Archive of Our Own

Honestly, Shen Qingqiu doesn't usually care much about his husband taking charge of his work in the Demon Realm. In fact, he's mostly the one urging Luo Binghe to do so: despite being a husband and father, he's also a Demon Emperor, and if he doesn't maintain order, what guarantees will there not be small rebellions that will become more complicated later? Not that anything or anyone can defeat his husband, of course; he is Luo Binghe, destined to rule over the three realms… but it's better to thwart enemy plans before they become a real problem that keeps Luo Binghe away for much longer!

Shen Qingqiu is a responsible Master, husband, and father. Like now, as he tries to settle A-Chen on his lap to get the child to eat his congee, enjoying the warm sunshine of the early spring days, the wind swaying the bamboo branches and bringing them the scent of pine and the earth damp with morning dew.

“No, no, no!” protests his baby. Barely two years old, his curls are a precious little thing when tousled. He reaches out, teary-eyed, clutching the edges of Shen Qingqiu’s robes. It’s a bit awkward with his rounded tummy in the way, but who says Yichen can’t manage, the little devil! “No! Milk! Baba Baba Baba! Milk mine!

Shen Qingqiu sighs. He's really been trying to wean Yichen. His poor nipples aren't exactly friendly to a baby who already has teeth, and if he's honest, he doesn't really want his two sons fighting over milk when the new baby arrives. Ah, luckily there are still a few months to go, anyway…

“If you finish the congee,” Shen Qingqiu tries to negotiate, though just from the baby’s sulking face he’s pretty sure he won’t get anywhere, “you’ll have some milk. Only if you finish the congee. Now open up. Say ‘aahh.’”

Shen Qingqiu reloads the spoon and brings it close to his child's face. Just as he expected, Luo Yichen swattes away, his breathing becomes faster, and his eyes wide and watery, his breath quickening again and again in the throes of impending tears. Shen Qingqiu sighs, bracing himself mentally and emotionally; it's only mid-morning, his third day without his husband, and it's not as if Luo Binghe will be there to prepare a different congee and distract their little one as he has done on other occasions…

Then, as suddenly as it begins, the child stops. His crying ceases when his little eyes catch sight of something on Shen Qingqiu's shoulder, and Shen Qingqiu can feel his shoulders sink with relief. Immediately afterward, as if he had forgotten his hunger and his half-hearted tantrum, Luo Yichen leaps from his lap, squealing, “Diedie!”

Shen Qingqiu sighs, turning to the side. He doesn't hear Luo Binghe greet his child, but from the sounds of footsteps stopping and the baby's chirping laughter, he's certain Luo Binghe has picked him up. At nearly six months pregnant, he's not so large that he can move around without any difficulty, but he still turns as much as he can to look fondly at—

The man standing to one side of the bamboo house is not his husband.

It's Luo Binghe, of course. It's the same bearing, the same hair, the same red zuiyin on his forehead. But this Luo Binghe isn't his husband, because the sword he carries at his hip is Xin Mo, covered in so many talismans that there's hardly any of the blade left but paper, and beneath the robe fastened with an imperial belt, he's… wearing a black crew-neck T-shirt?

In fact, his shoes are boots too. Not the typical Xianxia boots. Shen Qingqiu feels almost a whiplash when he recognizes expensive patent leather Dr. Martens, and the pants are nothing more than plain black jeans. Shen Qingqiu looks him up and down, blinking, trying to figure out if he's having some kind of crazy hallucination, until disbelief turns to panic the moment his brain puts together the intruder and the way he's carrying his son.

Luo Yichen hasn't even noticed anything different. He's babbling a lot of things, and Luo Binghe—the Luo Binghe who isn't his husband—nods his head, looking at him with a small smile of astonishment.

“Luo Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu says, trying to get his attention and, above all, to draw his son closer. A-Chen doesn’t even seem to flinch, just babbling another bunch of half-made-up, half-exaggerated words in the arms of the man who isn’t his father.

Luo Binghe waits for the boy to finish speaking, a respectful gesture that gives Shen Qingqiu goosebumps. Only then, after giving the boy a very earnest nod, does he turn to Shen Qingqiu with a sharp, predatory grin.

“Shizun,” he says, taking a couple of steps toward him, nearly bouncing Yichen in the process. “This Lord apologizes for his unannounced arrival and for trespassing on Shizun’s private gardens. This one knocked on the main door, but there was no one to answer it.”

“Luo Binghe couldn’t have played it that loudly if this master couldn’t hear it,” Shen Qingqiu complains, struggling to his feet. Luo Binghe almost immediately advanced toward him, and Shen Qingqiu gasps, his hand automatically covering his stomach. He didn’t even have his sword; how could he…?

“Shizun shouldn’t strain himself,” Luo Binghe says, taking a seat beside him. When Yichen was close enough, he again stretched out his arms toward Shen Qingqiu, muttering another repetitive string of “Baba Baba Baba”. Shen Qingqiu holds his child as close as he can, letting out a breath of relief so profound it burns. “Is it six months already, right? My congratulations. If this Lord had known, he would have brought red envelopes.”

“It’s not necessary,” Shen Qingqiu says, as coherently as he can. He hasn’t had morning sickness since the fourth month, but right now he feels like he’s going to throw up his entire breakfast. He’s dizzy, lightheaded, and not really very coherent. He should ask for help, but how would his martial brothers react if Shen Qingqiu asked them for help because he was afraid of Luo Binghe?

Yes, he can't actually do that.

“Does Shizun already know if the baby will be a boy or a girl?” Luo Binghe asks, as if it were the most casual thing to intrude on his world, a world steeped in evidence of having visited other worlds, displaying power and conquests that would clearly make Shen Qingqiu incredibly nervous. The expression on his face feigns gentleness, but somehow, it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Shen Qingqiu seriously considers making an excuse to change A-Chen, take his sword, and flee. He will explain later.

He feels a small kick, and cradling his belly, he reminds himself that flying is out of the question. Yes, a short flight isn't bad, but flying—the altitude, the dizziness, and the imminent danger to his baby…

“A boy,” Shen Qingqiu says, flattening his hand over the spot where his baby kicked. “Mu-shidi said the baby would be a boy.”

“Congratulations,” Luo Binghe repeats, the smile on his face looking almost genuine. Shen Qingqiu feels even more nauseous. “Shizun is lucky. Two healthy, strong, and loved children. What could make a man happier?”

“Baba,” A-Chen complains, tugging at his robes again. “Milk.”

Luo Binghe's mouth curls into an almost mocking smile. Shen Qingqiu felt heat rise up his neck to his cheeks and carefully moved A-Chen's little hands away. A-Chen looks ready to burst into tears again if he didn't get what he wanted. Ah, just like his father. Damn it.

“Shizun shouldn’t worry about this. If modesty is what prevents him from feeding his son, this Lord will turn away,” Luo Binghe says, his tone as if he might turn away for half a second and then face him again. Shen Qingqiu clicks his tongue, and although he feels a sordid fear course through him, it’s…almost foolish. His husband does the same, sometimes using almost the same words. For a moment, sadness washes over him so quickly that it nearly crushes his fear.

Ah, Shen Qingqiu misses his husband. Can anyone blame him for that? He's pregnant, hormonal, and has a rather clingy baby. He has every right to miss his husband, even if he's only been gone for three days.

“No. It’s alright.” Shen Qingqiu settles Yichen on his other leg, and the boy is already tugging at Shen Qingqiu’s robes, but he stops him. “This isn’t happening, my sweet boy. You need to eat your congee first.”

“Baba no!” protests the child, crumpling his robes with his little fists. “Bad Baba! Bad bad bad!! Milk mine!”

“It’ll be yours, of course,” Shen Qingqiu hums, rocking the boy on his leg. He reaches for one of his several spare spoons from the tray, clearly prepared for any tantrum from A-Chen “when you eat your congee. Now, be a good boy and eat.”

