Chapter Text
“Ahh, this is from the town attacked by the Nu Yuan Chan. How nice... I’ll respond tomorrow,” Shen Qingqiu remarks to an empty bamboo house, eyes scanning the letter in his hand.
It’s the eve of twenty-five months exactly since the protagonist’s ‘graduation ceremony’ and Shen Qingqiu, one of the worst among the many scum villains of “Proud Immortal Demon Way”, putters about his bamboo house on the Qing Jing Peak of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect and drinks over-steeped tea. With one hand he flips through some correspondence that has collected in his time away.
Two years back, Shen Qingqiu, the villain that he is, had pushed the hero down the edge of a cliff, kick, kick, kicking him until he tumbled into the Endless Abyss. In doing so, Shen Qingqiu had granted him a scholarship to the college of ‘How to be a Protagonist’. With his purpose as a villain accomplished, Shen Qingqiu had won himself a measly sum of five little years.
Since then, Shen Qingqiu has perfected the hobby of idling away his time! Teaching his little duckling students once in a while, but mostly spending his days either kneeling before the sword mount erected in the back gardens of the bamboo house, or off the mountain under Liu Qingge’s stern gaze.
It isn’t a bad life. He can’t bring himself to mind that much. Since transmigrating he knew that he would end up in this situation, and cannot blame anyone but himself.
That's not to say he's given up, however! Far from it, in fact. This time, he has plans! This time, he’ll be ready!
The one measly little blessing he can count in his life is that he has a mushroom spore body slowly cultivating to be used whenever his five year time limit is up. Shang Qinghua had planted them somewhere very far away, carefully tucked into some unknown corner to slowly bloom into his emergency escape.
Indeed, this time when the System comes knocking at his door and requesting him to follow the plot, he’ll have a back-up body ready to evacuate into! Then Luo Binghe’s grudge can be settled and Shen Qingqiu can run off and enjoy his measly existence in a quiet corner somewhere, never to cross paths again.
Shen Qingqiu sits and continues sorting through his letters, messily tossing them onto his desk to be sorted by Ming Fan at a later time, or perhaps just to collect dust. Kneeled at his desk, he’s treated to a gentle afternoon breeze, sunlight filtering through the wide sliding doors.
To his left he can see into the back gardens. A small pathway of stone twines between herbs and bamboo, leading out to a small clearing where a sword is planted into the soil. On the ground just before the sword, one can make out the clear imprints of where two knees have been pressed into it. Worn down like a desire path, kneeled in over and over and over again until the earth had been unable to return to its natural state.
Shen Qingqiu gazes out at the sword, until the tea in his hands becomes cold and the shadows of the day grow long. The correspondence on his desk is long forgotten in a disorganized pile that will eventually be added to an even larger pile that he’s collected over these past two years.
It’s almost surprising how fast the time has slipped by. Golden summers and frozen winters have passed by twice over, racing towards when his emergency escape plan must be enacted.
He’ll be prepared!
On this night, his Qing Jing Peak is quiet. It always is, but as the night draws in it seems even more so. There is no soft breathing from his side room, no one clattering around in the kitchen, no one welcoming him in and treating him to tea.
Perhaps Shen Qingqiu does miss when Luo Binghe shared this same roof, but just a bit. Well! Nothing to do! And no point in lingering on the topic. Shen Qingqiu calmly disposes of his cold tea, shaking his head at his own antics.
In his quiet home, Shen Qingqiu sleeps with hardly a worry in his heart, only to wake in the deepest part of the night with a strange premonition in his heart. Before even opening his eyes, he senses something is wrong.
He swallows around a mouthful of saliva and notices only after it’s begun to pass down his throat that the liquid is much too coppery and much too thick to be his drool. The air around him is saturated with the stench of ash and blood.
His eyes fly open.
Under the night pearls’ light, he can see the serene face of Luo Binghe above him, the edges of his face trimmed of all youthful fat, whiter than snow under the thick smears of dirt.
He stands over Shen Qingqiu’s bed silently. His hair is wild and messy, barely pulled back with a fraying bit of green ribbon; his clothing is torn and stained all over with what can only be blood, as if chunks of his flesh had been torn out again and again until the clothing was dyed through with it all; his body is taller and leaner than he recalls, honed to utter perfection from his time in the Endless Abyss.
Groggy, voice thick with sleep, he says, “Binghe, it’s you?”
