Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Shang Qinghua floats. He cannot breathe, see, or hear. Smell and touch elude him, in a such a way that it becomes a faint memory amongst the ripples of nothing. He simply was; he had not known bliss before, but with the suspending feeling of silence wrapped around him there was no other word to describe it.

And then consciousness draws in like a nail being hammered into his skull.

The first second comes with a piercing ring that rattles him to his core, and with each pound that rhythms at a half second, that nail drove farther into his head, throwing waves of pain down his body.

He thinks he is screaming but his throat grates too painfully to tell if he can make a noise, his ears too busy echoing with the rush of a blood-clotting heartbeat. Everything feels like raw needles whittling away at his essence, his bones and muscles and skin wrapped too tight to breathe. Something sinks into every nerve, from his spine to his head, and he can't even fathom moving to shy away; he could hardly conjure up a thought with his sudden drag into awareness once more.

Then, after all of this, there is a sudden rush that tidal waves over him of many sensations happening all at once. He realized that he is breathing, that the pain was deep seeded into his body, and that the beat in his ears was his very own heart, batting against his ribcage so hard he believes he is going to have a heart attack. He wants to rip it from his own chest to just shut it up , but the numbing in his arms is crawling over his body like the legs and stingers of wasps. He can’t move them if he tried. It all has no relief, and he is still screaming with his sandpaper tongue flopping against his unfeeling gums and teeth. Screams until the feeling of his throat collapsing in outweighs the numbness. Eventually, he runs out of breath and drags his thoughts through the tar of his pain just enough to open his eyes, eyelashes peeling away from each other from where they were sealed together. It reveals the blistering sensation of light assaulting him. He shuts them once more to reject it, but the light still burns there behind his eyelid. His breath squeezes through his esophagus in panic, and he wishes it could stop, that he would simply end it .

Thoughts of why and how plague him. They’re all sounds that wash inside his head without rhythm. It felt like an eternity of this before the sensations slowly eases into a bitter sensation that causes his body to wrack itself in a violent shiver every few seconds, but at least that was better that the unbearable painful sensation that had just plagued him. It all left exhaustion in its wake, so deep that even blinking or moving his tongue left him twitching in pain and nausea.

Shang Qinghua slowly registers that this new feeling was something he had felt before. One he is very familiar with. The cold, so bone-deep it makes him rattle.

And once he realizes he is cold, he begins to realize that there is also hunger, deep and ravenous. That the burning light was in fact not as harsh as he had thought but constant and disturbing. That beyond his heartbeat and thoughts there were more sounds of others around him.

And finally, the feeling of a hand cradling his skull gently moving, distantly familiar in shape.

Where was he? He tries to move his head but groans when it just brings a sharpness that would come from sleeping the wrong way, except doubled — no, quadrupled in pain. Even moving his jaw brought an ache.

“Congratulations, he actually managed to survive,” a distant, unimpressed voice tickles his ears. It was like he was being submerged underwater. Or encased in ice , his brain supplies. “You'll have to repair him slowly, but he’s alive.”

The hand is cold. Ice . 

The feeling of absolute stillness. Of silence. Of nothing.

“Thank you, Junshang…” The hand shifts away and he wants to chase the familiarity.

There is a sigh – it grates on Shang Qinghua to hear it, and for some reason, he believes that he hates this person even without the knowledge of who it may be. “Don’t mention it. But if I find him where he should not be, he won’t be given a second chance.” Who was that, speaking so loftily?

“Of course.”

Oh- now that was Mobei-Jun. Shang QInghua could recognize it anywhere. It was the last thing he heard, before…

Before what?

The light has dimmed into something soft, and he tries to open his eyes again, but there’s nothing to see, just the most distant tickles of light floating over his vision in a soft fog. He blinks slowly as he tries to speak next, but it grates against his vocal cords and all he can make is a soft breath.

The hand returns to his skull and assumes a gentle motion, almost as though he is being petted. He frowns with no way to reject such a tender treatment.

“If this works on your little traitor… then, it will work on mine.” Again that voice, now filled with malintent, and if Shang Qinghua wasn’t already violently shivering, he would have shuddered in fear. “Now then, I’ll leave you two. I have preparations to make for Shizun.”

“Yes, Junshang. I will be here.”

“I expect reports on this pathetic creature's status. I want to know everything, you got it?"

"Of course…"

"Feh. Enjoy your vacation, Mobei-Jun.”

Steps echo and a door rattles shut. The following silence of the room hurts his head, a distant reminder of months spent with nothing to hear, not even his own breath. He can’t help but make a noise to make sure that he still can, even if it makes him want to curl up in pain when it hits his throat with a throb.

“Shush," Mobei-Jun's voice is deceptively soft, as though he fears being too loud. Shang Qinghua can feel Mobei-Jun all around him as his skin turns more attuned to his surroundings. He soon realizes he’s sitting at an incline with his head propped up slightly, something sturdy from underneath that does not come from a pillow.

He opens his mouth and makes another pathetic, shriveled noise.

“Don’t talk, you’ll hurt yourself.”

He breathes out a huff, thinking if he could in the first place, he would have done so already.

“...Do you know who I am?”

Shang Qinghua considers the question.

He knows this is Mobei-Jun. He knows…what does he know?

Ice. Cold. Darkness, with fading glimpses of his King visiting him. Mobei-Jun, who had… left him in that tomb, unknowing that he was alive and was slowly weaning from life inside his casket of solid ice. The demon had killed him. He wonders blearily how he was here, and alive.

Shang Qinghua shakes his head ‘no.’

“Do you know who you are?”

Next, Shang Qinghua evaluates how far he wants this lie to go. He shakes his head slowly into another ‘no’.

“Qinghua…” Mobei-Jun sighs and the hand on his skull tightens before smoothing into something more forgiving. Shang Qinghua twitches, not liking how familiar Mobei-Jun is becoming as if he wasn’t the one responsible for all these incoming memories drowning his thoughts. “You are Shang Qinghua.”

Mobei-Jun allows for a long moment of silence, simply holding him, before saying, “I’m sure you have questions. This one will answer them in due time.”

Yeah, like what the hell is going on? Shang Qinghua was dead. He was dead for a long time, he’s sure. Did they somehow break him free and revive him? Was that even possible? If that was the case, Luo Binghe was stronger than he thought. If only his plan worked, he wouldn’t be in this situation. He would be… They would’ve been...

...It doesn’t matter anyway. Mobei-Jun made his choice. If he decided to revive Shang QInghua, it was purely out of selfish means, and Shang Qinghua didn’t plan on indulging in his lunacy.

Mobei-Jun shifts and Shang Qinghua startles when he feels a nose nuzzling his forehead, followed by chapped, cold lips. He shivers and tries to writhe away but it’s fruitless and all he does is awkwardly turn his head.

