Chapter Text
The disciples had barely recovered from the sight of their esteemed master single-handedly tearing a full bronze mirror from the wall when, to their mounting dread, they realized he fully intended to haul it all the way back to Qing Jing Peak.
“Shizun,” Ming Fan ventured cautiously, watching Shen Qingqiu stride ahead with the massive mirror slung across his shoulder like some deranged traveling peddler, “shouldn’t… shouldn’t we leave that object where it is?”
Shen Qingqiu did not so much as falter in his pace. His voice, cool and refined, flowed effortlessly, “And permit some other sect—or worse, passing opportunists—to claim it and put it to vile use? This Master would never allow such calamity to take root.”
…Except, of course, that was not what came out.
What came out of Shen Qingqiu's mouth was, “I need this mirror to beat Shang Qinghua over the head with it until he coughs up an explanation.”
Wait...what?!
The disciples nearly tripped over one another.
Shen Qingqiu flicked open his fan with a snap, concealing the faint heat spreading across his cheeks.
“Do not heed your Shizun’s nonsense,” he commanded. “Keep moving.”
And so, once his disciples had been sent off in confusion, Shen Qingqiu marched toward An Ding Peak, dragging the enormous mirror behind him like some stubborn mule possessed.
When Shang Qinghua’s shabby little residence came into view, the door creaked open. For a split second, it looked as if Shang Qinghua was about to step outside—but then his gaze fell on Shen Qingqiu hurtling toward him, a massive object at the ready.
With a strangled yelp, he ducked back inside like a man fleeing an avalanche and slammed the door.
Shen Qingqiu’s lips curled. “You—coward!” He jabbed the bronze edge against the wood with sharp intent. “Open this door, or—”
His throat tightened, as if warning him not to throw around promises he had no intention of keeping.
Inside, Shang Qinghua pressed himself flat against the far wall, voice trembling. “Bro! Violence isn’t the answer! We can talk about this!”
“Talk?!” Shen Qingqiu all but hissed. The words tumbled out with no restraint. “Save your talk for my execution, when the peak lords discover I’m an impostor and—”
“???”
Shang Qinghua’s eyes bulged so wide they looked ready to leap from his skull. Forget being beaten to death—he was suddenly far more afraid of the consequences of Shen Qingqiu’s words being overheard.
In blind panic, Shang Qinghua wrenched the door open, grabbed Shen Qingqiu by the sleeve, and yanked him inside. He slammed it shut again with a bang that rattled the frame.
“Bro!” he hissed, scandalized. “Have you lost your mind?! You said that out loud! What if someone heard? What if the System heard?!”
Shen Qingqiu pressed his lips into a blood-thin line. He jabbed the mirror against the floor with a frustrated clack.
“The System will be the least of my problems when I spill all my guts to everyone I meet! If I don’t deal with this mirror now, I won’t even survive long enough for Luo Binghe to return. And it’s your fault!”
Shang Qinghua staggered back, glancing at him in confusion. “Wait… the mirror?..”
Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrowed. “What, you don’t recognize your own creation?”
Shang Qinghua fidgeted, sweat already sliding down his temple. “Well… I mean… it’s… big. And glowing. And ominous—”
“I’m going to kill you now,” Shen Qingqiu said evenly, mildly impressed that for once the words had come out the way he intended them to.
“…Okay, okay, I don’t remember that one!” Shang Qinghua flailed. “You know how long PIDW is! Hundreds of chapters! Random artifacts weren’t exactly a high priority for reader engagement. Bro, have mercy, alright? Why don’t you—why don’t you just tell me what happened?”
Shen Qingqiu let out a long, weary sigh and collapsed into the nearest chair with the grace of a martyr.
This had been nothing more than a simple mission—merely a training exercise for the senior disciples. Qing Jing Peak had been asked to assist a small allied sect in cleansing an abandoned ruin overrun with low-level ghosts. Rumor claimed the place once held a formation library. Naturally, Shen Qingqiu felt the tug of curiosity.
