Chapter Text
It isn’t the first time Shen Yuan wakes to find himself being carried for what seems like urgent medical attention, but it is the first time the person carrying him isn't either of his brothers, or a paramedic who smells only of neutralizing scent patches. It’s dark out, and his face is resting against this alpha’s shoulder.
“This way,” someone calls. “Quickly, now.”
He’s in pain, but different pain than he’s accustomed to. He tries to remember what happened, but all he can think of is the end of that stupid fucking stallion novel, and how blindingly furious he was for the protagonist, who deserved so much better.
“Alpha?” he ventures, and it comes out so weak. The pain is worse now, and he’s starting to feel scared.
“Shhh,” the alpha says, and he smells of comfort, of protection. “Don’t try to talk, Shen-shibo.”
Shibo?
He must not have heard correctly. His body chooses to seize up then, like every muscle is cramping at the same time, and he gasps in pain.
“We’re almost there,” the alpha murmurs soothingly. “Stay with me.”
“Hurts,” he says in nearly a whimper. He’s long since given up any dignity where being in pain is concerned. All he can do is try to bear it the best he can, because it upsets his family to see him suffer.
“I know,” the alpha says, and now he smells upset. “Mu-shishu will help,” he says, but Shen Yuan knows what it sounds like when people are trying to convince themselves that against the odds, everything will be okay.
He lets his eyes close, and focuses on breathing in the alpha’s scent, until he mercifully passes out.
He wakes up in what is clearly some kind of hospital bed, even if it looks more like the set of some historical drama. The guy in too many layers of robes and a guan pretty much seals the deal.
Shen Yuan has basically trained his whole life for transmigration. Every web novel he read, he always thought about how he would do it differently—read: less stupid—than the main character. So he takes advantage of claiming confusion in the wake of what is clearly some kind of serious medical situation and figures out in short order that he has:
1) actually transmigrated into Proud Immortal Demon Way (awesome)
2) transmigrated as Shen Qingqiu, the scum villain of the piece (bad, very bad, oh shit)
3) been poisoned by Without a Cure while trying to protect a Bai Zhan disciple in a demon invasion (??? That didn’t happen in the web novel?)
Mu Qingfang is clearly hesitating. It seems like there’s something else he thinks he should say. Shen Yuan—Shen Qingqiu, now—would rather just rip the bandaid off.
“What aren’t you telling me?” he asks.
Mu Qingfang sighs. “Even if Shen-shixiong had not revealed his secret by using his pheromones to buy time for reinforcements, I’m afraid it would be common knowledge soon enough.”
“What do you mean?” Shen Qingqiu asks slowly. Seriously, what the fuck had happened?
“I’m afraid that Shen-shixiong will no longer be able to reliably suppress his scent or his heat cycle, as he is accustomed,” Mu Qingfang says with agonizingly gentle sympathy.
His first thought is, cool cool cool, glad to be fucked over by omega hormones again, never mind that he’d been ill for so long in his first life that he’d had maybe three shitty irregular heats before his body noped out of that.
His second thought is: HOLY SHIT OMEGA SHEN QINGQIU IS CANON???!
He left kind of a crazy comment about it, once. He was mostly shit-talking because it really seemed like Shen Qingqiu lost 75% of his IQ in the chapter in question, and it felt like a waste of some really good setup. The only other way the plot made a damn bit of sense, he argued, was if Luo Binghe had triggered his shizun’s heat.
He got absolutely dog-piled in the comments, but he was also in the hospital and had negative fucks to give at the time. Still, he went back afterwards, and there really was no textual support that Shen Qingqiu was a beta, as popularized in fanon. He mentally shrugged, put it down to shitty writing, and got on with his life, such as it was.
Okay fine, he did get locked out of the PIDW wiki page for Shen Qingqiu when he deleted “dynamic: beta” for the nth time and then contributed to a bitter flame war in the change log, but what was he supposed to do, let people be wrong on the internet?
His third thought is: get your shit together, or they’ll be testing you for possession and you have no idea if transmigration counts.
Noted bitch Shen Qingqiu would not have accepted this change of circumstances gracefully. “Is there nothing to be done?” he snaps.
Mu Qingfang looks so hangdog that he instantly feels guilty for trying to keep in character. “This useless shidi can only apologize for his lack of knowledge. I will keep looking for a cure, but for now—regular treatments to clear your meridians will keep the poison at bay. Liu-shixiong has volunteered to come to Qing Jing Peak to administer them.”
That seems decidedly weird. Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu famously loathe each other. Liu Qingge shouldn’t be volunteering to spit on him if he were on fire, much less give him life-saving treatments. And what’s going on with this timeline? If it’s after the demon invasion, shouldn’t Liu Qingge be dead?
Shen Qingqiu sighs. “Then I would prefer to return to Qing Jing as soon as possible.”
He needs answers to far too many questions, the first being: where is Luo Binghe?
He ends up riding on a sword—which is so, so awesome—with an older Qian Cao disciple, because he’s actually not that steady on his feet. And then he gets deposited on what is apparently his bed. It’s definitely no nest, which suggests the original goods went full method acting on the whole passing as a beta thing.
