Archive of Our Own

Something had been nagging at Shang Qinghua since Shen-shidi’s favourite disciple had fallen into the Endless Abyss at the Immortal Alliance Conference. There had been no way of telling what it was, but it itched. He watched Shen Yuan wake up from his qi deviation and walk around in misery. He watched his best friend in the world waste away in mourning, and then slowly start to live again, but always with a heavy cloud over his head. Saw him stop eating, despite how much he’d always loved to stuff his face when Shang Qinghua offered him rare snacks from the Demon Realm.

And then Mobei-jun – well, the future Mobei-jun, but the Mobei Princes had no personal names and he was the only Mobei who mattered – burst into the Leisure House. Bruised. Bleeding. Arm broken.

As the air ripped open and freezing cold washed over the room, Mobei-jun climbed out of the portal, dripping all over the bamboo flooring. Shang Qinghua gaped. “My King,” he cried out, rushing for the emergency supplies he kept well-stocked.

Usually for himself, when Mobei-jun beat him up. But occasionally, for this.

As the enormous ice demon dropped into the huge armchair in the corner, used only by him, he watched Shang Qinghua with narrow eyes. The blue of them, and of his intricate huadian, burned in the dim light of the house. Sun was setting outside. Shang Qinghua had been bent over his desk, using only a candle and his enhanced eyesight to be able to read the pile of documents. Those documents laid forgotten as he grabbed Mobei-jun’s arm. The demon allowed himself to be manhandled as Shang Qinghua checked his injuries. A recent development – up until just a year or two ago, he would’ve beaten him for daring.

His arms were bruised and there were some minor cuts, but otherwise they were unharmed. Cold blood, just above freezing temperatures, dripped down Mobei-jun’s head, dirtying his hair. He… looked worse than he actually was, Shang Qinghua realized with a sigh of relief, but the question remained: “My King, what the fuck happened to you?”

He stared at the future King of the Northern Desert where he sat in his living room. The demon was dressed casually, his black and blue robes of excellent quality but simple enough, the kind he’d wear when going about his daily business. Shang Qinghua’s gaze flickered down to his mostly exposed chest, but… no. Not! The! Time! Not that it ever was the time, Mobei-jun would kill him probably. Anyway! He tried to imagine what on earth he might’ve met during a regular day, what could’ve gotten someone so powerful and skilled into such a state… and came up blank. He couldn’t think of anything. His King was just too strong! Except apparently he wasn’t.

Mobei-jun glared at him as though furious that he’d dared to ask, and Shang Qinghua whimpered. But then he grit out, “Heavenly demon.”

….what now?

Shang Qinghua blinked. Gaped. Stared at him. Closed his mouth. Then opened it again. “I- My King, could you… repeat that?”

Looking even more annoyed, Mobei-jun did repeat it. “Heavenly demon.” His voice was rough.

“That’s… what I thought you said,” Shang Qinghua said faintly. He put a hand against the wall to steady himself against the feeling of faintness that washed over him. “They’re extinct, though? Tianlang-jun and his general were the last ones, and they’re dead.”

“Clearly not.” Mobei-jun’s voice was flat yet distinctly annoyed. But he didn’t hit nor even growl as Shang Qinghua’s hands kept working his injuries, rubbing salves into wounds and binding his arm into place so it would heal right. Once, before they’d started to trust each other somewhat, Mobei-jun’s demonic healing had caused his arm to heal so wrong that he’d had to rebreak it himself to set it right. At least that’s what Shang Qinghua assumed had happened, considering that one day he’d had a fucked-up arm and the next it had been broken again and tied up properly.

Keeping himself busy with his demonic overlord was the only way to keep his own thoughts from running away and working themselves into a panic. There was another heavenly demon? The most powerful being known to man? A descendant of gods punished by their crimes by being thrown into the Endless Abyss by the Heavenly Emperor himself? There was another one? Yue Qingyuan, the most powerful cultivator alive today, had only just survived battling Tianlang-jun, and Tianlang-jun had been ambushed by the united sects and every rogue cultivator they could get their hands on.

He caught his hands trembling. Mobei-jun clearly did too, from the way his gaze cool flickered down.

“He’s Tianlang-jun’s son,” Mobei-jun added, as an afterthought. “Doesn’t look much like him, but they have the same energy. Luo Binghe.”

Record scratch. (Whatever that meant, Shang Qinghua had no idea, his mind made up weird sayings sometimes.) The world seemed to freeze, and that was saying something, considering he was currently administering first aid to someone who could literally freeze the world around them. There was no way he’d heard that right. There was. No way he had heard that right. No.

“What?” he wheezed. “My King.  My King. Did you just say Luo Binghe?”

That earned him a slight shove – apparently Mobei-jun had had enough of repeating himself today. Shang Qinghua barely noticed it, his head spinning. “Shen-xiong’s dead disciple is alive and a heavenly demon?” he whispered. “What the fuck.”

Mobei-jun raised an eyebrow, and then grew all the more neutral-faced as Shang Qinghua was forced to explain how Luo Binghe, if Mobei-jun’s heavenly demon indeed was a young man with unusual brown curly hair, which Mobei-jun nodded at, was indeed the head disciple of Zhen Cha Peak who had fallen into the Endless Abyss during the Immortal Alliance Conference two years earlier. That specific part wasn’t widely known, he’d just been heroically declared ‘dead in battle, defending his near-fatally injured shizun’.

“Hm,” Mobei-jun said to that. “He defeated me, so I have sworn fealty to him. Your shizi is your new lord through me.”

Shang Qinghua’s ears rang.

Meeting Luo Binghe again was a bizarre experience. Shang Qinghua was rushing around the Northern Palace, as he always did when he managed to get away from the sect. Somehow, he’d ended up being Head Administrator of the Northern Desert as well as Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, and he’d like to file a complaint with God, please! This was too much work! So he was rushing from one meeting with demons who were highly displeased to be dealing with a human, to a meeting with the Head of Staff, when a familiar voice interrupted him.

“Shang-shibo?”