All went smoothly, almost boringly—until a faint voice echoed from the basement.
“Shizun!”
At once, Shen Qingqiu descended the steps. His fan snapped shut as he gestured for his disciples to remain behind.
“What is it, Yingying?”
Ning Yingying’s voice trembled, though she kept her posture dutifully upright. She pointed toward the far wall. “Shizun, there are ripples… the stone itself is stirring, and it gives off a strange energy.”
Shen Qingqiu narrowed his eyes. Indeed, the qi was odd, foreign. He advanced carefully. Dust swirled thick in the air, but beneath it the object revealed itself: a massive bronze mirror, ancient, heavy, unmistakably dangerous.
“Did you touch it?” he asked, voice calm but firm, studying her carefully.
Ning Yingying shook her head quickly. “No, Shizun. This disciple only glimpsed it and immediately called for Shizun, just as he taught us.”
His expression softened minutely. He inclined his head. “Good. That was exactly the right thing to do. Never let curiosity outweigh caution, especially in places like this.”
Ning Yingying beamed at the praise.
At that moment, one of his little terrors—Li Zeyan, whom Shen Qingqiu had specifically ordered to stay put—came blundering down the stairs.
“Ah—!”
In his clumsy tumble, crates toppled and books scattered. A displaced talisman shot loose a wild pulse of qi.
“Careful!” Shen Qingqiu warned, but it was too late.
The qi slammed into the mirror with a resonant crack. Fractures spider-webbed across its surface. Energy surged back with cruel precision—straight into the nearest target.
Shen Qingqiu.
He barely had time to think, Of course it hits me. Why would it hit anyone else?
The impact seared through him. For one unbearable instant, his meridians seized as though they had been locked in iron chains. It was disturbingly familiar—like the first time No Cure had swallowed him whole.
But the sensation vanished as suddenly as it came, leaving him rattled, his skin cold, his pulse erratic. Had he imagined it?
Shen Qingqiu steadied himself with his fan, exhaling quietly.
The crash summoned the disciples at once. Footsteps thundered on the stairs, voices overlapping.
“Shizun!”
“Shizun, what happened?!”
“Shimei, are you hurt?!”
Ning Yingying sat dazed on the ground, the impact having knocked her off her feet. Li Zeyan reached out a hand, cheeks red with guilt.
“Shijie, are you alright?”
She accepted the help and brushed dust from her skirts. “This disciple is well. It was Shizun who bore the brunt of it.”
The moment she said it, all eyes whipped to Shen Qingqiu.
“Shizun, where does it hurt?”
“Should this disciple summon a healer immediately?”
They crowded around, their earnest little faces brimming with panic.
Shen Qingqiu straightened, smoothing his sleeves with all the dignity he could muster. He opened his mouth, fully intending to say: This Shizun is perfectly fine. There is no need for alarm.
What came out instead was:
“I feel like I’m about to keel over and die on the spot. Zero out of ten, would not recommend.”
…Huh?!
The disciples froze, wide-eyed.
“Shizun is dying?!”
“No, no, Shizun, stay with us!”
“Quick—someone, go to Qian Cao!”
Shen Qingqiu’s fan wavered in his grip.
Excellent. Wonderful. Announce my impending death in front of the children, why don’t I. Next I’ll be blurting out spoilers for the rest of their lives.
He cleared his throat and steadied his expression into serenity. “Enough, all of you.”
The disciples froze mid-frenzy, clinging to his words.
“This Shizun is not in need of a healer,” he said gently. That, at least, was true. He wasn’t in need of one.
The little faces around him, wide with worry, did not ease.
“But, Shizun…” one began timidly, “just now you said—”
“I said,” Shen Qingqiu cut in smoothly, “that the experience was extremely unpleasant. Which it was.”
Unpleasant?? Understatement of the century!
