Chapter Text
After Luo Binghe’s fall, no…it wasn’t a fall. He was pushed. Shen Qingqiu knows that better than anyone. After Luo Binghe was…gone. Presumed dead by the Sect. Shen Qingqiu was left to his quiet life in an empty bamboo house. The space infinitely larger without Binghe’s presence to fill it. Often Shen Qingqiu would find himself calling out to a disciple who…wasn’t there anymore. Who would, one day, come out from Abyss to kill Shen Qingqiu for the things he’d done.
He was running on borrowed time, and he knew it. Yet, he still wanted Binghe to be safe. He would have never pushed him otherwise, without the System’s assurance that his disciple would climb out alive. Tracing the rim of his tea-cup with his finger he considered what trial his disciple was going through at this very moment.
Blood Sucking Hell-Vines? A Horde of Three Horned Lava-Hippo Wolves? A miasma so thick it would choke Binghe, burning his lungs like ash, until he tempered his body enough to withstand it?
It would not be easy for Binghe, his rise preceded by great suffering as all main characters in a xianxia novel had to go through, for the stupid creation of suspense that would keep the reader’s on tenterhooks as they waited for a victory they knew would come. After so long Shen Qingqiu could no longer rightfully call Luo Binghe a novel character. He raised that boy. That giving, gentle, white lotus, who smiled at him every morning in their home, and made his tea, and his breakfast, and called him “Shizun”. He wondered if he’d ever hear that voice speak to him again with such kindness.
Chugging back his tea like a shot of liquor, Shen Qingqiu got up from the low table and made his way to the Sword Mound he erected. After the Abyss he collected the remains of Zheng Yang with a white knuckled grip.
Liu Qingge tried to pull the shards away from him, and Shen Qingqiu still does not know what he said, but whatever it was, it stopped his shidi from making a grab at those pieces again. Even when Shen Qingqiu began to cut his palms from the force of his grip, magically tempered steel, slicing into his flesh.
Let it, he swore in that moment.
Let the physical pain serve as a distraction for the child he threw away, like he was old goods, and Shen Qingqiu a man in any position to make such a call. It took a moment to unstick his tongue from where it lay dead in his mouth in the aftermath, refusing to move, to reassure his disciples, and explain that Luo Binghe had fallen over the cliff. The lie tasted bitter in his mouth, but what else could he say?
Dearly beloved Sect Members gathered here today, I Shen Qingqiu, pushed my own disciple off into the Endless Abyss, but worry not! For he will return in five years as an all powerful demon lord who will burn down the Righteous Sects, for the most part, and devastate the world as you know it, with his power?
As a reader, the merging of the two worlds seemed like a cool trope. As a living being in this world, he understood the cost removing the barrier would have on the weak. Particularly if the Sects were gone.
It wouldn’t be those in power who suffered, but the countless merchants and farmers whose ways of life would be deeply incompatible with the demon realm. It had been, like in most xianxia novels, the sheer amount of humans that kept them tied in their ongoing conflict with the Demon Realm. While, as a whole, demons where the stronger species…humans had them beat when it came to numbers. For every Demon Lord, they had ten Immortals. For every Saint, they had fifteen Yuanying.
Kneeling in front of what was left of Zheng Yang, Shen Qingqiu mourned, not for his own impending doom, but the possible loss of the young man he raised. He never wanted to see Luo Binghe become someone who would be so careless with the lives of those below him. The original Luo Binghe was compelling…but so deeply broken.
He never wanted to look at his disciple’s face, and see that kind of arrogance, that madness, and know that his boy was gone.
He had wrapped a strand of Buddhist prayers beads around his wrist days before to give himself something to do with his hands when he was alone.
Rolling them between his fingers, he prayed. Please, he thought. Please, I’ve died once, tell me I didn’t kill my disciple. Tell me I didn’t kill the Luo Binghe I knew. He’s a good boy, I know he is. He didn’t deserve any of this. If there are higher powers out there, please, please…let him be kind. Let him be kind... for his own sake.
Holding back a sob, his back hunching over, his hands trembling as they moved from bead to bead, rolling them in his palms as he kneeled among the bamboo, he allowed the tears to trail down his face.