Mu Qingfang mandated at least three days of continued bedrest, which is bad news for his plan to figure out what the hell is going on. But in comes Ming Fan, who looks like he’s in his early twenties. And he’s wringing his hands. “Shizun!” he says. “Shizun, forgive this stupid disciple for only just returning! There was a message from Mu-shishu but we didn’t receive it until after we completed the mission—which went well! But while we were gone Shizun came out of seclusion and fought off a demon invasion alone and was poisoned and—“
Shen Qingqiu holds up a hand, and Ming Fan mercifully shuts up.
“This master is well enough,” he says, from where he’s sort of propped up in bed.
Ming Fan looks politely doubtful but says, “This disciple should not have worried. Of course Shizun repelled an entire army of demons by himself.” He pauses, and wrings his hands some more as he continues to look around the room in confusion.
Shen Qingqiu can see the exact second that Ming Fan clocks where the omega scent in the room is coming from. His eyes go wide. “Shizun?” he says in disbelief.
Better to get this over with. “This master preferred to conceal his omega status for reasons of his own. Such concealment is no longer possible. Tell the other disciples; this master will speak no more on this topic.” He doesn’t have to manufacture the clipped irritation in his tone.
“Yes, Shizun,” Ming Fan says obediently. “Can this disciple bring you some food?”
His stomach feels dubious, but he knows from long experience that just a little food is better than nothing. “Something light,” he says, and Ming Fan brightens as if the request made his day. “And send in Luo Binghe.”
Ming Fan looks at him with a mixture of polite confusion and also a suspicion that his shizun is still delirious. “The Bai Zhan head disciple?” he asks.
Shen Qingqiu stares at him. “The what.”
Ming Fan winces. “Apologies, Shizun. I know he’s not actually the head disciple, but—”
“Never mind,” Shen Qingqiu says hastily, and tries to think.
Luo Binghe is the de facto head disciple of Bai Zhan? If Ming Fan is—what, 23? 24? Luo Binghe must be at least 21. The original goods should have yeeted him into the Eternal Abyss when he was 17! But instead he’s at Bai Zhan Peak of all places.
This is unfair. How is he supposed to win at transmigration if the story isn’t remotely the same?! Because winning at transmigration is something both normal to want and possible to achieve.
“This master will rest until Ming Fan returns,” he says eventually, because Ming Fan is still waiting obediently with his eyes trained in the ground. Ming Fan nods, salutes him, and essentially flees.
Shen Qingqiu can’t blame him. You leave the peak for a few days, and come back to a master who, surprise! Is a secret omega, and also can’t reliably defend himself or Cang Qiong anymore. That’s a lot to take in.
He sighs, and settles back into the world’s shittiest nest. The pillow is the only thing going for it, and even that is wrapped in a very standard case as though it were a buckwheat pillow. Original goods, what was your backstory, huh? Why did you have to go this hard?
On the third day of bedrest, he talks Ming Fan into letting him rest outside. He is an absolute pro at wheedling small concessions from people who do not want him to leave bed, and Ming Fan folds immediately at Shen Qingqiu’s wistful tone as he mentions what a shame it is to miss the vibrant colors of the autumn leaves. And okay, he has to seriously lean on his head disciple’s arm to get to a bench under a tree with vermilion leaves, one that’s just out of sight of his bamboo house, but it’s worth it. The wind carries the sound of a qin being played, and he wonders suddenly if this body has retained Shen Qingqiu’s talent, or if that master has given his last performance. Seems like a thing he should figure out before strolling into music lessons.
But for now, he can just rest and enjoy the scenery.
That is, until he hears someone bellowing his name. They only sound annoyed, though, so he’s not in any particular rush to get up. They’ll come find him. If they would stop yelling and use their nose, they’d know exactly where he is. He’s the only omega on Qing Jing, after all.
“Shen-shibo,” comes a voice from behind him. He should be unnerved that someone got the drop on him, but it’s an alpha scent that is somehow familiar. A disciple from Qian Cao, maybe? He turns, and oh.
The thing is, he’d rarely been attracted to people in his first life. It was extremely rare for him to smell someone and think, yes please. Somewhat embarrassingly, it had usually been limited to the occasional nurse who had been extra attentive, and maybe slipped him some sweets. Well, whatever, it wasn’t like he saw a lot of people outside of a medical context.
But this man—surely everyone who meets him wants a piece of that, even other alphas! He is tall, broad-shouldered, and improbably handsome. He wonders if this man’s hair—pulled out of his face in a ribbon but the rest left to cascade down his shoulders in waves—is as soft as it looks.
“Shen-shibo?” the man says again. His expression is polite enough, but also, Shen Qingqiu has probably been zoning out for five minutes. Also, this man recognized him, but Shen Qingqiu has no idea who he is, so this is a little awkward. He is clearly a disciple but not in Qing Jing robes, and from his address, he can’t be from Qiong Ding. Which leaves ten other peaks he could be from.
“Apologies, this master was lost in thought,” Shen Qingqiu says lightly.
“This disciple was under the impression that Shen-shibo was not to leave bed for at least another day,” the disciple says, with a hint of disapproval.