Yichen looks like he was about to cry again. His eyes watered, his pout was a trembling little thing, and his whole face turned red. For a moment, Shen Qingqiu's heart broke. Ah, would it really be so bad just to let the child have what he wanted? His little brother wasn't due for a while anyway, so…

No. No. Shen Qingqiu cannot give in! He already gives in too much to his husband's tears, he cannot give in to his son's too!

“Congee first,” Shen Qingqiu insists, lifting the spoon and bringing it to the boy’s mouth. His own husband has prepared several bowls and placed with preservation talismans, so there shouldn’t be any problems with the taste or texture. It’s barely lighter than Shen Qingqiu’s own congee! “Say ‘aahh.’”

His child swishes his hand again, and another spoon goes flying. Immediately afterward, and this time much faster, Luo Yichen takes two deep breaths just before bursting into tears.

“This one thinks Shizun should give him some milk,” Luo Binghe hums, and even without seeing him, Shen Qingqiu can hear the smug grin on his face. Sulking, he rolls his eyes, calming his child by gently rocking him in his arms, giving in and opening his robes.

“If you look, this Master will make sure to castrate you,” he threatens, glancing in Luo Binghe’s direction, who chuckles. Or rather, he threatens while looking at the back of Luo Binghe’s hairstyle, his ponytail held halfway by a wooden hairpin, which he’s surreptitiously turned around to give him some much-needed privacy for his thin face. Yes, breastfeeding is natural, but his nipples are still private! He doesn’t even like Mu Qingfang seeing them when he must check on his irritation!

It's immediate. The moment Yichen sees Shen Qingqiu opening his robes, he stops crying; his sobs are replaced by hiccups, and right after, by his baby snuggling up to his chest, feeding while looking at him with swollen, still-tearful eyes, his face flushed and pitiful, making Shen Qingqiu feel like the worst father in the world for denying his baby something like this. Still, he has to set boundaries, but… ah, A-Chen is just so sweet and tiny…

A-Chen feeds in silence. Shen Qingqiu runs his hands through his hair, wiping away the few remaining tears on his face, and the child catches his hand between his fingers, playing with them as he drinks. Shen Qingqiu sighs; well, yes, he has lost the battle, but not the war. He will keep trying. He has every day for the next few months to try.

Luo Binghe remains silent, his back to him, motionless. Shen Qingqiu doesn't think he can fully relax, but at least he might not be so close to a panic attack. He focuses on calming his breathing, slowing his heartbeat, and even his baby kicks in his belly. Shen Qingqiu places his hand on where his baby kicked, and right after, another kick comes, a little stronger.

“Aiya” sighs, and gently pinches A-Chen’s ear. “Look what you did. You’ve already woken up your little brother. Are you happy now, little boy? Now your Baba will have his ribs kicked like a cuju ball first thing in the morning.”

A-Chen doesn't seem the least bit remorseful, with the same manipulative little eyes as his father, and a drop of milk trickling from the corner of his mouth. Shen Qingqiu wipes it away with his sleeve, sighing. What a spoiled child he has, really…

“Shizun is a good father,” Luo Binghe says, and if Shen Qingqiu hadn’t been unable to forget he was there, he would have been startled. “Of course he will be, won’t he?”

“This Master doesn’t know what you mean,” Shen Qingqiu murmurs. He runs his fingers through his son’s hair, the wild curls sticking out in every direction. He should try braiding it, but the length and texture are a bit of a challenge. It’s slightly easier to make two small buns, except that with how much A-Chen moves around, they never stay even. “Luo Binghe. Why are you here? What brings you here?”

He both wanted to and didn't want to ask about his clothes. The last time he'd seen Luo Binghe— Bingge, given the circumstances—was almost three years after their first fight. He'd shown up, frantic, demanding answers because apparently someone had kidnapped one of his sons.

His husband hadn't wanted to believe him, but in truth, Shen Qingqiu had felt a little… well, pity. It was true that the children in Airplane's narrative were basically nameless NPCs, only mentioned in passing if they were lucky, but Luo Binghe seemed hysterical. He'd been searching for him across at least thirty worlds by then, unable to find any trace that wasn't something fake or nonetheless.

In many worlds, time was a different thing. In some worlds, time was much shorter; in others, much faster. In Luo Binghe's world, a couple of months had passed between the first and second invasions of his own world; in Shen Qingqiu's own world, well, three years at that point.

Shen Qingqiu could have thrown him out, he could even have let his husband fight with him. However, well, he felt a little sorry for him. It wasn't that he was particularly interested in children back then, but he had never really given children a serious thought, and perhaps imagining a child like Luo Binghe had opened up possibilities and desires he hadn't considered before.

Anyway. What he did was blatantly steal the plot of a kidnapped wife, in which Luo Binghe was able to reach her through his blood parasites and following the path of her dreamscape after making them move in a particular synchronization that could do something like turn them into a geolocation device regardless of distance (and, Shen Qingqiu hoped, would work now too). Of course, it took tantrums and a couple of fights between his husband and Bingge for it to work, plus the use of a power-up artifact and a few talismans that could make his qi work in conjunction with Xin Mo's to have some kind of satellite antenna connecting to other worlds, and after finding a clue, Luo Binghe left without even saying thanks.

It's been a while since then. It wouldn't be surprising if Luo Binghe had conquered the modern world as well. Who wouldn't bow down to Luo Binghe, anyway? Ugh, American women obsessed with Asian dramas would go crazy for him. It's not like they'd have to break the language barrier, either—Luo Binghe isn't exactly going to seek them out for a chat!

“This Lord didn’t come to take Shizun away, if that’s what Shizun fears,” Luo Binghe says, and although his voice sounded distant, he didn’t seem to be lying. Shen Qingqiu still didn’t allow himself to relax. “In fact, this Lord came to bring Shizun a gift. A token of gratitude for his help, and an apology for what this one did to him in the past.”

Shen Qingqiu doesn't even want to think about the punishment protocol. He tries his best to pretend he isn't terrified to the bone just remembering that it existed and nods, humming a soft assent when he realizes Luo Binghe isn't looking at him.

“Luo Binghe must have better things to do than dwell on the past,” Shen Qingqiu says, trying not to sound as harsh as he thought he might. Even Yichen raised his eyes, his brows furrowing as he noticed the change in his tone. Shen Qingqiu forces himself to lower and soften his voice as he asks, “Did Luo Binghe find his son?”

“This Lord found him,” Luo Binghe says, and the relief in his voice is almost a relief to hear. Shen Qingqiu exhales, running his hand along A-Chen’s soft cheek, as his child gazes at him intently with his large eyes. “And this one found more than that.”

He doesn't elaborate, and Shen Qingqiu doesn't ask either. Whatever his martial brothers think, Shen Qingqiu isn't one to interfere! He lets the silence, a little less tense now, envelop them like a cloak. When his chest empties, A-Chen starts to protest, but Shen Qingqiu has already given in once. He'll force this kid to eat at least half a bowl of congee whether he wants to or not.

“That’s enough milk for today,” he scolds, gently pinching the child’s cheek before closing up his tunic. Yes, the feeling of having one side empty and the other full is never entirely pleasant, but he’ll probably have to repeat what just happened at lunch, so it won’t be a problem for long. “Congee now.”

“I can!” Yichen says, which is already a huge relief, because he doesn’t try to squirm and deny it. Shen Qingqiu helps him sit down on the cushion in front of the low table, and before he can make any kind of move to hand the boy the spoon, A-Chen is already reaching out and nearly spilling the now-cold cup of tea Shen Qingqiu had been drinking from. He doesn’t spill it completely, but he does splatter congee on both sides of the bowl when he plunges the spoon in with great force.

