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“Is that him again?” 

A shadow passes over the two demons playing cards outside the Lock Pointe Inn. Liu Qingge ignores them. They have some version of the same conversation every month and by now he’s tired of their voices.

“You know it is. First of the month, right?” 

He leans down, pushing Cheng Luan to speed up past the small town. Lock Pointe is a border town, a place where he has stopped more than a few times in the last two and a half years. Demons and humans interact frequently there. In fact, he’s seen more than a few disciples of other sects here trying to taste demon wares of all sorts of forbidden natures. In the first six months he turned them away, made them go home. Their determination to taste demon dick outlasted his determination to give a shit. He just ignores everyone else now.

He doesn’t need to look too closely. He would recognize the silhouette of who he’s looking for in the dark, in a crowd, through the haze of smoke and fog that rises off the demon realm. Anywhere. He used to drag Shang Qinghua with him on some of these trips, but the man insisted he was wasting his time.

“He won’t come back for at least 4 years, shidi.” Shang Qinghua hadn’t even looked bothered. “He will come back though. He’s too strong to die out there.”

He doesn’t ask how he knows that. Shang Qinghua hadn’t seen the abyss, hadn’t struggled through the heat and cold and exposure like he had. If he had, surely he’d be just as eager to save him. Even Shang Qinghua admits his knowledge of the endless abyss is vague at best. Liu Qingge heard him mumble something in the single conversation he managed to get any answers. Something about how he just sort of hand waved the abyss in the original copy, but since that’s another one of those things he says that makes no sense, Liu Qingge ignores it. 

He also chooses to ignore the won’t come back part. That, he’s been told several times. And yet, he’s staring at the now familiar border to the demon realm, where the sky shifts from the expected dark blues and clouds and clear stars to the murky reds and purples of the demonic sky. Monsters don’t cross this part of the border. The villages are too dense, too crowded with cultivators and demons for anything to slip through easily. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s waiting for. An opening from Xin Mo? A head of curly hair parading around the streets? Luo Binghe watching him from the demon realm, ready to follow through on that spar they’d agreed to when they’d last seen each other?

“Hey!” The shout comes from below, near a tavern where he left his name and questions ages ago. “Hey, guy! Get down here!”

Liu Qingge glances down to see a man with a crow’s beak, feathers coming off his shoulders. They’d spoken once before, months ago, when the man had headed into the demon realm to sell the half-rate human artifacts he’d managed to gather. Liu Qingge had considered, for a moment, and asked him how much he’d thought he’d learn on his journey. When the man had given him a thorough rundown of the last month of upheaval in the demon clans as far west as the final crow clan could travel, Liu Qingge had offered him a ring that could store small amounts of spiritual energy and emit light. It wasn’t useful for many demons, but trinkets like this still sold well as novelties. In return, the crow would bring him any new information he learned. Liu Qingge figured he had a 50/50 chance of ever seeing him again.

“What?” He doesn’t shout, but his voice carries anyway, until the beak tilts in its strange bird-like grin. 

“Got something for you, if you’ll come speak with this lowly merchant.” 

He lowers himself on Cheng Luan, hovering just out of reach. Not all the people he’d employed for information were safe and none of them were people he’d consider trustworthy. “Tell me.”

“Inside. I ain’t riskin’ my head for a shiny ring.” 

“I bet you made more money off it than anything else you had.”

“Nah.” The crow man shrugs at him, a dark feather fluttering down to the dirt. “I had a sword in there that glows.”

“Does it do anything else?”

“Nah, but people love glowin’ stuff. Your ring only glows sometimes. The sword glows all the time.” The crow nods, as if this explains everything. “Looks cool.”

“Right.” Liu Qingge frowns, considering. “We sit at a table by the door or I leave.”

“Gotcha, boss. You can sit on the outside too, if it’ll make ya calm down.” The crow doesn’t even watch him land, just heads into the tavern with a familiar squawk to the others inside. 

Liu Qingge doesn’t eat. He sits by the door, on the outer chair, watching the tavern with a critical eye. It’s not that he distrusts demons themselves. The relationship between the cultivation sects and the demonic clans has grown more hostile. Demons are more on guard against cultivators chasing fame and glory. Cultivators look over their shoulders, wary and nervous as demon attacks encroach closer and closer to the mountain sects. The tensions mean he can’t afford to lose focus, to relax.

“Someone new is trying to wrangle everyone into working together.” The crow pokes at food Liu Qingge isn’t even going to try to identify. He can recognize meat of some sort, and a vague combination of greens and grains that mushes together unpleasantly. Some of the grains wriggle. Disgusting. “They’re very insistent.”

“This isn’t exactly shocking.” His chair creaks as he adjusts in his seat, tracking the bartender as he rinses the glasses on his counter. “Someone is always trying to rise up in your realm.”

“He’s succeeding.” The crow demon pauses, going for dramatic but mostly achieving annoying. Liu Qingge shifts his attention to the man’s beady eyes so he can effectively glare the man down. “He’s succeeding from your side.”

“What?” Liu Qingge frowns. “A cultivator?”

“Can’t tell. No one’s seen him.” The crow chirrups, pleased with the surprise in Liu Qingge’s voice. “I’d bet you, though, he’s not. Demons don’t listen to cultivators. We kill ‘em or get killed.”

“You think someone is harboring a demon?”

“I can give you my theories,” the crow gives up picking at his mystery meat and insteads picks the steak up with his talons and drops it into his beak. His head bobs as he swallows the whole thing in one bite. “Does this master have any other trinkets to trade for it?”

“No.”

He doesn’t need theories. He certainly doesn’t need to pay for some random demon’s musings on what may be happening. He can muse on his own for free. 

“Someone over there is harboring a demon sect.” The crow continues, as if Liu Qingge had not refused. “Demons don’t really do anything like that. We have our clans, and demons from different clans don’t work together. But the Sha clan has been seen working with the northern clans, and unaligned rogue demons have been appearing more and more frequently. Everythings all disrupted.”

Liu Qingge snorts, which seems to insult his dinner partner. He doesn’t care, doesn’t bother to stick around for whatever the crow is saying next. He doesn’t know if this has anything to do with Luo Binghe or with Shang Qinghua’s apparent omniscience. He can’t ignore it either.

##

The smaller sects don’t have the resources to house even one powerful demon. He visits each of them anyway, checking in to see if there are any signs of strain. If a demon has made a stronghold nearby, he doesn’t want his own ambivalence to lead to the erosion of any surrounding schools. Besides, he gets a sort of enjoyment from watching Shang Qinghua squirm through meetings with leaders he doesn’t remember the names of. Liu Qingge keeps up with his hunts, with his duties, with all of the expectations of his sect. It takes over six months to investigate the disciples and leaders of the dozen or so sects that crowd around at the bottoms of the mountains, skirting the edge of their larger siblings. 

“Does shidi really think all of this is necessary?” Shang Qinghua blocks the sun from his eyes, squinting at a less than luxurious house. “Anyone can say anything. You gave him something, he probably just hoped to get more stuff to sell.”

Liu Qingge doesn’t bother arguing. He’d explained himself the first time. He doesn’t repeat himself, ever, if he can help it. Shang Qinghua stopped trying to sneak away after Liu Qingge threatened to tie them together on the first day. Now, Liu Qingge has to listen to his nonstop talking and questioning and musing and scheming. 

“You’re overreacting.” Shang Qinghua mumbles, avoiding Liu Qingge’s glare. “It’s probably not even him. It's not how it’s supposed to happen.”

“Hm.” The leader is already hurrying to open the door as Liu Qingge half drags Shang Qinghua behind him through the inner gate. A small herd of rabbits crowds around the low fence. Liu Qingge watches them pile on top of each other until the sect leader finally speaks. 

“Are you here about Jin Lan?”

Shang Qinghua flinches. Liu Qingge frowns. They must look like they have some idea of what is going on, however, because instead of explaining himself, the sect leader visibly sags in relief.

“Right!” Shang Qinghua speaks up, quick. “Jin Lan! We heard you sent out a disciple? Has he returned?”

“Well, not yet. It’s only been a few days, so we suspect he’s been investigating or goofing off.” The leader sighs, expression dismayed. “Forgive us, we didn’t think that matter would have reached the Cang Qiong Mountain Sect yet.” 

“Well, it’s not a big deal! Just let us know when the disciple returns, we’ll–”

“Why wait?” Liu Qingge watches as Shang Qinghua’s face pales. “We’re free now. Let’s go investigate.”

“No!” Shang Qinghua yelps, then waves his arms ahead of him. “Shouldn’t we… go get… Mu Qingfang…?”

Liu Qingge watches, incredulous, as Shang Qinghua shrinks into his robes. “Why would we–”

The Sect Leader nods, as if this makes perfect sense. “If there is a plague, you’d want to take your esteemed doctor.”

“See! We’ll–” Shang Qinghua laughs, high pitched, and waves his hands. “We’ll get him and get going!”

The Sect leader nods. “Would the two Masters like to stop in for tea? We can discuss the details further.”

“No.” Liu Qingge drags Shang Qinghua from the bunnies, careful to keep a tight fist on the back of the slippery man’s robes. “We’ll hurry to take care of things.”

He doesn’t ask until they’re well outside of the sect’s lands. Shang Qinghua has given up his struggle, allowing his feet to drag behind him as Liu Qingge hauls him, bodily, on the path back to Cang Qiong. “You can refuse to explain, but then I’ll go to Sect Leader Yue and then you’ll have to explain to him why you know about a plague that no one else does.”

“He knew about it,” Shang Qinghua points behind them and Liu Qingge barely resists the urge to shake him. “And I work the logistics peak! Of course I know about more things than you!”

“I will get Cheng Luan and drop you off somewhere horrid.”

“No you won’t.” Shang Qinghua smirks, and damn is he annoying when he’s right. “You’re too pragmatic for that. For some reason your ears don’t work. Until you realize I won’t be able to help you find Binghe, you won’t actually risk hurting me.”

“You refer to him so casually, call him son, ask me to watch him.” Liu Qingge scowls, swinging Shang Qinghua around until they are face to face. “And yet, you didn’t go after him. Won’t let anyone save him. Keep all your secrets even if that prolongs his suffering. Why?”

“I’m just a hack peak lord, barely that.” Shang Qinghua glances at Liu Qingge, brown eyes wide, but different from his usual pleading look. “I couldn’t have done half of what Liu-shidi’s done for him. I chose correctly.”

It’s infuriating. What does he mean chose ? Nothing Shang Qinghua has said to him since that conversation, right after the abyss, has made any sense. He always seems so sure of the nonsense he spouts, always so certain that things are going to be fine. That’s all he said back then, too. 

Don’t worry, shidi. Luo Binghe will be fine. He’ll probably end up better off than any of us. The more Liu Qingge had asked him to explain, the more Shang Qinghua had insisted things would be ok and Luo Binghe would return in a few years, a decade at most if things went really wonky. He wouldn’t explain that either. He never actually explained anything and Liu Qingge isn’t foolish enough to actually drop him from a very high place until he tells all. The other peak lords would probably have him knocked out by Mu Qingfang until they determined he wasn’t feral. 

“How did you learn about the plague?”

“Uh.” Shang Qinghua frowns, just slightly, before he sighs. “Report. I got a report from a smaller sect near the town about a week ago. I figured they could handle the investigation and if they needed us or it was a big deal, someone would ask.”

