Chapter Text
In a gross misuse of understatement, one could say that Shen Qingqiu seemed displeased when Shen Yuan returned to Cang Qiong Mountain. Shen Yuan wasn’t surprised at his lacklustre homecoming —after all, he had been missing, presumed dead for two months.
And so Shen Yuan knelt stiffly under his master’s glare and falteringly told a very, very edited version of his journey in the Endless Abyss. There were few lies or excuses that Shen Yuan could use to explain the poison in his blood or the faint traces of demonic energy that shrouded him, so Shen Yuan told as much truth as he dared: He had fallen into the Endless Abyss, where he spent weeks battling monsters and searching for a way out, but he had ultimately been injured by a lion-scorpion. But miraculously, a kind stranger had found Shen Yuan right before he fell unconscious from the injury, and when Shen Yuan had woken up again he’d been alone but in the demon realm. As such, it had taken him another month to make his way back to Cang Qiong Mountain, because he feared that flying on Zheng Yang would be too conspicuous a display of immortal cultivation to get away with in demonic territory, especially with the current political tensions.
Most importantly: Shen Yuan did not see the face of his saviour; he did not recognise who his saviour had been, and he had not the faintest clue as to how he was saved from the lion-scorpion venom.
Throughout Shen Yuan’s tale, Shen Qingqiu sat in absolute stillness. He reacted to nothing; he asked no questions. Then, as silence tensed between the two of them like a noose, Shen Yuan snuck a glance at his master’s placid expression. His heart sank; Shen Qingqiu wasn’t buying it.
Shen Qingqiu held his gaze for one long moment, then, like a snake, he struck out with his fan, whacking Shen Yuan over his head. “You can be honest now or you can answer the Sect Master’s questions later.”
Well... Fuck.
Why was it that someone as stupid as Shen Jiu, 60 IQ scum villain extraordinaire, could be so goddamn perceptive at the most inconvenient times? Shen Yuan’s story was believable! It fit 100% with the lore! Why didn’t his master believe him?!
Shen Yuan shifted his knees, then sat back on his heels, hiding his clenched fists in his sleeves. Shen Qingqiu said nothing. Outside, a small breeze picked up, rustling the bamboo grove.
Shen Yuan broke. Reluctantly, he coughed up the truth —including, of course, the details of Binghe’s identity. But hey! Give him some credit; he had some small leeway for self preservation and left out the part where he helped break out the arch nemesis of the entire cultivation world from his very secure prison, as well as the traumatic dinner at the heart of the demon realm’s elite. Instead, Shengxia-jun had courteously portalled Shen Yuan to a town a few days away from Cang Qiong Mountain, then promptly disappeared.
The “truth” earned Shen Yuan another thwack of the fan —even harder this time, it felt like. “What sort of lowlife cultivator are you? To consort with a demon mongrel…” Shen Qingqiu’s voice dripped with disgust. He snapped open his fan, hiding his face as if it would guard him from the unsavouriness-by-association of demonic cooties.
(How unfortunate it was that Shen Qingqiu hated Binghe so much already; they haven’t even met yet in this timeline! Maybe it was fate that they would be nemeses...)
Another moment passed, however, and Shen Qingqiu sighed. Then, in his boundless magnanimity, he called Ming Fan from outside to pour a second cup of tea for Shen Yuan, who was finally granted a seat. As Ming Fan was sent back out to fetch the relevant peak lords, Shen Yuan perched awkwardly on his stool, preparing himself for a long wait.
But Yue Qingyuan and Mu Qingfang arrived in record time; they must have been waiting somewhere on Qing Jing Peak in the first place. The Master of Cang Qiong Sect was as intimidating as ever, bringing with him an overbearing aura of power. Shen Yuan would be a bit more cowed if he didn’t remember him as a lonely man who would come to Qing Jing Peak every Mid-Autumn with a box of pastries and get sent away for it.
In a complete disregard for etiquette, Shen Qingqiu did not get up and bow to Yue Qingyuan, nor did he yield his seat at the head of the hall. Instead, they simply nodded in greeting while Yue Qingyuan took the east-side seat as if it was normal.
