Chapter Text
— 1 year, 10 months after Shen Qingqiu’s self-destruction —
Luo Binghe was thoroughly at the end of his wits, the state culminating after all this time in having to resort to… this .
‘This’ squirmed uncomfortably in a chair across from him, not meeting his eye.
Luo Binghe deliberated briefly which address to use: ‘shishu’ would be quite funny, considering both of them were expelled from the sect, while using only the man’s name could be considered quite an insult, given that he was of an older generation.
Shizun wouldn’t want him to be rude.
If shizun didn’t want him to be rude, he could wake up and give him a good scolding. Or beat him up until he’s blue; Luo Binghe would bear it all happily — since to do that, shizun would first have to be alive .
“Shang Qinghua, this lord hears that you are quite… knowledgeable about unorthodox remedies.”
But shizun wasn’t alive, and that was precisely the problem that had Luo Binghe inviting his disgraced martial uncle, concurrently his subordinate’s servant, to this nice friendly chat. Shang-shishu was sweating rivers and tripping over his words, which meant he was at least intelligent enough to understand what a nice friendly chat with Luo Binghe implied.
Luo Binghe held up his hand, effectively cutting off the stream of words that generally conveyed a simple sentiment, ‘I don’t want to give you expectations but I also don’t want you to think I’m too useless to live’.
“This lord believes you already know what I seek, but just in case, I will state it plainly: I wish to bring Shen Qingqiu, my shizun and your former shixiong, back to life. Mobei says you are quite resourceful; this lord grants you an opportunity to demonstrate that.”
Shang Qinghua swallowed, drumming his fingers over his knees.
“As I said when my king asked me,” he started cautiously, “lord Luo’s best bet is the Holy Mausoleum, and its resurrection array. As long as the body is intact, it is, ah, guaranteed to work.”
Luo Binghe arched an eyebrow. Holy Mausoleum was a piece of information that bought Sha Hualing her life, when he ran into her in the Demon Realm; who knew he could get the same by shaking up a former Cang Qiong Mountain Sect’s Peak Lord? Who knew, too, that Mobei-jun, when corroborating Sha Hualing’s story, relied on this servant of his?
This was suddenly beginning to look almost promising.
“Mobei had relayed the information about Holy Mausoleum to this lord; work to secure it is already underway. However, this lord would be remiss not to attempt other solutions in the meantime. So, would Shang-shishu like to share any other ideas?”
Shang Qinghua chanced a glance at Luo Binghe. His pose suggested he was two breaths away from cowering pitifully, yet the look he gave seemed oddly appraising — before Luo Binghe could question it, it was gone as if it never happened, Shang Qinghua lowering his head and starting to fiddle with his sleeve.
“...Lord Luo, ah, if this servant may ask,” he started quietly, “just why are y— is your lordship trying to bring him back? What end does your lordship wish to achieve?”
The question was so audacious, Luo Binghe could only smile in response:
“And what business is that of yours?”
Shang Qinghua flinched back, his hands flying up.
“N-none! None at all! Forget I asked! It’s just…” the man chewed on his lip — really, Shang-shishu, no decorum at all, — before looking up at Luo Binghe, voice unexpectedly earnest: “He— ahem, Shen-shixiong is a friend, so…”
Of course Shen Qingqiu was his friend. Luo Binghe shouldn’t have been surprised, everyone and their dog thought of shizun as their friend now — not when the Palace Master was spreading rumors, though! — and shizun would probably be too soft-hearted to dissuade them, even if he was alive to do so.
...And of course even Shang Qinghua, traitor to humankind, thought Luo Binghe was trying to resurrect Shen Qingqiu for some nefarious purposes. What did those people think Luo Binghe would do, lock shizun up and brutally force him into a life of luxury and leisure? (He ignored the part of himself saying the idea had some merit. He was aware he was slowly going mad from grief; it wouldn’t matter once Shen Qingqiu was back, because then Luo Binghe would realign his thoughts, attuning them as one would the guqin’s strings, and everything would be fine , and shizun wouldn’t hate him… he hoped.)
“Do not presume to know this lord’s thoughts,” Luo Binghe bit out, irritation burning under his skin. (He wasn’t sure he remembered what not having his emotions flare up at every minor inconvenience felt like.)
