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"What is that?" Luo Shounu dropped her load of laundry onto the table with a thump. "Binghe, did you—where did you get those." It wasn't a question. Luo Shounu knew as well as Binghe did that they couldn't afford to buy fresh fruit right now.
Luo Binghe just stared at her wide-eyed. The rough skin of his stolen lychees stung his fingers where he gripped them a little too tight, and the wood of the door pressed hard against his back. His mother wasn't supposed to be here, she was supposed to scrubbing the Tao family's robes by the river.
There was a thump outside and a low male voice shouted, "Get out here, brat!"
"Mama," Luo Binghe said desperately, heart racing.
Luo Shounu stomped over to him and loomed, looking down at him with a glare. "Luo Binghe," she said sternly. "You will open that door right now, or so help me—"
Luo Binghe stepped to the side and ducked behind her just as the door was yanked open. The man who had been shouting stopped short when he saw a fortress of a woman, rather than the scrawny young boy he'd been chasing. Still, he rallied quickly.
"Your son," the man thundered, "stole fruit from my stand!"
Luo Binghe felt a hand wrap around his wrist and Luo Shounu dragged him mercilessly in front of her.
"Give it back," Luo Shounu demanded as Luo Binghe tried to wriggle and squirm free.
"No!" Luo Binghe protested. The shopkeeper had so many and Luo Binghe had stolen these fair and square! He'd only been spotted because Feng Hu had ratted him out, the tattletale. "I won't, I won't do it!" He thrashed in her grip.
Luo Shounu seized the lychees anyway, tearing them from Luo Binghe's hands. Luo Binghe howled in frustration and dismay, but Luo Shounu ignored him and handed the lychees back to the shopkeeper.
"Get your little devil under control," the shopkeeper huffed. "The boy's a nuisance. You can't make gold from mud."
Luo Binghe tried to bite the shopkeeper. He deserved it. Luo Shounu yanked Luo Binghe back, just in time.
"You will not speak to my son that way," Luo Shounu snapped.
"Just look at him!" The shopkeeper gestured at Luo Binghe as Luo Binghe thrashed in his mother's grip. "You should have left him in the street where you found him. Do you think a son like this will ever do right by you? He'll only ever bring you disgrace!"
Luo Binghe shrieked and tried to kick the shopkeeper, if he couldn't reach to bite him. But Luo Binghe ended up only kicking their crooked little table and sending his mother's work crashing to the floor.
"Yao Yusheng," Luo Shounu bellowed over Luo Binghe, spitting the shopkeeper's name like it was a hot coal on her tongue.
Luo Shounu towered over Luo Binghe, since she was a grown-up and Luo Binghe was one of the smaller kids in the village. She wasn't really taller than the shopkeeper, probably. But Luo Shounu was big in some other indefinable way, and when she got angry like this she got even bigger.
The shopkeeper looked at the fury on Luo Shounu's face, and the broad strong arms that spent day after day beating and scrubbing in the icy Luo River. His pride wouldn't let him back down, even in the face of a powerfully angry woman. He shook the lychees in her face.
"Your son is a thieving little monster," the shopkeeper insisted. Then he turned on his heel and left with the brisk walk of someone who wanted to make sure they got the last word, but whose survival instincts were crying out against it.
Luo Binghe wished he'd stayed. Luo Shounu giving the shopkeeper a what-for would have been really satisfying. But now he was gone, and Luo Binghe knew the person who was in trouble now was him.
And it wasn't fair! He'd barely stolen anything, and anyway, why shouldn't he get lychees? The shopkeeper had been giving them away to passers-by, to tempt them to buy more. But he hadn't let Luo Binghe have any, even though he'd asked nicely. So Luo Binghe had taken some, so what?
The shopkeeper was the one who was wrong!
Luo Shounu's grip on his wrist was painfully tight. She shook it, and she was so strong it shook Luo Binghe's whole body.
"Luo Binghe, you know you shouldn't be stealing!" Luo Shounu declared. "Why would you do this? You know better!"
Luo Binghe wriggled and eyed the still-open door. If she let up just a little, maybe he could make a run for it.
Luo Shounu saw and reached out to slam the door shut. Her grip did slacken at that point, and Luo Binghe knew it was pointless, but wrenched himself free. He kicked the table again and it fell over onto the pile of laundry with a satisfying thump.
"It's not fair!" Luo Binghe screamed in his mother's face. "I don't like him! You took my lychees! It's not fair!" The words tumbled around him, full of chaos in his chest, making him feel like he might burst.
"You want to shame your mother, is that it?" Luo Shounu shouted right back. "I am ashamed! My own son! Look at you!"