Shen Yuan exchanged a discreet look of resignation with Mu Qingfang.
The tiny main hall of the bamboo residence seemed incredibly cramped with everyone sitting in it, and it was to this daunting audience that Shen Yuan repeated the less edited version of his story. Then, Mu Qingfang examined Shen Yuan’s pulse and confirmed that he had been poisoned by a venomous lion-scorpion and that it was the heavenly demon blood that was currently keeping him alive.
“How severe is the situation?” Shen Qingqiu asked.
Mu Qingfang furrowed his brows. “I... I will need more time to research. Under normal circumstances, I would attempt to expel the poison from the body completely, but I am unsure how that will impact the heavenly demon blood. The condition of your disciple is stable so far, so I will not upset that balance without attempting to ascertain the interactions between the poison, the blood, and any treatments.”
“And when will this research be completed?” Shen Qingqiu pressed.
“As long as is necessary,” Mu Qingfang said with the full authority both of Peak Lord and of a practised physician. “Rest assured, Shen-shixiong; I will not put my patients in danger.”
Shen Qingqiu pursed his lips in an uneasy stalemate and looked to Yue Qingyuan, who swept his gaze across the room until it fell on Shen Yuan like a gavel. “Surely you already had an idea of its possibility, but Tianlang-jun has recently been rescued from the suppression array.” He then looked to everyone and added, “Tomorrow, there will be an emergency meeting to discuss these events and also to release a statement regarding what happened to Shen Yuan. Shen Yuan’s contact with Shengxia-jun will be kept strictly secret; it does not leave this room. Am I understood?” He paused until they all nodded in assent, then continued, addressing Shen Qingqiu’s frown. “Shen Yuan is not in trouble for this. What happened was a result of circumstances outside of his control, but it is best to err on the side of caution when tensions are currently running so high. A large number of Zhao Hua Temple and Huan Hua Palace disciples lost their lives sealing and guarding Tianlang-jun. If Cang Qiong Mountain wishes to maintain neutrality, public image must be carefully managed.”
Shen Qingqiu frown softened, but didn’t disappear. “If that is all, I will ask Zhangmen-shixiong to leave now.”
Yue Qingyuan deflated a little, especially when Mu Qingfang made to move as well but was requested to remain.
At the click of shutting doors, Shen Qingqiu turned to Mu Qingfang and said, “Do a more thorough examination.” Then, without another glance, he left the room as well.
This time, the door slammed shut, echoing in the stillness of the empty hall. Shen Yuan sat awkwardly and tried not to fidget. The tea that Ming Fan had brought was long gone, which meant that Shen Yuan couldn’t even sip some tea elegantly and feign that lofty immortal aura that he had been practicing. Didn’t Mu Qingfang assess him already? In xianxia settings, there was no need to look at symptoms; a skilled healer could diagnose from taking the pulse alone. What else did Shen Qingqiu want?
Whatever it was that Shen Yuan’s temperamental Shizun was implying, Mu Qingfang seemed to understand. “Were you hurt in places beyond your arm? Do you have any other concerns about what happened when you had been unconscious?”
Honestly? Other than the poison and the qi deviation, the worst thing Shen Yuan suffered was the lack of proper accommodations. He doubted he would be able to sleep at all if it weren’t for how tired he was at the end of every day. Even with the extra layer of fabric that his bedroll provided between his poor back and the sharp, jagged ground, Shen Yuan still found the experience incredibly unpleasant.
Discomfort and soreness seemed like a ridiculous complaint to present to one of the most skilled physicians in the world though, so Shen Yuan simply shook his head. “This disciple thanks Mu-shishu for his concern, but nothing is amiss beyond the obvious.”
Mu Qingfang nodded, then let the silence stretch on for a bit longer before looking Shen Yuan in the eyes and adding, “If there is something you wish to tell me, none of what you say will leave this room. I will not tell Zhangmen-shixiong or your Shizun.”