“Shhh. Everything is alright. This King is going to fix you.” Mobei-Jun rumbles against his forehead. Shang Qinghua wants to ask how — his body isn’t obeying his own wishes and he can’t even see. He is utterly blind and helpless, qi depleted and meridians frozen solid. Even Shang Qinghua knows there’s not much hope, it would have been better to be left dead instead of being dragged back into an empty shell.

“It will take a long time.” Mobei-Jun murmurs. “Here: drink.”

Drink? Thank the Gods, he was so thirsty. Shang Qinghua feels something being pressed to his lips so he readily opens his mouth and is flooded with a cold liquid that slipped over his tongue and down his throat.

He can’t even taste it, but he can feel that it's too thick to be water — a medicine, perhaps? He readily takes it in, hoping it would chase away the cold and pain that is buried deep into his core and bones. As he slowly grows more and more aware of the sensation of touch, his lips soon recognize the feeling of skin. And then, slowly, a bitter tang starts to awaken taste buds, not unlike…

Not unlike blood.

"That's right. You are doing well," Mobei-Jun praises him.

This was Mobei-Jun's blood.

Shang Qinghua choked and writhed, trying desperately to pull away. The wrist only pressed down on his mouth harder, forcing more blood to gush in, and out of futile rebellion, Shang QInghua weakly bites down to drive the other away.

Mobei-Jun just pushes in so that teeth bury into the skin and he can’t be unlodged. Disgusting!

Unable to break free, he’s force-fed the demonic blood for some time, until all that he can taste and smell is Mobei-Jun’s essence turning his already overwhelmed head into a sick, foggy mess. He was being forced to focus on breathing to simply survive while the blood pools into his stomach. His gut rolls in displeasure, unease settling in his brain as he remembers the myths about demon blood and what destruction they cause. Shang Qinghua begins to believe them, because the longer he’s allowing the blood to settle inside of him, the more he shivers from wave after wave of a bitter freeze running through his body, submerging in ice water.

In comparison, Mobei-Jun’s hands feel warm and inviting when they cradle his face, but he refuses to press against them and chase the warmth. Mobei-Jun has already had cold hands but now it feels like a kindling warmth to hold onto during a harsh blizzard.

Finally, the wrist pulls away and he groans, stomach full to the point that he feels bloated. Bile presses against his throat and he shifts, finding enough strength to suddenly roll to the side, tearing himself away from Mobei-Jun. Shang QInghua falls to the ground with a loud noise and heaves, emptying his stomach of the putrid demonic blood. He can only hope that he throws it all up.

After he is done his coughs rake through him and he collapses, another bout of pain seizing his muscles. Over him, he hears Mobei-Jun sigh like a disappointed master to a pet. “You made a mess,” he says as he gathers Shang Qinghua up in his arms. “That’s fine, this Lord has called for a bath so you can be cleaned.”

Shang Qinghua groaned in misery.

He believes that he passes from consciousness and sleep at random moments, but it is a short time later that he gets stripped of his sweat and vomit-ruined robes and placed on a soft pelt. Mobei-Jun moves around him, no doubt preparing the bath he mentioned, and if Shang Qinghua wasn’t rung into exhaustion he would be more resistant to the King seeing him bare.

The sound of footsteps disappears and Qinghua is left in silence. He tries to move again.

He tries to move and finds just enough energy to twitch his fingers and feel the fur of the pelt under the tips of them. It is soft. He turns his head to the side and rests his cheek against the downy fur, wishing he could sink into the pelt to escape.

(Long ago, Mobei-Jun gifted him lavish pelts like this one. He needed them to withstand the bitter cold of the Northern Desert, and he would lie if he said he didn’t enjoy the attention. He was just a servant, a filthy spy for the demonkind, but when he swept the halls of the palace he felt powerful; none other than he was given such courtesy from the King. Those lower than him would duck away and whisper things about a human being seen so close to their King, conspiring with eachother over why he was permitted in such a place. Oh, the rumors had been marvelous — never reaching Mobei-Jun’s ears but Shang Qinghua was always perceptive, so he knew that many spoke about the fact that the cultivator spy would vanish into Mobei-Jun’s studies and quarters for hours on end, and at times, walk out bruised and limping.

He was called a lover, a fling, a bed warmer. A whore, a couple of times. He had those servants whipped to near death. Mobei-Jun didn't know or didn't care, far too busy with other matters that to mind his most valuable spy venting anger onto lesser demons. If only they knew his time spent alone with Mobei-Jun wasn’t done lasciviously. Mobei-Jun simply had a temper, and often, if Luo Binghe did something that Mobei-Jun disapproved of, it would be Shang Qinghua who felt the wrath.

He was naive, then. Death really does sober one up to reality. He shouldn’t have been plotting against Binghe; he should have been plotting against Mobei-Jun.

He was blinded by… something he could never have. What a fool he was. Mobei-Jun was right — he is just a sniveling, traitorous fool.)

While he caresses the pelt, he thinks that it’s a familiar feeling. His favorite fur had always been one from a massive white wolf found in the deepest corner of the Mobei territory. The beast had been magnificent. Mobei-Jun hunted and skinned it himself, and Shang Qinghua wore it whenever he had the excuse to, feeling a sense of belonging he never before in his impoverished youth and dull sect life.

Footsteps approach him again, and he flutters his sightless eyes open. Large, warm hands start to lift him up into firm arms.

It must be a servant, he thinks vaguely. Mobei-Jun wouldn’t bathe him, the action far too intimate. These hands were similar to the King, but then again, many demons in the north had broad figures and rough palms to withstand the brutal environment. And Mobei-Jun’s hands were those of ice, firm and strong as they wield glacial blades and dark shadows.

He’s taken to a basin of water and lowered into it, but the second his skin touches the surface, Shang Qinghua cries out in pain, the water scalding him. He falls into the tub, submerging into the boiling water, and desperately tries to pull up and out with weak arms to no avail. He resurfaces with a hard gasp when the servant grabs him to keep him aloft. He shakes and squirms, trying to claw up the arm and out of the bath.

The servant grunts and then pulls him out. He sobs in relief when he’s placed back down on the pelt.

He curls up, for once relieved to feel the chill of the palace air. Usually, he can’t stand the temperature of the Northern Desert, but he welcomes it much more than being dunked in a tub of boiling water!

After a short while, he’s picked up again. In all his movement, he has drained his last taps of energy so he goes willingly into the bath a second time, apprehensive about the burning sensation that may consume him again. However, the second time around the water is cool to the touch. He sinks into the water with a grateful sigh, the first relief to his senses in a long, long time. The water seems to take away some of the needling numbness in his body. He sinks like lead, head lolling to the side and resting over the side of the basin.