…
In-between a few conveniently placed bamboo shoots, yet again hiding like a pervert, Liu Qingge twitched as he held a small furred beast of some kind, and watched Shen Qingqiu cry. The furred creature tried to bite him, but he shook it once, forcing it into an unconscious stupor.
Objectively…he knew he should go and try to comfort his shixiong after the loss of his clearly beloved disciple…no matter how irritating he found Luo Binghe when the boy lived. It was just that, Shen Qingqiu had come out of his house, dressed not it mourning white, but black from head to toe. It highlighted his trim waist with the tightness of his chosen belt, and slim cut. A black douli with a sheer black veil rested upon his head, his hair spilling onto the forest floor.
Liu Qingge watched as a single tear fell down a silken cheek. Shen Qingqiu let the prayer beads hang from one slender wrist, to remove a silk handkerchief from his sleeve, dabbing the corners of his eyes…like a young window, left with two young sons, and an ailing mother. Liu Qingge was faced with the bizarre urge to offer himself up as a second husband, never mind that Shen Qingqiu clearly never had a first...that anyone knew of. Throwing the beast on the floor, as gently as possible, Liu Qingge fled from he forest, red-faced. His mind flashing through images of plush red lips, bitten between white teeth, watery eyes, and a trim figure made even more slender by their choice of robes.
Per-perhaps he would take his sister’s advice and send over flowers, for once?
….
Shen Qingqiu held tea with Yue Qingyuan in a Pavillion behind the Sect Leader’s Estate. He was generally, very irate at the fact that he would be here for another two hours, presumably discussing Sect Politics with Yue Qingyuan. Which was made awkward by the Sect Leader’s overtures of friendship, that he would then avert himself, before plying Shen Qingqiu with unbelievably expensive food and drink. It had taken a while for Shen Qingqiu to realize the cost of the things Yue Qingyuan liked to have the servants place on the table, but when he did, his jaw nearly dropped to the ground.
Silver Scaled Dragon Fish, found in the Mu Springs, twice every five-hundred years when their bizarre migration from the clouds, because they were flying fish, into the spring, made them vulnerable for capture. Sky fish, apparently were as mist. You could catch one but it would literally dissolve on you. He was served that among many other really expensive shit. Fucking shiny-ass sky fish, it glowed silver. At least the taste was good.
Shen Qingqiu never had the experience where he felt like he was eating money in his original world…but that was a moment wherein he felt like he was eating money.
Shiny fish cost the same at auction as the yearly budget for any two Peak’s in Cang Qiong, and there Yue Qingyuan was, platting him up more. It was apparently great for reinforcing damaged cultivation, which to be fair…Shen Qingqiu probably did need considering Without A Cure, but still. It wasn’t him who was supposed to be getting the pity fish so it made him feel…gross.
Yue Qingyuan smiled that weird, gentle smile that always put Shen Qingqiu off because he did not know the man was hiding…It had taken a while for Shen Qingqiu to realize that original goods was a much more complex character than he first assumed, but when he did it made interacting with Yue Qingyuan that much harder.
There was such deep, and heavy emotional baggage between them, that Shen Qingqiu didn’t even know where to begin. Shen Yuan was not Shen Jiu, he couldn’t fix whatever was going on here. All he could do was have awkward tea-dinners where Yue Qingyuan would make cow eyes at him like he was the last piece of chocolate cake in front of a child, who kept putting his hand forward and back, covering his mouth in an, oh no I can’t have the cake motion, while looking longingly at it, as though there was no other piece of chocolate cake in the universe and if he did not have this one, he would be eternally bereft. This would happen on repeat, while said child never ate said cake. If it has not been made clear by now, Shen Qingqiu was that cake, Yue Qingyuan was the kid. Shen Qingqiu did not want to be eating with Yue Qingyuan now, or ever.
Whatever the fuck went down between Shen Jiu and Yue Qingyuan to make Yue Qingyuan look at him like that, yet keep silent was none of Shen Yuan’s business, no matter whose body he was in.