He raised his fan, gesturing lightly toward the stairs. “Go back up. The qi of this place is unsettled. Ming Fan, watch over your shimei and shidi. This Shizun will examine matters further.”
“But Shizun…” Ming Fan began, worried eyes fixed on him.
“Stay above, keep watch, and wait for your Shizun’s word.” Shen Qingqiu repeated.
Reluctantly, one by one, the disciples bowed. “Yes, Shizun.”
As soon as the last green robe hem disappeared up the stairs and their footsteps faded, the serenity drained from Shen Qingqiu’s face like ink from spilled water.
He lunged toward the mirror. His hands swept frantically over the surface, smearing away decades of dust and cobwebs until the bronze gleamed dully beneath his touch.
There—along the frame, half-hidden under grime—characters emerged.
To cleanse the heart is to face the self
Shen Qingqiu leaned close, lips moving as he traced the inscription with his fingertips.
His stomach dropped.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Shang Qinghua’s voice broke through Shen Qingqiu’s spiraling thoughts. “Ah… I remember now. That’s the Mirror of Forthright Reflection.”
Shen Qingqiu’s brow furrowed. “…The Mirror of Forthright Reflection? Why don’t I remember that?”
Shang Qinghua rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “It was supposed to appear in chapter… uh… 378, I think. But it had to be cut from the final version to make room for… more important descriptions.”
Shen Qingqiu’s frown deepened. “…More important descriptions?” His gaze darkened slightly as memories flickered. “You mean that seven-page-long papapa exposition—”
“Right, so—” Shang Qinghua waved a hand nervously. “Look, the mirror itself was originally created by righteous cultivators as a teaching tool for disciples. It was supposed to help young cultivators ‘cleanse their hearts.’ The idea was that when someone looked into it, they could comprehend the truth and accept it.”
Shen Qingqiu hummed thoughtfully, brushing a lock of hair back from his forehead. “And yet it’s been sitting in that basement for who knows how long, absorbing… yin energy. It probably seeped in over the years and twisted its function.”
Shang Qinghua’s eyes lit up as if he’d just had a sudden insight. “Ah! Exactly! So it binds your tongue with a curse of truth!”
Shen Qingqiu turned slowly, lips pressing into a thin line, gaze sharp enough to pierce through stone.
“…Wait—no, no, that came out wrong—”
“I don't see what you're so happy about. My inability to keep my mouth shut is a problem we share, and you—yes, you—will see exactly how long your little cover as a spy lasts.”
Shang Qinghua’s face went pale. Cold sweat broke out on his temples. “W-wait! No—oh gods, this is bad! This is really bad! We need a plan! Like, immediately! Something has to be done!”
Shen Qingqiu watched silently as Shang Qinghua paced back and forth, hands tugging at his hair. Shen Qingqiu suppressed a groan and pressed a hand to his own forehead.
“Alright,” he said evenly. “How do we break the curse?”
Shang Qinghua froze mid-step, eyes widening. “Break it?! Uh—okay, let me think. So… the wife… yes, she—she confesses her love to Luo Binghe, and he… uh, takes her into his harem… then—well, you know—lots of… passionate… papapa… and everything resolves because she’s finally honest about her feelings!”
Shen Qingqiu’s lips pressed into a thin line. A faint grimace tugged at the corner of his mouth. Honestly, not surprised at all.
“…And you’re suggesting I… do what, exactly? Confess my love to whom? There’s no one here for me to confess to.”
Shang Qinghua waved his hands desperately. “Wait! Maybe it doesn’t have to be a love confession! Maybe you just… confess something to me! Like, tell me a truth, any truth! That should satisfy the mirror, right?”
For a moment, Shen Qingqiu allowed himself to consider the idea. Then the curse pulsed, the mirror glimmering faintly as if sensing an opportunity.
Before he could even think better of it, the words tumbled out:
“I’ve been holding back the urge to throttle Shang Qinghua for years, but this might be the day I give in.”