Luo Binghe stomped his feet and balled his hands into fists. "Then be ashamed! You're the one who's wrong! You can be ashamed, it's your fault!"
Luo Shounu's arms went around Luo Binghe and he thrashed and screamed in her ear. "Your fault! Your fault! Stop it! You be ashamed!"
But Luo Shounu held Luo Binghe tight against her chest, and he breathed and raged until rage gave way to ragged sobs.
"I—I just wanted—" Luo Binghe cried into her shoulder.
"I know you wanted lychees," Luo Shounu said. "And I'm sorry I cannot buy them for you. But Luo Binghe, surely I've raised you better than this. You know better than to steal them."
Luo Shounu pulled back to scrub at Luo Binghe's tear-stained cheeks. Luo Binghe bit his lip, feeling the bloom of hot pain. He did know better. He did, he did. But it was just so hard, sometimes.
"You need to be better than this," Luo Shounu said. "It's no use getting angry, or upset. Stop crying."
Luo Binghe sniffled miserably, and tried, but tears still spilled over his cheeks and dripped from his chin.
"I can't," Luo Binghe wept.
Luo Shounu sighed, and her hand came up to rub Luo Binghe's back. The movements were rough and familiar, but reassuring.
"It doesn't matter what you think you deserve," Luo Shounu told him. "The world is a hard place. You don't get what you deserve."
"It's not fair," Luo Binghe choked out.
"It isn't," Luo Shounu agreed. "Fair is for cultivators and rich people. Not us. All we can do is work hard and live a good life, and show respect for each other."
"I don't want to show respect for Yao Yusheng," Luo Binghe felt his temper rising up again. Why should he? What had Yao Yusheng ever done to deserve anything good from Luo Binghe?
"When you steal, when you try to hurt him, you're not showing disrespect to Yao Yusheng," Luo Shounu said sternly. "You're showing disrespect to me."
Luo Binghe raised his head to look at his mother, frustrated. It wasn't disrespect to her! Why did she care what he did to Yao Yusheng? She didn't like him either!
Luo Shounu looked him squarely in the eyes. "My son is a good, filial child," Luo Shounu told him. "He knows right from wrong, because I taught him that. He knows better than to bring shame on his mother by stealing."
Her voice rose. "I may not be able to give you lychees, but I give you everything I can. I work hard for you, I do everything for you. If I have anything to give, I give it to you!""I know, Mama," Luo Binghe mumbled and hung his head. He didn't want to shame his mother, and he didn't want to wrong her. He'd gladly throw Yao Yusheng in a pit of fire ants, but not if it would upset her.
"If you know this, you would be practicing your characters, not skulking about stealing lychee!" Luo Shounu scolded, roughly pinching Luo Binghe's cheek and wiggling it back and forth.
"Ow!" Luo Binghe swatted her hand away. "I'll study, then! I promise!"
"You promise?" Luo Shounu rose to her feet and put her hands on her hips. Luo Binghe felt fear strike like lightning at the sight. "You promised this morning, and look what you've done instead!"
Luo Binghe winced. "I'll do it now!" He flung open the door and went to the barren dirt yard where he normally practiced. "Look, mama, I really will this time!" Luo Binghe picked up his tracing stick and held it up earnestly, widening his eyes to make himself look extra cute and dedicated.
Luo Shounu's sternness melted not in the least. "Write the characters for 'regret' two hundred times," she commanded.
Luo Binghe dropped the stick. "Two hundred!"
"Three hundred." Luo Shounu walked over and picked up the stick, then traced the characters in the dirt.
"That's too complicated!" Luo Binghe said, horrified, as he looked down at all the tiny strokes and radicals.
"Regret is complicated," Luo Shounu informed him, and gave him the stick. "You still have to learn it."
For a moment, Luo Binghe wanted to throw the stick at her. The other kids didn't have to do this! The other kids were eating lychees and playing in the sun, not writing stupid letters in the dirt! Why did he have to learn this, anyway?
Luo Shounu could tell what he was thinking. She always could. "Luo Binghe! You promise to study, you promise not to shame me, but see how weak your promises are!"
Luo Binghe started on the first character before she even finished speaking. "I'm doing it! You're so mean, stop saying mean things! I'm writing!" His eyes burned with more angry tears, threatening to fall.
Luo Shounu sighed. "I expect these things of you because I love you," she said softly. "You don't understand now, but you will when you're older. I want you to do well in life, and this is important."
Luo Binghe kept writing, kept his face turned towards his work, and didn't look at his mother so she couldn't see the frustration in it. Why should he have to learn to read and write? Why would a washerwoman's son need to know any of this? It was pointless, and she was just doing this to punish him!