Rough hands lift his arms out of the water and begin to massage oil into his skin, from high on his shoulders to the hollow of his wrist. With each squeeze of his muscles, it feels as though the blood in his veins is dethawing. The servant’s hands chase away the fatigued, heavy feeling that has been weighing him down since he awoke. He feels almost alive again.

After massaging the second arm, Shang QInghua can actually move his body without his bones and muscles screeching in pain. He sighs in pleasure when he's left to sink in the bath, wishing he could stay there forever.

But when the servant reaches for his legs, he immediately smacks the hand away, shaking his head. "Nn…" he tries to use his voice, but it is still no use. The servant reaches once more and frustration mounts as he uselessly tries to slap the servant away again.

Finally understanding Shang QInghua, the hands vanish and the quiet returns. At least he still has some control over what's done to him… the thought of some stranger, even a servant, touching him, unrestrained, brings a revolting feeling.

Left to soak, Shang Qinghua closes his eyes for only a second before sleep consumes him.

The first time he dreams, he dreams about the last time he breathed.

It's not a dream so much as a memory. His brain reconnects the last bits of reality before his world turns into oblivion.

It had been a normal day — or as normal as one can get in the rigid palace of the Northern Desert. Shang Qinghua can't remember exactly what he was doing when some blubbering servant came knocking on his chambers, sweat beading on their forehead in a concerning manner. They carried a message that Shang Qinghua should report to the throne room immediately; there was an incident, and Mobei-Jun wished to see him.

When he arrived, the grand throne room Mobei-Jun often holds court in was empty, save for Mobei-Jun hunched on his throne, eyes casted dark and hands twisted together. Shang Qinghua was on edge immediately. Mobei-Jun was prone to fits of anger and he has come accustomed to predicting them.

He bowed at the throne and gave a simple greeting: "Good Evening, my King. What can this humble servant do for you?"

"Stand."

Shang Qinghua obeyed, looking up through his lashes at Mobei-Jun's powerful form atop a throne of crystals, crusted gems, and ice.

"You…" Mobei-Jun grits his teeth. "Lied to me."

Shang Qinghua startles. "This one apologize, for he is uncertain -"

"Silence!" Mobei-Jun roars with a burst of energy that causes the air to steep in temperature, allowing Shang Qinghua to see the puffs of his own breath float up before his eyes. "You've been plotting! This entire time! With… With my uncle, no less! Traitorous fool!"

Shang Qinghua goes frigid, not from the temperature, but from fear. How had Mobei-Jun found out? He hid his secrets well. So well that he never detailed them on paper or told a soul about his plans.

Except… the few letters, but those had been as discreet and unsuspecting as he could make them, crafted to burn up if they reached the wrong people. He spent many long nights perfecting the arrays. Not perfecting them enough, he realizes.

Shang Qinghua was already preparing to explain what was truly afoot – he stepped forward, once, but it was halted in its place. "My King, you've got it wrong," but Shang Qinghua spoke one word too many. He didn't even get time to react before ice spiraled over the floor and climbed over his feet. “Wait- my King, wait, it is not as it seems I did not-”

“Shang Qinghua, do not make this harder than it must be. You will say whatever you can to worm your way out of this… but this is the last time I will turn my head on your slights against me.”

The ice climbs and climbs. He tries to dispel it, but it’s of no use. “No! NO! Mobei-” we're his last words before ice encased his face.

Perfectly preserved, with his eyes open and mouth still parted mid-speech, his hand extended forward with furs and lavish robes mid-flutter.

Trapped in ice.

And Shang Qinghua found that he could still see, despite the fact that he was encased in rigid ice. Could see his King crumble back onto his throne and slump, head tucked away in his arms.

They sat like that, one lowly servant staring forward in a casket of ice, and a King high on his throne curled up like a sad child.

The second time Shang Qinghua awakens from a long dormancy, it's not out of pain. To be precise, it’s his stomach that wakes him up.

He rolls over onto his side and groans from the cramping in his gut from hunger and discontentment. He feels a thin sheet over him, sticking to his body from sweat. He peels it away with shaky fingers and sits up slowly. He’s still blind, but his senses are sharper. He hears the distant crackle of a fireplace and can smell the light aroma of medicinal incense hanging in the air. Shang Qinghua is still weak but at least he can move without worrying he’s going to tear his own body apart. His bones are still heavy and the lingering touches of cold linger inside his arms.

He almost opens his mouth to call for Mobei-Jun. Almost.

Instead, he tries to push himself to the edge of the bed and stand. The moment his feet hit the floor, he finds it surprisingly tolerable. Back when he stayed in the palace, it was impossible to walk around barefoot, but now Shang Qinghua wonders if he was in the Northern Desert at all. It was entirely possible he was elsewhere.

He tries to stand, but immediately his legs give out under him and he has to catch himself on the edge of the bed. Fuck. He groans as he hoists himself back up, legs trembling like a newborn doe with clacking legs. Once again he tries, and he gets one step, and then two on his own before he feels his ankles give out under him right there with his confidence.

But, firm hands snatch him from hitting the ground hard, holding him under the armpits. He is lifted up high, and Shang Qinghua glares and kicks his legs, only his toes brushing against the floor. "Let...go…" he rasps.

"You can talk now," Mobei-Jun says in slight surprise and sets him down on the bed. Shang Qinghua should have known Mobei-Jun wouldn't be far; can't risk an "amnesiac" running around.

Shang Qinghua nods and turns his face away from Mobei-Jun, still disgusted with what the demon had made him do before.

"Is Qinghua in pain?"

Of course he is in pain, what a silly question to ask someone who has been returned from the dead. He wants to respond with this but his throat is wound up tight, a constant ghost of pressure wrapped around it and strangling any words away. So all he does is nod with a scowl, touching his throat.

“Hur-ts.”

"This one understands," Mobei-Jun mumbles over him. "Do not force yourself."

Shang Qinghua nods mutely again.

"Qinghua…" Mobei-Jun sighs his name. Shang Qinghua has noted that the King is doing a lot of that - sighing and saying his name, over and over. Enough with the damn sighs! As though you're a forlorn lover! It's utterly pathetic; very unlike a King at all.

"Try to say my name."

Shang Qinghua is glad he's blind so that he doesn't need to look at Mobei-Jun’s face; he has no idea what may be there. He tilts his head down, hoping his hair casts over his face to easily conceal his own emotions that may ripple the surface, lest Mobei-Jun snatch them up and use them against him.

"What...s yo...r name?" He asks.

"My name is Mobei-Jun. I am the Demon Lord of the Northern Desert, and you are my ward."

Shang Qinghua is taken aback by the informal address. So, Mobei-Jun was going to lower himself upon introduction...perhaps, to lure him into a false sense of safety. An illusion of familiarity of them.