Hmm... Shen Yuan hadn’t brought up the qi deviation business because he wasn’t sure how to make it sound like he hadn’t been friendlier with demonspawn than he should have been. With his hypervigilance towards demons, there was no doubt that Shen Qingqiu would relentlessly interrogate Shen Yuan until he finally told the unfiltered truth.
On the other hand, Mu Qingfang was (hopefully!) much less likely to dig too deep into his story.
“...I suppose there is another matter. When Xin Mo was retrieved, there was a slight... accident. I ended up touching the sword and getting overwhelmed by the demonic energy. I think I might have had a qi deviation.”
Mu Qingfang nodded and thankfully didn’t ask for more details, instead reaching for Shen Yuan’s wrist. “I am going to send a thread of qi into you to assess the state of your cultivation. It should not hurt, but do tell me if it does.”
True to his word, it didn’t hurt at all. Mu Qingfang’s qi was mild, if a bit incongruent, like a strand of spider silk extending towards Shen Yuan’s core. As if sensing Mu Qingfang’s presence, the heavenly demon blood stirred for the first time since Shen Yuan’s qi deviation. The almost familiar tendrils of its power coiled within his veins, a clear reminder of its presence, but fortunately it did not seem hostile towards the foreign qi. After the initial reaction, it went complacent and dormant once more.
It went on for a while longer before Mu Qingfang withdrawing his hand, expression as perfectly neutral as always. “It seems that you have recovered quite well from the deviation itself. Quiet cultivation should be all that is needed for a full recovery.” Mu Qingfang paused. “However, the presence of heavenly demon blood is not without consequence. The inherent conflict between demonic qi and immortal cultivation will make advancing to golden core stage more difficult for you —not to the point where your cultivation will reach a stand-still, but delays will be much more common now.”
Shen Yuan nodded. That wasn’t too bad. No imminent death by qi deviation was pretty good already.
“Is there anything else that is troubling you?” Mu Qingfang asked with a deliberateness that somehow grated on Shen Yuan’s nerves.
Was he missing something? Why was Mu Qingfang nagging him so much about his well-being like he was some virginal girl on her wedding night to a forty-year-old man? Why did his Shizun set Grandma Mu on him?
Shen Yuan squinted at Mu Qingfang briefly, then sighed. “No. That’s really all that happened, Mu-shishu. This disciple is as sound in mind as he is in body!” Wait… “—More sound in mind than in body.”
Some of Mu Qingfang’s solemnity lifted. “It is good that you’ve made your way back with minimal harm, then. You should tell your Shizun about this as well. He seems quite concerned.”
Shen Yuan nodded, thanked Mu Qingfang for his time, then stood up again to receive Shen Qingqiu’s reentry. Ming Fan followed their master with a stack of dinner trays and a fresh pot of tea perching on top.
Shen Yuan dipped his head in a small informal bow, which Shen Qingqiu quickly waved off. Meanwhile, Ming Fan set down the food, failing to hold an enigmatic smile.
“Why are you standing around like some stick in the mud? Sit down and eat.”
Ah! There’s his Shizun —the fucking tsundere. Shen Yuan hastily obeyed. It’s been many hours since the mortifying banquet, and it was past time for a midnight snack. Yet, looking at the drooping steamed vegetables and thin white gruel typical of Qing Jin Peak fare, Shen Yuan couldn’t help but remember the glistening colour on whole roast goose that Binghe had made earlier that night. Reluctantly, he picked up a pair of bamboo chopsticks and started eating.
Ming Fan waited on him, pouring a thin stream of jasmine tea into a bamboo cup. A brightly brown-nosing smile lit up his face. “Welcome back, Dashixiong! This shidi knew you would come back!”
Shen Yuan couldn’t help but smile in return. “Are you not the head disciple now? You need to be more composed.”
Ming Fan shook his head frantically. “Of course not! How could anyone replace Dashixiong?! I’ve only been doing small errards for Shizun!”