Luo Shounu turned away and went back into their little hut. Luo Binghe chanced a glance up, then, and caught sight of her kneeling on the packed dirt floor. She was picking up the clothing that Luo Binghe had knocked from the table and scattered.
Guilt bubbled up in Luo Binghe's stomach, until there was no more room in him for anger. Luo Shounu's broad, strong shoulders were slumped and her hands trembled as she picked up the fallen and dirtied robes, one after the other, and returned them to her basket.
Luo Binghe copied row after row of the characters for "regret" and didn't look up as his mother walked past hauling the heavy basket of laundry. She'd be going down to the river again to wash it. And by the time she got back, Luo Binghe would have written the character for regret five hundred times, and etched it in his heart.
It looked like a normal autumn day in Qing Jing Peak. But the fall colors were faded and running in places, like a painting that had been left out in the rain. Every sense was muted, and ordinary quiet pauses were transmuted into a true and unnerving silence.
Wind sent the water of the Quiet Pond rippling and stirred the red and gold leaves. One drifted slowly downwards, spinning and twirling. Before it could touch the ground, its color shifted to pale green, and then to blue, and then it vanished in a flare of light. Another breeze began to stir the trees.
Amidst the eternally falling leaves of autumn, Meng Mo watched Luo Binghe meditate. Luo Binghe sat by the pond, eyes closed, the timing of his breathing matching the sound of rustling leaves. Meng Mo gritted his teeth as he watched, his face growing darker and darker with every passing second.
"Focus, kid, what are you even—no, that's—" Meng Mo gave up and buried his face in his hands.
Luo Binghe opened his eyes and sent Meng Mo his most withering glare. "You have to give me more to work with than 'focus' because that's not helping."
Meng Mo let out a muffled groan and a string of incomprehensible curses. He pulled his hands away. "You're still not cycling your demonic energy, and you know it," Meng Mo stabbed a clawed finger at Luo Binghe's chest. "This is pure spiritual energy plus whatever demonic energy you can't stopper up and internalize. Yeah, you're right, this isn't about focus, it's about you. What the hell are you doing? Are you just wasting my time now, is that what this is?"
"I don't need to use demonic energy," Luo Binghe raised his chin and cycled his qi again to demonstrate. "I can manipulate dream energy just fine with spiritual qi, and perform all the techniques you've taught me like this. It is working just fine now." Luo Binghe followed it up with a grudging, "Thank you for your help."
"It is not fine, and you do need to learn to use demonic energy!" Meng Mo enunciated each word like he thought that would make Luo Binghe heed him better. "That seal is going to break sooner or later, and when your body is flooded with demonic qi, do you think you're going to be able to perform these techniques the same then? A little practice now could save your life later!"
"My seal might not break," Luo Binghe argued, his temper flaring. "And pulling demonic energy through it will make it more likely to fail, or make it fail sooner! It's not worth it to me. I'm going to stay human."
Meng Mo smacked Luo Binghe on the back of his head. It didn't hurt; this was a dream. Meng Mo was just making a point—or perhaps trying to motivate Luo Binghe. Luo Binghe did suddenly want to set Meng Mo on fire very badly. He still hadn't learned to wrest control of the dream from Meng Mo, but maybe if he tried hard enough this time…!
"You aren't human, and step number one of cultivating without heart demons is to stop lying to yourself. Are you so eager to die horribly?" Meng Mo's words were thick with disdain. "That seal is just a thin mask over your real self. You're a demon, like it or not, and the more you deny it the worse off you'll be!"
"I'm half-demon by birth, but I am human," Luo Binghe said firmly. "I've grown up in the human realm, and lived a human life. That's what means something, not some accident of parentage by a stranger I've never met. Thanks to this seal, my golden core can be a human one. I can choose. And I choose to be human, which is all that I am and all that I've ever known." Luo Binghe pressed a hand to his heart, clutching his Qing Jing robes so tightly his knuckles went white.
"That's nonsense," Meng Mo flapped a hand. "Get that out of your head now. You don't have a choice in this, and that seal will fail sooner or later."
"I'm not a demon!" Luo Binghe shouted. It dropped like a stone into the stillness of the dream, sending the fabric of it rippling out in waves.
Meng Mo waited it out, as he always did. He only spoke again when Luo Binghe's dream realm had settled once more. "You are. Kid, despite my better judgement, I care if you live or die. And lying to yourself like this is going to get you killed. That seal will break, and when you no longer look human, the human world will reject you."
"Who I am won't change." Luo Binghe bit out through gritted teeth. "The people who know me will see that."