“Careful,” Shen Yuan warns, sighing resignedly as A-Chen spills half the spoonful before it even reaches his mouth. Shen Qingqiu sighs, resigned to giving him a bath afterward; he had to give him a bath anyway, only at this rate and with how much his child was splashing, he’d have to include washing Yichen’s hair, and that ’s never quick or pleasant for anyone.

“Shizun’s son really does have a bad temper,” hums Luo Binghe, who has turned around to watch him eat. A-Chen keeps spilling half his congee on the table, dripping onto his little hands, but he’s stubborn enough to keep going, content to be doing it alone. “He must have inherited it from his other father.”

Despite himself, Shen Qingqiu finds himself laughing. He tries to hide it with a cough, but it's clear he can't, judging by the amused look Luo Binghe gives him.

“He looks so much like my husband,” Shen Qingqiu says, reaching for his own teacup. It’s cold, but it’s a distraction to keep his hands from trying to wipe A-Chen’s face. His baby always gets upset if he interrupts him to clean him, and Shen Qingqiu really doesn’t want any more tears.

“This Lord sees it,” Luo Binghe says. Shen Qingqiu supposes it’s too obvious. Luo Yichen will grow up to be a carbon copy of Luo Binghe, perhaps with minor differences like the structure of his eyebrows or the tip of his nose being sharper, but no major differences. Shen Qingqiu is merely preparing himself for what it will mean to have two identical, precious faces, and for the huge pile of engagement letters he’ll be receiving as soon as they reach marriageable age.

Fortunately, with Shang Qinghua having his first baby just a few months ago, they decided that if things get really bad, they'll simply arrange for them to be engaged to avoid political harassment while the children are growing up. It's not like they're going to force them to marry or anything like that.

Shen Qingqiu watches A-Chen eat, then looks at Luo Binghe looking at the child, and sighs.

“This is not a social or courtesy visit. Emperor Luo Binghe wouldn’t cross over between worlds just to express gratitude or give a gift. What is the real reason Luo Binghe has come to this Master’s world?” he asks, perhaps a little harshly than necessary. He can’t do anything else—he’s on edge, and without directly touching A-Chen, he doesn’t need to be gentle to avoid startling his child.

Inside his belly, his baby kicks again. Shen Qingqiu places a hand on his belly, trying to calm himself.

Luo Binghe doesn't answer directly this time either. In fact, he looks curiously, and just from the look in his eyes, similar to the look some of his Shidi have given him throughout his pregnancy and the previous one, Shen Qingqiu already knows what he's going to ask him.

“May this Lord?” Luo Binghe asks, and Shen Qingqiu sighs resignedly and withdraws his hand. He hopes it’s a tacit invitation, and Luo Binghe responds a moment later, placing his hands with the subtlety of a butterfly’s wing. Shen Qingqiu can barely feel the touch, but perhaps his son can, because he kicks exactly where Luo Binghe is touching. Luo Binghe doesn’t flinch, but the smile that spreads across his face is…

Well, Shen Qingqiu thinks he reminds him a lot of his husband.

“He’s strong. He’ll be born in late spring, won’t he?” he asks. Shen Qingqiu nods, humming a tune, and his baby doesn’t seem to distinguish between this Luo Binghe and his own father either, reacting and kicking at the sound of his father’s voice. “Oh. That’s a very good date. This Lord wishes Shizun a healthy day of birth and an auspicious first hundred days for his baby.”

Shen Qingqiu nods. He murmurs a curt ‘thanks’ through a dry mouth. Luo Binghe moves aside, and only then does he feel he can breathe a little easier. He still feels threatened, but at least it's more like a vague, general feeling of insecurity that he can't quite put his finger on.

Luo Binghe… Shen Qingqiu stared at him, trying to decipher his thoughts. What had he really come for? Because, ha, it would be absolutely impossible for Luo Binghe to simply… come and give some silly gift and leave. Yes, well, Shen Qingqiu had helped him, and it was true that Luo Binghe's gratitude was always ten times greater than what he had received, but the truth was, what could Luo Binghe, this despotic and cruel Emperor, possibly have to give him? If he hadn't come to kidnap him again, even if he had sealed Xin Mo away so viciously to avoid being controlled by the sword's resentment, why would he…?

“Shizun thinks too loudly,” Luo Binghe says, and Shen Qingqiu realizes he’s been staring at him longer than he’d like. He looks away, flustered, only to find some congee on the table, and his son now trying to grab the remaining rice in fists, having completely given up on using a spoon. Shen Qingqiu sighs, resigned to the fact that it will be a huge mess even for his husband to wash those little robes.

“This Master would like to believe that Luo Binghe is honest,” Shen Qingqiu says. “However, what kind of…?”

Shen Qingqiu's silence isn't, for the first time, because he feels threatened or in such danger that words have been ripped from his mouth. The truth is, he's speechless because, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Luo Binghe reaches into his sleeve and pulls out, unlike a sharp ceremonial dagger, a sword, or any other strange and potentially dangerous artifact, a fucking phone. Shen Qingqiu feels an illogical, squeaking sound escape his mouth, especially when Luo Binghe unlocks it with ease. The wallpaper shows a child, grinning with a wide, white-toothed smile, probably laughing because a man with short black hair is tickling him.

The man is barely a blur of short hair, barely visible except for a smile spreading across his face – the image is blurry at the edges, the typical motion-captured image, but Shen Qingqiu stares in horror and fascination between the phone and all the modern apps (DOES LUO BINGHE HAVE THE FUCKING CANDY CRUSH!?), and the available space where even the blue System screen has a huge […?], probably even more confused than him about how to react.

“This Lord,” Luo Binghe says, opening the typical messaging app and quickly scrolling through contacts. Yes, he presses the screen like an old man, but Shen Qingqiu hasn’t seen a damn smartphone screen in so many years that he doesn’t give a damn. “had the privilege of meeting some people that Shizun might be happy to see again.”

He reaches the multimedia files of a chat with someone he apparently saved as “Sweet Meimei.” Shen Qingqiu sees that an absurd number of photos have been sent recently (more photos of that curly-haired boy cooking, eating, sleeping, playing with stuffed tigers), but his breath is taken away like a punch when Luo Binghe reaches a video.

Shen Qingqiu covers his mouth with both hands, feeling his throat close and his eyes burn. "Sweet Meimei," Shen Yuming, is focusing on herself to record the short video, with the sweet, childlike smile Shen Qingqiu remembers. For a moment, for the instant the video is silent and Shen Qingqiu sees her face, a chill runs through his entire body and a broken sob escapes his throat as he stares at the face of his little sister, whom he never thought he would see again.

Immediately afterwards, Luo Binghe presses play on the video.

“Hi, Ge!” she greets, her voice bright and cheerful. Even A-Chen lifts his head from his breakfast, looking curious. “Ah, I don’t know what Binghe is planning, but I love you so much! You’re the best brother ever, and you’ve become the best dad. I know you’ll probably want to pinch me for this, but I’m really, really proud of you.” Shen Yuming’s smile widens, much sweeter than playful. Shen Qingqiu can barely see her through the tears streaming down his own face. “I know Er-ge and Da-ge are always whiny and overprotective of you, but I know you’re like, I don’t know, a superhero. When no one else knows what to do, you do, and when everyone else gives up, you never do. As a child, I wanted to be like you when I grew up. And that hasn’t changed.”

Shen Qingqiu can barely see her, and can barely hear her. Suddenly, A-Chen has abandoned his breakfast, clinging to him. He babbles “Baba Baba no” “Baba Baba no tears,” and even Luo Binghe pauses the video. Shen Qingqiu can barely see, can barely do anything but feel raw and crumble into tears that burn his eyes and throat, trembling like the last leaf still clinging to an autumn tree.

“How…?” he stammers, hiccuping.