Shang Qinghua froze – and tumbled over, because he was mid-step. His scrolls scattered across the fine stone floor, and his gloved hands fumbled as he gathered them quickly before looking up with a nervous laugh.

Luo Binghe stared down at him, wide-eyed. But it wasn’t his usual soft brown eyes that looked at Shang Qinghua, but burning red irises accompanied by a huadian in the same shade set between the teenager’s brows.

“Luo-shizi!” Shang Qinghua exclaimed shrilly, bowing quickly, deeply. “Or… uh… my lord? Lord Luo! How good to see that you’re not dead!”

The silence was so loud that he eventually had to straighten from his bow to calm – or agitate – his anxiety by getting a look of Luo Binghe’s expression. He looked… not good, but fine. Definitely not dead! Other than his red eyes and huadian, a pointy tooth peeked out over his lip, and Shang Qinghua’s eyes flickered down to the long, black claws at Luo Binghe’s hands. But he wore black robes in a simple style, though the Lord of An Ding immediately noticed their superior quality – Midnight Shadow Weaver Silk, if he had to guess, a material only made by a small clan of Spider Demons near the edge of the Northern Desert. In the back of his mind, Shang Qinghua was running calculations on how much a whole outfit of the stuff would cost, and it was definitely way beyond even a Head Disciple’s stipend. Not that Luo Binghe was getting one of those anymore, since he was supposed to be dead.

None of that really mattered so much as the fact that Luo Binghe was staring at him, though. Clearly baffled at a Peak Lord’s presence in the Northern Palace – which then turned into something that looked worryingly like anger. His eyes were dark when he said, “Shang-shibo works for demons? Is shibo betraying the sect?”

“No!” The scrolls tumbled back to the ground as Shang Qinghua frantically waved his hands, taking a quick step back. Sweat dripped down his neck as he shook his head so quickly he was getting dizzy. “No, no, my lord, of course not, I’d never! I’m loyal to Cang Qiong! I’m just… also… loyal to My King…”

“Explain,” Luo Binghe demanded. He didn’t sound like he particularly believed what his shibo was telling him. Which… fair enough! Shang Qinghua laughed nervously. Ah, fuck, where was Mobei-jun when you needed him… Not that he would be able to stop Luo Binghe if he wanted to kill him, probably, if he’d even try in the first place, having sworn fealty and all. Mobei-jun was nothing if not steadfast.

Taking another step back, Shang Qinghua started talking. He was good at that. “Well! My lord! You see, I met My King years before I met Shen-xiong, when I was lonely and friendless and all that sad stuff, but I kind of… saved his life and then promised to serve him if he didn’t kill me and! Then I started to like the sect after people started actually being nice to me when Shen-xiong became my friend so I begged My King to not have to betray the sect if I promised to still deliver news on everything else and I think he pitied me or perhaps it was repayment for saving his life but he agreed and I’ve just been reporting on things that are useful to him since then but never anything that could hurt Cang Qiong!”

He paused to draw in a deep breath, having said all of that at once, and Luo Binghe frowned. It was an expression so similar to Shen-xiong’s that Shang Qinghua almost burst into crazed laughter – it was the exact look Shen Yuan would give him when he thought Shang Qinghua was being unusually ridiculous and pitiful. He resisted the urge to throw himself to his knees and just beg for his life, because if Luo Binghe had picked up any more mannerisms from his shizun, that might just end up with Shang Qinghua receiving a heavenly demon’s kicks to his ribcage and he really didn’t want that! Instead, he focused on looking as innocent and loyal as he could.

Finally, Luo Binghe gave a massive sigh. “Fine, I believe Shang-shibo.”

“Ah! Thank you, my lord! Thank you!”

For a moment, it seemed as though that was the end of their interaction. Luo Binghe moved to walk past him, apparently done with all of this. Shang Qinghua’s traitorous mouth moved without permission. “…My lord? May this lowly shibo ask a favour?”

Stopping, eyeing him cautiously, Luo Binghe gave a short nod. There was wariness and suspicion in his bearings that never would’ve been there before – but if he’d climbed out of an Abyssal tear as Mobei-jun had said, undoubtedly he’d been through all manners of torture that would harden even the sweetest, most beloved disciple.

“…Shen-xiong is still mourning,” Shang Qinghua said, heart thundering in his chest. Please, please, please, don’t be a mistake. Please don’t upset the heavenly demon lord, and don’t let it turn out that he wants revenge on his shizun for not saving him. Please. “My lord should let him know you’re alive.”

Luo Binghe’s eyes widened. The suspicion on his face washed away, replaced by a terrifying vulnerability as he stared at Shang Qinghua with something almost desperate in his gaze. “Shizun… still…?” he choked out.

Hiding his hands into his wide, fur-lined sleeves so that he could squeeze his fingers anxiously yet unnoticeably, Shang Qinghua nodded.

“Arrange it,” Luo Binghe snapped then. He was almost shaking, something clearly restless in his bearings as he stared down at Shang Qinghua – and when had he gotten that tall? – with uncompromising eyes. “Get shizun out somewhere I can meet him. Now.”

Shang Qinghua squeaked. “Yes, my lord! As fast as I can! I’ll be going back to the sect then!”

The reunion had gone well for Shen-xiong and Luo Binghe. It had gone less well for Shang Qinghua, who had to spend a good hour cowering and telling his best friend every detail about his time working for Mobei-jun and convincing him that no he was not a traitor to the sect, Shen-xiong, Shen-shidi, please believe him! He was harder to convince than Luo Binghe. Possibly because Luo Binghe knew exactly how impossible it was to stand face to face with Shen Yuan and decide ‘I’m going to betray this man’ – or otherwise to anything that would hurt him – while Shen Yuan himself had no idea of the loyalty he inspired in people. Truly, if it hadn’t been for the fact that sixteen-year-old Shen Yuan had decided to essentially adopt his pathetic shixiong, Shang Qinghua would’ve had a lot less compunctions about betraying Cang Qiong, but as it was, he had friends and people who trusted him. Trusted him, Shang Qinghua, formerly Shang Fei, and not just the An Ding Peak Lord.

