with something akin to reverence, and then back to Yue Qingyuan, whose grief seemed to fill the room, he realized something.

The world wasn’t just broken—it had been shattered beyond repair. And he was caught right in the middle of it.

---

Chapter Text

;3

---

The sound of soft, stifled sobs reached Shang Qinghua’s ears as he passed the courtyard leading to the Qing Jing Peak Hall. It was late afternoon, and his arms were laden with scrolls that had been marked *urgent* in yet another hastily scrawled missive from Mobei-Jun. His head was throbbing from the lack of sleep and overuse of his suppressants. Still, the noise tugged at him, faint but persistent, and his weary steps faltered.

He peeked around a tree to locate the source of the crying.

There, half-hidden behind a flowering bush, sat Ning Yingying. Her shoulders trembled as she clutched her knees to her chest. Her usual bright, animated demeanor had vanished, replaced by streaks of tears across her cheeks.

For a moment, Shang Qinghua froze. *Why is she crying?* His first instinct was to keep walking. It wasn’t his place to interfere with Qing Jing Peak’s personal matters. Plus, Shen Qingqiu had a way of turning the simplest questions into cold lectures if you dared poke your nose where it didn’t belong. But something in him twisted, tight and insistent, at the sight of her small figure shaking in distress.

Against his better judgment, Shang Qinghua set down his scrolls and approached.

“Ning-shimei?” he called softly, crouching down a few feet away so he wouldn’t startle her.

She jolted, startled, and quickly wiped at her face, though it did little to hide her red-rimmed eyes. “Peak Lord Shang?” she sniffled, her voice thick.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, keeping his tone light and non-threatening. He wasn’t sure what prompted him to reach out a hand, but he did, palm open and non-invasive. “Did something happen?”

For a moment, she didn’t respond. Then, like a dam breaking, she launched into a tearful explanation about a mistake she’d made during training that morning. Her words were disjointed, mixed with sobs, but Shang Qinghua pieced it together. She’d accidentally hurt one of her fellow disciples while practicing an array and blamed herself entirely for it, despite their insistence it wasn’t her fault.

Shang Qinghua opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, he felt an odd shift in the air. A faint, sweet scent, warm and calming, started to fill the space around them. He didn’t register it immediately—he was too focused on soothing Ning Yingying—but she noticeably relaxed, her breaths becoming less erratic as her shoulders eased.

Unconsciously, Shang Qinghua’s voice softened further. “Shimei, these things happen. Shen-shixiong wouldn’t let you practice dangerous techniques if he didn’t trust you to handle them. I bet he’ll be more worried that you’re sitting out here crying than about anything else.”

The more he spoke, the gentler the atmosphere became. His words were steady, tinged with comfort, as if wrapping Ning Yingying in a protective blanket. Only when she finally looked up at him with wide, tear-glossed eyes did he realize what was happening.

His suppressants—damn it.

They were failing again.

The realization sent a chill through Shang Qinghua’s body, but it was too late to reel his pheromones back in. They’d already started leaking, saturating the air with an omega’s calming scent. It wasn’t overpowering, just enough to take the edge off someone’s heightened emotions. Ning Yingying didn’t seem to notice the source, but her body reacted instinctively, relaxing under the influence.

Panic flared in Shang Qinghua’s chest, but he buried it under the practiced mask of a Peak Lord. “Come on,” he said gently, standing up and offering her a hand. “Let’s get you to Shen-shixiong. He’ll know what to do.”

---

Ning Yingying stayed quiet as Shang Qinghua led her to Shen Qingqiu’s quarters. The walk wasn’t long, but Shang Qinghua’s nerves frayed with every step. He could feel the faint pulse of his pheromones lingering in the air, and he prayed to any gods that might listen that Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t notice.

When they reached the door, Shang Qinghua knocked lightly.

It swung open almost immediately, revealing Shen Qingqiu’s sharp features. His brows furrowed when he saw Shang Qinghua, then immediately snapped to Ning Yingying.

“Yingying?” Shen Qingqiu’s tone softened just a fraction, his calculating gaze scanning her tear-streaked face. “What happened?”

“She had a bit of a rough day,” Shang Qinghua said quickly, stepping aside so Ning Yingying could step forward. “I thought it’d be best if she came to you.”

Shen Qingqiu’s frown deepened, and he guided his disciple inside with a hand on her shoulder. “Wait here,” he said to Shang Qinghua before disappearing into another room.

Now alone in Shen Qingqiu’s living quarters, Shang Qinghua shifted awkwardly. He should leave—he knew he should—but something kept him rooted to the spot. His eyes wandered over the neat, sparse furniture, the faint herbal smell in the air, and the stack of cushions neatly piled in one corner.

Without thinking, his hands moved.

---

Shen Qingqiu returned to the room a few minutes later, carrying a few clean cloths and a cup of water. He paused mid-step when he saw Shang Qinghua crouched in his living area, arms full of cushions and blankets.

“What are you doing?” Shen Qingqiu asked, his voice sharp with suspicion.

Shang Qinghua blinked up at him, looking dazed. “Huh?”

“You’re... nesting,” Shen Qingqiu said slowly, eyes narrowing as if trying to make sense of the scene.

Nesting?

Shang Qinghua glanced down at the abundance of cushions and blankets in his arms. He froze as the realization hit him like a thunderbolt. *Oh no. Oh no, no, no.* He hadn’t even realized what he was doing. His body had moved on its own, driven by instincts he’d kept suppressed for years. The pile of soft materials he’d gathered had already formed a loose circle on the floor, and he was clutching one of Shen Qingqiu’s robes to his chest.

“Uh,” Shang Qinghua said, his voice weak. “I can explain?”

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes dilated slightly, his usually composed demeanor cracking for a brief moment. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his gaze fixed on Shang Qinghua as if seeing him in an entirely new light.

“You’re an omega,” Shen Qingqiu said, the words more a statement than a question.

