Chapter Text
Protected by the Thousand-Leaves Fresh Snow Lotus, surrounded on all sides by demonic creatures who are simply waiting for them to step outside the spiritual barrier, Luo Binghe is busy trying to convince Shen Qingqiu to eat the aforementioned flower.
Shen Qingqiu is not having it. He can’t believe he’s even listening to this! Luo Binghe, honestly!
“Shizun, please, can’t we at least try?” Luo Binghe says, and the last dregs of patience Shen Qingqiu possesses drain away.
“Listen to your shizun, Binghe!” he snaps. “That flower won’t work, so stop asking.” He takes a breath, trying to control himself and ignore the hurt expression on Luo Binghe’s face. He gentles his tone. “Besides,” he says, “the Thousand-Leaves Fresh Snow Lotus is protecting all of us right now. Your juniors are exhausted; let them rest in this limited safety. Surely you don’t think me so selfish as to take that from them?”
This last he attempts to say in a somewhat teasing manner. Going by Luo Binghe’s aghast look, it utterly fails to land.
“Of course not, Shizun!” his little lamb bleats.
Shen Qingqiu feels a renewed sense of guilt. Especially because it’s a blatant lie to say that he isn’t selfish: to protect his own life, isn’t he planning to rip safety from Luo Binghe himself? The Endless Abyss has yet to open, but it’s only a matter of time. The true question is when the Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python will make its appearance, and whether Shen Qingqiu will be able to stand aside long enough for Luo Binghe’s seal to crack.
Not that he’ll have much choice, ah! His qi is sealed and stagnant thanks to his Without-A-Cure flare-up; that’s half of why Luo Binghe was so insistent that he eat the Thousand-Leaves Fresh Snow Lotus.
…Apparently Luo Binghe hasn’t entirely given up, though, because there’s a calculating glint in his eye. It’s the kind that always appears when he has a hare-brained scheme and the stubbornness to insist upon it.
“Shizun,” Luo Binghe starts, putting Shen Qingqiu immediately on guard. “Everyone inside the barrier created by the Thousand-Leaves Fresh Snow Lotus is protected, yes?”
“Yes,” Shen Qingqiu says slowly.
“So technically we don’t need to stand guard?”
“The flower’s spiritual aura is strong, but there are likewise particularly strong demons who may be able to breach or entirely destroy its defenses,” Shen Qingqiu says. “We mustn’t lower our guard, Binghe, not amongst this chaos.”
“But if such a dangerous demon or monster approached, we would be able to sense it coming,” Luo Binghe continues doggedly. “We would have warning in advance.”
“Spit it out, Binghe, just what are you angling for?” Shen Qingqiu asks, tired of this prevarication.
“Please allow me to clear your meridians, Shizun!” Luo Binghe says, clear and forthright and not at all what Shen Qingqiu expected.
“Your Liu-shishu usually takes care of such matters,” is what comes out of his mouth, as though the absence of Liu Qingge, off fighting elsewhere in Jue Di Gorge, isn’t why they’re stuck in place here. That isn’t the most salient point though, because, “Binghe isn’t trained in such matters.”
“Yes, I am!” Luo Binghe insists. “This disciple has spent the last year consulting with Qian Cao, hoping to be of assistance to Shizun. I can help, if only a little. Even if I’m not as strong or practiced as Liu-shishu.” This last leaves Luo Binghe’s mouth pressed in a little moue of disgruntlement, before he adds, almost wrathfully, “Yet.”
Shen Qingqiu can do little more than stare in light of this impassioned proclamation. He’d known Luo Binghe sought to find a cure for him—his disciple had hardly made a secret of it, which only made Shen Qingqiu’s keeping of the secret regarding the one true cure all the more important—yet he hadn’t realized that Luo Binghe was bothering Qian Cao so thoroughly and often about it!
Perhaps he should have. Luo Binghe has been so terribly solicitous since he moved into the bamboo house, always looking after Shen Qingqiu’s health and comfort—why shouldn’t he have prepared for the eventuality that he might be nearby when Shen Qingqiu had a flare-up and Liu Qingge wasn’t?
“Shizun, please,” Luo Binghe begs him for a second time, no less determined or hopeful than the first time.
…Shen Qingqiu has ever been weak to Luo Binghe, even before he breaks out the puppy dog eyes. This time, he doesn’t even have an excuse that it’s a futile effort; Luo Binghe doesn’t intend to attempt to cure his poisoning, only to mitigate its effects. If he truly has spent a whole year bothering Qian Cao about this—and Shen Qingqiu should probably both give Mu Qingfang an apology gift for his disciple’s actions and a scolding for not telling him what Luo Binghe was up to behind his back—then Luo Binghe absolutely knows how to properly do this.