"All they'll see is a demon," Meng Mo said. "No matter how hard you try to fake it. That skinner demon—how long did it take for her to get tracked down? You can't hide it. And you can't just close your eyes and pretend it isn't happening."
"I'm not! I—" Luo Binghe stopped short. His dream realm churned again, the grass beneath their feet twisted and dived into the earth below, before re-emerging as thorny vines that caught the false sunlight.
"What's the root of this, now?" Meng Mo said, eyes narrowing to slits as he examined Luo Binghe. He toed a writhing tendril, watching as it tried to snare his foot. "Growing another heart demon, all the way in here? You know the drill, out with it, boy."
Luo Binghe scowled. Meng Mo had been a boon to Luo Binghe's cultivation, his counsel sending Luo Binghe advancing in leaps and bounds and every drawback and developing imbalance caught before it could progress enough to cause harm.
But laying his soul bare for Meng Mo was painful and humiliating as a public whipping, every single time.
"I was thinking about my mother," Luo Binghe admitted. He hadn't brought his mother up with Meng Mo before; he'd wanted to keep her from that ruthless slit-eyed gaze.
Meng Mo perked up like a tiger catching scent of its prey. "You haven't mentioned her before," he said with a slavering hunger.
As a dream demon, Meng Mo had latched on to Luo Binghe's mind as a host. He needed to ensure its security and health. But Luo Binghe's emotional pain was still a delicacy to savor for him; if he could feast while ensuring Luo Binghe's mental stability, it was a perfect excuse.
Luo Binghe shuddered as Meng Mo drew Luo Binghe's deeper thoughts to the forefront of his mind. The tangled thorns sprouted to waist height, their dark green hue a stain amidst the washed-out shades of the rest of the dream. Bulbous red berries dropped from the stems, malformed and leaking juice like blood. Tiny white flowers with teardrop petals bloomed amidst the thorny mass.
Meng Mo stroked a petal, and Luo Binghe bit his lip to stop a scream.
"Fear, and self-hatred, and grief," Meng Mo put his nose to the flower and inhaled deep, smiling faintly. Then he stood up, and the smile faded into unreality like a glimmering heat mirage. "A complicated tangle. Out with it, boy, before this gets any worse."
Meng Mo was not as successful at hiding his thrill and playing helpful mentor as he thought. Luo Binghe looked away from his smug face, and focused on the vines instead.
"She—I was an awful child, I was unfilial, I never did right by her while she lived. I failed, over and over, to be a good son to her. I made all the wrong choices," Luo Binghe whispered. "I don't even know…" Luo Binghe sighed and looked up at the milk-white sky. "She grew up in a town near here. She told me that, but when I traveled here to take the disciple trials, I realized—it's a long journey. And the town we lived in was far from prosperous. Why did she go all that way?"
Luo Binghe's voice grew stronger. "And she knew how to read and write. I never thought about how unusual that was. She taught me so much, and hardly anyone else in the town was literate. Where did she learn? How did she…" His throat clicked as he swallowed. "I didn't know. I never asked. I didn't care! I was so selfish, and stupid, I was only thinking about—playing, and lychees, and being jealous of everyone else when I had her! And I didn't care!"
The flowers seemed to shimmer, like Luo Binghe was seeing them through a film of tears. "Is that the demon in me?" He asked, his breathing ragged.
"Eh, could be," Meng Mo answered dismissively. "We don't do that 'filial piety' thing. Kids stick around their parents as long as the parents provide; then the parents kick their spawn out, or the kid leaves on their own, and what use is anything after that? They don't need each other anymore, and usually weren't getting along by then anyway."
"I would have stayed by her side forever," Luo Binghe shook his head. "I would have taken care of her for the rest of her life, I was too young and stupid, but I wanted to do better by her, even then!" Luo Binghe's throat hurt, and he realize he'd been shouting.
"But you didn't," Meng Mo touched one of the berries. It left a crimson pearl on his fingertip. He rubbed his fingers together, spreading it around, slowly painting his whole hand with that one small drop. "You gave her trouble, from the moment you arrived in her life until the moment she died. Shounu. Longevity. How many years did she lose to you?"
Luo Binghe reared back as if struck. Meng Mo darted forward and seized Luo Binghe's chin, forcing their eyes to meet. Luo Binghe knew the juice of the berry was staining his chin now, and it felt so cold it left him breathless. He tried to pull free, but Meng Mo's grip tightened painfully, driving icy knives down to the bone.
"Accept the truth of what you've done, and what you cannot ever undo," Meng Mo said. "Her life is over. Regret is a path that goes only backwards. What can you do going forward to be true to yourself and honor her?"
