Work Text:
The smell of blood was heavy in the air. The clinking of blades, ever-constant, was only muffled by the sudden ringing in Shang Qinghua’s ears, along with an erratic heartbeat. His erratic heartbeat, felt against his eardrums and in his throat. He was not supposed to be there. Shang Qinghua cursed Cucumber Bro and every ounce of his own bad luck for tangling him into such a situation—despite his best efforts to get himself out.
A few hours prior
“Brother Shang,” a visit from Shen Qingqiu was always foreboding. Either he was coming to torment Shang Qinghua during his beloved Binghe’s absence, or with some onerous task. He let himself into Shang Qinghua’s office.
Shang Qinghua smiled contritely. “Brother Shen, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Shen Qingqiu hid half his face behind his bamboo fan, and walked idly about the room as if he had no care in the world. Never mind that Shang Qinghua was busy thanks to the innumerable jobs Bai Zhan Peak had thrown his way. Liu Qingge might’ve been an expert swordsman, but his total disregard for the technicalities of running a Peak meant Shang Qinghua was saddled with figuring out why their budget kept going over, and scraping courage from the rather empty barrel to tell the peak lord to please, please, stop destroying buildings when demon hunting. Someone had to pay for the restoration of tea houses and inns; they weren’t funding themselves from nowhere!
Shen Qingqiu inspected a scroll hanging on Shang Qinghua’s wall. It depicted a snow leopard trekking through snowy mountains. Shen Qingqiu threw Shang Qinghua a knowing look. Even with his face half-covered, Shang Qinghua could picture Shen Qingqiu’s smug smirk—no doubt mocking him for the not so subtle topic.
Clearing his throat with a short cough, Shang Qinghua pressed again. “If you have nothing better to do, Cucumber Bro, might I suggest reading the latest chapter from Regret of Chushan? It’s got quite the—”
Shen Qingqiu’s fan snapped shut. The faint blush on that pale jade skin made Shang Qinghua smirk triumphantly. “We need your help identifying the authenticity of a martial arts scroll,” he finally explained.
Shang Qinghua sighed. The pile of work on his desk was only growing. “Well? Hand it over.”
“That’s the thing…” Shen Qingqiu laughed awkwardly, “we don’t have it.”
“What?”
“It’s being sold at an antiquity shop in Jin Lan City. We have to go there to assess it.”
“Ugh, bro! Why do I have to go? You go! Night and day An Ding Peak is drowned in work and more work. What about me? I haven’t had a break in over a month, stuck atop this peak instead of being at-” Shang Qinghua abruptly cut himself off. He was just about to complain about not seeing a certain demon, but while Shang Qinghua was rather shameless he still had to pretend to be a good peak lord. One that was certainly not thinking about icy skin half the time he was signing off on budgets and assessments.
Shen Qingqiu rolled his eyes. “Airplane, you can’t even go one month without your beloved Mobei Jun?” He teased.
“Far longer than you can go without your Binghe,” Shang Qinghua retorted. “Are you inventing tasks to keep busy, and dragging me along?”
Shen Qingqiu’s cheeks flushed. “This has nothing to do with Luo Binghe!” He exclaimed rather unconvincingly.
“Sure sure,” Shang Qinghua nodded, “of course, of course. I’m sure Jin Lan City has nothing to do with the fact that Luo Binghe is visiting his mother’s grave. Which just so happens to be nearby.”
Shen Qingqiu crossed his arms defensively. “Brother Yue Qingyuan was the one who gave the task. And I can’t be the one to figure out whether it’s real or not. But this is your shitty novel, you should be able to tell. Or will it be lost in the mountain of other crap you wrote?”
“As a fan of that crap, I would’ve thought you’d be an expert yourself.”
Shen Qingqiu scoffed. “Stop being an ass, Airplane. The faster we figure out it’s a fake, the better.”
“And if it’s real?”
“We’re supposed to buy it, obviously. It’s said to have guidance from the gods themselves on cultivating.”
“Who is paying for this again?”
Shen Qingqiu grinned. “You of course!”
