Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

At first Shen Yuan thought it was all an extensive dream sequence. Maybe the doctors gave him a new drug that caused incredibly strange and complex hallucinations. But the longer he laid there, helpless, unable to move, his vision even more of a blurry mess than usual, the more doubts he had.

He’d been reading in a hospital bed, and he’d probably fallen asleep, but when he opened his eyes again he was definitely not in a hospital bed anymore, and he couldn’t so much as turn his head to look around. He may have panicked then. Just a little bit. He may or may not have also broken into shrieking sobs that only intensified when some gigantic person picked him up, lifted his entire body like he was nothing, like he was tiny, like he could fit into their hands easily. And that’s when Shen Yuan realized, through a haze of confused terror, that he was a baby.

Being an infant was terrible, humiliating, mortifying enough that he wanted to melt into the shadows and never see anyone else ever again, even the woman that must be his mother—new mother, that is. Infants had no bowel control, no impulse control, and were stupidly weak and defenseless. Even the smallest provocations had him sobbing uncontrollably for hours! All the while, his rational mind knew that there was nothing scary about little wooden toys or tepid baths, but not like rationality mattered much to his stupid, infant brain. Surely Shen Yuan didn’t deserve this ordeal?! He hadn’t exactly been a saint in his previous life but surely he hadn’t done anything to deserve being reincarnated with his memories intact and living out this endless shame?!

By the time Shen Yuan passed the second New Year of his new life, however, he was much less certain about his reincarnation idea. This wasn’t any sort of modern society; in fact, he was quite sure this was some sort of xianxia setting. The interior of the house he lived in was all wood and stone and rough-fired clay; there were no electronics, no appliances, barely any metal, even. His mother carried him in a sling throughout the day, pressed against her chest as she went outside to farm, by hand, without hoses or machinery, and the sun shone all the time. The air smelled of manure, not burning rubber like the way it did whenever his (previous) father took him to visit relatives in the countryside. At least there was no smog.

The first time he heard his new parents mention demons he had been shocked enough that he burst out crying (again). They were gossiping, but in a hushed way, whispering about the demons that had shown up in a nearby village with carts full of treasure, only to be defeated by “the immortals”. They spoke triumphantly, thankful of these immortals they spoke of that protected the nearby lands, but there was an undertone of fear to their words, a creeping worry that demons would come for them, too.

This frightened Shen Yuan in a very different way; it was the last piece of the puzzle needed to map out his new existence. They lived in a world before the age of electronics, yet they spoke in modern-ish Mandarin—with a trashy city accent, no less—and there were demons: he’d transmigrated, and there were demons.

His parents never mentioned any names that he recognized, and it wasn’t as if some stupid voice at the back of his head was telling him the rules of this universe either, so he could only hope this world was a nice one. Maybe, if he was lucky, there’s cultivation (his parents had mentioned immortals, after all), and he could cultivate for a few years and end up with a golden core! Then, once he grew up, he could roam the lands, travel a bit, experience life outside. He wasn’t even asking for too much; Shen Yuan just wanted to be able to live a calm, relaxed life, eat good food, see a few small monsters, and maybe even find a nice girlfriend!

Meanwhile, however, he was a toddler that couldn’t contribute to the farm in any meaningful way, so Shen Yuan (who was called, very creatively, Er-lang for now) was often left to his own devices, since he could crawl and was too heavy to carry around anyway. The only other child in the household was his older brother, who was able to walk and therefore was obligated to help out with farming. His brother didn’t seem especially keen on the wailing mess that was Shen Yuan either, which left him lots of time to be hopelessly bored, wandering about the farmers’ market that convened every five days, trying to decipher the market slang they used and to pick up more information about this world.

Shen Yuan had been resigned to living out the next few years like this, probably having to help out with farming until he got old enough to read or do something useful enough to leave this backwater village. But then, the spring after his fourth New Year, the flooding started. Well, flooding always happened a little in spring as the snow melts and the Luo River expands, but as the weeks passed, the rains didn’t stop. The small two-room hut that Shen Yuan’s family lived in was smeared with mud, constantly damp, moldy, and leaked water everywhere. Perhaps more importantly, the non-stop rain made farming nearly impossible. Rice needed flooded fields to grow but this amount of water overflowed the field edging and left nothing but muddy currents and uprooted seeds.

Shen Yuan had never known starvation before. Hunger, yes. A complete loss of appetite because of whatever new treatment he was going through, yes. But starvation? To go day after day with nothing but soupy congee that slowly became indistinguishable from the leftover water from washing rice?

Shen Yuan was stranger to famine, and, left in the body of a small child, grew pathetically weak.

By the start of autumn, the rain had stopped but the harm had been done. Most of crops that they finally managed to plant wouldn’t be fully ready for harvest before winter came and their food stores were completely depleted. They didn’t have much money either, so buying food to carry them through the winter would be near impossible.

So when the man that sired his current body took him to the nearest city to buy food, Shen Yuan knew something wasn't quite right. The morning before they’d set out, they’d fed him a meal so plain that in his previous life he probably wouldn’t have touched it, yet for this current life it was downright luxurious: a full bowl of fluffy white rice, leafy vegetables, even a whole salted egg.

Shen Yuan couldn't really say he was surprised when their destination turned out to have been the slave markets. It was to be expected, really. This was a rather common scenario in these sorts of stories. He was the second son, not as old, not as useful, as their eldest. They really couldn’t afford to feed another mouth, and even if he looked rather pathetic he was probably worth enough money to buy them some food for the winter —enough to give them a chance to survive it.

Shen Yuan knew that he should run away before he got sold; it would be difficult to escape afterwards, but this family had raised him for five years. Even if they didn’t end up being very good parents, didn't Shen Yuan still owe them for feeding and clothing him for five years?

So he went quietly and waited patiently for the exchange to be completed, waited for the money to change hands, waited until the man with the money completely disappeared from his sight. At least with this Shen Yuan could say without guilt that all debts between him and that family were now settled.

Since Shen Yuan had been calm and obedient, the slavers didn’t even bother tying up his hands or feet. They just threw him inside a locked room with several other children, some of whom did have their hands tied. Most of them were crying.

The noise of it grated his nerves, he was tempted to yell at them to shut up, to be productive instead of moping around, but he was too tired to do so. Never one to look for trouble, Shen Yuan simply picked a relatively empty corner to sit in instead. Most of the other kids in the room were clustered as far away from the door as possible, as if, by being further away, they could avoid their fate of being auctioned.

Though Shen Yuan had internally mocked the sobbing children earlier, the longer he sat there, knees pulled up against his chest, the more his eyes started to sting. How stupid. How could he have been transmigrated into such a trash family. It was all because of those awful genes that he ended up with this tiny weak body that probably couldn’t even run away if he wanted to. That, and his eyes that wouldn’t stop stinging and his uselessly runny nose. And honestly, why didn’t this world have tissues? Ancient China invented paper; they should’ve used their brains a bit and invented tissue too. It was with those thoughts that Shen Yuan drifted off to sleep, the most alone he’d been since his rebirth.

The next few days passed by monotonously. The slavers would feed them twice a day with stale buns and thin gruel—just enough to make sure they wouldn’t starve. Those few days were enough for Shen Yuan to calm down again and truly think through everything. Regardless of the fact that Shen Yuan refused to be a slave after having not even learnt how to do chores in the 21st century, it was still a stupid thing to submit to such a fate, considering cultivation existed in this world. If he could make it to a cultivation sect, he would be free; even if he didn’t have aptitude for cultivation, cultivation sects needed low level cultivators for other tasks as well. And Shen Yuan knew how to read and write—not to mention, his math skills were probably better than almost everyone in this city. The problem was getting out of here.

None of the other children seemed particularly keen on staging an escape; the boldest ones that had tried hadn’t gotten more than 15 minutes worth of freedom before getting hauled back and beaten. The younger ones especially were useless, some of them insisting that their parents would come back for them soon. Shen Yuan’s best chance would occur after he got officially sold when he was on the way to the estate. It might not work, but at least he could try, and even if that didn’t work there would always be chances later as well.

The one good thing about being stuck with other children was that Shen Yuan could attempt to pry information out of them regarding the world he was in. The oldest children in the room looked to be in their early teens, and, under Shen Yuan’s relentless pestering, revealed some crucial information. For one, demons thankfully didn’t just wander everywhere randomly; they typically lived in the demon world. Sometimes they would cross over, but cultivators usually cleaned them up quite quickly. There were four major cultivation sects in this world, yet none of the children seemed to know their names, only able to mumble something about temples and mountains and a palace of some sort. To Shen Yuan’s dismay, cultivation sects only accepted disciples between certain ages. Too young, and they couldn’t cultivate; too old, and their potential would be squandered. Shen Yuan’s body was currently far too young; he’d have to find some way to survive by himself for at least a few more years. Shen Yuan still had no idea what to do when that happened. Would he beg? Steal? Become a hermit in the mountains and somehow learn how to hunt and forage by himself???

He never got to figure it out before it was market day again, and he was once again auctioned off.

The process was uncomfortable to say the least, but he made it through and acted with as much docility as he could. The slaver even used his obedience to squeeze an extra tael of silver out of the harried matron who was buying him. Shen Yuan wasn’t the only one she bought, she bought a total of five children, a mix of boys and girls. Their group was brought back to a haughty looking woman sitting in an ornate palanquin.

She wore richly dyed robes and a thin white veil over her face. She was pregnant, being attended to by a maid in addition to the four footmen carrying her litter. The entourage even had two guards.

It was when he saw the guards that Shen Yuan knew it would be impossible to escape. It had been a foolish thought anyway. Kinda pathetic of him, if he was being honest. He hadn’t transmigrated into some OP protagonist with a hidden backstory. He wasn’t even a side character. Just some random NPC. But maybe this was good. He was clearly being bought by a rich family. Maybe he would meet a side character! Maybe he could be one of those little brother characters to them!

His thoughts were suddenly disrupted by a sharp shriek. “What is the meaning of this!” demanded the woman who had bought him.

Shen Yuan looked up to see four men dressed in a uniform of orange and yellow surrounding the woman and her guards. “Forgive me madam, but, on behalf of the Palace Master, we are hunting down a dangerous demon. Please lift your veil and allow us to check your identity.”

“Can you not see I’m pregnant! How could I be a demon! Leave this instant.” The woman’s voice grew sharper as her guards wavered and the surrounding townsfolk began pointing and gossiping.

“The demon is pregnant as well, madam, which is why we ask that you show your face. As soon as you do so you’ll be free to go.”

The woman grew more indignant and began to shout in earnest. The guards, finally relenting under their mistress’s orders, began to try and push back against the uniformed people.

Shen Yuan didn’t hesitate. As soon as they began to squabble, he ran as fast as he could, squeezing into the crowd of people gathering to watch the spectacle, not once looking back, even when he began to hear the woman’s shrieking about how her slave was running away.

Shen Yuan didn’t know how far he ran, only that the burning pain in his lungs and muscles eventually faded into a numb sort of agony. He had never been to this city before, but, even so, it was easy to follow the signs of dilapidation. The more broken down it was, the better it was for Shen Yuan. Slums meant fewer guards and more places to hide.

That being said, Shen Yuan soon realized that he was hardly the only one to think this way. Even the dirtiest, most foul smelling alleys had occupants already. The skies grew darker the longer he wandered, and, even though Shen Yuan prided himself in his maturity and independence, he couldn’t help the sense of unease that weighed down his stomach.

Just as he was about to give up all hope, with the last of the sun's fading light dyeing the sky a wash of crimson, he found himself in front of a small dilapidated temple. The entrance plaque where the temple name was supposed to be had long disappeared. It was clear no one worshipped whatever god that lived there anymore. The exterior was covered with grime, and the doors and windows looked like they might break with even moderate winds. It was right beside a river as well, but while buildings to both sides had makeshift mooring poles where rickety boats were tethered, the small makeshift dock by the temple’s side was bare and rotten. No one had even taken shelter under the generous temple eaves.

Maybe it was cursed. Or maybe some local crime boss’s headquarters were here? Regardless, Shen Yuan was too tired to even try to think of the consequences anymore. He just wanted to sit down and rest. Everything else could be sorted out later.

The front door of the temple opened easily, a single push and they exposed the altar to the setting sun. What had once probably been a stone statue now lay in a pile of broken rubble. To the left, there lay a thin piece of stone in the shape of a disproportionate sword, broken into three segments. Near the front, a hand sized bouquet of flowers lay. No cloth remained upon the wire frames of the false blossoms, having long since disintegrated to the ravages of time.

Shen Yuan entered and hastily bowed with his hands clasped in front, more out of propriety than true belief, and shut the doors behind him as well as he could. Just as he was about to turn around again, he felt something awfully sharp and cold press against the side of his neck.

“Don't move. Who are you?” The femine voice sounded strained and a little raspy.

Shit, shit, shit. Of course. Of course Shen Yuan would escape from slavers only to end up walking right into the lair of some crime lord. ‘Who are you?’ He’s a fucking child, that’s who he is. But he bites back the words and tries to soften his voice as much as possible.

“I’m just passing through. I’m very sorry for disturbing you. If you just let me rest here tonight, I promise I’ll leave as soon as I wake up tomorrow!”

The metal withdrew from his neck as quickly as it first appeared. “You will leave as soon as you wake up and you will not tell anyone you saw me here, do you understand?”

Shen Yuan nodded quickly, then feared that the motion would be lost to the shadows, so he said quickly, “Of course! Thank you!”

Then, slowly, forecasting as openly as he could what he was doing, Shen Yuan turned around. His very temporary roommate (temple-mate?) was a woman—far younger than her voice had made her seem. She couldn’t be that far into her twenties. Her features, though set into a forbidding glare, were fine and far too delicate for the kind of paranoia that would have someone decide to randomly threaten a child as young as Shen Yuan’s body was.

It might have been the poor lighting of the place, but she looked quite pale, and her lips were an unhealthy bruised colour. Poor circumstances aside, her beauty was unmistakable, albeit a cold type of beauty. Shen Yuan had a strong feeling she was probably someone of status or import in this world. A large plain cloak draped around her, obscuring her body, but the shine of her sword spoke to quality. Or, well, as much as Shen Yuan could tell. Maybe it was actually a really cheap sword, but it looked very expensive.

The woman seemed to notice Shen Yuan’s staring and stared right back. Shen Yuan quickly scurried over to a relatively clean corner of the temple, away from the impromptu skylight created by a collapsed portion of the roof, and sat down.

The woman moved away to a side nook on a more distant wall of the temple, well within the blindspot of anyone who dared to open the front doors and look in like Shen Yuan had done just moments ago. Unlike Shen Yuan, the woman had a small bamboo mat in her corner, which didn’t seem like much, but was still probably much better than the cold stone tile Shen Yuan was sitting on. It seemed to take the woman some effort to sit down again, perhaps she was injured? But with the large cloak on, it was impossible to tell. Once she settled, she started a small fire and began to slowly eat a large meatbun.

Shen Yuan knew he should stop looking, but he couldn’t help it. Seeing fire and food, he suddenly felt just that much more cold and hungry. How was he supposed to fall asleep like this? He never missed his old life more than this moment. His feet hurt, and he was pretty sure they were covered with blisters and scrapes. He was hungry and hadn’t gotten to eat meat since probably one or two years ago. He was so tired he wanted to sleep for a decade, but he couldn’t even fall asleep. Hell, he hadn’t slept in a bed since his previous life! What was this?! Why did he have to go through this?! Why couldn’t he have just died like a normal person?!

Shen Yuan began to cry even though he didn’t want to at all. This five year old body was far too useless, no self-control whatsoever, but, even so, he scrubbed at his face frantically, trying his best to wipe away the nonstop streams and control his pathetic little hiccups as he tried to stop crying or at least make it less obvious. There was a random stranger right in the same room! How shameless! How mortifying!

“Hey.”

Shen Yuan looked up, blinking through his blurry vision at the strange woman. Was it just his shit vision or did she look less menacing than before?

“Catch.”

Before Shen Yuan could fully process what she meant, a giant meatbun flew right at him. Shen Yuan lurched forward on reflex and, after a small fumble, managed to catch it. Shen Yuan stared at the bun in his hands; for a moment it felt even more precious than his beloved Shaohua Hatsune Miku figure. He only managed a quick strangled “Thank you,” before digging in.

The bun was quite dry, probably a leftover from yesterday, and the meat inside was bland and slimy from the cold, and there weren’t even any scallions or pepper or even that much salt in it either; it was still the best food Shen Yuan had ever had this life.

He almost choked twice while eating, once because the bun was too dry and another because he was eating way too quickly. The second time, he thought he heard a soft laugh come from that stranger, but, when he looked up, she was warming herself by the fire, her expression completely neutral.

Shen Yuan let out a quick but heartfelt “Thank you,” again, and he could swear that the stranger’s lips twitched for a moment before returning to that ever-present placid expression.

Just as he was about to curl up and try to sleep again, the stranger spoke; “You can come closer. There’s enough space by the fire for you as well.”

Oh. Well that was certainly generous. Maybe this potential child murderer wasn’t so bad after all. Shen Yuan didn’t hesitate to take her up on her offer and quickly moved closer. The food from earlier had warmed him up a little, but nothing was quite as effective for warmth as a good old fashioned fire. He couldn’t help but let out a content hum as he made himself comfortable and finally, at long last, fell asleep.

Shen Yuan was woken by the piercing light of day. Judging by how the light fell, it was probably late morning already (another wonderful skill gained from being a farm boy). The fire had died down sometime during the night, but it was late autumn, so the temperature was just at the edge of bearable.

The stranger from last night was still here as well, Shen Yuan noticed as he tried to stretch out his incredibly sore muscles. She was still asleep, he noted, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and she looked a lot more pale in the daylight. Actually, he realized with a start, that paleness… it really wasn't the natural paleness of a highborn lady—it was more like… like she was dying.

“Hey,” Shen Yuan said, waiting to see if maybe the stranger was just resting and not actually asleep. There was no response. Weren’t these sword carrying types supposed to have really sharp senses?

Shen Yuan tugged at the hem of her cloak and repeated, more loudly, “Hey!”

Still no response, not even a twitch of an eyelid.

Shen Yuan moved closer to her, and it was then that he was able to smell a bitter coppery scent hanging around the stranger—blood. Even unconscious, she clutched her sword close to her and the cloak was wrapped tightly around her torso; Shen Yuan had no idea where the bloody scent was coming from.

This time Shen Yuan grew even bolder and poked her shoulder, “Hey, wake up!”

The woman made a slight sound before her eyes finally opened but her gaze was unfocused even when she finally spotted Shen Yuan.

“Lady— uh— Lady Traveller, are you alright?” Shen Yuan asked, carefully side-eyeing her sword in case she wanted to threaten him again.

The stranger shifted and the drape of her cloak fell around a strange protrusion around her middle. Shen Yuan blinked, then realisation dawned on him: that was a baby bump; the sword-wielding stranger was pregnant! His shock was quickly replaced by alarm as the scent of blood grew stronger. “Lady Traveller, are you bleeding?!”

Instead of answering, the stranger reached inside a pouch and withdrew a handful of silver taels before shoving them at Shen Yuan. “I need medicine that prevents miscarriage. Go buy some for me. You can keep whatever is left over. And be discreet.”

Shen Yuan looked down at the small pile of silver pieces in his tiny hands, which struggled to properly hold it all. It was probably enough money to feed a farmer’s family for a year or two. “Do you want me to find a doctor?”

The stranger shook her head. “Don’t let anyone else come here. Hurry and go.”

Shen Yuan decided to stop asking questions and did as the woman asked. He hid the money inside his robes and tried his best to navigate the winding streets of the slums; it wouldn’t be a good idea to flash so much money around so here, he’d need to go to at least a slightly less destitute part of the city to buy medicine for this woman, and she had told him to be discreet too.

But why? Considering how wealthy she was, and how fine her robes were beneath her ragged cloak, there was no reason for her to stay in such a shitty place.. Unless…

Shen Yuan suddenly remembered the scene at the marketplace yesterday, with the uniformed men hounding the pregnant woman. Unless…. that stranger in the temple was the demon they had been talking about yesterday. But.. that stranger didn’t look or act— didn’t look demonic, at least. Weren’t demons supposed to have some demonic aura or presence or maybe horns or tails or claws?

Shen Yuan stopped in his tracks. If she really was the person they were hunting for, Shen Yuan really shouldn't be associating with her. It would just cause him more trouble, as if he wasn’t in enough trouble now. And she had given so much money too. If he left with this money, he wouldn’t have to worry about food for… for years, potentially.

But… he couldn’t do it. Even if she was a demon, she had never actually hurt Shen Yuan (despite the very blatant threat when she first saw him). She had actually helped him twice, first by feeding him, then by inviting him to share the fire. He owed her for that. And she mentioned that he could keep the leftover money too. It was a win-win situation as long as he was careful.

As soon as Shen Yuan found pharmacy he went in and asked for a prescription of medicine that would prevent miscarriage, and half a dozen other formulae. Once he got the prescriptions, he didn’t fill them there, instead going to two different pharmacies to collect the various herbs needed for such a medication. Finally, he ducked into the back of a small restaurant and paid the owner to mix and brew the medicinal tea.

By the time he made his way back to the temple (which was a miracle and a half in that he’d been able to find his way), the sun had hidden behind a thick cover of clouds, and the wind was picking up.

The stranger was still in the same place that Shen Yuan had left her this morning. She must have gotten up while he was gone as there was now a nice large fire with a fresh pile of junk to fuel the fire as well. She still looked terrible though, and Shen Yuan offered her the medicine as soon as he sat down.

“Hurry and drink it while it’s still warm.”

If she was surprised he had returned, she didn't show it and took the small calabash from him, downing the bitter contents in two consecutive swallows.

… This lady must be quite trusting, considering she was just assuming this random five year old wouldn’t mess up her medicine. Upon finishing her drink, she laid back down and closed her eyes, presumably to sleep again. Shen Yuan noted, with slight optimism, that he couldn’t smell blood anymore, so that was a plus.

Once she was settled, he ducked back out to buy some meatbuns and blankets with the leftover money. One he used for himself, and the other he draped over the stranger, who woke briefly but relaxed when she realised what he was doing. She didn’t tell him to leave, and so Shen Yuan didn’t bring it up either. Instead, he just rested and, strangely, dreamt of a small boy crying by the bedside of his ill mother, clutching a bowl of cold congee.

Two days passed in the same way. Shen Yuan would borrow some random stranger’s stove to make medicine during the day and bring it back to the pregnant woman, who would then give him more money to go buy food. Despite the time spent with her, Shen Yuan still knew the same amount of information as he had deduced that first day: she was pretty; she was pregnant; she was a traveller and probably also a cultivator. Other than simple instructions, she barely spoke at all. He’d tried to ask her where she’d come from and why she was doing… whatever it was that squatting in a cursed temple was, but she only ever answered with non-answers, like, “Do not ask so many questions,” or, “The less you know the better it is.”

On the third night of their strange co-residence, the clouds that had been gathering above the city finally released their burdens in the form of a wet flakey snow that melted as soon as it hit the ground. The fire and blankets made the cold more bearable, but only barely. Shen Yuan kept waking up in the night to fuel the fire but it never felt quite warm enough. Not to mention, the mysterious stranger had started bleeding again; the whole ordeal made sleeping that much more difficult than it should have been.

The fourth time he woke, he cursed, “Why is it so motherfucking cold?”

A particularly fierce gust of wind blew in, thoroughly waking Shen Yuan. Did the doors break? Why was the wind this strong? Just as he turned around to take a look, eyes adjusting to the dim light, he froze.

There was a man standing in front of him, his eyes glowing bright yellow that highlighted the vertical slits of his pupils. The hairs on Shen Yuan’s body all immediately stood on end—this man… this wasn’t like that woman’s halfhearted threat of violence; this man would truly, genuinely, have no qualms in killing him. For a moment or for an eternity, Shen Yuan’s gaze froze on the man’s, as if his entire fate rested upon the whims of this powerful and murderous stranger.

Then, from behind him, the woman stirred, “Who’s there?” Accompanying her voice was the sound of her blade unsheathing, which somehow made the pressure in Shen Yuan’s chest decrease a little.

Just as he was about to roll out of the way of the impending battle, the strange man did the last thing Shen Yuan expected him to do—he suddenly dropped onto one knee in homage, one hand clasping the other fist in a martial salute. His voice mildly alarmed, he greeted, “Su-xianshi.”

The woman blinked before responding, “Zhuzhi-lang… Is that you?”

If Shen Yuan wasn’t already sitting, he would have fallen down in relief. Thank fuck, they were friendly. Ok ok ok. Crisis averted!

“It is me, Su-xianshi… You’re… alive.” He glanced at her clearly pregnant abdomen, then sniffed the air, grimacing afterwards. “Junshang and I have been looking all over for you; what happened?”

“Shi—” for a moment the woman’s—no, Su-xianshi’s—expression of distant serenity faltered, grimacing in what could be grief or fury, before returning to her typical calm neutrality. “The Palace Master imprisoned me in the Water Prison and forced me to ingest a type of poison fatal to demons.” Another pause as her hands drifted to her stomach, almost as if to cradle it. “The infant is fine, however.”

Zhuzhi-lang bowed his head, looking pained. “This poison… my lady, if you keep diverting it as you have… Do you think you will be able to wait another day?”

At his words, Su-xianshi’s eyes regained a certain spark. “I am not so weak as to perish in a day. Go.”

Before he left, his gaze fell on Shen Yuan once more with a type of immortal disdain that one really shouldn’t direct at children. Shen Yuan broke into a cold sweat, hands beginning to tremble.

“Zhuzhi-lang,” Su-xianshi said suddenly, “don’t. He has been helping me these past few days.”

Zhuzhi-lang’s considering gaze lingered on Shen Yuan for another endless moment before he nodded again and turned back to Su-xianshi. “We will return within a day, my lady.”

Shen Yuan sat haphazardly on the temple floor after Zhuzhi-lang left, too stunned to move.

What the fuck.

Ok. So. That answered his question about what demons looked like in this world: humanoid, but not fully human. And there had been some reason why those uniformed people wanted to find the Su-xianshi; it wasn’t because she was a demon herself, but because she consorted with demons. Her child was demonic—half-demonic. The child’s father must have been the so-called ‘Junshang’ that Zhuzhi-lang worked for. Some demon… lord? Shen Yuan felt the distinct dread of having stumbled upon something far over his head.

And Su-xianshi had mentioned being imprisoned by a ‘Palace Master’… Not to mention, Zhuzhi-lang had called her ‘xianshi’. She was a cultivator! She had probably come from one of those four major cultivation sects. What was this clusterfuck??

“No more questions now, boy?” Su-xianshi asked.

Shen Yuan turned his head towards her stiffly, mind numbly blank of all responses. Whatever expression he made just then must have been appalling indeed, for she smiled at him. “Now that you know my name, it is only fair for you to tell me yours.”

Shen Yuan squinted; he only knew her last name! But still he introduced himself, “This one is Shen Yuan, xianshi.”

She hummed an acknowledgement. “Go back to sleep Xiao-Yuan.”

Shen Yuan didn’t argue with her and simply curled up by the fire again. “Xianshi should sleep too.”

“I will. Later.”

Shen Yuan didn’t press and, this time when he slept, he slept all the way til dawn.

Su-xianshi told him there was no need to make medicine today, so instead they stayed cloistered away in the temple, eating cold, dry meatbuns. Maybe it was because he hadn’t left the temple like usual that day, but incessant pressure and anticipation frayed at his nerves. He couldn’t help pacing back and forth in the temple while Su-xianshi methodically polished her sword.

Eventually, Su-xianshi asked him to open the windows facing the Luo River despite the steady snowfall outside. By then, a thin sheen of frosty slush had accumulated on the grimy streets outside, but the river still rushed in turbulent flow, pristine flowers of foam colliding midair with snowflakes, making the dusk of twilight feel even more solitary.

Shen Yuan had given up on pacing by this point, sitting down and staring in turn at Su-xianshi, the floor, and the scenery for want of anything else to do. That was how Shen Yuan first was notified of the demons’ return without any enhanced hearing or vision of his own. It was merely Su-xianshi’s expression.

She had been staring at the window when, suddenly, the tension at her brow disappeared completely. Her eyes widened, reflecting brightly the light of their dying fire. Her shoulders fell back, her entire body relaxing, and she outright let go of the grip on her sword.

Shen Yuan followed her gaze to the open window. Slowly, from the depths of the endless shadow, a single point of light emerged. A man stood at the bow of a boat, lantern in hand. Before the ship even docked, he leapt, bounding over an enormous distance, and bypassed the doors entirely. He ducked immediately through the open window.

Shen Yuan scrambled back and moved instinctively towards the altar; if that Zhuzhi-lang was any measure to go by, Shen Yuan didn’t want to be noticed too much by this man.

