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Shen Yuan can’t bring himself to look at the boy kneeling beside him. They are lined up, side by side, set apart from others in the room, which is just typical, he thinks with a sneer. Most in the class are engrossed and barely concealing their disgust at the topic at hand. He, on the other hand, tries to appear unaffected and bored, disdainful of the obviously biased presentation.
Shen Qingqiu lectures on demons, specifically demon anatomy. His words are cutting as always, but there’s a sort of vindictive glee to the way he imparts the information. Shizun uses words like horrible, ugly, and evil. He brings up everything bad about demons that will do nothing but scare and cultivate radical views in the other disciples.
He isn’t even talking about the cool stuff! Shen Yuan huffs quietly enough that no one will hear. Sure, there are a lot of bad things about demons. Some are prone to cannibalism, others are conniving and predatory, and those that reside in the abyss are nothing short of dangerous.
But not all of them are like that. Shen Yuan could name a dozen demon kinds that are harmless unless threatened, or ones that are biologically so cool you can’t help but be awed. Even the one-legged Bifang is thought to be auspicious among some.
Shizun disregards all of that. Sweat forms on the back of his neck as he listens and Shen Yuan peeks to the side, seeing small hands clenched on quaking thighs. What does he think of this?
He can’t begin to think about the emotional impact this will have when the seal breaks. Will this lesson (and all the others) be the first thing Binghe thinks of when that precious protection from his mother crumbles?
A curious part of him wonders what anatomy Binghe would show first? A twitching tail? Claws? Maybe even those amazing pointed ears? He looks more firmly over to the side.
The first image that comes to mind is one of the feared and revered Demon Lord. He can picture any number of posters (and plushies and trading cards) he collected in his old world. That Luo Binghe, with impossible broad shoulders and a trim, tapered waist, was all sharp edges and might. He embraced his demonic side and began to hate his human one. That Demon Lord wore his disdain like armor, his claws perpetually sharpened to points soaked in blood, not to mention the fangs he bared in aggression.
Shen Yuan stares at Binghe’s profile. He regrets not having time to tame his Shidi’s fluffy curls this morning. The hair puffs and frizzes without the oil, but Shen Yuan still can’t help but want to paint it. The light, just peeking through the windows, highlights all the colors and bends naturally in those long strands. His eyes drift over, admiring how now, Binghe’s hair looks even more beautiful as the air’s moisture works its magic on it. That magic doesn’t stop there. Binghe’s cheeks are bright and flushed, making Shen Yuan want to bite them. Cuteness aggression! He thinks and stops himself from reaching out.
With a breath and a quick look to make sure Shizun isn’t paying them any attention, Shen Yuan overlays the two images. His Binghe turns blackened before his eyes. Negate, negate! Instead, he imagines not Binghe as the Demon Lord from the future (one he can’t think about without breaking into a sweat) but thinks of this Binghe, sitting to his side, with demonic qualities. A fanged white lotus, if you will.
His Shidi’s robes would part at the back and a tail would peek out, wrapping around his behind to curl around his knees. It would follow cutely behind him, brushing against Shen Yuan as they walked to lessons. He thinks of baby claws, still soft and yet to be sharp, even as they grow longer. Lastly, Shen Yuan imagines the fangs. He can almost see the way they would bulge out Binghe’s lips when he talked. How, as he was still a little lamb who needed to grow up, those teeth would be slightly too big for his face. Shen Yuan would melt when they’d appear with a glistening smile.
He wiggles in his seat. So cute !!! His Binghe with fangs, like a puppy, barring its teeth in play. This Shidi of his would be too precious looking like that. Who could hate someone like that?
Binghe shifts on his knees, bringing Shen Yuan’s eyes down. His brows scrunch together. Binghe’s hands scrunch into his robes, wrinkling the green material and making his white knuckles taut against the skin stand out all the more.
Shen Yuan’s eyes flash to his Shidi’s face. Where is his content bun? The blush from earlier is ruddier and more feverish-looking now. His face is flushed, but there’s no sparkle in his eye, nor a pleased smile. Instead, his lips are tight in a frown, his eyes flash toward their Shizun.
Even if Binghe doesn’t know he’s a demon yet, it still can’t be nice to hear Shizun say such things. Most of the words he uses have been aimed at Binghe before. It’s only natural to connect them to the times Shizun punishes Binghe. Shen Yuan swallows. The only other time he’s heard that vitriolic tone coming from the Peak Lord is when Binghe is getting a dressing down.