Ah, you naive child. But that’s how it starts, you see: First, you’re just doing menial labour. Then, the next thing you know, you’ve been saddled with enough paperwork to collapse a desk—
As if sensing the uncharitable thoughts, Ming Fan quickly schooled his features back to a more appropriately neutral mask.
Shen Yuan looked up. Ah no, Ming Fan has not developed any latent telepathy; looming over his disciples, Shen Qingqiu glared from his throne-like chair. With more awareness than cannon fodder was supposed to have in this world, Ming Fan quickly excused himself, leaving Shen Yuan alone with Shen Qingqiu, who glared him down as he tried his best to choke down the limp and flavourless steamed cabbage in front of him.
“This disciple has kept Shizun waiting too long,” Shen Yuan ventured.
Nothing.
“Shizun need not worry about this unfilial disciple. The Endless Abyss was a mere inconvenience when travelling with someone so powerful and benign as Shengxia-jun.”
Shen Qingqiu snapped his fan open, then slowly started fanning himself.
“Which is not to say that this disciple dallied on his way home! But Shizun really need not concern himself with this disciple’s health. Shengxia-jun was very kind. ”
Like a whip, Shen Qingqiu slapped his fan onto the table. “Did you lose all your shame along with your brains when you fell into the Endless Abyss?”
Shen Yuan flinched and set down his bowl and chopsticks. With the way things were progressing, it seemed inevitable that the peak lords of Cang Qiong Mountain would some day meet the (substitute) demon sovereign, and with the way his Shizun was acting... “Shizun, Shengxia-jun has treated this disciple with nothing but the utmost respect and kindness. Regardless of his demonic heritage and perhaps because of his human heritage, this disciple thinks Shengxia-jun is capable of the virtue that everyone else has dismissed him of lacking. It is unfair that everyone seems to have dismissed him for being a sullied soul incapable of redemption just because he—”
“Enough.” Shen Qingqiu didn’t raise his voice, but the effect was as if he had shouted. “You are not to repeat those words ever again —especially if you do not want to be accused of aiding demons and betraying the cultivation world.” Shen Qingqiu’s eyes were cold, his mouth severe in an expression that toed the edges of neutrality.
Shen Yuan swallowed dryly. “As Shizun says.” He looked down to his bowl of food and finished it in silence, avoiding looking back up. Did his Shizun understand? Maybe he was trying to prevent an inevitable enmity, but Shen Yuan had to try; Shen Qingqiu hating Luo Binghe would never end well for either parties.
After he scraped the last lukewarm mouthful of unseasoned congee into his mouth, Shen Yuan gingerly set down his bowl and utensils. “This disciple has finished eating. Many thanks to Shizun for providing for this disciple. If this disciple is no longer needed, this disciple would like to ask permission to retire for sleep. Er... Does this disciple still have his own quarters?”
“No. They were cleared one month ago.”
Ah. Shen Yuan really didn’t know what he’d been expecting. Why wouldn’t they clean out the most advantageously situated room in the dorms? Bet that little bastard Ming Fan hopped right quick on taking that room. How could anyone replace Dashixiong, yeah, Shen Yuan bet Ming Fan knew exactly how. Have fun with all of your new errands and new paperwork! Good riddance to bad rubbish… honestly!
“You may stay in the side room tonight. You can retrieve your things from storage tomorrow.”
…
Did Shen Yuan piss off some particularly vengeful deity in a previous life? How the fuck can anyone expect him to sleep under the same roof as Shen Qingqiu? With Shen Yuan’s luck, he'll probably be woken up at dawn by the great and mighty Shen Qingqiu for breathing too loudly and be sent to sleep in the woodshed!
Unheeding of his disciple’s dread, Shen Qingqiu continued, “In the meantime, you have several months worth of paperwork to complete. I suggest you start immediately.”
Shen Jiu! Your disciple just came back from two months of literal hell!! Is there no slack to be cut?!?
The portal opened into the courtyard of Binghe’s mother’s quarters. That is, theoretically, Binghe’s father should have rooms in the main court of the palace, and he does! He just never uses them. From clothes to books to instruments to servants, every domestic aspect of the lives of Tianlang-jun and his consort operated out of the official consort residence. Whenever Binghe’s father was in the palace, he would inevitably be found within seven paces of his mother or his mother’s rooms.