The man—no, the demon—headed straight to Su-xianshi, falling to both knees before her as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Xiyan!” he said with reverence. His hands rose to gently cup her face, and, in a voice that made Shen Yuan feel immensely like a voyeur, he repeated softly, “Xiyan…”

Shen Yuan decided to just turn around and stare at the altar. What a riveting sword sculpture that piece must have been before it got smashed. Very detailed. Very fine. Very princely.

Despite his best efforts, however, Shen Yuan was still able to hear their voices.

“You’ve suffered,” the man sighed.

“I’m fine.” The words were curt, but Su-xianshi—well, no, she must be Su Xiyan—spoke in a soft way that did not match her typical composure at all. “The little one is fine as well. Here, feel.”

Shen Yuan heard a rustle of cloth and then a soft gasp from the demon; presumably he was feeling Su Xiyan’s stomach. “Xiyan, you know what my blood is capable of. I know you rightfully have reservations about what the, ah, cure may entail, but I swear”—another pause for drama—“upon heaven and earth, upon my blood and my life, I will extract it from you once neither you nor our child is in danger from the poison.”

“Alright.”

“I shall endeavour to do nothing nefarious to you through the resulting—”

“Alright,” Su Xiyan interrupted, “I accept.”

Outside was the rush of the Luo River under the nascent snow storm. Inside was the soothing crackle of dying flames.

“Are you cer—” the demon started.

“I trust you.”

Something slick and wet sounded over the background rumble of the nearby river, followed immediately by a barely audible exhale. Shen Yuan couldn’t resist his curiosity, turning his head to quickly survey the scene. The demon had dug two fingers grotesquely into his chest, right between his ribs, sinking at least a knuckle deep. He then pulled his fingers out, leaving two holes in his robes and a rapidly closing wound. Within moments, the only indication remaining was the crimson edging left behind on tear in his snowy under robes—and, of course, the rest of the blood, which coalesced into a floating droplet at the tips of his fingers. The demon presented his fingers to Su Xiyan, and she… She really just went and swallowed it!

Shen Yuan turned away again. Someone please release him from this agony. Did they not remember that he was here? Why were they doing this in front of him? There are certain things too indecent for innocent eyes.

Wait… indecent.

Demon’s blood that could cure poison.

Did Airplane rip off that plot device from this book??

There was a rustle, and then Su Xiyan groaned.

“I know,” the demon said. “I’m sorry, Xiyan. I’m here. It will be over soon.”

Shen Yuan wanted to dig a hole deep in the ground and pull down all the dirt. Hiding would be nice. He could sleep for five years and come out old enough to enter a cultivation sect. Instead, he just leaned his forehead softly against the altar, praying to whatever disgraced deity that had once presided over this temple. Between one prayer and the next, Shen Yuan eventually fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Upon waking, he found he had turned in his sleep to face the entrance again. Someone had draped Su Xiyan’s slightly blood-stained cloak on top of him. Su Xiyan and her demon paramour were still sitting by the fire, though the man had somehow procured another cloak from somewhere and laid it on the floor close to the fire so that the both of them didn’t need to sit on the cracked tiles and hay.

Shen Yuan felt incredibly envious.

The two of them were not locked in an embrace anymore. Instead, Su Xiyan sat upright, with the man leaning against her. Sitting down like so, their differences in height wasn’t as pronounced, but it was still obvious enough that it looked somewhat awkward; it looked like a fully grown panther had draped itself over an apathetic wolf.

Zhuzhi-lang was still nowhere to be seen.

Just as Shen Yuan decided he should get up and find some excuse to finally leave this awkward situation, the man started speaking and Shen Yuan once again decided to play dead.

“Xiyan… What do you plan on doing next?”

“Wait until the child is ready to be born and give birth.” Su Xiyan replied, her tone absolutely serious.

The man sighed, equal parts defeated and charmed. “Xiyan, I know you don’t like demons, and think that the demon realm is hell on earth but I want— I hope you will come back to the demon realms with me.” He paused. “I encountered several Huan Hua Palace disciples while I was looking for you; they all have orders to capture you, and if that’s not possible, to kill you. The poison has been cured but you still shouldn’t strain yourself too much.”

Su Xiyan made a noise of acknowledgement.

“If you come to the demon realm, you can stay in my palace. There will be servants there to attend to you; you’ll never be without your desires. It will be safe.” he added quietly, “I will not leave you alone again.”

“Shall I be your guest then?” Su Xiyan asked, no accusation or anger in her voice, only curiosity.

“Only if you wish to be. But I would prefer for you to stay, always.” The man breathed deeply. “Xiyan, I have never made a secret of my feelings, but I think it’s best if I say it properly now. I admire you greatly. I want to be yours, to lay together, to sleep together. I want us to always to always think of one another, wait on one another. I know that I have no right to ask such from you after I have ruined your standing in the cultivation world, but I still hope you will accept me, that you will become my wife and stay by my side. Are you willing, Xiyan?”

There was a long stretch of silence before Su Xiyan replied. “You did not ruin my standing. I chose you. I chose this. Between you and Huan Hua Palace, there was never any true competition, Tianlang-jun.”

If Shen Yuan wasn’t already reclining, he’d fall over. Tianlang-jun. Blood that could cure all poisons but was also really dangerous. This was the father of Luo Binghe, the protagonist of Proud Immortal Demon Way!!!! Shen Yuan didn’t just randomly transmigrate to some xianxia universe. He transmigrated to that horrid stallion novel featuring a ridiculous edgy protagonist orphaned at birth and abandoned in the Luo River!!!

… The Luo River…

Shen Yuan could smack himself. That he’d spent the past five years growing up near the banks of Luo River after falling asleep on a reread of the horrific ending to that horrific stallion epic… Stupid novel. Stupid author.

How could he have missed it?

But wait. Then what was this horrifically lovey-dovey scene unfolding in front of him?! Had he managed to break the plot before the protagonist was even born?! All of his foreknowledge would be forfeit!

As Shen Yuan began to further break down over the fact that he had transmigrated into the trash fire that was Proud Immortal Demon Way, Zhuzhi-lang finally showed up, dragging in with him a small child.

“Junshang, I have retrieved the strange child I spoke of earlier,” Zhuzhi-lang said, presenting another kid that looked a few years older than Shen Yuan.

The boy, who was pale before, started outright trembling when he spotted Tianlang-jun and Su Xiyan. “Please let me go,” he said, getting on his knees and pressing his forehead into the ground. “I promise I didn’t tell anyone else anything, I really don’t know anything to tell. Please let me go home, oh great king.”

Tianlang-jun lifted one brow, a small smile on his lips. “You know who I am?”

The boy squeaked. “No! I have no idea!”

Zhuzhi-lang sighed. “When I first found him he said my name. If he knows who I am by sight alone, he most likely knows who you are as well, Junshang. He also told me to search along the Luo River for missing people and advised me to hide the heavenly demon mark. He definitely knows more than he lets on.”

Hearing this, both the boy and Shen Yuan froze; the boy from fear and Shen Yuan from hope and excitement. For a random eight- or nine-year-old human child to know this much about the characters and setting… Could it be another transmigrator?!

Tianlang-jun waved one hand absentmindedly. “We can take care of it once we return to the palace. Staying here isn’t good for Xiyan.”

Then he turned to look at Shen Yuan, who was still lying on the floor although he was obviously awake, “You shall come with us as well, as our honored guest.”

What the actual fuck?

Perhaps reading the alarm on Shen Yuan’s face, Tianlang-jun smiled again, “Do not worry, both of you shall be treated well. After all, I am indebted to you for helping my family.”

Great Tianlang-jun, ah, this commoner really can’t accept any talk of debts from you!

Chapter Text

Overnight, the Luo River had frozen over at the edges, jagged scraps of ice floating along as the snow continued to fall in a fluffy, hazy mess.

Somehow, Zhuzhi-lang had procured another ship for their travels, one much bigger than the one he and Tianlang-Jun had arrived on. Its floor plan was in the style of a merchant ship. There were only two bedroom-sized spaces and a tiny kitchen, the rest of the modest space had racks and racks of storage shelves —empty, which only slightly encouraged Shen Yuan’s hope that their temporary residence hadn’t been stolen.

Su Xiyan and Tianlang-jun had retreated into the larger of the two rooms as soon as they boarded. Since Zhuzhi-lang stayed out on the deck to steer, Shen Yuan took the chance to drag the other boy into the smaller room. It’s a space that two adults would have had issue sharing, with barely enough space on the ground to fit in two bedrolls, but both Shen Yuan and the other boy were much smaller. As Shen Yuan shook out the bedrolls and blankets, the other boy found the corner furthest away from the door and sat scrunched up with his head on his knees, muttering incoherently.

“Oi,” Shen Yuan said, poking the other boy in the shoulder, eliciting a flinch that was really quite a bit more dramatic than necessary. Come on! It’s not like he was evil! It’s not like he was one of the demons out there! “Are you alright?”

“No.”

Shen Yuan waited, but no elaboration came. “What’s your name?” Look, they were about to sleep in the same room; it's just rude not to at least introduce yourself. “I’m Shen Yuan.”

“Shen Yuan?” the other boy said. “Who’s Shen Yuan?” Then, under his breath, he muttered something.

“What was that?”

“Uhhh nothing. Nothing at all. Where are you from? Who are your parents?”

“Near here. They sold me to the slavers, but I escaped,” Shen Yuan replied, deadpan. “Who are you?”

“Slavers? But you escaped. Nine? But that doesn’t make sense; you’re supposed to be older than me by like a decade... The timeline’s all wonky! What happened what did I do??”

Okay there was absolutely no way this kid wasn’t also a transmigrator. But really? Could he be less subtle? Sure, canon was a shit storm with an OP protagonist and idiotic antagonists, but doesn’t this fellow transmigrator care at all what he might seem like? If Shen Yuan went about muttering about how none of this is real, he’d have been left for the demons years ago!

… But wait… How did his homeworld bro figure things out before him?

“Oi,” he said again, less friendly than before. “Answer me! Who are you?” He’d meant for it to sound threatening, but he’d forgotten that this body was barely five years old, so all that happened was he ended up looking adorably furious.

“Eh?” The other transmigrator looked somewhat bewildered. “Oh. Uh, hi Yuanyuan. Big brother is named Shang Wensheng, but you can just call me Shang-gege!”

…

“Go fuck yourself.” Really, there was no other way he could have responded. “I didn’t get stuck in this teenage wankfest of a novel in the body of a nameless NPC just so I could get treated like a five year old, you sorry excuse of a transmigrator.”

The so-called Shang Wensheng froze in his patronising smile for a moment, then coughed rather unnecessarily in Shen Yuan’s face. “You… You transmigrated too?”

Shen Yuan plopped down heavily, then nodded curtly.

“Are you, ah, were you a… fan?”

“Of the half-digested word salad that spewed from the mouth of some developmentally challenged middle schooler in the spasms of a wet dream?” Shen Yuan didn’t dignify the question with an answer.

An awkward silence stretched between them.

Shen Yuan cleared his throat. “I mean. We’re stuck here anyways. What about you? You seemed to know quite a bit about this universe.” Which, honestly, hadn’t struck him as odd until now, but Shen Yuan had been a loyal consumer of internet merchandise. He’d read the entire epic and paid for all of the special editions to read the extras. He’s almost certain that Zhuzhi-lang has never been mentioned! The most that was mentioned was Tianlang-jun having had a “trusted general and confidant”. And yet Zhuzhi-lang had said that this boy had recognised him on sight...

Shang Wensheng coughed again, slightly awkwardly. “It’s um, a long story.”

“Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky,” Shen Yuan said, only about seventy percent sure he’s right. It was the juvenile penname of the stupid fuck who wrote the piece of shit world in which they currently resided.

Shang Wensheng froze, then sighed. “Yes, that’s me. So you’re an anti-fan then. What was your handle? Were you anyone prolific?”

Shen Yuan cleared his throat a bit awkwardly. “Peerless Cucumber.”

“Peerless Cucumber?”

“Sound familiar?”

“N-no.”

Silence stretched between them again, broken only by the low cracks of ice hitting the hull of the boat.

Shang Wensheng broke it first, “So, ah, should I call you Peerless Cucumber? Or do you prefer Shen Yuan? You said you didn’t know what character you were.”

“Shen Yuan is fine. I’m pretty sure I’m an NPC. My parents called me Er-lang.” If you call me Yuanyuan again I’ll castrate you, was, with effort, swallowed. “Are you anyone special? What do I call you?”

Shang Wensheng/Airplane threw his head back in despair. “I got put into Shang Qinghua! Can you believe the luck? I can never go within fifty leagues of Cang Qiong Mountain.”

“Wait, Shang Qinghua? Anding Peak! You’ll become peak lord!”

“What? No! I’ll die! I’m cannon fodder, remember?! That’s worse than NPC! I don't want to die getting choked out by Mobei-jun even if he is my favourite!”

Ignoring the degenerate confession, Shen Yuan said, “Just don’t betray them then?!” He was starting to realise why every character seemed lacking in IQ. (It was a reflection of the author.)

“Even then, Anding Peak is cultivation trash heap! I refuse to spend however many years cultivating only to become the fucking lord of stewards and janitors! No. I’ll start a business. I researched quite a bit for this novel, you know? I know how to do many things that’d be useful in this day and age. Well. In theory, that is. And the Shang family is a merchant family, so I’ll just join the family business!”

Before the rambling could continue, Shen Yuan cut in, “So what do I call you then, Great Airplane-sama? Shang Wensheng? Shang Qinghua? What’s your real name?” When Shen Yuan didn’t get a response, he added, “It’s only fair. Shen Yuan is my real name.”

The Great Airplane waited, then sighed, then finally said “My real name is Shang Guoguang, but you can’t call me that. My name here is Shang Wensheng, because that’s what Shang Qinghua was called before he was peak lord, apparently.” That last word was muttered under his breath. “And since I won’t ever be peak lord, I’m Shang Wensheng from now on!”

Shen Yuan grimaced and sat back on his hands. "Well, then, Wensheng-ge,” he said with a fakely saccharine voice, “what are we gonna do? Do we follow along like good little boys?"

Shang Wensheng shook his head near frantically. "No! No, that's a terrible idea. You have to remember how terrible the demon realm is when Bing-ge first left the Endless Abyss! Demons in general really don't like humans and weak human children are prime sources of food! Tianlang-jun might have promised to treat us well but the only thing he really cares much about at this point is Su Xiyan and Zhuzhi-lang. You think he’s gonna supervise us constantly like some kindly preschool matron? We’ll be eaten alive by his servants. Literally. And once we arrive it'll be near impossible to leave, and I would prefer to spend this new life relaxing and living it up thank you very much!"

At least they were in agreement there. While the demon realm was filled with lots of extremely fascinating monsters, Shen Yuan currently was in no position to study or fight them. He also wasn't interested in dying prematurely due to the negligence of a lovesick demon lord.

Shang Wensheng continued babbling in the background. "So anyways, I was thinking, they can't reach the borderlands through the Luo River, so we'd have to get off and take a short road trip as well, right? We could just leave while we're passing through one of the border cities!"

Shen Yuan's brow furrowed. "And you think they'd just let us go?"

Shang Wensheng smiled, gaps of missing milk teeth. "Well Tianlang-jun said we're Su Xiyan and baby Binghe's enren, right? He wouldn't truly harm us even if we left, and with how weak Su Xiyan is he probably wouldn't even waste time making Zhuzhi-lang chase after us. If it doesn't work you can always cash in your debt with Su Xiyan and save us!"

The nonchalance with which he said it all was slightly disturbing to Shen Yuan, and in response to his doubtful expression, Shang Wensheng sighed with exaggerration.

"Come on, bro, I'm their creator! Don't you trust me to know my own children?!" he asked with a coaxing smile.

Shen Yuan didn't dignify that with an answer, simply giving him another deadpan look.

Shang Wensheng scratched the back of his head. "Ah, so savage. Anyways, do you know where you’ll go when we escape? Do you think you can find your family again?"

Shen Yuan shifted uncomfortably, “I'd just be a burden."

When Shang Wensheng didn’t respond, Shen Yuan glanced up. He expected to see pity, but all there was on Shang Wensheng’s face was empathy.

"What are you going to do then?" Shen Yuan said, trying to move away from uncomfortable topics.

"I’ll go home, of course. My family runs a business in a city by the borderlands. Originally, the Shang family got cheated by a business partner and all of them ended up dying except for Shang Qinghua, which is why he ended up joining Cang Qiong Mountain Sect at an age that wasn't optimal for cultivating. He wanted to learn cultivation to get revenge but then he gave up because he was too terrible at it and because he realized revenge would probably just get him killed so instead he vowed to live as well as he could... Except he kinda turned into the same type of person as the person on whom he wanted to take vengeance, you know?"

There was a pause, in which Shen Yuan was probably supposed to take a moment to appreciate the poetic irony. Except Shen Yuan was all too aware how un-literary the original webnovel was.

Shang Wensheng let out a small sigh at his lack of appreciation. "So I have to go back to stop the disaster from happening... Oh! You can come stay with us! If I tell them you saved my life they'd have to let you stick around."

Shen Yuan considered it for a moment. It wasn't a bad idea... Based on his experiences in the past week and a half, it was clear that Shen Yuan wasn't cut out for living on the streets. But an extra mouth to feed was quite the burden... Maybe he could help out and work for them in exchange for room and board? That should tide him over until he could join Cang Qiong Mountain.

"Alright." Then, very formally, "I shall be in your care."

A wide smile lit up Shang Qinghua’s face. "Don’t be so polite! After all, we're from the same hometown!"

Despite Shen Yuan's doubts, Shang Wensheng's plan worked very smoothly. After two days on the boat, they disembarked in the very border city where the Shang Clan was based. While everyone slept during the night, the two of them left the inn and slipped off back to the Shang estate, where they were greeted with a shocked and bewildered family.

It was a moderately sized estate, perhaps even on the small side considering they were merchants. It seemed that the family wasn’t doing exactly great considering the whole place only had four servants: the grandmother’s dowry maid, the cook, and two manservants.

Shang Wensheng's family was also quite small, consisting only of his paternal grandmother and his parents. Shang Wensheng’s parents’ delight had dimmed upon seeing that their wayward son had dragged back with him the scrawny Shen Yuan, but his grandmother didn’t seem to mind at all. Either way, Shen Yuan and Shang Wensheng were led into the sitting room where Shang Wensheng falteringly explained a high edited version of events to his family. By the end of it all, his parents started looking at Shen Yuan with a little bit more sympathy.

“Anyways, I know I’ve caused a lot of trouble, but I owe Shen-didi my life! You’ve always said that a man must repay his debts, so please! Can we let Shen-didi stay? He won’t cause any trouble!”

Grandmother Shang smiled kindly, “Of course Yuan-er can stay!” She looked at her son and daughter-in-law firmly, as if daring one of them to disagree.

Shang Wensheng’s mother looked like she wanted to protest, but held herself back. His father simply sighed; it wasn’t as if he could disobey the old matriarch over this.

"Aiyah... You two look so tired!" Grandmother Shang sighed as she fussed over them. "Come over to my courtyard and I'll get Lan-sher to make you two some food."

Shen Yuan paused, glancing at Shang Wensheng’s parents hesitantly.

Grandmother Shang stood up and pulled him into a loose embrace at the shoulder. "Come now, Yuan-er. You're a part of this family now too!"

Shen Yuan swallowed thickly and quickly followed her and Shang Wensheng, the cold of the night banished as he entered the Shang matriarch’s small courtyard.

By the time Su Xiyan and Tianlang-jun arrived back at the southern palace, Su Xiyan was already within the seventh month of pregnancy. None of the carefully vetted healers that Tianlang-jun brought in had any good news for them. Even though Tianlan-jun’s blood had neutralized the poison, the damage had been done already. Su Xiyan would probably never be able to carry another child to full term.

Despite Tianlang-jun’s warnings to keep their mouths shut over the news however, requests for marriage alliances tripled within weeks. Thus, Zhuzhi-lang was tasked with cleaning out the court of southern palace; Tianlang-jun had no tolerance for people that did not understand simple instructions.

Despite Su Xiyan's previous statement that she was simply waiting for the child to grow so she could give birth, she refused to stay on bedrest. The various vassels had expected the human that their Junshang had brought back to be an innocent, demure flower. Instead, he had brought back a deadly sword. Where others might have balked at the sheer scope and breadth of duties one would have to take on as the legitimate wife of the ruler of the realm, Su Xiyan plunged in head first.

Tianlang-jun's study, which had long languished untouched except when he wished for a place to quietly read his novels, was suddenly occupied for most hours of the day as Su Xiyan slowly sorted through the politics of the demon realm.

Tianlang-jun was by no means an incompetent sovereign; he was a lazy one. As long as the various noble families continued to swear their allegiance and pay their tributes, Tianlang-jun would leave them alone. And while that was perfectly acceptable (since demons had never been much for centralized government, or even governance in general), it became an issue when said noble families started thinking that their Junshang was growing soft and weak for marrying a human; assassinations, open duels —even skirmishes broke out, all of them swiftly and ruthlessly cut down, but the sheer existence of them was irksome enough.

And so, it was in this turbulent time that Su Xiyan gave birth to a son; on the fifteenth day of the twelfth month, with the full moon high in the sky, illuminating the demon realm with a gentle but cold light.

The entire palace had been set on the highest alert possible pending the birth of Tianlang-jun's heir, the black army having cleared out any possible threat within a hundred leagues. The birthing chamber was deep within the palace itself, wards made from heavenly demon blood laid down as soon as Su Xiyan went into labour, Zhuzhi-lang standing guard at the only entrance and Tianlang-jun disregarding all tradition to sit by his wife's bedside. There were no healers or midwives present in the chamber, only the mother and father, neither of them trusting any outsider enough to guide them through the birth.

Of course, with a heavenly demon present, healers weren’t exactly needed.

Once the safety of both mother and child was ensured, Tianlang-jun dubbed his heir Shengxia-jun after the tradition of their bloodline, marking him a full member of the only remaining branch of the demons marked with divinity. Su Xiyan bequeathed her son a human name: Binghe, for she would never forget the sight that day they left the temple, staring out at the frozen Luo River as Tianlang-Jun offered her his hand to help her onto the boat, snow falling in flurries of purest white.

That moment, even more so than their wedding, was the moment Su Xiyan completely, wholeheartedly, resolutely decided she would spend the rest of her life with him, with this ridiculous, dramatic, demon Lord.

And so, Binghe was born into the world with two living parents and raised as a prince.

Chapter Text

Life at the Shang estate was surprisingly easy to get used to. Although Shen Yuan was in no way related to them, they still treated him well and really did seem intent on letting Shen Yuan just... stay under their roof and eat their food without doing anything in return. Which was great for him since had no special talents whatsoever, and he was really only interested in eating good food and reading, but he still felt a little guilty about the whole affair.

That was, of course, until he walked in on Shang Wensheng with what looked like a very low tech and haphazard chemistry experiment in his room.

“What are you doing?” He asked, frozen by the entrance to his room.

“Oh! Xiao-Yuan, it’s just you!” Shang Wensheng lost his deer-in-headlights look immediately. Despite Shen Yuan’s protests, after the cook started calling him by that nickname, there really was no going back. To everyone at the Shang estate, Shen Yuan was Xiao-Yuan —that is, everyone except Grandmother Shang, who still called him Yuan-er.

When Shen Yuan continued to stare him down, completely unimpressed, Shang Wensheng quickly added, “I’m trying to make scented soaps. Quick, close the door before someone sees!”

Shen Yuan complied somewhat reluctantly, closing the door behind him and pulling up another chair to sit beside Shang Wensheng. “Why are you making soap in my room.” The unspoken you have your own room was heard by both of them.

Shang Wensheng raised a hand to scratch his head but stopped right before he made contact as he remembered his hands were covered in oil. “Well the last time I tried to do it in my room Fang-momo found out and told my parents? And then they yelled at me for messing around and playing with lye.”

Shen Yuan frowned. “Are you that bored?”

“No! It’s just that obviously the Shang family isn’t doing super great right? Like it’s not bad but it’s not sustainable. That’s why they would make that bad deal in the future, because the situation would be too bleak. And soap hasn’t been invented yet! Well, synthetic soap hasn’t been invented yet; they’re still using soap beans! If we can manage to make some with a perfumed scent and start selling it, we’ll be rolling in money! I’ll get to be a filthy rich fu’erdai!”

Shen Yuan sighed. "Alright. How can I help?"

Shang Wensheng brightened. "You want to help?! Thanks! Here, start mixing this together."

Shen Yuan received the wooden mixing rod that was thrust at him with only a little apprehension and started mixing as instructed.

The soap, unsurprisingly, sold very very well. At first, Shang Wensheng's parents were astounded by what the children had given them, but then came the suspicion that they had stolen it. Quicker to lie, Shen Yuan explained that they had 'accidentally' discovered how to make it when playing with lye in the kitchens. Which then lead to a severe round of scolding, and then a disappointed talking-to from Grandma Shang.

But eventually, when the dust had settled and it was determined that Shen Yuan would not be kicked out for being a bad influence and endangering the Shang family's only son, they began to plan business.

Within the next few weeks news spread all over the city that the Shang family was selling some sort of liquid that was many times more effective than soap beans, guaranteed to make all sorts of household chores much easier. The prices weren't absurd and it came in two types, one scented and one unscented. The money poured in quickly until the supply couldn't meet demand.

And since no one knew how to make it except for two children, an old lady, her maid, and two very very busy merchants, production was excruciatingly slow. Shang Wensheng's parents didn't trust new servants to not run off with the recipe if they were brought in to help, so in the end the soap making was left to the two children, Grandma Shang, Fang-momo, and Madam Shang.

As this was happening, news came from the cultivation world that all four great cultivation sects had declared a state of emergency over Tianlang-jun's plan to invade the human realm. The traitorous Su Xiyan had been seduced by the demon lord and betrayed the sect and master that had raised her since birth. Vile and greedy, she had helped him steal countless treasures from Huan Hua Palace and ambushed her former martial siblings, killing countless alongside her depraved lover. Any humans that saw demons were strongly advised to report to nearby cultivators so that the demons could be properly interrogated and dispatched. Anyone with information regarding Tianlang-jun were strongly encouraged to come forward in order to prevent any further loss of life.

Huan Hua Palace had even announced a meeting for all cultivators to discuss further precautions and actions. Some rumours even said that the Palace Master had mentioned besieging Tianlang-jun’s palace.

When Shen Yuan and Shang Wensheng heard the news, they’d been eating lunch with Grandma Shang at a small noodle shop. In response, Shang Wensheng had dropped a wonton on the ground.

It was too much! The Palace Master really was absolutely shameless! But Shen Yuan worried that if the Palace Master actually managed to convince them to do something so stupid, by the time Shen Yuan got old enough to join, there wouldn’t be any sects left!

But in the end, there was nothing they could do but wait and watch like everyone else. Shang Wensheng even had the audacity to pat his back once they got back to the estate. “Xiao-Yuan ah, it’ll only be another seven or eight years until Yue Qingyuan becomes sect master! He’s a bit dumb but not dumb enough that he’d do something that could wipe out his whole sect!” Shang Wensheng paused there and let out an awkward laugh before he whispered under his breath, “Well... most of the time.”

Shen Yuan narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”

Which lead to Shang Wensheng nervously, but somewhat excitedly, sharing the hidden backstory of Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu.

“There were a few times I wanted to reveal it, but no one liked Shen Qingqiu anyways, and no one really asked why Yue Qingyuan was so nice to him, so I just buried it. It doesn’t make for a good revenge fantasy if the asshole has depth, you know?”

Shen Yuan was too angry to say anything at all. This. This was the exact problem with entire fucking novel! Enough potential to always make Shen Yuan go back to it even though each new chapter held only more disappointment and recycled papapa scenes!

A few more months passed, and in the end the leaders of the various sects decided against mass suicide via a ridiculously OP demon lord and instead entered a strange Cold War-like state. This decision was partly influenced by the news that Su Xiyan had actually given birth to a half-demon child, a child Tianlang-jun personally named Shengxia-jun and announced him as his heir with great fanfare.

Situated so close to the borderlands, Shen Yuan and Shang Wensheng also caught wind of gossip from the demonic circles as well; of the grand wedding that Tianlang-jun had with Su Xiyan, declaring in front of all of the most powerful demon clans that Su Xiyan was his official wife, would be his only consort, and as such, in a gesture that only an all-powerful demon could command, had the heads of those respective families kneel and pay respects to a human cultivator.

It made Shen Yuan really sit back and take it all in; the old Proud Immortal Demon Way had been truly blasted into smithereens. Nearly nothing of the old plot was left. Even Luo Binghe wasn't called Luo Binghe anymore!