There was a long, tense silence. Shang Qinghua’s shoulders twitched as he finally spoke, cautiously, almost whispering. “Uh… are you… feeling any better?”
Shen Qingqiu’s voice was flat. “Not a bit.”
Shang Qinghua swallowed and then began pacing again, muttering under his breath. “We’re doomed. Absolutely doomed. Maybe it has to be a certain secret, or directed at a certain person… but while we figure that out, you shouldn’t talk to anyone. Maybe… we could just tell everyone you have a sore throat or something?”
Shen Qingqiu shook his head slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “…Then Mu Qingfang will definitely want to examine me, and our little lie will be exposed in an instant.”
Panic surged again across Shang Qinghua’s face. “Then… can you… I mean… could you remain silent?”
The curse pulsed immediately, as if laughing. The words ripped themselves from Shen Qingqiu’s mouth before he could stop them.
“No.”
Shang Qinghua’s knees nearly buckled. “…No?!”
Shen Qingqiu let out a long, flat hum, glaring at the bronze surface. “…Of course. Naturally. The only way to avoid telling the truth is to avoid meeting anyone who might talk to me.”
…And I have no idea how to do that.
A sudden knock at the door made both of them jump. Shang Qinghua’s voice cracked as he barked, “Uh—yes! Come in!”
The door creaked open, and an An Ding disciple stepped into the room, bowing low. “This disciple brings a message: the sect leader requests Shizun’s presence.”
Shang Qinghua froze for a heartbeat—then his eyes widened as he remembered he had originally intended to deliver the reports. “Ah—yes, yes, of course! I was just about to see him,” he stammered, waving a hand toward the door.
Then he spun toward Shen Qingqiu, forcing a nervous smile. “See you later... Shixiong.”
Shen Qingqiu raised a brow, voice dry as dust. “…See me later, then.”
Shang Qinghua bolted toward the door, muttering under his breath, “God… please let me survive this…”
Shen Qingqiu remained, eyes fixed on the mirror, already calculating how long it would take before the next interruption forced yet another truth out of him.
He’s so, so screwed.
***
The bamboo house did not keep him safe for long.
For a shichen, Shen Qingqiu sat at his table, fanning himself in futile composure while his mind scrambled for a way out of this ridiculous predicament.
He drummed his fingers on the table, recalling the numerous instances in Proud Immortal Demon Way where some unfortunate character had been forced into blurting out their innermost secrets. The author had neither the originality nor the shame to avoid recycling the same tired gimmick over and over again. Every arc, someone was compelled to spill their guts—and every time, that was the only way forward.
Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky could never meet a dead horse without enthusiastically beating it.
If Airplane’s writing habits were anything to go by, then Shen Qingqiu’s fate was already sealed. But he refused to accept such a lazy ending. Surely there had to be a workaround. A cheat.
This world was riddled with them, after all.
There was the Jade of Clear Silence—but it was sealed away in the secret vaults of the Western Empire. And the Silver Night-Blooming Orchid only blossomed under a full moon in midsummer, and it was currently early spring.
Where was the System when it was needed?! He tried calling it—mentally yelling into the void like a customer stuck on hold—but it remained treacherously silent. Not even a “ding!” Not even a sarcastic remark. Perhaps, if it had stirred itself, it would have thrown him a hint or at least a mission prompt.
The root of all his problems stood mutely in the corner, leaning against the wall, as if mocking him. Even when covered, its presence pressed against his nerves.
Shen Qingqiu was running out of time to think and was beginning to feel despair.
So far, no one had come looking for him. He prayed it would be later rather than sooner, and that if anyone did come, it would only be his curious children, easily redirected with a few right words.
What he did not expect was the knock of a Qiong Ding Peak disciple on his door.
“This disciple brings word: the sect leader asks if Shen Shishu is well enough to attend today’s meeting of the Peak Lords.”