“You’re going to show me that report.” Liu Qingge doesn’t prefer to bother with reports more than absolutely necessary–which usually means a brief glance to know what and where he’s fighting. This is one of the very rare times Shang Qinghua’s claims are easily verifiable and he doesn’t want to pass it up. 

“I burned it.” Shang Qinghua flinches, arms covering his head as he hurries to explain. “It was talking about a plague! Of course I burned it! What if it was carried on the paper?”

“You!” Liu Qingge shakes him, just once, and then forces himself to let go of the man. “How convenient.”

“Not really, since you found out about it anyway.” Shang Qinghua pouts. “If I’d have known you’d be so keen to go, I’d have sent you right away. What do you care about this for? It doesn’t have anything to do with Luo Binghe.”

Liu Qingge watches Shang Qinghua–the way he glances over from the corner of his eye when he says that, as if checking to make sure Liu Qingge believes him. “Maybe not. If there’s a plague, it needs to be confirmed and then handled. If not, then we should put a stop to whatever it is anyway.”

“Are you always like this? I guess I didn’t notice since you were–uh. You know, since you didn’t talk to me much before you. Uh.” Shang Qinghua looks away now, staring at the open sky above them. “Before you came back from the caves.”

“Stop talking about that.”

“Does it embarrass you?”

“Shut up.” Liu Qingge crosses his arms, glaring at the man who is still not looking at him. “No.”

They don’t talk any more until they get to Mu Qingfang. He’s in the middle of chastising some patient or other when they arrive. Liu Qingge has learned enough by now to keep himself busy until Mu Qingfang is ready. Hurrying the man will only get them a longer wait. The doctor can be so petty when he wants to be.

It takes several minutes and all of Liu Qingge’s patience, but eventually the patient leaves.

“Shang Qinghua says there’s a potential plague happening in Jin Lan City.” Liu Qingge doesn’t leave any time for Shang Qinghua to work his rat magic and make things sound like the weather. Oh, it’s a little sunny, pretty mild, and a few people are sick in some city.  

“Oh!” Mu Qingfang’s interest turns more fully towards them. “I figured you or Shang Qinghua were just hurt together this time instead of separately. You’re my most frequent patients, you know.”

Liu Qingge gives a non-commital shrug. The information about Shang Qinghua’s frequent doctor visits is filed away for later. “Do you want to help or not?”

“Let me settle some things first. I should be ready to go by tonight.” Mu Qingfang, from habit if nothing else, gives Liu Qingge a quick once over. Determining both men are healthy, Mu Qingfang returns to his work and ignores them. He says tonight, so tonight it is.

##

“I’m surprised they didn’t go to Zhao Hua first.” Mu Qingfang observes the gate separating them from the city.  “They have a close relationship with Jin Lan, so if anyone would be motivated to deal with a potential plague it should be them.”

Shang Qinghua chews his lip. The slow creak of the gate’s opening ramps up the nervous hunch of his shoulders. “Well. Bigger sects are more expensive and less likely to take on uncertain or unworthy tasks. Jin Lan may be trying to save money or may be actively keeping the outbreak a secret until they’re more certain of what they’re dealing with. They most likely would have gotten around to asking for help from Zhao Hua eventually.”

“Too late, if these warnings are anything to go by.”

The pamphlet in Mu Qingfang’s hand is wilted by the damp breeze coming off the river, but its words are still quite clear. An outline of a man is marked with rashes over his leg, then repeated with distinct lines coming off the appendage. The next image is with no legs, and the image after that is the man comically dead, eyes crossed out and tongue sticking from his simplified head. “A rash, a smell, loss and then death. A gruesome death.”

“They’re all dressed in black.” Liu Qingge points to the sight beyond the gate. The usual bustling city is replaced with a half empty street, every person dressed in dark or black clothing. “Why?”

“Fashion statement.” Shang Qinghua narrows his eyes at the two of them. “We should probably try to do the same, just to. You know. Blend in.”

“Why do we need to blend in?” Liu Qingge quirks a brow. “They wanted help, didn’t they?”

Shang Qinghua glares at Liu Qingge like he may be stupid. To his dismay, Mu Qingfang sighs beside him like he may agree. Rude, of both of them. “They wanted help from a smaller sect. We are one of the largest sects. They didn’t want the news getting out or else they’d have to close the city. Jin Lan is a trade city. People coming in and out is how they make their money. If people are scared to do that…”

Liu Qingge spots a store selling premade robes. “There. Let’s go there.”

The store is affordable, if a bit different than Liu Qingge expected. Their main clientele appears to be young masters from the neighboring villages and sects, as all their fabrics are silken and soft, none of them fit for combat. Liu Qingge scowls, reminds himself that he can’t exactly fight a plague, and buys the closest thing in his size he can stomach. It’s still more heavily embroidered than he’s used to, silver clouds swirling around a blue dragon on his sleeve. It feels. Ridiculous. Like he’s showing off for someone who isn’t even here.

Shang Qinghua seems to have no such problems with the change in attire. He’s in a navy blue set with a snowy design, birds casting off from the bottom of his robes. His costs significantly more, but Liu Qingge doesn’t care to ask about the grand expense. It’s his money. He can do what he wants with it.

Mu Qingfang finds the only plain black set of robes in the entire place. Liu Qingge laments not looking harder before he’d settled on his just to get out of there.

Appropriately dressed in dark colors, hair down to obscure his face (Shang Qinghua seems to be having too much fun deciding exactly how they should disguise themselves), he is distinctly uncomfortable. Even in his discomfort, he can tell they’re being followed. The young boy is not exactly discreet as he weaves in and out of the thin crowd, stilling whenever Liu Qingge turns his head. He reminds Liu Qingge a bit of a lizard darting between rocks. There’s a longsword on his back, at least three quarters as long as him.

He casts Mu Qingfang a look, who is already chuckling to himself, and slows his steps until Shang Qinghua is chattering mindlessly about the different shops in the area with Mu Qingfang several steps ahead of him. Liu Qingge looks into a window, pretending to be interested in whatever they’re selling. Which appears to be large, decorative hats. Liu Qingge tilts his head, trying to figure out why anyone would want such an oversized pile of feathers, beads, and ribbons. A giant of a woman steps out from the store with a stuffed bird nested on her curls, held in place by pins and pearls. Between the bird's wings is a veritable pile of leaves and flowers. 

In the glass he can see the boy watching him from across the street. He watches as the boy creeps closer–his oversized teal tunic is ragged at the edges, a scrunched black knit fabric scrap draped around his shoulders. He looks healthy enough–healthy and angry–as he approaches.

“Tell me what you want.” Liu Qingge speaks as soon as the boy is close enough to hear him. “Make it good, or I may decide to test your skills with that sword of yours.”

The boy scowls, crossing his arms. “Who are you? What are you doing here? I saw your clothes earlier. You’re another one of those groups, aren’t you!”

Liu Qingge frowns, thinking back. One of what groups? The sect leader who sent him here did say he’d sent a disciple down to investigate. Could that be who he means? “We’re not disciples.”

“What do you want? You should go.” 

Now that he’s closer and not pretending to be sneaky, Liu Qingge can see a smattering of bruises and red marks on the boy’s face and arms. His lip is slightly swollen, a split cut on the bottom one still bright from the altercation. It couldn’t have happened long ago, then.

“We’re investigating the illness that’s going around.” Liu Qingge wishes he had one of those pamphlets. “With the rash and all that.”

“We don’t need help with that.”

“Who did you fight earlier?” Liu Qingge can guess how the fight went based only on the boy’s scruffed up appearance and surly attitude. “Being mad at us won’t help you win.”

“I!” The boy gasps, affronted, and stomps one foot. “Who are you to decide I lost before I even answer!”

Liu Qingge doesn’t like to throw his name around. It shouldn’t really matter who he is. The boy is extremely transparent to anyone with half a brain. However, he likes something about the stubborn jut of this boy’s jaw. “I’m Liu Qingge, of Bai Zhan Peak and Cang Qiong Sect. I bet a few rounds with me and you wouldn’t get beat up so easily afterwards.”

He regrets giving out his name almost immediately. The boy’s face shifts from angry and confrontational to awed and shocked. “I! Master Liu! You’re–you’ve fought so many demons! There’s books about you!” 

Liu Qingge did not know this. He scrunches his nose in distaste at the news but the boy does not seem to notice. “I’m just here to find out about the supposed plague. No need for all that.”

“I’m Yang Yixuan! I–my dad owns a shop! It’s got–well there’s weapons and some people you’ll want to meet!” 

“Why are you doing that?”

The boy straightens up from a clumsy bow. “All of us here have heard of Liu Qingge’s exploits out near the demon realm. We have all of the manuals from your hunts.”

Liu Qingge feels wrong footed. Why would anyone bother with any of that? Who is we? “You said you had some people for us to meet. Is it related to the plague?”

“Yes!” Yang Yixuan starts to run in the opposite direction from where they’d come, but Liu Qingge holds up his hand for him to wait.

“If anyone is infected, we should bring Mu Qingfang.” Liu Qingge glances up the street–Shang Qinghua and Mu Qingfang are sitting outside of a cart selling tea, which only Shang Qinghua appears to be drinking. “He’ll be much more suited to dealing with that than the rest of us.”

“What about the other guy?”

Liu Qingge squints at Shang Qinghua who is, miraculously, still talking as enthusiastically as he had been when Liu Qingge left them. “He’s also important. Somehow.”

“Sure,” Yang Yixuan leans against the hat shop and waits. He looks like he’s trying to be cool, which makes Liu Qingge laugh.

It doesn’t take him long to explain the situation to the other two. It takes even less time after that for Yang Yixuan to lead them to his father’s shop. The weapons are good–more than passable, which is better than Liu Qingge expects from the small building jutting up from the street corner. 

More important is the pale faced young disciple sitting in the back room, miserable eyes barely even flicking in the direction of the entering Peak Lords. The room smells astringent, like someone just finished dousing the whole thing down in soap and hot water and scrubbed until their fingers bled. And yet, even underneath all that, Liu Qingge can smell sickly sweet rot. 

“He’s been infected.” Liu Qingge can put two and two together. The disciple still hasn’t moved, but when the other two Peak Lords take a step away from him, he finally looks up. 

“Yes.” His voice is hollow. He seems to briefly remember himself and tries to force a smile, but the attempt is weak at best. 

“Let me see.” Mu Qingfang doesn’t wait for the disciple to agree. He hurries around, watching the black cloak around the boy’s shoulders until it is shoved, carefully, away. The boy has to use one arm. The other is nothing but bone beneath the elbow. “Is this the only place that’s infected?”

“No.” The disciple reveals the opposite leg, which has only just started to develop the rash. “We haven’t found a cure or the cause. Yang Yixuan has been helping this disciple investigate since his condition began. Exertion causes the disease to spread faster.”

Mu Qingfang’s eyes narrow as he nudges the fabric away from the rash. The beginning and ending stages represented on the same body makes things easier for him, but the situation is dire enough already that Liu Qingge can see the Impenetrable Medical Gaze settle into Mu Qingfang’s face like a steel door. 

“I’ll need to see more before I can make a diagnosis.” Mu Qingfang turns to Liu Qingge, expression the same calm he gets when a badly injured patient has made it into his office. “Bring me more people. Pay them for their cooperation.”

Shang Qinghua’s fists clench into his robes, wrinkling the expensive fabric. “Keep an eye open for anything suspicious–remember, we haven’t confirmed this is a plague and not something less natural.”

Liu Qingge nods, heading from the back room only to run shoulder first into Yang Yixuan. The boy falls flat, sprawled with his limbs out and a knife clattering out from his hand. Liu Qingge doesn’t waste his breath asking, he just looks down and waits.