Shang Qinghua’s mouth opened, then closed. He wanted to deny it, brush it off as a misunderstanding, but the evidence was quite literally piled at his feet.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Shang Qinghua said desperately.

Shen Qingqiu’s expression darkened, though his voice remained eerily calm. “What is it, then?”

Before Shang Qinghua could answer, Ning Yingying’s soft voice broke the tension. “Peak Lord Shang... thank you.”

Both men turned to her. She was sitting at the edge of the makeshift nest, her eyes red but no longer crying. She clutched one of the cushions tightly, her body visibly more relaxed than before.

Shang Qinghua’s heart twisted. He wanted to say something, but Shen Qingqiu spoke first.

“Go to your quarters, Yingying,” Shen Qingqiu said, his tone gentle but firm. “I’ll speak with you later.”

She hesitated, glancing between them, but eventually nodded and left the room.

---

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Shang Qinghua stood awkwardly by the nest- his nest, his hands fidgeting with the edge of his sleeves. Shen Qingqiu remained standing a few feet away, his piercing gaze fixed on him.

“You’ve been taking suppressants,” Shen Qingqiu said finally, his tone carefully neutral.

Shang Qinghua winced. “Uh, yeah?”

“For how long?”

“A while.”

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrowed. “Define ‘a while.’”

Shang Qinghua sighed, slumping forward slightly. “Years, okay? Years. It’s not a big deal—”

“It *is* a big deal,” Shen Qingqiu snapped, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. “Do you have any idea what that does to your body? Your health?”

Shang Qinghua blinked, caught off guard by the genuine concern in Shen Qingqiu’s voice. He opened his mouth to respond, but Shen Qingqiu cut him off.

“And why hide it?” Shen Qingqiu demanded. “If you’d told Mu Qingfang—”

“I didn’t *want* anyone to know!” Shang Qinghua shot back, surprising even himself with the force of his words. “Do you have any idea what it’s like? People already look at me like I’m some useless coward. If they knew I was an omega, it’d be worse.”

Shen Qingqiu’s expression shifted, something unreadable flickering across his face. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Shang Qinghua said bitterly. “You know how people are. Alphas, betas—doesn’t matter. They think omegas are weak. Helpless.

Do you think half of the transactions I control would have happened if they knew?”

The silence stretched between them, heavy and tense.

Shen Qingqiu finally sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “You’re not weak, Shang-shidi. And you’re not helpless.”

Shang Qinghua stared at him, stunned into silence.

“I’ll get Mu Qingfang to take a look at you,” Shen Qingqiu said, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re not continuing this without proper guidance. And for the record...” He hesitated, his gaze softening just a fraction. “You’re more capable than you give yourself credit for.”

Shang Qinghua blinked, his throat tightening. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he nodded, a small, hesitant smile tugging at his lips.

For the first time in years, he felt a little less alone.

---

Chapter Text

>w<
---

Shang Qinghua sat on a particularly uncomfortable chair in his study, shifting from side to side, trying to alleviate the ache in his butt. He winced, muttering under his breath. “Stupid horses. Stupid ancient world. Who thought putting saddles on animals was the height of transportation innovation? My modern butt wasn’t made for this!”

A stack of scrolls loomed before him, mocking him with their sheer presence. He had just returned from a grueling ride between peaks, his backside sore, and his nerves fried. Horseback riding seemed so cool in dramas—wind blowing in the rider’s hair, the hero charging toward victory. In reality, it was chafing, bouncing, and the occasional indignity of slipping off the saddle when the horse decided to stop abruptly.

Shang Qinghua groaned, rubbing his lower back. “Okay, think, Shang Qinghua. You're a genius. You invented a whole *cultivation world*. There has to be a better way to get around!”

He drummed his fingers on the desk, memories of his modern life flashing in his mind. Cars? Too complicated to recreate. Bicycles? Too conspicuous. Hoverboards? Even the System would probably laugh at him for trying.

His gaze drifted to the floor, where his pen had rolled off. “Wheels…”

And then it hit him. His eyes widened in excitement as he shot up from his chair, ignoring the sharp pang in his tailbone. “Shoes. Wheels. *Roller skates!*”

---

The next week was a blur of trial and error, bribing disciples to fetch materials from the nearest town and converting a section of his workshop into a testing ground. At first, his prototypes were disasters—wooden wheels that splintered, shoes that didn’t support his ankles, and one ill-advised attempt with a metal frame that nearly sent him flying into a wall.

But eventually, Shang Qinghua stood proudly in his courtyard, balancing on a pair of sleek, functional roller skates. He had even painted them black for aesthetic purposes.

“Behold!” he declared to no one in particular. “The future of transportation!”

And then he pushed off.

At first, it was a little wobbly, but his modern instincts kicked in. He glided across the courtyard, his robes fluttering behind him. He whooped, spinning around in a small circle.

“I still got it!” he cheered, only to promptly crash into a tree.

---

Shang Qinghua’s newfound mode of transportation quickly became the talk of An Ding Peak. At first, the disciples watched with curiosity as their Peak Lord zipped around the sect’s grounds. Then they watched with barely concealed terror as he gained confidence, speeding past them while yelling, “Coming through! Make way for innovation!”

But Shang Qinghua didn’t care. He was free! No more horses, no more sword flights that left him queasy. Just him, his roller skates, and the open path ahead.

One day, while zipping around the peak, Shang Qinghua was intercepted by a harried-looking disciple.

“Peak Lord Shang, these scrolls need to be delivered to the Sect Leader immediately,” the disciple said, thrusting a bundle into his hands.

Shang Qinghua blinked, already calculating how far Yue Qingyuan’s meeting hall was. A smirk tugged at his lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”

And with that, he pushed off, leaving the disciple staring after him in bewilderment.

---

Yue Qingyuan’s meeting hall was a place of order and decorum. The sect leader sat at the head of the table, Shen Qingqiu to his right, several prominent sect leaders from neighboring regions to his left. They were in the middle of discussing defensive strategies when a faint noise disrupted the conversation.

