Work Text:
Shen Qingqiu’s eyes slipped open after a troublesome dream he could barely remember.
A gentle breeze made its way through the window, not too cold and not too warm. Winter, it happened to be.
“Luo Binghe?” he called out before remembering, being reminded of what happened long, long before.
It had been spring once, what seemed to be ages ago during the Immortal Alliance Conference.
Shen Qingqiu looked upwards, staring at the wooden panels of the ceiling.
It was dark, dark, dark.
His white lotus, his eager sheep of a disciple was no more.
Shen Qingqiu shut his eyes, diving back into a time when all was well.
Perhaps he could return to that spring, to that time where his disciple gazed at him in awe and admiration rather than terror and desperation.
But alas, dreams were merciless with the way they leave a bitter taste in the mouth.
And then he awoke.