“Very well,” Shen Qingqiu says. He thrusts his hand out, grateful that they’re already at the very edge of the protective barrier created by the Thousand-Leaves Fresh Snow Lotus and that their backs are turned to the Huan Hua disciples they rescued.
His poisoning is still technically a sect secret, kept among the Peak Lords and Luo Binghe. Other members of Cang Qiong know, in theory, that Shen Qingqiu was poisoned—it would be hard for them to have missed it, given how publicly it occurred—yet they’ve managed to give the impression that it was nothing much to be concerned about. Shen Qingqiu recovered just fine, see?
(Qing Jing are the ones best positioned to realize the truth of the matter, but none of them would breathe a word of it, he’s fairly sure of that. They do rather have a tendency to close ranks when it comes to certain matters, even as they maintain friendships across the other peaks.)
Distantly, Shen Qingqiu wonders what excuse Luo Binghe gave to Qian Cao for wanting to know how to circulate qi, then decides that ultimately it doesn’t matter. He’s sure Luo Binghe was discreet. That, or he explained it all to Mu Qingfang and his martial brother arranged for Luo Binghe’s extra lessons.
Truly, an apology gift and a scolding are necessary…
At any rate, Luo Binghe barely hesitates to take Shen Qingqiu’s hand in his own. His fingers tremble faintly as he pushes up Shen Qingqiu’s sleeve to gain better access to his wrist. Nervous, perhaps? It’s a rather high-stakes situation to be trying this for the first time against the actual poison rather than in mere practice with fellow disciples.
“I believe in you, Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu says, voice gentle as he attempts to soothe some of Luo Binghe’s worry. It’s true, too. If Luo Binghe has put even half the effort into this as he has his other studies, then there’s no way he can fail.
Indeed, as he says that, he can feel Luo Binghe’s qi meeting his own, carefully entering his system in preparation to push through the blockages. Luo Binghe’s face is set in an expression of co-mingled determination and concentration. He spreads his qi throughout Shen Qingqiu’s system. Then he begins to push.
Shen Qingqiu has done quite a lot to help Luo Binghe to recover from the damage the faulty cultivation manual did to him. He’s done more than that, too. He’s passed on so many tips and tricks, he’s constantly given Luo Binghe opportunities to learn and grow and fight, he’s allowed Luo Binghe to study all kinds of materials that he might have usually restricted to older students—Shen Qingqiu can’t be impartial when it comes to Luo Binghe. He wants Luo Binghe to live up to his greatest potential, boundless as it is…and Shen Qingqiu knows that Luo Binghe needs every scrap of knowledge and power that he can get ahold of in advance.
Which is to say that by now, three years into the current Shen Qingqiu’s reign of Qing Jing, Luo Binghe is powerful. Not the same level as a Peak Lord, not for years yet, but in matters of spiritual cultivation, he’ll surely outstrip them all, save perhaps Yue Qingyuan.
That’s even before taking into account how much his unlocked Heavenly Demon side will have an influence on him and double his cultivation. Right now, he can’t break the blockages as neatly or easily as Liu Qingge, but the fact that he can budge them at all is highly impressive.
Shen Qingqiu can feel trickles of qi filtering back into his control; not all of it, not yet, but if they have an incense’s stick of peace, then Luo Binghe will surely accomplish even that, clever boy—
So of course there’s a rustling of bushes in front of them. Shen Qingqiu’s hand slips from Luo Binghe’s as he readies Xiu Ya, preparing himself for a fight. Luo Binghe does the same at his side as the rustling increases.
Shang Qinghua comes stumbling out of the bushes, a gaggle of disciples accompanying him. Shen Qingqiu lets out a slow breath, loosening—but not entirely releasing—his hold on Xiu Ya.
“Shen-shixiong!” the An Ding Peak Lord, traitor to the cultivation sects, architect of their current nightmare, says.
“Shang-shidi,” Shen Qingqiu says cooly. With his half-restored qi, Shen Qingqiu stretches his senses, searching for a beacon of demonic qi that would signify the Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python, and frowns when he can’t pinpoint it. “Did you see a large demonic beast as you approached?”
Shang Qinghua freezes. “A large demonic beast?” he says. “No, there was no such beast.”
That can’t be right. Surely Shen Qingqiu hasn’t done anything that might change the Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python’s appearance, right?! How else is Luo Binghe’s seal going to be released?