Luo Binghe doesn't answer. He senses that he's hesitant, but slowly, he places his hand on his back, rubbing it. Shen Qingqiu feels himself crying harder, hugging a very frightened and confused A-Chen, letting the pain consume him. Ah, indeed…

It's not as if Shen Qingqiu never thought about what he had lost. He died, and that's it. He can't do anything, he can't change anything. What's the point of worrying about those who will feel bad when he's gone? It's gratuitous and unnecessary pain, because he can't do anything to ease their sorrow, and they can't receive any comfort from him. Nobody wins, and everyone loses.

Except now, looking at his sister's face, and hearing her voice, he realizes as if pierced by a hundred swords how much he had missed her, and that so much time had passed that he had even forgotten the exact shape of her face.

“This Lord offers his apologies,” Luo Binghe says while his sobs rising into outright tears. Shen Qingqiu can only cling to his son and his belly, where his baby kicks insistently, clearly distressed. He struggles to breathe, hiccuping and panting. “This one was unaware that Shizun was going to…”

“Shizun?”

Shen Qingqiu doesn't even manage to hear what kind of reaction Luo Binghe expected from him. He doesn't even have the mental, emotional, or physical strength to react beyond grabbing the phone from the table and shoving it into his sleeve before the exact moment his husband charges at Luo Bingge like a bull that has seen a red flag. Breakfast plates, a tray, and a small table fly in all directions from the impact, and both roll off the deck floorboards, clearly intending to recreate the hole in the roof of the bamboo house but crashing through some trees in the forest.

Luo Yichen lets out a muffled, almost terrified scream, and it is the only thing that stops the two identical men from fighting.

“Behave yourselves,” Shen Qingqiu manages to say, hiccuping. He clutches his belly, and still crying, trembling like a leaf, he manages to stand up. He knows he looks beyond pathetic, his face red from crying, wearing only a light outer gown over his nightclothes, and his hair still in a messy braid.

Even so, he slaps away the two Binghe who approach to help him when they see Shen Qingqiu trying to stand up.

“Good heavens. Husband, you’re early,” he says to Binghe, looking at him with what he assumes is his best reassuring expression, something that clearly does nothing to ease his husband’s worried furrowed brows. “Welcome. Please clean up the mess you’ve made,” he orders, pointing, and actually using his arm to help himself stand up straighter with A-Chen in his arms, his Luo Binghe looking between them with a confused expression.

Then Shen Qingqiu glances at Luo Bingge, who seems to be oscillating between an innocent and a boastful expression. It's true that, with the minor exception of being slightly shorter than his own husband and wearing entirely different clothes, they are identical. However, now that he is being observed by both his husband and this Bingge simultaneously, Shen Qingqiu notices something different in their gazes.

Luo Bingge had always looked at everything—not just him, in fact, but the world—as if it owed him a favor. Shen Qingqiu, of course, had agreed with this; he had understood Luo Bingge's unspoken demand, as if he understood that whatever he desired should be his by right. It is only now, observing both dark gazes, both worries veiled with different nuances, that Shen Qingqiu can notice that where there had once been greed in Bingge's eyes, he can almost find peace.

“You. Stay here,” is all he says, in the same firm voice he uses with his disciples before making them run endless laps around the mountain. “Luo Binghe, you’re going to give me a good explanation.”

･ ⋆ ･ ⊹ ✦ ⊹  ･ ⋆ ･

It takes Shen Qingqiu at least ten full minutes of just taking deep breaths to calm down. Those minutes, of course, don't include the interrupted minutes spent calming A-Chen, trying to stop his baby from kicking, washing his face, drinking two cups of water, and stopping his hiccups, so the total would be at least twenty minutes, and that's only if you subtract an extra five minutes that he spent after washing his face staring blankly into space, unable to process what was happening and what he was feeling.

The truth is that Shen Qingqiu did not believe he would ever see his sister again.

As impossible as saying goodbye, and as impossible as betraying the damned fate imposed by the System. But there it was. Luo Binghe didn't have a password on his phone, and when Shen Qingqiu took it from his sleeve, the screen unlocked in an instant. The video didn't autoplay, and his sister's smile froze on the screen, taking his breath away.

Shen Qingqiu stared at her until his eyes hurt from looking. Then he locked the phone screen and put it back on his sleeve. His instincts had been right: he knew his husband would pounce on Bingge as soon as he saw him, especially with the way Shen Qingqiu was crying. If he hadn't been quick, the phone… his sister…

Taking a deep breath, Shen Qingqiu emerges from the bathroom. Luo Binghe, his husband, is clearly there, holding A-Chen in his arms, looking at him with considerable concern. He has washed his little boy's face and hands and changed his nightgown into more comfortable, practical everyday clothes. Shen Qingqiu can only manage a sad smile. The bronze mirror hadn't reflected his best side, and he knows it; unlike his husband, Shen Qingqiu is an ugly crybaby whose eyes and nose become puffy and red, a far cry from the beautiful tears that can stream down his husband's face.

“Is Shizun alright?” Luo Binghe asks. A-Chan babbles 'Baba a-righ’, Baba a-righ’,’ pulling himself into his arms, and Shen Qingqiu cradles his little hands, kisses his cheeks, and places a soft kiss on the corner of his Binghe’s mouth. He’s never wanted to tell him more than what he’s left behind, but even so, he’s never been so afraid at the same time.

“It’s nothing Binghe needs to worry about,” Shen Qingqiu says with a vague smile. “Is our guest alright? No major injuries?”

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe protests, but then sighs and nods. “The other has no wounds that haven’t already healed.”

That's a bit of a stretch, but honest, so Shen Qingqiu accepts it. He nods; with every step he takes, Luo Binghe is practically reaching out to support him. At another time, Shen Qingqiu would have refused; he'd say something like, ‘Being pregnant doesn't mean this Master can't use his own legs, thanks!’, but the truth is, his husband's arm around him is... warm and comforting. And a relief. It makes his heart feel lighter.

It feels awful to have to part with it for a moment.

“Husband,” he begins, using the word only because it’s the only way he can convince Luo Binghe to do what he’s about to ask. “Could you take A-Chen so Liu-shidi can watch him for a moment and you can go down to the market quickly? This wife…” his face flushes; of course, Luo Binghe can manipulate his with tears, but Shen Qingqiu needs nothing more than a blush and a few words to do the same to his Binghe. “…is a little craving something. Could you do that for me?”

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe protest, casting an airy glance toward the back garden where, of course, Luo Bingge still stood. Shen Qingqiu forces a gentle smile, making sure to pull out all the stops: his hand cradling his belly, peering at him through his lashes, his face flushed. At his expression, his husband hesitated, but still… “What is so important that Shizun has to talk to that other behind this husband’s back?” Luo Binghe complains.

Shen Qingqiu smiles, sighing. Ah, the Protagonist's intelligence, it's not like it wasn't obvious! In Binghe's arms, A-Chen is babbling ‘Other other other,’ and Shen Qingqiu leans down to give his child a small kiss on the forehead.

“This wife asks for his husband’s trust,” Shen Qingqiu pleads, raising his gaze. Luo Binghe hesitates; it’s true that the last time they saw Bingge he behaved… a little more civilly, and Shen Qingqiu believes his husband is recalling every interaction they had that time in as much detail as he can. “Please?”

Luo Binghe hesitated for a long moment before sighing, defeated. Shen Qingqiu leans down and lets his husband initiate a kiss, far from being devouring, a small, tender kiss that made him want to cry. He wants to melt into the kiss, into his husband's arms, to weep for his sister, to tell him about her, about his brothers, about his mother, about who he once was—

He never wanted to… tell him about them, not at least as strong as right now. After all, Luo Binghe had fallen in love with an immortal master. For years, even when the System had told him he could reveal certain things by buying passes with the vast amount of B Points he had accumulated after years of happy marriage, the truth was… he had been a little afraid. Just the basics, of course. Luo Binghe loved Shen Qingqiu, but would he ever love the man who became Shen Qingqiu?