Shen Qingqiu froze.
…Meeting? But it's supposed to be—oh, right. Today.
Apparently, rumors of his little rampage on An Ding Peak had reached Yue Qingyuan, and the ever-concerned sect leader—long accustomed to the theatrics of the original Shen Qingqiu—had decided to test the waters.
To be perfectly honest, Shen Qingqiu had completely forgotten about the meeting. And in light of current circumstances, attending a full assembly of Peak Lords was about as advisable as handing himself over to Luo Binghe with a ribbon tied around his neck.
Unfortunately, the curse chose that moment to sink its claws in.
“This Master is in good health,” he heard himself say.
The disciple bowed deeply. “Then this disciple will inform the sect leader to expect Shen Shishu’s presence.”
He retreated swiftly, the door closing quietly behind him.
The moment silence fell, Shen Qingqiu let his forehead drop against the table with a dull thunk. He groaned into the wood.
Now there was no way out.
Skipping the meeting was technically an option, but that would only make matters worse in the long run.
Shen Qingqiu needed a plan. Fortunately, he was good at plans. This one was simple: avoid direct questions, avoid unnecessary conversation, and keep his mouth shut. The curse only acted up when prompted—it wasn’t as if he was spilling hot takes every ten seconds.
So: sit down, stay quiet, endure a few hours of boring sect politics, then retreat in one piece. Not that difficult.
Except, apparently, it was.
When Shen Qingqiu arrived at Qiong Ding Peak’s great hall, the only open seat was between Mu Qingfang and—of all people—Liu Qingge.
Shen Qingqiu’s steps faltered.
Really? Really?!
Why was Liu Qingge even here? The War God of Bai Zhan was such a rare guest at these gatherings that most Peak Lords had long stopped expecting him altogether. Aside from Shen Qingqiu himself, Liu Qingge was perhaps the only person who could regularly skip these meetings without consequence—mostly because he was literally impossible to pin down in one place. And yet today, of all days, he had chosen to grace them with his presence? Shouldn’t he be off somewhere slaying demonic beasts, or rescuing wide-eyed peasant girls from bandits?
Honestly, pick a lane, bro.
Weighing his chances, Shen Qingqiu began to pivot on his heel, fully prepared to retreat to the safety of his bamboo house and fake a sudden illness. That was when Yue Qingyuan materialized at his side with impeccable timing.
“Shidi,” Yue Qingyuan greeted warmly, one hand resting on Shen Qingqiu’s arm as though to anchor him in place. “It gladdens me to see you in good health. Please, be seated. We may begin.”
There was no escape.
Shen Qingqiu’s face twitched into a strained smile, and with the dignity of a condemned prisoner walking to the chopping block, he trudged toward the empty chair.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Shang Qinghua across the hall, lips pressed so tight they’d gone white, forehead already shining with sweat. Their gazes met. He mouthed something that looked suspiciously like we’re dead, before ducking his head again.
Shen Qingqiu sank into the chair, flicking his fan open in one smooth motion and raising it to obscure his expression. He fixed his gaze firmly on the table, determined not to so much as glance at Liu Qingge beside him.
Fortunately, Yue Qingyuan cleared his throat and began the meeting, his steady voice cutting cleanly through the hall. “Let us start with logistics.” His gaze shifted pointedly toward Shang Qinghua.
There was a long, painful pause before Shang Qinghua startled, nearly dropping the sheaf of papers in his hands. “Ah—yes! Logistics!” He fumbled one page free. “An Ding Peak has worked very hard, truly! This month, revenue from spiritual herb sales is… ah… respectable, though perhaps the accounting talismans may have, er, smudged a few zeroes here and there…”
A collective sigh rippled through the room.
Shen Qingqiu let the droning wash over him. Slowly, cautiously, he began to relax. If the meeting kept rolling along like this—boring numbers, perfunctory updates—he might actually make it through alive without blurting out anything incriminating.