For a moment, Shen Qingqiu thinks he must be dreaming. It’s only been two years after all. For Luo Binghe to have escaped the Endless Abyss, wouldn’t it have required some insane cheat codes?
Then, Luo Binghe smiles.
In his youth, Luo Binghe’s smiles had always been kind and warm, like the very sun appearing to make buds bloom and dew dry, the winter itself disappearing before him. That kind of smile only draws the viewer in, enticing in its welcoming sincerity. For Shen Qingqiu, that smile had always been among his favourite things.
This is not that smile.
The smile he sees now is the very same smile he had seen on Luo Binghe’s face in the nightmare Meng Mo had sent him, when he had been strung up writhing without limbs and without a tongue to beg for death, with the cold and black-bellied protagonist smiling at his miserable little struggles.
It’s a purely manic, chilling, frightening smile. It looks almost unnatural on Luo Binghe’s face, still dressed in the tattered remains of his disciple’s uniform, looking as if he’d dragged himself from the grave to return here. In that smile, Shen Qingqiu sees his death looming.
[ Hello. System activation successful. ]
[ Universal activation key: Luo Binghe. ]
…
He isn’t a brave man. Ignoring as the System coldly announces its return, he turns and rolls from bed with every intent to flee into the night.
Luo Binghe moves too quickly for Shen Qingqiu, with his mind muddled with fear and his cultivation waning under Without-a-Cure’s whims. Like an animal springing from the ground, no more than a viper with its mouth open and ready to snap shut around the neck of its prey, Luo Binghe lunges.
Even before the Endless Abyss, Luo Binghe had been rapidly rising to meet his level. Given a few more years to properly define those skills in non-stop combat, he’s like a rocket shooting up past Shen Qingqiu’s meagre ability until he’s scraping the very stars themselves! Beyond OP! These are complete and utter game-breaking hacks!
A hand wraps around his ankle and drags him back from the window, and a flick of fingers slam those very windows shut with qi.
Shen Qingqiu aims a blast over his shoulder and is met with an apathetic laugh no more than an exhale of breath, as though his attempt was so feeble, it hardly even befitted an acknowledgement at all.
With the ease one would toss a doll around, Luo Binghe flips him over onto his back, one hand pinning him down on his chest and one hand clasping heavily over his mouth. Shen Qingqiu can see the fresh blood on those fingers, the dark red catching on the night pearl’s light.
He swallows reflexively, a nauseating sensation building in the back of his throat.
That liquid he’d swallowed…
Somewhere deep in his body, he imagines feeling the blood parasites slowly leaching into his bloodstream, multiplying tenfold with each breath. To drink this blood is to sentence yourself to a life more painful than dying, where torture can be inflicted with a single thought.
Shen Qingqiu, oh, Shen Qingqiu, you cannot beg for a good death any longer, can you?
“Shizun.”
It’s the first thing Luo Binghe says to him after two years, after his betrayal at Jue Di Gorge. There is a shade of the boy Luo Binghe once was in that word, a touch of respect. Shen Qingiu can almost imagine a bit of fondness in that word, if just a bit.
But pasted thickly over that warmth is rage, harsh and black, like oil.
Shen Qingqiu’s lungs freeze over. He is going to die. He’s really about to die.
He’s known he’s going to die since the moment he transmigrated into this accursed body bearing an accursed fate. To know it is one thing; to face it is an entirely different thing.
Something deeply animal takes over his brain. He pushes out with both hands, qi surging through his veins with enough force that they ache. Luo Binghe blinks slowly at it, long lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks, unflustered and unbothered.
His fingers form a sword seal and Xiu Ya shoots from its scabbard where it had been situated beside his bed. The sword flies out towards Luo Binghe. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t expect it to land nor is his intention to injure Luo Binghe in any way; it’s simply the hope that a blade flinging towards him will force Luo Binghe to let go.
Without looking, Luo Binghe catches Xiu Ya from the air with a bare hand. The blade creaks in his grip, blood dripping between his fingers onto the white metal.
“Shizun, what are you trying to do?” Luo Binghe asks.
He’s trying to protect his little life!! It’s not as if he’d really meant to slice into Binghe’s hand! He’ll apologize on hands and knees later! He’ll properly kowtow later!
For now, he strikes out again with a flat palm, a fierce hit landing directly over Luo Binghe’s sternum. Luo Binghe actually moves this time, leaning back with glittering eyes and a small, slightly cruel smile.
“Alright. Go ahead, Shizun,” Luo Binghe laughs lightly. “Go ahead. Try and run.”