“Those guys from earlier! The ones who–the people who came through chasing random people down the street. They’re back.” Yang Yixuan’s embarrassment fades quickly into a scowl, his hand closing back over the knife.

“And you were going to fight them with a knife?”

Yang Yixuan’s angry expression doesn’t change but he does turn a vibrant, worrisome shade of red. “It’s what I could find…”

“Your sword?” The longsword is still on his back.

At this, Yang Yixuan’s eyes narrow, as if he’s surprised and suspicious of what Liu Qingge just said. “I can’t fight with a longsword in a shop like this. I’d break everything.”

Liu Qingge snorts. “You don’t have to fight in here. For any kind of fight, it’s good to choose the proper venue.”

“I couldn’t just leave you guys!”

Liu Qingge likes the kid, he decides. He’s not going to let on about it though. Best for the kid not to get a big head. “I’m going to use this,” he pulls up a bamboo stick that Yang Yixuan had pulled from beneath his wrap before coming inside. “And we’ll fight. If you can hold your own, keep holding your knife.”

“If I don’t?” 

“Don’t start trying to prepare yourself to lose before you’ve even tried.” Liu Qingge shakes his head, getting into a simple stance. He keeps it easy to read, to respond to. The boy has obviously not had much training, though he’s not completely formless. 

Yang Yixuan isn’t patient, either. He shoots off almost immediately, knife flashing as the small body hurtles towards him. Liu Qingge strikes once, expecting to knock into Yang Yixuan’s shoulder and send him sprawling back, to show him the gap in skill between himself and the cultivators he’s wanting to fight.

Yang Yixuan blocks with that flashy little knife in his hand. Liu Qingge isn’t inexperienced enough to be thrown off by it, and Yang Yixuan still collapses under the force of the blow, but the boy does block. And then he stands up after only several moments of crouching to regain his composure.

“Will this master instruct me?” Yang Yixuan’s arms still shake, but he hasn’t dropped the knife either.

The words turn Liu Qingge’s mouth dry. They echo, from an abyss, far away. He doesn’t answer, just turns on his heel and walks out to the streets outside. He’s going to find more people with this disease and then he’s going to leave this stupid mission behind. Mu Qingfang already has some idea what’s going on, he can tell. The doctor won’t need more than confirmation before he’s able to figure up some treatment and get them out of here. Then he can go back to what he was doing.

He’s just determined this course of action when someone heavy and clumsy and soft crashes into him. That’s what he gets for not paying attention. Some woman tottles off down the street, swaying and wobbling as she goes. Maybe she’s sick. He should ask her to come back with him and have Mu Qingfang check her out.

By the time he decides to bring her in, however, she’s waddled out of sight. He hurries to the street corner he saw her in, takes the turn, and nearly runs straight into a sword. Cheng Luan blocks it before Liu Qingge can even fully register the person holding it. 

“Oh!” The man looks shocked to see another cultivator. His yellow robes are simple and clean, a black cloak hanging loosely over his shoulders. Looks like he had a similar idea to blend in, but was far less successful in acquiring the tools necessary. The sword withdraws and Cheng Luan returns to her sheath. “Sorry, I thought you were–”

“That woman.” Liu Qingge knows the man must have thought he was her. “Why were you attacking her?”

“We suspect she’s spreading the disease.” The man taps his sword against his leg as he walks, an odd anxious habit that makes Liu Qingge wince.

“We?” Liu Qingge “You’re investigating the plague?”

“Well, it’s not a plague yet, right? It’s mostly infected a handful of people. We don’t know if it’s contagious or if it's being spread deliberately.” The man pauses the tapping of his sword and turns to Liu Qingge with a bright smile. “Are you here to investigate too? We didn’t know Cang Qiong sect would be here!”

Liu Qingge frowns. “What have you found out?”

“Here, I’ll take you to meet the rest! We can pool our resources and get to the bottom of this faster.” The man stops, humming. “This disciple is called Gongyi Xiao.”

He recognizes that name. Gongyi Xiao had done very well for himself in the Immortal Alliance Conference. He’d gotten second place, right behind Liu Mingyan. “Liu Qingge. Huan Hua?” 

“Uh,” Gongyi Xiao’s steps falter. “Yes, but, this is more a… I’m helping out a, uh, a friend?”

Liu Qingge remembers what he and his few friends did on Bai Zhan or while out on hunts. Uncovering a plot and chasing down random disappearing women was not it. “The friend you were going to take me to meet?”

“If Master Liu would agree?” 

Liu Qingge doesn’t answer, just allows Gongyi Xiao to lead him through the streets. They stop in front of a rather dilapidated inn. Gongyi Xiao doesn’t lead him in through the front door, rather, waves him down a side alley. The door they enter is barely a sliver through the wall. Liu Qingge has to turn sideways to make his way through. 

A kitchen?

“Don’t worry,” a familiar voice speaks, and Liu Qingge stops breathing. “We’ll figure out where they’re gathering.”

“Master Liu?” Gongyi Xiao asks, his tone worried. “Master Liu, are you ok?”

Liu Qingge’s ears are ringing. Sound reaches him as if his ears are stuffed with cotton. Three years he’d been trying to fight his way back to that voice, to bring him back home, and he’s here, in a kitchen in a city so close to Cang Qiong? 

Luo Binghe’s unmistakable hair tumbles over a set of black robes. He hasn’t turned around yet. Liu Qingge is torn between yanking him around to look at his face and hitting him for being this close and never saying anything. Still, it is him. Liu Qingge was right. He’d recognize that silhouette anywhere–even if it's gotten bigger, stronger, taller. 

“Luo Binghe?”

Someone gasps. Liu Qingge’s senses return to him–there are other people in the room. A girl–she looks familiar, though something tells him she looked different the last time he saw her–sits on the countertop beside where Luo Binghe is working. She jingles when she hops down, the sound muffled beneath her robes. She must have been the one Luo Binghe spoke to earlier. Luo Binghe’s shoulders have gone stiff, the steady thump of a knife against a chopping board suddenly quiet.

“Shishu?” Luo Binghe doesn’t turn around. A sharp, burning scent flares through the kitchen before receding, leaving only the clean scent of rice, the green swell of vegetables blanching. 

Liu Qingge takes a step forward, a restless scratching beneath his skin that he hadn’t even realized he’d been ignoring suddenly subsiding. “It’s you.”

Luo Binghe turns, his eyes cautious, a familiar smile tugging at his lips. It’s not as blinding, more torn, but it’s still him. Luo Binghe’s studies Liu Qingge for a moment, nodding. “It’s me.”

He doesn’t do hugs. He feels like he should do something though. Those dark eyes, tinged with red now, bore into his, and Liu Qingge finds himself off kilter, dizzy. He’s never been this sentimental before–three years shouldn’t be enough time to change that.

“Shishu, what’s that?” 

He looks down, following the point of Luo Binghe’s knife. A rash, just starting, has bloomed to life on his arm. “A woman bumped me. I guess she did this.”

He starts to tell Luo Binghe that Mu Qingfang is there, that it won’t be a problem, but Luo Binghe’s eyes flash a vibrant scarlet before returning to normal. He frowns. “It’ll be fine. We’re here to investigate.”

“Hm.” Luo Binghe taps his knuckles against his bottom lip, tracing over the bits of red, bumpy skin with his other hand. “Would shishu trust this disciple to help?”

The others in the room jump, as if shocked. Didn’t they know who they were following? Were they surprised he calls himself a disciple, still? “Help how? Do you have the cure?”

“It’s not… No.” Luo Binghe frowns, expression flickering between frustration and determination. In the end frustration wins out, and Luo Binghe straightens and smooths out his expression. “Liu-shishu will eat a meal with his disciple before we discuss the details. It’s been so long since we ate together. And this time, we have salt.”

Liu Qingge can’t help but laugh. Luo Binghe’s careful, calm expression breaks into an equally controlled smile. After several minutes, a bowl appears in Liu Qingge’s hands, stacked with rice and meat and blanched vegetables. A pile of peppers sits over the center, shimmering with red oil. Luo Binghe leaves the others to make their own servings, setting his own across from Liu Qingge. 

“Why are you here, using this kitchen? Does the innkeeper know?”

Lou Binghe doesn’t answer as he waits for Liu Qingge to try some of the food he’d made. It’s brain meltingly good. The cooks on Bai Zhan Peak are adequate on the best days and Liu Qingge is obligingly unpicky. But the bitter crunch of the greens, the richness of the spicy sauce, the tender softness of the meat. Each bite is perfect. Liu Qingge does not flutter his lashes at it, but it’s a near thing. Luo Binghe smirks anyway, a pleased tilt to his chin as he sets up his own bite. His movements are slow, purposeful. Liu Qingge watches him as he takes another–bigger–bite.

“He knows. We have the entire upper floor until this plague passes.” Luo Binghe hums. “We think it’s a demon problem, not an actual plague. We can’t find the reason or source, but as I’m sure Mu Qingfang has already told you, there’s no natural plague that rots the muscle down to the bone.”

Liu Qingge’s chewing slows as he considers what Luo Binghe has said. “You saw us.” 

“Mm.” Luo Binghe takes a bite, smaller. “Sha Hualing saw that little brat leading all of you around. Now that I know the cultivators are from Cang Qiong, it only makes sense you’d have brought your doctor with you.”

“Sha Hualing?” The name is familiar. Was that the girl he saw earlier? She looked different, dressed in robes, her hair down and combed out with only a few of those braids in her hair. “Why did she look like that?” 

“People are uncomfortable with demons in this area.” Luo Binghe says that like people aren’t uncomfortable with demons in every area. “Our innkeeper is less prejudiced, but keeping our appearances hidden is the best course of action.”

Liu Qingge works his way methodically through his meal, putting together what he’s learned so far. His arm itches, and he forces himself to ignore it. The rash prickles hot against his skin. “Why didn’t you come find us?”

Luo Binghe places his chopsticks down, closing one hand over the other as he watches Liu Qingge with cautious, wary eyes. That tinge of red gives a wine-colored tint to his gaze, like a stained shard of glass held away from the light. “This disciple only knew there were other cultivators here. Not all cultivators are as forgiving as Liu-shishu. I have learned this well.”

“He was.” Liu Qingge gestures towards where he’d seen Gongyi Xiao last. The man is gone now. Liu Qingge realizes, with a start, that everyone else has left. Luo Binghe still seems to know who he meant, however, as he smiles. 

“Does shishu like Gongyi Xiao?” Luo Binghe doesn’t go back to eating. Liu Qingge wishes he would. His hands are bony where they rest together, elegant but thin, pale where Liu Qingge is used to Luo Binghe being sunkissed. “He is a good cultivator–less concerned with demon marks and lineages, more focused on his duty to those who need help.”

“Oh?” Liu Qingge nods, approving. “There are rumors in the demonic realm that someone is trying to pull the demonic clans together. Succeeding.”

“Hm.” Luo Binghe shrugs. 

“And that a cultivation sect is housing the one responsible.”

Luo Binghe’s lips twitch, his demonic mark flaring. “I fear Liu-shishu’s informant is making baseless claims. This disciple would never choose to work with a cultivation sect outside of Cang Qiong Peak.”

Liu Qingge’s hands tighten at his sides, a pleased warmth spilling through his chest at the declaration. He allows it to stay for a minute before he forces reality back into place. “You didn’t come back to Cang Qiong, either. So you’re solidifying power in the demonic realm?”