He wondered what sort of person this new protagonist would turn out to be. To grow up in the lap of luxury, with loving parents... Would he remain that kind and pure white lotus? Was that even possible when you had to grow up as the heir to essentially the ruler of the demon realm? Would he be blackened from the start then? The ruthless Bing-ge that was calculating and manipulative, crushing his enemies without even blinking?

Shen Yuan quickly shifted his thoughts away from that direction. That was all none of his business! Black lotus or white lotus: Shen Yuan had no intention of getting anywhere near the protagonist.

But... With the way things are now, wouldn't that mean that Luo Binghe wouldn't get to meet Ning Yingying and Liu Mingyan?! Shen Yuan shook his head; no, no he had to! Those two were principal members of Luo Binghe's harem! They were fated to be together! It was all inevitable, like the sun rising in the east and setting in the west! Shen Yuan had faith that despite the massive plot deviations, parts of the plot would right itself eventually. Luo Binghe would meet all the people he needed to meet and eliminate all the scum that got in his way!

Except... Except in this life he wouldn't meet that washerwoman that would have been his mother at all. Shen Yuan frowned. That was a bit sad, wasn't it? They would have been all each other had to rely on, except now she would have nothing because Shen Yuan messed up the timeline by helping Binghe’s birth mother survive, leaving his would-be adoptive mother to die alone and abused.

The next day, while Shang Wensheng's parents once again quarrelled over hiring people to help with production, Shen Yuan made an uncharacteristic interjection. And that was how the Shang household found itself with a new assistant in the form of a bewildered washerwoman.

The first time Binghe remembered going to the human world, he had been three years old. It had been something he had looked forward to for a long time, the chance to have his parents all to himself —not just for a few hours, but for days! Well, Zhuzhi-gege would be there too, but that was it, no guards, no servants, just family.

However, there were so many rules for trips to the human realm. He had to stay by his parents side constantly; mentioning demons was forbidden, and when people asked him what his name was he had to say Su Binghe. (Normally, in the demon realm, no one called him by that name. His family called him Binghe in private and Shengxia-jun in public. Everyone else called him “Your Highness”.) They also had to cover up their demon marks, but since Binghe was still too young to properly control his demonic powers his mother had to place a temporary seal on him.

They’d see plays in the human realm, where humans dressed up with strange face paint and danced a story that apparently wasn’t always real. They’d browse the markets, and he’d be allowed to eat the street food, which was much better than the fare back home. Mother would always smile indulgently when they passed by the hawthorn berry stalls and buy both him and father the largest skewers they had on display, coated with roasted sesame seeds and glistening with caramelised sugar. There were also so many festivals in the human realm; they seemed to find one no matter where they went. (Later, Binghe would realise that perhaps his mother had planned these trips with the festivals in mind, just in time for all the important holidays.) Binghe would stick close to his mother, hands clinging to her robes while his father jumped from stall to stall and, to Binghe’s delight and his mother’s fond exasperation, brandished whatever plaything or curiosity he had newly discovered.

Though the trips remained enjoyable, the newness of it all died down within a few years; they always returned to the same few cities, even though his mother had told him that the human realm had many more cities, more cities than even the demon realm.

“Why don’t we go there then? I want to see where Mama grew up,” Binghe asked. They were near the start of their most recent excursion. The four of them were sitting in a large room in an inn listening to his father play testing a new pipa.

At his question though, his father stopped abruptly, holding down the strings to dampen the lingering resonance.

Zhuzhi-gege stopped fiddling with the new wooden snakes they’d bought for Binghe and frowned. "Ah. Binghe... That's..."

"A bad idea." His father finished, expression veering towards the type he wore when he was in court or talking to people he disliked.

Binghe turned to his mother, half hoping for an explanation or maybe even a refutation.

However, his mother just looked stern —more stern than usual, even. She reached over to pat his head once, hand stroking his hair gently as she pulled away. "The place where Mama grew up is not a nice place. Binghe should not go there now. We wouldn’t be welcome."

Hearing these words, Binghe frowned, squirmed off Zhuzhi-gege's lap (where he’d been playing with his new toys) and clambered over to his mother instead to hug her around her waist.

She sighed and patted his head again. "Binghe is getting older now. You can't keep doing this, especially not in public."

Despite her words, her other hand came to rub at his back gently. In response, Binghe let out a muffled sound of agreement but held her just a little tighter still.

Behind them, his father started playing the pipa again.

As the years passed, the Shang family grew more and more prosperous, to the point where everyone in the borderlands knew of them. After the initial 'invention' of soap, Shang Wensheng and Shen Yuan continued 'developing' various cosmetics and perfumes. So when Shen Yuan announced his intent to leave the care of the Shang family to join Cang Qiong Mountain, they were understandably slightly reluctant. However, Shen Yuan was insistent; Yue Qingyuan was sect master already (several years early, in direct contradiction to the calculations of the Great Airplane), meaning Cang Qiong Mountain would be a good place to study cultivation for someone who wanted to avoid suiciding into demons. Moreover, the optimal age for starting cultivation was within ages eight and twelve; any earlier caused dangerous qi deviations, and any later even great natural talent would be diminished. Since Shen Yuan had turned ten at the beginning of the year, he had put it off long enough. Well technically he could stay another year or two, but he didn’t want to risk being too late.

As soon as Shang Wensheng's parents came to terms with his imminent departure however, they came to the conclusion that Shang Wensheng should attempt to join Cang Qiong Mountain as well. Afterall, wealth was only transient, but cultivation meant a chance of immortality, to ascend and become an existence akin to a god. No matter how slim the chances were, what parent didn't secretly hope that their child was the one? Shang Wensheng was too old to properly make the age cut, since he would soon be turning fourteen, but they still stuck to the belief that perhaps their son was special enough.

Thus, despite Shang Wensheng’s numerous reasons, excuses, and protestations, he and Shen Yuan were sent to Cang Qiong Mountain together.

“Are you actually going to join Cang Qiong Mountain?” Shen Yuan asked, feeling a small pang of sympathy as Shang Wensheng groaned.

Due to the Shang family’s affluence, they traveled in a horse drawn carriage, flanked by a guards that were to escort them all the way to the foot of the mountain where Shang Wensheng’s asinine hole digging test was to be conducted. If Shen Yuan was honest, he wasn’t sure if the guards were there to protect them or to ensure Shang Wensheng wouldn’t run away.

“No way! They can drag me there but they can’t force me to dig a hole! None of the peak lords will pick me once they see I haven’t dug a hole, and then I can just go home!”

What he said wasn't incorrect. Cang Qiong Mountain was his and Shang Wensheng's only chance at being accepted into a major sect. The Shang family was too prominent of a borderland family nowadays, and suspicious to most sects due to their sheer proximity to the demons. Since Yue Qingyuan has taken over the sect, Cang Qiong Mountain has been known to be the only major sect with a more relaxed policy regarding demon activity. As expected, Yue Qingyuan had let down his guard against a demon lord that hasn’t made a move in years. This, of course, drew in plenty of criticism from other sects, the foremost of which being Huan Hua Palace, but Cang Qiong Mountain had a good deal of political freedom; not much can be done to the largest sect on this continent.

Shang Wensheng nudged him. "Say, which peak do you want to end up in?"

Shen Yuan thought for a moment before replying. "There isn't a peak I specifically want to go to, but there are peaks I definitely want to avoid: Bai Zhan, An Ding, Ku Xing, and Qing Jing. They would all be awful."

Shang Wensheng nodded in agreement. "You should be fine, though. Liu Qingge only picks people who offer themselves up as sacrificial lambs. An Ding usually takes the least talented ones but you're not too terrible when it comes to spiritual energy —from what I can tell, at least. Ku Xing only takes on people that specifically request for it. As for Qing Jing... You should be fine on that front too; Shen Qingqiu doesn't take on any new disciples this year!"

With that, Shen Yuan settled down to nap, reassured in his safety from cannon fodder and scummy villains.

Clearly, humans could not understand the will of Heaven. Of all the possibilities that Shen Yuan could have imagined, this really wasn't one of them!

Everything had been perfectly on track. They had all been provided with the undyed initiate uniforms to change into. Then everyone had been led to a clearing to start digging their holes an hour after dawn. There were more candidates this year than usual, perhaps because it was the first year since the new generation of peak lords had ascended. Any disciples chosen today would be among the first; it wouldn’t be a guarantee of being head disciple, but it was at least a guarantee of some sort of status within the peak. Throughout the day, the various Peak Lords watched over them from a cliff above until finally, just before the sun was about to set, all twelve Peak Lords gathered in the clearing to pick students. Those that had performed absolutely abysmally were sent away first, and Shang Wensheng waved happily at Shen Yuan as he left.

Twenty or so remained, Shen Yuan being one of them. They were all lined up facing the Peak Lords, who were also lined up according to their ranking. Most of them looked the way how Shen Yuan had expected them to look —that is, except Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu. Why? Liu Qingge looked way too pretty! With delicate and elegant features, any woman would pale in comparison standing next to him! And Shen Qingqiu, the scum villain extraordinaire, somehow looks four- or five-in-ten like Shen Yuan himself!

This fact alone had already caught Shen Yuan completely off guard, and then he felt the heavy gaze of everyone settling on him. The reason quickly became obvious as a large figure loomed over him. Yue Qingyuan had moved to stand in front of him!

The freshly appointed sect master stood in front of him, staring at his face for several moments before asking, “What’s your name?”

Shen Yuan hastily bowed and replied, “This one is called Shen Yuan, Sect Master Yue.”

Yue Qingyuan looked shocked for a moment, head briefly jerking backwards, as if searching for something. Before the turn was completed, however, he stopped and faced Shen Yuan once more. “I see. How old are you?”

“By lunar count, ten, Sect Master Yue.” Here, he bowed his head, covering his wandering eyes with his hair. Sneaking another look at the rest of the peak lords, he discovered, just as he suspected, Shen Qingqiu was glaring at him. Oh Great Villain Shen, please forgive this commoner his mistake of existing in front of you!

Yue Qingyuan nodded. “I see. I wish to—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Shen Qingqiu interrupted him, “Zhangmen-Shixiong, I would like to take this child on as my disciple.”

He quickly closed the gap between them with a few elegant strides, coming to stand beside Yue Qingyuan. Shen Yuan wanted to cry, wanted to drag Shang Wensheng back here and shake him a good few times! Game over! It really was game over; as soon as Shen QIngqiu opened his mouth, there was no possibility of this ending well for him!

In the background, Liu Qingge growled out “You—” but was quickly pulled back by Mu Qingfang, who shook his head at him wordlessly.

Yue Qingyuan’s eyes darted between the two of them and finally, inevitably, he nodded his head towards Shen Qingqiu. “If Shidi would take him on as a disciple, then please go ahead.”

Behind them, several of the other Peak Lords sighed heavily. Shen Yuan wanted to scream; why are you guys sighing when I’m the one who’s going to suffer for the rest of my days?!

Shen Yuan felt like he was dreaming. Well, more so than the typical extent to which he felt that way ever since he’d woken up as an infant, but he was currently on Qing Jing Peak! The same Qing Jing Peak where Luo Binghe had spent his adolescence being abused and beaten black and blue!

And now, right in front of him, unfolded a scene that was much much too familiar. Shen Yuan knelt on the ground in front of Shen Qingqiu, who held in his hands a cup of tea that Shen Yuan and made for him, as was customary of disciples first entering the tutelage of a master. They were in the bamboo house, and a senior disciple stood beside the seated Shen Qingqiu, who was looking down at Shen Yuan with an indecipherable expression.

"Where are you from?"

"This disciple was born in a small village near the Luo River," Shen Yuan replied levelly.

"That’s closer to Huan Hua Palace, isn’t it? Why did your parents send you here?" Shen Qingqiu asked, blowing gently on the steaming tea. He had yet to take a single sip

"This disciple did not grow up in the care of his birth family, Shizun. I arrived from Jiangluan City, near the borderlands."

"An orphan?" He pressed, looking at Shen Yuan with eyes as cold and sharp as the Xiuya sword resting beside him. Shen Yuan felt a cold shiver crawling up his spine.

"I wouldn’t know, Shizun. This disciple has yet to see his parents of birth in a very long time."

Shen Qingqiu's expression remained still and, if Shen Yuan didn’t know better, almost serene. "Why did you come to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect?"

"This disciple wishes to learn cultivation and study the different types of monsters in this world."

Shen Qingqiu gave him another intrusively appraising look, and then, slowly, took one single sip from the cup of tea before setting it down beside him. "Li Feng, take him to the new dorms and explain the rules to him."

Shen Yuan felt like he had definitely dodged a bullet, even if wasn't quite sure how he did it.

By the time Binghe was five, he began to understand why people were afraid of him and his father. There were a lot of complexity to this regarding which he wasn’t completely certain, but he did understand that being a heavenly demon had something to do with it. He also knew that his mother wasn't a heavenly demon —wasn't a demon at all— and that it made both her and Binghe special.

He understood that this was also why, every once in a while, some demons would try to kill them. None of them had ever come close since Binghe was never truly alone; he wasn't allowed to go anywhere without either his mother, father, or Zhuzhi-gege present —no one else was considered trustworthy. However, his father did promise that, once Binghe gained better control over his powers, the rule would be lifted because Binghe would be able to handle the attacks by himself.

As time went on, Binghe noticed a pattern to the attacks: they almost never happened within the palace or when he was with father; more commonly he’d be with his cousin, but most often they happened when he was with his mother.

She had a system set up: when someone attacked, Binghe must run to her side immediately, and she would scoop him up and hold him with one arm while she used her other hand to control her sword. He was to hold on as tightly as possible and to remain as calm as he was able; demonic energies from Binghe being upset interfered too much with her cultivation.

Afterwards, she would hold him a little closer, a little longer, and rub his back or pat his head. "Good Binghe, good child," she would say in that soft secret voice that was only for him, and Binghe would delight in the attention and cling just a little longer and soak up the warmth of familial touch.

Neither his father nor Zhuzhi-gege did that if they were with him for the attacks, but there was one thing that all three of them did without fail: from the attackers, they would always extract their name and the clan for which they worked. Binghe never recognized the names; there never seemed to be a pattern, and afterwards Binghe would never hear of those clans again.

That year, his father invited two teachers into the palace to tutor Binghe in more specialised skills. One was a dream demon; the other was a succubus called Meiyin.

It would be the first time Binghe had to recognize anyone as his teacher; before, everything from fighting, to etiquette, to history, to the four scholarly arts had all been taught to him by either his father or mother. His mother had even promised to teach him human cultivation once he grew older, and his control of his demonic powers was better.

But these new guests were important because they could teach things to Binghe that not even his father knew how to do. Despite their prestige, his father insisted that Binghe did not officially become their disciples. "You are my heir, a heavenly demon, to acknowledge a shifu is much more serious than you think. There are too many bonds and debts associated with it. It's best if Binghe just treated them as elders instead, hmm."

It wasn't exactly proper and it didn’t leave his tutors (especially the dream demon) very happy, but Binghe did as he was told because his father was never wrong, so he addressed them as “elder” and “madam”. Despite this, Madam Meiyin still offered to read his fortune when she first arrived as a greeting gift.

Binghe agreed enthusiastically, instantly losing the more serious demeanor he had lately been practicing around strangers. It was said that Madam Meiyin's fortunes were always accurate.

"What would Your Highness like to know about?" she asked when Binghe took a seat across from her.

Many options ran through his mind; in the human realm he often saw humans offering to read fortunes by the roadside. They would offer readings about wealth, health, careers, or love usually. Binghe was rich already, demons didn't get sick, and he obviously was his father's heir, so really the only option left was love. It would be nice, he thought, if he found someone who loved him like his father loved his mother.

"I want to know about my fate in love," he declared, looking back at his mother quickly to confirm that this was alright.

Her face was placid as always, and she didn't interject, which marked approval enough for Binghe to shift his focus back onto Madam Meiyin.

Madam Meiyin procured a flower plucked at the stem to Binghe, "Please breathe on it, Your Highness."

Binghe followed her instructions and watched as the flower bloomed brilliantly, pure white near the center with pale green creeping into the outer petals.

Madam Meiyin pulled the flower closer for inspection, brows raising as she stared at it. Finally she said, "It seems that Your Highness has a very bright and strong red string already it seems. Your fated one has met you but you have yet to return the favour. Your fates are deeply intertwined, and you will save each other's lives numerous times.”

All of it sounded wonderful, but they weren't very helpful for finding that person, so Binghe asked, “Is there anything more specific?”

Madam Meiyin nodded. “Your fated one is your elder... and a little oblivious. You will need to be clear in your intentions. Your fated one is kind and loyal, and, once settled, your hearts will never stray.”

Binghe couldn’t stop his already wide smile from growing brighter. “Do you know the name of my fated?”

Madam Meiyin hesitated before shaking her head.

“You said that they’ve met me already, but when will I meet them?”

“Soon.” she said, smiling enigmatically, obviously well practiced.

Binghe persisted, “What do they look like?”

“Pretty, perhaps a bit frail, but still very attractive.”

“Are they strong? Healthy?” His mother interjected, a slight furrow to her brows.

Madam Meiyin nodded quickly, “Your Majesty need not worry, they only look frail! They will be quite strong once they become an adult and naturally will not suffer from any illnesses either.”

Madam Meiyin turned back towards him, “One more question, Your Highness. Anymore and I will be revealing too much.”

Binghe considered the possible questions carefully before finally asking, “Will we be able to stay together forever?”

Madam Meiyin smiled wryly, “I’m afraid that depends on the both of you, Your Highness.”

Shen Yuan woke at dawn to a cold room and the first silent morning he’d experienced in years. Though the Shang estate became overwhelmingly prosperous in the past few years, they had never bothered to expand much. As such, the estate never felt empty, and it was never quiet. Alone in the newly constructed dorms set aside for Shen Qingqiu’s direct disciples, he almost missed Shang Wensheng’s snoring.

He climbed out of bed and pulled out one of the sets of Qing Jing uniforms he was given yesterday. As the first disciple to call Shen Qingqiu shizun, Shen Yuan had a uniform slightly different to everyone else’s. Still, it was much more elaborate than he’d expected to get on his first day. Not to mention, it seemed that Cang Qiong Mountain followed a dress style that was far more archaic than the styles of Jiangluan City. Despite having had a year or two to practise putting on the type of clothing worn by wealthy merchants like what the Shang family had become, these robes still seemed like some high complexity puzzle. There were five pieces to the three layers, with numerous sashes and ribbons and other decorations he couldn’t figure out at all. By the time he was somewhat convinced that he wasn’t flashing everyone his underrobes, he tied his hair into a knot and headed to the dining hall.

After they’d been dismissed by Shen Qingqiu yesterday, Li Feng had given him a tour of the Peak, so Shen Yuan had a decent idea of where he was going. However, by the time he arrived, everyone was seated and eating already. As he walked past, many of the disciples gave him strange looks; a few were even snickering. Shen Yuan would normally feel highly embarrassed by it all, but he was too out-of-sorts to pay them any mind. Instead he just sat down at the lowest ranking table and ate the bland food quietly.

After breakfast came lessons. Two days out of five, there would be morning and afternoon lessons taught in the learning halls. The lessons weren’t mandatory, but it was expected that disciples mastered what was taught in the learning halls before they started skipping classes. Along with the more typical cultivation material, these lessons included the four scholarly arts. Shen Qingqiu would teach some lessons, but those instances would be rare; not only did he have to attend to his duties as Qing Jing Peak Lord, he focused on his own cultivation most of the time. Thus, the majority of lessons would be taught by the most practised of the elder generation of disciples.

Being the scholarly peak, there was an implicit expectation that everyone who joined the peak was literate and had a basic understanding of the four scholarly arts, and the very first lesson of the day was calligraphy. The problem was, although Shen Yuan wasn't as bad off as Luo Binghe was in canon, he wasn't exactly a master of the four arts. And ... Perhaps he wasn't too great at writing in traditional either.

He could read it just fine! He was very good at reading traditional! Better than the stupid author of this mess was! But in writing, he frequently mixed up certain words or forgot to put in a line here or a dot there. By the end of the lesson, Shen Yuan really regretted not learning traditional more; he really needed to get better at this as fast as possible!

Though no one had high expectations of him since he’d just joined Cang Qiong Mountain yesterday, but this was just too embarrassing! In a desperate attempt to save what little face he had left, he wrote out several of the more artistic and obscure poems he learned in Chinese class; even though some of the words were written incorrectly, at least it showed he wasn’t a complete idiot!

They took a break for lunch afterwards, but before he knew it, it was already time for their second lesson: music. Since playing the qin was one of the four scholarly arts, all disciples on Qing Jing were expected to have, at the very least, basic proficiency with it. Once they gained an acceptable degree of skill, they were allowed to learn or practise other instruments.

While Shen Qingqiu was known by most to be a disagreeable and somewhat average cultivator, even people from outside of Cang Qiong Mountain knew that he had a second defining quality; he was actually a very skilled guqin player! Of course, with Shen Qingqiu being the type of person that he was, he almost never played for others. Before his ascension to the position of Peak Lord, he had only performed publicly twice, and since then, only once. Some even said that to witness Shen Qingqiu playing the qin would required three lifetimes’ worth of luck.

Which was why everyone was shocked when they arrived at the learning hall only to find out that it wasn’t one of the older disciples teaching today; it was actually the peak lord himself!

Even the disciples that didn’t specialize in the guqin brought out their guqin from their qiankun pouches, sitting down eagerly. At the front, Shen Qingqiu didn't even sit down. Instead, he loomed over the disciple sitting closest to the front and said, “Play your best song.”

After one minute, Shen Qingqiu stopped him and listed off a scathing string of (barely) constructive criticisms before finally ending with, “How many years have you been a disciple here? What have you been doing all this time, sleeping?” He turned, sleeves flowing smoothly as he turned to the next disciple and the whole charade repeated itself.

Shen Yuan had sat at the very back of the class because he hadn’t wanted to be noticed, but the situation was backfiring horrendously; the way Shen Qingqiu was making his way around the room, Shen yuan would be the very last one to perform, which meant everyone’s attention would be on him instead of fretting about their own imminent evisceration!

Not for the first time, Shen Yuan cried (internally!) at the unfairness of this situation. Why did Yue Qingyuan have to notice him?! If he hadn’t tried to take him in as a disciple, none of this would have happened! Shen Yuan could have had a nice, normal shizun and foregone all these lessons!

By the time Shen Qingqiu stopped in front of him, a few of the disciples sitting in front of Shen Yuan had started silently weeping. Shen Qingqiu looked down at him, his cold features assessing. However, instead of asking him to play a song, he frowned and said, “What are you wearing?”

Shit. So he had put the robes on wrong after all! “In response to Shizun’s question, this disciple has donned the uniform of Qing Jing Peak.”

"Shameful. If you don't even know how to wear your uniform properly, you shouldn't leave your room. This is Qing Jing Peak, not the streets. Get out of my sight."

“Yes, Shizun. Apologies, Shizun.” Shen Yuan quickly stuffed his shiny new guqin back into his qian kun pouch, bowed, and left.

As soon as he left the learning hall, he let out a sigh of relief. That could have gone worse; if he was Luo Binghe, a violation like that would have resulted in running laps around the mountain or being granted with ten strikes of a bamboo rod.

After consulting a kind-faced zhangshijie, he returned to his too-empty dorm hall and finally sorted out his uniform. He had gotten the most basic parts correct, but certain ribbons and sashes were tied incorrect or placed incorrectly. Now that he was actually wearing it properly, he found he actually looked quite decent in it!

But the satisfaction from this realization quickly faded. He had only been here for one day, and he'd already managed to displeased Shen Qingqiu. With how things were described in canon, it wouldn't be long before the other disciples started with the bullying. After all, how could the disciples of Qing Jing act like anything other than piranhas at the scent of fresh blood?

While Shen Yuan had a more than reasonable tolerance for pain, that really didn't mean he was okay with being beaten up for the next however-many years! And unlike Luo Binghe, he certainly wasn't going to be able to uncover a secret demon heritage and escape from Qing Jing Peak via a handy Endless Abyss... There was no way to transfer between peaks either, which meant Shen Yuan would just have to learn how to cultivate as quickly as possible and then request to be sent down the mountain to help with various requests and missions. Or maybe he could just leave altogether and become a rogue cultivator, wandering the land, helping the poor and discovering new monsters. It would be a nice and peaceful life.

But first, he realised as he turned his attention back to the guqin he laid out on his desk, he needed to learn at least the basics of the qin. It couldn’t be too hard, right? It wasn’t like he didn’t know how to play any instruments —he knew how to play the piano! And he had gone with his little sister to her extracurricular guzheng lessons when he’d been in high school. The theory for both instruments was very similar right? He could do this! Shen Yuan was going to survive these next few years and live as a carefree immortal someday!

Binghe was in a dream. More specifically, he was in a dream that Elder Dream Demon had helped him create. He had spent a few months under the tutelage of Elder Dream Demon already, but he still wasn't able to do what he wanted to do; Binghe wanted to use his dreams to find his fated one.

Of course, Elder Dream Demon had explained to him that, in order to visit another being's dream or pull them into one's own dream, the dreamer had to be quite powerful. Other factors such as how well they knew the other person contributed to the likelihood of success as well.

Binghe failed on both those fronts; no matter how much innate talent he had, he was still a small child, and while Madam Meiyin had said their red string was very strong, Binghe still had no idea who his fated one was. He didn't know their name, appearance, or even which realm they resided in.

But Binghe figured that if he had Elder Dream Demon create the dream and Binghe throw out his senses to try and grab that fated person, maybe it would be enough. Elder Dream Demon disagreed of course, it would be a waste of time, and more importantly a waste of his energy. However, Binghe didn't relent.

The brat’s daily pestering drove Dream Demon near mad, but the most he could do was scold the Binghe slightly. With any other disciple, Dream Demon probably would have already beaten them up for insolence, but humans had strange notions about violence, and while he was unsure of how Junshang would react, he was sure the Queen Consort would pull her sword on him if he tried to punish the little brat. So in the end, he struck a bargain with the child; they would try to do it his way once, and only once. Regardless of whether it worked or not, this would be the one and only time they did this. If he wanted to try again, he must use his own powers. Shengxia-jun had agreed.

Dream Demon never thought it would actually work.

The landscape of the dream was murky and fleeting. Binghe knew they were on a mountain, or in a forest of some sort? The mists were too heavy; he could barely see more than a few feet in front of him, but even with his rudimentary skills, he could sense a third person in the dream right now. That had to be them: his fated one!

Binghe was purely relying on his dream sense to navigate now, feeling for that person. Elder Dream Demon felt powerful and old, and this other person... they felt different in an essential way. Softer... fainter... like a spring breeze warming him all over.

He wasn't sure how long he walked through the fog, only that eventually the presence he was searching for came very, very close. A few more steps, and they would meet. Binghe's heart couldn't stop pounding, the feeble thing slamming frantically against his ribs until he couldn't hear anything except for the gallop of it in his ears. It had reached a deafening volume when he saw a glimpse of fabric move in the mist.

A flash of green and white, near imperceptible in the sea of white and green around them, but Binghe trusted his senses and he let out a desperate cry. "Wait! Please!"

The person stopped but didn't approach.

Now that Binghe was so close to his fated, he didn't know what to say. Should he tell them his name? Which one? Both? Would they care? He should have thought of what to say properly beforehand!

"I- I- My name is Binghe!" He greeted, slightly too loud to be polite or seemly..

He stepped forward but the other person took a step back, remaining an elegant silhouette in the mist. So he advanced again and again, but his fated kept retreating.

Binghe stopped trying to approach and said instead, "We are in a dream right now. I do not know if you will remember me when you wake up, but I would like very much to meet you. Can you tell me your name?"

Silence once more. But they didn't move away, so Binghe continued. "I know this seems unreal, but you are my fated one! I would like to know you and stay with you! So please, please wait for me! Someday, when we meet for real, please remember me! Please wait for me!"

He could feel the dream begin to lose shape; it was almost time to wake up. "I will find you! I promise!"

In a different realm, nestled within a bamboo house on the second peak of a great mountain, Shen Yuan woke with a gasp.

Chapter Text

Shen Yuan woke disoriented and displeased beyond all measure. A soft headache throbbed at his temples, preventing him from going back to sleep. Through the window, the cold sun of autumn mornings leaked into the room, bringing with it a lonely chill. He would be late for breakfast if he didn’t hurry.

His dream had been confusing. He was sure it wasn’t just a random dream; it had to be the work of that old dream demon. Luo Binghe would only be around six years old right now; despite the fact that he was the protagonist, Shen Yuan found it difficult to believe he would be able to master dream magic to such a degree. Luo Binghe had said that he was looking for his destined one... could it be he accidentally pulled Shen Yuan into his dream due to the interference of Dream Demon? After all, Bing-ge had two main wives that were originally from Cang Qiong Mountain Sect!

