Chapter Text
The story comes in fragments at first, passed on by word of mouth and nervous whispers. A routine visit to the Golden River Sect gone wrong. A surprise ambush on the road, and Shen Qingqiu had stepped in front of Liu Qingge to shield him. The Qing Jing Peak Lord had died mere minutes later, half-delirious from the pain.
How the bandits had gotten their hands on a Venomous Three-Jawed Chimaera, no one knew, but they suspected collaboration with demons.
Which demons, no one knew either.
But Luo Binghe was going to find out.
He was going to find out who had been responsible for the death of his Shizun, torture them to the very brink of death, and string up their dismembered body parts as a message for anyone who so much as thought about harming what was his.
Only he had never made Shizun his own.
And thanks to those bandits, he never will.
For that, he will ensure that they are begging for death long before he permits them to enter its frigid embrace.
He had planned to reenter the Human Realm around eight months onward, but this…this warrants an early exit. He could not and would not give the bandits the blessing of a quick end after they made their unfortunate escape from Liu Qingge’s vengeful fury.
Luo Binghe will get to them first.
And he does.
The bandits are arrogant when they corner a lone traveler on the road. So Luo Binghe relishes it even more when taunting laughter turns to cries of fear before Xin Mo’s dark fire and the bloodthirsty crimson eyes of the one wielding it.
The pervasive stench and freezing mist that drive even the most desperate of vermin away from the cells in his Demon Realm fortress are too good for Shizun’s murderers. Luckily, Luo Binghe has plans to move them into a much worse dungeon soon. And, of course, he can always console himself by gradually chopping off fingers and toes in the meantime, murmuring his plans for them in their ears as he does so and letting something warm and sadistic unfurl in his stomach.
He finds their screams addictively satisfying.
Even so, Luo Binghe is still hungry, still ambitious. With his power, he can grind the whole world underneath his heel, ascending until he can turn the gods themselves to his will. And then, finally, he might be able to get his Shizun back.
Xin Mo wants it quick and easy and violent, but Luo Binghe forces the sword’s power down and pushes until it breaks to his sheer will. Nothing, not even this ancient demonic sword, will distract him from his purpose. Besides, Shizun would not want blood, and so Binghe will do his best to avoid shedding it.
Sometimes it gets hard to stand by that decision when his head aches with blabbering dignitaries and endless, droning conferences. Sometimes his smile slips and his audience falters at the coldness in his eyes. Sometimes…sometimes the fabricated, indifferent Shizun in his dreams makes his heart of stone twinge painfully, just a little.
Sometimes, the officials resist his ruthless natural charisma and meet him with weapons drawn. But that is fine. He can handle it. When they reveal his heritage in an attempt to slow his meteoric rise, he simply leverages it again the demons as his birthright as Tianlang-jun’s only son. And where the defiant humans are concerned…well. Shizun would understand if he had to force his way through some particularly stubborn obstacles on his way to the top.
Shizun had always understood, except when it came to the half-demon’s desperate pining for him. There, he had always been blissfully, painfully blind.
Shizun would have understood the sleepless nights, the restless heart, the insatiable, indescribable need. And even if he did not understand, he would still have guided his disciple through it, endlessly patient and caring behind his aloof facade.
How Luo Binghe had longed to pull that facade away and feel the glow of his Shizun’s kindness up close. And maybe, if he had been able to drag himself out of despair sooner, become powerful faster, he would not have missed his opportunity to show Shizun that he was worthy of the Peak Lord’s love, demonic heritage and all.
Even subjecting the world in his unspoken name is too little too late.
Still, Luo Binghe claws his way up, growing more and more powerful and ever more impatient even as scholar after scholar tells him it's impossible, the souls of the dead are untouchable, no one can pull them back into a body after this long-
He doesn't care. There has to be a way. Nothing is beyond his reach, not even Shizun. Not anymore.
It is easier than it should be to become powerful, like he was fated to rule and the gods are simply giving him an easy way up.
And yet, they refused to give him even one chance to court Shen Qingqiu, so it is not nearly enough. Not even close.
The throne is cold when he finally claims it at twenty-two years old.
Even though the new emperor runs hot, he never really manages to warm it up.