Yet when Binghe stepped into the main hall of his mother’s quarters, she was sitting alone at the tea lounge.
Binghe sank briefly into a greeting bow. “Mother, your son has returned.” He made a show of looking around. “Where’s Father?”
His mother gestured for Binghe to sit across from her. “He went into seclusion to regenerate. He will be out within a month.”
Binghe nodded; it made sense that his father would retreat into deep meditation now that there was no longer a guest to entertain.
Binghe refilled his mother’s cup before he poured tea for himself. Since his time in the Endless Abyss, some sense of hope had taken seed within him, a feeling that only bloomed when he found out about his mother’s past with A’Yuan-ge. And Madam Meiyin’s prophecy, it almost didn’t seem subtle enough, or misleading enough to be a prophecy if it was about A’Yuan-ge.
When they’d been in the Endless Abyss, they’d always taken watch in turns, so there was no time to share dreams. But last night, when they’d both been resting, and his dream magic had been curled up within him like a purring cat, just within his grasp… Binghe hadn’t reached out.
Because both times he’d been there before, in the dreams of his fated one, there had been mist. Maybe it was because his fated one was shy; Elder Dream Demon had said that sometimes highly private people or people who were emotionally repressed would have dreamscapes that were similarly obscured. But mist could also be a sign that the dreamer was hiding from the intruder. A’Yuan-ge was smart; he had known that dream magic was a demonic art. But, if it was A’Yuan-ge’s dreams that Binghe had walked, with the lonely mountain full of bamboo and fog… Had A’Yuan-ge known that it was Binghe in his dreams?
And during their time in the Endless Abyss, it might be presumptuous of Binghe to think this way, but he feels they really connected down there, that they were friends, that they were zhiji. So what if Binghe wandered into another dream clouded in mist? And what if the fog had cleared? If it really was A’Yuan-ge... Then wouldn’t that mean that A’Yuan-ge had already rejected him twice?
Sure, A’Yuan-ge said that he was Binghe; he hadn’t seemed scared or wary that Binghe was of a demonic lineage. So maybe A’Yuan-ge can think of a half-demon mongrel as a friend, as wanbei. But being fated, sharing a bed, sharing a life with someone of demon blood… Maybe that’s where A’Yuan-ge drew the line.
Or maybe it wasn’t, maybe he could accept that with a demon. But Binghe wasn’t just some innocent incubus being hunted by Huan Hua Palace for his poison; Binghe was Shengxia-jun. Three of the four largest sects of immortal cultivation were at war with his family. Even if Cang Qiong Mountain was neutral in these matters, that could change any day now; no doubt the rescue of his father would be read as a sign of aggression.
Even if A’Yuan-ge could accept all those things, accept sharing a life with the child of the most dangerous demon in both realms, would he be willing to leave all that he knew behind? Leave his shizun, the friends and martial siblings he had on Qing Jing Peak, leave the comforts and familiarity of the lofty Cang Qiong Mountain behind to join Binghe in the bloody deserts of the demonic realm?
“What is Binghe thinking about?” His mother asked.
Binghe set down his cold tea. “Mother, what made you choose Father?”
How did you know he was worth it? Worth more than becoming the next master of Huan Hua Palace, the respect and admiration of the cultivation world, a life of comfort and convenience? Sure, the Queen Consort of Tianlang-jun did not lead an uncomfortable life, but it wasn't an easy life either. His mother's reputation has been obliterated. His father was feared by demons and humans alike, but his mother was different. She was deemed a traitor by humans and an interloper by demons. Even now, those that truly respected his mother in the demon realm were not many. And yet all these years, never once had his mother ever expressed any regret.
His mother smiled gently. “Because he makes me happy. Nothing else can make me happier, not status nor power nor respect.”
When she said it like that... it sounded so simple...
She sighed and put down her tea. Then, very bluntly, “He doesn’t know of your feelings, Binghe.”