“Resting in bed, resting here—surely there is not much difference between the two,” Shen Qingqiu says. “Aside from the much improved scenery.”
The disciple doesn’t look like he agrees. “May I accompany Shen-shibo back to his residence?”
Shen Qingqiu sighs. He supposes he should go find out what all that yelling was about. He carefully pushes up to a stand, and manages to take a few faltering steps before handsome mystery disciple offers his arm.
“Thank you,” Shen Qingqiu says quietly, and clings tightly as they make their way back to his bamboo house. The disciple lets him take it at his own pace, without ever seeming impatient, for which he is extremely grateful.
Standing in front of his bamboo house is another beautiful man—less handsome and more pretty, but eight thousand times more annoyed. “What are you even doing out of bed?” the man says shortly.
“I wasn’t far,” he says mildly.
“Not the point,” the man says in what is more of a growl.
Shen Qingqiu elects to sigh and roll his eyes, and continues to make steady progress back to bed. When he gets there, he realizes just how much that excursion took out of him, which is deeply disappointing. How come he transmigrates as an immortal master but his stamina is still garbage, ah?
The mystery disciple says quietly, “Please forgive the impertinence,” as he helps Shen Qingqiu into bed. And then the second man parks a hip on the side of Shen Qingqiu’s bed and takes his wrist, and then gives a disapproving grunt after a moment. “You’re already like this—you shouldn’t push it,” he says. Then he looks around. “Where is your attendant?”
Oh. Oh shit. He’s an unmated omega of a certain rank—he should always have an attendant nearby for propriety. He should definitely not be entertaining two alpha visitors alone.
There’s really only one way to play this off. He turns his head away. “This omega has never had one,” he says quietly, as though the admission shames him.
Both alphas go still, and there’s something very weird about their scents that Shen Qingqiu doesn’t know how to parse. Fortunately, he is saved from doing so by the breathless arrival of Ming Fan and another Qing Jing disciple, a girl who looks to be of a similar age.
“Shizun!” Ming Fan says. “Ah, Liu-shishu, forgive these lowly disciples for not greeting you right away, we were—”
“You left him alone,” snaps the alpha still holding Shen Qingqiu’s wrist, and okay, alright, this must be Liu Qingge. But who is the disciple?
“Alone and out of sight in the woods,” the mystery disciple says, and oh, now he sounds pissed.
That gets Ming Fan’s dander up. “This is Qing Jing Peak,” he says, with enough defensiveness to suggest that he thinks Liu Qingge and his disciple are right and he hates it. “How dare Bai Zhan intrude into our affairs?”
“Ming Fan,” Shen Qingqiu says, and his head disciple looks like he wants to argue further but knows better. “Fetch tea and refreshments. You—” he says, looking at the girl. “Remain outside this room.” There, that should satisfy propriety but also give Ming Fan a chance to cool down.
“Luo Binghe, go with him,” Liu Qingge says.
Luo Binghe? Handsome mystery disciple is Luo Binghe?
Luo Binghe doesn’t look especially pleased by this command. “Shizun—” he begins.
“I’m not repeating myself, brat,” Liu Qingge says in a low tone.
“Yes, Shizun,” Luo Binghe says in a clipped tone, and obediently follows Ming Fan out.
Liu Qingge closes his eyes, and grips Shen Qingqiu’s wrist just a shade too tightly. He’s being very careful to not touch anywhere near the scent gland on Shen Qingqiu’s wrist. Bit by bit, he can feel the pain drain away as Liu Qingge clears his meridians. He still feels exhausted and uncomfortable, but ultimately, better than when Liu Qingge started.
Sometime later, Liu Qingge says quietly, “You saved my life.”
The original goods saved his life! The current Shen Qingqiu didn’t do shit, and moreover, has no idea what happened! He settles for shrugging a bit. “Did you think I’d let you die?”
Liu Qingge gives him a look that honestly, the original goods probably deserves, and then he sighs. “No,” he says eventually. “Whatever else I might say about you, you wouldn’t do that.”
What kind of shitty ass thank you is this? “You’re welcome, I suppose,” Shen Qingqiu says, deeply annoyed on the original goods’ behalf. “Is that why you volunteered for this?”
Liu Qingge looks him straight in the eye, the very image of honor and virtue. “My useless disciple and I can never repay the debts we owe you. We will both attend to you as long as you have need.”
“Liu-shidi, must we speak of debts? Can we not put the past behind us?” Shen Qingqiu asks.
Liu Qingge narrows his eyes, and okay, yes, that was probably suspicious, but come on, Shen Qingqiu is already trying to avoid making an enemy of the protagonist, he really can’t be also constantly skirmishing with one of his fellow peak lords.
Luo Binghe comes back, then, which is probably just as well, and he’s bearing a tray with tea and snacks. “Where is Ming Fan?” Shen Qingqiu asks.
“He was unavoidably detained, Shen-shibo,” Luo Binghe says coolly, and sure, that’s zero percent suspicious.
“Come over here,” Liu Qingge says shortly. “You need to learn how to do this for when I’m off the mountain.”