Maybe he was trying to get at Ning Yingying, since she was supposed to end up at Qing Jing eventually. He probably just messed up the timeline... But that means that Luo Binghe’s destined partner was Ning Yingying!

Shen Yuan felt distinctly betrayed. How could Shang Wensheng not tell him this?! That dickhead knew he supported the Bing-ge x Mingyan pairing! Did he purposefully not tell him because he wanted to avoid Shen Yuan yelling at him?

Although he supposed it made a fair bit of sense that Bing-ge’s very first wife would be his destined one... Or maybe he had just gotten the peaks mixed up and got Qing Jing when he was aiming for Xian Shu? Binghe was still a child after all, and navigating dreams wasn’t easy... But either way, his aim was really off; Liu Mingyan hasn’t joined Cang Qiong Mountain yet either! She would be here in two years while Ning Yingying would be here in five.

In the bleary mess that he usually was in the morning, he stumbled his way into the mess hall. At a cluster of tables close to the entrance, a group of his zhangshixiong waved him over.

“You’re lucky you’re not late. We saved you some youtiao before those gluttons ate it all.” Wang-zhangshixiong said.

“Zhangshixiong is too kind,” Shen Yuan replied. It was strange; when he expected the bullying to escalate after that disastrous first day, nothing happened. In fact, everyone had been quite nice to him… strangely nice. In fact, Wang-zhangshixiong, who taught some of the lessons, even solicited him with tutoring in the qin.

“Huh,” he’d said when they first started, “you’re picking this up really fast.”

Sun-zhangshixiong, who shared a room with Wang-zhangshixiong, had made a noise of agreement.

Shen Yuan had smiled awkwardly. “Really? I guess it must be because I know how to play the zheng.”

Half jokingly, Sun-zhangshixiong had then asked, “What else does shidi know how to play, hmm?”

“I can play a little bit of the pipa as well.” Shen Yuan had taken piano lessons when he was younger, but none of them even knew what a piano was. However, there had been a course requirement at his middle school to learn one traditional instrument, so he’d learned the pipa for three years. His brothers had teased him for playing such a girly instrument, but he'd always wanted to learn the guitar to impress girls, and he’d figured maybe learning the pipa might translate.

At that, his two zhangshixiong had exchanged a strange look that Shen Yuan hadn’t seen.

Every two weeks, An Ding Peak sent messengers down the mountain, so everyone in the sect could have a chance to write to their families and receive packages and letters in turn. Since Qing Jing Peak was unofficially the designated peak for spoiled young masters and mistresses of influential families, mail day was always received with barely repressed excitement.

However, though it wasn’t a well advertised fact, the disciples of Qing Jing Peak all knew (through experience or hearsay) that Shen Qingqiu’s temper was usually just slightly worse on those days. As such, most would spend all their spare time that day either hiding in their rooms and writing their responses or quietly showing off their families’ packages in the mess hall. Generally, it was in their best interest to avoid their mercurial peak lord.

Shen Yuan had no one to write to other than the Shang family, but Shang Wensheng would be arriving home around when his letter would arrive, bringing news of him to Grandmother Shang. There was also Shang Wensheng himself, but at this point he was sure that if he did write anything to that guy it would be filled with nothing but curses and criticisms, perhaps even more harsh than his forum posts and reviews. It was better to wait until he was calmer. When his zhangshixiong and zhangshijie saw that he hadn’t written or received anything, they all averted their gazes so quickly that Shen Yuan became annoyed and left the mess hall to borrow a monster encyclopedia from the Qing Jing Archives.

It was an uncharacteristically sunny day, with the frigid autumn air sharpening the sun’s rays. As such, the quietest garden on the peak was also the most shaded one. At the roots of a massive pine, he settled down his blankets and started reading his book. So engrossed was he in the entries that when someone entered the garden, Shen Yuan didn’t even notice until the startle of a cold voice pulled him back to the real world (well, not-so-real world).

“What are you doing?” Shen Qingqiu asked.

Shen Yuan tried not to flinch. What now?! He really didn’t want to get beaten to a pulp just because of a grumpy villainous master! Still holding the book, he scrambled up to bow a proper greeting. “Respectfully, this disciple greets Shizun. In response to Shizun’s question, I am reading.” He tilted the book to reveal the title.

“Not writing your letters?” Shen Qingqiu asked snidely.

“In response to Shizun, no; there’s no one worth writing to.” Shen Yuan sighed internally. Really? Wasn’t this just a little too ridiculous?! Was Shen Qingqiu, no, was Shen Jiu really so insecure about his home life (or rather, lack thereof) that he got jealous over children writing to their family?

Actually, why was he even doubting this? There are thousands of words written by a brain-damaged author depicting the serious abuse that this exact man inflicted upon an innocent child over having a loving mother!

“If you have so much spare time as to read instead of cultivate, then this master has not given you enough to do. Run ten laps around the mountain and come find me tomorrow morning at my bamboo residence.” He said, turning and leaving as abruptly as he had arrived.

There it was, the signature punishment of running ten laps! Shen Yuan had hoped he would be able to dodge it for a little while more, but the day had finally come. Resigned, Shen Yuan headed down the mountain, all the while cursing Shen Qingqiu, Yue Qingyuan, and most of all the cunt author that wrote this whole thing.

The next morning, Shen Yuan was sore all over, wincing with every painstaking step he took in the dim light of dawn as he made his slow way to Shen Qingqiu’s bamboo residence. He really hoped that he hadn’t been summoned for a beating; he wasn't as strong as Luo Binghe! He really wouldn't be able to take that punishment, especially not after yesterday!

But when he arrived, Shen Yuan was only given a large pile of paperwork.

"Take it to the library and finish it all by dinner time," Shen Qingqiu said, sitting impassively at his desk. The lower half of his face was hidden by a fan, yet the sharpness in his eyes was unmistakable; the unspoken or else hung in the air.

So Shen Yuan went to the quietest library and started looking through the papers. There was nothing critical or sensitive; just tedious things like inventories, request forms for An Ding, request forms for Qian Cao, off-mountain assignments from Qiong Ding. It was basically all the boring stuff that peak lords typically pushed onto their disciples...

At least, he consoled himself, it wasn't a beating...

Seasons passed in this manner, with Shen Qingqiu dumping more and more useless tasks onto Shen Yuan. On top of cultivation and studying, he now was the peak lord’s main errand boy. Paper work, courier work, he was forced to do it all! Not just that, but whenever Shen Qingqiu left the peak to visit brothels, it was Shen Yuan who had to handle the fallout and make the excuses!

There was even an incident where Yue Qingyuan himself showed up the night of the Midautumn festival with a box of food looking for his shidi, and it was Shen Yuan who had to tell him that the Qing Jing Peak Lord had left the mountain to “handle matters” in a neighboring town.

Yue Qingyuan had left the box of food behind and returned to Qiong Ding Peak, shoulders slightly hunched. The dignity of the Sect Master wrapped around him like a travel-scarred cloak.

It made Shen Yuan feel a little bad about the whole situation. He had never been particularly close with his older brothers, but at least he’d never left them like this, this tangled mess of love and guilt and resentment.

Shen Yuan set the laquered box down on a table in the bamboo residence, but he couldn’t help but sneak a peek inside. It was filled with tiny but exquisitely crafted confectionaries. There was a pair of rabbits, shiny yellow desserts shaped to match the different phases of the moon, sweets in the shape of maple leaves and fans, perfectly shaped mooncakes, shrouded by the lingering fragrance of the baked caramel glaze, and, finally, candies dyed and sculpted in the shape of chrysanthemums. Everything was made in pairs or tetrads; this box was very clearly made to be shared.

He swallowed back the saliva pooling in his mouth, bemoaning the bland and insubstantial food that Qing Jing Peak served in the dining hall. He closed the box again with a little more force than necessary.

Maybe he could find some way to provoke Yue Qingyuan into opening his stupid mouth? Or maybe find a way to show Shen Qingqiu that one part of the Ling Xi caves... If they made up, Shen Jiu would be less of an emotionally constipated asshole, right? Maybe he’d even start doing his job as Peak Lord properly!

The next morning, Shen Qingqiu stoically asked after the box’s origins. At Shen Yuan’s response, Shen Qingqiu coldly told Shen Yuan to share it amongst the more senior disciples and return the box. Shen Yuan, definitely, decidedly, did not steal some before he shared it out. Which means he definitely, decidedly, did not see that one of the fan-shaped sweets was missing, nor did he notice that the mooncakes had all been quartered, and that there were six quarters, not eight. Shen Yuan repositioned the food to fill in the gaps before setting it down at the table where the most senior zhangshixiong and zhangshijie typically ate.

When Shen Yuan returned the box to Yue Qingyuan, he dutifully (generously!) told him which ones Shen Qingqiu had actually ate. (In response, Yue Qingyuan sent him back with two left over mooncakes as bribes.)

Years passed, and Shen Yuan’s cultivation grew steadily despite his extracurricular duties. His third anniversary at Cang Qiong Mountain approached until he was dragged down the mountain by his temperamental master to watch children dig holes. They didn't stay very long, just long enough for Shen Qingqiu to notice the most promising and prominent candidates. There was Liu Mingyan of course, only nine years old but already wearing a veil over the lower half of her face. Despite the banality of the task, she was digging her hole very earnestly, and it was clearly the biggest hole too.

(Would Binghe be able to find his fated wife in his dreams now? Or would he keep sending dreams to Qing Jing for the lack of Ning Yingying? Shen Yuan couldn’t help but hope for the latter, even though he still liked Liu Mingyan better as Binghe’s wife. It was the poetry, he told himself firmly, of having Binghe’s intended be his first love. That’s why Ning Yingying was more suitable. And maybe when he finally came to fetch his brides, Shen Yuan would get to catch a glimpse of the infamous Bing-ge.)

Ming Fan was also present. Shen Yuan hadn’t forgotten that this D ranked scum was originally part of Qing Jing Peak and would end up as the head disciple, but he hadn’t known that this was the year he’d finally show up.

Despite calling him scum in his mind, the sight of the eleven-year-old boy wholeheartedly and enthusiastically digging a hole softened him just a bit. And it helped that Ming Fan wouldn’t be in a position to bully him; after all, Shen Yuan was going to be his shixiong! After three years of being the newest disciple, he would finally experience the sweet joy of being called shixiong! Also, now that Ming Fan was here, it meant that Shen Yuan would get to foist all the paperwork and courier duties back to him!

But of course, this was the novel of the Great and Mighty Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky! And nothing really worked out the way he wanted it to.

(His dickhead bro had, by the way, only written to him twice in the past three entire years!)

Instead of getting a pseudo-rival to whom Shen Yuan could “lose” and onto whom Shen Yuan could push all this excess work, he got a little hanger on that followed him everywhere. The Ming Fan of Proud Immortal Demon Way was someone that clung to people more powerful than himself and sought approval like a sunflower yearning for daylight. Obviously, his original target in the book was Shen Qingqiu. But now, his attention shifted instead to Shen Yuan!

Theoretically, Shen Yuan could have him do some of the filing and sorting, or even the more tedious tasks like inventory counting, but in the end Shen Yuan decided against it. After all, Ming Fan and the sundry cannon fodder of Proud Immortal Demon Way had an average IQ of about 40; what if he did something wrong? Then all the blame would go to Shen Yuan! He wasn’t about to take a risk like that with Shen Qingqiu being the temperamental mess he was. Maybe when Ming Fan got a bit older and demonstrated that he wasn’t actually dumber than a brick.

On Shen Yuan’s fifth year at the peak, Ning Yingying joined. She wasn't from a particularly important clan, just an average merchant family, but she just seemed to radiate warmth throughout the entire trial of initiation, smiling at everyone and everything. It was easy to see why Luo Binghe liked her; being around her, it brought just a little more light.

When he remembered how Shen Qingqiu had untoward intentions towards her in the original novel, Shen Yuan couldn't help but fear for her. He even approached Peak Lady Qi Qingqi to point out the new and more importantly female talent.

And yet, Yue Qingyuan's blatant favouritism won out, leaving Shen Yuan trying his best to keep Yingying away from Shen Qingqiu. He even made sure to assign her to the dorm where all the zhangshijie lived, reasoning that it wouldn’t be appropriate for Yingying to live in the same dorm hall as the newest generation of disciples, considering she was the first girl.

Shen Qingqiu just lazily nodded his assent, looking very much like a fox who recently stole a hen. Yingying could stay with the elder female disciples for now, but she should move back when there were more female disciples in the new generation. After all, it wouldn’t be good to ignore seniority for no reason.

The Great Airplane had never mentioned any specific dates or locations for the untoward incidents of canon, so Shen Yuan didn't even know how to properly prevent them. In the end, he sent a scathing letter to Shang Wensheng to ask if he had ever outlined those scenes in his plans. It was a desperate move, but it was better than nothing. As an afterthought, Shen Yuan also asked where exactly in the Ling Xi caves Yue Qingyuan had been trapped. Though Shen Yuan had never had the desire to go to that accursed place, he was eligible to request time to cultivate there; if he could use that opportunity to take Shen Qingqiu to see that cave, maybe some disasters could be averted.

The letter was sent to the designated address that Shang Wensheng included in his last letter. Apparently, that bastard hadn’t gone back home at all! The Shang family still thought that he had entered Cang Qiong Mountain with Shen Yuan, when in reality the unfilial child has probably been traipsing around the countryside for the past five years. The good-for-nothing asshole has, so far, sent Shen Yuan a total of three letters. Three. Less than one letter per year! Even Grandmother Shang would send a greeting every Mid-Autumn.

Moreover, Shang Wensheng’s handwriting (Shen Yuan refused to dignify the scrawl by calling it “calligraphy”) was awful. And, with a complete disregard for the possibility of stolen letters and interrupted mail, the idiot peppered his letters with modern slang, arabic numerals, and toilet-tier English!

Six months later, a reply finally came. Yes, it took a man who used to write daily 10k updates six months to respond to his letter, a letter that Shen Yuan had even marked with ‘URGENT’ in glaring red ink! The note was written completely in trashy chinglish, detailing the location of Yue Qingyuan's confinement and even including in a list of people that knew about what happened to Yue Qingyuan back then. Then, he went on to list tidbits of gossip from the demon realm; the only bit catching Shen Yuan’s interest was that Sha Hualing had reached saint status and was already talking about going out to mess with a cultivation sect or two, but Cang Qiong Mountain wasn't being considered for one of the targets this time.

Finally, at the very edge of the tiny slip of paper, the Great Airplane somehow remembered what the main topic of the letter should have been. He wrote only two lines in response to Shen Yuan's concern over Ning Yingying. "LOL you should know by now I really don't have the stomach to write underage non-con. S9 was just trying to be nice but since it seemed so OOC everyone took it the wrong way. FYI he also didn't kill Liu Qingge. If Mr. Pretty Boy goes into qi deviation again make sure you tell your 60 IQ master to grab Mu Qingfang. Our boy S9 is too emotionally unstable to help with qi deviations."

If Shen Yuan still had a cell phone, he would have thrown it against a wall. Wtf?! Why didn't Shang Wensheng say anything earlier?! Why talk about the backstory and not the important plot point bits?!

In any case, if Shen Qingqiu really was innocent of those things, then the only valid allegations left at his eventual trial would be the accusations of Qiu Haitang and his physical and emotional abuse against his disciples, of which the most egregious example being Luo Binghe. Currently, with Luo Binghe out of the picture, Shen Qingqiu.... really hadn't stepped over any lines yet? His discipline was on the harsh side, with beatings and laps assigned for things most other peak lords would let off with a harsh scolding or some lines, but it was still well within acceptable levels, especially considering the era they lived in.

And now that Luo Binghe most definitely wasn't going to join Hua Huan Palace, Qiu Haitang couldn't even find anyone to bring forth the issue. Which also meant Shen Qingqiu wouldn't need to stand trial and get imprisoned, and, more importantly, it meant Shen Yuan wouldn't have to play substitute peak lord without an actual Peak Lord title. All he had to do was wait for Liu Qingge to go into qi deviation and then fix him!

But then the mess that was the politics of the Immortal Alliance Conference happened, and Shen Yuan really didn’t have anymore time to think about past and potential qi deviations. Four years ago was the first one after Yue Qingyuan had become Sect Master. Not only was Cang Qiong Sect still tentatively supportive of the anti-demon policies, but the Old Palace Master of Huan Hua Palace had also seemed inclined to curry favour with the new generation of peak lords. However, since then, Cang Qiong Sect had only taken on increasingly neutral stances regarding the Tianlang-jun conflict, and the tensions between the four major sects had slowly but gradually escalated.

The upcoming Conference would be the first to take place in this precarious political climate. Typically, Huan Hua Palace was responsible for most of the expenses. However, after a firm refusal from Yue Qingyuan last month to send assassins to help the war effort, the Old Palace Master declared that “to protest the unreasonable actions of the demon loving Cang Qiong Mountain” he would be pulling funding from the Immortal Alliance Conference.

The shock of it broke the tenuously maintained equilibrium of the cultivation world; the Old Palace Master was making himself very clear, there were only two sides in this conflict: the righteous cultivators working against the threat of the Heavenly Demon Lord and rogue immortals with no morals who probably supported demons invading the human realm.

Sadly, the Old Palace Master was a man with quite a following. Of course, this meant that Cang Qiong Mountain was flooded with correspondence. Some denounced them, threatened them, bargained with them, tried to persuade them —Shen Yuan saw all sorts of letters; most had been sent to Qiong Ding Peak, but a good portion reached Qing Jing as well (specifically, many of the respectable families with conservative values who liked sending their younger sons and daughters here). And of all the suitable and more experienced zhangshixiong and zhangshijie of much more respectable backgrounds, Peak Lord Shen had chosen Shen Yuan for the lovely duty of sitting in the drafty bamboo residence for a full eight hours almost every day, sorting through letters in absolute silence with Shen Qingqiu radiating an aura of death.

Few of the letters could be simply discarded; the ones from respectable families and notable cultivators needed responses. By the second day, Shen Qingqiu had given up on responding to all of them by himself and shoved a pile over to the tea table that Shen Yuan had taken over for letter sorting.

“You can respond to these. You will not leave until you finish your replies.”

Shen Yuan’s writing had improved enough these past few years that he trusted himself not to mix up words anymore, but he still hesitated. “In response to Shizun, this disciple’s calligraphy does not look sufficiently similar to that of Shizun’s...”

Shen Qingqiu paused to turn and glare at him. “Who said you were to forge the replies? Respond as yourself.”

Shen Yuan paused, then carefully started, “...Respectfully speaking, this disciple fears that he does not have the, uh, necessary status to reply to some of these letters.” Pointedly, he looked at the one at the top of the pile. It was from the father of one of the zhangshijie, a worried parent that just happened to own most of the silk farms on this side of Luo River. There was no way he wouldn’t take it as a slight if his reply was written by some random no-name disciple.

Shen Jiu’s glare intensified. “If they think they're too good for a response from the Head Disciple of Qing Jing Peak, they clearly overestimate their own worth."

Shen Yuan wanted to protest the title, but after several moments he still had no valid points to make. Head disciples were chosen by their respective peak lords, specifically to inherit a peak lord title or to act as deputy if ever a peak lord had to leave the mountain. Technically, Shen Yuan was also the first disciple Shen Qingqiu had taken on…

First disciples would typically be tasked with interacting with the lords and head disciples of other peaks. They often got delegated with managing younger disciples and with the administrative work of the peak...

Oh.

Shen Yuan was the head disciple of Qing Jing Peak.

That winter, right before Shen Yuan sixteenth New Year (at least in this world), his cultivation had gotten to a level where he could go to the caves on Wan Jian Peak to manifest a sword. The scheduled date was the sixteenth day of the twelfth month, and so it was on the night of the full moon that, after a great deal of tossing and turning, Shen Yuan fell into an uneasy sleep.

But it wasn’t sweet oblivion that awaited him in his dreams, but a misty-murky landscape straight out of a horror movie. It was achingly familiar yet at the same time startlingly foreign. Distantly he thought, Luo Binghe must have accidentally entered the wrong dream again.

With nothing but endless fog around him, Shen Yuan could only wait —hopefully, for Luo Binghe to show up so he could realize he was in the wrong dream. As expected of the protagonist, it only took him a few moments to find him. This time, as the soft crunch of boots on snow neared, Shen Yuan spoke first instead of waiting until Luo Binghe came too close. "You found the wrong person. I'm afraid there was a mishap with your dream magic."

Luo Binghe froze, stopping at the same polite distance as last time. "You know this is dream magic?"

Oh shit. That's right, dream magic was supposed to be a very rare demonic art! Most people had no idea it existed; even demons were skeptical of it! "I read about it in a book," Shen Yuan replied, his voice level.

"Oh. Then you know what I am... You... you’re a human, right?" He sounded unfairly dejected. Didn't Shen Yuan already tell him that he found the wrong person?! He clearly wasn't Liu Mingyan or Ning Yingying!

No, he needed to remain calm. He really shouldn't make himself a nuisance. With Proud Immortal Demon Way being the way it was, and Luo Binghe growing up as a demon prince, there was no way he was still a white lotus. “I am, but we’re not—” Shen Yuan liked to think he was decently thick skinned but saying the words “fated ones” out loud was too much! “That is to say, I’m not the person you seek. Could you please release me from this dream?"

"Is it... Is this because I'm a demon?" asked Luo Binghe, his voice cracking with some unspoken emotion.

Shen Yuan bit back a string of curses. Bing-ge, ah, Bing-ge. Please open yours eyes. I'm really not your destined wife! (Shen Yuan is a man, thank you very much!) "Please release me."

The misty silhouette had been about to step forward, but the words halted him. He retreated instead and said in a pathetically tiny voice, “I understand. I’m sorry. I—" He didn't finish his sentence, but even Shen Yuan could hear the devastation give way to the nasal tone of a boy who was trying very hard not to sound like he was crying.

Shen Yuan panicked then, completely at a loss. That’s right, this Binghe... He was only twelve or so right now. “Wait!” Shen Yuan finally called out, unable to bear the thought of this not-so-white lotus Luo Binghe trying to hold back his tears. “I’m not your destined one, but I don’t believe that demons are inherently evil! Human or demon, everyone has the potential to be good or bad. So... So please don’t think ill of your heritage!"

The silence stretched on for what seemed like several eternities, yet the dream showed no signs of ending. Finally, Luo Binghe said, "I understand. Last time, I asked that you wait for me... Please wait a little longer."

With that, the dream collapsed, and Shen Yuan woke to find the full moon hanging high in the serene night sky.

What a mess.

Wan Jian Peak's caves were strange. Or maybe it was just the Great Airplane's lazy writing. The idea was that the swords manifested in the caves would be created from a blend of the owner's spiritual energy and a hint of energy from the mountains. Thus, the sword would be a symbol of an immortal’s natural talent and potential; as a cultivator became more powerful, their sword would become more powerful as well. Of course, because each person's spiritual energy was different, their swords would be different as well. Once the sword formed, it would be bound to the wielder's soul and wouldn't recognize another wielder.

And yet. And yet on that cool winter day, the sword that Shen Yuan pulled from the caves, the sword he formed from his own energy, bound to his very soul...

Well.

It was a brilliant blade, a top tier weapon, silver with a sturdy but subtly decorated hilt; the guard was patterned with clouds, and the pommel had a motif of chrysanthemums. The problem arose in the fact that, well, Shen Yuan knows this sword.

No, he didn’t mean it in that soppy way female authors tended to describe spirit weapons. This sword was connected to his soul, yes, but he also knows this sword.

It was Zheng Yang. It was the sword Luo Binghe had originally gotten from Wan Jian Peak.

He was in a daze all the way back to Qing Jing. He was walking, unwilling to test his luck with flight yet; it’d be awfully laughable if he were to fall to his death the day he got his sword... He'd need to ask one of his zhangshixiong or zhangshijie to teach him in a more controlled setting. On his sword. On Zheng Yang. Why the fuck does he have Zheng Yang?!

He was in the middle of thinking of what new expletives he would include in the letter he planned to send Shang Wensheng when he heard someone clear their throat behind him.

Shen Yuan stopped and turned to find Shen Qingqiu glaring daggers at him and several of the Qing Jing disciples gathered around him. Wang-zhangshixion was the one that had cleared his throat. Everyone else looked a mix between bewildered and afraid for him. Shen Yuan bowed hastily. "This disciple greets Shizun."

"It seems a trip to Wan Jian Peak rendered you blind and miraculously more stupid than you already were."

Shen Yuan parsed this as Shen Qingqiu's weird way of asking what was going on and replied, “This disciple sincerely apologises for his shameful behaviour. This disciple was merely... Amazed by the beauty of his sword.”

Shen Qingqiu lifted one brow, and Shen Yuan unsheathed Zheng Yang before dutifully presenting it for inspection. Shen Jiu looked it over without touching it. "It will do." He snapped open his fan and slowly fanned himself. It was currently snowing. "What is it called?"

"Zheng Yang." The words came out of his mouth before he even fully processed the question. Even so, Shen Yuan didn't regret it. Giving this sword a different name would be pointless; it would always be Zheng Yang in his mind.

Shen Qingqiu frowned, clearly displeased with the name but saying nothing to that effect. With a flick of his sleeves, he left his disciples in the snow and headed back towards the bamboo residence. It was only once he’d left that the other disciples swarmed Shen Yuan, all fawning over the new sword and shouting compliments and jokes, displaying a level of rambunctiousness that Shen Qingqiu would have never allowed.

The winds blew jagged through the lofty mountains and the blizzard raged in a blanket of white, yet Shen Yuan didn’t feel cold at all.

One night when Binghe was fifteen, his mother woke him up at the darkest hour by slamming open the doors to his chambers, and Binghe immediately knew something was wrong. Behind her followed Zhuzhi-ge, looking travel worn and bloodied and, perhaps most alarmingly, angry.

His father was nowhere in sight.

“It was a trap.” His mother said, confirming his doubts as she sat down and poured herself a cup of tea from a pot that hadn’t been warmed since the afternoon.

Binghe clambered out of bed, hastily throwing on an outer coat before turning to his cousin and asking, “And Father?”

To kill his father was a feat near impossible at this point. Binghe doubted the four cultivation sects could do it combined, let alone crippled without the full support of Cang Qiong Mountain.

“Junshang has been sealed under a mountain.” Zhuzhi-ge had lost all his usual poise, instead pacing back and forth in front of the table where Su Xiyan sat. “At first it’d seemed like the peace talks were actually progressing, but Junshang trusted those Zhao Hua monks too much... On the third day, some disciples of Huan Hua Palace were found dead, and they retaliated immediately. They had power suppression arrays all drawn up, just pending activation!” Zhuzhi-ge’s expression fell from angry to saddened. “Junshang and I couldn’t fight them all off... They forced me to my true form, and then they suppressed Junshang... He commanded me to come back and tell you both what happened. Now that you both know, I will return to the mountain tomorrow. I don’t trust they won’t do something else to Junshang...”

“I’ll go with you.” Binghe said, eyes glowing slightly red.

“No,” Su Xiyan interjected. “You would accomplish nothing but waste your time and endanger yourself.”

She turned to Zhuzhi-ge. “Before you go draw out all the arrays you saw them use, any talismans, hand gestures, everything.”

Zhuzhi-ge nodded and complied immediately, sitting down at Binghe’s desk.

"Mother..."

"Let me have a look at what they used to suppress your father and the spells on the mountain. He won't die, Binghe."

Binghe swallowed. It was true. And showing up knowing nothing was just going to cause more issues for them.

"Go get some clothes and food for your cousin. Make sure no one knows he's back." His mother abandoned the untouched tea and moved to stand beside Zhuzhi-ge, examining the drawings.

Binghe took a deep breath as he exited his chambers. It would be a long night.

His cousin was gone by noon of the next day. After a whole night of pouring over the drawings and interrogating Zhuzhi-Lang on nearly every detail of the event, Su Xiyan looked pale and wan.

Binghe had not slept either, having taken his mother's instructions to not let anyone know about what happened very seriously. His father did not gain the title of Ruler of the Demonic Realm without creating grudges. One or two clans, he and his mother would be able to handle, but if they decided to start using their heads and allied all together? That would become a problem.

Binghe made breakfast for them both before dawn, congee and youtiao. He had nearly made enough food for four people since the four of them typically ate at least one meal together each day.

Now there were only two of them.

"Mother, do you have any idea of how to break those spells?" Binghe asked after breakfast.