"Mmm," he clears his throat. It's dry, scratchy, barely understandable: "Mo...be...ei-Juh…"

“That is good enough,” Mobei-Jun responds. “Qinghua is incapable of much now and must rest his voice and mind."

Shang Qinghua wants to roll his eyes. What is expected of him? He's practically undead, now. Resurrection is not a good look. If Luo Binghe could drag his soul back into a body, he could have made sure he wasn't deep-freezed first! The nerve…

Hands interrupt his thoughts. They're larger and calloused, deceptively delicate as they grab one of his own and lift it. Shang Qinghua twitches and tries to worm his fingers out of the firm yet gentle grip. "Qinghua… Qinghua truly does not remember this Lord after all…"

The flash of distaste must have been put on his face because Mobei-Jun tightens a fraction more around Shang Qinghua's hand. "That is a good thing," He resumes. Shang Qinghua thinks Mobei-Jun is gullible if he should be announcing that so brazenly. "This Mobei-Jun wants to start over with Qinghua. We have both done things that have hurt each other. It is best to forget."

As if Shang Qinghua would apologize even if he wasn't playing forgetful. It was all Mobei-Jun's fault for not listening to him anyway. He was the one that caused the two of them to be in this situation… this selfish, arrogant King.

All he does is nod.

"You will call me Mobei from now on." Mobei-Jun decides for him.

He jolts, something uncomfortable twisting his gut at the idea. That was so… informal! Not to mention embarrassingly intimate — to call Mobei-Jun so casually makes Shang Qinghua want to vomit.

"Thirsty," Shang Qinghua says hastily, wishing for something to swallow down the loathing.

"Mn. Qinghua cannot cultivate, he must drink and eat frequently." Mobei-Jun remarks, flippantly throwing salt on the wound.

And that's your fault, he thinks . My meridians are destroyed. It is a miracle my core is intact at all.

His thought is interrupted when the bowl gets pushed into his hand. Shang Qinghua's fingers curl around the curve of it and once he gets a grip Mobei-Jun withdraws, but the moment the King's hand falls away, Shang Qinghua shakes so hard he almost drops it. Whatever was inside goes testing the edge, drops running down the outside and sliding over his fingers.

Mobei-Jun clicks his tongue and stabilizes Shang Qinghua. "Still so weak."

"Well…!" he starts. Mobei-Jun shushes him again by lifting the bowl to his lips. Shang Qinghua takes a tentative sip-

Augh! Blood, again!

Shang Qinghua would've thrown it across the room if he was the one holding it, but instead and he can do is recoils in disgust and turn his head away.

Mobei-Jun forces it closer to his face and Shang Qinghua seals his lips closed while tossing his head farther to the side. Mobei-Jun growls and tries to force the rim past his lips. "Drink it."

He frantically shakes his head. Blood was no substitute for food and drink! Filthy, disgusting demons!

“Do not be stubborn!” Mobei-Jun tries to wedge a thumb into the human’s lips, and Shang Qinghua doesn’t hesitate to bite down and dig his teeth into the flesh. Mobei-Jun flinches and draws back sharply.

"You will have my blood, whether you like it or not. Open your mouth, now." It's a firm order. Shang Qinghua tries to kick Mobei-Jun away, but his foot gets yanked up high. He winces with a sharp pained noise.

Mobei-Jun immediately releases and Shang Qinghua scrambles back against the wall, heaving.

"Qinghua… drink it. Please." Oh… How interesting. Was that Mobei-Jun begging? Really? The high and mighty King of the North, Luo Binghe's second in command, begging to a dead man! Classic. He would have found it much more humorous if he wasn't the butt of a pathetic joke himself…

Still, Shang Qinghua stays tight-lipped.

“If you comply, I will give you more than blood.”

“...Ah..?”

"I will give you broth if you take a few sips." Mobei-Jun tries to bargain. "Otherwise, I will only give you water and bread."

"...Nood..noodles…" he weakly adds.

"You want noodles? "

Shang Qinghua sightlessly glares and nods.

"Fine. Fine, but you will drink." Mobei-Jun relents, sounding more annoyed, and pushes the bowl forward so Shang Qinghua can start.

The taste is absolutely dreadful. Even street urchin food was better tasting than this. It makes him hungry for the food at An Ding peak, as bland as it is, or even the eccentric cooked meats of the demon realm.

But he still scrunches up his nose and swallows the blood down, just a few mouthfuls, as promised.

However, when he tries to pull away, a hand flies to the back of his head and keeps him still. The bowl tips deeper, more syrupy blood pooling in his mouth, forcing him to swallow and choke against it. He weakly scratches against Mobei-Jun's arm, fingernails sliding against the expensive fabric to no avail. It overflows until Mobei-Jun finally relents and Shang Qinghua sucks air into his lungs. He doesn't puke this time — forces it down — but he can still feel the dampness of drool and blood slicking over his chin and down his neck, staining his night robes.

"Qinghua is being good," Mobei-Jun whispers, soft praise betraying the fierce grip on his skull, sharp claws prickling the tender skin of his scalp. "He will get his reward another day. First, we must repair Qinghua's body. The stomach can’t hold much, but slowly, I will mend it so that he will happily drink my essence."

Shang Qinghua sneers, "It's… impose...ible." He mutters. “Filthy..demon…”

"Demon blood can do many things," A hand gently presses against his collarbones, which poke out from the skin, and then, they trail down his sternum, dividing the ruined robes. "It can even help heal the dead. Junshang has taught this Lord how to use its true capacity."

He feels disgusted. Not at the act itself, but the way his body flexes into the palm, helpless to chase the new warmth Mobei-Jun has. Finally, it settles at his stomach, which feels uncomfortably bloated but the hand reveals that the skin there is flat and sunken in.

He must look terribly ill. No wonder Mobei-Jun is forcing him to drink the blood — he may not have enough of his own in his body to survive for long.

"Your blood...can heal?"

"Yes."

Shang Qinghua sneers. "Stop it...."

Mobei-Jun clicks his tongue but does not entertain the argument. "It is time to be bathed."

He groans and he's scooped up with ease. Shang Qinghus doesn't dwell on the image of Mobei-Jun easily carrying him around in fear of popping a headache.

He's taken through a brief route to the washrooms and is set down once more on that soft pelt. Immediately, Mobei-Jun begins to pull apart his robes, and in shock, he slaps the hand that starts to undress him.

Shang Qinghua immediately flinches and waits to be hit.

Nothing comes. Instead, Mobei-Jun huffs, "Do not be shy. It is nothing I have not seen before."

Shang Qinghua grimaces but reluctantly allows Mobei-Jun to undress him, twitching in at the foreign gentle touches. When he is fully bare, the subtle chill of the room pricking his skin, he grows even more self-conscious. He must look gaunt and horrid – he knows he was not the most beautiful man in life, and having died once, he must look worse than even the ugliest demon in this realm.