It started as a distant hum, like the low buzz of something rolling over stone. The sound grew louder, accompanied by a faint swish of fabric.

Yue Qingyuan paused mid-sentence, glancing toward the door. Shen Qingqiu raised an eyebrow, his sharp gaze already assessing the source of the disturbance.

And then, like a whirlwind of chaos, Shang Qinghua rolled into the room.

He was gliding smoothly, his movements surprisingly graceful for someone who had spent most of his life hunched over a desk. His roller skates made a soft clicking sound as they crossed the stone floor.

“Scroll delivery!” Shang Qinghua announced brightly, coming to a smooth stop in the center of the room.

The room fell into stunned silence.

Shang Qinghua ignored the incredulous stares, pulling out the scrolls with a flourish. “One for Sect Leader Yue…” He handed the first scroll to Yue Qingyuan, who accepted it with the faintest hint of a smile.

“And one for Shen Qingqiu…”

Shen Qingqiu stared at him, his expression a mixture of disbelief and disdain. He took the scroll without a word, his fingers brushing Shang Qinghua’s briefly.

“And for our distinguished guests…” Shang Qinghua continued, rolling around the table to deliver the remaining scrolls.

By the time he finished, the sect leaders were murmuring amongst themselves, clearly trying to process what they had just witnessed.

“Alrighty, my job here is done!” Shang Qinghua said cheerfully. He pushed off again, executing a surprisingly clean backward glide toward the door. “Don’t mind me, carry on with your important discussions—”

“*Shang Qinghua.*”

The sharp tone of Shen Qingqiu’s voice stopped him in his tracks. Shang Qinghua turned, offering an awkward smile. “Yes, Qingqiu-shixiong?”

“What… are you wearing?” Shen Qingqiu’s tone was as icy as his glare, though there was a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth that suggested he was holding back laughter.

“Uh, these?” Shang Qinghua gestured to his roller skates. “They’re called roller skates. Revolutionary, right?”

Shen Qingqiu pinched the bridge of his nose. “Leave. Before you embarrass yourself further.”

Shang Qinghua saluted him, clearly unfazed. “You got it, boss.”

As he rolled out of the room, Yue Qingyuan’s soft chuckle broke the tense silence.

“Well,” the sect leader said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “That was certainly… unique.”

Shen Qingqiu shot him a glare. “Don’t encourage him, Sect Leader.”

---

Outside, Shang Qinghua leaned against a pillar, catching his breath. He could feel the adrenaline still coursing through him, a triumphant grin plastered across his face.

“That went well,” he muttered to himself.

“Did it?”

The voice made him jump. He turned to see Shen Qingqiu standing behind him, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“Qingqiu-shixiong! Fancy seeing you here!” Shang Qinghua said, his voice a little too high-pitched.

Shen Qingqiu sighed, stepping closer. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Hey, ridiculousness is my brand,” Shang Qinghua replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

For a moment, Shen Qingqiu said nothing, his gaze lingering on the roller skates. Then, to Shang Qinghua’s surprise, a small, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Only you would come up with something like this,” Shen Qingqiu said softly.

Shang Qinghua blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Then he grinned. “What can I say? I’m a genius.”

Shen Qingqiu rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance in his expression. “Just don’t roll into any more important meetings.”

“No promises,” Shang Qinghua replied, pushing off and gliding away.

As he disappeared down the path, Shen Qingqiu shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered, though there was a warmth in his tone that hadn’t been there before.

———

Spin off (kinda)??:

---

The grand hall of Qing Jing Peak hummed softly with the murmur of disciples bustling about their duties. Shang Qinghua—still gracefully rolling on his custom-made roller skates—slid into the scene, clutching a few scrolls under one arm. The unusual sight of him zooming around had already stirred murmurs among the younger disciples, but for Luo Binghe, the sight was... transcendent.

Binghe, stationed nearby under the guise of assisting his shizun, froze in place. His dark lashes lowered as he stole a long, almost predatory glance at the oblivious Shang Qinghua. The faint almond scent of Qinghua lingered faintly in the air as he skated past, and Binghe’s head tilted slightly, his lips curling into a soft, disarming smile.

‘Shishu is so… peculiar,’ Binghe thought, outwardly the picture of innocence. ‘So different from the others here. Not bound by the stiffness of sect protocol. And yet... so utterly defenseless. Doesn’t he know what kind of people walk these halls?’

The light clatter of the roller skates echoed as Shang Qinghua spun neatly, his robes fluttering as he stopped to examine a scroll. The fluidity of the motion was almost mesmerizing. It was... distracting. Too distracting.

Binghe’s fists clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowing slightly despite himself. A foreign heat prickled his chest. He tried to suppress the darker thread weaving its way into his thoughts. ‘If Shishu belonged to someone, no one else would dare look at him.’

The sudden screech of Shen Qingqiu’s folding fan snapping open shattered Binghe’s musings.

“Little beast,” Shen Qingqiu’s voice was clipped, his green robes swishing as he appeared beside Binghe, eyebrows raised with thinly veiled disdain. “Is there a reason you’re standing there gawking like an idiot, or should I fetch you a mop for your drool?”

Binghe blinked, immediately adopting his signature white lotus expression: wide eyes, head bowed, the picture of obedient contrition.

“Shizun!” Binghe said, his voice soft and trembling, as if Shen Qingqiu had caught him committing the greatest of crimes (and not just looking at his *shidi* a moment too long). “I was only admiring Shishu’s skill. He moves so... gracefully. Isn’t it wonderful?”

Shen Qingqiu’s fan snapped shut with an audible *click*, his eyes narrowing.

“Graceful? What’s graceful about a man on wheels who can barely keep his footing half the time?”

The hypocrisy was stunning, considering Qinghua had nearly glided circles around half the sect this morning, and Shen Qingqiu had almost tripped over his own hem trying to avoid him. But that wasn’t the point. The point was Binghe staring at *his shidi* like he was a snack—and not the almond variety Qinghua was always snacking on.