Su Xiyan frowned. “Yes. There are three ways, only two of which are accessible to us. First is if I go and undo the power suppression arrays and then the entrapment spell, but I would need quite a bit of time to complete both tasks, enough time for the people they’ve put on guard to notice and attack. The second option is to break both the arrays and the entrapment spell with pure force. Even with you, me, and Zhuzhi-lang combined, it wouldn't be enough... We'd need at least two more demon lords." She sighed. "Even once freed... The damage from being suppressed under a mountain... your father won't be able to walk, let alone fight. We'll need to find a way to bring him back here."

...All of this while being besieged by cultivators. The first option involved them finding two demon lords trustworthy enough to not just kill them all once the cultivators showed up. And both options required some sort of protection for them while they retreated. The only thing Binghe could think of that might work would be to mobilize the black army. Both he and his mother had the authority to move them, and they were safe bets in that their nature disallowed betrayal, but such a gesture would inevitably be read by the humans as an invasion. Then it wouldn't be just three sects against them; Cang Qiong Mountain would be forced to join as well.

Sullen silence followed, with Su Xiyan eventually leaving to deal with court matters.

How long could they last without his father? The demons only submitted to his mother's judgement because they were loyal to his father's power. If they found out what happened, the first thing they would do would be to try to kill them both.

For the next two weeks, Binghe trained relentlessly. When he wasn’t eating, helping his mother, or sleeping, he was fighting anything and anyone who might prove a challenge to him. The only way out of this situation was for him to become stronger, as strong as his father. But by the end of the two weeks, a feeling of dread began to sink in. Their situation was too tenuous; he was getting stronger but not quickly enough.

That was when he started devoting more time looking for ways to become more powerful more quickly. Mostly, this involved reading through the seemingly endless library his father had curated. After countless days spent pouring over the texts he finally found the answer.

The Xin Mo Sword.

Originally, Shen Yuan hadn’t wanted to attend the newly reinstated Immortal Alliance Conference, but he really had no control over the matter. With the news that Tianlang-jun had finally been sealed underneath a mountain, Huan Hua Palace finally (read: two years behind schedule) felt like spending some money and celebrating. And what better way to celebrate the defeat of their hated rival than to flaunt their wealth and power in the face of their other hated rival, Cang Qiong Mountain?

The Immortal Alliance Conference was supposed to show off the talent of the newest generation, but Shen Yuan wasn’t really a youth anymore. He’d had his guan ceremony with Shen Qingqiu over a year ago, heralding his status as an adult. Some of the other peak lords had been present as well, including Yue Qingyuan and Liu Qingge, who had recovered from his qi deviation pretty well.

So when Shen Yuan had penned the list of disciples from Qing Jing who would attend the conference, he hadn’t expected Shen Qingqiu to level a glare at him and add to the top, very pointedly, Shen Yuan.

The more he thought about it, the less alarmed he became; it was just a competition, and no one expected that excellent of a turning out from Qing Jing Peak anyways. There was no pressure! None at all!

Still, Shen Yuan wouldn’t spend the entire competition just lazing about; this was his chance to see lots of really cool monster up close! And now that his cultivation was at a decent level, he wouldn’t even need to worry about dying from them! (And not that it mattered much considering how shot to shit the plot was, but Shang Wensheng wasn’t peak lord, so it’s not like some traitor will open the Endless Abyss this time!)

Two nights before the Immortal Alliance Conference was set to start, Shen Yuan’s dream was unceremoniously invaded again. Bing-ge, ah! This was the third time already! This lowly one was a nameless NPC! Please look somewhere else!!!

The dreamscape was the same as the previous two times: foggy to a point of absurdity and empty, with no one else but the two of them. Like last time, Luo Binghe stopped a polite distance away and didn’t attempt to come closer at all.

“Hello,” he said, sounding strangely tired. “You don’t have to say anything,” he continued. “I know that you don’t believe we’re fated but I just... I’m about to go on a journey. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone; I don’t think my dream magic will be able to reach this realm once I begin. I’m not even sure if I’ll succeed. Either way, I just wanted to say goodbye, just in case I do take a very long time.”

This alarmed Shen Yuan. What could harm the indomitable Luo Binghe?! Wait. Tianlang-jun was stuck under a mountain right now, so technically the throne of the demon realm was completely up for grabs (for the sundry 40IQ demon lords with bigger armies than sense, at least). Could it be that Luo Binghe was going to lead the black army across the demon realm and reconquer the noble houses? Or was he going to try and free Tianlang-jun?
Wasn’t he only fifteen right now?! Either option was a bit too reckless for a fifteen year old, heavenly demon or not!

“Binghe, what are you trying to do?” he asked cautiously.

There was a moment of silence and then, “You remembered my name.” His voice warmed the misty chill of the dream.

Shen Yuan wanted to facepalm, that has nothing to do with what I asked!

“Please, trust me,” Luo Binghe said. “I will come back. But for now, good bye.”

And before Shen Yuan could say another word, the dream crumbled around him.

Shen Yuan woke abruptly in cold sweat. Why were all his encounters with Luo Binghe so messed up?! Maybe Shen Yuan really should have just let him see his face the first time around, then there wouldn't be so misunderstandings. Bing-ge, ah, Bing-ge, this one really isn’t a cute little sister...

The talk of a journey still worried Shen Yuan though he refused to dwell on it. Luo Binghe was the invincible protagonist of Proud Immortal Demon Way; he didn’t need someone like Shen Yuan worrying over him. He would be fine! Shen Yuan really should worry about himself instead! The expectations for Qing Jing Peak disciples weren't high, but Shen Qingqiu might flay him alive if he didn’t do his best.

The first three days of the conference went smoothly. They all started in randomized locations, so Shen Yuan didn’t encounter any of the other Qing Jing disciples. He had only encountered a few other cultivators on his way, and they only exchanged brief and polite greetings.

Jue Di Valley was large enough that even with the atypically large number of participants this year there was more than enough space for Shen Yuan to go hours without running into anyone. Thus, it was only more alarming to see a dozen cultivators running his way.

"Run!" one of them screamed as they all rushed past him.

It wasn’t that Shen Yuan had a bad reaction time per se, but the scene was very confusing okay? He didn't understand until the trees started toppling, and suddenly emergency flares filled the sky. The valley lit up, as bright as dawn, before the flares began to fade.

Monsters rushed towards him, and Shen Yuan drew Zheng Yang. It was too late to try to run, especially considering the barrier that was still up. The elder immortals outside the barrier would come in to help soon; his best chance at survival would be to survive until a sect elder found him. As Shen Yuan braced himself to fight, a stray thought crossed his mind. Please let it be the Great and Mighty Liu Qingge who found him! If it was Yue Qingyuan, Great Villain Shen would act all pissy again!

Parting a bloody sea, Shen Yuan cut through to the other side. He had hoped, really genuinely hoped, that surge of monsters had been random. But no, the plots of men only ever awaited the execution of Fate; contrary to all logic, the Endless Abyss had opened, a gaping red maw from which monsters surged like vomit, just as pungent in the damp heat of miasma.

Beside him, a cannon fodder Huan Hua Palace disciple, Gongyi Xiao, fought to keep the new wave of monsters off their backs as Shen Yuan looked desperately around them an escape route. They’d run into each other after getting chased by a large pack of two headed wolf-crows and stuck together, but who’d have thought the wretched beasts would chase them to the edge of the Endless Abyss?!

"We must move! We cannot defeat them all!" Shen Yuan shouted, but he wasn't sure if Gonyi Xiao heard him at all with the impossibly loud din of screaming and roaring.

Gongyi Xiao finished beheading the two headed wolf-crow he had been fighting and turned to him to reply but his face immediately lost all colour, "Shen-shixiong!"

Too late. An ear-splitting roar trembled at his bones as something charged at Shen Yuan from behind. Only his years of training and his heightened senses saved him from being completely mauled. Zheng Yang clashed sharply against the monsters horn. It was a moon python-rhinoceros.

Shen Yuan cursed loudly, image and decorum forgotten. This was it. This really was it. He was going to die here. Through gritted teeth, he hissed, "Shidi, leave immediately! Don't let anyone come this way!"

Sensing his intentions, Gongyi Xiao tensed before raising his sword to face the moon python-rhinoceros, "I will not leave Shen-shixiong to die here alone." And with a shout, the cannon fodder did what cannon fodder did best; Gongyi Xiao rushed recklessly into their foe.

Together, the two of them were able to fight it to a standstill for several minutes, but their energy was clearly flagging. Gongyi Xiao was the first to waver. Catching him in a moment of vulnerability, the moon python-rhinoceros charged and flung Gongyi Xiao into a tree several meters behind him. His body hung unconscious on a sturdy branch, limply enough that he looked more like Huan Hua Palace laundry.

Exhausted and alone, Shen Yuan didn't last long either. With each strike from the beast, he was forced to retreat several steps. As he fended off another charging attack, Shen Yuan lost sight of its hindquarters, and it whipped its tail into his abdomen. And like Gongyi Xiao, Shen Yuan was slammed airborne, except there were no trees for him to slam into.

No, the only thing behind him was the bottomless chasm of the Endless Abyss.

The last thing Shen Yuan saw before he fell unconscious was the night sky, with its stars and moon completely obscured by a haze of smoke.

Chapter Text

As he descended, the Endless Abyss twisted around him. The air grew damper and damper, and the light grew dimmer and dimmer. It looked the way it was described in the numerous books he'd read on the topic: crawling with monsters, dripping with magma, and scarred with spatial rifts. Everything as far as the eye could see was red, black, or some shade in between.

In his rust-coloured travelers' clothes, Binghe fit right in.

He hadn't been sure how accurate his clairvoyance spell had been; if there was one thing Madam Meiyin hadn't failed to hammer into his head after all these years, it was that divination was an extremely temperamental art. Even if the spell had been cast correctly, the signs he received may be misleading or unclear —or just wrong. That was why he'd been suspicious when the spell told him the Endless Abyss would open in five days time in Jue Di Valley. The timing of it was absolutely impeccable, unbelievable, yet no time could be wasted. He left that very night, leaving only a brief letter explaining his plan to his mother, included in which was a profuse apology for causing her concern.

It had been delicate work sneaking so close to the Immortal Alliance Conference, but it couldn't be avoided; they had blocked off most of the valley in preparation for their games. He'd been half-ready to tear down their barrier arrays, just in case the Endless Abyss was completely contained within the immortals' arena. Luckily, his malformed preparations had been in vain; in the chaos of the junior cultivators rushing to the boundaries of the barrier and the senior cultivators rushing in, Binghe managed a decent illusion and slipped by as a rogue cultivator trying to find his apprentice.

Thus, riding the tailwinds of whichever mischievous deity that opened the Endless Abyss (or colossal moron of a mortal, if one had thought it was possible to invoke such catastrophe upon the immortals and get away with it), Binghe carefully flipped into freefall.

He'd still been adjusting himself to his new surroundings when a speck of white caught his eye; this far down, the only light came from the perpetual sludge of slow-flowing magma, casting everything in dim rusty glow. White is a pristine colour; it had no business showing its face here.

But no, Binghe's eyes did not lie to him. There was something white, white in the same inviolable way winter clouds were, framed with a green so crisp it shamed the bamboo of spring. And it was moving —falling, closer and closer, descending like pale plum blossoms in winter night, petals aflutter like cotton broadcloth blown with wind.

It was a rare flash of purity in this living hell, and Binghe approached despite himself, unwitting but not unwilling in his movements. The smoke cleared for the briefest instant, and Binghe's eyes widened —a glint of silver and dark green silk: a hairpin and the headdress it had been securing. Following that, black hair splashed open like a silken fan; it was a person!

No, it was an immortal, descending from the heavens, gracing the most mortal of realms with a presence more divine than it deserved. Gracing the ground just a little too quickly to be safe...

Entranced but not dumbstruck, Binghe leaped forward to catch the immortal, politely, with one arm under his torso and one arm under his knees.

The immortal travelled bare, with naught but a fan and a silken pouch hanging at his belt. On his back was an empty jadestone holster, one designed to hold an unsheathed blade. Binghe adjusted his grip so his arm would lay between the holster's two sets of hooks. He made his landing as soft as he could manage, but, even then, it jostled enough that the immortal turned his head.

His hair slipped back, and Binghe fought to contain the pounding within his chest: long black lashes, an elegant nose, pink lips with a pronounced bow —he was beautiful.

And then, the immortal blinked, blearily opening his eyes and revealing clear irises of a brown so luminous it seemed amber, and Binghe couldn't look away.

Shen Yuan opened his eyes to red. The dim crimson light of magma lit up the world from below. Rust-coloured cliffs stretched endlessly upwards, melting into shadows darker than night. Dull red cotton of a sturdy weave, marked with dirt and blood —travellers' clothes, but they weren't his.

Then, a pair of dark eyes —a deep and alluring maroon.

Someone was holding him. Someone had caught him after he fell into the Endless Abyss.

Huh... What were the odds? Nothing down here was supposed to be even vaguely human shaped.

Then his eyes focused and his world righted itself; his kind saviour had set him back on his feet.

Shen Yuan blinked. Wait. The Endless Abyss. Why?! Why him?! Why this?! Had he unknowing caused a nuclear fallout in his previous life? A third world war?! What did he do to deserve a slow and painful death in the Endless Abyss?! Was there upper management he could talk to here? He’d like a refund on this transmigration thank you!

As if in response to his complaints, something organic clicked from behind him. His companion cursed and Shen Yuan whipped around, hair flying indecorously loose. A dragon-myripede towered over them, rearing to strike.

"Careful," a familiar voice cried, and Shen Yuan was pulled aside just in time to dodge the monster’s earth-shaking —well, it didn’t really strike; it more just landed, heavily… exactly where they had been an instant ago.

Missing the weight of Zheng Yang in his hands, Shen Yuan reached for his back. For a second he panicked, heart fluttering between fight and flight, but then he remembered.

At his guan ceremony last spring, Shen Qingqiu had pulled him aside and given him a gift. It had been a spiritual weapon, for him to keep close in case he was ever without Zhang Yang. As mockery for Shen Yuan's tacky naming of the sword, perhaps, Shen Qingqiu had named the fan Zhu Yin. Shen Yuan had never had much use for Zhu Yin since he typically preferred to see monsters up close, and the thing packed far too hard a punch to use for sparring against the sundry disciples of Qing Jing, but now Shen Yuan reached for his belt, where it had hung neglected for over a year.

Binghe mentally smacked himself for letting such a creature as large as a dragon-myripede sneak up on them; he should have sensed its energy. He would have —if he hadn’t been distracted. But now, he turned to the monster, reaching for his demonic powers when, quite suddenly, he stuttered —the immortal! From the feel of the qi around him, he was a cultivator, so it was probably not a very good idea for Binghe to reveal his heritage.

Binghe might have stayed clammed up for too long, except he was startled out of it by a sound so clear, so crisp, so resonant that he had to hold back tears. It happened again and again, like someone plucking delicately at the strings of a very well-crafted qin. And then Binghe saw.

It was the immortal, fanning back and forth, back and forth, a symphony of blows that reached as far as the head of the dragon-myripede.

“Its head —I mean tail —I mean its other head!” the immortal cried in between his strikes. Even in the din of battle, there was something alluring about his voice, something familiar and trustworthy. “It’s vulnerable there since —since I’m distracting it! Strike for the eyes!”

A flutter of white, and the immortal has leapt backwards, in the direction that Binghe hadn’t come from. The dragon-myripede followed, armoured underbelly scraping across the craggy landscape. It was the most beautiful fight Binghe has ever witnessed, but he hadn’t the time to appreciate it.

His powers were there, at the tips of his fingers, but no. He couldn’t use it. His cultivation wasn’t bad, but he’d definitely need a weapon for something so armoured. Binghe scanned the landscape for something useful, maybe a boulder —or that jagged bone —or that sword —or that gigantic slab of obsidian —or, wait. A sword?

It flipped tip over hilt as the dragon-myripede ran it over, scraping an awful noise across the armour. It was silver, ornate, probably the product of a cultivation school. It drew him in.

Ah, the heavens are watching! Binghe dodged left and right and left again, feigning out the myripede end of the dragon-myripede to get closer to that sliver of shining hope on the ground. Once within range, he called to it, reigning in the sword, a beautiful sword of energy so pure. (Part of his hope died; this sword couldn’t be Xin Mo.)

It flew true, severing one of the dragon-myripede’s antennae as it came, and Binghe sent it back out to sever the other. Sickly ichor leaked out of the stubs, and the myripede thrashed violently, leaving minor landslides in its wake. Binghe called the sword to him once more, catching the sturdy weight of its hilt, and then he charged, leapt, and landed sword first through the maw of what once was a dragon-myripede.

In a feat only worthy of the protagonist, Luo Binghe (for who else would be in the Endless Abyss?) eviscerated the dragon-myripede. It wasn’t until Luo Binghe was walking to him that Shen Yuan realised his mouth had still been gaping and quickly snapped his fan open to hide behind. It was a regrettable habit he’d picked up from his master, and usually it was harmless, but he also didn’t use a spiritual weapon to do it. Wind swept back his hair as Zhu Yin trilled, resonance lingering in the (apparently) excellent acoustics of the Abyss.

“Xianzi, are you alright? Xianzi?” Luo Binghe cut an impressive figure even at the age of fifteen. Gone was the soft and abused child of canon: a proud immortal demon prince stood across from Shen Yuan. Full lips, thin nose, and a jaw that could cut, Luo Binghe cut a regal figure even in the nondescript robes he wore.

Shen Yuan shook himself. “This lowly one is fine. The noble stranger has done this one a great favour today.”

Luo Binghe stopped rather abruptly, then clasped his hands and bowed. “This lowly one does only as he must. May this lowly one inquire after the title of this xianzi?”

Ah, to be so young, and so smooth a flatterer… Shen Yuan returned the bow. “This lowly one, Shen Yuan, is a disciple of Qing Jing Peak, of Cang Qiong Mountain. The one named Shen is millennia away from ascension and dares not take a title. If the one named Shen may ask, what is the noble stranger called?” In his previous life, Shen Yuan would have died of asphyxiation before he could finish such a long introduction. But in this era, formal greetings were the norm. (Let no one say that the Great Airplane didn’t use transparent means to meet his word count!)

Luo Binghe blinked a little, then bowed again. "This lowly one is named Su Binghe. The one named Su studies cultivation independently from the Great Sects."

Shen Yuan shivered and changed his mind. Nope! No. Hearing Luo— no, Su— no, Binghe say something with such a fakely polite tone was too ominous! Please, Great Protagonist, spare this lowly one your courtesy! “Ah… Friends of fate should not be so polite with each other; heaven’s idea of destiny may take offense.”

Binghe smiled brightly in a complete violation of decorum. For an instant, Shen Yuan was blinded, but then it disappeared again, leaving Shen Yuan wondering if he’d imagined it. Binghe held out his sword hilt up. “Then Shen-qianbei, may I ask if this sword belongs to you?” Zheng Yang. Binghe’s sword was Zheng Yang.

Shen Yuan patted his back again. Still empty. “Ah, yes? Well. No.” Zheng Yang was the sword of Luo Binghe! But it was his! Shen Yuan’s, that is. He’d watched it form in that cave himself! From his own energy! It wasn’t supposed to obey anyone else!

But it was still Zheng Yang. Zheng Yang, the first sword of Luo Binghe. Maybe it had never truly belonged to Shen Yuan. Maybe that’s why he’d gotten that sword, so he could return it to its true owner. After all, who else would have given it its true name?

Binghe waited.

Shen Yuan cleared his throat. “Su-shidi is still a student of cultivation; those of the same art should use ‘martial brother’ as honorifics, no? And that is the sword that fell with me, yes, but since Su-shidi is without a weapon—” Shen Yuan glanced around pointedly (although why Binghe needed a spiritual weapon at all baffled him), “Su-shidi may keep Zheng Yang.” Not to mention, it was Binghe’s sword anyways!

Wait, he’d said he was a rogue cultivator —well, implied to the same effect. And why didn’t Shen Yuan sense any demonic energy from him? No.There was a tiny bit... the overwhelming aura of the Endless Abyss cloaked it very well, if Shen Yuan hadn’t been looking he wouldn’t have noticed at all. He was suppressing it then, to disguise himself as a human. His heavenly demon mark was absent too; his forehead was pale and smooth, though perspiring slightly from the oppressive heat of the Abyss.

Binghe seemed taken aback by the offer, hesitantly lowering Zheng Yang. “Then Binghe thanks shixiong for the temporary use of this beautiful sword. Does, ah, Shen-shixiong intend to travel with Binghe?"

Shen Yuan nodded. “Unless Su-shidi objects to this one’s incompetence, I believe we shall have a better chance of surviving this place together”

“No, no, not at all. Binghe is honoured by Shen-shixiong’s aid,” Binghe hastily refuted.

The thing was, Binghe definitely wasn't here because some busybody pushed him in. In fact, the only way he could be here was because he wanted to be here. And the only thing in the Endless Abyss that was worth anything at all was Xin Mo. With Tianlang-jun sealed away, Binghe probably needed to find Xin Mo in order to keep the allegiance of all the demon clans. In which case, Shen Yuan’s best course of action would just be to tag along in finding the accursed sword and politely ask for a helping hand out of the Abyss.

Shen Yuan smiled. "Then let us move onwards, lest another monster finds us." Without waiting for a reply, Shen Yuan picked a direction and started to walk.

"Shen-shixiong!" Binghe called out again.

Shen Yuan stopped and without turning back said, "Yes?"

Suddenly, Binghe was beside him again, "Shen-shixiong," he repeated. "Your hair..."

Shen Yuan's steps faltered as he realised that his hair was still completely loose. He fumbled for his qiankun pouch, oddly embarrassed. Except he really shouldn't be! It really wasn't a big deal! But before he could find a ribbon to tie his hair up, Binghe was already holding one out to him.

It was a cheerful true red, like leftovers from New Year decorations. Shen Yuan nodded his gratitude and accepted it, tying his hair into a quick topknot before they set out again.

A slightly awkward silence hung between them, interrupted only with occasional fights with whatever low-level monster that had the bad luck to be in their way.

Despite Binghe's earlier hesitance, he used Zheng Yang like it had been from his spirit that the sword had forged itself, beheading monsters left and right. Which, honestly, Shen Yuan didn’t want to think about. How had the protagonist’s sword appeared for him? Was it because he wasn’t truly from this world, and thus wasn’t meant to have a spirit sword? For the first time in years, Shen Yuan felt a palpable distance from this world, this world that seemed so surreal, with glimpses of faulty code in its Matrix peeking through whenever Shen Yuan really cared to look.

Dark ichor splattered the ground as Binghe dispatched another monster, the spray dangerously close to Shen Yuan’s feet. In the midst of action, Binghe’s face was stoic, but like a shroud he wore a palpable aura of killing intent. Shen Yuan suppressed a shiver at the cold crawling up his spine.

Binghe turned back to Shen Yuan, lips curved and eyes wide like he was a small child asking for more sweets. “Shen-shixiong's sword really is impressive. No wonder people say Wan Jian Peak's swords are the best in the cultivation world."

Shen Yuan only made a small noise of acknowledgement as they trekked on. Ahhh, this wasn't good... How was Shen Yuan going to get on the protagonist’s good side if he constantly relied on him to kill all the monsters? Didn't that make Shen Yuan one of those escort-mission NPCs that always got in the way and made you want to stab them?!

No. Shen Yuan was going to be a useful party member! Even if Binghe was the OP protagonist, Shen Yuan also had his pride as his shixiong!

The next time they came across a rabid herd of giant salamanders, Shen Yuan obliterated the lot of them with a single swing of Zhu Yin, its chord humming in the air for moments afterwards.

"As expected of Shen-shixiong. He simply lifts his noble hand, and our enemies fall immediately!"

...

Binghe you say that but that tone sounds so fake!

Ignoring the dragon-myripede, the monsters steadily escalated as they progressed. Their next foes after the giant salamanders were a pair boar-bears. At the sight of them, something sparkled in Shen-shixiong’s eyes; Binghe couldn’t help but wonder if he was going to turn them into finely chopped bits like he had done with the giant salamanders.

Would there be any left after Shen-shixiong was done with them? After all, he had heard that boar-bear meat was quite delicious, so much so that human cultivators had hunted them to extinction in the human realm. However, before he could think more to his poorly stomach, the beasts took notice of them and charged.

“Binghe!” Shen Yuan shouted as he dodged, "Aim for their eyes and the inside of their mouths!"

Binghe followed his advice, dodging to the other side. The beast slammed into the cliff face behind him. While it recovered, Binghe leapt and stabbed Zheng Yang right into one of its eyes, pushing the sword in until the monster stopped thrashing. He grimaced at its foul breath and the sticky warmth of its blood dripping down Zheng Yang’s blade.

He pulled the blade out quickly, flicking off the blood and gore. Turning around, he saw Shen-shixiong struggle a bit more with his boar-bear. His fan was obviously meant to be a more distanced weapon, as well as a more brute-force weapon. Shen-shixiong was too close to the beast, which had switched from charging attacks to swiping attacks with its large front paws. Shen-shixiong barely deflected the blows in time with small crescents of energy, each singing with the now-familiar voice of the qin.

Binghe shifted anxiously; if the only weak spots of the boar-bear were its eyes and the inside of its mouth, Shen-shixiong could be in danger. Just as Binghe was about to step in, however, Shen-shixiong suddenly slid back, unleashing a torrent of cutting arcs that ripped and rang through the white underbelly.

Binghe halted several meters away and frowned. "Shen-shixiong, why did you tell me to attack the eyes and mouth when the underbelly is weak too?"

Had it been a test to see how adept he was at fighting? Did he already suspect there was something off about him? It was true that his cultivation was slightly above average for his age, and maybe his swordsmanship was a little too excellent… suspiciously excellent even. Yet, Binghe had no doubt that, the more enemies they defeated, the more obvious this fact would become, and the more suspicious he would seem. He could always pretend to be weaker but that would slow him down; the longer he was without Xin Mo the more dangerous it was for Mother and Father...

Another option would be to leave Shen Yuan and Zheng Yang behind and proceed using his demonic powers alone like he originally planned. But would he be slower or faster like that? Having a second person, especially a skilled cultivator like Shen-shixiong, who seemed to be well versed in monster biology was useful as well. And some soft, useless part of him thought it would be a shame to leave someone like him to die here in the Endless Abyss, forced to wander for eternity until he was either too exhausted to fight or was devoured by some beast. Either way, he would need to be more careful.

Shen-shixiong walked up to him and smiled, folding away his fan. "The internal organs of the boar bear are extremely acidic, once ruptured they'll ruin the taste of the entire beast."

... All of that was for the sake of the meat? If his senses weren’t lying to him, Shen Yuan should have been well past the stage of cultivation where he could practise inedia. Eating and drinking should have been purely for comfort at this point…

"Here, give me Zheng Yang for a second," Shen-shixiong said, still smiling faintly for some reason; Binghe hadn’t thought that anyone could be in such a good mood while stuck in the Endless Abyss.

Binghe complied wordlessly and moved to the side as Shen-shixiong pushed the unspoiled boar-bear onto its back, carefully slicing open its underbelly, cutting just far enough open the abdominal space. With all the organs were exposed, he paused and stared blankly at the body.

Binghe held back a smile. That expression said it all; Shen-shixiong probably had no idea how to butcher an animal at all. The blank look was slowly shifting into one of dejection, as if someone had stolen something very dear from him; unable to bear it anymore, Binghe stepped forward, “Shen-shixiong, would you like me to do it instead?"

Shen-shixiong nodded with barely concealed relief and handed Zheng Yang back to him. “I'll leave this to Su-shidi then.”

Binghe began carefully draining the blood and removing the organs, mentally apologizing to Zheng Yang all the while. He hadn’t been flattering Shen-shixiong when he’d complimented Zheng Yang earlier; it really was an excellent sword. For a first class sword of Wan Jian Peak to be used to butcher animals... It really was quite pitiful.

By the time Binghe started to hack the various pieces of meat into appropriate sizes, Shen-shixiong had managed to start a fire. Seeing that Binghe had already laid out many pieces of meat and had even deboned multiple parts, Shen-shixiong picked out one of the ribs. It was one of the hindmost ones, but even so it was as long as Shen-shixiong’s arm. Binghe watched him from the corner of his eye as he hooked a few rounds of deboned meat back onto the rib and began to roast the comically rotund skewer.

Halfway through, Shen-shixiong reached into what had to be a qiankun pouch and pulled out a small packet of folded paper. It was probably salt, since he sprinkled it over the meat. As he cooked, Shen-shixiong began to speak cheerfully, “Su-shidi probably doesn’t know, but the food on Qing Jing Peak is truly sad... Everything is incredibly bland and, past a certain age, we practise compulsory vegetarianism four of five days... It is a very depressing way to live!”