He wanted to believe so. He trusted his husband, his love, his devotion, and his loyalty. But come on, can anyone blame a man for being afraid?

“This one really has a craving for honeydew,” Shen Qingqiu insists, which isn’t entirely a lie. At first, he thought it might be a good excuse; after all, Binghe always rushed out to get his cravings or prepare them, even in the middle of the night. However, the more he thinks about it, the more his mouth waters, so he supposes it will be alright to keep some on hand. And eat a few slices when his husband returns. “Could my husband bring some for me?”

It takes a little more effort, and obviously, it's another bit of a challenge to convince Luo Binghe that he'll be safe. His husband leaves after a hug that warms his soul, and A-Chen barely protests about leaving his 'Baba Baba Baba’, when promised he will go play with his uncle Qingge, which has the child repeating ‘Shushu Shushu Shushu’. Shen Qingqiu supposes that this is the effect it has when Liu Qingge ties the child to his back and runs around making him laugh out loud.

His husband fades away on the path, listening and responding to A-Chen's every babble, and Shen Qingqiu silently crumbles for a long moment before turning back towards the back garden.

Luo Bingge is still there. He's taken off his robe and folded it to sit on, and with his black t-shirt (which Shen Qingqiu is freaking out about when he realizes it has a freaking Inuyasha print covering his entire back), pants, and boots, Luo Bingge doesn't even look like he belongs in that world, with his eyes closed and soaking up some sun.

“It’s winter where this Lord comes from,” Luo Binghe says, without even opening his eyes. The mess has been cleaned up, and Shen Qingqiu takes a seat a respectful distance from the Emperor, who is in 21st-century casual vacation mode, with the same difficulty he always has sitting and standing, but no more than that. “This one apologizes. The weather is pleasant.”

“Don’t apologize,” Shen Qingqiu murmurs, taking the phone out of his sleeve. He hands it to Luo Binghe, who finally opens his eyes. “Where does Luo Binghe get this?”

Luo Binghe's smile curves in an almost mocking way.

“You see, Shizun, in the world where this Lord now lives, there are these technological advances that-…”

“Luo Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu says, putting every drop of disapproval and passive hostility he can into his scolding voice. Luo Binghe falls silent, smiling, gazing into the distance with lost eyes. “You know exactly what I’m asking you.”

Luo Binghe was silent for a moment. Then, he drew his shoulders up in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Finally, he said, “This Lord’s son fled to a distant and unknown world, as Shizun already knows. This Lord found him. For the course of a month, this Lord’s son had been raised, educated, and cared for by a mortal in a human realm vast in technology of all kinds.”

Shen Qingqiu can tell exactly that just from the way Luo Binghe is dressed. Judging by the phone model, he doesn't think it's a year away from his own. If he somehow managed to get a message from his sister, perhaps he's found a world with a timeline prior to his… transmigration? Even if Luo Binghe had found that world, even if his son had ended up there, how could he have…? How did his sister know that he…?

“Oh,” Shen Qingqiu says, staring at him wide-eyed, the exposed puzzle pieces in place. Luo Binghe returns a crooked smile.

“Shizun is clever,” Luo Binghe says. He closes the messaging app and opens the gallery. Among the vast array of photos of all kinds, Shen Qingqiu feels his breath catch in his throat when he sees one in particular. He doesn't recognize the child, even though he is clearly Luo Binghe's son: the same hair, the same eyes, even if the only difference in his face is his rounder cheeks and the pretty mole under his eye. The one he does recognize, in fact, is the man holding him, who is looking at the camera with a reproachful expression for being photographed against his will. “Whether in this world or others, it seems that Shizun's and this Lord's fates are destined to become intertwined in one way or another.”

Shen Qingqiu stares at the face he left behind, a face he thought he'd never see again; it's different from his new face, rounder, with softer features, a smaller nose. His features look pale, dark circles under his eyes make him look tired, and the thinness of his wrists can only be sickly. Looking at it, looking at himself, Shen Qingqiu sees his own eyes gleam behind his glasses, and he realizes he doesn't remember ever having that kind of life in his gaze at any point in his own life.

It wasn't as if Shen Qingqiu, back when he was Shen Yuan, hadn't… enjoyed his life. In fact, he'd had a good life and hadn't lacked anything. Yes, his health was shit; yes, he kept to himself a lot when it came to family gatherings. What was wrong with that? Nothing was wrong. He didn't need to dwell on it if he focused on his web novels enough to keep any strange thoughts at bay. It was just that, well… He hadn't lacked anything, that was true, but he also hadn't had anything that made him feel alive.

The Shen Yuan he sees in that photo has his face, but he doesn't look like… him. Despite being pale, haggard, and sickly, he looks alive in a way that Shen Qingqiu never was until after he died.

“One way or another, all roads lead to Rome, don’t they?” Shen Qingqiu asks, more out of thin air than anything else. It’s a pleasant surprise when Luo Binghe laughs. It’s not as if anyone other than Shang Qinghua could understand.

Oh, damn, Shang Qinghua will go crazy when he finds out about this.

Silence envelops them. Shen Qingqiu breathes, savoring the air, letting the sun's warmth touch his hands. It's a pleasant day. It truly is.

Then Luo Binghe says, “My A-Yuan told me about how transmigration usually works.”

Inevitably, his pulse quickens. Shen Qingqiu immediately places his hand on his rounded belly, almost at the same time as the screen opens directly in front of his face. It's not a threat of immediate deportation, which is fine. It's just a warning. Shen Qingqiu can't talk about transmigration, or betray the System. Those are the rules. Those have always been the rules.

“This Master cannot speak about that,” Shen Qingqiu says, looking at Luo Binghe with his protective hands over his stomach. He wasn’t going to die; he couldn’t let the System even try to push him into any rule-breaking protocol. What if something happened to his baby? Oh, of course Shen Qingqiu could and would tolerate some necessary suffering, but what if it harmed his baby? That wasn’t something Shen Qingqiu was willing to allow. “Please, this one asks Luo Binghe not to ask about that.”

Luo Binghe hums. He doesn't seem annoyed or angry, much less sulking about not getting his way. In fact, relaxed and gazing through the bamboo forest, he almost looks like… just an ordinary guy. There's no Emperor-like bearing about him, and although he certainly possesses an innate elegance, relaxed and tapping his foot to an almost unseen, anxious rhythm, Shen Qingqiu can't even think of feeling afraid of this man.

Whatever happened, it's made this Luo Binghe a better man. Shen Qingqiu supposes the pride he feels for him is silly, ridiculous, and innate—after all, he's still a version of Luo Binghe, how could Shen Qingqiu not have some uneasy feelings about that?—but he can't help it either. He looks like a harmless 21st-century boy on a good-quality historical tour.

He looks calmer than Shen Qingqiu has ever seen him.

“If Shizun cannot respond, then allow this Emperor to assume,” he says. Shen Qingqiu quickly consults with the System, and honestly, it’s more of the same: as long as Shen Qingqiu doesn’t say anything, the System won’t be obligated to intervene. There are obvious middle grounds, sure, but using the specific words transmigration, PIDW, System, or variants… well, Shen Qingqiu doesn’t even want to imagine what will happen if he makes a mistake. Especially not now. Especially when he has another life to protect in his own body besides his own.

Shen Qingqiu nods, and Luo Binghe remains thoughtful for another moment before saying, “Shizun was once someone named Shen Yuan, who died. He transmigrated here when Shen Qingqiu was given a qi deviation that took his soul and left his body empty. Is this Lord mistaken?”

“Is Luo Binghe looking for praise?” Shen Qingqiu complains, which is about as close to confirmation as he can get. Luo Binghe’s mouth curves into a half-smile, amused, and Shen Qingqiu sighs. His baby kicks, more of a settling motion than an actual kick, and Shen Qingqiu cradles his belly with both hands, rubbing it up and down.