Shen Qingqiu needs no more permission than that. He turns and blows through the window, leaping through it and over the nearby bamboo grove. His blood pounds in his veins, surging with fright.
Through the bamboo, Shen Qingqiu runs, his face and clothing whipped by leaves. His eyes sting from the tiny cuts and chilly night air. His typical composure and elegance is ripped to tatters. If he manages to survive, he’ll be embarrassed about his unseemly behaviour later.
His mind races, thoughts jumbled by his panic.
Where can he run to? Can he make it to An Ding Peak and inform Shang Qinghua to prepare the mushroom body? Or can he make it to Bai Zhan, and pray that Liu Qingge is home for once, using him to fight back the bloodthirsty protagonist nipping at his heels? What of Yue Qingyuan? Could he fend off Luo Binghe for long enough?
What can Shen Qingqiu do to live?
From the bamboo house, he hears Luo Binghe jumping out after him. The ground crunches under Luo Binghe’s feet and the leaves of the bamboo rustle as he bounds in one long motion after Shen Qingqiu. Just by the sound, he can tell Luo Binghe is only a few seconds off from rushing him down.
Shen Qingqiu’s chest constricts painfully, head rushing with adrenaline.
Fuck! He’s fast…!
Even before the Endless Abyss, Luo Binghe’s martial power had at times surpassed his own due to it being crippled from Without-A-Cure. And now, after enduring his tragically horrific trial in the Endless Abyss, crushed down again and again, surviving until his prowess had condensed to a diamond-sharp peak, Luo Binghe is beyond comparison.
How can Shen Qingqiu dream of outrunning him?!
It’s like a nightmare. No matter how much energy he pours into his legs, no matter how hard he runs, he feels as though he’s moving through sludge, feet sticking to the ground.
His ears strain as they try to parse the sound of Luo Binghe’s footsteps past the rushing of wind, but he can’t hear anything. Luo Binghe can’t have lost his track, can he? He’s stronger, faster, smarter – he is the peerlessly capable protagonist. Chasing Shen Qingqiu down would be child’s play.
He turns his head and scans the forest behind himself. In the blackness of night and through the thickets of bamboo, he can see nothing. With his cultivator’s eyesight, he is only able to see roughly 10 or so meters out. From the suffocating darkness, his brain creates what he believes to be there. He sees something in his peripheral vision staggering towards him. When he turns his head, he sees something stalking him in the depths of the woods.
He has become prey to the most apex of predators.
Shen Qingqiu’s eyes tremble as he stares into the pitch black night. Something within him is convinced Luo Binghe is there, lingering at the edge of where his vision fails, watching him flee for his life…
Shen Qingqiu’s entire back breaks out in cold shivers.
He turns back around and leans forward, bounding faster and faster through the groves. After another few long leaps, he breaks through the forest line into one of Qing Jing Peak‘s grand pavilions. It's situated in a courtyard, ponds full of lilies and koi paired with carefully cultivated wisteria lining the paths.
The pavilion is one used as a schoolhouse of sorts, with some rooms dedicated to housing musical instruments and other such items.
Perhaps if Shen Qingqiu can't outrun Luo Binghe, he can hide.
He dives into the pavilion, racing through the halls until he finds a room full of cupboards and closets, some of them large enough to hide a man. He's been the master of this Peak for some years now; Luo Binghe has been away for two. He should have the home advantage.
He finds an empty cupboard and hurriedly tucks himself inside.
Not five minutes later, Luo Binghe enters the room with a nearly silent tap tap tap of his feet.
“Shizun,” Luo Binghe calls out in a sing-song voice. It originates from somewhere on the other end of the room, by the windows. The sounds of him opening cabinets and closets on that side of the classroom sound to Shen Qingqiu like the sharpening of the executioner’s axe. “Shizun, if you come out now, I won’t be angry with you.”
A bead of cold sweat drips down Shen Qingqiu’s forehead. He can barely breathe, both hands clasped over his mouth to muffle the sound.
“Shizu-u -un,” Luo Binghe coos. His voice is sweet and gentle, like a dove's. Shen Qingqiu wants to cry blood from the fear that cuts into his heart at the sound. “Shizun, I've missed you so much. When I last spent time away, you looked at me so warmly when I rushed back to your side. I was a treasured pearl you had polished to perfection and loathed to part from. Is this disciple no longer pleasing to look at?”
He hears the slide of wood on wood nearby, much closer now. Luo Binghe is only a scant few meters away from finding him.