How could he stomach proving them wrong? To show them that he was the freakish outsider everyone else had seen until Xiao Mei attacked him that one day long ago? (How old could that bird get, anyway?)

He couldn’t.

Such was the power of Shen Yuan, now Peak Lord Shen Qingri of Zhen Cha Peak. And Luo Binghe was more than aware of it, Shang Qinghua was sure. So it was no wonder he had been easier to convince than Shen Yuan himself. He had a suspicion even Shen Qingqiu would’ve been easier to convince if Shang Qinghua had pulled the ‘I couldn’t disappoint Shen-xiong’-card.

So, now master and disciple had been reunited again. And Shang Qinghua had been expressly forbidden by Lord Luo to mention to anyone – especially Shen Yuan – that Luo Binghe was a heavenly demon, was working his way toward becoming the junshang of the Demon Realm, or that he was going around murdering anyone who opposed him. That last part was odd, because that was just how demon politics worked in general. Rule of Might, and all that. Honestly, it was how much of cultivator and mortal politics worked as well, as much as humans liked to pretend otherwise.

But now Shang Qinghua was in Mobei-jun’s personal palace right at the shore of the Ice Sea, standing behind Mobei-jun’s chair in the War Room. The Ice Palace was different from the Northern Palace in that it was far more remote, just at the edge of the permanently stormy waters of the world’s northernmost ocean, and that it was wholly under the control of Shang Qinghua’s Mobei-jun – a gift from his father after all the other Mobei Princes and the one Mobei Princess had been killed – rather than the current King of the Northern Desert.

The master of the palace was seated not at the head as he usually would be, but at the right hand of the Emperor.  Luo Binghe had finally claimed the title for himself and reigned over the council from the head of the table.

“It’s simple,” Luo Binghe said in the self-assured way of the most powerful man presence. “I need to become emperor so that I can become shizun’s equal. He will never accept the courtship of someone he considers dependent on him. He’s so honourable.” He sighed dreamily, and Shang Qinghua resolutely ignored the fact that it was his best friend a demon lord was sighing about like a lovelorn maiden. “And therefore, I will. Mobei, what does your father say?”

“He is opposed,” Mobei-jun said flatly. “He will not bow to anyone, and much less to a half-human. Or to Tianlang-jun’s child.”

Not looking impressed, Luo Binghe turned to the representative from the Western Sea. The Crown Princess, Xihai-jun’s heir, said, “My Lady Mother will follow you if you are worthy.”

“I am,” Luo Binghe said simply. He gazed over the enormous map of the Demon Realm spread out across the table. “Very well then. And the Eastern Kingdom will be mine after this. Let’s plan.”

Something was wrong.

The Eastern Kingdom had fallen just as easily as Luo Binghe had proposed. It had been, from what Shang Qinghua heard since he personally, thankfully, was not present, a gruesome week-long war. In the end, Luo Binghe had beheaded the Eastern Demon King as easily as a butcher would behead a chicken. Which was an appropriate metaphor, because the Eastern Demon King had been a falcon demon. So was the new one, for that matter: the one who had kowtowed to Luo Binghe and drank his blood straight from his bleeding palm before he swore fealty. Two and a half – seeing as the elder Mobei-jun was still resisting but the younger was fully loyal – cardinal kingdoms were under the up-and-coming emperor’s reign. The fourth, the Southern Forest, should’ve been a given. It should’ve been nothing to take it, even with Mobei-jun staying out of the fighting as much as possible due to the tropical climate.

And yet.

And yet.

They had been at a standstill for months.

What the fuck was going on? Whatever it was, it could not be natural – Shang Qinghua’s mind insisted to him that Luo Binghe could not lose, that no matter what, Luo Binghe would be the victor. It was the same nagging feeling of familiarity or prescience that had haunted him since he was a small child, and it was right – at least in one way or another – more often than not. Shen Yuan called it an unusually accurate gut feeling, but that hardly explained why for example writing had come so naturally to him that even the village’s teacher couldn’t keep up. And so, something had to be terribly off about the world. Luo Binghe should not be losing.

No one should be able to stand against the half-heavenly demon emperor, trained personally not only by the Lord of Zhen Cha but also occasionally by Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan and whatever other masters Shen Yuan managed to convince into giving tutoring sessions to his prodigy. Even Shang Qinghua himself had taught Luo Binghe, though only for one afternoon once when he was fourteen. Specifically, An Ding’s techniques for carrying and throwing incredibly heavy and large things. The ‘one actually impressive skill your peak has’, Shen Yuan had said – before he was forced to apologize after Shang Qinghua paused all An Ding-operations on his peak until he got his dues.

But! That was not the point! None of that was!

The point was that Luo Binghe’s army couldn’t breach the Southern Forest’s heart. Soldiers welled out from there, but even Luo Binghe himself hadn’t managed to break the barrier keeping them from welling in. Nor could Mobei-jun, and there really shouldn’t be anywhere Mobei-jun couldn’t go. He could teleport into the Endless Abyss if he so pleased! He was the foremost expert on breaking into the great cultivation sects too!

So what the fuck had the Southern Demon King put into those wards?

The answer, as answers often do, came completely without warning.

Shang Qinghua watched, his mouth dry, from his vantage point high above the forest as the imperial army clashed with the barrier. His sword, Yusheng, was steady in the air, as easy to balance on as standing on the ground. He would normally stay far away from the fighting. It was his own wish, and Mobei-jun’s command, and Luo Binghe had thus far seen no reason to insist in his least battle-worthy martial uncle being present. But he was growing weary and had demanded Shang Qinghua’s sharp eye to figure out what the fuck was going on.

Down below, demons from both sides screamed as weapons and magic clashed and broke, bouncing off each other and goring the other side. The barrier didn’t even flicker.

Until it did.

The barrier shattered into a thousand blood red pieces. Each piece sharpened into a spear and Shang Qinghua trembled as they shot into the army. The soldiers fell like dominoes.

