Work Text:
Shen Qingqiu sneezed.
“Shizun?” Luo Binghe asked.
Shen Qingqiu did not look his way. He was perched elegantly on a padded bench that sat next to the window, the frame ajar to let in cool air and the sound of rain, looking out at the dripping bamboo forest outside with a book in his lap. He slipped a fan from his sleeve and fluttered it in front of his face.
“Nothing, Binghe,” he said.
Luo Binghe reluctantly returned to the scrolls he was copying, but cast a suspicious glance at his Shizun.
—
That evening in the bamboo house, when Luo Binghe was carefully slipping pins and combs from Shen Qingqiu’s hair, the man interrupted Luo Binghe’s gentle ministrations by leaning forward and muffling a cough into his sleeve.
“Shizun?” Luo Binghe asked, alarmed.
Shen Qingqiu waved a hand, expression pinched. “Apologies, Binghe. This master inhaled wrong.”
Luo Binghe frowned down at Shen Qingqiu’s beautiful, glossy hair. He liked to think that he had a better sense for his Shizun’s moods and preferences than perhaps anyone else in the world; able to read the man’s happiness in the curve of his brows and his displeasure in the set of his shoulders alone.
“Is Shizun sure?” he asked.
Shen Qingqiu gave him a look over his shoulder. “Of course,” he said. “Binghe worries too much.”
Luo Binghe hummed and pulled the last pin from Shen Qingqiu’s hair, reaching around him to pluck up a wooden comb.
“This disciple worries just enough,” he murmured.
—
Shen Qingqiu stumbled in through the door. As soon as it was closed he slumped against the wall, letting his head fall back as he covered his mouth with a hand and let out a series of rough coughs.
“Shizun!” Luo Binghe cried. At once he was at Shen Qingqiu’s side, taking the man by the elbow and tugging him towards the small tea table. Shen Qingqiu made a noise of protest but didn’t pull away from the manhandling.
“This isn’t necessary,” he complained as Luo Binghe pulled him down to a cushion and immediately went to fetch tea.
“Begging Shizun's forgiveness, but it seems necessary to this disciple,” Luo Binghe said. He pushed the teacup across the table and watched intently as Shen Qingqiu took it with a hand that shook. He raised the cup to his forehead before lowering it to take a sip, pressing the warm porcelain between his brows as if to relieve an ache. Luo Binghe saw the moment Shen Qingqiu winced when the hot tea hit his throat.
“Shizun doesn’t look well,” Luo Binghe said. “Shizun has been coughing for two days.”
Shen Qingqiu gave a slight grimace. “Ah, well. I was overly optimistic, thinking it would pass quickly.”
“What’s wrong, Shizun?” Luo Binghe implored. Shen Qingqiu hid behind the tea cup like he usually would his fan and didn’t meet Luo Binghe’s eyes, which did nothing for his confidence in the situation. He looked, at least, a little more embarrassed and less like he might be dying of some new untreated and deadly poison, but Luo Binghe could never be entirely sure.
“It’s just a small cold,” Shen Qingqiu said.
Luo Binghe frowned. “But Shizun, shouldn’t your cultivation…?”
“Mn,” Shen Qingqiu agreed. “But, ah, Without A Cure… when my spiritual energy is cut off, I suppose mortal illness can have an effect.” He grimaced and muttered, “So typical,” under his breath.
That hint of irritation was endearing, but Luo Binghe’s adoration was distracted by the rest of the statement. “How long has Shizun been troubled by Without A Cure?”
The cup raised further in front of Shen Qingqiu’s face. “Just a few days. It’s not a large concern yet, besides the unfortunate side effects.”
Said unfortunate side effects made themselves known, sending Shen Qingqiu into another coughing fit that almost upturned the tea cup before Luo Binghe caught it from his hand and set it back on the tea table. The cough was dry and hacking, and had Shen Qingqiu red-faced, covering his mouth and nose.
As it subsided, Luo Binghe passed Shen Qingqiu a handkerchief and took his hand other hand, sending him a small stream of spiritual energy. Shen Qingqiu's meridians were indeed beginning to become blocked, the energy faltering and stagnating oddly in his spiritual veins. Luo Binghe's best efforts did little to clear them.
As soon as he’d wiped his face and regained his composure, Shen Qingqiu slapped Luo Binghe's hand away lightly.
“Don’t bother,” he said, a new and awful rasp to his voice that Luo Binghe hated. “Luo Binghe's cultivation is not at a high enough level yet to clear this master's meridians. Save your energy for making sure you can't catch anything either.”
“What about Liu-shishu?” Luo Binghe asked imploringly.
“Liu-shidi is out at the moment,” Shen Qingqiu said, shaking his head. “Wouldn't I have gone to him already if he was here?”