Luo Binghe is strangely quiet, expression shifting through several things at once. “Yes.”

The answer is brittle. Liu Qingge isn’t good at navigating things like this. It feels like it's dangerous, but it shouldn’t be. Luo Binghe is free to do what he wants. He never had to come back and be head disciple, or anything else. He just… 

“Let’s spar.” Liu Qingge doesn’t even think to say the words. Luo Binghe is safe–he’s here, cooking food like he used to talk about, building something for himself. Something separate, apart from the sect that hurt him. “Show me how strong you are.”

Luo Binghe jumps in surprise. “We don’t have the space here, nor the time.” 

Liu Qingge opens his mouth to object, but closes it again when Luo Binghe’s cool hands close around the burning on his arm. A thumb rubs over the bumps, gentle but still painful. 

“Besides, Liu-shishu is injured.” Luo Binghe’s eyes flash scarlet again, his grip tightening just slightly before he pulls his hand away. “We’ll spar once this is over and there’s less distractions.” 

Dissatisfyingly reasonable. “I’m supposed to be finding others affected by the plague. Mu Qingfang wants to observe them.”

“Who else is with you?” Luo Binghe leans forward with interest. 

“Shang Qinghua.” Luo Binghe is still waiting, so Liu Qingge clears his throat and clarifies. “That’s it. We only just heard of all of this and I-”

Liu Qingge bites his tongue before he can be asked to explain himself. I was looking for you. Or I grew impatient. Duty was in the way and Liu Qingge wanted to get back to searching. How long before Luo Binghe asks why Liu Qingge was listening to rumors from the demonic realm? Maybe he just assumes he’s always doing that. Why does it matter if he knows, anyway? Liu Qingge is overthinking things again, worried about rules in a game he knows he doesn’t play. 

“I was looking for you,” Liu Qingge tells him, drawing out the poison of insecurity. Let Luo Binghe think what he thinks. If he thinks about it at all. His neck warms, his cheeks heating up. Luo Binghe probably doesn’t think anything of it, actually. All this time, fighting through who knows what, and Liu Qingge is worried he’s got some opinion on what Liu Qingge’s been doing. Ridiculous. He’s probably–

“Thank you, shishu.” Luo Binghe finally gives him that grin, wide and bright and real again. “This disciple hasn’t been back long. Only a few months. He should have sent word.”

Liu Qingge shakes his head. “Let’s go talk to Mu Qingfang. You can explain to him what you know, and I can show him the rash. Do you know any others who are infected?”

Luo Binghe takes him to a room with three others–two women and a child. Gongyi Xiao leads them back. Luo Binghe, understandably, does not want to reveal himself to anyone else in the Cang Qiong sect, even when Liu Qingge assures him it will be fine. He also mentions the town being unfriendly to his kind, covering the glow of his demon mark with his palm with a playful smile. 

##

“It’s not a plague.” Mu Qingfang gives an assertive nod, wrapping up a freshly treated open sore on the woman’s leg. Her arm is already gone. The infection seems to hit all the limbs first. Liu Qingge scratches his arm, tries to ignore the wave of dizziness that swirls through his head. “I can treat it, but it won’t do any good for prevention if we don’t find the demons responsible.”

Shang Qinghua has not stopped staring at Liu Qingge, eyes squinty and narrow. “Sower demons.” 

Mu Qingfang doesn’t question how Shang Qinghua knows about sower demons or how he recognizes the symptoms when he didn’t before. Apparently only Liu Qingge is so unreasonably bothered by things like this. Still, Liu Qingge returns Shang Qinghua’s stare, crossing his arms. 

“Shang Qinghua.” The An Ding Peak Lord thins his lips, waiting for Liu Qingge to continue. “Tell us what you know of sower demons. Do you know how this can be cured?”

Shang Qinghua at least seems to know he can’t push things too far. He shakes his head. “I read about them in a report that came in during my early days as head disciple. They used to be quite popular among demonic nobility to create rotted meat to fill their coffers. Of course, the practice fell out of favor eventually and was outlawed once human towns started retaliating with specially trained cultivators. The sowers themselves are fairly weak.” 

“Then why haven’t they been stopped yet?” Even the smaller sects could deal with minor demons.

“They disguise themselves well.” Shang Qinghua frowns. “I’m not fighting them, by the way. Our War God was already infected… somehow.”

“It’s barely a problem.” He’s managed to keep the problem from spreading or worsening. The rash itself is just annoying. “A woman bumped into me. One of these demons?”

“Was Liu-shidi distracted?” 

Liu Qingge doesn’t respond. Yang Yixuan shifts beside him. Everyone moves on swiftly, though Shang Qinghua glances around the room like they’re all ignoring something very important. 

“So, we just need to suppress the sower demons and the infections stop?”

“Yes.” Mu Qingfang and Shang Qinghua speak at the same time.

“Fine. I can do that.” Liu Qingge turns to leave and Gongyi Xiao hurries to stop him. “It’s just a rash. I’ll be fine.”

“Uh.” Gongyi Xiao glances at the others. A bead of sweat drips down his forehead. “This disciple would really prefer not to risk unnecessary injury. My friends and I were already in the process of hunting down the cause. Let us finish what we started.”

Liu Qingge ignores him, annoyance already coloring his cheeks. “Feel free to join me. If you can keep up, that just means we’ll be done faster.”

Shang Qinghua nods, as if agreeing. Mu Qingfang flicks him in the shoulder. “Don’t think you’re getting away with doing nothing. You’ll have to help me start making the treatments. We’re going to need a lot of herbs. They’re not super hard to find, but we’ll need a ton of them.”

Shang Qinghua watches Liu Qingge prepare to leave before clearing his throat. “It’s so lucky we came across a Huan Hua disciple here, investigating this so early, along with us. Usually it would take months for the larger sects to get involved, and much greater casualties would have already been had. The city hasn’t even closed down yet.”

Liu Qingge pauses at the door. “We should fix that then.”

“Just saying. Be careful. I don’t know what may happen in such an unexpected turn of events.” Shang Qinghua widens his eyes, brows jumping like the words are supposed to mean something to Liu Qingge. 

They don’t.

He continues on his way out the door, down the street. He waits until the weapon’s shop is out of sight before turning to Gongyi Xiao. “How did you meet Luo Binghe? You obviously trust him enough to be working here, asking me to keep your involvement with him a secret.”

Gongyi Xiao scratches his nose, looking to the sky as if deciding whether to answer. “Well. He was meditating when I first found him. Huan Hua Palace has a cave that’s great for cultivating, but no one ever goes there.”

“Hm.” Liu Qingge had heard of Lushui Lake. Abundant spiritual energy, beautiful (if damp and cold) scenery, peaceful–if one could deal with the claustrophobic entrance, the array protecting Huan Hua sect, the risk of forced isolation. “Does Huan Hua sect not have protections?”

“He was invited. Our Palace Master’s daughter took a liking to him.” Gongyi Xiao laughed, then seemed embarrassed by his response. “A strong liking.”

“Oh?” He frowns. Then why was Gongyi Xiao hiding? “Luo Binghe didn’t return her feelings?”

“That wouldn’t have been too bad. He’d already turned down a few proposals, according to him, when she allowed him to go down there.”

“Does she usually fall so quickly for random strangers? How long ago was this?”

“She found him along a river, half dead, about five months ago.” He frowns, holding up a hand. “Well, all of this is what he told us. Knowing Qiu Haitang, it sounds about right. She’s a sucker for fixer upper pathetic guys. If she found a handsome man who needed her help, I imagine she’d open up Huan Hua palace for him.”

“He’s not staying there now, though?” What had Luo Binghe been doing? When had he left the abyss? 

“If you ask him, he’ll tell you,” Gongyi smiles. “It will sound better coming from him.”

“What made you follow him?”

Gongyi Xiao hums. “Well, he asked. He was cultivating, avoiding people. He said he just wanted to build something, and asked for my help. What he described sounded. Good. Useful.”

Liu Qingge remembers the stories in the abyss, the futures that Luo Binghe painted for him that still play out sometimes when he’s staring at the border of the demonic realm. “He’s good at that. Getting people to see what he sees. To believe in him.”

Gongyi Xiao smiles. “You must have missed him. He said he was gone for a while.” 

Gone . Liu Qingge snorts. “That’s one way to put it.”

Gongyi Xiao casts him a strange look, his smile faltering. He doesn’t look displeased. No, he looks like he’s putting together something, in his head, connecting pieces that Liu Qingge doesn’t see. 

The city is already mostly empty. Liu Qingge has seen it before, when illnesses run their way through a town. The response fluctuates–people are taking all the precautions now, cautious because they believe it can be contained if they’re diligent. Soon, in the second wave, people start to rebel. They wrap up, stride determinedly in the sun, try to go on like normal. It’s why these things carry on so long, spread so fast. People are easily frightened and fear almost always leads to bad decisions. 

Streets twist and intertwine, serpentine and barren. Several shops are closed, their windows shuttered. A man sells noodles out of a cart, his arms draped in black, his face covered in a dark mask. He waves a sign near them. The breeze wafts the scent of the broth in their direction. Gongyi Xiao suggests splitting up and Liu Qingge agrees. 

The sower demons aren’t easy to catch. Not because they’re particularly fast or talented–they just hide well. Liu Qingge has seen them before–bright red, covered from head to toe. The irony isn’t lost on him: the way the humans are trying to slow the disease is exactly what the sower demons need to spread it. Still, Liu Qingge’s eyes are sharp. By the end of the night he has six of them captured. They don’t struggle much when he ties them in rope and shoves them in the room Gongyi Xiao leads him to. He doesn’t know how many total there are to catch, but six less fucking around getting people sick is six less. 

He doesn’t return to Mu Qingfang right away. By now the doctor probably has at least a few treatments ready. Hopefully it’s not something that takes days to prepare. Liu Qingge would prefer not to get to the next step and the rash, despite his qi circulation, is already spreading. Still, a little longer won’t kill him. Probably. And he has questions.

##

“You still have that rash,” Luo Binghe’s hand twitches at his side. “Mu Qingfang hasn’t come up with anything yet?”

“He’s working on it,” Liu Qingge tucks his nails into his robe, grateful for once for the longer sleeves, the looser cut. “Have you come across any other cases?”

Luo Binghe shakes his head. “Running around avoiding you guys kept them from being able to carry on much. Still, we don’t know who sent them. Or why.”

Liu Qingge agrees–killing them would be a mistake. Sower demons don’t benefit much from the spread of disease. Even if they wanted to eat the rotted meat, it’s just as easy to eat without exposing themselves. “Will you be tracking that down? We could help.”

“Doesn’t Liu-shishu have duties to attend to?” Luo Binghe gestures towards the seat beside him. A stack of small cakes, powdered white and towered high, sits on a plate. He takes one, offers it to Liu Qingge. 

The filling is subtle, some sort of bean paste. The powdered sugar on top pushes the dessert firmly past good and into amazing. “Did you make these?”

“The first few days I was here were very disappointing.” Luo Binghe’s eyes flit away, staring at a bit of flour stuck to the table from where he’d worked. “I cook a lot when I’m thinking.”

“Hm.” Liu Qingge eyes the fluff of Luo Binghe’s hair. Dark curls frame his shoulders, fall against his sharp jawline. “Must be difficult, cooking in such a small kitchen after Huan Hua Palace.”

Luo Binghe grimaces, his cheeks turning red. “Liu-shishu heard of that?”