“If I'm not pleasing to Shizun's eye, I'm happy to change. Shall I change my tone? Shall I change my face? Shall I change how I dress?”
Shen Qingqiu silently nods to himself at the third one. Coming back in clothing so soaked through with blood and viscera that white appears blackish-brown, how could he not be freaked out?! Even if he'd been looking forward to seeing Luo Binghe again (which, perhaps, he had been, just a little bit, if only to see how beautiful and charming a fully matured protagonist looks), how could anyone be happy seeing such a horrific sight?!
“Shizun, do you know? When I was young, before Shizun took me into his arms and safely held me against his bosom, I also hid in places like this, just so my shixiong wouldn't hurt me anymore.” His voice is a touch fond, as if recalling some honey-warmed memory.
And what is that about his bosom–?
Right beside him, another door opens. Shen Qingqiu's limbs all tighten, muscles coiling tighter and tighter. His entire body is wound like a spring. Even his jaw is tight, teeth aching from the tension.
“Shizun… ah, my Shizun…” Luo Binghe almost sounds wistful, a touch sorrowful. “My delicate, kind, lovely Shizun. Do you know what my blood can do?”
What a nonsequitur. Obviously Shen Qingqiu knows exactly what that blood can do! The blood parasites of a heavenly demon were an exceptional tool, one that Luo Binghe had used and abused happily throughout the entire something-million words after he'd unlocked his blood.
He'd used them as a method of torture, melting his enemies from the inside out. He'd used them as sexual tools, inciting his wives to orgasm by manipulating their blood and body, and turning the iciest beauty into a sexually aroused nymphomaniac. He'd also used it at times to track down someone who had been unwise enough to consume it.
Shen Qingqiu stops breathing entirely.
He'd used it… to track……!
The door to his cupboard opens. Luo Binghe looks in at him with an expression of fond amusement. He’d known Shen Qingqiu’s exact location the entire time, only searching to play with him, as a cat would with a mouse just before it bit its head off.
Luo Binghe laughs boyishly, almost like a giggle. “Found you, Shizun. I win.”
Shen Qingqiu, braced against the back of his hiding place, lunges to the side of Luo Binghe in a last ditch effort to slip by him.
A hand catches him around the throat and slams him to the ground. All of the breath in him rushes out, his ears ringing, and his back throbbing with the rough treatment. Fingers colder and stronger than steel wrap around his neck, squeezing until the blood struggles to pass through his veins and his windpipe is all but crushed.
Forget being carved down into a human stick. He's going to be choked to death!
“Shizun, it’s late, and if you scream you might wake someone,” Luo Binghe says, clearly enunciating each word, his voice kept low and steady with obvious effort. “If you did that, you would embarrass us, and I might be a little upset. So please be quiet, won’t you?”
Scream? Scream for who?!
There is no one on this mountain from whom he could plead for help. To Luo Binghe, they would be nothing but mere ants to step on. Perhaps those ants could nibble a bit and create an annoyance, but nothing more. If Liu Qingge were near, he might have screamed regardless of that warning, relying on that trap card he had carefully placed back in the Ling Xi Caves.
Shen Qingqiu says nothing. He doesn’t scream. He doesn’t beg. He wraps his hands around Luo Binghe's wrist and vainly attempts to pull it away.
Luo Binghe laughs lightly again, eyes curved into crescents, a horribly black humour visible in the pits of them. “Shizun, were you always so…”
His voice trails off.
… So what? Finish your sentence!
Luo Binghe removes his hand from Shen Qingqiu’s neck, and smiles again when he remains silent aside from his choking gasps for air. That pleasant face is sweetly terrifying.
The more gentle Luo Binghe is when blackened, the more horrific the torture will be that comes after. Each kind word hides another knife to be stuck in your side, each warm glance foretells a fresh bit of skin peeled off, and each helpful favour given will be repaid in a hundred pounds of flesh. These things are absolutely certain.
“Shizun,” Luo Binghe croons, gentle as a dove.
Adrenaline makes Shen Qingqiu’s head swim, every muscle twitching with how tightly clenched they are. His breathing is shallow and quick. Cold sweat beads along his forehead and his nape, dripping down his spine.
His appearance must be skewed and dirty, small cuts lining his face from the bamboo and his clothing disheveled from running like a madman and curling into a cupboard. His hair is tangled, his face sweating and pale, and body shivering as if it had been plunged into an icy river. And his throat must be blooming with purpling bruises from the iron grip Luo Binghe had held him in.