While Shen Qingqiu is furiously thinking, Luo Binghe has taken charge, ushering the disciples accompanying Shang Qinghua away so that they can join the other disciples further inside the protective zone of the Thousand-Leaves Fresh Snow Lotus. His fierce little gaze barely leaves Shang Qinghua as he does this, and once all the disciples have passed him, he places himself back at Shen Qingqiu’s side. So sticky, ah!
Shang Qinghua watches the backs of those last few disciples trudge to their fellows, saying, “We lost quite a few disciples on the way here. These young pillars of the cultivation world—ah, whoever unleashed these beasts upon them is truly vile!”
Shen Qingqiu sneers internally. This man is the one who did it in the first place! How dare he say such things, affecting grief, when it’s his fault—
He barely has time to build steam for a proper rant before the ground shakes beneath his feet. Behind him, the rescued disciples scream, many of them certainly collapsing down to the ground, voices rising in hysterical questions. Shen Qingqiu’s heart speeds up.
The Endless Abyss is opening.
That’s not the worst of it, though. The Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python, with its signature dimension-warping call, should have been the one to open the Abyss. Shen Qingqiu heard no such call, nor can he sense the qi of a beast.
Instead, out of the shadows, with a qi signature like crackling ice and a blizzard’s onslaught, steps a man.
Mobei-Jun, Shen Qingqiu realizes in horror.
Things do not improve from there.
Shang Qinghua is useless, of course, and a consummate actor; he would do well in theatre, were he not busy tearing down the sects instead. Shen Qingqiu does his best to talk down Mobei-Jun, then his best to order Luo Binghe away from the fight, but both are unsuccessful. There is no escaping this.
Hell, fuck, shit, and damn. What a mess! Shen Qingqiu is blindingly grateful that Luo Binghe insisted on clearing his meridians, and that he was even halfway successful! Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t like his chances against Mobei-Jun even if he was at full power—this demon is Luo Binghe’s future right-hand man for a reason!—but going up against him during a complete Without-A-Cure flare-up would be a suicide mission.
It’s still a suicide mission. Shen Qingqiu just has to hope they can hold out for long enough that Mobei-Jun gets bored.
Except, Shen Qingqiu realizes with despair a bare few minutes into their fight, Mobei-Jun isn’t going to leave, not until he’s gotten what he came here for. Given that his focus has switched fully to Luo Binghe, Shen Qingqiu has a guess that whatever his original purpose was—checking on his spy? Killing cultivators himself? Assuring that the Abyss opened?—it’s been railroaded by the System inserting him in the role that should have been filled by a Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python.
Mobei-Jun is going to crack Luo Binghe’s seal.
It doesn’t take long for Shen Qingqiu to be proven right. Well, half-right. Mobei-Jun doesn’t crack the seal; he shatters it in its entirety. The singular blessing to the situation is that he seems content with that. One clawed hand opens a shadowy portal in the air and then Mobei-Jun is gone.
Shen Qingqiu groans softly to himself, pulling himself up to his knees, where he then has to take a brief moment to catch his breath from the effort. Mobei-Jun truly had a monstrous strength. The power of Elder Single Arm or Elder Sky Hammer from back then is nothing in comparison to the future king of the North.
To add insult to injury, the System take that moment to pop up.
[Mandatory Quest: “Endless Abyss and Endless Hatred, A Sky Filled With Crystal Frost and Tears of Blood” now beginning!] it announces, incongruously cheerful. [Please complete quest or 20,000 Satisfaction Points will be deducted from Host’s account!]
Shen Qingqiu groans again, louder this time, and makes his way, swaying unsteadily all the while, over to Luo Binghe.
His disciple kneels on the ground, his head held tight in his newly clawed hands, his red eyes wide and unseeing as he grapples with the storm of demonic qi that has been released inside him. Yes, he may have been learning the dream arts from Meng Mo and therefore learned, in theory, how to control demonic qi. However, as with all his practice learning to clear meridians on Qian Cao, Luo Binghe is being thrown into the deep-end of practical applications today.
Shen Qingqiu knows that he can handle it. His Binghe is strong; he has a better foundation of knowledge and stronger cultivation than his web-novel counterpart. More than that, he isn’t dealing with Xin Mo at the same time. He’s not having to stop it consuming his soul while simultaneously dealing with the deluge of energy from his released seal, an overpowering amount of qi when he spent so much of his time in the Abyss using what little he could access from behind a half-broken cradle seal.
Caught up in these thoughts, with the System breathing down his neck, Shen Qingqiu does not properly assess the situation as he should.
Perhaps the biggest mistake Shen Qingqiu makes in this moment is not his confidence in Luo Binghe’s abilities nor the potential ripple effects of the changed situation surrounding his broken seal: it’s that he doesn’t think to be cautious of Luo Binghe.