“You didn’t expect me not to ask about you?” Liu Qingge leans forward. Luo Binghe offers him another cake, which he accepts. “You were gone for three years. I didn’t hear anything.”

“It was only a few months ago.” Luo Binghe flinches at the defensiveness in his tone. Liu Qingge watches, fascinated, as he straightens and smooths out his voice. His entire face changes with it, back into his soft, cool expression. “Qiu Haitang was kind enough to allow me time to recover. I–”

“You didn’t stay.” Liu Qingge wants to phrase it like a question, but it’s not. He’s already asked. It’s already obvious. But then, why?

“The Palace Master and Qiu Haitang were good to me.” Luo Binghe’s knuckle knocks against his lip and Liu Qingge wonders if he’s considering how much to say. “She expected a lot. I–When I double checked her information, I realized she’d been misled. I couldn’t give her what she wanted, ultimately.”

Liu Qingge frowns. This doesn’t sound like a spurned crush. “What did she want?”

Luo Binghe sucks in a breath, as if he’d anticipated the question. As if the asking of it shocked him anyway. “She wanted to… drag out old wounds. Things that don’t have anything to do with what I’m working on.”

“Best to part ways, then.” Liu Qingge’s fist unclenched. “Some of the Huan Hua disciples still wanted to help you?”

“It would appear so,” Luo Binghe smiles, tearing apart a cake in his hands, crumbling it between his fingers. “Gongyi Xiao works well. He’s efficient and talented and believes in duty. Does Liu-shishu like him?”

“He’s acceptable.” Liu Qingge nods. Luo Binghe’s expression changes, minute and quick, but Liu Qingge notices. He seems pleased. “What about you, did you ever find another sword?”

“Oh,” Luo Binghe’s back straightens, his lips splitting in an open smile. “Would shishu like to see what this disciple has found?” 

Liu Qingge follows behind him as he climbs the inn’s stairs two at a time. Luo Binghe bounces with excited energy. When he pauses at a doorway–only a few down from where the sower demons are kept–his eyes turn on Liu Qingge. The sight of him, standing with his hand resting on his door frame, grinning with eyes black as night, fathomless and deep, makes Liu Qingge’s steps falter. It’s as if he was cut from Liu Qingge’s memories in the middle of that abyss and dropped back in front of him. The time between folds into itself, nonexistent. 

Liu Qingge’s chest aches. He rubs at it, absently, following Luo Binghe into his room. 

“This disciple found,” Luo Binghe holds up his arms, a showy, flamboyant air to him as he lifts his hands high. “Several swords, shishu.”

And he has. They’re all gorgeous–Liu Qingge had never expected so many to be in such a run down inn. Some of them pulse with spiritual energy. Silk wraps around blades, tied at the hilt with braided rope. Liu Qingge holds and swings at least four different spiritual swords that make Cheng Luan vibrate in its scabbard. There are others, too. Luo Binghe’s smile strains when Liu Qingge’s hand drifts over the top of one–black and straight, a longsword with a single white line down the center of it, double edged and sharp enough to cut with a look. It doesn’t scream like the last one had, doesn’t press Liu Qingge to the floor with its pressure, but it aches against his hand, wailing into his grip. 

“What do you use?” Liu Qingge recalls the sword from the abyss. The one Shang Qinghua had called Xin Mo with that far away look, grimacing without even noticing. The screaming, the pain. He can’t imagine using a sword like that once, much less consistently.

“I use them all.” Luo Binghe shrugs. “They all have their purpose.”

“The one from the abyss?” Liu Qingge frowns. “Xin Mo. Did you keep it?”

Luo Binghe’s brow furrows. “How did you know its name?”

“Shang Qinghua.” 

Luo Binghe’s shoulders stiffen. Liu Qingge half wants to ask, but he thinks he knows why. He won’t force Luo Binghe to talk about his old life, the Luo Binghe of Cang Qiong Mountains. The Luo Binghe from then and the Luo Binghe from now are the same, of course. Liu Qingge can see him in moments Luo Binghe thinks he doesn’t notice. Luo Binghe will have to discover that on his own. 

It’s part of the process, Liu Qingge remembers. Thinking he’s run away, he’s made it out on the other side, but finding out there is no other side. Every day it is just a path forward, of his own making, and nothing in the past ever changes or leaves. It’s not chasing him, but it won’t leave him either. Some days Liu Qingge still struggles with the anger–the need to be stronger, strong enough to beat his own helplessness–but most of the time, now, he knows how to work his way through it. 

“It’s here,” Luo Binghe, to Liu Qingge’s surprise, reaches into a closet, deep behind the robes and embroidered boxes. Liu Qingge recognizes names of other demonic clans, symbols he’s fought against and aside. Finally, Luo Binghe pulls forward a longsword wrapped in black fabric and red, polished beads. 

The ritual of removing everything is obviously one Luo Binghe has done many times. The beads are unwrapped, Luo Binghe muttering under his breath as he unwinds them. They don’t make a sound as he slides them onto the floor. The cloth drops on its own and Liu Qingge is faced with Xin Mo again for the first time in three years. It’s just as he remembered it–black, from hilt to tip, tinged red as if stained with the memory of blood. It doesn’t scream, but the eerie pressure makes his ears hurt anyway. 

“Did you use this in the abyss?”

“It’s all I could find. I think it wiped out everything else. Sent them away. I try not to use it unless I need its specific abilities.”

“How did you know it would…” Send him away, back to their mountain. “Do that.”

Luo Binghe stares at the sword for a long time, gripping the hilt tight. His eyes flash, once, and then he shakes his head, slowly. He barely disturbs his curls as he moves, pale and stiff. “I could show shishu. If he would like.”  

“Oh?” Liu Qingge frowns. “So, there was something?”

Luo Binghe impossibly pales further. “Begging shishu’s forgiveness for keeping secrets.”

“Nonsense.” The boy had no obligation to share anything with him he was uncomfortable with. Still, something twists in Liu Qingge’s stomach. “What is it?”

“This disciple had guidance from more than just shishu.” Annoyance settles into the lines of Luo Binghe’s face. “I apologize ahead of time, shishu will probably find this distressing.”

“Why?” 

Luo Binghe hesitates. When he finally speaks, he’s slow and unsure. “One of my abilities requires for you to be asleep.”

Liu Qingge raises an eyebrow. “Asleep?”

“It’s not a problem if shishu doesn’t want to, but it really is the only way this disciple can explain himself adequately.” 

Liu Qingge doubts that, but the mixture of apprehension and… anticipation? hidden in Luo Binghe’s movements draws him in with the same curiosity that pushes him to study monsters and push himself against strong demons. The idea that whatever it is could be new , could be dangerous or difficult enough to make Luo Binghe hesitant, sets an irresistible pull in Liu Qingge’s hands. “Sure, it’s fine. Where?”

 Luo Binghe’s mouth drops open for just a split second, the weight of his shock landing like a dragonfly over water before it flutters off into the calm mask Liu Qingge is growing aggravated with. If his disciple had truly shed all of his over-excited energy, his eagerness and joy, Liu Qingge would simply accept it as just how Luo Binghe has changed. But no. He can feel it beneath the surface, vibrating like a strummed instrument too quickly silenced. 

Luo Binghe is here, but he’s still gone. Still trapped somewhere in that abyss, if Liu Qingge had to guess. Still fighting his way through monsters on his own. 

Luo Binghe guides Liu Qingge to a couch–it’s small, a single long cushion thrown against a stripped wooden frame. Liu Qingge can feel every one of the knobs and gnarls in the sticks tied together to make it through the thinness of the cushion. He must make a face because Luo Binghe offers him an apologetic smile. “Don’t worry, shishu. You won’t feel it through the dream.”

Liu Qingge frowns. Something about the gentle touch on his back, soft and light before suddenly he’s heavy with exhaustion… it feels familiar, a far away sensation he’s felt before. 

He drops into a dream. It’s an easy one, something he’s dreamed a thousand times. Something he once taught himself to dream when he was first made a disciple and desperate to prove he belonged on Bai Zhan, that he couldn’t be sent away. There he is: smaller, bony shouldered and covered in bruises. He’s only been here for a couple of months and the head disciple watches him with concern almost every day. Pushing yourself too hard is something he hears often enough that it’s become white noise by now. 

Remembering this moment–the many moments like it that thread out like a net that catches him over and over again–burns through his bones, into his joints and shoulders. The satisfying ache of muscle soreness and knowing that eventually it will mean victory , will mean no more pushing or shouting or losing ever again, ignites the push inside him to fight something.

“Shishu is the same everywhere,” Luo Binghe sighs behind him. 

Liu Qingge doesn’t respond. Luo Binghe's solidness lacks the smudgy quality of the rest of their surroundings. He’s sharper, more real, even, than Liu Qingge practicing in the Bai Zhan training grounds. Before the silence can stretch on too long, Luo Binghe pulls a claw down through the indistinct haze that surrounds them, holding it back like a curtain for Liu Qingge to walk through. The next place they find is reminiscent of the abyss. The same vague shapes and blurry outlines that make up Liu Qingge’s dreams of that time now surround them. The longer Luo Binghe concentrates, the more distinct the new setting becomes. 

“This is advanced dream manipulation.” Liu Qingge recognizes the twists of barren branches and stone ruins. There had been several of these scenes in villages before they reached the temple where Luo Binghe had tossed him back to the Cang Qiong Mountains. He allows himself a moment of relief that Luo Binghe hadn’t taken him back to that moment in the dream. 

“Mm.” Luo Binghe nods, conjuring up a rock to sit on and wait. “It’s one of my abilities, though one of the few not due to my lineage.”

“Then how?”

Luo Binghe pats the rock beside him. “He likes to make an entrance.”

Liu Qingge frowns, sitting beside Luo Binghe. A shadow gathers like a storm where he’d been standing. They build first into a ball, fuzzy around the edges and flashing with light. A face carves out from the darkness. Then an arm. A second. Legs. The body is distorted. It’s like looking at a man through a steamed mirror. Liu Qingge waits but the man’s form does not get any sharper.

“There’s nothing wrong with your eyes, Bai Zhan War God.” The man’s voice is gravelly and deep and teasing . Liu Qingge doesn’t like it. “I’ve heard enough about you, it feels like we’ve met a thousand times.”

Luo Binghe makes a distressed noise beside him. Liu Qingge quirks a brow. “And you are?”

“Meng Mo.” The man sounds miffed. “If you were older, you’d be terrified witless right now. Saved by your ignorance.”

Liu Qingge waits, hand instinctively going to his side. In this dream, Cheng Luan is absent. He’s unarmed.  The emptiness on his hip becomes more pronounced as the elder demon’s outline shifts in front of them. Meng Mo does not seem inclined to speak and Liu Qingge doesn’t even know what he’s here to learn, exactly.

“He wants to know how I navigated the abyss.” Luo Binghe’s eyes cut to him, his head tilting so his hair falls over his shoulder. “I’d like to show him.”

Meng Mo grumbles a bit. Liu Qingge catches the words show pony and entertainment. He can’t help but snort. Obviously, the demon is fond. 

He’s not prepared for Meng Mo’s abilities. Liu Qingge doesn’t move, but the space around them does. The ruins separate, stone walls crumbled. It’s familiar and so distant. Liu Qingge watches the places they’d made camp twist away until the temple appears on that horizon. 

“Meng Mo knew about Xin Mo.” Luo Binghe doesn’t explain further than that. He doesn’t need to–Liu Qingge can work it out. 

“How long have you known each other?” A snake has taken residence in Liu Qingge’s stomach, twisting through his insides as he waits for the confirmation of Luo Binghe’s involvement. The depth of the secret he’d kept. 