Meng Mo's dream avatar flickered back and forth. One moment, he was a kindly grandfather giving his favored grandchild a golden blessing. The next, he was a monster from the depths of hell, trapping Luo Binghe in a web built of his own torment. The only constant was Meng Mo's glittering eyes, boring into Luo Binghe with the weight of a thousand years.
Luo Binghe breathed in the acrid stench of Meng Mo's dream magic. It burned. But it gave him something to focus on. And as it siphoned power from Luo Binghe's emotions, it dampened them, and Luo Binghe could think. Meng Mo's parasitic power turned to symbiosis.
"I will honor her as a human would," Luo Binghe vowed. "I'll make offerings, and act always with the integrity and kindness she asked of me. I'll teach my children her name, and tell them..." Luo Binghe trailed off uncertainly.
"Tell them what?" Meng Mo closed his eyes and licked his lips, savoring the bouquet as more feelings roiled in Luo Binghe's chest.
Luo Binghe pushed Meng Mo away. Meng Mo let him this time, and was too satisfied by his feast to do more than give Luo Binghe an annoyed glare.
Luo Binghe didn't want to say it. He couldn't. And yet, Meng Mo was the only one he could ask. And Luo Binghe did trust Meng Mo to give an honest answer; Meng Mo's brutal truths were part of the training, after all.
"Would she have loved me, if she'd known what I was?" Luo Binghe felt like his heart might crack in two. "Would she have seen I was still her Binghe?"
Meng Mo chortled. "Oh, kid," Meng Mo's smile was a depthless, gaping maw. "You'll never know, and it's better that way."
Cold pervaded Huan Hua palace. Outside snow and ice built up against gilded walls. Inside, the cavernous rooms and high ceilings were elegant as ever and empty of any sign of winter—except for the chill that Luo Binghe could never escape.
It was better that way. The cold slowed decomposition of—the cold was better for Shizun. Luo Binghe held Shen Qingqiu every night, passing him qi, and it was easier in the winter months when the weather aided the cold-spells. And when the cold seeped into Luo Binghe down to the bones, his own body chill as death, it—
It helped.
So Luo Binghe stepped into the kitchens, booted heels echoing on the stone floor, and felt no warmth from the stove's fire, and smiled. He didn't warm his fingers by the glowing flame, didn't linger before its weakly radiating heat. A few puffs from the bellows to stir the flames further, and then Luo Binghe briskly stepped away to ladle water into a pot and set it upon the stove.
It would take some time to boil, in this chill. That was fine. Luo Binghe had a lot to prepare.
Luo Binghe drew the pork and greens from the cold-box. Both were of exquisite quality, and barely good enough for their purpose. Huan Hua Palace prided itself on its merchant connections to acquire only the highest quality ingredients.
Luo Binghe began to mince the ingredients. And he thought of a little garden by a shack, in spring, watching small green leaves poke up from the dark earth.
"Good herbs are the most important part of a recipe for flavor," his mother had said softly as they examined a tiny fragile leaf. "The flavor does not have to come from the meat, and price has nothing to do with quality. When you grow things yourself, you can ensure they grow well. And with care the herbs you grow can give your food a flavor like no other."
His mother had been able to make the worst slop taste incredible—as long as they'd had the garden.
Winter had always been the hardest. That was when she'd fallen ill, and there had been nothing Luo Binghe could do, not enough money for not enough food, and—
Luo Binghe thought of days tending to a garden by the bamboo house, trying to feel closer to that memory of his mother. Trying to show off for his Shizun, as well, who had always appreciated Luo Binghe's cooking.
Those were long gone, as well.
But here, in the dead of winter, he now had the finest ingredients that could be grown by others' hands.
Luo Binghe scraped it all from the cutting board into a painted porcelain bowl finer than anything in Shizun's home or the little house he'd grown up in. Huan Hua strove for excess for the sake of excess. Luo Binghe sometimes wanted to shatter it all, bring it down to ruin. Destroy the beautiful and the garish alike until all was wretched blood-streaked shards and rags. Why did Huan Hua continue on, reaping profit, giving Luo Binghe all this luxury, and yet—
Luo Binghe unclenched his fists and brought out the dough he'd prepared and a mahogany rolling pin inlaid with ivory. Dark whorls mixed with bone-pale twists across its surface, blurring with motion as Luo Binghe used the pretentious, useless thing. He rolled out the dough balls into identical white circles, row after row, stark against the dark marble countertop.