The speed of Shang Qinghua’s hand-waving rose.
“I’m not! I won’t! T-this servant is just saying! There is one method he thought of, but it requires very, ah, specific conditions!”
Luo Binghe narrowed his eyes, but his anger did settle down into a sort of low simmering he could ignore.
“Go on.”
Conditions or not, Luo Binghe was willing to take any chances that came his way at this point.
“There’s this famous artifact called Mirror of Two Souls in the Eastern regions of the Demon Realm…” Shang Qinghua started. His eyes were shifty, but whether it was because his information was bad or just his usual disposition, Binghe couldn’t tell.
“Also called Mirror of Lovers,” he interrupted. “ Look into the mirror and think of your beloved; if it’s meant to be, the mirror will reflect them. Even if it did work, which rumors suggest it does not, wouldn’t it just show me shizun’s— body?” he couldn’t help that small pause. Weakness, weakness, he shouldn’t have shown it. Useless.
“It doesn’t really show one’s soulmate,” Shang Qinghua confirmed, then jumped in his seat when Luo Binghe glowered at him for wasting his time. “But it can help ! You see, the um, the lore behind that artifact is that,” he started, his hands flying up again, “when an ascended immortal lost his human beloved, he realized that life was not worth living without them, and poured all of his godly power to the last drop into creating the Mirror. His wish was only one: to be reunited with his other half, and so the artifact brought his soul back to the day he first met them. He then lived his life anew as a mortal, and, as the story goes, even on his deathbed had no regrets, for his most precious person was with him…” Shang Qinghua was speaking with increasing haste, but for once it didn’t seem to stem from fear; he even uncurled from his subservient hunch, eyes bright and face slightly flushed. “And there is also a record of its successful use in my king’s family lore, believe it or not! Though the latter generations’ commentary suggests they believed it was, like, a metaphor, — but it literally mentions the Mirror by name, and describes it working the exact same way as it’s supposed to, so… Anyway! The story goes like this: a young demoness of plain birth has fallen for the Northern Princess of that time, and was astonished to discover the feelings were mutual. Yet the world conspired to separate them: the princess was betrayed by her relation and seized by a powerful demon lord, who either — the records are a bit fuzzy there — wanted her as his wife, was trying to steal her lands, or wanted to eat her for her ancestral powers. The princess’ lover was, meanwhile, thrown into the Human Realm to be hunted down by cultivators. As she was nearing death, she stumbled upon the Mirror... and it had transported her back to her childhood, to the day she first met the princess by accident. So, using her foreknowledge, she found and killed that demon lord before he rose to power, reunited with her beloved, and they lived happily ever after… oh, and that’s how the Mirror ended up in the Demon Realm, by the way! They brought it home, just in case — though it was stolen a few generations down the line.”
Shang Qinghua finally ran out of breath, pausing for air. From his limited interactions with Shang-shishu back in his disciple days, Luo Binghe would never have guessed the man was so enthusiastic about demon history; he wondered whether that was the reason Shang Qinghua attached himself so firmly to Mobei-jun, or if perhaps getting close to Mobei-jun sparked the interest in the first place. After composing himself, Shang Qinghua continued: “So what I’m saying is, it doesn’t show one’s soulmate; it’s a time travel device that takes you to them!..”
Luo Binghe couldn’t help it: a small hope unfurled in his chest like a green sprout in spring. Time travel sounded impossible, but many things were considered impossible — before he tried his hand at them and succeeded. If he could truly return to the day he met shizun… before everything broke between them, before he made all those mistakes, before shizun thought he had no choice but to sacrifice himself for this worthless disciple of his…
“...if, ah,” Shang Qinghua continued cautiously, suddenly sinking back into his chair to make himself smaller, “if that’s, um, really…”
“Spit it out,” Luo Binghe suggested, barely suppressing a growl in his throat.
Shang Qinghua raised his palms in supplication: “M-my lord told me not to presume to know his thoughts, so I won’t! I’m just saying, this isn’t the kind of thing that’s guaranteed to work for anyone — not like the Holy Mausoleum’s array. The Mirror only works if one honestly, truly, and irrevocably loves the person they intend to go back to, to the exclusion of everything—”
“Are you questioning this lord’s devotion?”