Inside the forest’s heart, the Southern army parted. A figure approached between them, chuckling. He reached the front, staring down at the dead demons, and Shang Qinghua’s stomach swooped as he was about to push the command to his sword to retreat, retreat. But the figure’s head jerked up. Glowing red eyes stared up at Shang Qinghua, complemented by a red huadian. Black waves of hair framed his face as he grinned up at Shang Qinghua with sharp teeth.

“Hello there, little cultivator,” Tianlang-jun said, voice clear and melodic. Amused. “Run back to my son now and tell him that this benevolent father may consider sparing him and his treasonous mother if he surrenders before the moon rises. Maybe. Depending on my mood.”

Shang Qinghua, heart beating as quick as a bird’s, jerked into a deep bow on his sword. His voice trembled as he called back, “At once, Your Majesty.”

He was amazed with himself for not falling off his damn sword as he made his way back to Mobei-jun.

Shang Qinghua had stumbled through the portal Mobei-jun procured, landing in Luo Binghe’s throne room with shaky legs. He barely noticed the sting as his knees hit the stone flooring with a thunk.  This was- He was-

“Qinghua. Breathe.”

Mobei-jun’s hand settled on his head. Not punishing and rough as it once had been, but steady and calming. His claws dug soothingly into his scalp, and Shang Qinghua’s breaths slowed.

“What, shibo?” Luo Binghe demanded from where he was watching them on his throne. There was annoyance in his voice, but also a hint of alarm. He had realized that whatever news Shang Qinghua came bearing, they weren’t good.

Shang Qinghua stared up at him. Luo Binghe, it turned out, looked very little like his father, but they had the exact same eyes – and the same burning huadian. “Tianlang-jun,” he choked out. “It’s Tianlang-jun. He’s back.”

One could’ve heard a pin drop in the crowded throne room. Somehow, Shang Qinghua managed to relay the old demon emperor’s message. And somehow, he managed not to curl into a ball on the floor as Luo Binghe stared down at him, mouthing the words father and mother silently to himself.

Ah. Right. Orphan.

Well, they didn’t have time for existential crises! “He thinks Su Xiyan is alive and working with you. He probably wants revenge,” he repeated.

Which…. Didn’t make a lick of sense, actually. Shang Qinghua’s brain itched as he considered that. Staring down at his trembling hands, he frowned. “Tianlang-jun killed her,” he said slowly, making Mobei-jun and Luo Binghe turn their heads toward him. “That’s what the Old Palace Master said. Why all the sects ambushed and imprisoned him. But if he killed her… then he wouldn’t think that. He’d know she was dead. Actually, how did Luo Binghe even exist? Tianlang-jun had been imprisoned over a month before the birth of his son. “Oh fuck.”

“He didn’t kill her,” Luo Binghe said slowly, catching on quickly. “Tianlang-jun didn’t kill Su Xiyan. He was imprisoned on false charges.”

Shang Qinghua nodded faintly. “No wonder he’s mad.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Luo Binghe said after a long, contemplative silence. “He wants to kill me. So I’ll have to kill him first.”

Shang Qinghua gulped.

And that’s how Shang Qinghua ended up here. At the head of a diplomatic party from Cang Qiong come to discuss the trade of Huan Hua’s Golden Miracle Butterflies’ shed wings. The rare creature was bred exclusively by their sect and each year the butterflies would shed their wings to grow new, more beautiful ones. The old ones were very useful in medicine, apparently, among other things as healing bandages. It hadn’t taken much effort for Shang Qinghua to hint to Mu Qingfang that he absolutely needed them, which of course made it Shang Qinghua’s job to procure them. So here he was, in some of his most official Peak Lord’s robes, discussing with Huan Hua’s Master of Trade. Because of course, the Old Palace Master couldn’t be bothered to do this sort of thing himself.

At least the Master of Trade, Master Ouyang, looked nervous as he poured Shang Qinghua tea. Shang Qinghua smiled his most professional, cold smile. He was well aware of his reputation as a vulture come to steal everyone’s treasures for the lowest possible price. He relished in that reputation.

Sure, most people in the cultivation world’s higher ranks didn’t respect him very much beyond the basic courtesy owed to any Peak Lord, but at least the merchants knew not to fuck with him.

“Zongzhu would offer a delivery of wings for a thousand spirit stones,” Master Ouyang offered, and Shang Qinghua couldn’t hold back his scoff. Didn’t even try to.

“Chen-zongzhu’s offer is generous,” he replied even as his tone betrayed his actual views on the matter. He moved his head just enough to make the light catch on the intricate, ancient, expensive guan in his hair. “But surely, he is aware that Cang Qiong does not actually need this trade, it is merely for scientific interest. Mu-shidi is the foremost expert in medical cultivation in the world, after all, and will be doing great things if he gets his hands on them. Great things that will surely benefit Huan Hua Palace Sect as well, if Mu-shidi would find the generosity in himself to share his findings. Not to mention the fact that your glorious sect’s recurring purchases of Xian Shu silk and Zui Xian’s Immortal Red Grape Wine might find themselves… needing to recuperate Cang Qiong’s costs if we’re to pay such a high price.”

Shang Qinghua sipped his tea politely as he watched the man sweat.

Needless to say, the Golden Miracle Butterfly-wings ended up in a qiankun pouch in his pocket for only a fraction of the initial price. And at just the right time where Shang Qinghua would have plenty of time to roam Huan Hua’s halls before having to attend an awful dinner with the Old Palace Master, but not so much that anyone could try to get him into any other trade discussions.

He changed into less impressive robes, though still ones that wouldn’t make it look like he was trying to be sneaky (nothing was less sneaky than looking like you were trying to be) and slipped away from both his own entourage of An Ding-disciples and any Huan Hua-disciples, masters and servants that were trying to accompany him. It wasn’t very hard. He was slippery.