Huan Hua Palace liked the gleam of gold, liked the standing that power brought. The warm comfort of his mother's arms, the calm peace and quiet joy of Qing Jing—these were beyond Luo Binghe's reach now. At least Huan Hua could see what Luo Binghe brought to them, and in exchange were willing to pretend to see him as human. There was no warmth or joy to be had here; there was only the quiet hush of winter's blanket laid down to crush life beneath it.
Luo Binghe drew in a ragged breath. Beneath his hand, one of the circles of dough had been rolled too vigorously. It was torn. Its ragged edges worn too thin. Luo Binghe balled it up again, squeezing the cold dough between his clawed fingers until it oozed out from between them. Ruined, it was ruined, it wasn't good enough, it could never be good enough. He should throw it away. What was the value of this little ball of dough, to him? Nothing.
But his mother's voice in his head decried the waste.
What would she think if she saw him now?
It wasn't the first time Luo Binghe had that thought. It had been a source of pride in his time at Qing Jing. He'd known his mother would take joy in all that he'd accomplished and the seemingly untapped potential for more.
It had been a source of shame in the Endless Abyss. He'd stripped away all that he was just to survive. First had gone the comforts, then the morals, then even the most basic needs of humanity. Down in the depths, Luo Binghe had faced the truth. He was a demon. Only a demon could survive. And he had lived as a demon, down there, brutal and murderous and dripping with blood, slaying those who didn't deserve it just to survive another day. Going without food and drink for months as only a demon could. Eating raw flesh off the bones of monsters, building his own strength through it, because he was one of the monsters too. His mother would not have recognized her child. And Luo Binghe had told himself that once he'd escaped he'd be dutiful and filial. He'd make sacrifices and burn paper money for his mother and honor her in all the ways she deserved. Once he got out.
And now Luo Binghe went through the motions, but it was still…
It was as though in all those years in the Abyss he had forgotten how to be human after all. Luo Binghe had used Xin Mo to carve a rift between the lowest point in the Endless Abyss and the human realm. Luo Binghe had stepped through, and in an instant returned to Jue Di gorge where his descent into hell had begun.
But so much of him, it seemed, had never made it out at all.
Because Luo Binghe knew that he should honor his mother by living a good and virtuous life. Acting as a human cultivator and going on night hunts to save the common people from things that lurked in the dark. Or perhaps starting a family, raising children, showing them all that his mother had taught him. Teaching them to remember and respect her as an ancestor and burn paper money and make offerings to her themselves.
Luo Binghe hadn't done any of that. Luo Binghe couldn't even bring himself to want to do any of that. He took Huan Hua Palace and drained criminals for their qi like one of those creatures a righteous cultivator would slay. He slept with a corpse and researched bringing back the dead and violating the natural order of things because he wanted—he needed—things he knew no human would ever respect. As that Liu Qingge repeatedly reminded him.
Luo Binghe was a demon. An emperor. A man trapped in an endless, miserable nightmare even as he had unimaginable wealth and luxury at his fingertips. Because even with this mahogany and ivory rolling pin in his hands, even with a crown in his hair worth more than the entire village he'd grown up in, Luo Binghe was split between the demon world he didn't want, and the human world that didn't want him. He stood halfway to the land of the dead, because all that he loved now rested there, and he only wanted to join them. But Luo Binghe was just as certain that they would not want him.
Luo Binghe devoured the cold and shredded dough, raw. It wasn't good enough to offer to Shizun or to his mother. And Luo Binghe had eaten fouler things in the Endless Abyss.
The raw dough was soft and floury on his tongue. Gritty. It clung unpleasantly to his teeth. As Luo Binghe swallowed it felt as though ice were running down his throat. Colder, colder, he could always grow colder.
Luo Binghe doled out the filling onto the remaining dough circles. Little mounds red and shiny with fat. He took each dumpling in hand and pressed the seams together, fingers finding an old and familiar rhythm.
Luo Binghe knew he wasn't a good son. When his mother had died, he had wanted her, wished for her, but he'd moved on.
Luo Binghe knew he wasn't a good person. When Shizun—Luo Binghe couldn't accept it. He'd never move on. He would find a way to bring Shizun back, no matter what it cost.
And Luo Binghe wanted to pretend to himself that he'd be content with Shizun alive and breathing again. But the Abyss had devoured all his illusions. Luo Binghe was a greedy monstrous thing, and he wanted Shizun to keep as his.
It was because of the demon in him. That heritage that Shizun had rejected, that his mother would have scorned if she'd known. It was right for humans to scorn demons for this. Luo Binghe scorned himself for it. He would kill it in himself if he could, shove it under the icy water of the Luo River to both freeze and drown. So that it would never plague him again.