Binghe’s smile didn’t waver. If anything, it deepened, as if Shen Qingqiu’s barbs couldn’t touch him. But inside, a flicker of irritation rose. ‘How possessive,’ he thought. ‘Does Shizun even realize?’

At that moment, Shang Qinghua skated back into view, oblivious to the tension coiled between the two figures. He skidded to a halt a little too sharply, stumbling before catching himself on a pillar.

“Whoo!” Qinghua exclaimed, straightening and grinning nervously at the audience he didn’t realize he had. “Man, you’d think after skating so much in my last lif- uh- village I’d be better at this by now.”

His self-deprecating chuckle was met with silence. Shen Qingqiu’s eye twitched, while Binghe looked as though he were suppressing laughter.

“Shang Qinghua,” Shen Qingqiu called, voice deceptively calm.

“Hmm?” Qinghua turned to him, a pleasant smile on his face.

“I don’t suppose you’re planning to roll into another meeting anytime soon?” Shen Qingqiu’s voice was polite, but the edge was unmistakable.

“Oh! No, no, of course not!” Qinghua waved his hand dismissively. “I’m done with the peak-hopping for today. Anyway, Shixiong, don’t worry—I’m going to figure out how to make these skates quieter. You won’t even hear me coming next time!”

The mere thought made Shen Qingqiu bristle. Binghe, however, bit back a smirk, his gaze flicking between the two of them.

“Shishu,” Binghe said, his voice sweet, “you’re very creative. Maybe you should teach me how to make these... roller skates?”

Qinghua paused mid-skate, turning toward Binghe with an appraising look.

“Teach you?” Qinghua said, surprised. “Uh, I mean, sure, but don’t you have, like, your sword?”

‘And your whole cool protagonist thing,’ was left unsaid but Shang Qinghua was definitely thinking it!!

Binghe tilted his head, his expression painfully innocent.

“But wouldn’t it be nice to have something... unconventional? Like you, Shishu?”

Shen Qingqiu’s fan snapped open again, his tone laced with irritation.

“I think we’ve indulged your nonsense long enough,” he said sharply, stepping between Qinghua and Binghe. “Binghe, don’t you have tasks to attend to? Somewhere far away from here?”

“Of course, Shizun,” Binghe murmured, bowing his head in deference. But as he turned to leave, his gaze lingered just a moment too long on Shang Qinghua, the smile on his lips never quite reaching his eyes.

As Binghe walked away, Shen Qingqiu’s grip tightened on his fan. He glanced over at Qinghua, who was now attempting a spin on his skates and failing miserably, nearly colliding with another disciple.

Shen Qingqiu sighed.

“Shang Qinghua, you’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered.

From down the hall, Binghe smirked to himself. ‘Not if I get to him first.’

---

Chapter Text

:3

The medicinal herbs lay limp in Mu Qingfang’s hand, drooping like dejected disciples after a harsh scolding. He cradled the bundle of wilted stalks delicately, as if handling the tiniest of patients, though the plants were already too far gone for care. The once-lush leaves were brittle to the touch, crumbling like ash under his practiced fingers.

This was a disaster.

A rare ginseng flower he had picked himself during this trek—a miracle to find at all in the wild—was now browning around the edges. It had been his single chance to concoct a salve for Liu Qingge’s more recent injury: a careless gouge along his side earned during what the Sword Saint smugly called "an impromptu spar with a particularly sturdy rockslide."

Mu Qingfang’s frustration teetered on uncharacteristic levels. Liu Qingge might as well be immortal given the alarming frequency of his injuries and narrow brushes with death—but this time? No miracle cures, no salve, no regrowth potion would be possible unless these herbs… somehow resurrected themselves.

Off to the side, Shang Qinghua slumped lazily beneath the shade of a massive tree. He had insisted they take a break, half-heartedly muttering something about needing to recalibrate his inner qi or risk his body self-destructing. ("Obviously very tragic, but… can't have my glorious soul leaving without a packed lunch, right? Haha!")

The Head of An Ding Peak was as useless as ever when it came to Mu Qingfang’s health missions, but the healer had begrudgingly allowed the break when Liu Qingge hadn’t argued against it. Now, though, sitting with these dead herbs and no solution, Mu Qingfang felt defeat weighing heavily in his bones.

With a long sigh, he reclined against the soft mossy ground beside his sect brother, glancing sidelong at Shang Qinghua's supine form. His fellow Peak Lord was dead asleep—chubby cheeks puffing out slightly with each gentle snore, chest rising in soft, steady breaths. His wrists were tucked neatly under his chin like a sleepy kitten, delicate and perfectly at ease.

Mu Qingfang hated that he envied him in this moment. Not for the first time, either.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw something shift.

At first, he thought the sunlight filtering through the trees was playing tricks on him. One of the crushed herbs in his open hand—its dull, wilting stem lying limp in the curve of his palm—seemed to stir. Slowly, so slowly that Mu Qingfang froze in place, the herb’s leaves stood upright, almost shaking themselves free of their limpness. Color rushed back into their veins—greens so vibrant it was as if the plant was freshly plucked at the peak of its vitality.

"... What in the heavens…"

He looked down, rubbing his eyes to make sure it wasn't just exhaustion setting in. Then, cautiously, he leaned over toward Shang Qinghua’s sleeping form. And froze.

Beneath the Head of An Ding Peak, flowers were sprouting.

Tiny buds dotted the moss beneath him, each one blooming into full blossoms as if inspired by the mere proximity of Shang Qinghua's body. They were delicate blooms at first: subtle lavender orchids, soft pink clovers, and starry sprays of yellow honeysuckle weaving into the grass.

One particular vine had taken a liking to Qinghua's wrist, looping around his arm in a protective curl. The flower rested lazily against his chest, as if basking in the privilege of brushing against their sleeping creator.