Is this the way he wants Luo Binghe to remember him when he kills him? A filthy mess?
Even if he must be tortured, even if he must die, at least he should do so with some pride.
“Luo Binghe, it’s been some time,” Shen Qingqiu eventually manages. “How is it that you’ve managed to return?”
And so damn fast at that!
Luo Binghe stares at him unblinking, his lashes trembling minutely. His voice is soft, and his tone almost melodic with how smooth and pleasant to the ear it is. “Shizun, did you miss me?”
Shen Qingqiu sets his jaw. To be lured into answering such an obviously misleading question, how stupid does Luo Binghe think he is? If he responds no, he will be tortured. If he responds yes, he will be tortured even more. The only correct answer is to stay silent.
Luo Binghe's smile widens, until his teeth show. “Shizun. Shizun. I missed you . I've been waiting for this day to see you again.”
A wicked shudder runs down the length of Shen Qingqiu's back, his entire body breaking out with goosebumps, and all of the fine hairs on the back of his neck sticking straight up.
Should he take that to mean Luo Binghe has been thinking day and night of coming to torture him to death? Becoming so incensed and obsessed with the desire to make Shen Qingqiu suffer for his betrayal and past hurts that he had escaped so much earlier, just to come pay him a visit in their shared home? To say he ‘missed’ Shen Qingqiu, it can only mean that he has sweetly tended to that grudge in his heart until it blossomed into a garden of evil promises he intends to keep.
“So, Shizun, won't you tell me you missed me?”
How can Shen Qingqiu say it? How can he? He has. Of course he has. This house is lonely and quiet without the bright and sweet Luo Binghe tending to it.
But Shen Qingqiu has no face left to admit such a thing. He has no right. The claim on Luo Binghe's companionship had been utterly revoked the instant that he had kicked him down the cliff. That door is shut tight, and no force can reopen it.
The silence between them stretches thin.
“Shizun.” Luo Binghe's smile is more of a baring of teeth now. “It's alright. Whether you missed me, or whether you prayed to never dirty your gaze by laying eyes on me again, it doesn't matter. I have returned to my master's side, as devoted as the day I left.”
Shen Qingqiu is sure that his ‘devotion’ will spell his doom. That devotion paves the way towards only one thing: Shen Qingqiu strung up and hidden away from the world, left in Luo Binghe's hands to do with as he pleases. Weak, helpless, and, most of all, deserving of every last bit of it.
This is Shen Qingqiu's fate.
But he still has a way out. There's one last thing he can do to avert himself from that tragic end. All he must do is keep Luo Binghe calm until Shen Qingqiu can devise some way of fleeing from him, and evacuate into his plant body that is slowly growing under a quiet field somewhere.
He still has the mushroom body, and he is inside of Cang Qiong. Luo Binghe also cannot afford to take a risky step just as much as he cannot, surely.
Luo Binghe stares at him without emotion, face like porcelain. When Shen Qingqiu rises, Luo Binghe rises in tandem with him, and Shen Qingqiu startles as he must raise his eyes to look into that blood-streaked face.
It's strange seeing him now, taller and broader than before, still slender and handsome but honed and sharpened like a weapon. It makes him realize, perhaps for the first time, that he truly had killed the child he has raised. That tender little bamboo shoot of a boy, gone. The realization sits like a weight in his chest, a sour nausea curling deep in his stomach.
“Let's go back,” Luo Binghe says.
They walk together in strained silence back to the bamboo house. Shen Qingqiu doesn't attempt fleeing a second time; the first had been humiliating enough!
Eyes linger on the back of his neck the entire way. His skin crawls and he must fight the urge to glance back, much too frightened to meet eyes with Luo Binghe in the darkness like this again.
Back in the bamboo house, Shen Qingqiu looks at the blood staining the ground near the window of the bedroom, his stomach turning over. Saliva pools in his mouth. He swallows anxiously and waits for Luo Binghe to speak.
“Will Shizun cast me out?” Luo Binghe asks, a small cruel quirk to his lips.
“... I will not.” Actually, it's more accurate to say he ‘cannot’. Luo Binghe would cream him before he could even dream of drawing Xiu Ya a second time. It doesn't matter in any case, as Luo Binghe had thoroughly proven that he could not rely on it, lest he wishes for it to be shattered in Binghe’s palm. “As long as Binghe wishes, as long as I am master here, this Peak shall open its arms to you. The bamboo house is yours as well, to use as shelter, and to warm yourself by its hearth,” Shen Qingqiu says.