“When Shizun transmigrated into this body, he wasn’t alone,” Luo Binghe says, gazing out at the forest. His fingers drum on the wooden floor before he concludes, “This Lord assumes that when Shizun comes here, was with a System. That’s why he pushed this weak little me into the Endless Abyss. Something irrevocable in the plot. Is this Lord wrong?”

Shen Qingqiu is afraid to look at the System screen in front of his face. When he does, however, he almost bursts out laughing. The screen displays a screen […!?!?!?], so confused it's almost vocal. Shen Qingqiu snorts a laughing sound.

“If Luo Binghe knows the facts, why is he asking?” he complains. Another indirectly direct confirmation, or something like that. The System hasn’t complained about that so far, so Shen Qingqiu assumes it’s fine. He can rely on being lazy and letting Luo Binghe fill in the blanks. After all, who else could do it but the Protagonist?

Luo Binghe nods, smiling. Instead of looking satisfied, as if he's gained something, he seems almost sad. His smile is fragile and doesn't reach his eyes, because Shen Qingqiu, seeing him without the mask of the arrogant Emperor, reminds him so much of his own husband that it's a cognitive dissonance he won't dwell on. He forces himself to rest both hands on his rounded belly, rubbing it up and down so as not to touch Luo Binghe's head, patting him reassuringly, assuring him that everything will be alright.

Ah, he's just weak on every Luo Binghe, whoever he is, isn't he?

“This Lord came with gratitude in his heart and some gifts in his hands,” Luo Binghe hums, smiling. The sadness hasn't completely disappeared, but the phone in his hand activates when he taps to navigate through the apps, returning to the main screen. “And also, an offer. A small exchange.”

Shen Qingqiu sighs. Okay, here goes: "What does Luo Binghe want?"

“First, Shizun needs to know what I’m offering.” And when Luo Binghe flashes a smile, it’s almost like a predator’s mask returning to his face, persuasive white teeth, a confident smirk of someone used to getting his way. “Then Shizun can consider my request more carefully.”

“Luo Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu says, trying out his most threatening tone. “I won’t negotiate any kind of-…”

“This Lord offers,” Luo Binghe interrupts seriously, “to tell his other, weaker self the truth. Everything. Since Shizun cannot tell him, if this Lord were to tell him, if he were to explain the limitations the System has imposed, the reasons why Shizun had to push him to the Endless Abyss, everything, without Shizun being involved in the explanation, his System could not impose a punishment for that. Isn’t that right?”

Shen Qingqiu stares at the System screen. He hesitates before formulating an appropriate response, and it reads: [The Host is unable to inform the Protagonist: Luo Binghe, of the System's existence or the existence of his home world]. Shen Qingqiu's heart poundes in his throat, buzzes in his ears, and presses against his chest. For a moment, all he sees are colored dots as he tries to get his thoughts in order.

He… could tell his Binghe everything. Yes, he had refrained from doing so; telling him that he was a soul that replaced the soul of the original Shen Qingqiu had been an option, but what else could he explain? The System left him with his hands tied behind his back. And to say only that, without being able to provide an explanation, a reason, something genuine, something that would clarify rather than confuse…

Yes, he's still... a little afraid. His husband's reaction, the emotions he'll have when he finds out everything, he... He knows that someone like his Binghe wouldn't reject him, and he seriously doubts he could get angry. Probably, all Binghe will do is get a little grumpy about someone else telling him everything. But he... he never...

“That’s a good offer, isn’t it?” Luo Binghe hums. His expression was less mocking, more relaxed. He almost seemed genuinely interested in helping, which… well, wasn’t a bad thing in itself. Gratitude was repaid tenfold. Shen Qingqiu had helped him twice: once when he arrived injured at the bamboo house the first time, and again when he found his son. A truth that could tear down the last remaining limits imposed by the System on his life might be fair payment for that. “Does Shizun want to hear what this Lord ask for in return?”

Except that, framed as an exchange, Shen Qingqiu can't help but feel uneasy. Perhaps only because it feels like making a foolish deal with a very cunning demon, knowing from the start that he'll lose.

Or maybe it's just his own prejudices. Whatever.

“What does Luo Binghe want?” Shen Qingqiu repeats.

Luo Binghe places his phone between them. He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a discreet little qiankun bag—which suddenly makes Shen Qingqiu wonder how on earth he managed to hide that, which in turn makes him think how wonderful it would be to have qiankun bag in jeans pockets. Shen Qingqiu marvels at the silly alteration for a moment long enough, almost a distraction from his erratic mind, before Luo Binghe places a small, fleshy, white bud in the space between them.

Shen Qingqiu stares at the bulb until his brain decides to rationalize, give it form and recall the last time he saw something identical, and finally recognize a Sun-Moon Dew Mushroom.

“It won’t be bonded to Shizun’s soul, of course,” Luo Binghe hums, with an almost amused smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes this time; it looks almost like a mask, in a less than pleasant way. “If Shizun’s body has molded itself to accept his soul, then it’s safe to assume it can happen a second time, especially since it’s a new body made for that purpose. This Lord only needs to know that if something happens to his A-Yuan, he needs to know where he’ll be, and where to look for him.”

Shen Qingqiu takes the mushroom in his hands. The maturation time is an average of three to five years; if time in his previous world runs slower, perhaps it could be ready in just four or five months of that world? Shen Qingqiu thinks it's a drastic measure and not at the same time; he didn't die for nothing, after all. His health when he was Shen Yuan had always been terrible.

Lowering the mushroom, Shen Qingqiu closes his eyes, trying to imagine a world where he hasn't died. He doesn't know how any of that works, and he doesn't even really know if that's still the world he came from; he's not so foolish as to think that after his death the entire world has vanished, but if Luo Binghe has traveled through so many worlds, a world where he hasn't died and has… adopted that child and is now clearly having some kind of relationship with Luo Binghe (if Shen Qingqiu can accept and sympathize with the gymnastic leaps his frail self's mind may have made to get to where he is), would that be a different world already?

Shen Qingqiu doesn't dwell on philosophy. He doesn't care right now. He doesn't have to. That's not his life now, and it hasn't been for over twenty years. There's no reason to dwell on the “what ifs” when his present is entirely his own.

“This Master agrees,” Shen Qingqiu says. He assumes that, in the event… something happens to that other self (wow, is that how his husband must feel when he has to think about Bingge?), he will spring from the earth like a living dead man, and Shen Qingqiu will have to give him a welcome tour, some clothes, and provide him with a bit of security until Bingge comes to get him. Time travels between one world and another are different, so perhaps some time will pass in between…

It's not as if Shen Qingqiu doesn't have time. He has plenty of time, anyway.

“In fact,” he adds, “there’s a good spot high up in Qiong Ding where this Master can grow Sun-Moon Dew Mushrooms. This one figured it out some time ago.” Actually, it wasn’t so much his own discovery as Shang Qinghua’s, though they immediately dismissed the location because, despite being in an environment rich in qi and having everything necessary, it was within the same sect! “This one will be able to easily get permission from Zhangmen-shixiong to plant there.”

“The indulgence of Sect Leader Yue, of course,” Luo Binghe says, his smile almost a sour sneer. It wasn’t as bitter as it might have been, and he clicked his tongue. “This Lord thanks Shizun for the decision he has made. Shizun never hesitates to do things to change this Lord’s life, even if this one isn’t the soul destined for him, and this Emperor can only be indebted.”