That’s how Shang Qinghua found himself on his stupid sword flying to Jin Lan City. His legs wobbled the entire way, and Shen Qingqiu mocked his cowardly behavior for just as long. Haven’t you finally learned to live in this stupid world of yours? No, Shang Qinghua did not need flying swords, thank you very much. He had comfortable carriages and even beasts that were trained to transport him to and fro. Besides, travel was really utterly unnecessary when he could just cling to Mobei Jun as they sank into the dark shadows, only to appear wherever it was they were going.
Jin Lan City had, over the last few years, been revitalized after the plague had been dealt with. Its gates no longer closed off at all times, travelers and merchants were increasingly welcomed. More shops had popped up along the main street, and its homeless population had either dispersed, or found employment with the stores’ new proprietors. There was a bustle of people moving about, and shop keepers ushered customers inside to admire their wares. From the Jin Zi Weapons Shop, smoke billowed out of its forge, where new and powerful weapons were being crafted by the most skilled blacksmiths.
It was nearing the summer months. Plum trees kept their blossoms for the last few days, though their petals were already scattering about the warm breeze—falling amongst the stalls of candied and fresh fruits. This wasn’t a place Shang Qinghua spent much time in. Unlike Shen Qingqiu, who traveled about the great plains with Luo Binghe on a whim, Shang Qinghua preferred the familiarity of his rooms in An Ding Peak. His stiff bed, and his piles of scrolls. The smell of incense and bamboo leaves. Even more so, he preferred the smell of fresh snow, and crackling fire. Blue flames licking against stone, while he draped himself in thick furs and over a colder body, hard as the stone the castle was built out of.
Shang Qinghua sighed wistfully. Mobei had been sent by Luo Binghe on some sort of mission. And, unable to do anything about the damn protagonist halo, Mobei Jun had had to comply. He’d been sent somewhere near the Borderlands, far from their northern palace. Shang Qinghua had returned to An Ding Peak to try and occupy himself with anything other than thoughts of Mobei Jun. Which, he had to admit, were still rather constant and, as time went on, increasingly tantalizing.
“You really do miss that ice demon don’t you, Airplane?” Shen Qingqiu’s question drew Shang Qinghua’s attention away from an assortment of candies he’d been admiring. Wondering, to himself, whether to buy some for Mobei Jun to try.
Shang Qinghua threw him a look. Don’t start, he tried to say. But Shen Yuan didn’t look like he was trying to tease. Instead his eyes seemed to say “I understand.”
“Luo Binghe should be back tomorrow,” Shen Qingqiu said instead. “I believe the work he tasked Mobei Jun has also been dealt with. He should be free soon.”
Shang Qinghua perked up. “Really?”
Shen Qingqiu laughed, though not unkindly. “Binghe sent word yesterday.”
“Ohh, so you couldn’t wait yourself and had to come down to meet him halfway,” Shang Qinghua nudged his arm. “Quite the romantic, bro.”
“Y-you’re…”
“Come on, bro, let’s go find this damn scroll so we can go home!” Revitalized by the pleasant news, Shang Qinghua, ignored Shen Qingqiu’s withering look and grabbed him by the arm and dragged him towards the antiquity shop.
It should be said that despite being the author of Proud Immortal Way, Shang Qinghua wasn’t necessarily an expert. You see, when you write such an expansive world, it’s inevitable that you’d forget here and there the various plots and settings. One forest melds into the next, and demons’ powers become a convoluted mess unless they’re somehow vital to the overall plot. And even then, Shang Qinghua liked to move on from things as soon as a chapter was all but delivered. No doubt much to the dismay of readers like Shen Yuan, who liked to write paragraphs upon paragraphs harping on the countless plot-holes and inconsistencies. If only Airplane’s memory was better!
This, combined with the fact that Proud Immortal Way had expanded beyond Airplane’s own initial creation, meant that there were things that popped up in that world that were, in a way, simple bastardizations of other things he’d once written.
So when Shang Qinghua was presented with a scroll, seemingly weathered with age and in rather official-sounding calligraphy, he could only stare blankly and think: this is real! Let’s go!