“Yes, Shizun,” Luo Binghe says. He puts the tea tray down on the low table, and then takes Liu Qingge’s place on the edge of the bed. Shen Qingqiu is prepared for the same sense of cooling qi circulating through his body, but that’s not what happens.
Luo Binghe takes Shen Qingqiu’s wrist, and his qi feels—warm. It feels like ASMR? He makes a noise despite himself, and Liu Qingge says gruffly, “Slow down. It shouldn’t hurt him.”
“I’m not hurt,” Shen Qingqiu says, and two sets of skeptical eyes turn his direction.
Luo Binghe does slow down, and Shen Qingqiu has to wonder what the state of his demon seal is. Does he have access to his demonic qi yet? He’s not sure what it would feel like, but Luo Binghe’s qi doesn’t seem like it’s doing anything differently inside him. Eventually he stops, and Liu Qingge takes his wrist again to check. “Good,” he says, and then pats Luo Binghe on the shoulder in a way that would probably knock someone else over.
“Shen-shibo, Shizun, would you like some tea?” Luo Binghe asks.
“I have to go see Mu Qingfang,” Liu Qingge says. “You stay, brat. Make sure he eats something. He’s too weak right now.”
“Excuse you,” Shen Qingqiu says, outraged.
But Liu Qingge is already out the door, and Luo Binghe brings the abandoned tea tray back to the bed. “Apologies, Shen-shibo. The tea has cooled. I can remake it,” he says, after pouring a cup and looking at it with a dissatisfied air.
“No need,” Shen Qingqiu says, and accepts the cup. It was probably better when it was still hot, but it’s not bad. Certainly, he drank worse in his first life, between shitty hospital tea and making tea at home, where he always forgot and overbrewed it or got absorbed in something and never actually added hot water to the tea leaves in the first place.
Luo Binghe looks equally dissatisfied with the snacks on the tray. “It’s not really a meal,” he says critically.
Shen Qingqiu waves a hand. “This master has little appetite at the moment,” he says. “One of my disciples will bring dinner later.” He does not say that he is not looking forward to it. The food from the Qing Jing kitchens is decidedly uninspired.
Luo Binghe’s brow furrows slightly, but he just picks up the tray after Shen Qingqiu finishes his tea. “Then, if Shen-shibo will excuse me, I have other duties to return to.”
Shen Qingqiu nods, and he’s just about to close his eyes when Luo Binghe stops in the doorway, and says, “When Shizun called Shen-shibo weak, he meant because you are injured. Not because you’re an omega.”
“You’re certain of that?” Shen Qingqiu asks, morbidly curious.
Luo Binghe gives him an unreadable look. “He would never look down on someone for their presentation,” he says, and there’s that steely Bai Zhan loyalty.
“Then he’s a rarity in the cultivation world,” Shen Qingqiu says. “And what of Luo-shizhi? Does he follow in his master’s footsteps?”
“In all things,” Luo Binghe says. “Though perhaps I’m less forgiving than Shizun.”
That sounds like a distinct warning, and it makes a small shiver go down Shen Qingqiu’s spine.
Luo Binghe excuses himself, leaving Shen Qingqiu alone in his shitty excuse for a nest, wondering just how worried he should be.
Shen Qingqiu is surrounded by very well-intentioned betas. Like, they are trying so hard. Ning Yingying arranges for a rotation of disciples to act as his attendant, which is thoughtful! Except that he doesn’t like having all of those different scents near his nest, even when the rotation is carefully made up of only betas. He insists that his attendant stays outside his main room during the day, and banishes them to the side room overnight.
He tries to argue that no overnight attendant is needed, but Ming Fan and Ning Yingying trade glances, and Ming Fan mutters something that sounds an awful lot like “Bai Zhan” before Ning Yingying says brightly, “Shizun will of course have every courtesy he’s due.”
So he has an attendant all day, every day, when all he wants is to malinger in peace. And the thing is, these poor sweet betas don’t even know what he needs. He has zero nesting materials, he would absolutely kill for a pizza, and while he’s sure that knotting dildos exist in this world because there were way too many scenes in the novel with multiple omegas in Luo Binghe’s harem going into heat at the same time, he’s not sure how to get one. Mu Qingfang hasn’t cleared him to go off the mountain, so he can't go buy one for himself, and his face is too thin to ask any of his sweet sheep disciples to procure something like that for him.
He’s not saying that being poisoned is great. But he is saying that this miserable, unending pre-heat is worse.
Mu Qingfang comes by for one of his regular examinations and gives him the bad news. He takes Shen Qingqiu’s pulse and shakes his head. “Shixiong, after suppressing your heat cycle for so long, some irregularity is to be expected. I’ll leave you some medicine to deal with the symptoms.”
He wants to cry, honestly. At least Mu Qingfang doesn’t think he’ll experience a true heat right off the bat—probably just a pseudo-heat that will suck but not leave him totally out of it.
So he deals with the cramps, and the headaches, and the nausea, and tries to keep his shit together. He has a peak to oversee, after all, and disciples to teach, and he’s still trying to figure out what the fuck is happening with this timeline.