"No," Mu Qingfang muttered to himself, his voice flat with disbelief. "No, this can’t be…"

But the evidence was undeniable. The herbs he had placed in front of Shang Qinghua earlier, back when they had all gathered for lunch, were reviving too. Leaves stretched out eagerly, glowing as if dipped in pure spring dew. Even the ginseng flower—a pitifully brittle specimen only moments before—now shone with vibrant golds, its leaves pulsing faintly like a beating heart.

It hit Mu Qingfang all at once.

This wasn’t a coincidence. These plants, their flourishing recovery, their *affectionate clinging*... It wasn’t the work of nature's regenerative cycle.

They were worshiping their creator.

“Oh… Oh, heavens.”

His medical mind—trained in logic and experimentation—fumbled frantically to explain. Was this Shang Qinghua’s qi in some unholy, unexplored form? A coincidence of strong energy flows nearby? Or... Or had it been this obvious all along that the *Heavens-forsaken author of this plane of existence* was walking among them?

Mu Qingfang fought a hysterical laugh and glanced around, half-expecting Liu Qingge to leap into the scene with an unnecessary sword swing and completely ruin this unprecedented phenomenon. Thankfully, the Sword Saint was further upstream, still rinsing blood from his robes with careless splashes.

“I—Shang Qinghua! Wake up! Shixiong, *wake up*!”

Mu Qingfang clutched the revived herbs close as he leaned down and shook the Peak Lord’s shoulder. His gaze briefly drifted to the cluster of blooming flowers beneath the other man, vines curling gently around his shoes and arms as if reluctant to let go. “*Shixiong!*”

“Ugh, wha—”

Shang Qinghua squinted, groaning groggily as he rubbed the back of his neck. His bedhead stuck out at strange angles, and the red crease along his cheek was suspiciously shaped like a squashed leaf. “This better be important,” he grumbled. “I was just getting to the good part of my nap…”

Mu Qingfang ignored the sass, holding up the fully healed ginseng herb between them.

“These… these were completely dead minutes ago. And now—look! Are you seeing this?”

“Uh, congrats? You’ve finally figured out that herbs are resilient? Nature’s kinda cool like that, y’know?” Qinghua blinked blearily and sat up, oblivious to the wild sprouting of flowers continuing around him. A lily reached toward his face as if it could kiss him directly.

“Shixiong…” Mu Qingfang said in the soft, weary tone one uses when realizing a truth too incomprehensible to take lightly, “-these plants aren’t regrowing naturally. This is… because of *you.*”

“What?”

“You fell asleep, and they… I can’t believe I’m saying this—they *healed themselves.* Your energy, or your presence—whatever it is—has completely restored them.”

Shang Qinghua tilted his head, brows furrowing skeptically. “I’m the ‘herb whisperer’ now? Oh yeah, just what my resume needed.”

When Mu Qingfang didn’t crack even a ghost of a smile, Shang Qinghua hesitated, glancing around himself. For the first time, he noticed the strange flora gathering at his side—clusters of vibrant blooms erupting from patches of dull grass.

“Oh… Oh no,” he whispered, suddenly paling. “Nope. Nah. Absolutely not.”

“Shixiong.” Mu Qingfang's tone was dry.

“It’s a prank! Hah! Yeah, um—someone’s enchanted the moss here for laughs! Probably Qingqiu-shixiong. Yep. Totally his style.” He leaned closer to inspect a suspiciously symmetrical daffodil. “Right? ... Right?”

The flower, to Mu Qingfang’s mounting horror, seemed to lift toward Shang Qinghua with genuine affection.

Mu Qingfang wanted to faint.

"You're hiding something, aren't you?" he demanded weakly.

"*Wha—*"

"You've done .. *something*—the earth, the wind and apparently even flora and fauna, are responding in kind. It's as if they recognize their *God.*” Mu Qingfang clenched the herb bundle, flabbergasted beyond measure. "How in all Heavens did no one notice?!"

Shang Qinghua visibly panicked, waving his hands. “Nope, nope, I reject this lore rewrite—get a better editor! Did I come with a bug report template or something?! No way I’m responsible for a forest uprising!”

Mu Qingfang would normally roll his eyes at Qinghua's dramatics (add odd wording). But in this moment, surrounded by a floral adoration never seen before, he just sat back down quietly. Perhaps he, too, needed a moment to understand their "almighty Creator's" next ridiculous move.

As for Shang Qinghua? Well, *he* still had absolutely no idea why the flowers adored him—but he definitely preferred to keep it that way.

--- After further processing…

Mu Qingfang sat cross-legged, staring at his shixiong with the resigned gaze of a doctor confronting yet another unexpected phenomenon during an already trying day.

“I swear on the entire medical wing,” he murmured finally, rubbing his temples, “if this turns into another disaster involving Peak Lord Shen’s compost fertilizer schemes, I’m never taking you on a supply mission again.”

Shang Qinghua didn’t immediately reply. He was still cautiously poking a fern-like plant by his knee that had curled its fronds toward his hand like a shy animal seeking affection. Its spiky, translucent edges softened as he touched them, even releasing a faint golden pollen.

“This doesn’t prove anything,” he said stubbornly, although his unease was so palpable it might as well have been an offering at Mu Qingfang’s feet.

“Shixiong.”

“You’re exaggerating! Plants do this all the time. Probably, you know… soil differences! Mineral pockets? I mean, really, how well do we know this region? I bet it's the terrain.”

“Shixiong.” Mu Qingfang leaned forward, gesturing pointedly at the vibrant growth below them. “You stepped on a dead branch earlier, and it turned into blossoms.”

“That sounds pretty normal to me,” Shang Qinghua muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “Nature’s unpredictable?”

Mu Qingfang placed both hands on his knees to ground himself. “Fine. Let me phrase it another way. Has anything else strange like this ever happened around you?”

Shang Qinghua froze like a bird in front of a cat. His eyes darted shiftily to the side. “I mean… I dunno? Not really... Uh, actually—ooh, look, there’s Liu Qingge! Time to leave the interrogation room, right?” He awkwardly scrambled to his feet, shoving his sleeve down hurriedly to cover where a vine had started inching toward his forearm.