“Give me that,” Shen Qingqiu grabbed it from his hand. “Useless author!” He mumbled under his breath, loud enough for only Shang Qinghua to hear.
Shang Qinghua laughed sheepishly. “Sorry, bro. This looks legit. I can’t be sure!”
They spent three hours in that store. The shop owner kept coming back to them, grumbling about their presence, even as he smiled at them politely. Buy the damn thing and leave me! Shang Qinghua could read the man’s face. But Shen Qingqiu did nothing by halves, and that nerd was insistent on examining the document thoroughly and extensively. Shang Qinghua’s eyes hurt by the time Shen Qingqiu had come to the verdict: FAKE!
“It looked real!” Shang Qinghua tried to defend himself when Shen Qingqiu yelled at him for not remembering something about his own novel. “Bro, do you know how many divine scrolls I wrote? Too many to count. How could I possibly remember this one?”
Shen Qingqiu looked like he wanted to smack Shang Qinghua with that fan of his. “And whose fault is it for writing so many useless side plots that went nowhere? Stupid author!” Shen Qingqiu went on to ramble about which chapter the first mention of said scroll came up, and how the intricacies of the text could be deciphered enough to determine whether it was legitimate or not. Shang Qinghua drowned him out, thinking instead about his warm bed and the pile of work he would ignore for it.
Just then, a man came shouting up the street, running towards them in agitation. “Good cultivators!” He exclaimed breathlessly. “Please wait!”
Shen Qingqiu rushed to the man, catching him before he fell, exhausted, onto the ground. “Take your time! Brother Shang, bring the man some water!”
Shang Qinghua rushed over and handed the man a flask of water. They both watched him down several gulps before he came up to gasp for air. As the man slowly calmed, the two peak lords finally noticed the man’s tattered clothing, and the dried blood on his cheek and robes. He was dressed like a merchant, his robes of fine linen and boots of thick leather.
Finally having caught his breath, the man spoke. “We were traveling from the south, via one of the rivers, when our boats were ambushed. A band of demons stole our goods and killed most of our party!” He finally explained. “T-they kidnapped my two sons! S-said they would offer them to the demon king,” the poor merchant sobbed. “They hoped the demon king would at least take them into his harem, and give them in return power and land!”
Shang Qinghua looked at Shen Qingqiu incredulously.
Shen Qingqiu was beside himself. “The demon king does not take concubines! What kind of ridiculous plot is this?!” He glared at Shang Qinghua, as if he was to blame!
Shang Qinghua held out his hands. “Don’t look at me! Everyone knows Luo Binghe’s affinity is not towards fair maidens, but towards—”
Before he could finish, Shen Qingqiu snapped his fan open and fanned his face. His black hair rustled. His complexion red, he calmed himself long enough to respond. “We will bring your sons back,” he said indignantly. Those stupid demons were only going to get themselves killed. And not by a Luo Binghe, who most certainly would have no interest in such sons, but by a seething and jealous Shen Yuan!
“We??” Shang Qinghua protested. “Brother Shen,” he tried to act appropriately in front of the merchant, but Shang Qinghua’s tail was already between his legs, desperate to make a run for it. “We both know I’m no swordsman like yourself! How about I go get Brother Liu and ask for help?” But before he could hightail it out of there, Shen Qingqiu had grabbed him by the collar.
“Let’s go.”
There was no protesting. Damn that Shen Yuan, blinded by jealousy! Did he forget Shang Qinghua was lord of An Ding Peak? The peak they sent those with little to no fighting skill? It was just his luck, Shang Qinghua thought as he reluctantly hopped onto his sword and headed south, in the direction the merchant had pointed them. Always getting himself tangled in everyone’s problems, Shang Qinghua felt sorry for himself. Was it so much to ask for just a small break? Some consideration?!
Present
Now Shang Qinghua was in the middle of a battle between Shen Qingiu and a band of demons. They might’ve not been expecting them, but the demons were large in numbers. Though not particularly strong—Shang Qinghua had definitely written far stronger demons—they overwhelmed the two peak lords by sheer quantity. Not to mention, Shang Qinghua was mostly useless, swinging his sword around and just barely managing to kill a few of the demons that lunged at him.