All the butterflies from earlier melt away.
Shizun continues, but he can’t take his eyes away from Binghe’s frown, so unnatural when he’s around Shen Yuan.
It’s not right. The expression on his Shidi’s face is the one he hates most. His eye’s fill with tears, not to needle or cajole him into eating another helping of food or to give head pats, but real tears.
Binghe looks as if Shen Qingqiu isn’t talking about some abstract force but as if he’s talking straight to him. It makes everything that Shen Yuan knows will happen in the future come to mind. The burning opening of the abyss and subsequent rejection as the Scum Villain pushes Binghe to his
Before he knows it, Shen Yuan reaches over and grabs Binghe’s hand. He pries the fingers away, feeling how hard the tension in them was. Shen Yuan wraps his fingers around his Shidi’s smaller ones and, in the back of his mind, notes how soon his hands will be bigger than his.
“Pardoning the class, but would Shen Yuan like to enlighten the class as to what is so interesting that you feel like you don’t need to pay attention?”
The already quiet classroom descends into dead silence. Shen Qingqiu waits for an answer with barely concealed frustration. Shen Yuan can still hear the demon lecture (more like an attack) ringing in his ears, and stares straight at him.
“I, that is, this disciple…”
He can’t think with that piercing stare aimed at him. Shen Qingqiu’s eyes flit to his hands and then up to Binghe.
No. He tries to speak, but his mouth is dry.
“Ah, I see. How dare you distract a disciple of Qing Jing Peak. You…” and there’s no denying who he is talking to with the way his eyes burn through Binghe. Shen Yuan can feel the residual heat, but doesn’t remove his hand. The hand in his tries to pull away, but Shen Yuan finds his fingers paralyzed. His stomach clenches, but his body won’t move.
“Leave at once. Run laps. No one wants to see you until tomorrow morning.”
Binghe says something, but Shen Yuan doesn’t hear. He just watches as his Shidi bows low to their Shizun.
He shifts to stand, opens his mouth to say something, when Binghe pulls him back down, before gently shifting his hand out from under Shen Yuan.
Without looking over, for they both know that would only cause trouble, Binghe scooches back and leaves the classroom.
“The horns are some of the most telling and appalling on a demon, able to cut and cause damage to…”
He’s sure Binghe can hear the words as he retreats and he wants to go with him.
Shen Yuan doesn’t hear the rest of the lecture. There’s a ringing in his head, hammering at a low and constant speed. Binghe’s running right now. His feet are pounding into the ground, over and over, lap after lap. And for what?
It’s not the first time something like this has happened. Nausea floods his stomach thinking about it, but it won’t be the last.
He couldn’t imagine if he’d transmigrated into some scum like Shen Qingqiu or perpetual loser, Ming Fan. At the same time, he feels like he’s nothing more than an extension of them.
Every time he opens his mouth to speak up, he’s met with opposition. Whenever he stands in front of Binghe, metaphorical or not, it makes things worse for the protagonist.
Shen Yuan makes everything worse for his friend, and in turn, he feels like the Scum Villain, even if he hates Shen Qingqiu with a passion. It’s worse because he knows it will always happen. Shen Yuan has the choice to stand aside instead of aggravating the situation, but somehow, he can’t help but try to reach out. Ever since he landed in this world, he promised himself to always be there to take Binghe’s hand.
Binghe is his Shidi now. He’s not some demon lord with a harem of countless people. It’s Binghe, his Binghe. The one he’d found digging a hole, hopeless but unstopping. A friend cemented in hours of chores and bullying. Though he’d read millions of words, he found that the real Luo Binghe, his Binghe, was brighter and more beautiful than anything those hack author’s words could impart.
The day passes in a blur without a glimpse of his friend.
Shen Yuan grabs some extra food from the mess hall with a knowing look from Ning Yingying. He runs along the outer walls and settles in to wait for Binghe to finish with his punishment.
Night falls, and dew settles. Shen Yuan wants nothing more than to crawl into bed, but the pounding continues to ring in his ears.