Naturally, the heavens despised him.
“…What does Shen Shidi think?”
Shen Qingqiu’s head snapped up. Yue Qingyuan was looking directly at him, brow faintly furrowed in expectation. The sect leader must have been asking for his thoughts on some matter, the context of which he absolutely missed.
But the curse took the words literally.
“I was thinking this whole meeting could’ve been a text message.”
When the meaning of his own words finally sank in, Shen Qingqiu wished—not for the first time—that the floor would open up and swallow him whole.
Silence descended over the hall like a thick, suffocating blanket. The only sound was a faint, strangled wheeze that sounded suspiciously like Shang Qinghua.
Yue Qingyuan blinked slowly.
“Text… message?”
Somehow, hearing it from the Sect Leader made it sound even more absurd.
Shen Qingqiu’s hand reflexively went to his fan. He snapped it open and began fanning himself aggressively, hoping to drive away the heat creeping up his face. Of course, doing so also risked flinging himself into the air, so he quickly stilled.
He tried to extricate himself. “Ah… what I mean is—” He stopped mid-syllable.
Of course. The curse wouldn’t let him come up with an excuse.
However, Shen Qingqiu was pleasantly surprised to find that it didn't force him to burst forth into explanations about the benefits of mobile communications. This could mean that if the question wasn't clearly formulated, Shen Qingqiu wouldn't have to answer it.
Every pair of eyes in the room fixed on him, some politely restrained, some openly curious. He imagined the mental notes being taken: Shen Qingqiu, remarkably frank. Possibly insane.
Faintly, he could hear Shang Qinghua muttering under his breath: “We’re dead… we’re so dead…”
Luckily, Yue Qingyuan seemed to take pity on him—or perhaps decided that pressing him further would be pointless. With a faint smile, the sect leader cleared his throat.
“Let us review the grain and supply allocations for the northern peaks,” Yue Qingyuan said, glancing pointedly at Shang Qinghua. “Shang Shidi, you may continue with your report.”
Shen Qingqiu sank lower into his chair, hoping to disappear into the upholstery. He could practically feel Liu Qingge’s gaze boring into him. Shen Qingqiu tightened his grip on his fan and prayed inwardly.
Please, please, let this meeting end quickly...
After what felt like an eternity, the meeting finally began to wind down. Peak Lords stretched stiff limbs, muttered to their neighbors, and gathered their scrolls. Shen Qingqiu seized the opportunity.
He nearly made it to the door—nearly.
A firm hand shot out, catching him by the sleeve. Liu Qingge, expression unreadable but presence as imposing as ever, looked down at him. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”
Shen Qingqiu’s mouth moved before he could stop it.
“This Shixiong… is rushing to the bamboo house, barricading himself inside, and never emerging again,” he blurted.
Liu Qingge raised a single, perfectly arched eyebrow. “You do realize I am supposed to be cleansing your meridians today?”
Shen Qingqiu froze. “Ah… right.” It had completely slipped his mind. “This Shixiong… has not.”
A long, resigned sigh escaped Liu Qingge, as though he had already accepted all the calamities his careless shixiong might produce in a single day. Without further ado, he gestured for Shen Qingqiu to follow, and the two made their way toward Qing Jing Peak.
***
Steam curled lazily from the spout of the porcelain teapot as Shen Qingqiu set it on the low table. He poured tea for Liu Qingge, then for himself, watching the clear amber liquid swirl.
If I sprinted for the window right now… Shen Qingqiu’s gaze lingered on the bamboo lattice, measuring the distance, calculating the odds. Five steps, maybe six. But even if I made it—what then? Liu Qingge would catch me before my feet left the sill. It would be the shortest—and most humiliating—escape attempt in history.
He dismissed the thought with a sigh and lowered himself onto the cushion across from his shidi. Perhaps, while they drank tea, he could salvage a few precious moments to think through a plan.