The whole thing stunk of a tragic backstory Airplane Shooting towards the sky never bothered to explain. Shen Qingqiu was starting to suspect that Shen Jiu was some kind of tragic Greek character, killed by how own hubris, and the misunderstandings of others. Like that one dude with the prophecy where his son was supposed to kill him, so he threw the kid away, and in doing so ensured his own demise. As a whole it stank of misunderstandings..and missed connections.
Was he planning on clearing any of those up? No. Gods no.
He was not stepping foot near the walking land-mine that was Yue Qingyuan. He wouldn’t even begin to know what he’d set off. If he learned anything from anime, it was not to trust anyone who smiled that much, and while this was not anime, he felt that the lesson was apt.
So he sat there, in the Pavilion bench, keeping his face blank as possible as he drank a soup made from a golden turtle, or something, and tried to avoid meaningful eye contact while projecting austere strength.
At some point, in his struggle to keep his cool, his grip of his bowl went slack, and he managed to do something he had miraculously avoided for years. He poured soup down his front like a hot, lemongrass smelling waterfall.
Yue Qingyuan startled and moved towards him. “Xiao Jiu.”
Shen Qingqiu was going to ignore that. What was a Xiao Jiu. Not him. Nimbly undoing his belt, he pulled it off, resting it on the stone bench. He then slid his outer robe off his shoulders, and the one under that too, laying them on top of the belt.
Yue Qingyuan swallowed, his mouth parched, his hands outstretched impotently. Ever vigilant, even while distracted, he heard the footsteps of an approaching servant before Shen Qingqiu did.
The vision of Xiao Jiu, flipping his long hair up into a messy bun, taking the zan from his crown to use as pin for the impromptu hair style burned itself into his mind. He could not allow anyone, let alone a servant, see Xiao Jiu in such a state.
Yue Qingyuan whipped off his outer-robe and flew to the other side of the stone table pulling Shen Qingqiu onto his lap, while covering his exposed body with his own thick black robe. Tucking the fabric around Xiao Jiu he made sure his face was hidden in Yue Qingyuan’s shoulder. The Sect Leader then kept his own face impassive as the servants came in with trays, ignoring Shen Qingqiu’s stiff form held in his lap. Yue Qingyuan would not see him dishonoured.
Yue Qingyuan stared the servants down with narrowed eyes as they left the fresh tea with shaking hands. As he watched their backs, he knew he’d spend some time educating them on what was, and was not spoken of. Xiao Jiu’s elbow jabbed him the gut, but he did not use martial force. Which was perhaps a sign that Shen Qingqiu forgave Yue Qingyuan, his own impropriety.
Setting Shen Qingqiu onto the bench once more, Yue Qingyuan sighed in exasperation,“Must you always be so careless Qingqiu-shidi?”
Shen Qingqiu bristled like an offended cat, “It’s a few robes, nothing to warrant such a reaction, Sect Leader Yue.”
Yue Qingyuan wanted to rub his temples. Shen Jiu had always been like this, so careless with his own body. One day Yue Qingyuan feared that some brute would come along and try to take advantage of his surprisingly innocent shidi.
“Xiao Jiu,” he began, the name cutting like a knife. “You can’t take your robes off outside.” It was not the first time he said this, and it surely wouldn’t be the last given Shen Jiu’s stubborn temperament.
Xiao Jiu as always, narrowed his eyes and ignored him, like his Qi Ge’s words were air.
Already Yue Qingyuan had spotted Liu Qingge sniffing around, and Xiao Jiu made softer by his memory loss, had yet to notice. Not that he would have noticed prior, either. His Xiao Jiu was always so disbelieving that anyone could be interested in him for such matters; it had never ceased to be maddening. Yue Qingyuan was often the buffer between him, and the suitors he didn’t seem to notice he had. He knew he didn’t deserve his Xiao Jiu after everything, but he certainly wasn’t about to hand him over to any cultivator who asked, more interested in the status of a Peak Lord, than Xiao Jiu himself. He had scared many a man off Qing Jing to protect Xiao Jiu’s virtue.