The war between Luo Binghe and Tianlang-jun had raged for years. More than once, they’d clashed personally and brought absolute carnage to anyone around them. Even Mobei-jun had learned to run if they both appeared at the battlefield at once. And Tianlang-jun was slowly gaining the upper hand. He’d been weak to begin with, at least for a heavenly demon. But each time they saw him, he was stronger. Shang Qinghua assumed he was devouring lesser demons for their strength – and for a heavenly demon, all demons were lesser. Not only that, but several of Luo Binghe’s allies had deserted to the other side. Sure, Tianlang-jun had been far from a beloved ruler. Most demons had found him ridiculous and shameful and, worse, a human lover – but at least he was a full-blooded heavenly demon, unlike his half-human son.

Just like Luo Binghe’s demonic half would be all that mattered to most humans, his human half was most that mattered to most demons – at least the ones he wasn’t currently physically subjugating by force. Shang Qinghua would almost pity him, if he hadn’t been so terrifyingly competent and powerful.

Thank the gods for that – Luo Binghe would squash him like a bug if he suspected pity. Although thanking the gods for anything to do with a heavenly demon was really rather pointless.

It wasn’t difficult to get into the private area of the sect. If you walked like you belonged, few would question a powerful-looking man. Everyone probably assumed he was going to see their sect leader.

And it was even easier to slip a small, transparent gemstone behind one of the many, gaudy statues near an entrance to the Water Prison. After that, he simply caught up with the nearest important-looking cultivator about to leave and started chatting. Smiling as their gaze travelled far away at his inane commentary but unable to escape without offending a Cang Qiong Peak Lord. Ah, it was good to be disregarded.

Being sneaky was second nature to Shang Qinghua, even more than it had been when he was only Shang Fei. There was nothing difficult or nerve-wracking about it. What was nerve-wracking was stepping through Mobei-jun’s portal and, accompanied by the enormous ice demon, ending up inside Huan Hua Palace, just at the spot he’d left the crystals. Which, of course. That’s why he put them there. For Mobei-jun to key into. That didn’t make this any less frightening!

It was the dead of night, and the halls were empty and silent. The only light came from the little lanterns filled with glowing, golden flowers lining the walls, and the faint glow of Mobei-jun’s ice blue huadian.

This meant nothing. They were in the heart of the one of the Great Sects. There was going to be security and guards.

Mobei-jun slipped into the shadows, smooth as an owl in flight. One second he was there, and the next he was gone. Shadow travel – his most terrifying and beautiful ability. Shang Qinghua spared one single moment to feeling a flutter in his stomach at the sheer skill of his king before he steeled himself and followed. Onward to the Water Prison. If there was any place where they would be able to find out what had happened to Su Xiyan, it was down there.

Huan Hua was, of course, tightly warded against demons. But it was warded against demons breaking in, and with the crystals, Mobei-jun had practically gotten an invitation. The Water Prison itself was also warded, but not as strongly, and for someone so used to breaking through Cang Qiong’s wards even before Shang Qinghua had been in a position to manipulate them himself for his king’s ease, it was child’s play to open a portal through the entrance. Not to mention that he finally was the Mobei-jun now, and more powerful than he’d ever been. The two of them simply stepped through and then they were on the inside.

Shang Qinghua shivered as the chilly, cold air washed over him. It bit his skin, burrowing through his clothes despite being a couple degrees above freezing. “This is way worse than the Northern Desert,” he muttered. “At least your kingdom has the decency not to be moist.”

Letting out an amused huff, Mobei-jun pushed him forward. The stone staircase in front of them descended down, down, down, in what seemed like an eternal spiral. Even these first steps into the prison was a far cry from the gaudiness of the palace: there was no decoration, just rough cave-like walls and pitch-black darkness. Shang Qinghua slipped a light talisman out of his sleeve and lit it with a  spark of qi, allowing them to at least see where they stepped.

It had been years since Shang Qinghua was down here the last time, with his master when he was head disciple, and even more years since Mobei-jun, then only a small, lost child was here. The staircase was the first trap in the prison. It would literally go on forever if you didn’t know how to navigate it. So Shang Qinghua took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Mobei-jun settled a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him from stumbling and tumbling to his death. And they started walking.

One, two, three, four, five… thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine… fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two, and… Stop. He settled a hand on the dark wall. Ah, right there. It slid nicely into a groove worn smooth from thousands of hands touching it over the years. Subtle, invisible in the poor light, but there. He pushed qi into it. The wall opened.

“Oh thank god,” he muttered as he stepped through. “Imagine if I’d messed that up.”

“Qinghua would not do that,” came Mobei-jun’s terrifyingly sincere reply. Shang Qinghua’s breath caught as he ducked his head. They were friends now. Sort of.  Kinda. That was all. Don’t overthink it!

The moment they stepped through the secret entrance and the wall closed behind them, a horrible sense of finality settled over him. Alright. This was it. Either they got through this or they didn’t. Prisoners’ pained moans reached them, and a half-crazed laugh echoed between the walls. It was nighttime, but how would they know that? There was not a sliver of natural light down here. Instead the path forward was lit by Sunset Pearls: a lesser version of a regular Light Pearl, which gave only a faint, reddish light. Enough to see, but not without straining your eyes. At least if you weren’t a cultivator or powerful demon. For the two of them, it was enough to have decent sight.

Swallowing, Shang Qinghua stepped forward. The path turned just a short distance ahead, presumably so the prisoners would never be able to see the path out. So that they would never be able to fantasize about leaving. He knew that when they were brought down, it was blind-folded and taking as many extra turns as possible to disorient them. But the guards’ path was actually straightforward.

He held his breath as he glanced around the corner. Yes, he’d remembered right. A long path of regular cells guarded by bars of metal stretched out in the dungeon. Water dropped from the ceiling, a constant plop, plop, plop. This is where lesser criminals, though only non-cultivators, were held. Two cultivators in Huan Hua golds stood guard, chatting with each other as the prisoners groaned their suffering.

“How do we get past them?” he hissed.

Mobei-jun gave him a dry look. Then he was gone. Into the shadows.