He's led to the edge and helped in. The water is cold, but strangely it doesn't bother him. If anything, he sinks deeper into it, comforted by the coolness that sinks into his muscles and soothes his cramps. Mobei-Jun keeps a hand on his shoulder, prepared to pull him out at a moment's notice. Shang Qinghua shies away from it and submerges himself deeper.

The hand doesn't leave. Shang Qinghua frowns when he realizes Mobei-Jun doesn't plan on leaving.

He glares at nothing in particular as he soaks, feeling too close to a child In the verge of a temper tantrum for comfort. He shouldn't be bathed with Mobei-Jun at his side, no matter the reason; was Shang Qinghua going to be stripped of privacy too? There were plenty of servants who did even more mundane things! Why must this peerless demon king hover over him like a hen?!

Mobei-Jun finally leaves his side but only to clatter about the room the sounds of bottles. The King returns to gather Shang Qinghua's hair to begin soaking and lathering it in soaps and oils.

Shang Qinghua was winded by this behavior. Mobei-Jun has surely suffered from qi deviation of some kind; it was the only explanation for this. First Shang Qinghua is revived from the dead, already a jarring experience that he is coming to grips with, and then Mobei-Jun starts being unsettlingly tender and clingy, with not even a slap landing on Shang Qinghua's skin despite his disrespect. Had Mobei-Jun finally gone mad once his favorite loyal toy was finally broken? Shang Qinghua imagines that it must have been frustrating, but to go so far as to revive him and cater to him, Shang Qinghua wonders how long this insanity will last.

His head tips slightly as cool water runs through his locks. Fingers work at the knots, not pulling too hard. He lets out a barely contained sigh.

Once he is done cleaning Shang Qinghua's hair, his hands move down to his arms to gently coax the muscles to move and flex. 

"N, no," he utters in protest. What was Mobei-Jun doing?

"Qinghua must relax. I am aiding in rejuvenating his muscles."

He groans in pain but doesn't draw away, head tilting until it hits a chest. He rests there, too fatigued to care.

Yes, he definitely suffered a qi deviation while Shang Qinghua was dead to the world. it is only a matter of time before Mobei-Jun realizes his mistake. That, or he’ll move on. How long has he been dead, he wonders… He had been in that casket for weeks, maybe months. But the true nature of time weighs awkwardly in his mind, leaving him in a limbo. His inability to see already distorts what he knows about the day and night. He has to trust Mobei-Jun to cater to him until he regains his strength.

Mobei-Jun is quickly becoming his center of gravity; the thing he revolves around. Shang Qinghua hates it.

(But, it's always been like that, in some way or another.)

Mobei-Jun finishes working over the joints in his fingers and slowly moves down to his torso, and Shang Qinghua blinks as they trail in soft whispers of touch. He leans away from him, even as a hand wraps around his hip to keep him still, and one hand sprawls over his skinny thigh. He feels engulfed.

"Ngh-"

"Silence," Mobei-Jun soothes him with a gentle massage beginning on his thigh. His mouth opens with a wordless sound, torn between a groan of pain and pleasure. Nails brush his knee, tickling him, and he bites his lip and tucks his head into the chest he has rested himself on.

Mobei-Jun smells like soap. He smells like the frozen air of Shang Qinghua's favorite courtyard in the palace. He retains the essence of plum blossoms in the air, of Shang Qinghua's favorite incense, and of the first snow of winter, turning the grass dewy and frozen overnight.

He smells like shelter from a storm, like a-

A nail digs into his thigh mid-massage and Shang Qinghua yelps when a twinge of pain races up his spine. His leg involuntarily kicks against the tub, only making it worse, and he's pinned down through it.

"I apologize." Mobei-Jun murmurs. "It is hard being...gentle," the demon says, returning to stroking. He goes down Shang Qinghua's calf. "Qinghua is so delicate, as though he will shatter in my hands."

Shang Qinghua bites his cheek, flaring in anger. He's not delicate; far from it. He's a bastard, self-serving and vicious. Mobei-Jun is truly disillusioned by his grief, and Shang Qinghua reminds himself that eventually, Mobei-Jun comes to his senses and kills him for good.

Shang Qinghua focuses on breathing as Mobei-Jun transitions to the other leg. The pleasure of the massage tingles under his skin, making his joints ache but in a way that has him relaxing when the hands move on.

After massaging his arms and legs fully, Mobei-Jun pulls away, and Shang Qinghua feels boneless while he soaks in the tub.

When it's all done, he's dried and wrapped in fresh robes, and he bitterly admits to himself that the bath was very, very nice, which sends his mood dropping with a sour note. He's carried to the bed and gently set down.

"Rest. Tomorrow, I will wake you and feed you again."

He scoffs.

"Now, Shang Qinghua will sleep."

He gets pushed down onto the bed.

"Not tired," he utters, and yet when he hits the comfortable mat he feels something snag within him, provoking a yawn. His eyes feel heavy and they fall shut once more, allowing him to sink into oblivion again.

He was alive for a long time after Mobei-Jun proclaimed him dead.

His core was weak but sturdy. When he was young, his hometown's other children would call him a cockroach, because no matter how many times he was beaten down he just got right back up. Endurance had been a gift and a curse, one that he used to its full extent, enduring one hardship after another as he was beaten down and climbed back up, higher and higher each time.

It was only natural that when he should have died instantly in a tomb of ice, his body would refuse. His core was keeping him alive, his body leeching off the qi stored inside of him and the dark energy lingering in the thawless ice Mobei-Jun wields. How this came to happen was anyone's guess; Perhaps Mobei-Jun truly is bad at killing him.

Either way, he winds up still, unable to move behind icy glass. The world moved around him, and he could hear it through the echoes of frozen water, but that was all. There was no way to somehow tell everyone he was still kept alive inside the block.

Shang Qinghua was placed in the Mobei clan's family crypt. It was dark and dusty, kept so cold that the ice spiraled over the dark stone, like tiny stars on a monotone sky. And he wasn't alone — coffins of iron and ice lined the walls, some covered with heavy lids and others draped in fine fabrics. He was the only one left open to see.

He quickly found out why.

It only took one hour for Mobei-Jun to come to visit him. A record, surely, as even widows don't visit their husband's graves so soon after burying them. Such a crude comparison, but Shang Qinghua deemed it appropriate, as he was laid to rest where only the Mobei clan had the privilege of being buried; surrounding him were Mobei-Jun's ancestors and their consorts. A mere servant like him being placed here… Well, Shang Qinghua would call it morbidly romantic.