And still, Xiao Jiu never noticed how his casual behaviour could enchant. His own disciples were losing their minds as Shen Qingqiu had taken to wearing black in some bizarre opposite to mourning, and kneeling by Luo Binghe’s sword mound, hidden in the bamboo forest.
Ning Ying Ying just weeks before, had come to him, pleading for him to tighten the barriers around Qing Jing in fear that someone would steal her Shizun.
Ming Fan, standing behind her, had nodded his head in agreement as Ning Ying Ying waxed poetic on her fears that, “Some great cultivator could snatch an unsuspecting Shen Qingqiu from his forest, where they to see him in all his beauty, while he was in such a delicate state.”
Yue Qingyuan would have questioned her sanity if he too had not been witness to Xiao Jiu losing a bit of his carefully maintained propriety in public for the first time in decades. Private matters were another thing entirely, Heavens forbid Shen Qingqiu wear anything but his underthings in private he thought with no little amount of sarcasm. In public however, Shen Qingqiu wore his manners like armour, using them to keep all others at least two hand spans apart from him.
This visibly sad Shen Qingqiu looked….vulnerable. It incited a predatory instinct in men. Yue Qingyuan would know. He strengthened the barrier upon being asked, making Qing Jing invisible to the outside world. Shen Qingqiu’s disciples were still thanking him whenever they passed, bowing with clasped hands at his assistance.
As if he would let others take advantage of Xiao Jiu, while he could stop it.
…
Shen Qingqiu pet Ning Ying Ying on the head, then Ming Fan. It wasn’t the same. They weren’t nearly as fluffy.
He missed his Binghe dearly. His little sheep had the best curls, so soft under his fingers.
“Sh-Shizun.” Ning Ying Ying preened as she pushed her head into his palm, Ming Fan visibly struggling not to do the same.
“Yes, Ying Ying?” He asked.
“Could Shizun help us with our musical cultivation? A few of the shimei’s and myself, are having trouble with the timing of that one song, Upwards to the Moon.”
Looking down at those shiny, hopeful eyes, Shen Qingqiu inclined his head slightly in agreement.
...
Night found him, somehow corralled into the female disciple barracks, placed in a circle of happy students, plucking the strings of his guqin, as they listened to him play at first, and then tried to follow along.
Even the female disciples who did not practice an instrument joined in to listen.
As the girls had stripped to a few inner layers, and taken out any elaborate hairpins, Shen Qingqiu did the same, stripping off a few layers, and loosening his hair, to throw it up. It was honestly easier when there was less of a risk of the strands getting caught in the strings. That hurt. He didn’t know how these people did it all the time, particularly when then began to play with fervour.
The disciples faces were red with exertion, and sweaty. It warmed Shen Qingqiu’s heart to see them so interested, the girls shuffling closer to watch his fingers move.
All of a sudden, like a flare in the dark, Ning Ying Ying cried out. Sharply gazing towards her, Shen Qingqiu tried to figure out what was going on. Ning Ying Ying drew her fingers from her backside with wide eyes, the tips red. Shen Qingqiu had given them a basic bodily education but the cultivation equivalent of a period was some absolute bullshit. Menstruation could make your Qi unstable. Particularly the first one.
“Mei Mei, take Ying Ying, and get her cleaned up. I’ll help regulate her Qi. Li Ling, you call for Mu Qingfang. Tell him to bring the Jasmine Summer Pearl Tea, I do not believe we have any in stock. The last disciple to need it, reached Core Formation stage, decades ago.”
Li Ling, a short girl, with sharp eyes, hair pulled up in a severe bun, nodded firmly before running off, clearly worried for her younger martial sister.
Mei Mei carried Ning Ying Ying towards the baths, swiftly. Ning Ying Ying’s eyes a mask of pain as she clutched her stomach. Shen Qingqiu had already moved his guqin to the side, leaving his lap free. Mei Mei laid Ning Ying Ying down, and Shen Qingqiu placed a hand on her belly, circulating Qi through her meridians, unclogging the blockages that formed. Luo Binghe dealt with this before, dual cultivating with Ning Ying Ying to relieve the blockage. In the novel she experienced the symptoms without the whole period thing, a year earlier, which gave Luo Binghe an excuse to righteously take her virginity in a field of flowers to save her life. His control was too tenuous to preform a cleansing.