But the inescapable truth was that this loathed, wreched thing was… Luo Binghe.
Luo Binghe set the dumplings in the steamer baskets, one by one in tidy rows. Eight for mother, and eight for Shizun. Juicy and plump and tender. Perfect offerings for the spirits of the dead.
The burning hearth fire felt as distant as a star.
Blossoming trees lined the path that wound along from the village at the base of the mountain up to Qing Jing peak. Clusters of white flowers danced against the backdrop of a pale blue sky like miniature clouds. Petals drifted down to the path, laying a lacework carpet up to the high mountain peak. Here and there patches of green weeds sprouted in the path, emboldened by the thawing of snow and new warmth and sunshine.
It had been a long winter, but spring had come at last with riotous beauty. The once quiet mountain was now full of life in all its wonder and chaos.
And no one brought chaos to Qing Jing like Luo Chuntao.
Luo Chuntao darted back and forth amongst falling petals. Her hands waved as she tried to catch a single perfect flower drifting on the breeze. The delicate feathers behind her ears glinted all the colors of the rainbow as they reflected the bright sunlight. She caught her flower and did a victory spin, the skirts of her robes flaring out with the movement. Her smile widened to show inhumanly sharp teeth, with a charming gap in the front where one had fallen out the week before.
Luo Binghe smiled down at his daughter and stepped out of the way of her twirling chaotic steps.
"So then the sand team built up even taller walls. They were so, so high!" Luo Chuntao raised her hand to her waist to demonstrate.
"That high?" Luo Binghe affected a look of awe. He suspected she was exaggerating again, but then again they'd done a shocking amount of damage to the quiet pond last week without a single shovel between them.
"But then the water team went whoosh," Luo Chuntao swept her hand to demonstrate the wave of destruction. "And it didn't come down at first. But then I pushed over the other bucket and the wall fell down! All of it!" Luo Chuntao crowed and did a little skip-hop of victory. "And then Yanyan splashed it some more but it was already done! And Duyi got so mad."
Luo Chuntao gave a derisive sneer that she'd definitely copied from Shizun in trashy novel critique mode. The sight of it warmed Luo Binghe's heart as much as any of her smiles.
Luo Chuntao's human mother had died in childbirth, and the village she'd grown up with had wanted no responsibility for a half-demon child. They'd tried to leave her for dead. But Luo Chuntao was tough, and even as a helpless baby had held on long enough for Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe to find her.
And Shizun had looked at Luo Binghe, and asked if he wanted children.
Luo Binghe had looked down at the tiny squalling infant leaking demonic qi, red-faced and furious.
Had his mother, Luo Shounu, felt this way when she looked down at Luo Binghe as a motherless child? The terror and the hope and the sudden weight of a life in his hands?
His daughter. His and Shizun's. The most precious child in the world.
"Duyi? Who is Duyi?" Luo Binghe hadn't heard about any Duyi joining Luo Chuntao's play group.
"Fu Duyi," Luo Chuntao explained. "He's Fu Jie's cousin, he's visiting for her auntie's wedding." Luo Chuntao kicked the dirt trail. "He's bad," Luo Chuntao declared with the air of one pronouncing a final judgement.
"What makes him terrible?" Luo Binghe couldn't help being curious, since Luo Chuntao counted among her friends some absolutely wild little brats. Luo Binghe's childhood stealing lychees and flinging mud had nothing on the pack of them.
Luo Chuntao went quiet, and she stopped spinning. She looked down at her feet.
"A-Chun?" Luo Binghe's throat grew tight.
Luo Chuntao reached up for Luo Binghe. "Carry me," she demanded soft and subdued. "I'm tired now."
Luo Chuntao was getting big enough that he didn't normally carry her, but Luo Binghe picked her up anyway and settled her on his hip. She wasn't very heavy; her bones were hollow like a bird's. Every time Luo Binghe picked her up, he wondered if she had grown too much and this would be the last time. So every time she asked, he did, and held her close.
"Duyi said I was a demon and told everyone to stop playing with me," Luo Chuntao muttered into Luo Binghe's ear, resting her soft round cheek in the crook of Luo Binghe's neck. Luo Binghe felt her eyelashes flutter against his neck.
Luo Binghe felt his breath catch, and the foreboding feeling in his gut exploded into anguish.
He'd known, hadn't he? He'd been waiting for this from the moment Shizun had suggested Luo Chuntao go down to the village and make friends.