He could probably self-destruct if he tried. His energy could not cycle well, but it was still there, flowing like molasses. But —

But when fingers dance over the surface of his coffin and he watches for the first time as Mobei-Jun's eyes glaze over and there is a crack in Mobei-Jun's frozen posterior, he thinks that being alive for a little while longer is worth it. Only to see the man who did this to him mourn. He had no right to do so — they were never involved, despite what others said. But it was depravedly interesting to watch Mobei-Jun's face be torn with regret for his actions, as though he betrayed a lover and not some rotten spy who was planning to kill his superior.

Oh, if he could speak, he would endlessly crow: "Do you miss me?" and "Look at what you've done! You could have avoided this!" and "How the great Mobei-Jun has fallen!"

And maybe he would ask, "did I really mean that much?"

It was a foolish question, but Shang Qinghua wanted to ask it desperately. Wanted to know the exact reason why Mobei-Jun knelt at his coffin, looking pained, similar to the wounded look Mobei-Jun had when they first met, a knife buried into his flank.

What was worse, Shang Qinghua wondered? A blade in his body or a wound on the soul? To be killed or frozen alive?

He decided to stay alive until he finds out the answer. Until he could witness Mobei-Jun crumble from his own actions.

It becomes a routine.

He dreams over and over of Mobei-Jun encasing him, and then awakens to the demon feeding him his "medicine".

Waking up, drinking blood, bathed and massaged, being put to bed… what a horrible experience to repeat in routine quiet. Being touched so tenderly is worse. A falsehood of affection that is dreadfully misplaced, and Shang Qinghua knows that when he returns to being alive and well, the pain from those hands will return with a warm, familiar burn, and he'll ache and creak under Mobei-Jun's whims.

No. I'll leave before that can happen.

Yes, in the days he spends being awakened and his hollow body dragging itself back into exhaustion, he plans. He thinks, evaluates, and plans.

Mobei-Jun is a fool, but he is not stupid. He has conquered lands, killed his kin for his place on the throne, and is in constant paranoia about assassins and traitors. He has demonstrated well what happens to those who slight him. If Shang Qinghua plans to escape from this, he must first elude Mobei-Jun.

And then comes Luo Binghe. Luo Binghe, who has slaughtered hundreds on a whim and is a master of manipulation. Shang Qinghua gets sick to the stomach knowing that such a horrible man has so much power – he watched the way Luo Binghe composes himself, unbelieving that Mobei-Jun and his King lost to some half-human, half-demon youth. Shang Qinghua saw a man who would stop at nothing to get what he wants, and with that horrid sword, nothing would go awry for him. Things would be much simpler if Mobei-Jun was simply sitting on the throne. It is what should have happened. Perhaps Cang Qiong peak will still be alive and well if that was the case; perhaps Shang Qinghua would not be forced to do what he did. He would be elsewhere. He would be at Mobei-Jun’s side…

That is not an option. Not anymore.

So he plans until he is settled back onto the bed and his thoughts turn into horrid dreams of the past.

 Mobei-Jun visits every few days. Often he would stare, though sometimes he would speak. Usually, his visits were just to gaze at his former servant, eyes blank and mouth set thin.

Shang Qinghua realized that Mobei-Jun's eyes were more of a brooding storm than a frozen ocean. Once blue and sharp, inspiring, powerful. Now dull, empty, filled only with shallow discontent and misplaced loyalty.

He speaks sometimes. Half conversations with Shang Qinghua that he can't respond to, making the King look mad to anyone who could see him.

One day, he arrives with those letters. The one's written to Linguang-Jun with subtle plans in mind, far more complex than the recipient would know. "What does my uncle have that I do not?" He questions Shang Qinghua. "What has he promised you? Power? He would rather slay you than allow you any place in his Court. You even aided me in seizing the crown, and yet you ran to him…"

He hopes Mobei-Jun can see the hypocrisy that he speaks.

"I have given you much, you realize? You aided me, and I gave you mercy by not killing you where you stood all those years ago."

Mobei-Jun grows silent for some time before he steps forward and grabs the edge of the coffin, power and anger rolling off in waves as the edge of the ice fractures but doesn’t break. So close to rupturing. “You are nothing without me. Remember that. Remember! ”

Shang Qinghua was drawn awake by an appetizing aroma.

Much time has passed, he thinks. He's not sure, as time is fleeting in concept. 

The times when he awakes on his own, he lays in bed, ears searching for the sound of the building, of footsteps, of a burning fire across the room. It always ends when a door shuts and footsteps approach his bed. And then, he seems to feel sleep rise like a dark abyss and take him under again.

When it is Mobei-Jun awakening him, it's for one thing. Wordlessly, he'll prop Shang Qinghua up and drip cool blood between parted lips. Now, he takes less and less, just small rivers pouring into his throat and settling into his body. But it is still as putrid and foul-smelling as before. He's learned to tolerate it. Sometimes he also awakens in a bath, with Mobei-Jun scrubbing him clean and forcing his limp body this way and that, and then doing the proclaimed 'therapy' of touching and massaging him to reawaken his body.

But this time it's different.

He sucked in a breath, his mouth dry with sticky saliva, stomach twisting in sickly knots from what lay in it.

He sat up with a groan. "My…" Shang Qinghua licks his dry lips. To say 'My King' would be hypocritical. Mobei-Jun hasn't been his for a long time. He sighs and rubs the heel of his palm into his forehead, trying to chase away the unnatural drowsiness.

"It is time to eat," Mobei-Jun says nearby. The presence doesn't startle him. Actually, he would be more startled if Mobei-Jun wasn't there.

"Yes…" he croaks and folds his legs under himself, and excitement in him at the appetizing smell that wafts in the air. This would technically be his first meal, wouldn't it? He wouldn't count the blood at all, despite the way it filled him completely with so little. He extends his shaky hands out, waiting patiently for a bowl to be given to him, although he is very anxious to have something in his stomach other than blood and acid.

Something taps the back of his hand, like a harmless little swat. Shang Qinghua frowns and pulls back. "What?"

"Open your mouth."

Shang Qinghua stills. Mobei-Jun wasn't possibly planning to actually…

Impatience drives Mobei-Jun to press his thumb to Shang Qinghua's chin so he can pull it down, lip curling and teeth parting so that chopsticks could press a swarm of noodles to a shocked mouth. Shang Qinghua sucks in a breath and wordlessly complies, allowing Mobei-Jun to push the first bite into his mouth.

Shang Qinghua squeezes his eyes shut at the sudden assault on his tongue. The flavor was overwhelming, but he willfully ignores it in favor of trying to chew. The noodles were warm and soft, but thick enough that Shang Qinghua had trouble working his jaw against the dough, pathetically slow in his efforts. He tries desperately to hide his struggle, embarrassment flooding his body at the fact that he was too weak to even chew, as though he was an infant.

Mobei-Jun chuckles and his hand cups to his jaw. Unable to protest, Shang Qinghua grabbed at the wrist, squeezing into the skin as fingers worked into the muscles to guide them up and down, making him chew until Shang Qinghua could painfully swallow his first lump of food. 