Never mind that Mu Qingfang was a Peak away, or that there was a common tea that could solve the issue available to the general public. Sects, unsurprisingly, had access to a higher quality variation of that tea but fuck logic when papapa was at stake. Of course once Ning Ying Ying reached the Core Formation Stage she would no longer have these concerns, but for now Shen Qingqiu could do this.
Hearing their resident healer approach, Shen Qingqiu turned to greet him.
….
Mu Qingfang’s stomach had dropped, when one of Shen Qingqiu’s students begged him to come to the female dorms, in the middle of the night.
As he approached, he sensed Shen Qingqiu’s presence and feared the worst. What was his shixiong doing in the female disciple barracks? At night. Surrounded by young women. Surely there was a reasonable explanation, most likely they had called for Shen Qingqiu, before they called for him, but still he felt ill at ease.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the sliding door, and his eyes burned.
This is what Mu Qingfang saw as he finally opened the door: There sat a horde of little disciples scooting as closely as possible to Shen-Shixiong. All of them matching, in their white underthings, their hair unbound, or bound sloppily. A sight rarely seen in unwed maidens.
Shen Qingqiu…did not look out of place with his loose locks, his thick lashes fluttering as he looked down in worry, at Ning Ying Ying. Mu Qingfang had never before noticed how pale his shxiong’s skin was or how black his hair.
He was as the largest flower in a field, his form glowing a soft green, illuminating the night, pieces of Qi flying off like fireflies, as Shen Qingqiu served as a Spirit Tree to his disciples, spreading his energy in an easily transferable haze. The control that must have taken was extraordinary, each disciple learning into the circle, their faces upturned in kneeling meditation.
Mu Qingfang coughed, a blush rising over the bridge of his nose. Shen Qingqiu stroked one of Ning Ying Ying’s cheeks, as a doting parent would their child. “Qingfang-shidi, our youngest disciple is growing. Would you check her over?”
He coughed again. Was it stuffy in here?
Shen Qingqiu’s soft voice, and gentle demeanour was too…too much. Mu Qingfang nodded, and tried to wade through the disciples, who, as one, turned to stare at him like a horde of wildebeests.
Their gazes moved in unison with every move he made. He actively had to push a few of them away with his feet to reach Ning Ying Ying.
The room was quite hostile, but he was beginning to understand their protectiveness. Shen Qingqiu was, apparently an undiscovered treasure to those outside of Qing Jing.
Sneakily soaking up a bit of his shixiong’s soothing Qi, Mu Qingfang looked over Ning Ying’s meridians.
“She’s well Shen-Shixiong. You were right on time. There’s nothing to heal. I brought some tea however, which I can go brew -“
His sleeve is widely snagged by Li Ling who pulled him back, and pushed him out the door, the girls behind her closing ranks, some of them standing on their knees to bodily cover their Shizun, their eyes boring holes into him as he was unceremoniously tossed out.
“You services have been much appreciated Shishu.” Li Ling bit out as she bowed.
Mu Qingfang had seen her come in with cuts, and bruises, and once burns from a Lava Hippo-Wolf, but he’s never seen her act so belligerent.
“Does he do this often?” He asked. He had seen the combs and hair oils laid out beside the instruments, and he had a feeling they would have been pulled out sooner or later. Wasn’t that precious? His Shixiong plaited the hair of his female disciples before bed. He wondered if Shen Qingqiu played them a lullaby to sleep to, as well? Judging by that scene he witnessed there was a high possibility.
“On occasion, he can be convinced,” Li Ling admitted brusquely. “However that is none of Shishu’s concern. We can brew the tea, I’m sure your bed is awaiting you.”
“Oh. I don’t know.” He teased.
“Shishu.” Mei Mei bit out, transferring Qi to her palms.
Shen Qingqiu’s disciple was about to fight him to defend her Shizun’s honour. Raising his hands in surrender, Mu Qingfang spoke, “Peace. I’ll leave, and speak nothing of what I saw tonight.” His face still feels hot at the sight of his cold shixiong behaving so softly.