“As Shizun says, this house is mine.” Luo Binghe looks at him up and down, and another soft smile creases his mouth. “Yes. It's mine. Mine and Shizun's.”
Well… Naturally. Shen Qingqiu may have given rooming permission to the protagonist – who didn't need it anyways; he would have come and gone as he pleases anyways, so the path of least resistance is best to practice – but he hasn't signed off the lease paperwork, alright! This is still his house too! Don't kick him out on the streets, protagonist, sir!
“Binghe's room is as it was,” Shen Qingqiu says, attempting to seem casual. “Your bed is made and your wardrobe… We will call for new robes in the morning, if you wish. Your previous robes may no longer fit you.”
Even the ones he's wearing now don't fit. Shen Qingqiu had not noticed until then, the way the sleeves are a few inches too short and the way his pants seem a bit too tight. As dishevelled, bloody, and dirty as they are, it hadn't been the first thing to catch his eye.
This is what you get for speedrunning! You don't stop and find new equipment when the stuff you have serves well enough!
Luo Binghe looks away past the room dividing screen, then back at him with a mild smile. “Shizun. Am I stupid?”
Shen Qingqiu blinks. “What?”
“Does Shizun think…” Luo Binghe asks slowly, stalking slowly around him in a small circle, small enough to almost brush shoulders. The stench of blood is overpowering. “... that this disciple is stupid? That I don't know you'll try to run the moment this devoted disciple of yours turns his gaze away? Is my intelligence held in such low esteem?”
Haha. Fuck. Well, it was worth a shot, wasn't it?
“Then where will Luo Binghe sleep? Are you not tired after your long time away?” Shen Qingqiu attempts to reason. Bullshit logic, don't fail him now!
Luo Binghe's mild smile grows wider, chilling and cold, a red light glowing in the black pits of his eyes. His expression is hungry, like a ravenous wolf salivating at the sight of a small rabbit it wants to rip in half. Shen Qingqiu, the rabbit in question, stays quite still.
He finishes another small, circling loop around Shen Qingqiu, his breath hot and expression hotter.
“Shizun,” Luo Binghe says lightly, utterly at odds with the intensity of his starving gaze, coming to a stop at his back. His breath warms Shen Qingqiu's nape and sends a riotous cascade of shivers down his spine. “Isn't there a bed right here for me to use?”
A gentle hand rises up and guides Shen Qingqiu's face to the side. They gaze at the master bed together. Shen Qingqiu attempts to do some quick mathematics.
Luo Binghe mentioning the bed + holding Shen Qingqiu like this = ?
…
The only answer Shen Qingqiu comes up with makes his back shudder and face flush. What the hell? Are they little girls about to have a sleepover?? Sleeping together as grown men is one thing, it's not as if Shen Qingqiu has never shared a bed with a friend before, but they are not friends!
The scum villain sleeping together with the protagonist makes no logical sense!!
Shen Qingqiu refuses to accept such an illogical, unscientific, mathematically unsound conclusion. He doesn't like being kicked out of bed so rudely, but if he must, he must! “Then… Luo Binghe may take the bed, and this master will sit.”
Luo Binghe mercilessly steamrolls his feeble attempts at maintaining normalcy. Clearly enunciating each word as if speaking to a child, Luo Binghe says, “Shizun. Lay down.”
Maybe this really is all just a dream. A very realistic, very thorough, very lucid dream. Shen Qingqiu's mind feels floaty and dizzy as he slowly climbs into the bed.
Shen Qingqiu slowly lays back down, Luo Binghe crawling in closely behind him. He reeks of death and blood, of years of viscera lathered on him over and over again. Shen Qingqiu breathes through his mouth and stays stock still as Luo Binghe lays one hand over his throat and squeezes. His palm is large enough now to fit over it entirely, fingertips resting over one jugular while the palm’s heel rests on the other.
Under his breath, as though unable to stop himself, Luo Binghe ceaselessly mutters, “Shizun, Shizun, Shizun…”
A frightened shiver runs down Shen Qingqiu’s back, and he swallows hard under that gripping hand. Luo Binghe’s fingers clench and unclench sporadically, never leaving his throat.
Until the morning sun dawns, neither of them sleep. The whole night long Luo Binghe clutches and squeezes at his throat, laid close enough behind him that his body heat leaches into Shen Qingqiu’s back, muttering feverishly to himself.
“Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun, Shizun…”