Mu Qingfang intercepted him smoothly, rising with the kind of disciplined precision that came from years of combat medicine training. “Shixiong,” he said, blocking the man’s attempted getaway. “The faster you tell me what’s happening, the faster we can get this over with. I won’t pry unnecessarily, but it’s clear you’re… different.”

Shang Qinghua puffed out his chest with performative confidence, avoiding eye contact. “Of course I’m different! An Ding Peak is full of geniuses, and naturally, yours truly sets the bar—so what? You’ve known this for ages, shidi. Why all the sudden panic over a little miraculous greenery?”

“Because the heavens aren’t subtle, shixiong,” Mu Qingfang snapped, his patience thinning. “They’re practically dragging you by the hand, or in this case, growing gardens at your feet. At least tell me if it’s something I can manage as a physician—or if I should alert the sect.”

Shang Qinghua’s smirk faltered.

“That’s an empty bluff!” He grinned shakily, his brows high on his forehead. “Liu Qingge wouldn’t even care about some weeds growing in my direction. He’s too busy flexing!”

“You wouldn’t make it two seconds under Zhangmen-shixiongs scrutiny.”

That struck a nerve. Shang Qinghua flinched, both hands held up as if placating an irate shopkeeper. “Hah, okay, okay, fine. You want my confession? You got it: I’m amazing with plants! A pure-bred gardening genius! Isn’t it obvious?”

Mu Qingfang raised an unimpressed brow.

He tapped a still-glowing ginseng root that had somehow grown a full flowered stalk in a single burst of sunlight. “…Plants adore me, it’s a gift! I touch ‘em, and boom! Agriculture! Really straightforward. Everyone gets one absurd talent, shidi; this one’s mine!” He flourished with both hands as if presenting himself as the grandest sage of horticulture alive.

“…You truly believe that?”

“Well…”

Silence stretched between them. The vines along Qinghua's arm crept farther up toward his shoulder before curling themselves neatly, almost decoratively, across the loose fabric of his outer robes.

“...It’s new! Totally new development!” He paused, looking genuinely worried for the first time. “Wait, you think it’s poison, don’t you?”

Before Mu Qingfang could respond with biting sarcasm, Liu Qingge arrived noisily, dripping river water down the grassy path. “What’s this nonsense about poison?” the Sword Saint grunted, looking vaguely annoyed even though no one was speaking to him directly.

“Liu Qingge!” Shang Qinghua spun toward him, all false bravado now alight with obvious desperation. “Do you see anything weird around me? I mean, really weird? Spiritual fluctuations? Ghostly sparks?”

“No.” Liu Qingge stood taller, eyeing him suspiciously. “…Although.” He flicked water carelessly from his sleeve, adjusting the edge of his blade. “Is that a rose vine choking you, Shang Qinghua?”

“AHHHHHH!”

Mu Qingfang sighed wearily and stepped back as Shang Qinghua erupted into loud, incoherent shrieks about “evil grass conspiracies” and “no, I’m not getting married in the woods!”

The flowers reacted by blooming bigger.

——-

Liu Qingge had seen plenty of strange things in his life—he wasn’t fazed by bizarre occurrences the way others might be. But the sight in front of him made his throat tighten a little.

Shang Qinghua was sitting beneath a cluster of thick trees, those trees with their rich, green leaves... now reaching toward Qinghua, like they knew him—like they cared for him.

The boy was oblivious to everything. As always. But Liu Qingge’s eyes were caught by the way the vines curled so delicately over Qinghua’s hands, how the blossoms bloomed ever so slightly at his touch, even though Qinghua hadn’t noticed—his attention too focused on what was still to him just an odd day.

It wasn’t just nature loving him. No—there was something more… like some unseen force drawing them, all of them, to him. The plants could sense something he was unaware of. The connection was undeniable, unspoken—divine.

Liu Qingge clenched his fist, feeling an intense pressure in his chest as his gaze landed on the boy.

Mu Qingfang was hovering over Qinghua too, clearly torn between fascination and something else. There was a hunger in his expression—gently restrained, as if he were too focused on his knowledge to let himself feel any more than he could contain. He was sharp, calculating—but there was that soft edge to him whenever he looked at Qinghua.

Liu Qingge wasn’t blind. And though he prided himself on his emotional control (despite Shen Qingqiu’s declaration of him being a “mindless beast”), something inside him surged. The slight brush of Qinghua’s fingers against Mu Qingfang’s arm earlier hadn't been an accident—it had made Qingfang flinch, his mouth twisting with a conflicted look before he had quickly turned away.

Liu Qingge swore quietly. He’d watched Qinghua interact with others before, playful and oblivious as always. But now… now that youthful nonchalance felt more like a quiet signal that everything he did would unravel their carefully constructed armor of indifference.

The worst part? Liu Qingge wasn’t even sure if he was jealous or unjustly possessive.

Mu Qingfang didn’t even seem to notice it—that—the reason his skin flushed every time Qinghua gave him that absent smile. But it was there. It was there. Liu Qingge wanted to fight it. Wanted to tell Mu Qingfang to step back, keep his distance… even as his thoughts conflicted, as they flickered uncomfortably between the shift in Mu Qingfang's behavior and his own.

He wanted to say something, anything. Make himself known. Tell Qinghua he didn’t have to be so unaware. But the tension was becoming unbearable.

Instead, Liu Qingge let his arms fall loose at his sides, walking slowly toward them as his gaze flickered back at Mu Qingfang—who hadn’t yet broken eye contact from Qinghua. And it hurt—because that feeling he’d felt growing between them ... the one that felt like the undeniable pull of something quiet yet undeniable...

And for the first time in years, Liu Qingge doubted his own clarity.

—-

Mu Qingfang’s attention remained fixed on Shang Qinghua, watching the gentle sway of his robes as he muttered something to himself, oblivious to the soft, swirling growth around him. A part of him wanted to reach out. There had been so many moments, quiet ones, when his hands had just itched to brush against Qinghua’s—carefully, reverently.