The guards didn’t even have time to cry out before two ice spears pierced their throats. Blood splattered onto the wall as the bodies fell to the ground with soft thuds. A stunned silence came over the prisoners before a few of them cheered. Shang Qinghua stared, and then shrugged, pulling his hood over his head to hide his identity from the prisoners. Huh. That works.

He stepped around the bodies, avoiding getting blood on his boots, and they made their way deeper into the Water Prison.  Sorry guys, he thought to the formerly alive cultivators. Better you than me. And better you than war.

Tianlang-jun was not going to stop at the Demon Realm if he defeated Luo Binghe, after all.

A couple more dead Huan Hua-disciples was all it took, and then they reached the deep prisons. The ones where they put mass murderers, war criminals, and any powerful cultivator. The true Water Prison. The hallway turned into just a raised platform surrounded by boiling acid water. Paths led into separate caves locked by both heavy doors and waterfalls. The rushing sounds of the water echoed between the caves in a constant cacophony. It filled Shang Qinghua’s head. Dread that he would never be rid of the sound filled him, and he had only been here for minutes. He couldn’t imagine how staying here for days, weeks, months, years, would do to a person. He glanced at Mobei-jun, who held himself stiffly. Every movement deliberate. But his face was even colder, even flatter, than usual.

Shang Qinghua carefully pushed his shoulder against Mobei-jun’s thick, muscular arm. Just for a second. Mobei-jun’s raised shoulders lowered as he glanced down at him. Shang Qinghua gave him a quick, weak smile.

But this was still too public. They needed to get to the deepest parts of the Water Prison. The places where only the Old Palace Master and his most trusted would have access. This time, it was Mobei-jun who took the lead. Shang Qinghua kept a hand on his sheathed sword as he followed past all these doors. The water kept roaring in his ears.

They knew they had reached the right spot when Mobei-jun raised a hand to the wall and winced. The warding was far beyond anything they’d run into yet. But they had come prepared. Shang Qinghua reached into the qiankun pouch he carried in the collar of his robes and pulled out his tools.

An application of qi was all it took for the Heavenly Array Breaking Mirror to stick to the wall. He’d stolen it from Sheng Wu Peak, the Artifact Peak, just for this. Using a stick of the good cinnabar, he painted an array-breaking array on the Mirror. Then, for good measure, he mashed three Qi-Suppressing Moonshine Flowers into the wall. He’d gotten Mobei-jun to portal him to the most remote parts of the Demon Realm just to pick those incredibly rare plants that only bloomed once every thousand-and-seventy-three years. Finally, for the nail in the coffin, he pulled out a dizi glowing in every shade of silver. This one, he’d ‘borrowed’ from Qing Jing’s archives, and he could only pray that Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t notice it or war would be the least of Shang Qinghua’s problems.

He put it to his lips and played. A haunting tune, as beautiful as any, caused the arrays and mirror to light up. The beauty of it all was not Shang Qinghua’s doing, he was a mid-level musician at best, but the flute itself. The magical items glowed harshly before the mirror shattered with a loud crash. The wall flashed, and died down. Mobei-jun nodded, and grabbed Shang Qinghua, pulling him through a portal before he had the chance to do anything.

And they were in.

Somehow, the caves got even more ominous. It was colder, almost freezing, and wet as fuck. No matter his clothing, it burrowed beneath it and laid like a layer over his skin. Would he ever be warm again? The Sunset Pearls were gone, exchanged for the warmly golden flowers in the main palace, but their luminous sheen cast strange shadows upon the walls. As he looked closer, he realized they weren’t the regular kind – those would need replacement regularly. These were stiffer, more like actual gold than flower. Their sheen was metallic rather than sunshine-like. He shivered.

“Alright,” Shang Qinghua said, trying and failing to steel his voice. “Either we find something here, or we’re going to be dying in war with the rest of the world.”

“Qinghua is not going to die,” Mobei-jun said flatly, but moved forward. Down into the metaphorical abyss. His body was still, every movement too deliberate. To him, the actual Abyss would’ve probably been preferable. And yet he was here, because Shang Qinghua had asked him. Shang Qinghua’s heart fluttered in his chest.

This place was ominously empty. Whereas the regular Water Prison had at least had guards, there wasn’t a soul down here. Not until they entered a prison chamber. Though, saying there was a soul there would also not be accurate.

They stared silently at the corpse in stasis that hung from chains in the ceiling. A thousand, intermingled chains, each covered in qi-suppressing charms and arrays. Immortal Binding Cables had been wrapped around its body as well. The corpse was clearly ancient, and yet, untouched by time. Its face was beautiful yet twisted into a grimace, and its robes were nearly a thousand years out of style.

“Shishenzhe-jun,” Mobei-jun identified the body with a strange look on his face. Lord Godslayer. The corpse – a young woman, from all appearances – had one of the most intricate huadians Shang Qinghua had ever seen, though it had long since lost its glow. And with that name…

“A heavenly demon?” he asked.

A nod. Well. Fuck. “Of a different lineage than Luo Binghe,” Mobei-jun clarified. “Shishenzhe-jun was one of the original ones, thrown out from the Heavens. She was over ten thousand years old when she disappeared without a trace in the Northern Desert.”

Good gods. Shang Qinghua’s mouth was dry as he approached the corpse. It had been here for a millennium, at least. Even the Old Palace Master wasn’t that old – meaning that he had inherited this heavenly demon corpse from his master, who had inherited it from his. As he got closer, he noticed unhealed scarring upon her arms, where her sleeves had been rucked up to bare skin. Scarring that would not have been there it if had been given when she was alive, what with the healing factor a full-blooded heavenly demon would have. Not to mention one that had initially been an actual divine being, not just descended from them. Her skin, he noticed, was too pale even for a dead body. Paper-thin.

“They’ve been drawing her blood,” he breathed. Carefully, as to not empty her, but oh, what one could do with even a drop of formerly divine blood…

Mobei-jun looked slightly paler than even he usually did, and turned away his face. Apparently, the desecration of the body of one of the demon race’s ancient rulers was difficult even for him to stomach. Shang Qinghua didn’t blame him. This woman had probably once commanded the loyalty of the Kings of the Northern Desert.