He gasps into the air when he's done, unable to help the way he slumps into a warm hand still cupping his jaw. "Tsk. Qinghua is still too weak, he can’t handle eating something solid."

"No, no," he groans, digging his blunt nails into the skin of his wrist. He makes no effort to pull Mobei-Jun closer. "Ag-gain.."

"No. You don't get to decide this. It has only been two weeks. Broth, for now."

Two weeks? Weeks? Shang Qinghua trembles at the whiplash, wondering where the time was coming and going. And, after two weeks, he's not getting better at all. He doubts the mysterious properties of Mobei-Jun's blood can work miracles.

Shang Qinghua slowly falls back against the bed. "Forget it…" he mumbles, foggy eyes lidded.

"..." There's a bit of shuffling. A clatter of bowls. "Qinghua, drink this."

"No," he refuses any blood that Mobei-Jun insists aids him.

Mobei-Jun makes a long, suffering sigh and wedges a hand under Qinghua's neck so he can drag him back up. Qinghua groans but it's cut off when a bowl gets tapped against his lips, a savory smell hitting his nose.

Ah.

Qinghua is too surprised to protest against the soft stream of broth that splashes into his mouth. It's warm and flavorful, almost too much so, but it passes over his tongue like smooth silk and leaves no room for discomfort. It pools heat inside of him, turning him into a hot spring well, feeling as though it was warming from the inside. 

He forgets to breathe, too absorbed in the burst of flavor on his tongue and the soothing sensation down his throat, that he sputters after a few seconds, choking up some of the broth in a coughing fit. The bowl pulls away quickly and a towel gets pressed to his mouth, wiping away the mess.

"C, can feed my, myself!" He hisses, weakly grabbing away the towel.

Mobei-Jun chuckles. "Then do so. And bathe yourself while you are at it."

Shang Qinghua glares and lifts the broth to give a few tentative sips. He shuts his eyes and tilts his head back, draining the soothing stock until it's empty.

He wipes his mouth and tosses the bowl to the side with a 'clank'.

"Qinghua will get more if he takes this King's blood."

"No more blood…" he grumbles.

"You must, Qinghua. You are still weak."

"Blood d, does not help."

"It does. I am stitching you back together…" a hand cups the back of his head, holding his head still – Mobei-Jun does not yank his hair, but weaves his fingers through his roots, preventing Shang Qinghua from moving away. "Qinghua will thank me in time. He is alive now, but would be rotting for eternity if not for me."

The hand guides him down to lie on his back.

"I was de, dead…" he says, more as a statement than a question. But Mobei-Jun grunts a 'yes', as though it needed an answer.

Right — he was playing the amnesiac.

"Why?"

"Qinghua… Fell victim to circumstance. This King was unable to save him. It is a carried guilt."

You could have, if you listened, lays heavy on his tongue, but he refuses to speak it. He swallows his rough throat to speak as clearly as he can: "You a-are being vague."

"I fear telling Qinghua his cause of death will do more harm than good."

"Then I sh, should have… Stayed dead..." He scoffs.

"You believe that?"

"Better than… all this! Can't… See, can har..rdly speak… no cultivation… because you decided to...to-!" he goes into a fit of coughs from trying to speak too quickly, throat raking in protest.

He is allowed to settle before Mobei-Jun says, "You believe this King is selfish and cruel for awakening you from your eternal rest. But you will do as I say, whether you like it or not… Even if that means Qinghua must live against his will." Mobei-Jun's nails rub against Shang Qinghua's skull, and Shang Qinghua cringes at the mocking gentleness that betrays Mobei-Jun's words.

 "I c, could bite my tongue off!" he threatens.

"You would be kept alive with my blood alone. And then, you would be mute, and blind."

Shang Qinghua gazes up at Mobei-Jun. So many questions he wants to ask, but he will allow them to come with time. "Am I a prisoner?"

Deft fingers begin to detangle the strands that lay tense and wild from sleep. "Qinghua is not a prisoner."

"Let me go."

“Where?”

“...Anywhere.”

“There is nowhere to go. Qinghua's home is here, and his former home has been destroyed for a long time now.”

“Let me see it…!”

"You're too weak."

"So? I want...to go out..side…!"

"Not until you're fully healed."

"But I-"

"No."

Mobei-Jun pauses.

"Qinghua will be able to walk about freely when the time comes. Qinghua will…" Mobei-Jun takes a long pause, evaluating his thoughts. "Learn his duties in time. He owes this Lord for reviving him. The debt will be repaid."

He grunts as he drags away from Mobei-Jun and rolls onto his side, back facing the other. "A waste…" he mumbles, trying to keep away the bone-deep fatigue that seems to be ingrained in his body. "'M gonna bite my tongue. I will."

"You’re too much of a coward."

"... Scram!" Shang Qinghua hisses, voice trembling with exertion. "Tired."

"You are merely too foolish to see the blessings of a second chance." Mobei-Jun stands with a clatter before gathering a few things and leaving the room. But, he pauses at the door. "Qinghua does not know what he has done in the past, and that is for the best," Mobei-Jun states, although it sounds more of a reminder for himself rather than the cultivator laying on the bed.

Shang Qinghua huffs and turns on his side, not bothering a response. Sleep begins to sink once more. He is starting to understand it is all artificial; everything was. He feels like a puppet who loses his strings when its master isn’t around to play with it.

Shang Qinghua realizes his sight is waning. His energy pools shallowly, barely budging inside his core. His body has taken to repairing itself as it decays but he is running on near fumes now. All he can do is draw what is left within his own death coffin, the last ounces of Mobei-Jun to grace him.

Other than the visits.

“Qinghua, Qinghua,” Mobei-Jun is uttering his name like a mantra, staring at him. It’s creepy. Discerning. Mobei-Jun doesn’t mutter much else, all those thoughts wrapped in his skull but not spilling out, lest he become vulnerable. He knows well that his King is a man of simple phrases and pointed responses. When he thinks, he does not show it, but all Shang Qinghua has to do now is watch and understand and listen .

“Junshang’s shizun finally perished. A stray qi deviation that he couldn’t quell erupted in that husk he keeps so close to himself. He finally can move on from his foolish attachment of his. An obsession that has driven him mad.” Shang Qinghua does not respond. Stares. He thinks he knows, but his thoughts are slow. Mobei-Jun must be talking about Shen Qingqiu, who had mentored Luo Binghe and created a monstrosity.

“He has become… reclusive. He raided the ancient libraries.” Shang Qinghua is not so surprised; when has something ever slipped through Luo Binghe’s fingers.

“He had asked for my insight on handling loss.”

Silence stretches.

“I do not mourn you,” Mobei-Jun justifies. “How could I? There is nothing to grieve over.”