He did not think of Shen Qingqiu as anything but a friend, however what he witnessed could certainly make a man dream. The worst part was, he would never be able to tell anyone what he saw, without ruining Shen Qingqiu’s reputation. How did one begin to explain that a Peak Lord was spending his nights with his female disciples platonically? And there was no doubt, that it was platonic in My Qingfang’s mind.
Leaving, the healer thought of Liu Qingge, and Yue Qingyuan. Calamitous beauties were a dangerous thing. He had never believed such things until now.
It would be years later, when Luo Binghe stole away his Shizun for the last time, that Mu Qingfang would lock himself in his rooms with a bottle of wine and laugh hysterically. Truly, he had not seen that one coming. They had all lost their bets. Mere weeks after that, during the wedding that Mu Qingfang did not yet know of, Luo Binghe would spread his Demonic Energy like a blanket, as a warning. His presence would fill every corner of his Palace as he led Shen Qingqiu dressed in red to the alter.
In that room, all of the eyes would be on Shen Qingqiu, despite Luo Binghe’s power. Yue Qingyuan’s hands, would be gripped into fists, his face calm, and Liu Qingge's a mask of false honour. He would bare his teeth in a snarl at Luo Binghe after the Demon Lord smirked at him, his hand on Shen Qingqiu’s waist in a proprietary motion.
The immortal fairy, stolen from Heaven by a demon who fell in love. What a story.
….
Shang Qinghua sat across from his newly found Cucumber-Bro. Languid sex-god extraordinaire, which wasn’t really what Shang Qinghua was thinking of when he wrote Shen Qingqiu, but that was what he ended up with…apparently.
Their initial meeting went something like this, Shang Qinghua snapped out a, “Fuck your mom,” upon seeing Shen Qingqiu’s black widow get-up, his melon seeds falling from his mouth. “Fuck your mom” was not something people said, in Ancient China. Their version was the more florid, “Your mother was a whore”.…and even then, only if they were part of the lower class.
Shen Qingqiu’s head snapped like a shark smelling blood, stalking forth to grab Shang Qinghua’s lapels, as he snarled out “Proud Immortal Demon Way?”
Shang Qinghua nodded, wondering who had the bad luck to transmigrate into Shen Jiu, before a fan began to tap his cheek, one hand still on his lapel. Really, the whole wailing wife who totally killed her first husband get-up was not helping this whole interaction. Shang Qinghua didn’t want to be someone’s third, dead husband, thank you very much.
“Ye-yeah.” He said shakily, “It’s uh, are you a…uh, fan?” He asked.
Green eyes narrowed. “Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky?”
Something must have shown on his face, something like guilt because transmigrator bro snapped out a, “You. Shitty. Fucking. Author. Let me explain to you everything wrong with your novel. Come. Let’s go to my bamboo hut, you wretched little pissant.”
O-Okay.
It takes about half-way through the kind of verbal lashing Shang Qinghua’s mother wished she knew how to give, to figure out that Shen Qingqiu was Cucumber-bro. His weirdly invested anti-fan…real fan…it was hard to tell sometimes. Cucumber-bro was intense and he had a mouth like sandpaper. He could take a layer of skin off with his tongue alone, as he pointed out everything Shang Qinghua was doing wrong online. In person it was worse, what with Shen Qingqiu’s imperious face staring him down like he was sewer rat that somehow made it into someone's nice house.
The best part of their conversation was when Shen Qingqiu looked at him, tapped his fan on the table and said, “Look, I get you needed the money. I just wish it was better, because I really did like story. It could have been more, and that’s so frustrating.”
Shang Qinghua shrugs in commiseration. “I had so many notes bro, you don’t even know what I had to scrap. The papapa was selling. Let me tell you the backstory between you and Yue Qingyuan -“
Shen Qingqiu raises a hand to silence him. “Don’t tell me. All I need to know is, on a scale of one to ten, how likely is it that he’ll lock me in a basement somewhere?”
