Work Text:
Liu Qingge hadn’t noticed Shang Qinghua’s hair during the meeting — or at least, he thought he hadn’t. He’d been too busy watching Shen Qingqiu behave in a strangely evasive and suspicious way. But now, standing in the doorway of An Ding Peak Lord’s office, it was impossible to miss.
He had come in with his usual stormy energy, fully prepared to complain about a building that had collapsed during a training session under his watch. His expression was firm, his words sharp and ready on the tip of his tongue. But the moment the door slammed open and hit the wall with a resounding bang, he froze.
Shang Qinghua’s hair — loose, soft, falling in slightly unruly curls over his shoulders — swayed as he rose from behind his desk, his light robes flowing with unexpected grace.
Shang Qinghua was anything but graceful.
He let out a dramatic sigh, his expression twisting from horror to confusion in mere seconds.
“Shidi! I’ve told you to learn how to knock!” he snapped, more out of habit than genuine anger. In the beginning, he’d avoided scolding Liu Qingge — better to stay quiet and out of the way — but over time, he’d grown used to voicing his discomfort. He might not be the strongest of Liu Qingge’s shixiongs, but he still deserved respect. And if he didn’t get it, well… he wouldn’t give it either.
He crossed his arms automatically, expecting an apology.
It didn’t come.
Liu Qingge remained frozen, unmoving, his face strangely red as he stared into the room.
Poisoned? Qi deviation? Seriously? It’s way too early for this. Binghe hasn’t even arrived at the sect yet. Mobei-jun still needs to kill off two older brothers before he’s heir to the North.
“Shidi, are you alright?” Shang Qinghua asked, brow lightly furrowed, taking a few cautious steps toward him. His voice was calm, almost gentle.
Liu Qingge didn’t respond.
Still rooted in place, he looked more like a disciple caught stealing snacks than a fearsome Peak Lord.
Shang Qinghua blinked and waved a hand in front of his face.
Liu Qingge startled, eyes widening as he blinked rapidly. The flush on his cheeks deepened, and he took a step back, clearly flustered.
Shang Qinghua tilted his head in confusion, curls swaying gently behind him — as if mocking the quiet chaos Liu Qingge left behind when he abruptly turned on his heel and fled.
Shang Qinghua stared at the still-open door, one brow raised.
“…Storms into my office like a hurricane and runs off like a guilty disciple.”
Despite the grumble, his eyes lingered on the now-empty entrance. That same quiet, nagging concern began to settle again.
“…Shidi,” he repeated, more softly this time, almost like a stray thought — and the hair behind him swayed gently, as if teasing the mess left behind.
Shang Qinghua scratched behind his ear, glancing at his abandoned desk.
Well, he had stood up and lost his focus now.
Maybe he could write a letter inviting Mu Qingfang over for tea?