“Surely Shizun can call him back.” Luo Binghe pleaded.
“For what?” Shen Qingqiu asked, waving a sleeve. “A little cough? This master has managed worse. He’ll return when he returns, and until then it's not so bad.”
“But Shizun–” Luo Binghe tried to object, but Shen Qingqiu gave him a stern look that caused Luo Binghe to fold at once. He redoubled his efforts of looking sad and concerned and despondent as a quick countermeasure, and Shen Qingqiu sighed.
“It’s not so bad,” he repeated. “This master can still perform his duties just fine. Most likely it will pass before Liu Qingge even returns.”
—
Luo Binghe couldn’t stop Shen Qingqiu from going about his duties as a Peak Lord, but he could do his best to ensure the man's comfort whenever he was able.
“You’re getting underfoot,” Shen Qingqiu complained when Luo Binghe trailed him between music classes and sword lessons that he himself should have been attending elsewhere on the peak. “Who told you to follow this master around like a bur?”
“No one, Shizun,” Luo Binghe said, and then dutifully brought him cups of cinnamon and ginger tea throughout the day, took notes for him, and demonstrated all the sword forms that Shizun would usually do himself. It got him pinched cheeks and scolding looks, but it was worth it when he could be there with a handkerchief or a soothing drink right the moment Shen Qingqiu needed it.
Despite his stubborn insistence on carrying on with his duties, Shen Qingqiu looked pale and drained by the time the day was done. He allowed Luo Binghe to shepherd him back to the Bamboo House with minimal protest just as the sun began to set. Luo Binghe had left oxtails and ginger boiling all day, and served the resulting broth with rice and green onions. Shen Qingqiu laboriously ate a few bites of rice, sipped a bit of the soup, and went to bed.
Rain began to fall again in the night. Luo Binghe stayed up anxiously, tidying up the communal spaces of the Bamboo House until there was nothing left to clean. Even with warming talismans on the walls and an extra brazier lit the house had a cold and damp feel that nothing seemed to banish.
Eventually he went to bed, and woke several times during the night to the sound of Shen Qingqiu coughing. It had turned into something deep and wet, and more than once Luo Binghe found himself hovering outside his master’s door, weighing the bounds of propriety versus the anxious concern that was bubbling up under his skin. In the end, he didn't go in.
—
Shen Qingqiu failed to rise at his usual time. Luo Binghe's master had not been a morning person for as long as Luo Binghe had shared his home, but he was always unhappily up by chén hour, with Luo Binghe clattering around the main room, placing breakfast on the table and brewing strong tea.
A half shichen past the time morning lessons begin, when Luo Binghe has almost worked himself up to entering Shen Qingqiu's bedroom to check on him, Shen Qingqiu slid the door open and stumbled out looking as disheveled as Luo Binghe had ever seen him outside of life or death scenarios.
An attempt had clearly been made to ready himself for the day. His hair was up, secured with a silver guan, but strands were sliding loose and his robes were messily tied. If Luo Binghe wasn't mistaken (and he rarely was when it came to Shizun), he was missing a middle layer somewhere in there. The only color on his face came from a slight flush around his eyes and nose, and he was grimacing so badly that he almost looked like he had before his qi deviation.
For someone else, it wouldn’t have been strange. But for Shen Qingqiu, who usually presented nothing less than absolute perfection, it was bizarre.
Luo Binghe dropped his calligraphy brush.
“Shizun!”
Shen Qingqiu came and sat down on a cushion at the low table, which Luo Binghe hastily cleared of the homework he'd begun doing out of sheer stress. As soon as he was sitting he leaned forward, put his head in his hands, and groaned.
“Does Binghe have any more of that tea?” he asked. His voice was gravelly with strain and sleep.
“Yes, Shizun!”
Luo Binghe sprang to his feet and scrambled to the kitchen to brew a pot. When he returned Shen Qingqiu was sitting the same way, his shoulders hunched, face pressed into his pale palms.
Luo Binghe set the tea tray down on the table and approached like a rabbit sidling up to a sick, unhappy wolf.
“Shizun, please have some,” he said, and poured a cup. Shen Qingqiu uncurled slowly and took the tea, and Luo Binghe used the distraction to slip closer to him. “Let this disciple help Shizun with his hair.”
Shen Qingqiu grunted, and didn’t seem to notice when Luo Binghe took the guan from his hair entirely instead of fixing it more tightly into place. Luo Binghe let his hair fall loose and hand-combed it, frowning at the feeling of dry strands, before braiding it back from his face. He took the chance to brush his knuckles over Shen Qingqiu's bare neck as he did, and found his skin warm but not burning.
Braid finished, Luo Binghe pulled away from Shen Qingqiu's personal space before the man could wave him off. He folded himself down across from him neatly and let silence stretch between them while Shen Qingqiu slowly drained the pot of tea.