Shen Qingqiu, in his years in this role, has never harmed Luo Binghe. He hasn’t betrayed Luo Binghe yet. Shen Qingqiu has become far too accustomed to their easy, fond companionship. He forgets, in this moment, the way qi balance shifting wildly out of equilibrium can make people behave in unexpected, unpredictable, often violent ways.
Even toward those they love.
Shen Qingqiu reaches into the wild windstorm of Luo Binghe’s demonic qi. He means to still it as best he can, to help Luo Binghe regain control of himself, returning the favor Luo Binghe gave him when he circulated Shen Qingqiu’s qi for him earlier. His fingers land on Luo Binghe’s shoulder—
He doesn’t even understand what’s happened at first.
His arm has been shoved out of the way by the force of Luo Binghe’s aggressive movement. Luo Binghe snarls at him, wild and void of recognition. His hand is out-flung, the claws limned in a dark sheen of demonic qi and tipped in bright, lurid…
Blood.
The pain hits.
Shen Qingqiu clamps his hands over his throat—over the wound—and feels hot blood pooling beneath and over them. He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a choked gurgle.
He collapses down to the ground. He frantically tries to stem the bleeding; pressure from the outside isn’t enough, so he shoves qi at the inside of the wound, all of it that he can access. He doesn’t have time for finesse, wouldn’t know how to utilize his qi in such a delicate way even if he did, so this is the best he’s capable of accomplishing.
It’s not going to be enough, not unless he gets more help. He can feel himself losing blood faster than he can seal the wound—
A second pair of hands press down over his own. They push too hard, enough to cut off what breathing he can manage, before the owner of those hands seems to realize that exact issue and the pressure eases slightly. Qi floods into him. It’s not the carefully regulated and practiced flow from before.
No, this is a wild and untamed deluge, spiritual and demonic qi mixed together haphazardly. He could nearly choke on it, if he weren’t already half-drowning in his own blood.
Shen Qingqiu’s eyes crack open. They closed at some point. Now he can see Luo Binghe hovering over him, his face a mask of tears as he pours his qi and fervent apologies into Shen Qingqiu.
“I’m sorry,” Luo Binghe sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Shizun, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
Shen Qingqiu’s eyes flutter closed again. He can’t bear to see his little lamb hurting like this. Besides, he needs all his concentration to see if he can’t grab at least a thread of that copious qi and guide it to be more efficient.
(The demonic qi burns everywhere it touches him, but it’s helping nonetheless. So long as Shen Qingqiu focuses on the spiritual half of Luo Binghe’s qi, so long as he doesn’t attempt to touch the demonic qi himself, it helps him. Sort of. It feels almost as though it’s cauterizing the wound rather than healing it, but burns—whether imagined, spiritual, or literal—can be healed.
Death, barring certain situations, cannot.)
Distantly, he hears the cra-BOOM and, through his closed eyelids, sees the green-white light of a Qing Jing emergency firework.
He hears Luo Binghe saying something about Mu Qingfang.
He hears the System, cajoling him, reminding him that he has to complete his quest, because if he doesn’t, all his points will be taken away from him, the specter of death looming before him.
I’m dying anyway, Shen Qingqiu thinks at it, brutal and resigned. Luo Binghe wasn’t able to clear his meridians well enough for Shen Qingqiu to finish stitching his throat closed more than the bare minimum that he has already accomplished, the small amount that is keeping him tethered to life. Luo Binghe doesn’t have the expertise nor, currently, the control to accomplish that, either. Maybe if he were able to get his blood parasites into Shen Qingqiu—
But there’s no way for Shen Qingqiu to give him that information, even if the thought of being infected by Luo Binghe’s blood parasites would normally have him break into a cold sweat at the prospect of what Luo Binghe could then to do him. Luo Binghe would also have to gain exceedingly quick control of the parasites and their healing abilities; it’s one thing to do that for one’s self and another entirely to use them in someone else’s body. In the web-novel, he’d needed practice, even when building off his wealth of experience using the parasites on himself.
Shen Qingqiu is dying. No matter what the System demands of him, he couldn’t throw Luo Binghe into the Abyss if he wanted to. And he really, really doesn’t want to do that.
He always knew it was the Abyss or his own death. Like a coward, he chose his life. He’d steeled himself to send Luo Binghe down into the Abyss—yet now the choice has been taken away from him. If he dies trying to help Luo Binghe…if his death is already assured, and it will keep Luo Binghe out of the Abyss…
Maybe it’s not so bad after all.
The System says something else. Shen Qingqiu is having difficulty parsing it, not that he particularly cares what it wants from him now. Strangely, some of that difficulty stems not from his disinterest or wavering focus, but because it almost sounds as though the System’s words aren’t directed at him.