So of course, the next time he sees Luo Binghe, it’s on a day where his shit is absolutely not together. It is, in fact, the exact opposite. He could barely stomach any breakfast, he’s already yelled at Ming Fan and then felt terrible about it and apologized, which only made Ming Fan more upset and not less, and everything just smells bad and not even his favorite incense is helping. He’s still in his sleeping robe, curled around the only bedding he has and wishing for some modern analgesics and not shitty tea that can’t even touch his cramps.
He hears the front door open. Voices carry in his bamboo house, and Ming Fan is not as quiet as he thinks he is. “Shizun isn’t feeling well,” he says in a loud whisper.
“Hence the need for treatment,” another voice says in a low, impatient tone that implies Ming Fan is a fucking idiot.
“No, I mean—maybe come back later, Shizun is having a very bad day,” Ming Fan says urgently.
Luo Binghe evidently doesn’t listen, because he comes striding through the door and says, “Shen-shibo, this disciple has come in his master’s place, he—”
And then he stops in his tracks, breathes in through his nose, and his eyes go wide. He rushes over to Shen Qingqiu’s bed and has to reach into the blankets that Shen Qingqiu has burritoed himself in to take his wrist. “Why didn’t you send word?” he says, and under his reassuring alpha scent is alarm. “If you needed treatment earlier than expected, we would have come.”
Shen Qingqiu doesn’t bother responding to that. He just relaxes as Luo Binghe’s qi steadily clears his meridians, and lets himself breathe in Luo Binghe’s alpha scent. It’s much better than the chaotic mismash of all his beta attendants.
“Shen-shibo’s meridians are clear,” Luo Binghe murmurs a bit later, but he still looks concerned. He’s quiet for a moment, and then says, “Please forgive the impertinence,” and lifts Shen Qingqiu’s wrist to his nose.
Shen Qingqiu has had the scent gland in his wrist assessed in a medical context before, and it’s quick, impersonal, and mostly he tries to pretend it isn’t happening.
Whatever Luo Binghe is doing is not that.
He’s holding Shen Qingqiu’s wrist in a firm but gentle grip, and his nose is—ah, actually pressed against his skin. He can feel Luo Binghe’s inhale, and something about the whole situation makes his omega hindbrain sit up and take notice. And that’s before Luo Binghe actually touches the tip of his tongue to his scent gland and makes hard eye contact while breathing in deep.
Shen Qingqiu is absolutely mortified by the omega whine that escapes him.
At least Luo Binghe looks equally mortified, and drops his wrist immediately. “Where is your nest?” he asks brusquely.
Shen Qingqiu pulls his arm back into his blanket burrito. “Luo-shizhi is looking at it.”
Luo Binghe looks aghast. “But there’s hardly any—why don’t you have—”
“This master is not permitted any off-peak excursions at this time,” Shen Qingqiu says with what little dignity he has remaining.
“Then send one of your omega disciples!” Luo Binghe says, and honestly, he’s more worked up about this than Shen Qingqiu is.
Shen Qingqiu sighs. “There are none,” he says. He’s slowly come to the realization that the original goods had actually deliberately moved any disciples who presented as omega off of Qing Jing—some to other peaks, others back to their families. The best way to remain hidden was to make sure there were no points of comparison, he supposes.
Luo Binghe is looking at him like this is completely absurd, and honestly, he’s not wrong. “This disciple will be right back,” he says, and wow, he sounds pissed.
Shen Qingqiu really wishes that didn’t do something for him, but alas. Hormones are dumb and his body is reacting to the only unmated alpha nearby.
He manages to doze until Luo Binghe returns. He comes back to the bed and begins to pull nesting materials out of a qiankun pouch. “This is all An Ding Peak had on hand,” he says, and he sounds displeased. “They’re not very good. This disciple would never accept them on behalf of Bai Zhan’s omegas.”
“Bai Zhan has omegas?” Shen Qingqiu asks, fascinated. The web novel didn’t drop a lot of lore about other peaks, and that seemed a shame—he had always wanted to know more about the rest of Cang Qiong.
“Surely Shen-shibo doesn’t think only alphas can be strong,” Luo Binghe says, and there’s something in his tone—pity, maybe, mixed with disappointment.
“Of course not,” Shen Qingqiu says, a little stung by the implied accusation. He sits up to begin sorting through the nesting materials, and as Luo Binghe said, they’re pretty disappointing. Not soft enough, not fluffy enough, texture all wrong. But he won’t complain, because something is better than nothing, and Luo Binghe could have told Ming Fan to go to An Ding to fetch these, instead of going himself. “Thanking Luo-shizhi for his kindness in acquiring these.” He forces himself to look up at Luo Binghe, who is still standing next to his bed.
Luo Binghe is staring at him, and some of the tension goes out of his posture, as if relieved. Then he coughs politely. “Forgive this disciple for not ensuring they’re properly prepared. Your head disciple was unaware of your preferred alpha.”
It takes Shen Qingqiu a few seconds to process that. Oh god. Luo Binghe is talking about having an alpha scent his nesting materials to comfort him in pre-heat. In his first life, he’d only had that done once, and it was an anonymous service! That he paid for! Like a reasonable human being!