“ No! ” Shang Qinghua’s voice rose to a yell in frustration, and then he shrunk back, mumbling: “Just, if it doesn’t work…”
“Then this lord is to blame himself, not you. Is that right?” Luo Binghe leaned forward, a genial smile hanging on his lips, and took a bit of pleasure in a way the former peak lord paled.
Mobei-jun, and by extension Shang Qinghua, were now allies, and quite valuable ones at that; but Luo Binghe hadn’t forgotten their roles in the Immortal Alliance Conference — the day that ruined his life (well, first of those) — and he had to allow himself a little pettiness from time to time, if only to keep sane.
“I’m just saying,” Shang Qinghua muttered even lower, as if unsure he wanted Luo Binghe to hear him, “if you’re serious about… Shen-shixiong, it’ll work; if not, well, maybe it’s worth it to, like, reevaluate why are you trying to get him back…”
This was... huh.
“This is your way of protecting him, isn’t it?” Luo Binghe asked, cocking his head to the side, as if a change in angle would allow him to look at Shang Qinghua anew. Shang Qinghua didn’t meet his eyes, but his silence was its own answer.
Luo Binghe clicked his tongue in annoyance, stood up, and drew Xin Mo. “It is a chance. This lord does not intend to waste it.”
With a slash, he opened a portal to the closest location to the Mirror of Lovers he could think of — a small city in the Eastern regions where some of his enemies hid themselves that one time. The Mirror, supposedly useless and therefore not moved from its quite well known spot, was only a short hike away, tucked just out of sight in some cave or cavern or so-such. It didn’t matter; Luo Binghe would find it.
Trepidation burning in his gut, he went to bargain with fate once more.
The Mirror wasn’t working, because of course it wasn’t, because Luo Binghe never, ever, ever got to have what he wanted most.
Wine-red crystal, its surface dull and unreflective, towered over him mockingly.
Maybe the artifact was broken, or maybe, like always , Luo Binghe was just not enough , his feelings not good enough, not true enough, forget that his every waking (and dreaming) moment was dedicated to one person and one person only, forget that his heart was staked on his shizun’s affection, — if that wasn’t love, then Luo Binghe was simply incapable of the feeling.
He wanted to lash out, shatter the useless thing for the hope it gave him only to crush it. His hand found Xin Mo’s hilt.
Maybe he really was lacking in love. Worthless, malicious demon who knew nothing but greed — greed that consumed, in the end, the one man who was willing to give him anything at all. Shizun even told him not to draw the sword, but Luo Binghe didn’t listen, he didn’t listen and he lost shizun and he was so angry he could kill himself right now and his grip on Xin Mo was tight enough to be painful and
Do not let it overpower your mind , shizun’s gentle voice whispered, memory fresh as if it only happened moments ago — and suddenly Luo Binghe was aware of the demonic qi radiating off Xin Mo in waves, the sword’s insidious pull on his soul strengthening in his distraction.
He let go of Xin Mo’s handle as if it burned him, clawing at the leather strap that held up the sword’s sheath instead; as soon as it broke, he flung the whole thing away like one would a venomous snake. Xin Mo cluttered to the ground near the mouth of the cave; Luo Binghe backed away until his body pressed into the Mirror’s hard surface.
That wouldn’t help anything, of course — Xin Mo was still attached to his very soul, and being physically away from it brought nothing but a momentary satisfaction; still , at least Luo Binghe couldn’t unthinkingly draw it if it wasn’t right there poised under his sword arm.
Luo Binghe settled his breathing until his qi balanced out, then slid down to a sitting position, curling in on himself.
He really… couldn’t stop failing shizun.
If he was strong enough to control the stupid sword, then…
You need not worry too much. If you cannot become strong, I will stay by your side and protect you.
Luo Binghe promised himself not to cry anymore, back when he was only a child of ten, but shizun had a way of making him forget that promise. It’s gotten worse with shizun’s death: he turned into a complete crybaby, often unable to stop tears that overflowed as he begged his love to wake up. He still wouldn’t let outsiders see, of course, but if it was shizun, shizun wouldn’t hate him, he thought, since shizun forgave him much worse sins.
He was unable to stop himself now either.