Liu Qingge, apparently unbothered by etiquette, lifted his cup and downed the tea in a single gulp, as though it were a shot of baijiu.
Shen Qingqiu blinked. “...”
He could not resist a mild reproach. “Shidi, that is not how one drinks tea,” he said. “If it lingers in the mouth, one might actually taste it. There is no point to fine leaves if they vanish like water.”
Liu Qingge set the cup down with a quiet clink. His expression didn’t change in the slightest. “It served its purpose,” he said simply.
Shen Qingqiu pinched the bridge of his nose. Right.
Liu Qingge extended his hand across the table, palm up, waiting.
Shen Qingqiu knew this ritual well—he was expected to place his hand there, and allow the cleansing to begin. Warm, calloused fingers closed around his wrist.
Then Liu Qingge’s gaze flicked past him, narrowing toward the corner of the room.
“What is that?”
Shen Qingqiu’s pulse leapt violently.
Oh no. Oh no no no—
How could he have forgotten about the enormous cursed artifact that was supposed to be hidden instead of sitting in plain sight like a guest of honor?
And, naturally, the curse decided to lend a helping hand.
“That,” Shen Qingqiu heard himself say, “is a cursed mirror that forces a person to tell the truth.”
He silently prayed to every deity he could think of that Liu Qingge would not press for details.
But his shidi apparently was in an unusually talkative mood. “If it is cursed, why is it not with Mo Qingluo?”
Shen Qingqiu had thought of this himself, of course. Hand it off to the Fu Ming Peak—the sect’s foremost authority on curses and sinister relics—and let Mo Qingluo puzzle it out. But then word would inevitably reach Yue Qingyuan, and the last thing Shen Qingqiu needed was his sect leader fluttering about like a worried hen.
“I have it,” Shen Qingqiu said flatly, the words ripped from him, “because I am cursed. And I have no intention of making that public.”
A short, taut silence followed.
Liu Qingge’s expression remained unchanged, though his grip on Shen Qingqiu’s wrist tightened fractionally.
“…Cursed,” he repeated, slowly.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Shen Qingqiu said quickly. His own mouth had betrayed him once again, but this time it wasn’t the curse.
Liu Qingge’s gaze did not waver.
“I will not,” he said with quiet determination, as if taking an oath. His hand remained steady on Shen Qingqiu’s wrist. “If this is what you fear,” he added calmly, “I will not take advantage of your situation.”
Shen Qingqiu blinked, stunned into silence for a moment. How could he have doubted—even for a single instant—the integrity and conscience of the War God of Bai Zhan?
He felt his shoulders loosen for the first time that day. He lowered his gaze to the low table, tracing the rim of his tea cup with his fingers.
“This Shixiong… is grateful,” he murmured.
He hesitated, then added, almost reluctantly, “When… when asked a direct question… I cannot resist the call of the curse.”
“Have you…” Liu Qingge paused as if reconsidering. “You don’t know how to lift this curse,” he finally said, phrasing it as a statement rather than a question.
“This Shixiong… has thought of methods,” he admitted, voice low, careful. “But…” His hands tightened around the tea cup. “…their success is uncertain, and attempting them might draw attention I’d rather avoid.”
“If you need my help,” Liu Qingge said simply, “you have it.”
Shen Qingqiu felt a rush of gratitude he could barely contain. He lowered his gaze to the table, chest tight with a mix of relief and awe.
How did I deserve such a good friend?
And,
Why, oh why, did Airplane have to kill off a character this great?
Liu Qingge’s quiet support spurred a spark of determination within Shen Qingqiu.
“In that case,” Shen Qingqiu raised his head, meeting Liu Qingge’s gaze, “what would Liu Shidi say about chopping off a couple of demon heads?”
The corner of Liu Qingge’s lips lifted ever so slightly—a rare, fleeting smile—and Shen Qingqiu’s heart stuttered. He carefully stored the image in his mental archive.
“I would say that you should have start with it.”