What Shen Qingqiu has no problem understanding, what pulls him out of the sucking morass of blood loss and minor asphyxiation and numb acceptance, is the sudden terrified shift in Luo Binghe’s voice—a new, different kind of terror than before—and the way he pulls away from Shen Qingqiu.
It takes more force of will than Shen Qingqiu has put into near anything in his life—either of his lives—but he manages to force his eyes open. He makes his ears tune back into what’s happening, focusing on more than merely tone, even if everything sounds as if he’s hearing it from underwater.
“It was an accident,” Luo Binghe says. No, begs. “Please, Shishu, you have to believe me! I didn’t mean to, I would never hurt Shizun, I—I—”
“Back away from him.”
“It was an accident,” Luo Binghe says again. “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean—please, you have to help him—!”
His voice is getting fainter. Not because Shen Qingqiu’s hearing is fading out again, but because Luo Binghe is moving away from where Shen Qingqiu lies. He’s moving further away from the sword being pointed at his chest.
Shen Qingqiu can’t speak. All he manages is another choked, painful noise. One hand drops to the ground, clawing at it as if maybe he can somehow haul himself upright, maybe he can stop this from happening—
Because Luo Binghe is being driven right to the edge of the Endless Abyss.
No, no, no, no, Shen Qingqiu thinks. His mouth moves uselessly, soundlessly, shaping the same. No, no, no!
“Please,” Luo Binghe tries, one last time. He looks pale and scared and young beneath the tears, beneath the blood that soaks his sleeves and outstretched hands. “You have to help Shizun. I didn’t mean to hurt him.”
That is Shen Qingqiu’s last sight of Luo Binghe: backlit by the Endless Abyss, face tear-streaked and hopeless. His eyes catch only briefly on Shen Qingqiu’s—long enough for Shen Qingqiu to feel the full weight of Luo Binghe’s despair slam into him like another of Mobei-Jun’s devastating blows—before the sword at his chest moves and he’s gone.
Shen Qingqiu can’t do anything more than furiously, impotently continue to drown as the man who shoved Luo Binghe into the Endless Abyss turns around. His robes are the sturdy browns and blues of An Ding, his hair pulled in a disheveled bun that has scattered leaves dusting it from where Mobei-Jun threw him into a tree. His sword remains unsheathed at his side, the tip freshly dyed with Luo Binghe’s blood.
Shang Qinghua, Shen Qingqiu thinks with unreserved loathing as the man in question hurries to his side. Shen Qingqiu wants to shove his hands off as soon as Shang Qinghua touches him, wants to deny the qi being fed to him—but that last dramatic surge of adrenaline has faded with Luo Binghe’s fall. He’s used up all the qi Luo Binghe transferred in order to save him and he’s also scraping the bottom of his own reserves. He simply has nothing left.
Nothing but a promise.
Shang Qinghua, Shen Qingqiu thinks, before the world goes away, should I survive this, I’ll see you dead if it’s the last thing I do in this world.
Shen Qingqiu claws his way out of the darkness with a vengeance.
Frankly, he’s rather surprised he woke up again at all. Now, admittedly, there had been a chance that he would survive his injuries, and Shen Qingqiu, having died once, isn’t too thrown by waking from what should have been his last moments.
No, he’s surprised because he thought the System would have killed him. Shen Qingqiu didn’t complete his quest; it should have taken all his points and sent him back to his original body in his original world.
Instead, he can smell the herbs and clean mountain air of what must be Qian Cao, which opening his eyes only confirms: he is tucked away in one of their sickrooms. He can feel the wound at his throat, pulsing with manageable but still very much present pain. He can also feel the qi in his meridians; can feel that recognizable swirl of power from his golden core; can trace the intimately familiar spiritual pathways that the Original Goods left behind, which Shen Qingqiu proceeded to further damage by contracting Without-A-Cure.
No, he’s definitely still in Shen Qingqiu’s body in the world of Proud Immortal Demon Way. Even if he doesn’t understand why.
He knows how to find out. He may as well rip the Band-Aid off now, before he lets anyone on Qian Cao know that he’s awake. It wouldn’t do to be distracted—whether that distraction comes while the System is clarifying his circumstances, while enduring the fussing and questions of his martial siblings, or in the midst of seeking one specific martial brother.
System, Shen Qingqiu calls silently.
The results, when the System at last deigns to respond, are underwhelming.
[This System is currently in Low Power Mode due to the separation from Power Source: Luo Binghe. Please address any questions to our AI Interface or reconnect with Power Source: Luo Binghe. Thanking Host for his understanding!]