“Shizun,” he whimpered, for once uncaring of how pathetic he sounded, “shizun, this disciple failed. This disciple can’t be strong, so could you please, please, come and save this disciple one more time?..”
Sudden vertigo overcame him, and for a moment he thought he got dizzy from all the tears — then, he realized his back wasn’t propped against the crystal’s surface anymore, and he was actually falling.
The hope in his chest, nearly crumbled to dust, flared up once more.
— Back then / Now —
When Luo Binghe opened his eyes, he… didn’t panic , exactly, but he was displeased and confused and, okay, maybe a bit afraid.
Thing is, he was absolutely certain Shang Qinghua said the Mirror returned one to the day they met their soulmate, their fated love; by all reason, he should’ve woken up en route to Cang Qiong, on the day he got chosen for Qing Jing Peak.
Instead, an utterly familiar roof of the woodshed greeted him. If that wasn’t a dead giveaway, then what he felt of his body when he moved would’ve been: he definitely wasn’t ten. Which was not a bad thing in itself, but that meant the artifact hadn’t worked correctly, and who knows what else went wrong with it— if he’d somehow gotten to the past but Shen Qingqiu wasn’t here then he— he was going to——
The door got kicked open, and Luo Binghe’s Abyss-honed reflexes allowed him to roll out of the way in time, even though his young body had some trouble complying with his thoughts. He blinked at the figure in the doorway, eyes stinging with all the light pouring in.
“Bastard, get up!” the intruder barked. “Shizun asks to see you, don’t you dare make him wait!”
Ah, Ming Fan.
Luo Binghe kind of forgot he’d have to deal with that .
Doesn’t matter, for shizun’s sake he’d put up with a thousand Ming Fans if needed (but he really, really hoped it wasn’t needed).
“Of course, shixiong,” he said, picking himself up and dusting himself off. His current body was bruised and sluggish with it, but he’d pushed himself through far worse injuries and never once died, so he paid it no mind.
Now that he’d calmed down, the situation didn’t seem as bad as he feared. First, shizun was here, at the very least; second, Ming Fan’s rudeness and the woodshed told him he arrived some time before Sha Hualing’s invasion, which meant there were some things he could fix before the (first) worst day of his life happened. Strange that the artifact was just a few years off — in Binghe’s experience those things either worked as promised, in a completely different and murderous way, or not at all — but he would not squander this opportunity.
“Watch your tone,” Ming Fan snapped meanwhile. Luo Binghe honestly wasn’t sure if some of his dismissiveness slipped through or if current Ming Fan was just looking for an excuse — most likely both.
“This shidi meant no disrespect,” Luo Binghe saluted, perfectly courteous but not overly so, and stepped towards the door. “Is this shidi to report to the bamboo house?”
“Where else? Hurry up!” Luo Binghe wasn’t able to avoid a shove in the shoulder which made half his bruises sting anew, but that was nothing, that meant nothing. Ming Fan would be biting his nails in frustrated yet impotent envy soon enough.
Even that cheerful thought couldn’t add any pep to his hobbling, but shizun was waiting, so Binghe went, as always.
Luo Binghe took a deep breath and slid the doors open, a familiar motion made unfamiliar by this long left behind body.
That breath left him immediately upon seeing shizun’s elegant figure. Shen Qingqiu was looking slightly to the side, his dark eyes thoughtful, face refined, hair and clothes immaculate, mouth set in a shadow of a smile — and Luo Binghe loved him, loved him with everything he was, more than anything in the world he yearned for this man—
Shen Qingqiu’s gaze flicked towards him, and Binghe straightened unconsciously, calling out “Shizun” and hoping to all gods and buddhas he didn’t sound choked up.
The smile slipped off shizun’s face at the sight of him, and Luo Binghe went to kneel without even thinking about it. He’d beg forgiveness a million times, just—
“No need,” shizun’s cool voice stopped him. When Binghe lifted his head, trying to push down the panic — shizun didn’t know yet, he wouldn’t reject Luo Binghe here and now, this was all going wrong — shizun threw a small object towards him, movement deliberately unconcealed. Luo Binghe caught it with both hands, eyes still on shizun’s face.
The shape between his palms felt familiar.
“This is medicine,” shizun said, and oh, Luo Binghe remembered now, this was — “Don’t let anyone see; they might think my Qing Jing Peak abuses its disciples.”