But no. Qinghua wasn’t looking.

Still... every time he spoke, or simply moved, a sense of warmth filled Mu Qingfang’s chest. Those disarming, reckless words, his honest naïveté... it tugged at something deep inside, too deep for words to catch.

And Mu Qingfang knew, deep in the pit of his stomach, that he wanted nothing more than to pull Qinghua into his arms, protect him... worship the wild beauty he didn't even know he had. But the restraint—it pressed against him like a heavy chain.

"You... you're not scared, are you?" he asked, his voice softer than he’d intended, barely a whisper above the distant hum of the forest. His eyes flickered from Qinghua’s wide, confused expression to the creeping flowers surrounding him.

Shang Qinghua's lips twisted into a dry laugh. "Scared?" He let out a little chuckle, shaking his head. "About plants? Pfft. They’re not alive or anything—well, not alive like... I don't know, people. What’s the worst that’ll happen?”

A smile tugged at the corner of Mu Qingfang’s mouth. Gods, how he was cute.

But it wasn’t just that. Every piece of his being yearned to defend Qinghua, to embrace the subtle, earnest form of devotion in his heart that Qinghua didn't even know about. It ran deeper than just his knowledge of medicinal herbs, of how everything seemed to bloom under his hands... It was his soul. Something about Qinghua felt... otherworldly.

Mu Qingfang bit his lip to stifle the growing pressure behind his chest. Every glance he gave Qinghua seemed to speak volumes of quiet admiration and secret affections he could never openly claim. He could never tell him how often his thoughts strayed, imagining that pure smile—how it made him weak to witness.

"Don’t be reckless, Qinghua,” Mu Qingfang’s tone softened again. His gaze softened, too—though he couldn’t hide the storm brewing beneath it.

Yet, as Qinghua turned toward him, eyes sparkling with that familiar, lost look, he felt himself fall. There were no questions left. No pretense. There was simply this—this gravitational force pulling at him.

As Liu Qingge watched them silently, he couldn't help but wonder what, exactly, this feeling was between all of them. Wonder at this new development?? The connection had been growing... slipping from strange to undeniable.

Qinghua remained blissfully unaware, a trait both of them loathed and silently appreciated (loved) in him.

But that was exactly what made him dangerous, Liu Qingge realized as his breath caught in his throat.

There was just them and blooming flowers.

The seeds are planted; it's only a matter of time until they grow.

Chapter Text

For Shang Qinghua, being overlooked was both a blessing and a curse. Mostly a blessing, honestly. As the head of the least remarkable peak—*support logistics!*—he’d mastered the art of blending into the background. It wasn’t as if he were hiding, per se. He just… didn’t stand out.

It wasn’t his *fault* people skimmed over him during meetings. Or that disciples stumbled past him, muttering apologies without actually looking at him. Or even that in critical situations, *his own plans* were attributed to Shen Qingqiu's sharp mind or Liu Qingge's heroic instincts.

To Shang Qinghua, this was simply the nature of the world—a Creator’s burden, in fact! He chalked it all up to narrative necessity. Someone had to take the fall so the leads could shine, right?

But one otherwise uneventful morning, something changed.

It started during a routine conference in the Peak Lords’ meeting hall.

Shang Qinghua was doodling squiggles on the corner of a report meant to detail An Ding Peak's supply budget. He knew no one was really listening to him. Why would they? His numbers were solid, his work was thankless, and—most importantly—he was just plain forgettable. That was fine by him. Being overlooked had saved his butt on more occasions than he could count.

He sighed as he swirled a particularly aggressive spiral onto the parchment, half-listening to Liu Qingge complain about the state of their shared training facilities. "The floors are too slippery" and "some Peak disciples can't handle even basic dueling stances" were part of his standard repertoire. Shang Qinghua didn't need to pay attention—he could practically predict how the arguments would go.

He doodled a little creature next to his numbers for flair. Cute. That’s when he felt a shift in the room's energy.

At that precise moment, Yue Qingyuan (who should have been attempting to sway his darling Xiao-Ji- ahem.. Shen Qingqiu about disciples or something equally predictable (basically anything he could wean out of him)) turned his gaze toward him.

It wasn’t the usual dismissive glance of thinly veiled irritation (for, once more, interrupting his dead Xiao Joy’s tantrums) or , equally the only veiled, boredom Shang Qinghua was used to. No, this gaze had weight.

And what’s more—Yue Qingyuan wasn’t the only one looking at him. One by one, other Peak Lords started stealing glances in his direction: Mu Qingfang, with his habitual mild composure, had straightened his posture as his eyes darted toward Shang Qinghua. Even Liu Qingge, mid-rant, had frozen just long enough to glance at him.

Shang Qinghua paused mid-doodle, pen hovering above his masterpiece as his brows furrowed in confusion. Was there something on his face? A sudden zit or weird forehead scar he’d forgotten about? He nervously wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his sleeve just in case.

“Uh…” he muttered, glancing around cautiously. “Am I missing something?”

“No, nothing important,” Shen Qingqiu replied too quickly, turning back to ignore their resident bullied sect leader with a faint scowl—but not before his eyes trailed briefly over Shang Qinghua again, more pensive than dismissive.

Something was definitely wrong.

Even Shen Qingqius’ “beast” that he was forced to bring along via Ning Yingying, eyes narrowed, his expression shifting into something suspiciously sharp, a testament of the future demon lords mantling power. A pause hovered, awkward and heavy, before Luo Binghe tilted his head ever so slightly, muttering something lightly under his breath.

Okay. Weird. Why was the protagonist even looking at him? Is this a death flag..??!

Shang Qinghua blinked and glanced around for a distraction, praying someone else had caught the little moment and would offer an explanation. What he saw instead left him uneasy.

Shen Qingqiu, in the middle of now berating Liu Qingge for wasting sect funds on ridiculous sword repairs (real), also returned his attention toward him—piercing green eyes narrowing as his voice faltered. For the briefest second, he seemed completely distracted.