Finally, as the sun peaks behind the mountains, does he see the outline of his friend. There’s no strong cadence to his steps anymore and the pounding miraculously softens in Shen Yuan’s mind. Shen Yuan hops up and watches as Binghe staggers at the sight of him.
“Binghe! Look at you!”
The boy flinches and Shen Yuan pretends not to notice.
He guides them to the side of a building and has them lean against the wood. Binghe sits boneless with eyes glazed until Shen Yuan passes him the bowl of food.
It doesn’t seem to register at first; he stares at it like it’s nothing more than a pile of mud. At once, his cheeks deepen and the look on his face makes Shen Yuan glance away. He stares at the trees in front of them, blocking them from view from a main path.
“Binghe needs to eat,” He says finally when no sounds of movement reach him.
He hears the soft clink of porcelain against porcelain. It’s soothing in a way. The two sit side by side, and Shen Yuan can feel the warmth of his companion next to him and can’t help but lean into the warmth so close. It’s just to make sure that Binghe’s okay. Shen Yuan doesn’t know what he could say, so this, the quiet presence and touch that always reassures Binghe, remains what he can do.
Shen Yuan finds himself breathing in the musty scent of sweat and shakes his head. He’s exhausted from lessons! And if Binghe’s arms are the perfect resting place, and, well, no future spouses will stumble upon them this late.
His eyes blink slowly. Sometime later, he feels a weight lean back against him, a set of curls pillow against the top of his head. The heavy weight of his friend leaning on him is better than any weighted blanket.
That’s the protagonist for you, he thinks, already taller than him, even though he has not been fed properly.
Shen Yuan smiles and sinks into sleep.
-
The lecture is forgotten for a time until one afternoon, when Shen Yuan can’t help but think about it. He and Binghe tremble, surrounded by some older disciples who had a penchant for taking after their Shizun. Their words, jeering and ugly, mimic (pale though in comparison to the Scum Villain) that lecture he’s tried to forget.
“How ugly is our Shidi? Despicable and useless, dragging down Shen-shidi, too.”
He can feel the way Binghe tenses at the insults. The words send a tendril of panic down his spine. Don’t listen, Binghe! They’re all liars.
One of their bigger Shixiong reaches out and tugs on Binghe’s robes.
“Look at that mess of uniform.” He says with lips turned up as if he didn’t just push the protagonist down into the dirt. “His smile’s not normal either. Maybe he’s like one of those demons Shizun mentioned. Our dear Shizun certainly hates him as much.”
They laugh, ugly and sharp.
Who dares mock the protagonist? Shixiong, your own smile is nothing to write home about!
“Have any of you noticed him skulking about? Eating when he thinks no one’s looking outside of the mess hall. Maybe he’s eating human flesh?”
Their other Shixiong’s breath in, like they don’t believe he’s gone that far, and then, when no one says anything to the contrary, they laugh again. The sound’s hesitant and gains spite the longer it goes on.
Binghe doesn’t do anything. Just stands there, tense and looking away from Shen Yuan. He wants to cry out to look at him and only at him as if that will wash away their cruel words.
Their Shixiong tugs at Binghe and Shen Yuan can’t help it. He slaps away the hand.
“That’s not true!”
Binghe’s head collapses further into his shoulder. What Shen Yuan wouldn’t give to have him look his way.
“And how would you know?” He steps forward. “You’re nothing. A homeless, weak, invisible, nobody. You would harbor a demon if it gave you a place to rest.”
It doesn’t bother Shen Yuan, not really, now that he’s here at Cang Qiong. Now that he’s warm and full of food, where he came from doesn’t matter. It doesn’t bother him because he has Binghe now. If Luo Binghe came from humble means, then he doesn’t feel shame that he did either. They’re together, and Shen Yuan will save him from the plot (and any number of bullies). That’s all that matters.
But Binghe is already moving. His fist comes up, and his Shixiong’s head snaps to the side. The shocked faces of the other disciples aren’t enough to make the following pain worth it.
Binghe stands in front of him, shielding him despite still being shorter. But someone gets a grip on his hair and Binghe tumbles to the ground. He shivers and fists his hands so tight he might break skin. There will be a time Binghe can fight a thousand enemies and come out unscathed, but that time is yet to come.
“Stop it!” He yells as a hand comes down on Binghe. “Stop!”
He runs forward, but hands wrap around him from the back, digging into his skin.
He’s so weak. Why can’t he break free?