He pursed his lips. “I don’t know what to say. He... he probably still thinks of me as a child.”
“You’ll grow,” she said, her expression exaggeratedly solemn.
With one doubt tamped down, another rose in its place. “What if A’Yuan-ge isn’t even…” mine?
His mother sighed. “While you were together in the Endless Abyss, you were able to use his sword?”
Binghe blinked at the change in topics. “Yes. It was how I was able to pass myself off as human for most of our time there.”
“And that sword was his personal sword?”
“Yes. He pulled it from Wan Jian Peak himself.”
His mother smiled. “Then your doubts are unfounded.”
Doubts? What did a sword have anything to do with his fated one? “Mother, this child is foolish and slow and doesn’t understand.”
“Wan Jian swords… the envy of all the world of cultivation. Does Binghe know why?”
“Because of their superior quality. They’re not forged of earthly materials, so they don’t dull, and they harm only those that the wielder directs them to harm.”
“Correct, but not complete. Wan Jian swords are only as strong and as sharp as their wielders, because they are summoned into being by the call of their creator. They hear the call of no voice but that of their creator. They will not swing; they will not block; they will not fly.”
Binghe blinked. That couldn't be right. He was able to use Zheng Yang flawlessly. It had responded even quicker and more fluidly than when he borrowed his mother's sword for practice.
His mother clarified, “Wan Jian swords are formed from the wielder's spiritual energy, and they recognise their creator by their soul. The only reason you would be able to use Shen Yuan's sword is because his soul and yours are connected.”
Within months of Shen Yuan’s return, chaos erupted. Well, perhaps erupted was a poor choice of words. It was more like chaos was carefully orchestrated by the Old Palace Master. With Tianlang-jun freed and the heavy casualties from both Huan Hua Palace and Zhao Hua Temple, the Old Palace Master was able to convince the overwhelming majority of sects to wage war against the demon realms.
Fortunately, Shen Yuan didn’t personally witness the emergency conference where this was decided; he was left behind both to keep Qing Jing Peak running and to keep a low profile. It was very widely known that the Qing Jing Peak head disciple had gone missing, presumed dead, during the Immortal Alliance Conference, leaving Shen Qingqiu unprecedentedly spiteful in the wake of the disaster. That along with the heavy Cang Qiong Mountain casualties at the Immortal Alliance Conference had convinced all bystanders that it was impossible for Cang Qiong Mountain to be the traitors. Sure, it should be unthinkable for the largest cultivation sect to betray the Immortal Alliance, but with all the doubt and controversy that Yue Qingyuan’s policy of non-agression had raised, it was important to keep playing up their losses. But that meant that, if Shen Yuan reappeared, especially so soon after the rescue and escape of Tianlang-jun, suspicions might be raised over both his initial disappearance and also the very reasonable coincidence of timing in his return.
Either way, Shen Yuan was pretty sure most of the cultivators at the meeting had reverted to their 40 IQ baseline from the original novel because waging war with the demon realm was just... Unjustifiably stupid.
In his endless wisdom, Yue Qingyuan minimized Cang Qiong Mountain's contribution to the whole endeavor, promising only medical assistance in the way of Qian Cao disciples and medicine supply; Cang Qiong Mountain would not contribute any fighters. This deal was probably the best they could do without having anyone accuse them outright of allying with the demons, and for that Shen Yuan was grateful.
Despite the increase in workload, Mu Qingfang came up with a solution to Shen Yuan's lion-scorpion problem not long after the emergency conference; since the purification ritual that would normally be used for this poison would disturb the heavenly demon blood, the safest way was to neutralize the poison and render it inert. But herein lies the problem; lion-scorpion venom normally killed victims within two hours unless it was expelled via a purification ritual, so the method that Mu Qingfang had designed was completely untested.
Shen Qingqiu sat up straighter and straighter as the concept was explained. “You are not using my disciple as an experiment,” he said when Mu Qingfang reached his conclusion, glaring balefully.