“If this master had one, do you think he would be in this state?” Shen Qingqiu asks. He feels like his cheeks are on fire.
“Did you never—” Luo Binghe cuts himself off. The tips of his ears look red.
Shen Qingqiu died a virgin in his first life, and no alpha has come out of the woodwork in his second life to suggest that the original goods had made any other arrangements aside from brutally preventing his heat cycle from happening at all.
His silence probably says all of that and more.
“If Shen-shibo wishes, this disciple could—” he swallows once. “Prepare them. As an emergency measure.”
“This master could never impose,” Shen Qingqiu makes himself say demurely.
Surprisingly, that works. Luo Binghe licks his lips one before gathering up the nesting materials and retreating behind the screen Shen Qingqiu uses for dressing. He can only hear the rustle of fabric, and his face burns to imagine exactly which scent glands Luo Binghe is using to mark those nesting materials. His wrist, right? Maybe even his neck. Definitely not—anything lower and normally hidden by his robes.
When Luo Binghe returns to Shen Qingqiu’s bedside, his robes look like they’re all properly in place, which is maybe a tiny bit disappointing. But Luo Binghe presents the nesting materials as if he’s waiting for Shen Qingqiu to pass judgment, which is ridiculous—beggars can’t be choosers, and all that. Shen Qingqiu just gets down to the serious business of arranging everything to his liking, and then lies down again in a cloud of soft, scented nesting materials and endorphins. He sighs in contentment; he’s finally feeling no pain.
“In the future, if Shen-shibo is in distress, he should send word,” Luo Binghe says, and his voice feels like a pleasant rumble that goes down Shen Qingqiu’s spine. “This disciple will come right away.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Shen Qingqiu sighs out, turning his head into the blanket next to his pillow. It’s the most heavily scented of everything he has.
“Does Shen-shibo require anything further?” Luo Binghe asks, sounding strangled.
Even blissed out on Luo Binghe’s alpha pheromones, Shen Qingqiu doesn’t have the face to ask for a knotting dildo. He’ll figure it out later. Make the world’s most embarrassing requisition of An Ding Peak. Whatever.
He settles for purring in response, and Luo Binghe stares at him, transfixed, before a clatter from outside the main room draws his attention. He takes his leave in a quiet murmur, and Shen Qingqiu just shamelessly buries his whole face in the blanket next to his pillow.
There is no way Luo Binghe scented that one with his wrist.
The less said about the pseudo-heat he goes into, the better. If that was even a fraction of what the original goods had to deal with, no wonder he was like, fuck that shit I’m out.
The first thing he does after the pseudo-heat has run its course is to call for a bath. The second is to write a very embarrassing letter of requisition to An Ding Peak, because like hell is he going through a real heat with just his fingers.
The third is to call for Ming Fan, who comes bearing messages and paperwork which he is truly not in the mood for. “Anything urgent?” Shen Qingqiu asks, sifting through the messages.
“The Sect Leader has returned,” Ming Fan says, and what is that mulish look on his face? “He came to see Shizun while he was…indisposed.”
Shen Qingqiu freezes up at that. Of course no one on Qing Jing would invade his privacy, and he was aware that his intrepid beta disciples had set an extra watch around his bamboo house when his pseudo-heat began. But the idea of someone else getting close while he was that vulnerable makes his blood go cold.
“Of course we turned him away,” Ming Fan says, chin tilted up proudly. “Shizun’s orders were clear.”
Shen Qingqiu sighs in relief. “Well done,” he says, and Ming Fan looks so pleased. He really is a good kid who just wants to prove himself. And without Luo Binghe around to bully, he’s not constantly losing IQ points either.
“We received word this morning that a meeting of the peak lords has been called,” Ming Fan says. “If Shizun is…not feeling well enough, this head disciple can attend without him.”
“When is the meeting?” Shen Qingqiu asks. He should go. The original goods would have wanted to prove to his martial siblings that nothing had changed, and that he would absolutely cut anyone who crossed him.
Ming Fan fidgets. “This afternoon, Shizun.”
Shen Qingqiu wants to curl up in his nest and say fuck it, but he should see Mu Qingfang, and there’s no point in him making an extra trip to Qing Jing just for Shen Qingqiu. He sighs, and makes himself stand up and start rifling through his clothes for something that says, ‘I’m a super respectable peak lord, definitely not heat-adjacent, look at me funny and I’ll end you.’
When he walks into the hall where the meeting is apparently held, he’s not sure if he succeeded. All conversation stops, and all eyes are on him. He snaps open his fan, and stares them all down. He can do this. He can totally do this.
The wave of alpha scents that hits him almost makes him stagger. Nope! Nevermind, he can’t do this, he’s going to turn around and go back home immediately, he can’t—
“Shen-shibo?” comes a familiar voice behind him. He closes his eyes for a brief second; all he wants to do is turn around and bury his nose in that reassuring scent. But he’s not in his nest, he’s in public, and he has to keep his shit together.