Before Shen Qingqiu can even begin processing that or work himself up into a fit, the System flashes a spinning wheel in his face. Shen Qingqiu bites his tongue, waiting to see what the System will load.
[…] says the System.
Shen Qingqiu is not going to start yelling, goddammit.
[Host has one (1) message waiting!] the System announces. [Would Host like to view message now? Yes / No ]
What is the System, some kind of voicemail? Shen Qingqiu is nearly spiteful enough to ignore it; he can always come back to it later, right?
But leaving the System, even the System’s so-called AI Interface, on read isn’t the best idea. He doesn’t know why the System failed to boot his soul out of this body; the message left for him may have those answers. Plus, the System has never left him a message before. Who knows how long the AI Interface will keep it stored in its memory? If the System has lost its power source (Shen Qingqiu’s heart aches in his chest), then the System might purge the message at some point to save power. This may well be his only chance.
Shen Qingqiu hits [Yes].
Immediately, a long message pops up in front of his face. He supposes he should be grateful that the System’s annoying Google Translate voice doesn’t seem to come attached to messages, for whatever reason.
[Congratulations, congratulations, congratulations! Important things must be said three times! Through his efforts and unforeseen minor canon divergence, Host has successfully changed his designation from “Scum Villain” to “Mentor (Tragic)” and [REDACTED]. +2000 B-Points! Please work hard to fulfill new roles and earn new types of points!
[Unfortunately, due to canon divergence and Host’s subsequent failure to complete Mandatory Quest: “Endless Abyss and Endless Hatred,” this System must enforce punishment. In light of role change(s), this System has commuted Host’s punishment from “Account Termination” to “Permanent Status Effect: Muteness.”
[Additionally, given excessive numbers of Heartbreak Points, all of Host’s previously earned points have been reset to zero.
[This System will now be entering Low Power Mode. Please direct any inquiries toward our AI Interface. System restoration will commence upon reconnection to Power Source: Luo Binghe.
[Good-bye! ( ￣▽￣ ) ノ ]
Shen Qingqiu sits there, numb. His eyes trace over the message again and again. Role change, punishment, loss of points. He’s lucky, he knows that; the role changes, the latter of which he doesn’t even have a title for, obviously buffered him from various potential punishments, like outright death. Even the punishment that the System did give him—he doesn’t know the full extent of the damage to his throat yet, but isn’t it just as likely it would have occurred anyway?
He’s lucky.
So why doesn’t he feel it?
Shen Qingqiu closes the System window with a blink. Laboriously, he pulls himself upright. He sets his back against the headboard, pillow serving as a cushion along the length of his spine, and he reaches for his throat.
Bandages are wrapped neatly around it. They’re dry and (presumably) clean. His throat aches, but it’s not the agonizing pain from the Immortal Alliance Conference, and the wound itself is obviously on its way to healing. He wouldn’t expect anything else from Qian Cao’s care.
…Shen Qingqiu will never speak again. Never sit down for conversations with Yue Qingyuan, never banter with Liu Qingge on missions, never call out instructions to his disciples on the practice fields, nothing. Whether the System reached inside his body and ensured the damage to his vocal cords would be enough for that or whether it had other means to do so, he doesn’t know, but it has taken his voice from him.
The worst part is that Shen Qingqiu would have traded his voice in an instant if it meant saving Luo Binghe from the Abyss. He was too much of a coward to trade his life, though at the very end there he was coming around to it. A voice, on the other hand—that would be so small a price to pay for Luo Binghe’s happiness.
Shen Qingqiu wasn’t given that choice. He couldn’t save Luo Binghe, and he knows precisely who to blame for that.
But thoughts of revenge must wait, at least temporarily, because the door to his room is opening.
“Shixiong!” Mu Qingfang says, taking in Shen Qingqiu. “You’re awake!”
Shen Qingqiu nods.
Mu Qingfang rushes over to him. “Don’t try to speak just yet,” he says, to forestall a futile effort that Shen Qingqiu wasn’t even planning on attempting—but likely would have, had the System not warned him in advance. “You’re healing well, but the extent of the damage,” and here is the slightest hesitation, before Mu Qingfang concludes, obviously meaning to be reassuring, with, “remains to be seen.”
Shen Qingqiu nods again to show his understanding. Then, because charades and games of yes-or-no would both quickly become something he is far too impatient for, he mimes holding a brush, pretending to write with it.
He may as well get used to this now. It will be his life from here on out.