“The entire time we were in the abyss.” The dream world wavers, all the meticulous crafting rippling like a mirage in water. “A little bit before.”

Liu Qingge swallows the nausea down. Reminds himself that Luo Binghe had no obligation to him, to share this part of him. The idea of him as head disciple had only been his, Luo Binghe had never agreed to it, hadn’t even really discussed it. He had gotten ahead of himself, as usual. He had expected Luo Binghe to trust him, but Luo Binghe had never agreed to do so. “Can he show me anything else?”

“I can show you pretty much anything.” Luo Binghe’s hand twitches on the rock they’re still sitting on. “Though, best to avoid people you know too well. Especially anyone complicated.”

Liu Qingge closes his eyes, forcing the writhing unnamed thing inside him to settle. “Show me whatever you want.”

Luo Binghe takes a deep breath. “Would Liu Qingge like to see how I acquired some of my swords?”

Liu Qingge’s eyebrows raise. He remembers some of the swords. “The black one. The new one, not… Xin Mo.”

He doesn’t need to see Xin Mo. He knows how Luo Binghe acquired it. Wonders, even, how Luo Binghe has kept his sanity after using it. Does it still scream? Had Luo Binghe found a way to quiet it in the years he’d been forced to use it? 

“If Liu-shishu is sure.” Luo Binghe’s hand covers Liu Qingge’s, the touch soft and too warm even in the dream. Meng Mo huffs and steps aside, dissipating much faster than he’d formed himself. 

The sky, the earth, the air is black. A river flows between the Luo Binghe holding his hand and the Luo Binghe standing in the dream. The robes around Luo Binghe’s shoulders are ragged–ripped and holey and threadbare. The Luo Binghe beside him is clean and well put together, controlled and cautious. The Luo Binghe ahead of him is none of those things. Bruises and dirt smudge his face and through the swelling and blood is nothing. Not sorrow or anger or rage or joy or relief. The Luo Binghe who found the sword with a single stripe of light through its core is hollowed out, standing on an island in the fork of this river. 

A beast moves beneath the water. The real Luo Binghe beside him tightens his grip. The squeeze is almost imperceptible, gone before Liu Qingge can be sure it even happened. 

The dark stillness of the river currents shift into shadows beneath a dim light, red and shallow and swallowed by the darkness of the night above them. Liu Qingge can’t see any stars, but he also can’t see any clouds. He can’t tell if they’re underground or if the darkness is simply unnatural. 

The beast below twists and the red light blinks out. A strange, soft face appears above the water. She is a young woman, barely more than a girl, and her eyes are tired. 

Oh son of mine , a voice says, but doesn’t say. Liu Qingge can hear her, even as her mouth doesn’t move, even as the sound echoes inside his mind instead of issuing from her mouth. Where did you go?

Luo Binghe lets go of his hand. The heat of those elegant, thin fingers is quickly replaced by the clammy cold of whatever place this dream is in. 

Luo Binghe in the dream doesn’t respond. A blade is in his hand–Liu Qingge hadn’t noticed it at first. It blends into the darkness of the place, shines with the same red as the woman’s light. Luo Binghe lifts the sword, but Xin Mo’s subtle glow is dimmed. 

I waited and waited. Unburied, unmourned. Oh son, oh son.

Luo Binghe flinches back, shoulders closing in, hands pulling to his chest. Liu Qingge looks at the real Luo Binghe. He’s sitting with his eyes closed, his shoulders carefully relaxed, his expression fully blank. The fear is missing but the dread is there. Liu Qingge stands. The creature in the dream, the soft and formless face, begins to solidify. 

It’s a trick of the darkness and the mind, Liu Qingge knows. He’s seen these before, but never as quick to shift. Is it because this is a dream? This is Luo Binghe’s memory of the scene, more than it is the scene itself.

So, this is his mother. Or what the monster can approximate. Long hair, sticky and thick, falls in sheets over a pair of bony shoulders. Don’t you have anything to say, son? Oh son, oh son, look at me.

Xin Mo jabs, once, through a fleshy arm. The creature, in its own voice, shrieks. Teeth–two, three rows–light in that same dim red, turning the river wine-dark before it rises, towering over his disciple standing alone. 

Liu Qingge crosses the water easily. The creature doesn’t see him, doesn’t defend itself against him. Liu Qingge doesn’t risk an attack, not when he knows the battle is already decided. He wouldn’t refuse Luo Binghe the respect of witnessing this moment. He’d agreed to show this part of those years. Liu Qingge would accept the gift for what it was. But still his feet move of their own accord, standing beside the Luo Binghe in the memory, the Luo Binghe who cringes down when he pulls his sword from the beast. 

Xin Mo moves again, slicing into the gums of the monster. Oh son, oh son! Repeats, overlaid with the monster’s shrieking. A tail, scaled with cracking red rock, lashes out from the river and wraps around Luo Binghe’s torso. Luo Binghe’s mouth is pressed closed, his shoulders crunching together under the pressure of the coiling tail. Despite its owner's distress, Xin Mo remains methodical, cutting and slicing through the monster without hesitation. Each slice is met with a shriek, each pause met with that chanting woman’s voice. 

Liu Qingge steps forward. He won’t interrupt the fight but… He places his hands over the dream Luo Binghe’s ears. The touch isn’t immediately noticed–the Luo Binghe in the dream never looks back at him. But both–the Luo Binghe beneath Liu Qingge’s hands, the one that Liu Qingge can see ahead of him across the river–relax, their stillness loosening. Xin Mo cuts the neck, the tail, the deep muscled shoulders of the creature beneath the illusion of Luo Binghe’s mother it conjured as a lure.

Liu Qingge wonders when Luo Binghe encountered the Cocytus River. The sword Luo Binghe is supposed to have acquired hasn’t appeared, yet. The creature thrashes, one last time, before Xin Mo buries itself–not in the faux-mother’s head, but through the jaws and teeth behind it, pressing until it shoves past and through the creature’s true skull. 

Liu Qingge doesn’t remove his hands until the creature falls onto the shore. The final cry echoes, quieting slowly, falling silent in waves. When all of the noise and clattering stops, Liu Qingge’s hands drop to his side. It takes another several minutes for Luo Binghe to move. Liu Qingge expects him to leave, to try to get away from the island and the river, but instead Luo Binghe steps up to the creature’s head. 

The faux mother has dissolved into a formless blob, unstructured and empty faced. Luo Binghe wraps his arms around the lower jaw of the creature’s man-eating mouth and pulls. He repeats this motion, over and over, pulling at the neck, the shoulders, the torso, until yards and yards of the creature are stretched across Luo Binghe’s shore. 

Liu Qingge is watching Luo Binghe, so he doesn’t catch it at first. The sword blends into the uninterrupted darkness, scraping against the silty sand as the creature’s belly drags in Luo Binghe’s hold. Sweating, teeth gritted, Luo Binghe sits and catches his breath. The sword glints like a tooth, its silver-white line glaring even without any active light. The dream Luo Binghe stares at the sword. The Luo Binghe across the river watches Liu Qingge. 

When Luo Binghe pulls the sword from the creature’s belly, he doesn’t sob, but sorrow pulses across the dreamscape, tangible and discolored, loud even without any sound. 

“Zhu Xin,” both Luo Binghes say, the name coming out in a breath. The dream Luo Binghe pulls the sword to the water, running the stained tip into the current. Blood and viscera wash away, disappearing in the obsidian depths below the fading red light of the scales.  

The dream wavers. Details blur until the monster and the island are indistinguishable. Only Luo Binghe and Zhu Xin remain in focus. The real Luo Binghe raises his hand and they vanish too, along with the river and everything else. 

They’re standing back in the ruins from before. Meng Mo, to Liu Qingge’s surprise, has not returned. 

“The River of Wailing,” Liu Qingge crosses until he’s back at the rock with Luo Binghe. “A formidable foe in itself. To touch the waters is said to bring back every sorrow that’s ever pierced the heart. Whoever dares to tread it makes an enemy of their own mind.”

Luo Binghe smiles, the same soft and controlled smile that Liu Qingge thinks may haunt him as much as that abyss had. “For some, that enemy is as old and well-learned as any. Is there anything else Liu-shishu would like to see?”

Luo Binghe, despite his demeanor, looks exhausted. Liu Qingge considers refusing anything else, going back to give Luo Binghe a break, to force him to rest. An idea slips in front of this very considerate instinct, and Liu Qingge doesn’t even think about it much before he asks. 

“Does it have to be something that actually exists?”

“Hm?” A line appears between Luo Binghe’s brows. “No. If I can think of it, or you–if we were in your dreamscape–then it can be made.”

“Mm.” Liu Qingge nods and looks at the empty broken stone. “Tell me a story, then.”

Luo Binghe grins, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. He stands and that unnatural stillness leaves him. A tense thread unwinds in Liu Qingge’s chest, a taut stretch of worry relaxing like a sore muscle, as Luo Binghe begins to reconstruct the monsters he’d seen and make up a story of hunting and fighting and cataloguing together. 

It’s nice. It’s warm. Liu Qingge rests inside the easiness of it. 

##

He wakes slowly. More slowly than he usually ever does, sleep clinging to him like a fine web. He’s warm. His eyes creak open, lashes heavy. The room smells like peppers and sesame, fresh rice and springwater. His stomach twists into itself and he remembers he didn’t eat after chasing down those sower demons yesterday. 

When he finally comes into himself, awareness dropping like an anvil into his chest, he realizes several things. His head is laid against something curved and broad and not-too-comfortable. He’s also being accosted by hair, both his own which is stuck to his face, and Luo Binghe’s, which is like being swallowed by a cloud. His disciple is still asleep, head leaned against the single cushion, pillowed beneath the arm Liu Qingge had not been sleeping on. 

He’s drooling, Liu Qingge thinks. Now that Luo Binghe is sleeping, his exhaustion is evident. The shadows under his eyes are more pronounced in the dim light of the room. Liu Qingge allows himself time to study his disciple, to check for signs that Luo Binghe may have been keeping hidden before. His hands are rough, torn and scarred and calloused from training and fights that he didn’t see fit to share today. Liu Qingge notes that his new robes are well tailored, simple yet elegant. They fit him well, the color suiting his skin and hair and the softness to his face he never seems to be rid of. Whatever struggles Luo Binghe experienced in the abyss and the months afterwards, he hides them almost perfectly. 

Liu Qingge’s eyes trace the line of Luo Binghe’s neck, the spot over his shoulder where his hair gathers, the wild curl clinging to his throat and chest and arm. Dark lashes cover those dark eyes. Liu Qingge wonders if they’re still red now, while Luo Binghe sleeps. His eyes fall on Luo Binghe’s slightly parted lips. He’s taken, suddenly, by a memory of those lips on his, the barest kiss before everything suddenly ended. 

He hasn’t allowed himself to think about it since he was pushed through that portal and onto An Ding Peak. Does Luo Binghe even remember it? What had he possibly meant by it then? Liu Qingge isn’t a fool–he knows what kissing implies. But Luo Binghe had been in distress, stuck in the middle of hell, under Liu Qingge’s protection. Was it some misguided attempt at appreciation? 

Would he be embarrassed if he remembered it now? 

“Shishu?” Luo Binghe’s voice is clear, none of the ragged edge of sleep clouding his voice. “Is something wrong?”

The cadence of the question is so calm and collected. Liu Qingge has to consider whether there is anything wrong. Nothing’s wrong that should be wrong, so he shakes his head. “There are more sower demons. I don’t know how many.”