He was tired. Not just from the battle, but from almost two months of poor sleep and overwork. When Shen Qingqiu had dragged him out of An Ding Peak, Shang Qinghua was running on a meager few hours of sleep over the span of several weeks. That’s how he explained losing his footing on what must’ve been a loose rock or uneven ground, and stumbling backwards as the sword of one of the demons lunged forward. Sharp blade cutting through skin like paper.
Pain shot up Shang Qinghua’s arm, and he yelped as he fell onto the ground. A warm gush of blood instantly trickled down his arm. The wound must’ve been deep by how quickly his arm seemed to go numb.
Airplane heard Shen Qingqiu shout something, but his vision was growing blurry and he couldn’t really make out Shen Qingqiu’s words over the thunderous sound of his heart in his ears. He had to get up. Had to scramble onto his feet before the demon, seeing Shang Qinghua looking helpless, delivered the final blow. It wouldn’t have been the first time Shang Qinghua was at death’s door. Frankly, if anyone asked him before he might’ve said he really didn’t care! He had lived twice now, in fact. He could laugh about meeting such an end, and be on his way. Good run. Points for trying. But that was then, and now…well, now he really did want to live, thank you very much. Call him cheesy or sentimental, but Shang Qinghua thought he now had at least one very good reason to stay alive.
He thought of Mobei Jun’s angry expression. He would be so upset. Maybe he’d yell at Shang Qinghua for being an idiot. Scold him for his recklessness and for not being better with his sword.
“My King,” Shang Qinghua sighed. Grabbing his bleeding arm, he tried to muster enough strength to stand. The demon righted its sword and lunged forward.
The next moment, the warm spring air turned bitterly cold. Shang Qinghua’s breath, unsteady and pained, came out in white puffs. He saw from his periphery as a dashing figure descended from the sky, long curly hair billowing behind him, before the figure landed just beside Shen Qingqiu with unbothered confidence.
“Shizun!”
Shang Qinghua staggered back, and hit something hard. The demon in front of him had stopped moving, and Shang Qinghua looked and saw the creature pierced from multiple directions by shards of black ice.
The hard wall behind him had equally strong arms, and they encircled Shang Qinghua’s waist and tugged him closer. “What do you think you’re doing?” He said coldly. Whether he was talking to Shang Qinghua or the dying demon, Shang Qinghua wasn’t sure. But not a second later, shadows began to engulf Shang Qinghua. “I leave this to you,” Mobei Jun said to Luo Binghe, who had already managed to kill most of the demons and was fawning over a blushing Shen Qingqiu.
Shang Qinghua leaned into Mobei Jun’s arms. “Ugh,” he groaned when the movement jostled his wounded arm.
“Don’t move,” Mobei Jun instructed. His voice sounded distant.
They were engulfed in Mobei Jun’s shadows. The gelid air nipped at Shang Qinghua’s cheeks, and there was certainly a time when such cold would’ve made him uncomfortable—sent him shivering unpleasantly. But now it only brought a familiarity that somehow warmed him from within. Enveloped him in its icy embrace, and reassured him that all would be okay.
By the time Shang Qinghua emerged from the darkness, he was nowhere near Jin Lan City, nor his sect. Above the skies were dark, safe for the fractal light of the norther lights, which danced in hues of green and purple across the eternally night sky.
“Leave us,” Mobei Jun snapped orders to the few demon attendants that had rushed towards them, having seen their king return from his mission. They were equally familiar with Shang Qinghua, who was known as Mobei Jun’s consort—though none ever really said such a thing out loud. They just knew that Shang Qinghua’s words were as much of a command as their king’s, and after a few were killed for making rather inappropriate remarks against Shang Qinghua, everyone learned to respect Shang Qinghua.
“My King, I’m okay, really. Just a cut, nothing more.” Shang Qinghua tried to reassure, but he winced when he tried to move his arm, and that only made Mobei Jun frown further. The corners of his thin lips dragged downward, further contorting his expression into deep displeasure. If anyone saw him, they’d think Mobei Jun was about to kill someone in a fit of rage. Which, he technically already had. But no, Shang Qinghua knew that expression all too well, and he understood that Mobei Jun was annoyed none other than himself.