As the target of so much ire, Mu Qingfang lounged without concern, his typically mild expression replaced with one that bordered on apathetic. His composure, too, was out of the ordinary, at least compared to the first few times Shen Yuan had seen him. It was honestly quite reasonable for Mu Qingfang to look so haggard nowadays, considering the sheer workload. Sure, Mu Qingfang had no need of sleep, but he had been doing the work of two immortals.
Mu Qingfang sighed and repeated, “I have no intentions of using Shen Yuan as an experiment. The neutralisation process has been tested on some monsters already and they all survived without any complications. Moreover, I have personally tested that the neutralising agent is completely non-toxic to humans. Flushing out the neutralised poison and the unused neutralising agent can be done with a ritual that doesn’t disturb the demon blood, which can take place over the next three spring equinoxes.”
Shen Yuan, whose only concern was getting the poison out, drank his tea in silence. If it would take three years, so be it. Thanks to Airplane's fucked up understanding of cultivation and his Shizun’s brutal instruction, Shen Yuan had originally been due to reach his true golden core within the year. Even with three years of delay plus whatever lingering effects of demon blood he'd have to deal with, he'd still reach immortality way before he started getting back pains and looking horrifically old.
Shen Qingqiu's lips pressed into a thin line. “If it can be purified during the spring equinox, why are you dragging it out for three years?”
Shen Yuan bit back a sigh. First you say he's too hasty, now you say he's too slow. Shen Jiu! Can't you make up your mind about which flavour of bitchy you want to be?
Mu Qingfang sounded astoundingly calm when he answered, “Lion-scorpion venom is a mixture of toxins from seven different sources, and it attacks the victim on three levels: the flesh, the qi, and the soul. The demon blood is also tied to Shen Yuan in these levels, but the demon blood is a cohesive whole. The lion-scorpion venom components can be separated and dealt with one at a time. The rituals will work inwards, targeting his blood and body, then his enlightenment and cultivation, then his spirit and soul. Since the demon blood needs to be attacked on all three levels to be threatened, it will not retreat and leave Shen Yuan defenseless, nor will it react offensively and cause Shen Yuan any backlash."
Shen Yuan interrupted before anything else could be said, "Then Shen Yuan shall be in Mu-shishu's capable hands. This disciple thanks Shishu for all his hard work in the upcoming years."
As the years passed, Shen Yuan woke up every morning to a day feeling just slightly more chaotic than the last, as if the world was on the precipice of catastrophe. The ever-peaceful Cang Qiong Mountain operated with a surreal sort of frenzy. Everyone was busy all the time, with the senior disciples getting sent on missions further and further away from the pre-established Cang Qiong Mountain territory since the other sects tended to be too busy fighting a war to take care of the villages they were supposed to look after.
And though the frontlines were far from Cang Qiong Mountain, and though nobody in the sect was directly participating in the war, tensions rose. After all, no matter how far into cultivation everyone was, that they remained on the mountain meant that they still had some earthly ties. Be it families living dangerously close to the borderlands, be it families with farms and properties raided by the occasional rouge demons, be it families who participated in the war via the arms trade… Everyone was worried —even Shen Yuan; if he didn’t trust that Binghe wouldn’t want to conquer or destroy the human world…
Sure there had been skirmishes near the borderlands, and sure there had been an increase of civilian unrest over demonic activity from almost everywhere, but there had never been an organised counter-invasion. Despite what the Old Palace Master kept saying, the small raids near the borderlands did not count. Shen Yuan doubted that those had been conducted under orders, let alone planned as proper attacks against humanity and the “righteous” sects of cultivation. With Xin Mo, if Binghe had truly wanted to invade, Shen Yuan had no doubt that Huan Hua Palace would already be a renovated summer home for Binghe’s newest human harem members.
Yet Binghe had yet to have been seen by any of the cultivators. The closest glimpse they’d got was of “a vicious and beastly commander” (read: Zhuzhi-lang) during one of their attempted breaches into the demon realm, like crashing eggs against boulders, except it was cultivators and Tianlang-jun’s puppet army.