Shang Qinghua hopes Mobei-Jun can sense his laughter through the ice. The mocking note that sits inside of him, wishing to spill out. 

“But –”

Oh?

“Your vacancy has left many complications…” Mobei-Jun gazes past him. “You had your strings tangled in so much. I am still learning of new measures you have gone to secure yourself, and my own place on the throne. All along, you bet on the thought that you had me wrapped around your finger…”

Mobei-Jun puts a palm on the glass. Inches – inches away from Shang Qinghua’s extended hand.

“Who are you loyal to other than yourself?”

Shang Qinghua starts to ignore Mobei-Jun. And that in itself is considered a victory to Shang Qinghua, because he can feel the awkward settle in the air whenever Mobei-Jun will say something to start a conversation but comes up with blanks, leaving the air empty after subtle prompts. Shang Qinghua had always been the conversationalist of the two, but with his voice still being repaired, Mobei-Jun has been the one up for the task. Mobei-Jun spoke very little when in good company, tending to make his statements sharp and precise, his words a well-honed blade. He didn't beat around the bush and kept his path very literal. Shang Qinghua found it nice; no need to untangle complicated words and emotions. His King was an open book if you understood the language, and Shang Qinghua studied long and hard.

Things get more difficult when you can't see the book, but it's not hard to hear a desperate man.

Their days go like this:

Mobei-Jun would wake him up. He would eat, do some simple exercises, drink a short burst of blood, and then go on to dismiss anything and everything Mobei-Jun says. On the occasion that he must be cleaned, he would allow the man to lift him and carry him to the bath, but give as little reaction as possible while he was bathed. Shang Qinghua refused to budge as he was clothed as well, ignoring the goosebumps that rose on his skin from the touch, ignoring the urge to slump forward and soak it in.

And every night, Mobei-Jun would ask:

"How do you feel?"

And like every night before, Shang Qinghua would ignore him.

"..."

"Answer me. What is bothering you? Are you hungry?"

"..."

"Bored? Entertainment is easily obtained. You were somewhat musically inclined..."

That's a tempting offer, but Shang Qingha keeps his lips sealed, content to torture Mobei-Jun with more silence. Show him that he can live to be mute and blind just fine.

Mobei-Jun makes it through two weeks of Shang Qinghua ignoring him before he crumbles with a sharp sound of wood hitting the wall, a chair splitting on impact. Mobei-Jun heaves, growling through another angry noise as he destroys the room's furniture, one after another.

"You can't keep ignoring me forever!" Mobei-Jun grits out, teeth grinding with a sharp noise. Shang Qinghua tilts his head in the smallest acknowledgment, a mere 'you want to bet?'

"You're acting childish!"

Shang Qinghua folds his arms and reclines, acting aloof.

"Qinghua look at me."

He almost spits "I can't".

"Qinghua! You will be punished for disobeying."

He idly picks at his nails, a habit that gets his hand slapped. "Stop that." Mobei-Jun growls.

Shang Qinghua sighs through his nose at the inconvenience.

"You will not ignore your King. I will punish you for disobeying. I will." the ice demon threats, and for a moment, Shang Qinghua thinks it's genuine. That his King will raise a hand to Shang Qinghua and give this new life a genuine reason to hate Mobei-Jun; it would be an excuse to spit and scratch in retaliation.

Shang Qinghua lays perfectly still, bracing for an impact.

"No. You would want that, you scheming fool. I know that Qinghua enjoys provoking me. Haven’t you gotten what you wanted already?"

Shang Qinghua scoffs.

Mobei-Jun lets silence hang for a while before the chair creaks and a hand comes to touch his chin. He frowns as the firm fingers force his head to the side. "You will acknowledge me." Mobei-Jun growls, low and deep, and Shang Qinghua startles when he realizes how close the other has leaned in, breath gently brushing his face.

"Get away from-"

He's bewildered as he's kissed — dangerous claws threatening to pierce his skin from where he's held in place. He can't make an effort to move, too shocked and fearful. Fingers turn harsher and skin and teeth press to his lips, slotting in with a rough insistent that makes Shang Qinghua wince from the pressure.

Mobei-Jun pulls away and Shang Qinghua gets a moment of breath before he's pressed back into the bed. "What-!" It dips as a Mobei-Jun looms over him, and he can feel the tickle of hair cascading down, gently brushing his face.

"Is this how I should punish you? A strike will only silence you more."

Shang Qinghua tries to muster up a response, to no avail.

"If Shang Qinghua dislikes it, he should do as this lord says." A thumb comes to swipe over his bottom lip, snagging and dragging it with ease. "Qinghua is in no state to overpower me."

He's — he's insinuating-

Shang Qinghua’s mind races. Yes a man who was so deeply affected by a betrayal that he visited his servant's grave every day, whispering and looking longingly, would have vulgar intentions. But they were...abstract. Distant, unattainable to Shang Qinghua. That man could never be Mobei-Jun, who spits and degrades and loathes Shang Qinghua for all of his valuable worth. Mobei-Jun did not have these vile, distant feelings, but what he does have is an ego and his pride. He would do anything to push Shang Qinghua to the brink.

But Shang Qinghua assumed that Mobei-Jun wouldn’t act on this. Not yet. Shang Qinghua was a servant for so long — it would have been easy for his King to take advantage, (long ago, Shang Qinghua would have let him-) so the fact that Mobei-Jun is threatening him with them is leaving Shang Qinghua winded and unsure.

He is not as patient as I thought, he thinks, to some victory. 

"Release me." He forces out.

“Qinghua must dislike this Lord greatly, looking as though he wants to kill this King.”

“Should I be grateful?” He asks venomously. "I'm in pain all the time, and you somehow force me to sleep whenever you're not around. And then you- augh!" He throws his head to the side, hating the lingering sensation on his lips. "I am beginning to wonder if this is karma for my past life."

"It is." Mobei-Jun scoffs. "But in this new one, Qinghua will behave."

“Behave...Behave?” He chuckles a wiry sound. “What do you want? For me to be a pretty little concubine? You can’t...You c-can’t-” He grabs at robes and tears at them, bringing Mobei-Jun closer so he can snarl into his face, “Do you expect this miserable body to be loyal to your whims? You did this to me! It’s your fault! You turned against me without even hearing me out! And you say I betrayed you? NO, You betrayed me! If you had not been so stupid, we could have been great, together! We could have been... Could have..." Shang Qinghua trembles as he lets go, losing strength quickly. 

"Qinghua remembers," Mobei-Jun says slowly. "And has been quiet about it this entire time?"

"FIlthy, disgusting- ngh, what- no, no, no you won't..." Shang Qinghua goes limp against the bed. "Stop it! Stop... I don't want to sleep again... You... trai...tor..."

Mobei-Jun's breath echoes in his ears as he feels the lure inside drags him under once again.