“Mobei,” he said softly.
Mobei Jun’s expression faltered, and he turned to look at Shang Qinghua. “Why are you so reckless, Shang Qinghua?”
Shang Qinghua grinned. “It helps knowing you’ll be there to save me?”
Mobei Jun rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky I was close. Luo Binghe heard of some demons causing trouble and summoned me to join. Not that he needed me,” he tsk’ed, “he was simply bored.”
“No doubt missing his shizun,” Shang Qinghua added.
Mobei Jun scowled. “What were you doing there?” He questioned as the two walked into their bedroom chamber, and Mobei Jun slammed the doors closed. Though clearly annoyed, he deposited Shang Qinghua gently onto the bed, which was always piled with thick furs for Shang Qinghua’s comfort.
Shang Qinghua sighed as he sunk further onto the bed. The furs were soft beneath his hand, and he momentarily felt bad about potentially getting them dirty with the blood that stained his fingertips. “Shen Qingqiu dragged me with him,” he explained. Look at the two of them, he thought, being dragged here and there at the whims of those damn protagonists. At the mercy of their whims, despite neither Mobei Jun nor Shang Qinghua wanting to go along.
Without another word, Mobei Jun sunk to his knees in front of Shang Qinghua. “Give me your arm,” he commanded.
“Yes yes,” Shang Qinghua complied and extended his arm.
He thought about the times when Mobei Jun himself was the one to inflict some of his wounds. That bratty young demon prince who handled Shang Qinghua, a human, roughly. A nick of a sharp nail here, a bruise from a rather rough shove there. Things Shang Qinghua endured because a system forced him to. Canon fodder was supposed to behave as such and, he was sure then, that Mobei Jun simply hated him. And that the cruel prince would meet his karma at the hands of his scheming uncle.
Yet there they were, a king on his knees before his “attendant.” Rather gently tending to Shang Qinghua’s slashed arm, and pouring energy into the wound that was slowly beginning to close.
They were silent as Mobei Jun worked, so Shang Qinghua took that time—before he was inevitably further scolded—to admire the face he’d missed for several weeks. Mobei Jun’s hair fell loosely over his broad shoulders, though an ornamental pin held some parts of it at the crown of his head. Crystal earrings dangled from his ears, and they swayed as he moved, whispering a soft ting each time. Mobei Jun’s placid countenance had not yet returned, and his scowl made him look, in Shang Qinghua’s eyes, like a petulant child.
Shang Qinghua chuckled, which only made Mobei Jun scowl all the more. “You laugh,” Mobei Jun said reproachingly.
“This husband apologizes for making you worry,” Shang Qinghua smiled softly as he pushed back strands of Mobei Jun’s hair. Enough to reveal that handsome expression and those icy blue eyes that now gazed up at Shang Qinghua.
Mobei Jun sighed, though he leaned into Shang Qinghua’s hand. “Qinghua.”
The pain in Shang Qinghua’s arm finally dissipated, and with his newfound mobilit, he wrapped it around Mobei Jun’s neck, drawing him towards Shang Qinghua. “Did I make this great king worry?”
Mobei Jun scoffed, though he went willingly as Shang Qinghua dragged Mobei Jun on top of him. Braced on either side of Shang Qinghua’s head, Mobei Jun’s hands dug into the plush fur. “I knew nothing would happen to you,” he said seriously.
His sincerity made Shang Qinghua laugh. “Because My King would protect me?”
“Qinghua,” Mobei Jun warned. Though Shang Qinghua didn’t think there was much of a threat to begin with. Whatever Mobei Jun was threatening to do to him was entirely welcome, if he had to admit.
Seeing Shang Qinghua so blatantly unbothered, Mobei Jun smirked. “You really are shameless, aren’t you, Shang Qinghua?”
“The most shameless man there is,” he agreed while circling his arms around Mobei Jun’s neck. Shang Qinghua’s legs spread further to accommodate Mobei Jun’s massive body, which had settled comfortably between them. “What are you to do with this shameless attendant?”