He turns to see Luo Binghe behind him, and he looks—irritated. “Why is Shen-shibo here?” he asks, and it is extremely annoying that he’s still close enough to his pseudo-heat that Luo Binghe’s alpha scent does things to him. Especially when that scent is so aggrieved, like Shen Qingqiu has done something wrong by attending this meeting!
“This master is still a peak lord,” Shen Qingqiu says coldly. “Who is this disciple to question his right to be here?”
Luo Binghe stares at him, and takes a half a step toward him. Shen Qingqiu fights the urge to back up. He’s not going to let an alpha intimidate him, not even one that smells this good, and oh god, is he getting wet? Fuck fuck fuck.
“Shizun,” Ming Fan says, suddenly appearing at his side. “Shizun, the meeting is about to begin.”
He allows Ming Fan to herd him to his seat, which is of course between Liu Qingge—who looks as annoyed as always—and what can only be the Sect Leader, Yue Qingyuan.
“Qingqiu-shidi,” Yue Qingyuan says quietly, and there’s something sorrowful in his gaze, and bizarrely guilty. Shen Qingqiu will take open hostility over that any day, thanks. Mercifully, Yue Qingyuan calls the meeting to order.
The head disciples all sit behind their respective peak lords, which means he can just see Luo Binghe out of the corner of his eye. He’s probably being paranoid, but he feels like Luo Binghe’s disapproving gaze is fixed on him.
The meeting itself is fine? The first part is not that exciting, because it’s mostly Yue Qingyuan relaying the status of negotiations with Huan Hua Palace, which is the reason he had been away from Cang Qiong since Shen Qingqiu transmigrated. But then Qi Qingqi brings up the news that there’s been some unusual demon activity, and that gets Shen Qingqiu’s attention.
“We should just kill the demons and be done with it,” Liu Qingge says, crossing his arms.
“We don’t even know who is responsible,” Shen Qingqiu says witheringly. “And whoever it is, they’re targeting demons of noble lineage, not humans.” He looks around the room. “That suggests internal unrest in the demonic realm. We need more information before we respond.”
Mutters break out at that, and Yue Qingyuan holds up a hand. “Qingqiu-shidi’s counsel is wise, as always,” he says, and yikes, the death glares Shen Qingqiu gets from that. “We will investigate further.”
The rest of the meeting is administrative stuff, which Shen Qingqiu kind of digs from a worldbuilding perspective. It mostly falls on the shoulders of Shang Qinghua, the lord of An Ding Peak. When the meeting is adjourned, Shang Qinghua pops out of his seat and scurries over to Shen Qingqiu.
“This one received Shen-shixiong’s requisition just prior to the meeting this morning, and has some questions regarding fulfillment,” Shang Qinghua says.
Shen Qingqiu looks at him in confusion, and then Shang Qinghua raises his eyebrows meaningfully. Oh. Oh. That requisition. He coughs delicately. “Yes, of course,” he says, feeling like he might die from embarrassment.
Shang Qinghua leads him off to the side of the hall, and says, “Is it for Shen-shixiong’s personal use?”
He squirms internally, and then nods once.
“Since Shixiong has never submitted such a requisition before, An Ding does not have his preferences on file,” Shang Qinghua continues, sounding unnervingly apologetic.
Oh god. Kill him now. He misses online shopping.
There’s nothing for it, though. “What are the available…options?” he makes himself ask.
With the thickest face in existence, Shang Qinghua indicates lengths with his hands. “Small, medium, and then—there’s one that’s like—well, it was a custom order but they changed their mind? It’s, um. Big.”
His throat goes dry. “The last one,” he manages to say, trying to hide as much of his face behind his fan as possible.
Shang Qinghua obligingly makes a notation on a slip of paper and mutters something that almost sounds like size queen. He obviously misheard, though.
But once Shang Qinghua takes his leave, Shen Qingqiu isn’t left in peace. Of course that would be too much to ask. Instead three alphas converge on him—Yue Qingyuan, and Liu Qingge with Luo Binghe at his side. The scent is overwhelming, and Yue Qingyuan is politely inquiring after his health in a really suffocating way and Liu Qingge is scowling like Shen Qingqiu’s existence offends him, and Luo Binghe is just staring at him with disconcerting intensity.
He shifts just a tiny bit closer to Luo Binghe, whose scent at least has an association of comfort. And Luo Binghe doesn’t miss that—there’s a sudden bloom of satisfaction to his scent, and god knows what Shen Qingqiu’s own scent is betraying. Even before Without a Cure prevented him from controlling his scent worth a damn, he hardly ever bothered in his first life. It was between him and his studio apartment walls, okay? And like the occasional delivery person.
“Stop crowding him,” Mu Qingfang, his beta savior, scolds the alphas surrounding him. “Come this way, Shen-shixiong.”
He’s never been so glad to be whisked off for a medical examination. Mu Qingfang leads him to a side room for privacy, and Shen Qingqiu offers his wrist without being asked.
Mu Qingfang takes his pulse, fingers kept a professional distance from his scent gland. “Liu-shixiong and Luo Binghe have done well in clearing your meridians,” he says after a moment.