The meat slowly turned golden brown as the aroma of sizzling fat and smokey roast overtook the smell of blood rotting viscera. Binghe sat down by the fire and cleaned Zheng Yang; the boar-bear wasn’t fully butchered yet, but he needed to sit down and rest a bit. Once Shen-shixiong was finished roasting his own portion, Binghe would roast his own. Maybe he could even convince Shen-shixiong to let him use some of his salt.

Some of the edges and pieces of fat were scorched black when Shen-shixiong finally deemed the food well done. But, instead of sitting down and eating, he walked over to Binghe and handed the entire bone to him. The roast rib steamed enticingly. "Here, eat up while it's fresh! Boar-bear meat is a great delicacy you know!"

Binghe looked back and forth between the food and Shen-shixiong. "This... This is for me?"

After that sorrowful complaint over the quality of food on Qing Jing, Binghe had been sure that Shen-shixiong would eat it immediately. But here he was, offering it to Binghe...

Shen-shixiong nodded. "Of course it's for you. Binghe is still growing; you need to eat lots! Even if you can practise inedia, it's not good for you at this age."

Binghe stared at him. When he was younger, he only ever ate whatever the palace cooks made. Then he got older and always made his own food. This was the first time someone had made food for him... And offered it to him because they were worried about him... No one... no one had ever treated him like this outside of his parents and Zhuzhi-ge. And Shen-shixiong didn’t even know his real identity…

Binghe knew his expression must have been unsightly, but he tried to keep his voice reasonable as he said, "Thank you, Shen-shixiong. Binghe will eat now." The words came out painfully soft, betraying his trembling pride.

Binghe ate the skewer of meat quietly, only speaking when Shen-shixiong made motions to get up and make another skewer. “Please Shen-shixiong, there is no need. Binghe will make a skewer for Shen-shixiong in return. He asks only to use some of Shen-shixiong’s salt.”

Hearing this, Shen-shixiong seemed inordinately excited, but Binghe attributed this to the bland diet of Qing Jing Peak. Cheerfully, Shen-shixiong replied, “Of course! Binghe is welcome to use as much salt as he wishes!”

Binghe ate quickly; in all honesty, Shen-shixiong’s culinary skills left quite a bit to be desired. The salt hadn’t been applied evenly, leaving some areas overly salty and others overly bland. His overeagerness also showed; the meat was placed too close to the fire, leaving the outermost parts very well cooked and charred in some places, while the meat closest to the bone was slightly bloody still. It was one of the best meals of Binghe’s life.

He prepared Shen-shixiong’s meal with a more discerning eye, picking out the best cuts of the beast and roasting it slowly. When he handed it off, his shixiong looked as if Binghe had handed him a great treasure. Without waiting for the meat to properly cool, Shen-shixiong took a bite.

Just as quickly, he pulled back and let out a small cry of dismay.

“Shen-shixiong?!”

The man in question... didn’t exactly pout, but it was very close. “It’s too hot. I burnt my tongue.”

Binghe used all his years of copying skills to channel his mother’s stoic expression, trying to maintain his composure and not laugh. “Shen-shixiong, please be careful. I can always make more if you are still hungry afterwards.”

Even with Binghe’s reassurance, and even despite his own eagerness, Shen-shixiong could barely finish that first skewer, lying blearily against a large boulder and glancing forlornly at where Binghe had lain out the completely butchered the boar-bear. Binghe just shook his head at the silliness and started packing the better cuts away into his own special qiankun pouch. It was one made specialised for hunters; it had a very low temperature, so food wouldn’t spoil once it was placed inside.

Recovering a little from his apparent drowsiness, Shen Yuan inquired after the nature of the bag, stating that he had never seen it before.

Binghe merely smiled at his confusion. “It's a new invention by the retainer of a family friend. This is one of the prototypes; I'm sure when they figure out how to make more of them with less effort they'll become widely popular.”

After food, they made camp on the spot. It wasn’t exactly nighttime; the Endless Abyss was technically its own realm, sealed off from both the human and demon realms. There was no sun and no moon, no day or night —just the perpetual glow of the lava. But Binghe still needed sleep.

They fought over night watch, with Shen Yuan winning the first one and Binghe taking the second. In all honesty, Shen Yuan had no sense of time and was also at the point of his cultivation where sleep wasn’t necessary, so he had no intention of waking Binghe up for the second half of the watch. Instead, Shen Yuan idled away by scribbling in the dirt, trying to remember how Luo Binghe had originally obtained Xin Mo. In canon, the whole affair had taken four months. On paper (or well, in pixels), three of those months had taken about one sentence; according to the Great Airplane, “Luo Binghe fought endlessly, wounded but still forced to go on, like a cornered animal with nowhere to go and nothing but desperation and hatred burning in his heart.”

However shitty the language had been, what was worse was how unhelpful it was to Shen Yuan’s predicament! There was no information about early landmarks or what sort of creatures Luo Binghe fought! The Great Airplane only started describing things in detail once Luo Binghe was one week away from getting Xin Mo. The first named foe had been a venomous lion-scorpion, infamous for its lingering venom that was a valuable ingredient in a few major types of demonic poisons. Then there had been the giant lava slime, then the obsidian skeleton whale, all the way until the pair of white tiger demons, loyal guardians of their master’s earthly remains —and more importantly, their master’s sword, Xin Mo.

Shen Yuan had no idea if they were even going the right direction. Sure, it was an abyss and the map would be pretty linear, but what if they had gone backwards?? There wouldn’t even be any way to tell until they encountered the venomous lion-scorpion (assuming there’ll be one at all in this timeline). At least they should make it in better time than Luo Binghe had done alone and weaponless.

Binghe woke up two hours late for his half of the watch to Shen Yuan’s unregretful gaze. (He was fifteen! He needed his sleep!) To placate him, Shen Yuan promised that the incident wouldn’t repeat itself. Instead of sleeping, however, Shen Yuan sat down properly and sunk into deep meditation. All the fighting in the past few days had dirtied his energy. Unless he wanted to go into qi deviation, he needed to flush himself of the demonic taint.

And so it happened, monster after monster they tore through the Abyss, and after the third day, Shen Yuan swore he would no longer complain about Shang Wensheng’s canon time skips anymore. There was nothing to do beyond fight, eat, sleep, and walk —sometimes in that exact order, even!

Shen Yuan really didn’t know how the original Luo Binghe hadn’t gone insane down here. (On second thought, the original Luo Binghe kinda… did go insane...) This time at least, Binghe had him to talk to. Shen Yuan had never been very good at small talk, so didn't know what to say most of the time. He had questions for Binghe, but almost all of them related to the demon realm, and since Binghe was still pretending to be a rogue cultivator and Shen Yuan was still humouring him, he couldn’t even pester him about that stuff.

On the contrary, Binghe had no such compunctions with asking him questions. They spoke at length about life as a disciple of Cang Qiong Mountain —well, Shen Yuan did; Binghe just kept asking. He seemed genuinely curious too, and not just asking out of politeness. When Shen Yuan told him about the details of the past ten years of bland and sad food of Qing Jing Peak, he laughed, the sound bright and clear.

"Is that why Shen-shixiong is so passionate about food?" Binghe asked, half teasing.

Shen Yuan smiled sheepishly, "Not really. Delicious food is delicious food right?"

Binghe didn’t seem to have a response to that.

There was a pause before Shen Yuan asked, "Where did Binghe learn how to cook?"

It was Binghe's turn to smile sheepishly now, "Mostly, I taught myself from watching others, and I think there's a bit of instinct to it as well? My mother... She had married far away from her homeland, so upon arrival she had been unable to tolerate most of the local food. My father went through many chefs trying to find one that could make food from her homeland, but we lived too remote of a place, so he was only able to find some mediocre ones."

Poor Su Xiyan; didn't some demons consider rotting flesh a delicacy? Shen Yuan couldn't imagine someone as dignified as Tianlang-jun eating rotting flesh, but that probably didn't mean that the cooks wouldn’t try to serve it to the royal couple....

Binghe continued, "One time when we visited mother's homeland, I saw many families sharing their meals together, laughing and talking. I thought that it would be nice if we could do that as well, so I learned how to cook that trip."

Shen Yuan cried internally, what a good and filial son! But Binghe’s face froze in a mask of melancholy. Ah... he’s probably worrying about his parents... Such a sad look... Shen Yuan really couldn’t take it. His hand moved, and before he fully registered what he was doing, it was already too late. By the time his brain caught up, both he and Binghe had frozen in place; Shen Yuan’s hand was still on Binghe’s head, caught in the middle of a second pat.

In that moment of silence, Shen Yuan’s life flashed before his eyes, and he tried to withdraw his hand. Quick as a snake, Binghe’s hand came up around his wrist, keeping it in place.

“Binghe?” Shen Yuan’s voice sounded surprisingly calm.

“A— Shen-shixiong, it’s alright. I don’t mind,” Binghe said, voice low. Then, slowly, as if to not startle him, Binghe released his hand.

Shen Yuan opened his mouth, then closed it again. Instead he gave Binghe one last pat before continuing onwards.

Beside him, Binghe smiled.

Neither of them managed to get any injuries of note until they’d been in the Abyss for a month. They were fighting a cobra-crab when Shen Yuan was forced into a corner by sharp snapping pincers. Backed up against a pool of lava, his fan glancing uselessly off the monster's armoured scales, Shen Yuan closed his eyes and braced himself for the blow. Only it never came.

Shen Yuan opened his eyes to Binghe fighting to pull Zheng Yang from a joint of an oversized crab leg.

Attention diverted, the beast twisted its snake like body and snapped at Binghe with its pincers. Binghe, unwilling to let go of the sword, managed to dodge shielding his neck at the expense of his shoulder. Blood spread immediately, soaking the surrounding fabric, then started gushing as Binghe ignored the pincers sunken a good inch into his shoulder and instead tore Zheng Yang free of the cobra-crab.

It reared back, spitting, and Binghe took the chance to plunge Zheng Yang into its open mouth. The massive beast lurched, toppling, and Shen Yuan leaped forward to shield Binghe from the crushing weight of its corpse.

Afterwards, Shen Yuan carefully pried open the pincer with the edge of Zheng Yang, scorched free of blood in their campfire. His hands trembled; that was far too close for comfort. If Binghe had been a little slower, if Zheng Yang had truly been stuck...

Shen Yuan really wanted to yell at him; why was he so stubborn about hiding his identity? This wouldn't have happened if he had just used his demonic powers! Even now, the wound continued to bleed... Did... did it nick an artery?! There was just so much of it! What if he got nerve damage?! He needed that hand to handle his sword!

Yet Binghe continued to suppress his demonic powers, so Shen Yuan could only play along. "Take off your shirt."

Binghe froze. “Shen-shixiong?”

Shen Yuan started pulling at the shirt, careful not to agitate the wound.

“Shen-shixiong!”

Shen Yuan frowned as he pulled out bandages and medicinal salve from his qiankun pouch. “Hold still. We need to stop the bleeding and clean it properly.” Despite Shen Yuan’s displeasure at the situation, he kept his treatment as gentle as possible.

Binghe winced, but kept his arm still.

As Shen Yuan tended the wound, he couldn’t help but start lecturing, “That was incredibly dangerous and reckless! What were you thinking?!”

Shen Yuan didn’t expect Binghe to respond, but once the wound was painstakingly bandaged, Binghe spoke. “If I didn’t do it, it would be Shen-shixiong that would be injured instead. I heal more quickly; it’s better if I get injured.” Binghe solemnly shrugged his shirt back on. “I was too careless this time. I promise I’ll stop underestimating these enemies from now on.”

Shen Yuan, sighed, and lightly tapped Binghe’s head with Zhu Yin in a half hearted reprimand. “‘Shen-shixiong’ this; ‘Shen-shixiong’ that. Do you even take me for a shixiong? In what universe is a shidi supposed to protect a shixiong? It should have been me today.”

Binghe looked up at him, a strange sheen to his eyes; “Shen-shixiong...”

Shen Yuan didn’t let him finish saying whatever it was that he was going to say; hadn’t they had enough touching bonding moments already?! This was too much! He (lightly!) tapped Binghe on the head with Zhu Yin again. “Enough. Let’s make camp. You should rest your shoulder for a bit before moving it again.”

It was seven weeks in when they finally encountered the venomous lion-scorpion. By then, proximity and practice had made them both much more attuned to each other’s fighting style, and necessity has honed their partnership to the point of near-telepathy.

But the venomous lion-scorpion wasn't easy prey; Shen Yuan might even say it was the most dangerous foe they’d faced together yet. It had the agility and strength of a lion, with venom so potent it could burn through metal. It had the armoured carapace of a giant scorpion and seven flexible tails that constantly lashed at them. The trick to killing this creature was to cut off all its tails, which would lead to structural weakness in the carapace, cause a few key chinks to appear in the armour. Of course, all of this could be bypassed if one was strong enough to pierce the carapace normally, but neither of them were at that stage yet.

They’d managed to cut off all but one of its tails, and in their hubris Binghe had sent Zheng Yang zooming through the air, further than he should have, leaving himself vulnerable for a split second too long. Shen Yuan saw the lion open its mouth, fangs dripping with venom, and, stupidly, instinctively, he pushed Binghe behind him, right arm rising in a malformed block to protect his face.

The fangs sunk through flesh and sinew like Shen Yuan was made of water, reaching bone and snapping shut. For a second, before Shen Yuan could process it properly, he was confused at the lack of feeling. Then pain rippled from the bloody gash, not hot and molten the way flesh wounds typically were, but sharp and deep like nerve damage, a wave of needles scoring his veins. Shen Yuan groaned as it intensified. The sensation spread quickly up and down his arm, and Zhu Yin clattered to the stony ground as he lost command of his hand. The monster pulled its head backwards, and for a frightening instant, Shen Yuan felt his entire arm give a little.

But then, something happened —probably Binghe slicing off the final tail— and the beast roared, a cry that sounded as agonised as Shen Yuan felt. By this point, shock has numbed him, and as the fangs tore their way out of his arm, coagulating blood and venom stringing beads of torn flesh, he was grateful for it.

He stumbled backwards, right into Binghe, who stepped forward to shield him. Binghe raised his hand, a last commanded for Zheng Yang to land the killing blow.

Shen Yuan fell with the moment the monster, dizzy and feverish. Every part of his body felt shocked, in the electricity sort of way, as if he had short circuited every nerve ending he had. Distantly, he felt Binghe catch him before he face planted.

"Shen-shixiong!" Binghe cried, laying him gently on the ground. He repositioned Shen Yuan's arm carefully, and Shen Yuan weakly turned his head to see the full extent of the damage.

It... Wasn't good. The puncture marks went deep, and oozing from it was a sickly fluid of fluorescent green.

Binghe pulled out one of his water flasks to wash away some of the poison but Shen Yuan knew it was too late. The poison was already in his system.

How silly, to die here from poison of all things. Logically, he really should have just let Binghe get bitten. He was a heavenly demon! Moreover, he was the protagonist! Stupid. Shen Yuan really was stupid.

His vision blurred; the poison was very fast acting. Leave it to the Great and Might Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky to make even Shen Yuan’s death so inconvenient.

At his side, Binghe was near tears. "Shen-shixiong! No, please, you need to stay awake."

Shen Yuan couldn't really see anymore, but he heard a rough grunt. The scent of rust filled the air, fitting in such a rusty landscape of such a rusty world. Wet fingers pressed against Shen Yuan’s lips. Binghe said something, but even Shen Yuan’s hearing was going now, drowning in a fuzzy sea of white noise. Shen Yuan’s shoulder was shaken, and for a moment he heard it again, "Shen-shixiong... please… A’Yuan-ge…"

Binghe’s sobbing voice was the last thing he heard.

Chapter Text

Shen Yuan woke to the taste of iron crusting on his lips. Blood? His own? No. Binghe. Heavenly demon blood was immune to all poison. He licked at the line of dried blood crusted at the juncture between his lips. Something soft was beneath his head, and as he tried to move, something rushed in his blood, a strange tingling sensation that was completely different than the aftershocks of nerve damage he still felt at his arm.

For the second time in this abyss, Shen Yuan opened his eyes to red. Binghe stared at him intently, eyes glowing red in a way unrelated to the light from the pools of magma illuminating them. A demon mark of fiery vermillion marred his once-smooth forehead.

Oh. Shen Yuan was lying in Binghe's lap. With difficulty, Shen Yuan separated his top lip from his bottom. "Binghe?"

"A’Yua—" Binghe started, then stopped. "Shen-shixiong,” he said instead, “you're awake."

Shen Yuan stirred, trying to sit up. What kind of a grown man would lay his head in the lap of his little shidi?

Gently but firmly, Binghe pushed him back down. "Shen-shixiong, I still haven't been able to completely eliminate the poison yet, please wait a bit longer."

Shen Yuan made a noise of acknowledgement and instead turned to look at his injured arm. Underneath a tattered sleeve, new skin of a waxy pink colour marred it. The injury had healed completely; painless beyond a phantom tingle that was more an echo of memory than a sign of anything physically amiss. Amazed, Shen Yuan sighed, "The blood of heavenly demons really lives up to its name…"

Binghe flinched. "Shen-shixiong... You... you know what I am?"

Shen Yuan couldn't stand how small his voice sounded. He was suddenly, violently, reminded of that dream they had shared before he had gotten Zheng Yang, when Binghe had seemed so lost, so ashamed of his demonic heritage. Oh. Maybe that ended up more traumatic than he had hoped it would be. He reached up using his left hand and awkwardly patted Binghe's head.

"Binghe is Binghe."

There were tears in Binghe's eyes again. "Shen-shixiong. When did you know?"

Well, honestly? He’d known from the start. But he couldn’t very well tell Binghe that, and especially not the reason why. Instead, he said, "Do you remember that first wound you got? From the cobra-crab in your shoulder? It had healed overnight, basically. That kind of healing should only really be possible with a healer's assistance." Shen Yuan paused, considering his words. "Moreover, by your swordsmanship skills alone, you would have been the talk of the conference, rogue cultivator or not. But no one ever mentioned your name." Shen Yuan then lifted his left hand and showed him the small bracelet with a string of beads attached, "And you also don't have this on. It's the bracelet used to measure scores for the conference."

Binghe smiled admiringly, "Shen-shixiong really is amazing."

Shen Yuan waved his hand dismissively, "It's only because we spent so much time together.“

Binghe just smiled even wider, eyes lighting up in a way that was really unfairly adorable.

Struck by the sight, Shen Yuan stuttered before asking, "B-before I fainted, you called me A'Yuan-ge. Why did you stop?" There was a slight flush to Binghe's cheeks now, and Shen Yuan suppressed a smile. As an only child, Binghe would have been lonely growing up. So of course during their journey through the Endless Abyss he’d latched onto Shen Yuan for a big brother figure!

"I didn't want to come off as too presumptuous." Binghe said, unwilling to meet Shen Yuan's eyes.

Shen Yuan reached up and patted his head again. "It's alright. I don't mind. You can call me that if you like."

Binghe lit up again. "A'Yuan-ge."

"Mhmm."

"A'Yuan-ge."

"Binghe?"

"It's nothing; I just wanted to say it a few more times."

Shen Yuan patted him on the head again. What a silly child.

Two days later, Binghe frowned as they rested by the cooling remains of the giant lava slime. “A'Yuan-ge… I don’t know why, but the poison isn’t being destroyed. My blood is suppressing it, so it won’t affect you right now, but if I pull it out it’ll just flare up again.”

Shen Yuan sighed. Having heavenly demon blood inside him wasn’t ideal. He could feel the demonic energy wrapped around his core every time he meditated. If he’d been completely settled in his gold core, it wouldn’t be too big of a deal, but Shen Yuan wasn’t completely stable yet in this new stage of cultivation. If the demonic disturbances stayed for too long, his progress might be hindered, or worse: he might go into qi deviation and his progress might come undone. But it should be okay for now, right? He trusted Binghe to not hurt him with it. “If your blood is still helping, then keep it in. If we ever get out, I’m sure the disciples of Qian Cao Peak will be able to do something.”

Binghe looked conflicted. “A'Yuan-ge, do you know what heavenly demon blood can do?”

Shen Yuan sat up so that they were at eye level again. “I do. Binghe, I trust you. Just… Promise to take it out once we find a more permanent cure, alright?”

Something unreadable passed over Binghe’s face. “Alright,” he said, voice heavy. For a moment tension strung between them, but then Binghe quickly turned away and started pulling raw meat out of his specialized qiankun pouch. “A'Yuan-ge must be hungry, let Binghe cook him a meal.”

“Ah, I’m always hungry for Binghe’s cooking!” Even with subpar supplies and conditions, Binghe’s cooking remained divine.

Binghe smiled as he began to roast the meat and, as if replying to Shen Yuan’s thoughts, replied, “This is poorer fare than what A’Yuan-ge deserves. Once we get out, I’ll cook a proper meal for A'Yuan-ge.”

Internally, Shen Yuan smiled. “‘Once we get out’?”

Binghe’s eyes widened as he realised his slip-up. “That is, ah—”

“Surely Binghe must know that there is no natural exit to the Endless Abyss.” Shen Yuan smiled coyly. “That is, unless Binghe intends to find the very demonic, highly danger—”

“Yes,” Binghe interrupted, refusing to meet Shen Yuan’s eyes. “We need Xin Mo if we ever want to leave.”

Shen Yuan put a pacifying hand on Binghe’s shoulder. “Will you use it after we leave?"

Binghe hesitated, then curtly, “Yes.”

Shen Yuan nodded knowingly, “Shengxia-jun would find great use out of it, I’m sure.”

Binghe froze, “Nothing seems to get past Shen-shixiong.”

Shen Yuan smiled, “Cang Qiong Mountain is neutral, not ignorant. I’ve known of Binghe’s intentions since I realised Binghe’s heritage.”

Binghe nodded, but his face was still lined with suspicion. "With my father gone, I need Xin Mo to maintain order in the demon realm."

“I daresay you’ll also need it to free your father from the other sects.” Shen Yuan fanned himself absentmindedly before he realised his fan was Zhu Yin. He snapped it shut and thanked the heavens that he hadn’t accidentally taken off his nose. His stupid dramatic master was to blame for this habit. Usually he’d have a less dangerous fan, but he only had Zhu Yin down here.

Binghe was still tensed up like a cornered rabbit. Shen Yuan sighed internally, but he really couldn’t blame him for distrusting cultivators, especially considering recent events.

“I wouldn’t begrudge you at all for rescuing him,” Shen Yuan reassured, “and I can promise that Cang Qiong Mountain had nothing to do with it.”

Shen Yuan held Binghe’s gaze until he broke it with a nod. They both relaxed slightly.

"What I wanted to say is, there are certain... side effects of using a sword like Xin Mo..." Shen Yuan trailed off, unsure of how to continue. How was he supposed to tell the protagonist that his invincible cheat code weapon made him very slowly kinda evil and also required papapa to balance demonic energy levels?

Binghe might be a stallion protagonist but he was fifteen! That’s a bit young for so much papapa…

Luo Binghe, no, this Binghe in front of him, he's kind and sweet and —all things considered— very pure! In canon, Shen Yuan had been able to vindictively enjoy Luo Binghe's slow descent into darkness because, at the end of the day, he had been a fictional character. Seeing him take revenge, become the supreme ruler of all three realms, gather his unparalleled harem, Shen Yuan had enjoyed it because he had thought that it was the best outcome for that character.

But that wasn't true at all for the Binghe sitting in front of him; there was no reason for his corruption. Shen Yuan couldn't stomach the thought of this Binghe being replaced by the cold and ruthless Bing-ge. He wanted to prevent it at all costs.

"I know," Binghe said solemnly, breaking the silence of Shen Yuan’s internal struggle. "It's said that it magnifies the worst impulses within the wielder's heart, but that doesn't change the fact that I need its power. If it tries to change me, I'll resist it the best I can, and if I can't resist it anymore..." Binghe smiled, sad and hopeful at the same time, "I'm sure mother and father will stop me."

Could they really though? Heavenly demons were second to none in terms of power in this world, and to add a game breaking cheat on top of that... But at the same time, what else was Binghe supposed to do? Not save his father?

And at the end of the day, who really was Shen Yuan to say anything about these matters? A friend? A brother figure? Technically, they’ve only known each other for roughly two months. As an outsider, Shen Yuan had no right to pry anymore, so Shen Yuan simply defaulted to what he always did nowadays, which was to pat Binghe’s head gently.

Maybe Binghe wielding Xin Mo was just an inevitable fact of this universe, like that fact that Binghe would be born, that the sun would rise in the east and set in the west; Binghe would have to become the person that Airplane Shooting towards the Sky wrote, no matter how the other details of his life changed.

If so, then the least Shen Yuan could do was to help the Binghe in front of him save what was most precious to him.

The white tiger demons were the only humanoid creatures Binghe and Shen Yuan have encountered in the Endless Abyss. They were a pair of white tigers that had practised demonic cultivation to gain sentience and immortality, and they had spent the last who-knows-how-long guarding the remains of their previous master. In canon, a desperate and injured Luo Binghe had spoken to them, bargained with them, and convinced them that he was the reborn soul of their previous master. Thus, Bing-ge had gained access to Xin Mo; then, upon mastering the sword, he’d turned right around and killed the white tiger demons in his first sword-induced rage.

This time around, Shen Yuan and Binghe fought the white tiger demons straight on. No longer hiding his demonic heritage, Binghe made quick work of them after Shen Yuan surprised them from above with a cascade of blows from Zhu Yin.

Beyond the two guardians, Xin Mo stood alone, thrust tip down into the top of a grave pile —the mortal remains of its previous owner.

For a sword that was insanely powerful and enabled interdimensional travel, Xin Mo looked surprisingly plain. It wasn’t absurdly big like those Final Fantasy swords, or decorated in an extravagant manner. It was a normal sized sword with black accents and two small rubies placed on each side of the hilt. There weren’t even any engravings.

Binghe paused the moment before his hand touched the grip of the sword, turning his head slightly as if to confirm that Shen Yuan was there before he took a deep breath and reached for it.

The moment Binghe made contact, a wave of demonic energy erupted from the blade, strong enough to stagger Shen Yuan. The sheer amount of resentment and malicious intent stifled him; his breath caught on a suffocating pressure, each breath feeling like his ribcage was being crushed under a mountain.

Shen Yuan waited for it to abate, waited for Binghe to suppress the sword and regain control. Only it didn't happen. Instead, Shen Yuan watched as the black threads of energy spread even further, seeping in through Binghe’s skin, tangling his core in a web. Xin Mo’s rubies gleamed as Binghe's demon mark glowed, brighter and brighter until Binghe's demon mark expanded.

Oh. Oh no. Of all the scenarios Shen Yuan had imagined, he had somehow completely managed to miss this one. Binghe was being consumed by Xin Mo.

The Luo Binghe of Proud Immortal Demon Way had been seventeen when he had obtained Xin Mo, and it was after months of gruelling battles and power ups. But his Binghe was only fifteen, and Shen Yuan had been fighting alongside him the entire time. The difference in power level was too great!

Binghe let out an eerie wail, his eyes shifting into the same glowing red as his demon mark.

Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!!!

No. No he could fix this, this was because of an imbalance in spiritual and demonic energy right?! So if Shen Yuan gave Binghe his spiritual energy to balance out the excess of demonic energy, Binghe might regain control!

Shen Yuan forced himself forward, staggering the last few steps so that he could reach Binghe, clutching at his shoulder to force more spiritual energy into him.

At first it was a steady stream, but then the floodgates opened and Binghe started devouring it. Shen Yuan lost energy at an alarming rate, but Binghe showed no signs of improvement.

If Shen Yuan continued sending energy, he would be drained dry for nothing!

Internally, Shen Yuan steeled himself. Well. If this really was a ‘you can’t eat your cake and still have it’ type scenario, then. Well. Was there honestly a question as to who Shen Yuan would chose?

Using the last of his strength, he pulled his hand away from Binghe’s shoulder. With a snap, the stream of spiritual energy stopped. In whiplash, Binghe convulsed.

Shen Yuan reached for Xin Mo.

Pulling the sword away from Binghe wasn’t difficult. No, in the instant he made contact with it, he felt a rush of unparalleled power, enough to demolish mountains with a single strike, to rend the heavens and part the seas. Only, the rush of power left as quickly as it came, and then pain exploded.

Shen Yuan once would have said that he was intimate friends with pain; enough so that even the venom from the lion-scorpion hadn’t truly been the worst pain he’d ever felt (though it was close). But the agony of Xin Mo trying to reach through his golden core and devour him couldn’t be placed on the same scale at all. It was like comparing the size of a human to the size of the sun.

So this was what a qi deviation felt like. No wonder Liu Qingge went mad. Moreover, his blood felt like it was boiling, like it was being devoured by Xin Mo fighting against the heavenly demon blood that continued to rule his veins. Shen Yuan wailed, thin and wavering.