On one hand, it was strange; if Binghe wasn’t leading the war, then where was he? But on the other, it made sense; Binghe would be almost of age now. He’s probably busy courting the various demon babes into his harem, setting up a proper household for himself, learning the politics of the demon realm… all the things that a demon prince was supposed to be doing. Why should he appear at the skirmishes? It’s not as if fighting back the cultivators was a difficult thing, not with Tianlang-jun’s puppet army all up and about and being useful.
Shen Yuan just wished that he would hear at least some news of Binghe —just enough to know that he was doing alright, that’s all, nothing more. The few nights that Shen Yuan slept, he’d fall into meditation just before falling asleep and wake up in a familiar mountain full of mist and bamboo and just… wander around. He became familiar with the ghostly images of his memories, and sometimes he’d get lost in them, especially the remnants of those months spent in the Endless Abyss, reliving the peaceful times of just him and Binghe and an exciting lineup of new monsters to fight.
A few days after the third spring equinox ritual, a mission came up. It was one of those awkward ones; it was far away enough that it required someone who had enough qi power to fly for three days, but also enough martial skill to take down an entire pack of cinder-wolves.
Shen Yuan volunteered.
After many protests from his mother hen of a Shizun, Shen Yuan left Cang Qiong Mountain for the first time in almost three years. Along with him, he brought his trusty qiankun-pouch, in which was a locked box that he’d been keeping in his pillow. Within it was the cultivation manual that Su Xiyan had given him, and in its pages, marked by the bright red of Binghe's ribbon, was the message charm Binghe had left him.
The cinder-wolves were easy enough to deal with, and the locals thanked him so profusely and with such sincerity that Shen Yuan faked an injury in order to retreat into the room they’d set aside for him in the local tavern.
Hands trembling, he slipped the thin piece of paper out from its home for the past three years. And though he honestly should have gotten over this many years ago, considering all the various injuries he’s gotten from training and dealing with sundry demons, he still winced as he poked the tip of his finger on Zheng Yang. Slowly, he squeezed out one drop, then another, then a third. The red expanded outwards, eating away at the paper as it went. Within seconds, what had been a beautifully drawn message charm had disintegrated into ashes on the table.
That was… supposed to happen, right? Binghe would have sensed the message charm being activated? Binghe would know where Shen Yuan was, and come find him, just like he’d promised all those years ago…
Of course Shen Yuan didn’t expect him to come immediately, no matter what Binghe had been saying. Binghe was a very busy and important person these days! It might take a while for him to excuse himself. Maybe he was even asleep… Oh shit, what if Shen Yuan had interrupted Binghe in a nap? What if Shen Yuan had interrupted Binghe in… papapa?
Well, Shen Yuan would just have to apologise if it came up. He looked out the window; the sun was on the verge of setting, wisps of orange staining the edge of the horizon. Binghe would be having dinner right now.
Shen Yuan poked his head out his door, and called over a serving boy to ask for a pot of tea and a tier of steamed buns.
It wouldn’t be too awful if Binghe didn’t show up. Maybe it was because Binghe wasn’t a full demon, or maybe it was because heavenly demon blood was special, but even though demonic energy was supposed to really mess with cultivation, Shen Yuan hadn’t been set back so much as slowed in his progress. At the rate he’s been going at, even if Binghe never took out his blood, Shen Yuan should still reach gold core in about a year.
It would be fine if Binghe didn’t come.
Maybe Binghe was just too busy or tired to come all the way out just to remove some demon blood from Shen Yuan. It’s not as if the demon blood was hurting him. Maybe Binghe had more urgent things to deal with. Maybe Binghe was too busy breaking up a fight between his concubines.
Maybe Binghe forgot about him.
Shen Yuan slept uneasily in the light of a dying candle, wandering aimlessly through the misty mountains of his dreams, a warped version of Qing Jing Peak more intimate and less tamed than the one in the real world.
The pale rays of dawn woke him. The room was damply cold with morning dew. Two teacups sat on the table, one empty, and one stained with dark dredges of a haunting jasmine scent.
Shen Yuan was alone.