“Shouldn’t you be in class?” Shen Qingqiu asked eventually, when his cup was all but empty.
“No, Shizun. This disciple is exactly where he is supposed to be.”
Shen Qingqiu narrowed his eyes and reached out to Luo Binghe. He seemed to notice his hand was empty too late, and ended up nudging Luo Binghe’s chin with his knuckles instead of the wooden guard of a fan. Luo Binghe looked up at him through his lashes, quiet and obedient.
“Silly child,” Shen Qingqiu sighed. He stood in a sweep of silk. Luo Binghe followed him to his feet and trailed him as he padded over to the window and placed a hand on the wooden frame, looking out at the still falling rain. Outside the Bamboo House the air was crisp and cold, and every blade of grass and stalk of bamboo dripped with glassy droplets. The whole world was water.
“This master will be staying inside today,” Shen Qingqiu said. “Luo Binghe should go and attend to his lessons.”
“Shizun…”
“Go,” Shen Qingqiu commanded. He paused to cough into his sleeve, and sighed afterwards, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll just work from here. It’s a miserable day, but disciples of Qing Jing Peak must still attend their lessons.”
Luo Binghe bowed his head. “Yes, Shizun.”
He got his things together, and snuck into the kitchen to quickly prepare a lunch that he could leave covered for Shen Qingqiu later. As he headed for the door of the bamboo house, Shen Qingqiu stopped him with an arm on his shoulder.
“Here,” he said, and pressed an oiled paper umbrella into Luo Binghe’s hands. “Don’t let me see my disciple coming home soaked this evening.”
Luo Binghe’s heart was warm and cold. He wrapped his hands around the umbrella and felt the wooden spokes gently grind against each other like the small bones in his hands.
“Mn. Thank you, Shizun.”
Shen Qingqiu patted his cheek and sent him on his way.
—
Liu Qingge's arrival back on Cang Qiong Mountain was announced with a firm knock on the Bamboo House's door and some sort of bleeding, writhing thing being deposited on the porch in a sack.
“For your Shizun,” Liu Qingge said when Luo Binghe answered the door. He shamelessly peered around Luo Binghe's shoulder to get a look into the house, and frowned at the sight of dark rooms lit only by a few candles.
Usually, Liu Qingge's presumption made Luo Binghe prickle all over with annoyance. But now, he slid into the most diffident version of himself and dipped into a low bow to the Bai Zhan Peak Lord.
“Shizun hasn’t been feeling well. Asking Liu-shishu to please take care of him.” Since this useless disciple cannot.
Liu Qingge’s brows furrowed, then he grunted in what Luo Binghe thought could be dismissal or affirmation. Whatever it was, Liu Qingge pushed past him into the bamboo house curtly, not waiting for an invitation. It was just as well: the night was late, and Luo Binghe was the only one up. He trailed Liu Qingge into the receiving room and watched the man’s hand flex on Cheng Luan’s hilt.
“Where,” Liu Qingge demanded, not bothering to phrase it as a question.
“He’s in bed,” Luo Binghe said. He nodded towards the sliding screen door to their right. “He went to sleep early. Shall this disciple wake Shizun?”
“No need,” Liu Qingge said. He strode over to the door and slid it open with surprising gentleness, barely making a sound.
Inside, Shen Qingqiu was indeed in bed, wearing a thin set of nightclothes with an additional robe layered overtop. He was under the covers and turned on his side, face smushed into the bed’s round pillow, hair unbraided and loose around his face. His nose was pink, and his breathing had a distinctly stuffy quality to it, small rasps let out into the night air. Luo Binghe was struck still and anxious by how young he looked. It was disconcerting to see the Qing Jing Peak Lord so human, even if Luo Binghe should know better than anyone how vulnerable the man could truly be.
“Hm,” was all Liu Qingge said. He strode to the bed with none of Luo Binghe hesitancy and placed a palm across Shen Qingqiu’s forehead. Shen Qingqiu barely stirred at the touch. “He has a fever.”
“Yes,” Luo Binghe said.
With surprising tenderness, Liu Qingge gave Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder a small shake. “Qingqiu.”
Shen Qingqiu made an unhappy noise, face scrunching. His eyes fluttered open, and then he turned his head to cough into his pillow before focusing on the figure looming over him.
“Liu-shidi?”
“Mn. Let me clear your meridians.”
“Oh,” Shen Qingqiu said, blinking bleariness from his dark eyes. After a moment he shuffled upright, running a hand through his hair and over his pale face. “Welcome back, Shidi.”
Liu Qingge grunted and took his wrists, starting the qi transfer at once. As Shen Qingqiu’s eyes fell closed and his breathing eased, Luo Binghe quietly backed out of the room and shut the door.