But Shen Yuan held back. He retreated to his core, away from the influence of demonic energy, to the one part of him that remained pure despite living in the Abyss for two months, despite the grasp of heavenly demon blood on his physical form. He resisted the temptation to let go and allow Xin Mo to take over. He even resisted the temptation to gather up the last of his strength and burst through, destroying himself and the sword in one grave.

Because without Xin Mo, Binghe could never leave. This would buy him more time to train. Until he was strong enough to return and properly claim the sword.

Ah, Shen Yuan thought as his vision finally went dark, I managed to go from a nameless NPC to the self-sacrificing brother. That’s not a bad level up at all.

Again, Shen Yuan woke up in Binghe’s lap: the firm press of his thighs beneath his head, the rough scratch of his robes against his face, the familiar embrace of his particular flavour of demonic energy. But wait. That wasn’t right. Why was Shen Yuan alive?

His head was still in agonizing pain, and the soft sound of suppressed sobbing was not helping. He knew he should probably open his eyes or at least say something —honestly wasn't it a bit too undignified for the prince of the demon realms to be crying like this?— but even the thought of doing anything but lie there seemed to make the pain worse.

The sound really was terrible though. Not only did his head hurt, but it also made his chest feel weird? No wait. It didn’t just feel weird, it felt... warm. Like... like qi? Someone was transferring him spiritual energy?

And that was when the first drops of liquid hit his face. Shen Yuan really couldn't keep his eyes closed anymore at that point —what if it was snot?!

Of course it wasn't though. It was Binghe, he wouldn't be so cruel as to let snot get all over Shen Yuan's face. No, he was crying. Fat, heavy teardrops that rolled over his pale cheeks to splash hotly on Shen Yuan’s chin. And since it started, it only escalated, drop after drop after drop. Binghe struggled to take a breath between the sobs.

Shen Yuan opened his mouth but he honestly didn't know what to say. He had seen Binghe on the verge of tears before, but he never actually outright cried. But cry he did, not hiding his face or wiping his tears, just sitting there and crying.

"Binghe?" Shen Yuan forced out from his rasping throat.

“A'Yuan-ge,” Binghe responded through small gaps, his voice equally wrecked.

“Why am I not dead?”

“You almost did... If I hadn’t been able to regain control at the last moment, Xin Mo would have devoured you,” he said, voicing thin and trembling. Meanwhile, hot tears continued to fall.

Shen Yuan closed his eyes again. Ah, by dramatic conventions there would be more tension if he was only saved at the last minute. “It’s good that Binghe is so strong then.”

“A'Yuan-ge!” A hint of indignation seeped through the anguish this time, enough so that the near torrential fall of tears finally stopped. “You don’t know how close it was... If you didn’t have my blood in you… if you had given me a little bit less or little bit more spiritual energy... if Zheng Yang didn’t try to fight Xin Mo... you... you would be...” Binghe stopped, seemingly unable to finish the sentence.

“Binghe ah it’s alright. I’m still alive aren’t I?” Shen Yuan opened his eyes again, meeting the gaze of Binghe’s bloodshot ones. How did he cry so much and still not get swollen eyes?! This was unfair.

Wait a second. What was that last part he said? Zheng Yang fighting back? Shen Yuan frowned, “Binghe, what happened with Zheng Yang?”

“When I first grabbed Xin Mo, it was Zheng Yang that protected me with spiritual energy. That little bit of extra energy was what stopped Xin Mo from merging with my soul completely. If it had merged successfully, even if you pulled it away, it wouldn’t have worked.”

Shen Yuan blinked. Ah, Zheng Yang recognized its original master to this extent? He didn’t understand why else that would have happened, but when he reached out to Zheng Yang using the pathetic amounts of spiritual power he had at the moment, Zheng Yang responded just like usual, in a way that a personal sword would only respond to it’s chosen master.

Shen Yuan shrugged it off; it wasn’t a priority at the moment. Instead he asked, “You said Xin Mo merged with your soul partially?”

“En. To the degree where I can control it when my demonic and spiritual energy are balanced. If it had been a complete merge, I... Xin Mo would have devoured me completely. A’Yuan-ge... you saved me.”

The tears started to flow again. Shen Yuan wearily patted at Binghe’s shoulder since he didn’t really have the energy to reach all the way up to his head. “Binghe has saved my life multiple times too.”

“That’s... A’Yuan-ge...”

“Alright, alright. There’s no need to cry, I’m alive aren’t I? Like Binghe said, your blood protected me from going too deep in qi deviation, and Binghe has been giving me qi as well… Wait,” Shen Yuan frowned, thinking of his words from earlier, “didn’t you say your spiritual energy and demonic energy need to be balanced?! Stop giving me qi!”

The flow of energy slowly tapered to a stop. “A’Yuan-ge doesn’t need to worry. It’s not too much; I wouldn’t endanger us like that.”

Shen Yuan sighed. “Have you figured out how to open portals yet?”

“Yes. As soon as A'Yuan-ge is well enough to travel, we can finally leave this place.” Binghe replied, the tears slowly stopping again. Honestly... the heir to the demon realms being such a crybaby… What was Shen Yuan going to do with him?

Hearing those words, Shen Yuan tried to sit up again. Binghe didn’t even try to stop him this time, just waited until Shen Yuan’s straining muscles gave up.

Hiccuping through his tears, Binghe said, “A’Yuan-ge must rest. Binghe will go make camp.”

Their last night (was it night?) in the Endless Abyss was peaceful. Monsters had long learned to stay away from this place, intimidated by the malicious aura of Xin Mo and its guardians, so everything was peaceful as Shen Yuan sat undisturbed against the cliff wall while Binghe started the campfire.

Ever since the boar-bear, Binghe had been fiddling with the lining of one of its internal organs. He’d stopped a week or so ago, and Shen Yuan had assumed that whatever he’d planned with it hadn’t worked out. Thus, Shen Yuan became awfully confused when Binghe started digging a hole and draping something leathery over it. But then, he drew water from the air to fill the makeshift pot, then levitated over a few smooth stones from the campfire, still glowing with heat, dropping them in one at a time.

The meat from the boar-bear had run out a few weeks ago, but a few days before that, they’d miraculously encountered a vulture-shark. It wasn’t the delicacy that the boar-bear had been, but it was large enough to keep them fed through the second leg of their journey. Binghe threw a pile of the slippery meat into the pot, then covered the whole thing with a second sheet of what Shen Yuan finally realised was boar-bear stomach lining.

“Forgiving Binghe’s incompetence, it’ll be another hour before A’Yuan-ge will have something to eat.”

In theory, food sounded nice, but Shen Yuan doubted he was able to stomach anything. “I don’t think I have the appetite now anyway.”

Binghe fiddled with the soup setup some more before, “A’Yuan-ge must be eager to get home,” he said with a rigidly flippant tone.

“Home? But don’t you need to save your father?” It was the task of utmost urgency; Su Xiyan couldn’t have held up very well in the demon realms alone. News would have traveled far enough by now that all the demons would know of Tianlang-jun’s capture and his wife-consort’s lonely defense.

“Binghe has time enough to escort A’Yuan-ge to someplace close enough to Cang Qiong Mountain before he leaves to find his father.”

“I am not leaving you to go rescue your father by yourself,” Shen Yuan insisted.

"I won’t be alone, my cousin will also be there."

"Two people against all the disciples that guard the mountain?" Shen Yuan demanded.

"Would three people make much more of a difference?" Binghe asked in return.

"It's still better than two!"

By this point, Binghe had stopped fiddling with his soup, leaving it to simmer as he argued with Shen Yuan. "A'Yuan-ge..." he sighed, exasperated.

Shen Yuan stayed firm. “If you took me back to Cang Qiong Mountain, I’d just come back out and follow you to your father. Where to go is Binghe’s choice; where to follow is mine.”

It was an effective end to the conversation, leaving Binghe silent as the soup simmered.

At some point, Shen Yuan dozed off, and he woke to the rich aroma of cooked meat. Binghe had outdone himself this time. The broth was the pale white colour of fish soup, with a thin sheen of fat on top. Pieces of rice rations had been dropped in and mostly dissolved, leaving the whole affair pleasantly viscous. The vulture-shark meat had been tough and stringy when cooked over the campfire, but they fell apart now, simmered until they fell apart in a tender, savoury mess.

“What demonic spell have you cast over this?” Shen Yuan moaned into his first sip.

“Ah, Binghe has done nothing too incredible,” Binghe smiled with a small hint of mischief. “Really it is A’Yuan-ge who must be thanked. If he hadn’t slept for so long, Binghe fears that it might have turned out underdone.”

Was this little brat… teasing him???

Binghe smiled more openly. “A’Yuan-ge’s aura seems to have recovered. Binghe will be ready to open the portal whenever A’Yuan-ge finishes eating.”

The instant that Shen Yuan crossed over the portal was extremely disorientating, as if he was suddenly stripped of all sense of balance and spatial awareness and then spat back out. This, of course, made an extraordinary amount of sense. They had landed in a dense forest of bamboo, with a towering mountain range ahead of them. It was dim out, and Shen Yuan couldn’t tell if the sun at the horizon was rising or setting.

Binghe was looking around the underbrush. Shen Yuan didn't understand what he was doing but stood by the side quietly, studying their surroundings more closely. Reaching out with his senses, Shen Yuan counted more than twenty cultivators up ahead; two months had passed already with no signs of any rescue effort, so Zhao Hua Temple had reduced the number of disciples actively guarding the surroundings. More concerning, however, was that a number of trapping, illusionary, defensive, and alarm arrays had been set up instead.

Meanwhile, Binghe had snatched a tiny green snake out of the foliage. Docile, it coiled in his hand and opened its mouth. Binghe carefully pierced a finger on its fangs and fed the snake one drop of his blood before it quickly slithered away.

A few moments later, a man emerged from the trees looking exactly as Shen Yuan remembered him. It was Zhuzhi-lang. This time, he had a good swarm of snakes as his entourage, some small and some large. All of them reeked with demonic power; Shen Yuan had no doubt that they were extraordinarily poisonous.

He only gave Shen Yuan a quick glance before turning back to Binghe and bowing, “Your Highness.”

“Cousin. How is my father?” The way he spoke and held himself was completely different from the way he was with Shen Yuan. He seemed much more severe and stern, every inch a demon prince.

“In response to Your Highness’s question, Junshang is in stable condition right now. However, the past three months have severely damaged his body; I do not think he will be able to move by himself once the enchantments are lifted. Other than the arrays, there are twenty high ranking cultivation disciples patrolling the area closest to Junshang as well as one immortal cultivator.” Zhuzhi-lang paused turned back to look at Shen Yuan. "And who is the companion of Your Highness?"

"A cultivator I met in the Endless Abyss. He can be trusted." Binghe said, and then turned to Shen Yuan. "A'Yuan-ge, how many of these arrays can you dismantle?”

Shen Yuan considered the arrays around them for a moment. His skill with arrays was only mediocre; the only reason why he knew anything about them was because of all the lessons he had gone to on Qing Jing throughout the years. The arrays laid out here were made by incredibly skilled cultivators, all of them crafted at the highest level to entomb the worst enemy of the cultivation world.

With as much confidence as he could muster, Shen Yuan said, “If you give me two hours, I can completely disable the alarm arrays. With an extra hour, I can weaken the defensive array, but that's as much as I can do about them.”

Zhuzhi-lang cut in. “If I may, xianshi, how much did you mean by ‘weaken’?”

Shen Yuan thought about it. “Enough that it wouldn’t hinder you or Bing— ah, Shengxia-jun. And enough that it wouldn’t notice lesser demonic creatures.” The second part was said with a nod at the snakes.

Binghe smiled. “Then you can start working on them. Cousin, as soon as the arrays are down, send the smaller poisonous snakes inside to dispatch the cultivators. Afterwards, I will use Xin Mo to carve out a path and break the suppression array. Once the array is broken, I will open a portal back to the demon realm.”

Zhuzhi-lang frowned. “Your Highness, are you aware of what has happened while you were in the Endless Abyss?”

Binghe tensed. “What happened?”

“Su-xianshi was able to maintain stability with the command of the black army for the first two months. After that, however, several of the southern clans allied and besieged the Southern Palace."

Binghe's carefully neutral expression strained under the weight of the news. If Shen Yuan remembered correctly, the black army was something that Tianlang-jun had created using his own blood and some fancy technique that the Great Airplane never cared to elaborate on. Designated people could take command of the mindless soldiers, but their creation was something only Tianlang-jun could do. In canon, Bing-ge had tried to create his own version but could never get it quite right (though he still ended up conquering both realms by himself because of his protagonist halo).

This Binghe probably didn’t know how to create them or for some reason couldn’t create them. Otherwise, he probably wouldn’t have needed to get Xin Mo. For the demon clans to be able to besiege the Southern Palace… That probably meant Su Xiyan had burned through the majority of the black army within the first two months.

Zhuzhi-lang continued. “The last message I received from Su-xianshi was written one week ago and she said the palace was still secure. However, Your Highness should still be cautious when we arrive there.”

“I understand,” Binghe said with a troubled expression.

For the next few hours, Shen Yuan worked desperately to undo the arrays, his hard-trained posture from years on Qing Jing completely abandoned as he forgot about almost everything else around him. The instant the alarm array was disabled, Shen Yuan light out a small sigh. Honestly, that was the one most concerning to him; if it went off, it could summon a lot more cultivators as backup. He had no doubt Binghe could handle it with Xin Mo, but Shen Yuan really didn't want the sword to backlash again. Back in the Endless Abyss, if Shen Yuan hadn't stepped in, Binghe really would have died! The protagonist halo wasn't in effect in this world!

Finally, Shen Yuan slumped and said, "I've weakened the defensive array as much as I can."

Binghe nodded and turned to Zhuzhi-lang, who clasped his hands and bowed, saying, "The snakes have been sent out. The poison is rather fast acting; they will be dead by the time we arrive."

Binghe drew Xin Mo from its sheath. As ever, the blade was wreathed with ominous black energy. Suddenly, the demonic aura condensed around the sword. Then, with one decisive swing, Binghe shattered the arrays seemingly effortlessly. All the vegetation that had been in line with the sword had been destroyed as well, disintegrated in an instant. In its wake, a black path scorched its way to the base of the mountain.

Binghe sheathed the sword again joined Shen Yuan to fly on Zheng Yang. Zhuzhi-lang morphed into a giant snake, trailing them as they rushed forward. Most of the bodies they passed had donned dusky uniforms, yet here and there were also a few deceased disciples in the gaudy silks of Huan Hua Palace, a jarring juxtaposition surrounded by wild greenery and dark cotton robes of Zhao Hua Temple.

Binghe hopped off of Zheng Yang as soon as they reached the base of the mountain —before Shen Yuan even properly stopped. Binghe quickly unsheathed Xin Mo and sent an even more powerful strike towards the numerous arrays and paper seals etched into the rock face. The resulting explosion seemed to shake not just the earth, but the heavens as well.

Shen Yuan coughed as the dust and dirt slowly settled, revealing a scene that made his stomach churn. After two months in the Endless Abyss fighting monstrous creatures, sometimes butchering them, sometimes fighting with such ferocity that the corpses left behind were nothing but pulpy messes, Shen Yuan thought himself desensitised to gore. And when he had heard about Tianlang-jun being imprisoned under a mountain, he hadn’t thought they’d meant Tianlang-jun was stuck under a mountain, but that must have been what happened, for the man they were here to rescue… was barely a man.

What remained of Tianlang-jun’s body was a head planted face down into the dirt, hair matted with blood and small pieces of flesh. Behind the accent of black was a pool of red. Blood soaked the tattered remains of what once had been a silken robe, and half way down his back, beyond the bottom of his ribcage, structure disappeared. Small pieces of ivory poked out in the pulp of red: bones that had shattered from the sheer weight of a mountain pressing from above. A once mighty demon lord, Tianlang-jun had been reduced to a head and half a torso, a fate more bleak even than that of the worst villain from canon. (Distantly, Shen Yuan felt pity for Shen Qingqiu. His master seemed perfectly reasonable, if extraordinarily petty, in this timeline.)

Then, Tianlang-jun raised his head.

Binghe and Zhuzhi-lang both rushed up, wrapping a cloak around him. When a trail of bloodstained spine poked out underneath like a tail of bone, Binghe steeled his expression and chopped it off with a decisive sweep of Xin Mo.

Just as Shen Yuan was going to look away, Tianlang-jun caught Shen Yuan’s eyes, and something like recognition flashed across his face.

But then Binghe slashed at the empty space beside them, and a dark and fathomless portal appeared. Zhuzhi-lang stepped through with what was left of Tianlang-jun, and Binghe turned to Shen Yuan.

Smiling, he said, “Would A'Yuan-ge like to stay for tea?”

Utterly charmed, Shen Yuan nodded. Then side by side with Binghe, he entered the demon realm.

Chapter Text

The second time Shen Yuan went through a portal, he fared no better than he did with the first. Stumbling against Binghe, he stepped into a tastefully decorated sitting room. If it wasn’t for Zhuzhi-lang standing several paces in front of them, still awkwardly holding Tianlang-jun, the room would feel eerily sparse, especially considering that they were in the inner sanctum of a demon lord's palace.

Suddenly, a bright line of silver flashed into the room from the direction of the adjoining bedroom. It was a sword, a personal spiritual weapon by the feel of it, and it ended its trajectory just shy of Zhuzhi-lang’s neck, humming with killing intent. Yet despite how closely the blade hovered with its point against the vulnerable pulse point of Zhuzhi-lang's throat, no one other than Shen Yuan seemed alarmed at all.

Then Tianlang-jun finally spoke for the first time since his jailbreak from the mountain, sounding surprisingly casual, "Xiyan! I'm home!"

And suddenly, Shen Yuan understood, remembering that fateful night almost fifteen years ago; Su Xiyan was the type of lady to poke her sword in unwelcome places first and ask questions to the resummoned spirit of a dead body second.

Her regal figure stepped out from behind a painted screen, resummoning her sword with a calmly raised hand as if she hadn't implicitly threatened to kill her nephew-by-marriage. Dressed in plain black robes, hair tied back solemnly, Su Xiyan looked just as stoic and stern as Shen Yuan remembered her.

Her eyes darted from the smiling, dismembered Tianlang-jun to the near-expressionless Zhuzhi-lang, then to Binghe quietly sheathing Xin Mo, and finally to Shen Yuan standing awkwardly beside him. Her eyes narrowed in scrutiny, and… maybe recognition?

Then Binghe spoke up, and her attention shifted. "Mother, your unfilial son has returned."

Su Xiyan glared. "At least you have self awareness. I will deal with you when all of this over.."

"This child understands."

Like a tamed puppy!!! Shen Yuan sighed internally, it seemed that no matter which timeline Binghe was in, he still revered his mother...

"Xiyan..." Tianlang-jun started again, "It has been three months, won't you look at me?"

"No." Su Xiyan replied, absolutely ruthless. "We are still under siege. I have more important things to do."

Receiving this news, Tianlang-jun's expression twisted into something more mocking. "Ah. So those ants thought they could attack while I was away."

He turned his head sideways. "Zhuzhi-lang, take me to the gates. I will destroy them myself."

"Mother, Father," Binghe interjected, "please stay here and rest. Your unfilial son will deal with those upstarts."

Without waiting for a reply from either of them, Binghe bowed and left. For a moment, Shen Yuan watched him leave. Then he realized that he would much rather face off against a demon army with Binghe than stay witness in this room to its incredibly awkward atmosphere, so he swiftly followed Binghe out.

As he left, Shen Yuan heard Su Xiyan say, "Zhuzhi-lang, stay here with him for now. I will go with Binghe."

"Xiyan..." Tianlang-jun said, quiet and more somber that Shen Yuan ever remembered him being.

"There yet remains six thousand troops, not including the backup from the north. Focus on recovering." With that, Su Xiyan came to join Binghe and Shen Yuan.

They made their way through twisting corridors both indoors and outdoors. It turned out An Xiao Palace was at least partially built upon a reservoir, with many walkways built directly on top of the water. The water was filled with fish, most of them unfamiliar, twining lazily around the blooming water lilies that also populated the lake. In the distance, Shen Yuan could see multiple viewing pavilions, and even further than that, the tall dark palace walls.

Shen Yuan couldn't help but frown. Standing at about the height of three stories, the walls weren't actually particularly tall —they would have been decent enough in a world without cultivation or demons, but in a world where a significant proportion of fighters knew how to fly, it didn’t really seem practical... Unless... Shen Yuan turned to Binghe. “Does this palace use barriers?”

“Mmm. Mother and Father made it together. Even if the entirety of the demon realm tried to invade they would still have difficulties breaking it.” When Binghe turned back to answer Shen Yuan, his aura of killing intent diminished greatly. Really, a fifteen year old shouldn’t have that kind of aura...

“No. If they all joined together, I would be on the run or dead by now.” Su Xiyan said, as they approached a large and ornate building, most likely the main hall where court was held.

Binghe frowned, “What does Mother mean?”

Su Xiyan didn’t reply and simply headed inside the building; the two servants manning the gigantic doors looking rather comical, obviously struggling with the weight of the doors, but still hopelessly curious about Binghe and the human cultivator he had in tow.

As soon as the doors opened and the three of them moved into the throne room proper, Shen Yuan understood everything immediately.

There, waiting casually in a seat that clearly did not belong in this room was a man dressed all in black, hair down in accordance with the fashion of the demon realms, and radiating cold in a way that could rival Shen Qingqiu —no, that wasn’t just some frigid aura. As Shen Yuan got closer to him, he became colder in a very physical way. And if that wasn’t enough of a confirmation of identity, beside him stood a very familiar figure. Even after ten years apart and even if only from the side, there was no way Shen Yuan would mistake him: Shang Wensheng!!!!!

As the doors slammed shut behind them, Shang Wensheng swiveled towards them and gaped. “Xiao— Xiao-Yuan?!”

Momentarily arrested by the intimate form of address, the two demons of the room simultaneously furrowed their brows. Su Xiyan merely watched, eyes sharp enough to cut stone.

Shang Wensheng floundered. “Why are you here?! Aren’t you supposed to be on Qing Jing Peak?! And— and—” He didn’t finish his sentence, glancing nervously at Binghe, but Shen Yuan could the question perfectly well without him asking it: Why are you with Luo Binghe?!

Shen Yuan narrowed his eyes, resisting the urge to grab Shang Wensheng by the collar and shake him, “Shang Wensheng, you colossal bastard! I’m here because I fell into the Endless Abyss. What’s your excuse?” What have you been up to these past ten years behind my back?!

Shang Wensheng let out a short awkward laugh, “Uh, it's quite the story; we can talk later!” Switching topics as easily as he used to shift scenes, he quickly bowed to Su Xiyan and Binghe, “Greetings to Your Majesty, Your Highness. Apologies for the disturbance.”

Beside him, the ice demon stood up, clasping his hands and bowing to his (technical) liege lords. “Greetings to Your Majesty, Your Highness. This lowly heir of Mobei, Muhan-jun, is at your service.”

Both Binghe and the yet-to-be Mobei-jun looked as if they had more questions to ask, but Su Xiyan had no patience for the drama and simply swept into an adjoining room filled with a large sandbox. It seemed a perfect miniature replica of what Shen Yuan assumed was the palace and its surroundings.

Su Xiyan explained that the situation wasn’t too dire at all; seven of the twelve southern lords had amassed their armies and allied to storm the palace when news of Tianlang-jun had finally spread through the demon realm. The seven lords had altogether about forty thousand troops. Most of the northern lords had remained silent —probably waiting to see who came out on top. However, the old Mobei-jun had uncharacteristically sent his son south with twenty-five hundred warriors as aid. Muhan-jun had used his teleportation power on himself and his troops to arrive directly within the palace walls. Thus, their current forces amounted to eighty-five hundred.

This was also how Su Xiyan had discovered that the palace's barrier did not ward against the inherited teleportation ability of the Mobei Clan.

Muhan-jun had arrived two days ago, drained from the large distance and sheer number of people he had to transport. Since then, he had been recuperating and preparing for battle.

"What is the state of the armies outside, do we know?" Binghe asked Su Xiyan as he stared intently at the sandbox.

"Though they are many, they have no sense of unity." Su Xiyan said, a hint of humour in her voice, "With our numbers so few, they had expected a quick victory. However, they haven’t managed to overcome the barrier and most of our other defences. Failing that, they keep pushing blame and squabbling. Moreover, the army was too hastily conscripted; most of the soldiers are ill-trained or disloyal." Here, Su Xiyan paused, the faintest of smirks gracing her lips. “The morale is non-existent.”

"So we could wait them out?" Binghe asked, brows furrowed.

Su Xiyan nodded, "An Xiao Palace has enough food stores to outlast them. However, now that you have returned with Xin Mo, the best approach is to defeating them directly. These so-called lords will only behave if they have been crushed into the dirt."

"Mother's thoughts are similar to my own." Binghe turned to Muhan-jun. "Have you ever fought in such a scale before?"

Muhan-jun nodded. "Once or twice. I have also studied the theory of war strategy and battle tactics."

Su Xiyan gave him a considering look and then, "Come closer then. We shall coordinate attacks."

And so the three of them discussed the war strategy while Shen Yuan and Shang Wenshang hovered awkwardly at the side, useless in martial matters. In his previous life, Shen Yuan had played the occasional MOBA game or RTS game, and he wasn’t bad at them, but somehow he doubted the experience translated to actual war. And though the cultivation sects had technically been at war with Tianlang-jun, no large scale battles had actually occurred, not to mention that Cang Qiong Mountain almost never participated in any of the ‘war’ efforts.

After a while of watching them go back and forth, Shen Yuan caught Shang Wensheng nearly falling asleep on his feet. Exasperated, he dragged Shang Wensheng out of the war room and into an adjoining tearoom meant for breaks.

“Explain,” Shen Yuan demanded, arms crossed.

“Ah, Xiao-Yuan… Is it really necessary to look so scary? After all, we haven’t seen each other for so long! Don’t you miss me?” Shang Wensheng started shamelessly. Seeing Shen Yuan’s unyielding expression, he cleared his throat awkwardly. “It happened on the way home from Cang Qiong Mountain. We stopped at this one inn by Huan Hua Palace territory... It was night time and I got writer's block on this new story I was writing so I went out for a walk.”

A walk. In the middle of the night. In Huan Hua Palace territory. How the fuck had he survived this long?! What sadistic perversion of fate allowed for someone so stupid to live to be so old?!

“While I was out walking I might have seen Mobe— that is, Muhan-jun. He was beating up some Huan Hua Palace disciples, and he killed them all, but then he caught me watching... and I may have panicked and pledged to serve him? So I took him back to my room and played sick so the guards would leave us alone and I could help him recover? Because the Huan Hua Palace people poisoned him, you see... But then everything kinda snowballed and I ended bribing the guards to leave and followed him around and ended up spending most of my time in the demon realm... That's why it was so hard to get letters to you! I wasn't trying to be distant on purpose, you know... It's just really hard to check on the mail! It’s not like they’ve invented P.O. boxes yet! I had to bribe an innkeep near the borderlands to watch out for letters from Cang Qiong Mountain!"

Shen Yuan sighed and flicked him on the forehead. When Shang Wensheng turned tearful eyes up at him (hah! Shen Yuan was taller!), Shen Yuan wished he had punched him like he‘d originally planned. "Just. Tell me one thing: did the opening of the Endless Abyss have anything to do you?"

"Not at all!" Shang Wensheng responded solemnly.

Shen Yuan glared.

He looked away. "Xiao-Yuan, I hate to break it to you, but after getting glared at by a demon lord every day for the past ten years your look of death really isn't that scary anymore..."

Quick as a flash, Shen Yuan took hold of one of his ears. Then he twisted.

"Ow! Ow! What the fuck?! Ow! Let go!!!!" Shang Wensheng tried to turn with the twist, but Shen Yuan just tugged in return, almost lifting him off his feet.

Shen Yuan could play this game all day. "If you want me to let go, tell me what you did." Clearly, Shang Wensheng's parents of his previous life had been nice, law-abiding citizens who didn't break the one child policy. In contrast, Shen Yuan had grown up with two older brothers who didn't understand the concept of mercy.

“I’m begging you! Mercy, ah, Xiao-Yuan! I’ll tell you as soon as you let me go!” Shang Wenshang cried pitifully, eyes welling with glistening tears.

Shen Yuan let go and continued glaring at him. Shang Wensheng cradled his victimised ear. "Muhan-jun wanted to get revenge on Huan Hua Palace for all the shit they’ve put him through... And if he managed to pull it off successfully, it would boost his influence in court, so I helped out..."