Shen Qingqiu looks away, huffing. What's with all this talk of destined souls and doing things for him? Shen Qingqiu's just doing the bare minimum! It's not like he can say, uh, it's something he'd do for just anyone, because it doesn't really work to do it for just anyone, but actually… well, technically it's a big deal for Bingge. Oh, whatever…

“Luo Binghe shouldn’t be thinking about debts,” Shen Qingqiu sighs. He rubs his belly and smiles as he feels his baby moving in time with his movements. “This Master… has always wanted the best for Binghe,” he hums, softening his voice slightly. Luo Binghe looks at him, a small smile on his face, and though he tilts his head like his husband, his eyes are filled more with respect than affection. Shen Qingqiu can only feel a deep peace wash over him, something he didn’t know he needed but now that he has it is exactly what he wanted. “I’m so glad you’ve succeeded.”

Luo Binghe's smile spreads across his face. He bows his head in a small, respectful movement, and Shen Qingqiu sighs, letting go of his inhibitions and patting him on the head. Luo Binghe, of course, is startled, but he laughs at his own fright.

“Thanks, Shizun,” he hums, with the same gentle smile. “Thank you for showing me that something different existed. That this Lord could have something different. That something better existed. Thank you.”

Shen Qingqiu sighs, looking away to stop the tears from falling. Aiya, he's pregnant, he deserves to cry once in a while! Especially with strong emotions!

“Silly boy,” he snorts, and Luo Binghe bursts into laughter. “Listen to yourself, seriously, you already sound like my husband, and it’s not funny at all. You’ll make this Master cry, and then this one will need something sweet, and my husband hasn’t arrived with that honeydew yet…”

Luo Binghe hums a nod. He idly searches the qiankun pouch, and before Shen Qingqiu can see what his eyes are betraying him, he lets out a broken gasp. Luo Binghe's smile spreads wildly, and he doesn't make the fatal mistake of snatching his prize from a pregnant man's hands when Shen Qingqiu forgets all decorum and yanks the box from him.

“Good heavens,” Shen Qingqiu gasps, not wasting a second before opening the box of Oreos. He ripped open the cardboard box and tore open the plastic bag with a desperation unknown even to himself. “If you don’t empty every damn MSG candy from that qiankun bag, I’ll kidnap Xin Mo myself and go get them.”

The cookie's flavor is intense and excessively sweet in his mouth. It's so sweet it could make his teeth hurt, but since it's the first thing he's ever eaten with that artificial flavor, Shen Qingqiu is certain he won't survive the rest of the conversation without it.

Luo Binghe laughs. He continues pulling a small treasure from his qiankun bag: not the kind of things Shen Qingqiu would typically have bought, but they certainly align with his own tastes. Sweets, chips, spicy chips, squeaky boxes and bags. Shen Qingqiu will keep all of that away from A-Chen, and away from Shang Qinghua. …except perhaps for instant ramen and some chips, he would feel too bad if Airplane received a treasure like this and didn't share it.

“This Lord doesn’t know Shizun was expecting a baby, or already had one,” Luo Binghe says, after he’s finished unpacking every last box and bag. It’s a sizable pile, and Shen Qingqiu thinks he can ration it well. Except he’s already halfway through the bag of Oreos, so he doesn’t think he can rely on himself for that task. “This one brought the kind of things my A-Yuan mentioned as his favorites and that he’d miss the most in a situation like this. This one would offer to get Shizun more for his cravings, but by the time this one get back, Shizun’s baby will probably have been born.”

Shen Qingqiu sighs, brushing some chocolate crumbs off his robes. Did he really think these provisions wouldn't be enough for the rest of his pregnancy, and heaven forbid it be too soon, for the next one? It wasn't that Shen Qingqiu was planning on having another child, but really, well, he hadn't minded A-Chen having a brother or sister to grow up with, and perhaps when A-Chen and his sibling were a little older…?

Ah, Shen Qingqiu shakes his head. He's going off on a tangent. He clears his throat: "This Master appreciates Luo Binghe's... consideration."

Luo Binghe smirks, and Shen Qingqiu remembers to wipe the crumbs from the corner of his mouth. Oh well, so what! He's in his own house; he has the right to be messy! Ugh, he hates having left his fan inside… it's not like he needs his fan with A-Chen, let alone his husband, unless it's to scold him for some trivial matter.

His smile slowly fades. Finally, Luo Binghe goes back to searching on his phone.

“If Shizun feels willing,” he says, in a much more cautious and respectful tone, “this Lord has some other videos to show him.”

Shen Qingqiu sets the cookie tin aside. He takes a deep breath, thinking about his sister's face, storing it in his memory just like the exact tone of her voice. Oh, damn, he's going to cry a lot.

“This Master is willing.”

･ ⋆ ･ ⊹ ✦ ⊹  ･ ⋆ ･

By the time his husband arrives with a bag of three or five honeydew, Shen Qingqiu has already cried and nearly hyperventilated during his mother's video, burst into tears almost immediately after calming down during his father's video, paused to eat the rest of that package of Oreos, and started crying again during Er-ge and Da-ge's videos. Even Jiu-ge's best friend left him a touching message that—

Well, by the time his husband is taken away by Bingge so he can tell him everything—while Shen Qingqiu eats slices of honeydew, pleading for everyone to keep their distance—he's also thinking that maybe his brother is… gay and has been in a relationship with the man he thought was his roommate and best friend all this time. And, ugh, did Airplane see his family in the media or something and decide it was a brilliant idea to base their characters on them? He might as well have sued him for plagiarism, what the heck!

The System activates once or twice, but other than ellipses or providing random points, it doesn't seem to have any significant function. It only becomes relevant when it suddenly announces: [Congratulations, congratulations, congratulations! Good things must be said three times! The Secret Achievement: “Nothing But the Truth” has been completed, for a total of +5,000 B points!]

Shen Qingqiu grumbles about how stingy the System is even now, but anyway, it's not like he can do much with the points. Hell, he'd even accept if the System enabled some kind of gacha, just to be able to do something!

By the time his husband and Bingge emerge from the adjoining room—now the small room adapted for A-Chen—Shen Qingqiu tries not to immediately become defensive, taking a deep breath and relaxing his shoulders. His husband has always been so clever, and although they've never been able to talk openly about any of this, he doesn't think Luo Binghe will be angry about him keeping everything from him. He hopes not. He… prays not.

“Shizun?” his husband moved closer. Shen Qingqiu swallows, steeling himself for the questions and interrogations, trying to keep his hands from trembling under the pressure. Ah, really, was it the best idea for him to be in a separate room…? Yes, he had thought that being in the same room where all those words were spoken might have triggered the System, and he didn’t want to take the risk, but… “Did Shizun like the honeydew?”

Shen Qingqiu blinks, confused. He utters a “Huh?” and his husband pulls a handkerchief from his sleeve, dabbing the side of his chin where Shen Qingqiu has apparently dripped some honeydew juice. A blush rises to his cheeks, but at this point, it's not much. He's just a little absentminded when he's eating his cravings, that's all.

“Was it sweet enough?” his husband asks, leaning in. He steals a light kiss, and Shen Qingqiu feels the absence of his lips on his mouth the instant his Binghe pulls away. “This husband asked the old woman at the fruit stand for the most sweets she had.”

Being pregnant makes Shen Qingqiu less than rational. In fact, his first pregnancy was even worse: used to hiding his thin face behind his fan, he spent half his pregnancy concealing the lower half of his face with a fan and the upper half with a handkerchief to wipe away his tears. This second pregnancy is… a little better than the first, even better with the nausea and adjusting to his new center of gravity, yes, but right now, when he sees his husband's loving eyes, looking at him as if nothing has changed, whose only concern after hearing something beyond logic and coherence by the standards of reality he's grown up believing in, is to ask Shen Qingqiu if he liked the honeydew…

Shen Qingqiu bursts into tears so abruptly that even he is surprised.

“Shizun?” Luo Binghe is already falling to his knees in front of him, taking his hands. Luo Binghe’s hands are warm, and Shen Qingqiu feels his own sticky from the honeydew juice, yet he sobs a little louder. “Is Shizun alright? Is there anything wrong?”