Shang Qinghua pauses at that, unfortunately fair, point. “Look…don't be alarmed...but it’s honestly like a seven. But it’s also never going to probably happen, because of his raging guilt complex. So as long as you don’t resolve the past issues, you won’t end up the Sect Leader’s wife.”
Shen Qingqiu stares at him and deadpans, “Sect Leader’s wife?”
Shang Qinghua gestures with his hands oddly. “Shen Jiu and Yue Qingyuan may have been…soulmates?”
Shen Qingqiu slams his fan down on the table “That’s not even a thing here. Soulmates. Are. Not. A. Thing. In your stupid book.”
“I know, I know.” Shang Qinghua flailed. “But they kind of might be, possibly? Because the notes I made but didn’t write into the story, have been showing up in weird ways?”
Shen Qingqiu collapsed onto the floor beside his seat cushion and rubbed at his face. “You have got to be kidding me,” he said.
Weirdly enough, it was super comforting to have Cucumber-bro with him. He was fun dude. Even if Luo Binghe was totally bent now.
…
Shang Qinghua gestured to Shen Qingqiu laying on his side, on his daybed, in his lingerie, posed in the iconic paint-me-like-one-of-your-french-girls fashion, munching on a lychee. He spoke very slowly, as though worried he would not be understood, “You do know that you’re being so inappropriate right now. These people wear more to sleep than you are wearing right now. We are supposed to keep our full robes on, at all times, and then sleep in a thicker sleeping robe, or two. Not our undergarments, there’s a difference.” He never wanted to know what Cucumber-bro’s nipples looked like.
Cucumber-bro froze like a deer in headlights and spat his lychee out in a weirdly gracefully gesture. Shang Qinghua had never seen anyone spit gracefully, until now.
“What?” Shen Qingqiu choked out. “You mean to say these fucking masochists don’t unwind? I’m in seven fucking robes. What do they want from me?” Who didn’t take off a few layers when they were in the comfort of their own homes? Was Shang Qinghua telling him he was supposed to be fully dressed at all times? Even when he was alone? Oh. Fuck. No. He did see the thicker white inner robes, he assumed they were for winter, and put them away. He was not pulling them out, they were less comfortable than his apparent underthings.
Shang Qinghua shrugged. “I didn’t make the rules.”
Shen Qingqiu threw a lychee at his forehead, and said, "Every day I become more certain of the fact that in a past life, I committed a horrific crime, and thus the universe has placed you into my stratosphere as the eagle that comes every dawn to eat my liver."
Okay then. Shang Qinghua. Was not expecting that. What did one even say?...Sorry?
Before he could get a word in edge-wise, Shen Qingqiu continued, “Secondly, yes you did. Thirdly, here is what’s going to happen. I never heard you. I never heard those words come out of your mouth. You never said the words that just came out of your mouth. Do you understand A’Shang?”
Shang Qinghua tried to talk, “Bu-“
“Do you understand Shang Qinghua?” Shen Qingqiu asked agreeably like a man holding onto his sanity by a string.
Shang Qinghua nodded.
“Good.” Shen Qingqiu said with a terrifying smile. “Here, have a lychee.”
Shang Qinghua took the lychee from Shen Qingqiu’s hand and ate it. No matter how much it made him feel like a pet. Holy fuck, Cucumber-bro was terrifying…he was like the iconic strong female lead. Kicking ass, taking names, gathering a harem, and threatening low powered characters into submission with ease.
Shen Qingqiu leaned back on his pillows with a thousand yard stare, and firmly decided that enforced obliviousness was the only answer. If anyone so much as tried to tell him anything, he wouldn’t understand it. He would be thicker than a mountain. He heard no evil, saw no evil, and spoke no fucking evil.
Oh what’s that, he was being improper? He had no idea. What they were talking about anyway? He always did this, it was just fine, really. It wasn’t improper at all. Imaginary questioner was just imagining things. Shen Qingqiu wasn’t the improper one. They were the improper one. Their whole family was improper. Like hell would Shen Qingqiu give up his comfort at this point. Anyway, what did any of this even matter, he was going to die soon. He could wear whatever the fuck he wanted. Even if it was the Ancient Chinese equivalent of lingerie.