With an exasperated twang, Shen Yuan pulled out Zhu Yin, hiding the lower half of his face and his gritted teeth. Slowly, he bit out, "And so… even though you knew I was studying at Qing Jing… even though you knew Cang Qiong Mountain would participate… even though you must have had to enter the human realm to make everything happen... you decided not to tell me."

Shang Wensheng fidgeted with his headpiece. "Look dude... As smart of a person as I thought you were, I figured you'd be too smart to enter any Immortal Alliance Conference… I mean, it’s just generally a bad idea!"

There was an audible creak as Shen Yuan shifted the grit of his teeth.

Shang Wensheng backpedaled hastily, "Of course I still think you're really smart!"

Shen Yuan snapped Zhu Yin shut with a melodic thunk. For a moment he thought about punching him or jabbing him in the gut with the fan. But then he caught the regretful look on Shang Wensheng’s face and decided to take pity —by only kicking him in the shin. Except, the moment before he made contact, Shang Wensheng shifted his weight and moved his leg, dodging Shen Yuan’s blow entirely.

Shen Yuan frowned; those reflexes... normal people with no cultivation shouldn't be able to react that quickly. Then, ignoring the heavy veil of demonic aura, he reached out with his senses: there was himself, yes; then there was Su Xiyan in the other room, a bright light of immortal energy, steadfast and pure despite having lived in the demon realm for fifteen odd years; then, finally, standing right in front of him...

Shen Yuan sputtered, "You... When did you learn how to cultivate?!" What happened to being a simple merchant?! How did he even manage to cultivate without getting a Qi deviation?!

"It kinda happened by accident..."

By accident.

One could be born by accident. One could die by accident. One could even kill by accident. But one could not, not ever, cultivate by accident. Cosmic Moron Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky! Do you even hear what you're saying?! Not even OG Luo Binghe managed to cultivate by accident! Are you implying you're better than him?!

Clearly, this time Shen Yuan’s glare was threatening enough to convey some fraction of his displeasure because Shang Wensheng quickly elaborated. “That is to say, a few months after I accidentally became Muhan-jun’s retainer, he found out what the normal human lifespan is? And then he got really angry when I told him I would probably die in 70 years or so. Then he gave me a cultivation manual and told me he’d beat me up if I didn’t start cultivating...” Shang Wensheng sighed. “Obviously I still can’t fight for shit, but after that Thousand Year Moonlight Lotus he found for me last month I’ve been able to practice inedia.”

This... this was basically a cheat code! This pathetic, useless, lying author cheated his way to inedia!!! Shen Yuan had no doubt that Muhan-jun would find hundreds of those rare thousand-year-old flowers or other precious cultivation raising medicines for this waste-of-air hack standing in front of him...

Just as Shen Yuan opened his mouth to ask Shang Wenshang exactly what he had done to earn Muhan-jun’s seemingly endless favour, Muhan-jun entered the room.

“Come,” he said to Shang Wensheng, not elaborating at all. He then turned around and left without waiting to see if Shang Wenshang actually followed.

And like a well trained dog, Shang Wensheng followed without hesitation. Shen Yuan also trailed behind, curious and also unwilling to stay behind like a spoiled princess whilst the menfolk conspired.

It turned out that they’d decided to first sow some more discord and let the enemies destroy themselves as much as possible before moving in. The black army, led by Binghe, was tasked with the main battle front, with Muhan-jun leading his own forces tasked with routing any lords that tried to escape. It wasn't worth it to obliterate the opposing army. It was more important to capture or kill all the lords and the most prominent commanders and retainers while spreading a bit of goodwill amongst the more common soldiers.

Shang Wensheng had been called for potential blackmail; it seemed that everyone was under the impression that he was some type of natural prophet. Muhan-jun had insisted that Shang Wensheng's information would be more effective than waiting for Su Xiyan’s rather impressive spy network to get back to her.

Personally, Shen Yuan wasn't too sure about Muhan-jun's assertion. After all, while the Great Airplane did a bunch of behind-the-scenes planning, how many details did he actually flesh out? And how much could he remember after so many years? The demon lords in question weren't even any sort of major characters; Shen Yuan only vaguely recognized their names. Actually, he was pretty sure a few of them were supposed to become Binghe's fathers-in-law...

Sure enough, Shang Wensheng was only able to give them information about three of the demon lords. Zhanhong-jun and Miaoxi-jun were neighbouring lords who had a long history of animosity, mostly regarding disputes over their borderlands. This was well known gossip; in fact, no one even knew why they were working together this time. Su Xiyan had even originally planned to have a few spies cause disruptions over it.

Except Shang Wensheng nervously explained that the two lords in question were currently resolute allies. Their original rivalry had stemmed from a misunderstanding in their youth, but a few years ago their daughters had met. In order to further their own relationship, the two girls had managed to solve the mysteries of their fathers’ pasts. Thus, the two lords had reforged a close friendship and soon planned to forge an even closer kinship. Of course, this had all remained a very closely guarded secret; in order to preserve the status quo of the South and to remain unsuspicious and unthreatening to the other southern lords, they had been pretending for the past several years to still be in conflict. Thus, for An Xiao Palace, the approach would be to sow hearsay of their secret alliance with creative embellishments and just wait for the rest of the lords to react.

Then, there was Luyan-jun. Shang Wensheng had actual blackmail that they could use against him: he had a regrettable habit of extramarital affairs. By itself, it wasn’t too devastating. Except he was old (even for a demon) and without any viable heirs. Moreover, four of the six other lords in the alliance were his in-laws, and Luyan-jun had relied heavily on the support of two of them to manage some uprisings in his territories a few decades back. This was all common knowledge, though. The most devastating secret of the whole deal was that one of his mistresses was a favoured concubine of a northern demon lord, and her only child, a young rabbit demon, had actually been sired by Luyan-jun! (Shen Yuan had no doubt this pretty rabbit demon was another one of Luo Binghe's wives...) With this, they could easily force Luyan-jun to withdraw his forces, and simultaneously leak a rumour to the remaining lords that he had been loyal to Tianlang-jun all along and had only joined the alliance to spy. This way, Luyan-jun would have no way to stay in fear of his secrets being leaked, but he would also have no way to leave, because the other lords would only see that as confirmation for his traitorous acts! No matter what he did, he was screwed.

By the end of all this, even Binghe seemed to look at Shang Wensheng with a little more respect. With the new revelations, their plan became more formalized: they would deal with Luyan-jun first. Then, upon news of his doubtlessly tragic fate, they would send news (discreetly!) to the encampment regarding the alliance between Zhanhong-jun and Miaoxi-jun.

By estimation, the blackmail would leave only about three quarters of the enemy’s forces in any sort of battle-worthy condition. Even then, they’d be most likely demoralized and poorly trained, making it just that much easier for Binghe and Muhan-jun to capture the leaders. Half way through their talk, Zhuzhi-lang joined, quietly but firmly insisting on joining Binghe's ranks for the battle.

Though both Shen Yuan and Shang Wensheng were cultivators (and in Shen Yuan's case capable of fighting), neither of them were ever delegated tasks. In fact, that they were technically capable of being on the battlefield was never taken into consideration. Instead, their roles seemed simply to be guests and stay in the palace. The atmosphere of the whole war meeting was less one of intense strategy and more… relaxed, like a group of old friends catching up over tea.

But the more Shen Yuan thought about it, the more it made sense. Why would they be nervous? The moment Binghe had returned with both Tianlang-jun and Xin Mo, they had already won. The only way through the barrier around An Xiao Palace was teleportation via either Xin Mo or Muhan-jun, so even if the entire north joined the siege, nothing would happen as long as Muhan-jun didn't let anyone in. Even if by some miracle the Palace became compromised, all Binghe needed to do was use Xin Mo to move everyone to a different location, wait a few years until Tianlang-jun was fully recovered, and have him create another black army to wipe out the clans.

This battle was simply a way for Binghe to assert dominance and prove the strength of the heavenly demon line again. It was also why Su Xiyan never once suggested going onto the battlefield herself. It was set up like an elaborate debutante ball —only with much more killing. Muhan-jun's presence and assistance was a declaration in and of itself; upon Binghe's eventual ascension, the future Mobei-jun would be a very favoured subject, with power second only to one.

As the talks of war veered off course, Su Xiyan turned to Shen Yuan and said, “The hour is late and it has been a long day. I invite you to stay the night here in the palace. Tomorrow, we can all share a meal before Binghe takes you home.”

Shen Yuan froze, hearing those words. Sleeping here wasn’t a big issue; he was feeling some fatigue that only deep meditation or sleep could erase. However, having a meal with Su Xiyan and co. would be… an exercise in terror. She clearly seemed to recognize him! What if she brought up the fact that he ran away with Shang Wensheng in the middle of the night?! Shen Yuan would rather die than suffer the embarrassment!

But at the same time, it wasn’t as if Shen Yuan could just… refuse the invitation from the mistress of An Xiao Palace to stay for a meal… All he could do was meekly accept and thank Su Xiyan, all the while screaming on the inside.

Then Su Xiyan turned to Muhan-jun and Shang Wensheng and added, “It would be lovely if the both of you could also join us for a meal tomorrow.”

This time it was Shang Wensheng’s turn to shakily thank her while Shen Yuan let out a small defeated sigh. With that settled, Su Xiyan and Zhuzhi-lang left, most likely returning to check on Tianlang-jun.

Binghe escorted Shen Yuan to a guest residence directly east of the main residence hall that housed Tianlang-jun. It was a show of favour that he probably would have missed if he hadn’t spent the past almost-decade on Qing Jing Peak with the spoiled offspring of nobility; not only was the east suite typically the seat of the official heir, it was also a prestigious place to house guests of honour.

“We can leave for Cang Qiong Mountain as soon as dinner is done tomorrow,” Binghe offered, probably due to Shen Yuan’s unsubtle feelings of unease. He paused, and a heavy silence washed over them as they made their way back to the residential part of the palace. Then he said, “Binghe has not forgotten about the heavenly demon blood either. Before we part, Binghe will provide a message charm for A’Yuan-ge. When the poison has been cured, A’Yuan-ge can use the charm to call me, and I will immediately come to extract the blood. A’Yuan-ge need not worry over that.”

His words snapped Shen Yuan out of his sullen panic over the dinner to come, and Shen Yuan quickly replied, “I thank you for minding your promise, Binghe.” Then he immediately quieted again, but for a different reason this time… Shit. It was one thing for him to address Binghe so casually when it had only been the two of them, but now they were in the middle of a palace with inviolable reminders all over the place that at the end of the day, Binghe was a prince, Shen Yuan should try to at least be more respectful where others might overhear them. “That is, the one named Shen thanks Your Highness for his fidelity.”

Binghe frowned, "A'Yuan-ge does not need to be so formal. You’re my special guest. And besides, we have experienced too many near-deaths together to speak as if we were strangers."

Shen Yuan hesitated, but nodded acquiescence easily enough; it was difficult to refuse when Binghe looked at him with such insistent eyes. Shen Yuan would simply need to be more conscientious of when and where they struck up conversations.

The next day, after a very satisfying rest in what must have been the most comfortable bed Shen Yuan had slept in since transmigrating, he woke to the news that the Lord of Many Mistresses, Luyan-jun, had predictably tried to withdraw his troops last night, only to be run down by the other lords like the animal he was. Of course the palace was still surrounded by enough enemy units to maintain the siege, but all the extraneous ones had been sent to chase after Luyan-jun.

Shen Yuan heard all of this from Shang Wensheng, who had bribed a servant to fetch him the moment Shen Yuan woke up. Thus, it was to the two of them that the servants arrived, carrying a tray of breakfast food clearly meant for one person.

Seeing the food, Shen Yuan started doubting if he was actually awake, because it would have made a lot more sense as a strangely realistic dream. The food looked deceptively simple, yet it emitted a lingering fragrance that was absolutely stunning. The congee was still steaming, and the youtiao glistened in the most perfect shade of crispy gold. Shen Yuan had a glaring suspicion regarding the chef behind this scene.

Beside him, Shang Wenshang looked like he might be dying. “Xiao-Yuan, Xiao-Yuan, as your best friend forever and also uh... as a person from the same homeworld as you —the only other person from that world, in case you weren’t counting— don’t you think that you should share some of that congee with me?”

Shen Yuan simply sat down and wordlessly began to eat, ignoring the wailing ambience of Shang Wenshang’s pathetic crying. After a few more spoonfuls, unable to tolerate such shameful behaviour from a (twice!) grown man, Shen Yuan finally said, “I joined Qing Jing Peak. You know exactly what I’ve been eating these past ten years.”

‘Xiao-Yuan!” he wailed again, “I’ve spent most of my time in the demon realm these past ten years! Do you know what I’ve been eating?! Horrible things! There were some days where I’d be lucky to encounter one meal where I could eat anything without dying or getting sick!”

“You can practise inedia now.” Shen Yuan pointed out snidely.

“So can you!” Shang Wenshang exclaimed, then, softly: “Are you angry about the letters? Or that I didn’t tell you?”

Shen Yuan pointedly bit into the youtiao. It crunched audibly, the sound seeming to linger sweetly in the air as Shang Wenshang’s cries grew more pathetic.

“I needed to keep really lowkey! And correspondence between the human and demon realms is basically non-existent! I really tried my best!”

“And you decided not to tell me what you were up to because?”

“I wanted to tell you! But I didn’t know how to explain and I couldn’t write too much and then by the time I had a chance to send a second letter it seemed too late to say anything! You know how horrifically awkward I am as a human being! You know what it’s like to be bad at communication!”

“No,” Shen Yuan said, despite the fact that he definitely did know; he used to always leave people on read for two weeks, then end up never replying for the exact reason Shang Wensheng so rudely blurted.

There was only a third of the congee left now, and the two strips of beautiful youtiao had been completely demolished. Shang Wensheng looked like someone had broken into his house, stolen all his money, and then set everything on fire while he was still inside.

Too pathetic! It really was too pathetic!

Shen Yuan pushed the bowl towards the disaster in front of him. “I’m full.”

Shang Wenshang lit up immediately. “Xiao-Yuan!!!”

“Have a little more decorum! This is a palace.”

Shang Wensheng ignored him as he started eating, and after several spoonfuls, slowly began to regale Shen Yuan of the adventures he’d had over the past years.

Dinner was scheduled for the early evening, so Shen Yuan and Shang Wenshang had the entire day to prepare for their encounter with Su Xiyan. After catching up over post-breakfast tea like a pair of old grandmothers, Shang Wensheng showed Shen Yuan around the parts of the palace with which he’d familiarised himself over the past few days. Shen Yuan remembered that the demon realm was supposed to be lacking in any items that required art or finesse, to the point that even a simply embroidered handkerchief was considered an exquisite item. Yet this palace seemed to be full of finely crafted things, from delicately painted screens to finely engraved stone work and wood work, everything looked like something out of a stupidly expensive historical drama set. (Shen Yuan refused to think about the fact that his entire second life had looked like something out of a stupidly expensive xianxia set.)

By late morning, Shang Wensheng was showing Shen Yuan around a vibrant garden filled with trees and flowers from the human realm. They were obviously very well cared for, and currently in full bloom. It was there that Binghe found them, leading a line of servants, each holding trays of food that were clearly meant for lunch.

They ate outside, in a small pavillion overlooking the water with the verdan spread of the gardens behind them. Shen Yuan smiled, imagining a smaller Binghe running around here.

From there, Binghe lead them Tianlang-jun’s treasured library, the sight of which left both Shang Wensheng and Shen Yuan near salivating. Qing Jing Peak had, to Shen Yuan’s knowledge, one of the largest libraries in this world, yet the one here easily rivaled it.

But then Shen Yuan started looking through some of the books and felt his heart plument —what- what was this?! Shen Yuan went through five shelves, but each one he picked up turned out to be a different type of trashy romance novel! There seemed to be a countless number of them, all different in genres, settings, scenarios... There were even homosexual ones! With pictures! Shen Yuan’s face really couldn’t withstand such a shock and retreated from that area of the library immediately, thoroughly disillusioned. At the end of the day Tianlang-jun really was someone written by Airplane Shooting towards the Sky... How could the all powerful ruler of the demon realm end up like this otherwise?!

Shang Wensheng had no such conpunctions and seemed to be greatly enjoying himself. Eyes lighting up with every new scandalous volume. Shameless! Really, how could he be so shameless?!

Binghe, most likely understanding what happened from how red Shen Yuan’s face was, gently guided him to a different section, this time on with books on demonic biology, botany, and zoology. Shen Yuan lost himself there, cooing over rare texts that were clearly penned by demonic scholars and therefore contained knowledge unavailable on Qing Jing Peak.

Seeing that Shen Yuan was satisfied, Binghe excused himself and left the two humans to their reading, returning only to escort them to dinner.

Shen Yuan gave the zoology book he had been reading a lingering pat and nearly had to drag Shang Wensheng away from a book titled Resentment of Chungong. When Binghe saw the book his face flushed a curious plum colour, and he suddenly became much more insistent that they would be late for the meal.

Shen Yuan had expected to be taken to a banquet hall of some sort, with everyone seated at small banquet tables and Tianlang-jun at a throne. Instead, the dining room Binghe lead them to was moderately sized, with a large square table at its centre. Su Xiyan, Tianlang-jun, Zhuzhi-lang, and Muhan-jun were already seated. Tianlang-jun looked much better than yesterday already, though Shen Yuan was reasonably sure he was still missing some pretty important parts of his anatomy. However, seated at the table and dressed in large black robes, it was difficult to tell that Tianlang-jun was limbless. Su Xiyan was no longer dressed in the plain black robes she wore yesterday, but neither did she wear the extravagant dresses one might expect from a Queen Consort. Instead, she dressed in cultivation robes of a fine make, hair done up in the style of a married woman.

As they entered the room, Tianlang-jun smiled, open and friendly. “Come sit. My silly son made all of the human dishes today, so I am sure they will be to your taste.”

Hearing such, Shang Wensheng quickly sat down beside Muhan-jun on the side across from Tianlang-jun and Su Xiyan. Binghe naturally moved to sit on the east side (assuming Tianlang-jun took the cardinal seat), as was proper of an heir. On the west side, Zhuzhi-lang sat in the middle. Thus, the only seat remaining was the one beside Binghe, a place Shen Yuan more expected to be saved for Muhan-jun, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was already seated elsewhere. Seeing no other option, Shen Yuan meekly followed Binghe over, not wanting to be the only one in the room left standing with the servants. However, the whole arrangement still didn’t sit very well with Shen Yuan: Wasn’t this a little too intimate? To eat at the same table as royalty... Shen Yuan really didn’t think he had the status to qualify!

Either way, the food was served up quickly once they were all seated. The seating arrangement was so that all the human food was conveniently clustered towards the same area, with each mouth watering dish that was being served leaving Shen Yuan more and more in awe of Binghe’s culinary skills.

First was a whole wintermelon hollowed out and filled with soup made from the melon, dried shrimp, mushrooms, pork, and dried scallops. Then was several baskets of xiaolongbao, followed by a goose roasted to a deep caramel colour, then a large steamed fish, the species of which Shen Yuan couldn’t identify at all, covered in finely chopped ginger and green onions, paired with tender and fragrant braised abalones.

Shen Yuan wanted to cry from how delicious everything was. Around the corner from him, Shang Wensheng, who once again demonstrated his absolute lack of shame, actually did cry upon biting into the fish. No one seemed to mind this at all, except for Shen Yuan, who subconsciously scooted closer to Binghe in order to stay away from such an embarrassing display. Muhan-jun looked absolutely murderous.

The demonic dishes, Shen Yuan had noted, were different for each of the lords. Muhan-jun was provided with meat dishes, some served raw, most served shaved or plucked but not skinned, with creamy white fat peeking through the cuts. For the life of him, Shen Yuan couldn’t figure out what animals or monsters those meat dishes might have been from. Some of those dishes were placed to share between him and Zhuzhi-lang, but set aside for Zhuzhi-lang alone was a large platter of whole eggs. They varied in size from as big as a goose egg as small as a quail egg. Their colours were… unconventional. And throughout the meal, Zhuzhi-lang would occasionally just... swallow one whole, shell and all??? It didn’t seem to interrupt his digestion at all —his stomach didn’t even get bigger! Even as he swallowed a brilliantly green egg the size and shape of a golf ball, his throat barely bobbed!

Tianlang-jun's situation was the most curious; Shen Yuan was pretty sure half of his torso had been missing just yesterday... But in order for him to be sitting up right like this, it probably meant he had a complete torso now? Unless he was propped up with cushions... And he was eating food! That alone required certain organs to be present. Due to his lack of arms, a servant stood quietly at his side, feeding him from a plate of crimson flesh. Occasionally, he would nod towards a human dish, and the servant would fetch him small portions.

All those years ago, when Shen Yuan had first met Tianlang-jun, he had thought that the shameless behaviour and melodramatic phrases had been a result of being parted from his lover for so long, but as the meal continued it became clear that the embarrassing displays were very commonplace; when the servants brought up an entire roast pig, Tianlang-jun turned to Su Xiyan and, in a painfully sweet voice, said, "Xiyan, won't you feed me?"

Nobody else seemed to notice anything strange about it; Binghe simply turned away, and Zhuzhi-lang casually swallowed a strange purple egg.

In response, Su Xiyan picked up a piece of roast pig with her chopsticks, then, without hesitation, bit into it, appearing to savour the crunch of the crispy skin.

"Xiyan..." Tianlang-jun whined.

“We have servants for a reason,” she replied placidly.

“But Xiyan, I’m injured! Won’t you take care of me?”

Shen Yuan really couldn’t stand it anymore; even if Tianlang-jun’s face was thick enough, his really wasn’t! He turned instead to glare at Shang Wensheng, who was taking a break from doing an impression of a vacuum-cleaner on the food in front of him.

Shang Wensheng looked back with wide, innocent eyes, cheeks still full with unswallowed food. Then, he blinked and quickly swallowed, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Shen Yuan glared harder, trying to convey to this bottomless pit of an author what Shen Yuan thought of the absolutely degenerate scene in front of them. This is your fault, Shen Yuan thought viciously.

Meanwhile, Su Xiyan had finally deigned to put something in Tianlang-jun's bowl. It was a piece of celery, crisp and green. "Since you're injured, you should eat more vegetables."

Tianlang-jun sighed, defeated. Then, despite what appeared to be heavy reluctance, he gestured for the servant to feed him the vegetable.

Interspersed between the eating, Su Xiyan and Tianlang-jun made small talk. They asked Shen Yuan about his place in Cang Qiong Mountain: which peak he was from, how his cultivation was, how he liked his master. And to Shang Wensheng, they asked after his health and the progress of his various projects.

Because of this, Shen Yuan’s guard was thoroughly lowered by the time desert was served. He was halfway through a lovely piece of osmanthus jelly when Tianlang-jun suddenly said “I had originally hoped to have this dinner fifteen years ago; when the two of you left so suddenly, I feared the chance had passed… Yet here we are. Truly, the hand of the heavens does as it wills.”

At his words, Shen Yuan nearly choked; Sheng Wenshang actually choked, coughing loudly. “Your Majesty?” Shang Wensheng’s voice was raspy, its owner having coughed out about half of a lung.

Tianlang-jun smiled sardonically, “Did you think I would forget your faces? It’s only been fifteen years.”

Even Muhan-jun’s stoic demeanor was shaken by these words, his eyes obviously widening as he stared at Shang Wensheng.

Binghe looked from Shen Yuan to his parents, then back at Shen Yuan. “A’Yuan-ge... You... know Mother and Father? And Zhuzhi-ge?”

“Binghe,” Su Xiyan said, “do you remember the two human boys I spoke of, from the shores of Luo River?”

Binghe blinked, and stared at Shen Yuan for several moments before quietly saying, "Engong-gege?”

Shen Yuan's face flushed immediately. This… this was a bit too much!

Binghe smiled at him then, more brilliant than ever, "So this is the second time A’Yuan-ge has saved my life.”

“That—” Shen Yuan desperately wished to say that the first time did not count, that Binghe would have survived either way (Su Xiyan would have exchanged her life for his), but that was impossible to say out loud. With no recourse, he was left capable only of swallowing his words in silence as Binghe beamed at him with even more affection and what almost seemed like validation.

Shifting a little in his seat, Shen Yuan coughed and said, “Wensheng was also involved as well, Binghe.”

Binghe blinked, turned to look at Shang Wensheng and simply said, “Then this one thanks Shang-xiong.”

Tianlang-jun smiled enigmaticly and said, "Fate as strong as this is very, very precious."

"Mmm," Zhuzhi-lang agreed, "fate and destiny are our two gifts from the heavens. It should be cherished." Absurdly, he gave Shen Yuan an appraising look.

What was with the word choice?! Why did they make it sound so weird?! With no viable response, Shen Yuan just nodded meekly and continued with his dessert.

Dinner wrapped up with no further fanfare. Tianlang-jun, Su Xiyan, and Zhuzhi-lang retired first, bidding brief and friendly farewells to Shen Yuan. Tianlang-jun even cheerfully told Shen Yuan that he was welcome to visit An Xiao Palace “anytime —uhh, as soon as the trash cleared up, that is.”

Su Xiyan gifted him a slim book full of sword techniques that Shen Yuan had never seen before, along with an expectant look. Shen Yuan nodded back solemnly; no one else was to see even a single page of this manual.

Muhan-jun and Shang Wensheng left not long after. Shen Yuan made sure to extract a promise from Sheng Wensheng to send more letters and to actually warn him the next time he decided to do something stupid. To Muhan-jun, Shen Yuan simply nodded. After all, they didn’t really know each other, and since Shen Yuan never bowed to Binghe it’d be inappropriate to bow to Muhan-jun.

Finally, without even stepping out of the dining room, Binghe opened a portal.

They stepped out into a small town close to the base of Cang Qiong Mountain. Years ago, when Shen Yuan and Shang Wensheng first came to Cang Qiong Mountain, they had passed through here as well.

Binghe bowed slightly and said, “I’m afraid this was the closest I could open the portal without alerting anyone of my presence. Binghe will walk A’Yuan-ge as close to the barrier as he can.”

Shen Yuan waved him off. “It’s fine! The area around the mountain is very safe, and I can defend myself very well! Don’t you have a war to fight? You should head home soon.”

“It’s not pressing. The fighting won’t start for a few days at the fastest.”

Saying so, he began to walk in the direction of Cang Qiong Mountain. Hapless, Shen Yuan could only sigh and start walking with him. They spent the short walk in a peaceful silence. Behind them, the setting sun painted the world a splendour of red and gold.

The moment felt significant, in some way, but Shen Yuan had no idea what to say. But Binghe wasn’t saying anything either, so this was okay, right? After spending two months together, they had both long grown familiar enough that silences were no longer awkward. But this time, Shen Yuan wasn’t sure, it felt a bit different somehow.

Soon enough, they reached the outer barriers of Cang Qiong Mountain. Binghe really would set off all sorts of alarms if he continued, so they stopped and faced each other. They froze like that for a moment, showered in the golden light of dusk, two lonely silhouettes again the frigid backdrop of a majestic mountain range.

Then, quietly, Binghe broke through. “A’Yuan-ge... After today, it might take awhile before we can see each other again.”

Shen Yuan softened in face of Binghe’s melancholy. Shen Yuan patted him on the head and said, “Binghe and I are both immortal; what are a few months or years? What’s important is that we’ll definitely see each other again, hmm? After all, Binghe has promised me.”

“A’Yuan-ge— I—” Binghe stuttered. There was a brief pause, then he finally said, “Please remember to keep the message charm close. As soon as the poison is cured, no matter what I’m doing, I’ll come fulfill my promise.”

“Mmm, Binghe should remember to be careful. Once Xin Mo is no longer needed, Binghe should seal it away properly.” Binghe would be sixteen once New Year came. No doubt, news would soon follow of Shengxia-jun taking a wife or concubine... Distantly, Shen Yuan wondered who it would be. Maybe Sha Hualing? That didn’t really seem like a good fit for Binghe anymore, and the thought of Sha Hualing trying to do any of the harem ploys she did in canon under the nose of Su Xiyan made Shen Yuan want to pull over a chair and munch on sunflower seeds.

“A’Yuan-ge needs not to worry. Binghe has his own plans. I won’t let Xin Mo devour me.”

Shen Yuan just hummed again in acknowledgement… They’d already exhausted all possible topics, hadn’t they? Why wasn’t he leaving yet?

Binghe stared at Shen Yuan for a moment longer. Then, he unsheathed Xin Mo and, in the same motion, slit open the gilded edge of twilight.

“Farewell, A’Yuan-ge,” bid Binghe.

“Farewell, Binghe,” bid Shen Yuan.

Just before he stepped through the portal, Binghe turned back again, meeting Shen Yuan’s eyes intently. And, like a dream from long ago, he said, “A’Yuan-ge, please wait for me.”

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.