This was the first time shizun had shown him kindness.
Luo Binghe kept it all, every proof: this bottle of medicine, the bloodied, knife-sharp leaf, the cultivation manual shizun especially gave him, and then, every gift and trinket shizun graced him with after he moved into the bamboo house. (He kept the scars, too; but the scars, just like the gifts, were all gone now, in exchange for this new chance he made for the two of them.)
“Thank you, shizun,” he said, unable to keep the smile off his face and reverence out of his voice. Shen Qingqiu didn’t speak, just looked at him for a moment. His gaze was hard and appraising, certainly; and yet, there was also just a tiny hint of curiosity, as if he never really took time to examine Luo Binghe before and was catching up on it now.
Luo Binghe took advantage of this time to shamelessly drink in shizun’s flawless visage. There was a slight tightness to Shen Qingqiu’s expression — something must’ve been worrying him. It was too bad Luo Binghe couldn’t tell him there was no need for it anymore; that he’d shoulder all of his worries (or rip them apart if needed) and not let a single bad thing touch him (except Luo Binghe himself, but that… he wasn’t all-powerful, after all).
Shizun turned away, moving towards his favorite chair.
“This disciple is grateful for shizun’s care, and will do everything in his power to ensure shizun’s goodwill is not wasted on him,” Luo Binghe said, not wanting to be dismissed just yet. If he could just stay in shizun’s light a bit longer…
Shen Qingqiu sat down, regal as always, and asked, as if an afterthought:
“Binghe, how’s your cultivation progress?”
There was a near-imperceptible flinch right after, as if he was surprised at himself; Binghe’s heart leaped in his chest at that familiar, always fondly remembered address. Now that he thought about it, this might’ve been the first time shizun called him by name since he arrived at Qing Jing — younger him was shocked to the core, but the him right now, heavens, how he prayed to hear his name fall from shizun’s lips again… ah, right, shizun asked a question.
“Apologies to shizun, this disciple is slow and failed to understand,” he said, schooling his face to look appropriately repentant and embarrassed.
Shizun looked at him for another long moment, then said:
“Today, this master punished you out of his own impatience. After all, time waits for no one,” Luo Binghe hadn’t paid proper attention in his first life, but now, knowing his master as he did, he recognized a veiled apology. It wasn’t so unusual for shizun to whap him on the head with his fan in a spur of a moment, then think better of it and offer a soothing pat and an explanation. The man continued, “Now that I think about it, you’ve been apprenticing under me for a while; how old are you this year?”
Something about this question stood out to Luo Binghe — he’d need to think on this.
“This disciple is fourteen,” he replied with his best guess. He thought that’s what he said last time. Maybe he should’ve gone for a higher number? He was, after all, actually in his twenties… could this body pass for a (perhaps slightly unhealthy and stunted in growth) sixteen-year-old? Eh, probably not. Anyway, shizun would know… oh. That was it. Every disciple’s information was documented when they joined the peak; not just their names and ages, even their measurements were taken so they could be provided with properly sized uniforms. And shizun’s memory was always exceptional: if he so much as skimmed those papers once, he would know Luo Binghe’s age for sure; since the documents were revised every year, there was simply no way he never saw them.
Was shizun testing him, then? But no, it didn’t look like it: upon hearing his answer, shizun simply sighed, lowered his head into his palm tiredly, and waved Luo Binghe off.
Binghe saluted him and went. Shizun deserved his rest, and Luo Binghe needed the time to ruminate on what he saw, half-baked theories beginning to take shape in his mind.
Before he closed the door behind him, he couldn’t help one last glance at Shen Qingqiu — beautiful as ever and wonderfully, preciously alive — and found the man’s dark gaze on him, full of unknowable thoughts. When their eyes met, shizun blinked in surprise and looked to the side hastily, as if Luo Binghe caught him sneaking sweets (which did happen many, many times, and Luo Binghe treasured each of them; shizun’s elegance was seen by everyone, but shizun’s cute moments were his alone).
Luo Binghe tore his gaze away and closed the door, letting out a long exhale. That bottle of medicine dug into his palm as he gripped it just a bit too tightly.
Do not worry, shizun. This time, this worthless disciple of yours will set things right.