Shen Yuan feels like he’s looking at the scene from outside his body.
Binghe stays silent, but he sees the way he curls into himself, the way his eyes stay glued to Shen Yuan under his bangs even when their Shixiong continue the beating.
Shen Yuan watches himself struggle. It’s a pathetic attempt but it makes Shen Yuan’s chest hurt and glow with pride simultaneously. He won’t give up.
The only time Binghe moves is when the person restraining Shen Yuan pulls his hair back and moves a hand up to his throat, squeezing just enough that he freezes in panic. Breath comes with difficulty and those fingers press harder and harder.
Binghe’s eyes see this and that’s when he fights back; That’s when he finally moves.
It’s a valiant effort, Shen Yuan notes. Of course, the protagonist would be amazing but this is part of his sad backstory, so he doesn’t win.
The hand on his throat loosens at the viscous attempts from Binghe. The way he bares his teeth and his eyes almost seem to pierce them, but the disciples redouble their efforts and Binghe is left bruised and panting on the ground. A dribble of blood runs from his nose.
They spit on him and kick his prone body, all the sudden looking so small.
“Serves you right. You beast…”
Shen Yuan can’t help but sigh.
Binghe stays still until they’re gone and then again, he moves.
Slow and disjointed toward where he…
Oh, Shen Yuan looks towards his body and he’s kneeling, head to his chest.
“Shixiong? Shixiong? Are you… Are you okay?” Binghe licks his bloody lips and reaches a trembling hand out to Shen Yuan before thinking better of it when he sees the blood on them.
He retracts that hand and Shen Yuan all the sudden is back. Inside his body is much, much worse. Everything is raw. The pounding of his heart rings in his ears and he tries to hold back the tears.
Binghe hovers but doesn’t move forward and Shen Yuan can’t take it. He wants to cry out to dismiss the distance between them.
He looks up, traces the planes of his Shidi’s face, the bruises just waiting to rise on his cheeks and launches himself forward.
“Don’t!” Binghe yells, but Shen Yuan ignores him, wraps his arms around his shoulders and nestles into his neck. “It’s dirty.” He says almost to himself.
Shen Yuan doesn’t let go. This he can do. No one would be able to tear him away from Binghe’s body, he’s sure.
“Don’t listen, Binghe. Don’t you dare listen to them.” Binghe breathes sharply in. Shen Yuan grips his robes tightly in his hands. “If you listen to anyone, it should be me, eh? I don’t care if you’re a spider head or the emperor of the whole world. All that matters is you’re my Binghe, and I’m your A-Yuan. Right?”
Binghe hiccups, tears run down and mix with the blood smeared onto his face.
“Maybe I am a beast, Yuan. Maybe I am what they say if being near me gets you hurt like this.”
Shen Yuan shakes his head, dragging his nose across Binghe’s neck. He breaths in as much of his scent as he can.
“You’re not.” He whispers. “You’re Binghe.”
Shen Yuan spews profanities at every single one of those disciples who dared to touch Binghe like that. His friend can barely keep an eye open, so swollen that it is, but he doesn’t look away from Shen Yuan
The attention is still jarring, but the pathetic look on Binghe’s face is enough that Shen Yuan scoots closer. He presses their foreheads together, Binghe gasps, and he resists the urge to steal one of his tears.
“Don’t listen to them.” Shen Yuan says and wills Binghe to listen.
His friend nods. He can feel Binghe’s breath against his lips. Foreheads still pressed together, his eyes wander down Binghe’s face. He’s got a split lip. He takes a breath and then moves away. His friend’s eyes are dazed, the blood on his lips almost dried.
Shen Yuan stands, brushes off his robe and holds a hand out. Warm, rough hands grip his. He pulls Binghe up and supports him around the shoulder; the two make the long trek back to the dorm.
Binghe slips into his bed as he does when the nightmares come and he doesn’t say anything besides pressing his cold feet against Binghe’s warm ones. The two huddle together under the quiet of the night. Only a small candle burns in the dorm. Binghe’s face remains swollen and tense in sleep. Shen Yuan wishes there was something he could do. He wonders what his transmigration will accomplish and, if not for Binghe’s presence cuddled next to him, would feel an unpleasant unmooring at the narrative coming for them.
He can’t bring himself to look away from Binghe the rest of the night.