Luo Binghe's experience with childhood friendships was a series of brutal rejections. Guo Jiang who had pretended to want to play with him and then abandoned him in the forest miles from home. Kang Wenling who had been kind for all of two days, and then knocked Luo Binghe down and mocked him for thinking they could ever be friends. Cai Xifeng, who Luo Binghe had really, truly thought he'd connected with—who had been telling others the whole time how rude and stupid Luo Binghe was. Luo Binghe had passed for human, but people could somehow still tell there was so much in him to hate.
"Baba?"
Luo Binghe blinked, and realized he was clutching Luo Chuntao tight to his chest, as if he could protect her from what had already happened. She lifted her head to stare at him, worry written across her young face.
Luo Binghe took a deep breath. "Duyi does sound awful," he said, and he kept his voice steady through force of will.
Shizun said that children were always watching. Whatever Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu feared, Luo Chuntao would learn to fear as well.
Luo Binghe didn't want to pass these feelings down to her. But he didn't know how to stop being afraid for her, either.
This was only the beginning. She was a half-demon like him. Her whole life was cursed from birth just as his had been. Luo Binghe had wanted to spare her every tragedy, give her every luxury, so that Luo Chuntao would want for nothing. But he could only protect her from other people if he secluded her from the world, and Shizun had not permitted it.
Luo Binghe still wanted to. Why let strangers say such things to his daughter? Why let her be hurt as Luo Binghe had been hurt?
Luo Binghe kept his face still and bland as his mind spun in useless circles. Something must have leaked through anyway, since Luo Chuntao tried to reassure him.
"It's okay Baba," Luo Chuntao patted Luo Binghe on the shoulder. "Yanyan and Fu Jie told him off. It was great!"
Luo Chuntao wasn't sad at all. Her eyes sparkled with glee.
Fu Duyi hadn't hurt her after all. Luo Chuntao's friends had stood by her. Even though they were ordinary humans without a drop of demon blood in their veins, and Luo Chuntao's half-demon features were clear as day.
"They did?" Luo Binghe asked, feeling tears prickling at the backs of his eyes. Luo Chuntao was fine. She was happy! So why did Luo Binghe still want to cry?
Luo Chuntao nodded. "They said Duyi couldn't talk that way about me because I'm their friend! And then they kicked him until he left!"
Luo Chuntao put her hand on Luo Binghe's cheek.
"Baba, are you okay?" Luo Chuntao asked. Her little thumb rubbed at the wetness beneath Luo Binghe's eye.
Luo Chuntao's hands were soft and uncalloused. But there were dark crescents of dirt under the nails of each finger, and more worked into every crease of her hands. Today they were the result of playing out a pitched battle; tomorrow, perhaps, mud pies or sculpting. Whatever she decided to do when she came down the mountain to meet her friends once more.
Luo Binghe looked down at the green leaves under his feet, striving undaunted towards the sun. These weeds grew in the middle of the path where nothing should. Where they were destined to be trampled until they withered and died. And yet, year after year, here they still were. They rooted deep into the earth and grew verdant amidst fallen white petals and packed brown dirt.
The shoots beneath Luo Binghe's feet remained unbroken. As he lifted his foot they sprang up once more. Resilient. Alive with promise.
Luo Binghe leaned into the touch of his daughter's hand. "I'm crying because I'm happy," Luo Binghe told her, although happy was far from the right word for the maelstrom of feelings in his chest. It was nothing so simple as happiness.
Luo Chuntao's little hand was warm. Her palm spanned almost Luo Binghe's entire cheek now. When he and Shizun had first found her, her entire fist could wrap around the tip of his pinky. She'd grown so much already, in years that had rushed by in what felt like the blink of an eye. And she'd grown so strong.
"When I was little, people didn't like me," Luo Binghe confessed. "So I'm really glad you have such good friends."
Luo Chuntao's forehead creased in concern. "You didn't have anyone?" Her face was falling now, the joy in her own social success giving way to sadness for her father.
That wasn't what Luo Binghe wanted. "No, of course not!" Luo Binghe insisted. Then he stopped, and when he spoke again the words came from deep within him, dragging in their wake a leaden calm. "I had my mother, your Ama." For a moment he was cast back into memory of the safety and warmth and love he'd had with her.
Luo Chuntao's expression went from worried to bright. "Did Ama kick someone for being mean to you?" She asked, eager for another story of her grandmother.
And Luo Binghe hadn't told Luo Chuntao this one, but it seemed now was a good time for it.
Luo Binghe looked up the path, twisting back and forth along the mountainside. At its end was home, and Shizun was waiting there for them. Shizun would be put out if they got home too late.
"She didn't kick them but she definitely scared the wits out of anyone who was mean to me!" Luo Binghe started walking again. "One time, I stole lychees from a really mean shopkeeper, and…"