Mobei Jun hummed, going along with Shang Qinghua’s act and pretending to contemplate the question seriously. “It would seem punishment is in order.” Mobei Jun grabbed Shang Qinghua’s face—his fingers dug into Shang Qinghua’s cheek—and tilted his chin upwards. “Tell me, Qinghua, who should I kill for laying a hand on what’s mine?” Mobei Jun’s nose brushed against Shang Qinghua, who inhaled slowly, filling his nose with the cold smell of Mobei Jun’s skin, and his hair. Like a fresh snowfall, and woody pine.
How was someone so large and rough able to now be so gentle? When had Mobei Jun learned to temper his strength when handling Shang Qinghua?
“I believe you already killed him, My King,” Shang Qinghua said quietly. Cool lips brushed the side of his mouth. The hand gripping his face remained in place, though the thumb now tugged at Shang Qinghua’s bottom lip.
Almost two months. Shang Qinghua had been holed in An Ding Peak, only meeting Mobei Jun in his own lecherous dreams. Nothing quite like the feel of that immovable body letting itself be pulled and dragged whichever way Shang Qinghua desired. Going along and molding itself as if Shang Qinghua’s needs were decrees to be immediately answered. A part of Shang Qinghua found it funny that in some many ways he had molded Mobei Jun to be everything he might’ve ever wanted in a man. That annoyingly handsome face the reason Shang Qinghua had clung to the demon’s legs for so many years.
Damn brat, except he was Shang Qinghua’s. A brat Shang Qinghua had missed more than he’d like to admit. When did he become so needy? Like father like son, he was turning into Luo Binghe. Or was Luo Binghe like himself?
“Mobei,” he heard himself whisper breathlessly. How embarrassing it might’ve been if it hadn’t finally spurred Mobei Jun to kiss him at last. That hand gently squeezed, forcing Shang Qinghua’s mouth slightly open. Giving way to a cold tongue to slide between his lips and lick into his mouth. Something between a moan and a whimper bubbled from deep within Shang Qinghua’s gut. A desperate and needy sound if he stopped to think about it. But there wasn’t much need for thinking when Mobei Jun was kissing him. Drawing Shang Qinghua into his arms, and nipping at his lip and tongue with as much eagerness as Shang Qinghua. When had that clumsy king learned to unravel Shang Qinghua merely with his tongue—Shang Qinghua still remembered how their teeth had clacked when they first kissed?
The weight of Mobei Jun’s body on top of him was comforting. Like coming home after a long and arduous trip. Beneath, the furs cushioned Shang Qinghua, tickling his nape and eventually his back as his bloodied robe was discarded. Caressed his thighs when his legs were spread more than he might’ve once thought himself capable of.
If someone had told Shang Qinghua, back when he lived in his grimy apartment, that this would be his fate, he would’ve definitely laughed. That was the kind of stuff he dreamed of. Stuff left as drafts in abandoned word documents, too risqué and progressive for readers of stallion novels. Certainly not something that actually happened. Not to someone like him, at least.
Yet there he was, entangled limbs bare against the warm air of their bed chamber (Mobei Jun, for Shang Qinghua’s sake, always kept a fire burning alive) with the man of his literal dreams. Not to bad if he said so himself.
“How is your arm?” Mobei Jun asked several hours later. He examined the arm where the blade had cut with that same frown as before.
Shang Qinghua caressed Mobei Jun’s cheek before pinching it playfully. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“Good,” Mobei Jun fondly swatted Shang Qinghua’s hand away.
“My King?” Shang Qinghua nuzzled Mobei Jun’s bare chest. The exhaustion from the events of the day, and the several sleepless weeks, were finally catching up to him. Slowly he felt himself be dragged into a dreamy sleep.
He heard Mobei Jun hum in question as the furs were pulled further around Shang Qinghua’s shoulders. Tucked gently beneath his chin, while an arm draped around his waist. “What is it?”
“Welcome home, Mobei,” Shang Qinghua said sleepily.
Mobei Jun chuckled softly. “I’m home, Qinghua.”