“If we succeed,” Shang Qinghua said quietly as he stepped away from the body, “we’ll come back and burn her body. Let her rest, finally.”

Mobei-jun didn’t respond, but he looked marginally less tense as they left.

They closed the door quietly behind them. The next room over was almost as much a horror show: it was a set of tables covered in beakers and books and jars of mysterious items. A laboratory. Glowing red fluids dripped from one beaker to another, and monster eyeballs stared from a jar. Literally stared – they moved when Shang Qinghua and Mobei-jun did so.

An empty bottle stood on a shelf – or rather, mostly empty. Dried blood crusted the insides. Shang Qinghua glanced toward the door they’d come through, and swallowed down the urge to vomit.

They looked through it, but found nothing. They passed through.

Multiple doors down, cells filled with monsters, dead bodies, and all manners of other horrors, and they entered one that stood empty. Mostly empty. A dried blood-trail led from the central platform toward the door. The curtain of water was still divided, had clearly been so for a while, judging from the way the blood was clearly old and not yet washed away. It echoed silent, and yet Shang Qinghua took a step in. There was something about this. A resonance of familiar qi.

They stepped up to the centre of the platform, where Immortal Binding Cables and chains laid discarded in a pile of blood. Whoever had been here had either been tortured, or they’d not cared how much violence they had to inflict upon themselves to get out. Either one seemed equally likely.

“Qinghua,” Mobei-jun’s voice came from the side of the platform. Shang Qinghua turned away from the mess to look at his king, who was holding a small glass bottle he’d clearly picked up from the ground. He’d opened the bottle and was sniffing it. Wincing. “Shishenzhe-jun’s essence.”

Shang Qinghua held out his hand and was given the bottle. He sniffed it as well. While he couldn’t sense any ancient heavenly demon in it, he could sense something else. Something he only recognized because he was the main procurer of all goods for Qian Cao Peak, and because he’d often sneaked around their gardens and laboratories as a disciple to find the medicine he needed to heal the injuries the teenaged-and-early-twenties Mobei-jun had left him with. “Purple Jasmine Silphium,” he murmured. “That’s an abortifacient.”

“Whoever was jailed here was made to drink an abortion drug made from Shishenzhe-jun’s blood,” Mobei-jun stated.

“And there’s only one creature in the world that is so resistant against poisons that you’d need heavenly demon blood to kill it,” Shang Qinghua finished quietly. Oh.

Getting out of the dungeons wasn’t as difficult as getting in. They just had to retrace their tracks. Getting back out into the regular Water Prison was slightly harder, but the wards were still damaged enough that Mobei-jun could slip them through it. And from there, he simply needed to key the portal with the crystals, and they were back into the regular palace - and then back in the Ice Palace. 

The two of them stared at each other for a moment once the portal closed. Just taking a moment to process what they just had learned. Gods and buddhas, what the Old Palace Master was doing... If it wasn't straight up demonic cultivation, it was at the very least heresy. Now they - which meant Shang Qinghua - had to figure out how to share this information not only with Luo Binghe, but with Tianlang-jun - the man who had not been betrayed by Su Xiyan.

The two demon emperors were battling again, they were informed by the first harried servant they could find. Just at the edge of the Northern Desert, too. Tianlang-jun was pretty much Luo Binghe's equal as of now, but he was growing stronger each day - and Shang Qinghua remembered the reports from before his imprisonment. Luo Binghe was a demigod. He would make an excellent protagonist of a book. But Tianlang-jun? He was fully of divine heritage. He was the closest thing to a god that wandered the earth still. If he was allowed to reach his full power once again, he would be near unstoppable.

And they couldn't prevent it. So they would have to recruit him.

They quickly made a detour to Mobei-jun's private chambers and the connected chambers he'd assigned Shang Qinghua to change clothes. Shang Qinghua carefully kept  his hands to himself as he helped his king into more elaborate robes. Still practical, fit for a fight. Vambraces kept his sleeves tucked away, and the skirts were slitted and easy to fight in if needed, but they carried embroidery fit for his status and were of fine fabrics. Then Shang Qinghua slinked off to change his own sneaky outfit into something vaguely fit his status as combined Peak Lord and royal retainer/spy/assistant/administrator. It wasn’t exactly an easy combo, but his hair ended up in a guan and his robes, whilst also practical more than anything, were of good demonic fabrics and mixed Mobei blue with An Ding yellow. Then he was once again pulled through a portal.

The battleground was utterly horrifying.

Bodies were strewn out in all manners of contortion and disregard. This was the edge between the Northern Desert and the Eastern Kingdom. Yesterday there had been a mountain here. Now there was only rubble. Mobei-jun made a disgruntled sound before he turned to stare at the two demons clashing in the middle, beasts made of blood prowling around them. They were all Tianlang-jun’s – Luo Binghe did not have the skill, the training, to do such things with his. He’d never had anyone to teach him anything about his paternal heritage and how to use it to its full potential.

Both father and son were bleeding freely. Luo Binghe lacked an arm. Tianlang-jun’s face looked half ripped off. Neither seemed inclined to slow down from their injuries. Shang Qinghua could only barely make them out as they moved, so fast as to turn blurry. If he had been mortal, he would’ve thought they were straight up teleporting.

“My king…?” Shang Qinghua asked faintly. How were they to stop this?

Mobei-jun nodded once. With a raised arm and a flash of power, ice spears shot from the ground, as high as the tallest, most ancient pine trees on Zhen Cha. The northern lights dancing in the sky reflected in them, turning them a rainbow of moving colours.

The heavenly demons shot away from each other, from the ice. Both wore identical feral scowls as they twisted toward them, eyes blazing a horrifying red.

“Su Xiyan didn’t betray you!” Shang Qinghua yelled before either of them could say anything.

When Tianlang-jun had heard that his former love was dead he’d only responded with a cold ‘good’. Now, absolute rage washed over his expression. “You dare try to use her against me again?”