“Yes, of course,” Mu Qingfang says. He crosses the room, digging through one of the cabinets there; Shen Qingqiu hazards a guess that he’s in a room meant for residents who will need to be monitored for some time, but are well enough to also appreciate something to do. Plenty of cultivators need distractions while convalescing—one cannot spend all their time in meditation! In the case of Peak Lords and hallmasters especially, they may have paperwork they need to complete even while under medical watch.
That’s Shen Qingqiu’s best guess for why Mu Qingfang emerges in short order with a lap tray, a brush, ink, and paper.
Well! One certainly cannot say that Qian Cao isn’t prepared!
The first words that Shen Qingqiu writes are, How long?
Short, simple, and broad enough to leave room for many of the matters Shen Qingqiu wishes to discuss, and hopefully forestalls any questions about what Shen Qingqiu remembers.
He remembers it all.
“Four days since the Immortal Alliance Conference,” Mu Qingfang says. “I put you into a healing coma and took you back to Qian Cao, the better to treat you. Those injured at the Conference were well within the abilities of my disciples or the other sects’ medics to handle, and any of those that weren’t…were already beyond help.”
Shen Qingqiu carefully doesn’t wince at that. He hadn’t when he saw the dead bodies of disciples at the Conference, so why should he now?
He always knew this would happen.
Mu Qingfang must mark that, but thankfully he makes no comment, merely continues with his explanation. “I took you out of the coma earlier this morning. As I said, you’re healing well, but there are several tests I would like you to be awake for, so that we can attempt them with your assistance.”
Makes sense. How long is that going to take, though? When will he be released from Qian Cao?
He taps his scrawled message—how long?—and glances toward the door, then back at Mu Qingfang.
“How long until you can have visitors or until you can leave?” Mu Qingfang asks.
Oh, is Shen Qingqiu allowed visitors? That’s good, it will move up several of his half-made plans if he doesn’t have to wait until he’s free to enact them.
Shen Qingqiu finds that he is…quite impatient.
He nods his head. He would like to know the answer to both of those questions, please and thank you.
Mu Qingfang’s lips quirk in brief amusement. “Visitors tomorrow,” he says. “As for returning to Qing Jing…how are you feeling?”
Shen Qingqiu takes a moment to think about it: the knot of rage and despair choking him from the inside out, writhing deep inside his chest, unignorable; the knowledge of what the System has taken from him, and how Mu Qingfang will have to break the news of it to him once he confirms it for himself; the image of Luo Binghe, toppling over the edge into the Endless Abyss, which flashes behind Shen Qingqiu’s eyes every time he closes them.
He decides he doesn’t want to think about any of that particularly hard.
Physically, he feels rather weak—worse than when he woke from the Original Goods’ fatal qi deviation. Better, somewhat surprisingly, than waking from Without-A-Cure, but only by a bare increment. Nearly dying takes it out of you, but on a scale, near-fatal poisoning by a qi-disrupting, incurable demonic creation is more painful than having his throat half torn out and almost exsanguinating.
It is also made worse by the fact that this time, he doesn’t have a sweetly determined disciple waiting at his bedside to offer him food and assist in his recovery.
Shen Qingqiu draws in a deep breath. Exhales it slowly.
Healing, he writes. That’s about all that can be said.
“Pain levels?” Mu Qingfang asks.
Shen Qingqiu offers a half-hearted shrug. They’re manageable. If he plays it off, will Mu Qingfang allow him to leave earlier?
“Pain makes it more difficult for you to heal,” Mu Qingfang says, not quite chiding. “And the damage inside and outside your throat—Shixiong, what I sensed felt like burns. It looks like burns.”
Shen Qingqiu blinks. He hadn’t been imagining that, then? He’d almost thought it was only the incompatibility between spiritual and demonic qi, but no. Absent any true capability for healing, Luo Binghe’s demonic qi had nonetheless answered his intentions as best as it could.
“The attack—the qi seems to have cauterized some of the wound,” Mu Qingfang says. “I think it’s part of the reason why you didn’t bleed out before anyone could get to you, along with your own efforts to that effect.” Oh, so Mu Qingfang was able to tell he’d done that? Or was he mixing up Shen Qingqiu’s efforts with Luo Binghe’s own? Either is possible, especially when he has no reason to assume that the cauterizing demonic qi might have come from one of the sect’s disciples, or that it was intended to help rather than functioning as a happy accident.“Unfortunately, the damage done by it may not be…as easily reversible as a clean injury would be.”
Luo Binghe did his best with the tools he had at his disposal. There’s no way he could have known about the power his Heavenly Demon heritage afforded them. Had he truly wished to heal Shen Qingqiu, he could have, if he only knew about the many and varied uses of blood parasites. Even without that, he still managed to save Shen Qingqiu’s life.
Oh, Binghe, Shen Qingqiu thinks. My poor, sweet lotus.