“Shang Qinghua,” Shen Qingqiu muttered, almost to himself, “why do you…” He shook his head slightly, narrowing his gaze further before pulling his fan out to hide whatever expression crossed his face. “No. Never mind. Just—stay quiet as usual, Qinghua.”

“O-..kay…?”

Then there was Liu Qingge.

Liu Qingge—normally as invested in ignoring Shang Qinghua as everyone else—looked oddly startled. He frowned and tried to cover it up by folding his arms, but his eyes darted toward Shang Qinghua’s face like he couldn’t help himself. Then, before Qinghua could even process that tiny moment, the Sword Saint quickly turned his head away as if embarrassed to be caught.

Something was off.

Really, really off.

By the time the meeting wrapped up, Shang Qinghua was practically sweating. Forget the usual powerplays or side-character energy—he felt like everyone was staring at him.

Nope, nope, NOPE!!

He’d spent too much effort surviving (read: Following the systems whims or face certain death) in this story to risk catching attention now!

So, naturally, he speed-walked the lengthy treck straight back to An Ding Peak, (flying was hard, okay?? And truly, he couldn’t trust his nervous state + sword would = success) determined to bunker down with paperwork until this bizarre phenomenon blew over.

But it didn’t blow over.

It got worse.

“Shang Qinghua-!.. Shixiong!”

He looked up from his desk, startled, to see Mu Qingfang entering his office. Qingfang wasn’t an unusual visitor—he checked on everyone often, healer instincts and all. Usually, though, his tone was brisk and professional.

Today, his voice held a strange hesitance.

“What’s up, uhh shidi?” Shang Qinghua asked, trying to sound casual.

Mu Qingfang stepped closer, brow furrowed in thought, but didn’t answer right away. Instead, he seemed… distracted, scanning Shang Qinghua’s face. His usual brisk mannerisms had slowed down, replaced by something contemplative.

“You’re… different,” Mu Qingfang murmured after a long pause. His lips pressed into a line, and he crossed his arms, as if unsure how to approach the subject.

“Different?!” Shang squeaked, clutching his robe dramatically. “Oh no, my qi! Did I accidentally self-destruct after all? Is this my ghost?? Tell me now; I can handle it!”

Mu Qingfang blinked, startled out of whatever reverie had consumed him. “... What? No. That’s not what I meant.”

“Well, what do you mean, then?”

Goddamn propriety- just say what you mean, Shidi!!

For a moment, the healer looked torn. Then he sighed. “Forget I said anything. Are you still feeling overworked? You mentioned it during your (forced) last exam.”

He was covering something up, Shang Qinghua could tell.

“... Nope! No work stress at all! Everything’s fine! Haha!” Shang answered, waving him off a little too eagerly. He definitely didn’t want Mu Qingfang running a check-up if the problem turned out to be real. “Go save some lives, shidi!”

“Alright…” Mu Qingfang hesitated but eventually left with a reluctant nod.

As soon as he was gone, Shang Qinghua let out a groan and slumped against his desk.

What the heck was going on?

An hour later, he still hadn’t figured it out. His best theory so far? Maybe there was some mysterious, once-in-a-lifetime celestial alignment making everyone in Cang Qiong act weirder than usual.

But his peace was quickly interrupted.

“Shang Qinghua.”

He flinched.

Turning toward the door, Shang found none other than Liu Qingge standing there.

What was his luck today?!

The sight of the Sword Saint here was so unexpected that it startled a squeak right out of him. “Q-Qingge-shidi! What, uh, brings you to my humble logistics peak?”

Liu Qingge was uncharacteristically stiff. His sword hung at his hip like always, but there was a tightness to his grip as though the hand resting on it needed something to do. For some reason, he wasn’t meeting Shang Qinghua’s gaze directly, his eyes darting awkwardly between him and the floor.

“...I had a question about the last logistics report,” Liu said finally, a little too bluntly, brushing past the obvious awkwardness.

“Uh… okay?”

Shang Qinghua shuffled to pull up the parchment stack in question, hoping that would smooth things over. Liu Qingge, however, didn’t move. In fact, he seemed oddly preoccupied with lingering close—standing far nearer than usual.

It was uncomfortable. Liu Qingge usually treated Shang Qinghua like a literal bug in the background. Why suddenly act like this now?

And also when did his brutish shidi ever care about reports?! Half the time he was the one instigating conflict over the so called “stupid, measly work of a paper pusher” that Shang Qinghua tries so hard with so huhhhh?! What with the switch up!!

“Here!” Shang Qinghua finally said, a little too loudly. He shoved the parchment into Liu Qingge’s hands, feeling cornered by the Sword Saint’s lingering presence. “The budget’s a bit tight this quarter, so Sword Cleaning Saturdays might need to go, but I’m working on it—”

The parchment nearly crumpled under Liu Qingge’s sudden grip.

“You’re rambling.” His voice sounded sharper than usual.

“What?! No I’m not!”

“You are.”

The strangest part? Liu Qingge wasn’t saying it with the usual snippy tone (lovingly, he likes to think(it’s not)) reserved for Shang Qinghua. No, there was a heat behind it—a focus on Qinghua that was too intense to be his usual disdain. And wow!! No negative emotions? It could make any touch starved gal (or mousy leak lord in this case) feel a lil’ hit under the collar!! Qingge’s eyes scanned his face for just a beat longer than natural before he suddenly turned his head.

Was his neck actually turning pink?

“Nope, nope,” Qinghua muttered quietly under his breath. “Definitely NOT overthinking *that*.”

That can wait for his irl fanfics when he gets home- or pondering since he most definitely will not have time..

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Right, anyway. If you’re done, Qingge-shidi, you’re free to leave!”

“Fine.”

Just like that, Liu Qingge spun on his heel and walked out—still rigid but walking fast enough to make Shang doubt the whole encounter even happened.

And so began Day One of Peak Lords going absolutely feral over a certain logistics Peak Lord who had no clue the System’s veil over his charms had shattered.