“You caught six. Gongyi Xiao caught three. With nine of them already caught, there should not be many left. Shishu shouldn’t worry, his disciple can capture them himself.” Luo Binghe lifts Liu Qingge’s arm, turning it over so the rash is visible. It’s advancing–slowly, barely any at all, but enough that Liu Qingge frowns and pulls his arm away. “Liu-shishu should go get treated. As much as the governor of Jin Lan would like to keep things completely quiet, too much has happened. We’ll have to gather up all the citizens in one place for treatment. With how many have already died, we’ll probably have to pull in some of the sect leaders to determine what should be done.”

All of Luo Binghe’s suggestions are very reasonable–despite the fact he’s mostly been in this inn, behind the scenes on everything, Liu Qingge can see how quickly he’s managed to take charge of the situation. Liu Qingge lets him. He’s here to fight sower demons and investigate a plague. The curing and political work will have to be done by Shang Qinghua and Mu Qingfang. 

“Mm. I’ll see how many treatments Mu Qingfang has managed to put together. We’ll meet up later in the city center to administer treatment.”

“When Shang Qinghua calls on Yue Qingyuan, will Liu-shishu allow for this disciple to attend the meeting?” Luo Binghe straightens his back, chin and shoulders stiff. “Most of my work has gone unattributed, but since so many sects and innocents were involved here, I worry if my involvement continues to be so quiet, nefarious intent may be assigned where there was none should it be discovered.”

Liu Qingge scoffs, shaking his head at the idea that he’d allow Luo Binghe and his group of assorted demons and cultivators to take blame after they’d been so instrumental in clean up. Still, after a moment, he assures Luo Binghe he’s more than welcome to speak to Yue Qingyuan if he chooses. 

##

Everything wraps up nicely. Liu Qingge has never finished a fight from this side. Luo Binghe rounds up the remaining sower demons with ease–there’s six more, for a total of fifteen. The number shocks Shang Qinghua, for some reason, who hasn’t stopped frowning since the morning began.

“You’re subdued this morning,” Mu Qingfang notes, handing Liu Qingge another bitter tea to drink. “Usually you’re all scowls and threats when you have to get treatment. What happened?”

“You think I want my arm to rot off?”

“You could have returned last night if you were concerned.” Mu Qingfang waves a fan over the rash, now smeared with a paste of dark green herbs. “You chose to put it off until it had started advancing to the rest of your arm. We’ll have to watch for signs on your other limbs. Once we return to the sect, you’ll need to check in with me daily.”

“Fine.” Liu Qingge’s mind keeps drifting elsewhere. Shang Qinghua sent word to the governor and Yue Qingyuan at the same time, his brush gliding across the paper like he’d already had the words at his fingertips. Luo Binghe hasn’t shown himself this morning. Gongyi Xiao had been the one to drop off the news saying a superior had gathered the sower demons. 

The monster from Luo Binghe’s dreamscape comes to mind. It’s not the most ferocious that’s said to live in the Cocytus river, but it’s still something Liu Qingge would have struggled with by himself. The river has a mind of its own and the creatures in it feed on the wailing it produces. Luo Binghe had faced it with barely any reaction. Men had been driven mad just by being in the presence of the waters and Luo Binghe had killed its beast. 

What had happened to him to strip him of that recklessness from his youth? What had dimmed all of that vibrant energy that had driven Liu Qingge crazy in the abyss? Even the stories last night had been controlled, clinical, a fascinating but cold breaking apart of monsters and beasts from the abyss that Liu Qingge had missed. Luo Binghe is hiding something, shielding himself from some oncoming strike, and Liu Qingge can’t figure out what it is to block it. 

He shakes himself. His name drifts towards him, then again, louder. Shang Qinghua has been trying to speak to him.

“What?” He snaps, then forces himself to reign in the irritation of his interrupted thoughts. “When will everyone be here?”

“The governor has shown up already. He wants to know how we found out about the plague.”

“You had reports.” Liu Qingge does not miss the way Shang Qinghua flinches at that, at the way Mu Qingfang’s face scrunches in disbelief.

“Did you? Then why was this so slapdash? Shouldn’t we have come with a better plan than just see what happens ?” Mu Qingfang smacks Shang Qinghua on the side of the head with his open hand, hitting more fluffy hair than skull. “Next time be more forthcoming.”

“Uh. Right.” 

Liu Qingge gives Shang Qinghua a knowing look. The An Ding Peak Lord looks away, cheeks red. “We’ll protect Yang Yixuan from the governor’s retribution. He’ll be upset about the reputation of the city being blackened. Yang Yixuan was seen leading us around.”

“How will we do that?” Shang Qinghua seems to already know the answer, like he always does. Liu Qingge has long suspected the man of being a seer. He’s still annoyed by it.

“I’ll take him on as a disciple. Then he’ll be under Cang Qiong’s protection.”

Both men in the room go quiet, their eyes meeting from across the room. Liu Qingge has, to this day, never taken on a disciple. He’s never even discussed it. Neither man knows that he’d almost taken on Luo Binghe, that if Luo Binghe showed up at the door today and said Take me on to Bai Zhan Peak, Liu Qingge would be walking out of Jin Lan City with one disciple and one head disciple if he had to break his knuckles on Shen Qingqiu’s face to do it. The idea sounds so appealing. He banishes it like the fantasy it is.

Luo Binghe is building something for himself. Something separate, pulling together the demon clans. Whatever he’s doing will be bigger than Cang Qiong sect. Liu Qingge won’t get in the way. Not that he’s under any illusion Luo Binghe would follow if he asks. 

“Sect Leader will be happy that Liu Qingge has finally chosen someone.”

Liu Qingge ignores Mu Qingfang’s carefully worded statement that is more of a question. 

The sect leader appears a couple of hours after the Governor gathers all of the infected into the city center. Mu Qingfang has set up a station of prepared medicine, utilizing the disciples Luo Binghe brought with him to make more as he distributes. A group of recovering infected has already settled into a tent set up by Luo Binghe when Yue Qingyuan steps into the center of town, Shen Qingqiu and Qi Qingqi trailing behind him. 

Liu Qingge stays where he’s guarding the door to the hastily erected fence the sowers are huddled. They haven’t spoken since being gathered. Most of them are young men, bright red and thin, shallow chests giving way to scrawny ribs. They don’t look like a threat. Liu Qingge notes that some of them are young, and he even recognizes the woman who bumped into him. His own rash is gone, though Mu Qingfang insists he’ll need to be checked regularly for a few days regardless. 

“Mu Qingfang,” Yue Qingyuan bows his neck in their direction, his usual placid smile on his ever-calm face. “What has been going on here? Shang Qinghua’s message was strangely vague.”

“There’s not much to concern yourself with, sect leader.” Luo Binghe’s voice is quiet, but everyone’s attention shifts to him. His demon mark is brighter, the red in his eyes less subtle. “Liu-shishu and I have already caught the sower demons and Mu Qingfang is treating the infected.”

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes sweep to where Luo Binghe stands. Gongyi Xiao is nowhere to be seen. Only the girl in the robes–the one Liu Qingge is fairly certain is Sha Hualing–stands beside him. Her smile is insincere, her hands clasped ahead of her in a show of proper deference to all the authority in the small square. Shen Qingqiu leans forward, brows pulled together, lips twitching back into a sneer.

“You’ve survived.”

Luo Binghe does not respond. He doesn’t even look at Shen Qingqiu standing there. 

“He was instrumental in capturing the last of the sower demons and steering victims of the infection in our direction.” Liu Qingge spoke quickly, failing to keep the warning from his tone. “Without him this would have carried on for at least several more days.”

“Oh?” Shen Qingqiu does not clench his fists or glare or sneer. Liu Qingge would feel better if he had. “And how did Luo Binghe’s appearance happen to coincide with such an unfortunate epidemic? The sower demons are too weak to risk exposure this way. Only a stronger demon could have convinced them to come out of hiding.”

“What are you implying?” Liu Qingge cuts through Shen Qingqiu’s attempt to build up to a narrative. Let him speak his accusations plainly, or Liu Qingge will demand they be ignored. “Luo Binghe showed up shortly before we did. He’s under no more suspicion than us.”

“None of you are demons.” Shen Qingqiu follows the statement by running his gaze up and down Liu Qingge, as if he’s not quite sure about his assessment. “Sower demons wouldn’t listen to just anyone.”

Liu Qingge looks at the cowering things behind him. It’s true they wouldn’t, he knows. He hadn’t had such a hard time catching them for nothing. Still, Luo Binghe has no reason to set up an infectious spread of rot in Jin Lan. The boy doesn’t eat rotted human meat, and Liu Qingge refuses to believe the boy learned how to cook so well just to eat a human leg. 

“What would Shizun recommend?” Luo Binghe’s voice is even, his expression flat. The emptiness behind his eyes, the quiet nothing echoing inside Luo Binghe’s expression, looks familiar. He’s expecting pain. Pain he doesn’t intend to stop.

“The sower demons can only be stopped by burning.” Shen Qingqiu doesn’t speak to Luo Binghe, acts like he just decided to share this information instead of answer Luo Binghe’s question. He turns, as if the only one who’s meant to hear him is Yue Qingyuan. “With a fire hot enough we can burn out their infectious abilities and prevent any further harm. As for the other suspicions–we’ll have to discuss those further.”

The group of demons behind him huddles together closer. One of the smaller ones–a child, Liu Qingge thinks–throws himself to the fence and wails. 

“Lord Masters! Please!” A high pitched cry pierces the uncomfortable silence that follows. “Please! Immortal Master Liu! Shang Qinghua! Please don’t let them kill us! We only–we only–”

One of the women hurries forward, pulling the boy back with a hand across his face. She glances, scared, between Luo Binghe and the others. Liu Qingge recognizes her as the one who infected him.

Yue Qingyuan frowns, attention focused on the woman and child. Slowly, he glances between Liu Qingge and Shang Qinghua. Even Mu Qingfang is watching them both with shocked expressions. 

“How does he know the names of our Peak Lords?” Shen Qingqiu’s question oozes smugness. Liu Qingge closes his fist tight enough that his knuckles pop. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Qi Qingqi snaps before Liu Qingge can decide whether he will allow this conversation to continue. “Are you next going to imply that the governor was in on it? Stop being so suspicious.”

“Liu-shidi did throw himself into the abyss after the demon spawn.” Shen Qingqiu shrugs, as if this is merely the weather and not something Shen Qingqiu was responsible for himself. “Who knows what the boy did to him while he was down there.”

Liu Qingge takes two steps forward before he registers that Shen Qingqiu’s face is bleeding. Luo Binghe stands in front of his Shizun, Yue Qingyuan gripping his arm hard enough to bruise. It’s too late–Luo Binghe has already managed to land a hit on Shen Qingqiu solid enough that the man’s nose sits crooked on his face. 

With Mu Qingfang’s help and Shen Qingqiu’s level of cultivation, the break will be healed by the end of the day. The attack is minor–a show of displeasure more than any real threat. Yet, looking at Luo Binghe, the scarlet glow of his eyes, the snarl twisting his face, Liu Qingge’s heart skips. The fist held still in Yue Qingyuan’s grip is blackened, the fangs peeking from Luo Binghe’s lips are long. He’s unleashed the full effect of his demonic appearance.