He hopes Luo Binghe doesn’t blame himself when he finds out what he could have done instead. He hopes Luo Binghe doesn’t blame himself at all for what happened at the Conference.
“Do you remember what creature it was that injured you?” Mu Qingfang asks, exceedingly delicate.
An ice demon, Shen Qingqiu writes, because Mobei-Jun did injure him. It simply isn’t the injury that Mu Qingfang is asking about.
That was caused by Shen Qingqiu’s own foolishness. He should have known better. He should have take precautions.
It wasn’t Luo Binghe’s fault.
Before Mu Qingfang can ask any follow-up questions about why an ice demon’s qi might have left burns on Shen Qingqiu—hopefully Mu Qingfang assumes it’s akin to ice burns, or that the way the demonic qi hurt him had nothing to do with the heritage of the demon in question—Shen Qingqiu quickly taps at his scroll. Mu Qingfang has yet to answer that second question.
How long?
“I want you here at least a few days longer,” Mu Qingfang says, brisk and businesslike. “That will have you back to better health. It will also give us a better estimate of what your future recovery will look like.”
Sure.
Where are my personal effects? Shen Qingqiu writes. He’s currently dressed in patient robes, but he has to assume that, at the very least, they’re keeping Xiu Ya nearby. Hopefully there will also be a change or two of clothes for him. If Xiu Ya isn’t here, he’ll have to see about wheedling his way into getting someone, likely one of his visitors tomorrow, to bring it to him.
“A moment,” Mu Qingfang says. He stands, moving behind Shen Qingqiu, who cranes his neck to around in time see Mu Qingfang opening the wardrobe set behind the headboard of his patient’s bed. He hadn’t had the opportunity to examine his room in its entirety yet, so it’s reassuring that he can see Xiu Ya in a sword stand next to the wardrobe. That sets at least one worry to rest. He can’t imagine what Mu Qingfang is taking from the wardrobe; didn’t they just have a discussion about how he isn’t allowed to leave yet? He can’t be taking out a change of clothes.
He isn’t.
Mu Qingfang walks back to the bed with a bundled up robe. It’s not Shen Qingqiu’s. It’s the silvery grey and white of Bai Zhan instead. One of Liu Qingge’s outer robes…?
“There are supplies in the wardrobe for your stay here,” Mu Qingfang says. “Clothes, toiletries, the possessions you had on you at the Immortal Alliance Conference. Xiu Ya, as you saw. And…Liu Qingge collected this for you. He thought you would want it.”
With numb hands, Shen Qingqiu accepts the robe Mu Qingfang gently offers him. It clinks slightly as it passes between them. He sets it in his lap, pulling apart the layers until he can see what rests inside.
Zheng Yang’s shards glitter up at him.
Shen Qingqiu feels as though he has been socked in the stomach.
“Shixiong,” Mu Qingfang says, soft and kind. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
It wasn’t loss, Shen Qingqiu thinks, staring down at those shards. It was murder.
The only thing keeping Shen Qingqiu tethered is the sure knowledge that Luo Binghe is alive. Suffering, yes, down there in the Abyss, but he is alive. He has to be alive.
Shang Qinghua can’t have known that when he threw Luo Binghe down there. He can’t have had any expectation Luo Binghe would survive.
It was murder. He killed my Binghe.
Resolve crystalizes even further. He sits through the various tests Mu Qingfang runs, distractedly writing down succinct answers to the questions he asks. He allows Mu Qingfang to change his bandages, slathering a soothing poultice against both the slash itself and the stretch of what will be qi-burn scars. He even allows himself to be persuaded into drinking some incredibly mild, lukewarm soup, a cup of equally cool tea, and tonics to dull the pain and assist further healing.
Shen Qingqiu does not look away from Zheng Yang for more than a few heartbeats the whole time.
“Is there anything else this shidi can do for you?” Mu Qingfang asks, when all that is finished. It was already late afternoon when Shen Qingqiu woke. Now twilight reaches its grasping hands over the mountain, darkening the view from Shen Qingqiu’s window in ever-deepening shades of blue-violet light.
Shen Qingqiu deliberately picks up his brush.
Shang Qinghua was there when this master was found, was he not? he writes.
“Yes,” Mu Qingfang says. “You’d lost consciousness by then. He continued your previous efforts at first aid until I could arrive.”
It would have been smarter for Shang Qinghua to let Shen Qingqiu bleed out. It might have saved him.
I would like to see him tomorrow, Shen Qingqiu writes, each word precise and perfectly formed. This master would like to express his appreciation for Shang Qinghua’s actions at the Immortal Alliance Conference.