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For the past three years, Luo Binghe’s life had been a struggle. To be fair to everyone though, the last six years had been a struggle, but the first half of that had been for entirely different reasons. The Endless Abyss was an entirely different sort of punishment from having a dead Shizun, after all.
Regardless, the past three years, in particular, had been a struggle. He fought constantly with Liu Qingge, someone who he had always respected for looking after his Shizun, even if he was bitter that he himself hadn’t been the one invited to help with his poison. It was fair, that he didn’t get to help him that way, given it was his fault. That was as it should be. You don’t get rewarded for making a mistake by having more intimate contact with the person you hurt. He knew that! He did!
But this was too much!
Shizun, who was as stubborn in death as he was in life, had been resisting every attempt to revive him he’d tried so far, and it was wearing on him, the guilt of it pressing more and more heavily down on his chest so it felt like he was suffocating. His brief collection of Mu-shishu to make sure that he was preserving his Shizun properly and not making it so he couldn’t just wake up had assured him that it was clearly a choice on his Shizun’s part.
The body was in perfect condition, the meridians in a better state than Mu Qingfang had ever seen them before! That should be an enticement, surely? Yet still, still his Shizun refused to come home to him. Was it because they were in Huan Hua? They couldn’t go back to Cang Qiong! He’d die! Shizun was already so close to forever dead that he couldn’t risk it. Still, if it was the location that was the problem...
Figuring out how to move his Shizun without him being endangered in transit was a bit of a trick, because Xin Mo liked his Shizun far, far too much. It was probably because he’d used his core to seal it, and now it wanted more. Well there wasn’t any more for the sword so it needed to stop! It made moving tricky, but it was fine. He figured it out.
It was how Luo Binghe finally had his Shizun in his lap out in a bamboo grove, not Cang Qiong’s, no, but spiritually heavy and carefully warded to alert him if anyone came near. It had taken weeks to prepare, diligent travel, and if it worked... he didn’t know. He didn’t know anything, couldn’t know anything, until his Shizun woke. Which was what he was working on now, as he delicately drizzled a fine golden sap down his throat, as the last step of a three part ritual that should, hopefully, call his Shizun back to his body from wherever he was.
He’d tried it before, at Huan Hua, but maybe the wards of that place had kept his Shizun out. Maybe what he’d thought of as security had instead been a cage that kept his Shizun on the outside of it. He’d been stupid to not think of this sooner, but he was fixing it now. He’d try everything he could like it was a new attempt in beautiful places until his Shizun woke. This was just the first, the gentlest of them, though not the first he’d tried before, having found them in a different order entirely.
When the cup he was using was emptied, he had to wait, had to be patient, and he smoothed his fingers over his face, making sure not a hair was out of place. He was properly dressed, of course, his Shizun shouldn’t be outside in anything less, but that made him anxious too, because it meant there were more layers between them that he had to check for signs of life through.
It was these same layers that made him almost miss the first inhale, it was so very shallow, and he might have even missed the second as well, but the third was much louder, a sharp gasp to take in a great deal of air compared to the inaudible first two, and that was enough for Luo Binghe. He scooped the man up close against his chest and dipped his head down so his ear was pressed against his throat, just holding him there and listening as everything grated into life. His blood moved without him moving it, the qi gave sputtering starts and stops until it ignited properly and started to flow without Binghe having to manually do it. The air actually came and left his lungs, and it was beautiful.
So, of course, clutching the man, so limp for so long as he stiffened in his grip, he started to cry in sheer relief. “Shizun. Thank you. Thank you. You’re back. I’m so so sorry. Thank you for coming back. Thank you.”
When a hand, clearly shaky, rested on his hair, he was lost for words and just committed fully to crying. His Shizun wasn’t trying to flee his hold, and was patting his hair. Everything would be alright now, surely.
Surely.