Liu Qingge wants to take him back to Bai Zhan. To give him the protection he’s already given Yang Yixuan. Yue Qingyuan won’t attack what another Peak Lord has claimed, he knows. Yue Qingyuan has always used the same unspoken rule to protect Shen Qingqiu. Liu Qingge takes another step forward, the claim already on the tip of his tongue. If Luo Binghe must bring the demon realm to heel then he can do it from beneath Liu Qingge’s roof. 

“Apologies, Immortal Master, for my lapse in judgement.” Luo Binghe’s words fall harsh and reluctant, biting with each one that leaves his mouth. “Liu-shishu saved this disciples life many times after his Shizun cast him into the abyss. This disciple finds himself protective.”

Shen Qingqiu spits, leaving a pink lined stain at Luo Binghe’s feet. “Possessive. Insolent.”

Yue Qingyuan holds up his hand. “Governor, Jin Lan is your city. How would you like the sower demons dealt with?”

Liu Qingge finds himself uncaring about the ultimate fates of the demons. They have information. They were sent by someone. If Luo Binghe is to be absolved of involvement, they’ll need to survive long enough to give up who orchestrated their arrival here and why. After that, they can suffer whatever punishment for the deaths at their hands. “They can tell us who sent them. We should let them live.”

The governor  looks between the leaders, his eyes widening with each pass to every immortal leader. Finally, they settle on Luo Binghe–who had already referred to himself as disciple. Who clearly was not favored. Liu Qingge can see the moment the decision is made to appeal to the weakest in the pack, the least likely to require extra favors. The governor’s face turns saccharine. 

“Oh! This disciple is the hero of Jin Lan City!” The governor falls to his knees, then realizes his mistake and scurries along in a half bow until he can reach Luo Binghe’s robes. “I saw him myself, just last night! He hunted the sower demons with such ferocity!”

Luo Binghe’s expression drops from the distaste he was glaring in Shen Qingqiu’s direction to the same calculated calm he’s had in most of his interactions with Liu Qingge so far. “It was nothing. This disciple was only doing as he should. It was lucky this disciple was travelling amongst the smaller sects when our governor sent for aid.”

The governor goes red at that, but he does not let go of Luo Binghe’s robe. “Yes, very fortunate! What would this disciple have us do?”

Luo Binghe ignores the man’s question, looking back at Yue Qingyuan. “Forgive this disciple’s presumptuousness, Sect Leader Yue. Liu-shishu raises a good point. If there is suspicion over their origins, we should interrogate them before making any hasty decisions.”

“And what will you be doing? Running off to hide back where you escaped from?” Shen Qingqiu tries, once more, to draw Luo Binghe’s ire and gets ignored. Aside from the single punch when Shen Qingqiu insulted Liu Qingge, it appears Luo Binghe is determined to ignore him.

“Luo Binghe must understand,” Yue Qingyuan’s voice is even, not cold but not warm, either. “His sudden appearance in this circumstance does appear suspicious. We will have to investigate.”

“Then the sower demons will be kept prisoner until the truth can be brought out?”

Yue Qingyuan nods. The governor’s grovelling has finally gone quiet. 

Qi Qingqi glares between the men, her hands resting against her hip as she looks between them and the sower demons in their pen. She snorts, casts a scathing glare in the governor’s direction, and turns to the sower demons. “We won’t burn you alive. That would make us no better than the fool who hired you. If you prefer to avoid a fate as gruesome as the ones you bestowed upon your victims, then you will speak quickly and thoroughly.”

The sower demons all agree with forced enthusiasm, the children shoved back behind the adults to keep them out of sight. 

“Where will he be kept while we investigate? We can’t trust him not to just disappear. No one has heard from him in three years and he just appears here. He could easily go back where he came from.”

Luo Binghe narrows his eyes, still not turning his head to see his shizun. “There is a prison in Huan Hua Palace. It has been used to house demons before. Would this be a suitable holding cell for this disciple until his shizun is satisfied?”

“Oh yes, let the demon choose his own prison. And how will we–”

“Enough!” Liu Qingge’s face reddens, and he glares up at the others as they all talk around Shen Qingqiu’s barely concealed vitriol. “Are you going to accuse Huan Hua Palace of colluding with the sower demons, too? Two Peak Lords and an entire sect? Luo Binghe must be fearsomely powerful to draw such caution from his shizun.”

Luo Binghe’s eyes widen, his gaze finally turning away from the battle of wills currently taking place amongst the Cang Qiong leaders. Liu Qingge’s temper flares. What, had Luo Binghe forgotten about him after his little show against Shen Qingqiu? 

“The Palace Master is aware of Luo Binghe’s past. Send word and confirm–he is willing to guarantee my imprisonment during any investigations as long as the investigations are fair and swift.” Luo Binghe hums, as if a thought has just occurred to him. Liu Qingge doubts that anything he says is not rehearsed and perfected. “Huan Hua Palace is a major sect. Their reputation is at stake here as well, so they would be motivated to uphold their end of the bargain. If this disciple may make a request?”

Yue Qingyuan waits. 

“This disciple was cast aside without a trial before. Shizun decided his fate without any chance for him to explain himself or for Cang Qiong to make a decision. Since this disciple is already to be imprisoned, can this disciple request this oversight be remedied?”

“If Huan Hua Palace even agrees to hold you. No one has spoken to them yet.” Shen Qingqiu is ignored by everyone except Yue Qingyuan, who lowers his head in his direction in acknowledgement. “Why would you request the water prison?”

Luo Binghe does not answer, just watches Yue Qingyuan. Liu Qingge isn’t sure if the Sect Leader will agree to this or not. It’s obvious Luo Binghe has a plan, that he’s had a plan and this is just the opportunity he’s looking for. Still, it’s not an unreasonable request. Luo Binghe hasn’t actually been found guilty of any crime. To any outsider, it looks like he’s being very accommodating of an paranoid, prejudiced man. Liu Qingge doesn’t know if he even disagrees with that assessment, aside from that he knows Luo Binghe must be getting something from this. 

“One of our sect leaders will–”

“I volunteer.” The declaration is easy, already half-formed before the start of the suggestion even leaves Yue Qingyuan’s lips. “I’ll remain in the Huan Hua Palace to ensure Luo Binghe’s cooperation.”

Luo Binghe’s smile is unmistakable, even from here. It’s pleased, but not the smug sort of pleased he’d had when Shen Qingqiu bristled at him. His voice is entirely even, neutral despite his expression. “This is acceptable.”

Shen Qingqiu opens his mouth to argue–no doubt to reassert that Liu Qingge has somehow been compromised by his time in the abyss with Luo Binghe–but the man’s paranoia can only be excused so far. Qi Qingqi holds up her hand as if to shush him. 

“Then it is decided. Pending investigation, Luo Binghe is to remain in Huan Hua Palace where Liu-shishu will keep watch to ensure his cooperation.” Yue Qingyuan purses his lips, looking to the governor. “Future troubles will be brought to attention immediately, I trust? This could have escalated to a much more dire situation.”

The governor trembles, hands dropping to his side as his awed eyes shift to all the leaders above him. “Y-yes, Immortal Master. Our city will keep a tighter rein on disasters before they reach this point.” 

Everything ends just like that, as if the entire ordeal could have been just a meeting all along. The sower demons whimper and whine when Qi Qingqi gathers them together. Mu Qingfang seems mildly annoyed by the drama, forcing everyone present to help until every infected citizen had been treated. 

##

The water prison is not as terrible as Liu Qingge imagines it might have been. Luo Binghe is already inside when he arrives, escorted by Qi Qingqi. They don’t hurry down the stone pathway. Qi Qingqi makes a point of kicking a loose rock into the lake below only to watch it sizzle and smoke until it dissolves. “Don’t fall in,” she says, as if there was any risk or Liu Qingge was some kind of idiot. 

He doesn’t respond. His chest is tight, his hand resting on Cheng Luan. He feels like he’s approaching that temple in the abyss all over again, a fight waiting for him that he can’t possibly win. What is Luo Binghe planning? Why put himself on trial like this? Why drag all of this out for a prize he didn’t even want? After all this time, with his work in the demon realm, would Yue Qingyuan even allow an outcome different from the one Shen Qingqiu enacted those years ago?

“Shishu,” Luo Binghe greets him once the water curtain parts. As agreed, Qi Qingqi stays behind. Liu Qingge enters alone.

“Luo Binghe,” Liu Qingge steps closer, taking in his disciples disheveled appearance–his robes are soaked, half shredded, and his hair lays in wet strings against his scalp and face. “I thought the Palace Master and you were amiable?”

“Mm.” Luo Binghe smiles. His arms are bound, chest and shoulders too, in red and black cables. “His daughter, on the other hand, disagrees with my methods.”

“And your refusals,” Liu Qingge looks away from Luo Binghe’s half-exposed chest. “I hear she was quite fond of you previously.”

“Gongyi Xiao is such a loudmouth.” 

They sit in silence for several minutes, Liu Qingge pacing in the small platform. He’s observed enough. “The marks on your clothes and the wounds on your chest. Did she whip you?”

“She had to act fast, before you arrived.”

“Did you ever agree to being bound?”

“No,” Luo Binghe quirks a brow. “Though, the Palace Master could easily claim this was his version of ensuring my imprisonment .” 

“Mm.” Liu Qingge unsheaths Cheng Luan and cuts through the bindings. “That’s why I’m here. He’ll just have to understand.”

Luo Binghe’s robes are more destroyed than Liu Qingge expected. They fall practically to ribbons when the bindings are removed. Liu Qingge’s ears heat up as Luo Binghe’s chest is exposed, wet and faintly glowing in the dim torchlight of the prison. Quickly, he removes his outer robe and hands it to Luo Binghe. 

“Shishu?” Luo Binghe’s hand brushes over his when he accepts the robe. Liu Qingge gives him a moment to get settled, but somehow, when he looks over almost a full minute later, Luo Binghe is still just holding the fabric out in his hand. Liu Qingge’s neck warms along with his ears. 

“What?”

Luo Binghe narrows his eyes, searching his face before he chuckles and pulls the robe on. 

“Nothing.” Luo Binghe adjusts the robes until it settles mostly over his chest. He’s more broad than Liu Qingge, in the shoulders, leaving the fabric just slightly tight. “Thank you, shishu. Would shishu mind helping this disciple with his hair?”

Liu Qingge falls into the familiar rhythm. After so long, he fumbles his way through the first few strands, but it doesn’t take long before his fingers slide easily through the curls. They’re already drying, despite how cool and damp it is everywhere. Qiu Haitang had been thorough. Liu Qingge finishes untangling and then braids everything to keep it out of Luo Binghe’s face. 

“How long does shishu expect this disciple will be here?” Luo Binghe leans into Liu Qingge’s fingers as they massage where he’d tugged on the strands. He seems relaxed–not the same tightly controlled calm as before. “Do the other Peak Lords seem motivated to investigate quickly?”

Luo Binghe doesn’t say anything about his shizun, but the implication is there regardless. Would Shen Qingqiu want to hurry the investigation to prove Luo Binghe’s guilt? Would he draw it out to keep Luo Binghe in prison as long as possible? 

Does Liu Qingge think Luo Binghe is innocent? Guilty? 

“Does Liu-shishu want this disciple?” Luo Binghe’s hand closes over Liu Qingge’s, warm in the cold room. Long, elegant fingers cover Liu Qingge’s entirely. Calluses catch on the back of Liu Qingge’s knuckles. 

Liu Qingge’s ears are ringing. Luo Binghe shifts, stepping closer as Liu Qingge’s silence carries on. 

“Would shishu still accept this disciple on Bai Zhan Peak?”