“Everything is fine,” Shen Qingqiu says, when he manages to speak. He doesn’t even need to ask for water because his husband seems to know him like the back of his hand, handing him a cup before he can even point to the pitcher. “Ah, Binghe, forgive your husband. Everything is fine. It’s just… This Master believed…”

His husband, his beloved Binghe, smiles at him with such warmth that it fills his heart and veins. Not a single day goes by with his husband that Shen Qingqiu doesn't wonder how this man could love him so much.

“Shizun is Shizun,” says Binghe, kissing the palm of his hand. His smile is sweet, his gaze bright, and Shen Qingqiu can feel the love in him with just the delicate touch of his lips on his skin. “And my husband is my husband. If this husband can feel anything, it is gratitude, because of all the worlds Shizun could have gone to, he has come to this one with this Binghe.”

Shen Qingqiu lets out a laugh that even he can tell is choked with tears. Ah, it's not like he had a choice... But anyway, it's not like he regrets anything, not really. If Shen Qingqiu could choose, he'd choose him again.

“It is not this Lord’s pleasure to interrupt,” says Luo Bingge, who has put his robe and belt back on. Xin Mo seems to have burned some talismans already, and Shen Qingqiu surmises that, from what little they’ve been able to discuss with Bingge about the difference between their worlds, Xin Mo is more avaricious than ever when he’s in worlds with a high concentration of qi, given that he’s usually in one almost devoid of it. “However, this one must leave before any more time passes, but this one wished to offer the promised gift to Shizun from the beginning. After all, this Lord could not return empty-handed after Shizun’s kind assistance.”

At another time, under different circumstances, Shen Qingqiu would have expected something horrible and terrifying from him after those words. Right now, drained of tears, emotional to the core, he just smiles and nods. Luo Bingge reaches into his qiankun sleeve and pulls out what, at first glance, looks like a simple leather-bound book. It looks outrageously expensive by xianxia standards, but Shen Qingqiu is almost certain it could have cost less than 150 yuan on Taobao.

It is a thick book, and once Shen Qingqiu wipes his hands with a damp tissue and can hold it, his mind, unaccustomed to modern things, takes a small moment to realize that the plastic paper visible on the edges makes the book nothing more than a photo album.

“Oh,” Shen Qingqiu manages to half-heartedly hold back his tears with a sharp inhale. “It’s…”

“Shizun doesn’t need to say anything,” Bingge says quickly. The look Luo Binghe exchanged between them was… the most civilized they’d exchanged so far, and Shen Qingqiu could cry again. Ugh, damn it, he’s really gotten emotional. “This Lord must go. My best wishes for happiness and prosperity for you both and your lovely family.”

Luo Bingge bows respectfully. Shen Qingqiu holds the album in his hands perhaps too tightly as the Original Protagonist leaves, and only when he departs does Shen Qingqiu notice a single tear running down his face.

Oh, what a fool, what a big fool.

“Is Shizun feeling alright?” his husband asks. He wipes away the stray tear with his fingers, and Shen Qingqiu sighs. How much face can he lose in a single day, seriously?

“This husband is feeling tired,” Shen Qingqiu says, only because he needs an excuse for Luo Binghe to come forward and hug him. And oh, his husband does, lifting him into his arms; Shen Qingqiu, on another occasion, would have gone through the whole charade of resisting, complaining, protesting… he doesn’t even have the strength now. He lets his head rest on his husband’s shoulder, allows himself to be carried by him to their bed filled with comfortable pillows, clutching the photo album with steady hands.

Exhausted from all the crying, he knows he should fall asleep the moment he touches the bed. Even so, when Luo Binghe tucks him in and snuggles close, a wall of warmth and protection from his husband, Shen Qingqiu finds the photo album in his hands feeling heavy as stone.

“Shizun knows what it is,” Luo Binghe says, after more than a few incense burns have passed without Shen Qingqiu being able to close his eyes, unable to let go of the book he clutches to his chest. Shen Qingqiu nods and lets his husband kiss the corner of his mouth, his cheeks, the traces of tears lingering at the edges of his eyes. “Does Shizun wish to share it with this husband?”

Shen Qingqiu is too exhausted to cry anymore. He shakes his head.

“Later,” he says, letting Luo Binghe hug him, melting into the gentle warmth of his arms. He can feel his baby move, and perhaps Luo Binghe can too, because one of his hands is there, cradling his son between them. “This Qingqiu is tired for today. Maybe after lunch.”

“This Binghe will make the food in a moment,” his husband says, but he makes no effort to get up. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t try to push him to go and take care of the food either; right now, he is where he wants to be, with whom he wants to be.

Luo Binghe hums softly. The truth is, he's behaving much better than he could, and Shen Qingqiu supposes it's out of consideration for… everything. What a day, really. When he woke up this morning, he honestly hadn't expected the day to start like this and turn into this. But here he is, after all, a little more dehydrated and exhausted from crying, but freer than he's ever been in… his entire life.

Another brief time of incense passes, and only then, with a little more hesitation, does Binghe ask: “Would Shizun like this husband to call him by his birth name?”

Shen Qingqiu wants to answer yes immediately, just from hearing it from Binghe. However, very slowly, he shakes his head. Luo Binghe's gaze upon him doesn't change in the slightest, as warm and gentle as ever, so full of love and adoration that Shen Qingqiu had a long time in the past getting used to not feeling unworthy of it.

“I lived almost as many years as Shen Qingqiu as I lived as who I once was,” he says, and Luo Binghe smiles gently, his soft hand now on his face, his fingers caressing his cheek. “This husband isn’t saying that his name no longer feels like his own, but rather that who he is is not just a name.”

Luo Binghe nods. His fingers continue their steady caress of Shen Qingqiu's cheek, and perhaps the reason Shen Qingqiu isn't crying, so completely overwhelmed is he with love, is because he's already used up his daily dose of tears. He smiles, however, letting his husband capture his smile with a light kiss, no more than a touch.

“Husband,” Luo Binghe says, so low it’s barely a whisper, barely louder than the wind. And Shen Qingqiu smiles. He has been Shen Yuan, just a sickly, weak anti-fan, and he couldn’t be the Shen Qingqiu he has been to his husband if he hadn’t been Shen Yuan first. He is who he is. A Master, a Shizun, a Shixiong, a friend, a father. A husband.

“Husband,” Shen Qingqiu echoes, marveling at the loving gleam in his beloved’s eyes, the way his face only glows with such warmth when he looks at him. Ah, Shen Qingqiu didn’t think he could love him more, and suddenly he finds himself loving him twice as much.

Drawn like a moth to a flame, it is Shen Qingqiu who now leans in to kiss him. His husband, his beloved, his Luo Binghe, holds him with the care of something delicate and the strength of his entire world. Ah, yes, he probably owes his husband a long talk, whether he wants to ask or not, seeing how many boundaries of the System's limitations they can cross. However…

Ah, yet Shen Qingqiu couldn't be happier right now. With the photo album of his past pressed against his chest, his husband loving him unconditionally, Shen Qingqiu supposed that was the meaning of kindness repaid tenfold. Luo Bingge seemed so free from the shackles of his own narrative that even if he could have left it all behind, he came to Shen Qingqiu to free him from his own.

Snuggled against his husband's chest, Shen Qingqiu relaxes and settles down to rest. Perhaps they only have one more shichen before Liu Qingge arrives with a hungry A-Chen, or after having destroyed his small garden, or worse, bitten his poor Liu-shushu. It wouldn't be the first time, after all.

Like any parent with a child in their terrible twos, Shen Qingqiu settles down to rest listening to the heartbeat of the man he loves, embraced by the man he has the privilege of calling his husband, saving his energy for the long day that still lies ahead.