Shang Qinghua yelped and instinctually dove behind Mobei-jun’s back. Not that he would be much protection against Tianlang-jun if it came to that, but he didn’t move out of the way. Which was nice.

“We have evidence,” Mobei-jun said, pulling out the glass bottle from the Water Prison. He tossed it over to the heavenly demons, and Luo Binghe clearly made a conscious decision to step away and allow Tianlang-jun to catch it. The look on his face told them he had no idea what was going on but that he’d decided to trust them… for now.

Tianlang-jun snatched the bottle from the air and stared down at it. “What’s this, Xiao Mobei? Tread carefully.”

Peeking out from behind Mobei-jun, Shang Qinghua said, “We went down into Huan Hua’s Water Prison. The Old Palace Master is keeping a dead heavenly demon there-”

“Shishenzhe-jun,” Mobei-jun added, and Tianlang-jun nodded slightly.

“-and they’ve been using her blood to experiment. This bottle smells of abortifacients and her blood. And it was in a prison cell in the deepest parts of the prison, with chains and Immortal Binding Cables, and blood that was old but not that old from someone who had clearly broken out from there,” he quickly rambled on. “And we know that Lord Luo was found, completely newborn, a whole month after Your Majesty’s imprisonment even though Su Xiyan was meant to have died before we… ambushed you, and really, who else would’ve put a newborn half-heavenly demon in a basket down the Luo River except for the mother trying to save his life, and who could possibly need to be forced to drink an abortion drug made of heavenly demon blood, other than-”

“…Someone carrying a heavenly demon child,” Tianlang-jun finished. “Xiyan.” There was something utterly raw in his expression, in his eyes. It was mirrored in Luo Binghe’s identical eyes, the only trait other than the demonic blood in his veins that he shared with his father.

Shang Qinghua nodded. His mouth was dry with terror, but he steeled on, because he could not rely on Mobei-jun for diplomatics. Not that anyone should rely on him for them either! He was a glorified merchant, not a diplomat! That was Yue Qingyuan’s job, or even Shen Qingqiu’s! Or Qi Qingqi, even! Not him.

But he was the only one here.

Fuck his life.

“It was all the Old Palace Master’s doing,” he continued, digging his fingers into the back of Mobei-jun’s robes to keep them from trembling. “He imprisoned Su Xiyan, tried to kill your child, and tricked the sects into ambushing you. So.”

“So?” Tianlang-jun replied, raising an eyebrow. But his heart was clearly not in it, plain grief still written on his face.

“So,” Shang Qinghua continued, surprised that his voice was steady. “I’d like to propose an alliance.”

Thankfully, they’d all gotten out of the cold. They were in Shang Qinghua’s chambers of the Ice Palace, because it was the only rooms in the entire estate that had a fireplace, and he sat curled up under layers upon layers of furs that Mobei-jun had piled upon him. Next to him, right in front of the fireplace, sat a third heavenly demon. It was difficult not to stare at the young man who was clearly seeking the warmth even more than he himself was. Zhuzhi-lang, Tianlang-jun’s right-hand man and the commander-in-chief of his armies, looked no older than nineteen, though he was at least a couple centuries old to Shang Qinghua’s knowledge. Where he sat, kneeling properly despite leaning as close as he could to the flames, his straight hair reached almost to the ground, its strands tinged with poisonous green. The demon’s mouth was just slightly too wide to feel right, and mismatched scales spotted his otherwise beautiful face. The huadian on his forehead was the exact shape of Tianlang-jun’s and Luo Binghe’s, but burning green instead of red. He was also staring at Shang Qinghua, Mobei-jun and Luo Binghe with suspicion, but especially at Shang Qinghua, his green eyes burning into him.

Meanwhile, Mobei-jun had taken up residence as far away from the fire as he could get without being left out of the proceedings, Tianlang-jun lounged like a leisurely king on Shang Qinghua’s favourite armchair, and Luo Binghe was standing by the wall, looking almost as suspicious and on guard as Zhuzhi-lang.

“Alright then, little lord,” Tianlang-jun said with silky smooth voice. “You’ve gotten us where you want us. Talk.”

Shang Qinghua swallowed and started talking. Starting with the facts: no one sensible liked the Old Palace Master, including all of the Peak Lords, and especially Yue Qingyuan and the Shen-brothers. (Tianlang-jun’s face twitched with loathing at the mention of the Cang Qiong Sect Leader, which was worrying, but he didn’t say anything.) They had sufficient proof to raise a lot of questions about what actually happened to Su Xiyan, included the sheer existence of Luo Binghe. And Yue Qingyuan was a fair and just man, who would be horrified to learn that he imprisoned an innocent man (Tianlang-jun snorted) under a mountain for a crime he did not commit – for a crime he was accused to doing to someone he loved, at that.

“You could keep fighting,” he added to Tianlang-jun and Luo Binghe. “Eventually, one of you will surely kill the other. But wouldn’t it be so much more satisfying to turn the entire world against the man who killed your partner and mother? To make him lose everything until the sects willingly hand him over to you for punishment, Your Majesty?”

Tianlang-jun looked intrigued. Eventually, he nodded, giving a malicious smile. “I would like that.”

“And Lord Luo,” Shang Qinghua added to the younger of them, “you’ve already admitted to doing all of this to prove your worth to Shen Qingri.” At this, Tianlang-jun looked deeply intrigued, and Zhuzhi-lang weirdly put off. “Being the Crown Prince of the Demon Realm would make you a perfectly fine prospect for a Peak Lord. Plus, tying yourself to the foremost sect would certainly be useful for our purposes...”

“I suppose,” Luo Binghe admitted, and then looked alarmed as Tianlang-jun’s focus turned entirely on him.

“Ohoh,” Tianlang-jun said. “Now, now, son, tell a-die everything.”

Luo Binghe stiffened. Then he slowly turned to glare at Shang Qinghua, who squeaked and abandoned the lovely heat of the fire to flee into the relative safety of Mobei-jun’s shadow.

Luckily, Luo Binghe did not have time to take revenge before Tianlang-jun descended on him like a prey of bird on a mouse.