Shen Qingqiu can see Luo Binghe through the doorway. He’s ostensibly talking to Ming Fan but it looks an awful lot like he’s trying to lurk as close to the side room as possible. “This Qingqiu is grateful to his shidi and shizhi for their care,” he says.
Mu Qingfang then raises Shen Qingqiu’s wrist to his nose in the actual, medically appropriate way of examining a wrist scent gland. “I would have expected more imbalance in your scent following a pseudo-heat,” he says, sounding a bit puzzled. “Did Shixiong have an alpha attendant?”
Shen Qingqiu takes his wrist back and attempts to hide behind his fan again. “Not—exactly,” he mutters. “I made do alone.”
Mu Qingfang clucks at him. “Your true heat will be more intense, and the risk of accompanying qi deviation will be much higher. Shixiong should make arrangements in advance. And given the effects of Without A Cure, an alpha with strong cultivation and abundant yang energy would be best.”
Mu Qingfang! This omega’s face is too thin for this kind of conversation! Shen Qingqiu looks away in embarrassment, only to meet Luo Binghe’s intent gaze.
Oh shit. How good is the protagonist’s hearing?
At his silence, Mu Qingfang says kindly, “Any of your alpha martial siblings would…ease your way, if needed.”
Shen Qingqiu feels his face go hot. Oh no. Like hell no.
His reaction must show on his face, because then Mu Qingfang says, “If Shixiong cannot accept one of his martial sibling’s care, perhaps one of the establishments he frequents may have someone acceptable?”
It hits him after a moment. Mu Qingfang is talking about brothels. The kind the original goods allegedly visited. Shen Qingqiu looks away again, hyper conscious of Luo Binghe’s eyes on him. “This shixiong would prefer his own nest, and someone known to him,” he says, his voice low.
At that, Luo Binghe starts walking toward him in what is basically a strut. Protagonist! Have some shame! Just because you’re taller and broader than basically every other alpha on Cang Qiong doesn’t mean you should swagger like that!
He sounds like a perfectly dutiful disciple when he enters the side room, though. “Begging Shen-shibo and Mu-shishu’s pardon. This disciple wished to inquire after the effectiveness of his treatment. Should this disciple do anything differently?”
Mu Qingfang favors him with an approving smile. “Luo Binghe has done well, as expected of the disciple with the strongest yang energy of all of Cang Qiong.”
Luo Binghe preens, and says modestly, “This disciple can only attempt to improve upon his inadequate efforts.”
Mu Qingfang gives Shen Qingqiu a sidelong look. “Perhaps he may assist Shen-shixiong in other matters,” he says.
“Mu-shidi!” Shen Qingqiu hisses.
Luo Binghe’s tone is innocent, but his eyes are not. “This disciple would happily assist Shen-shibo,” he says. “With anything. Anything at all.”
What the fuck! Luo Binghe should be fighting his way through the Endless Abyss, banging his way through a succession of omega demons! He should be dreaming of his vengeance on Shen Qingqiu, not—not helping him. With his dick.
Unfortunately, his pussy did not get that memo. He feels a tiny bit of slick go down his thigh, and from Luo Binghe’s sharp inhale, he knows it.
“Shen-shixiong should have his meridians cleansed in two weeks’ time,” Mu Qingfang says to Luo Binghe, sounding very calm and very clinical and like he’s not smelling any of this.
“This disciple will see to it,” Luo Binghe says, inclining his head obediently.
And then he has the absolute balls to offer his arm to Shen Qingqiu.
He’s going to blame his stupid pseudo-heat. He shouldn’t have come to the meeting today; his omega hormones are still clouding his brain. And Luo Binghe smells good. Of course he takes the protagonist’s arm—anyone would!
“May this disciple inquire after the suitability of the materials he provided?” Luo Binghe says in a low, polite voice as he escorts Shen Qingqiu to where Ming Fan is waiting, at the entrance to the meeting hall.
“They were—adequate,” Shen Qingqiu manages to say, like he didn’t have Luo Binghe’s scent in his nose every time he desperately got himself off.
Luo Binghe makes an agreeable noise in response, as though they are talking about the weather. “Perhaps Shen-shibo would allow this disciple to replace them, should he come upon some goods of higher quality?”
“This master could never trouble Luo-shizhi with such matters,” Shen Qingqiu says, hoping that will be the end of it.
Unfortunately, Luo Binghe takes that for modesty, and the corners of his lips turn up just a bit. “It would be this disciple’s privilege,” he says, his voice a low rumble.
Ming Fan’s expression is deeply suspicious when Luo Binghe delivers Shen Qingqiu to him. “Shizun shouldn’t have to tolerate those Bai Zhan brutes’ interference in his affairs,” he huffs when Luo Binghe has taken his leave.
“They are doing this master a life-saving service,” Shen Qingqiu says in mild rebuke, even though he, too, would rather dropkick both Liu Qingge and Luo Binghe off his mountain than have to deal with any of this.
Ming Fan still looks disgruntled. “Someday, Mu-shishu will find a cure,” he says with stalwart reassurance.
Shen Qingqiu looks over his shoulder to see said cure watching him leave with an expression that looks hungry. “We’ll see,” he says.