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Going after Shen Qingqiu was not something that Luo Binghe could rush.
Even if the Qing Jing Peak Lord’s cultivation couldn’t stand up to Luo Binghe’s demonic blood and the powers of Xin Mo, the fact remained that Shen Qingqiu was the Qing Jing Peak Lord. He might be the least beloved of Cang Qiong’s Peak Lords–a narrow win over An Ding’s Shang Qinghua–but that didn’t mean that the strength of the sect wouldn’t be an annoyance for any revenge plans Luo Binghe might enact. At the very least, Yue Qingyuan was an obstacle that would have to be removed.
That was why, when Luo Binghe received news from his subordinates that Peak Lord Shen was descending his mountain for an unknown location, he made the decision to go in person to observe the man who had quite literally thrown him into hell. He’d hidden his demonic features away and traded his fine robes for simple but well made substitutes. Binghe had no intentions of allowing Shen Qingqiu to lay eyes on him before his plans were ready, but going incognito would only help in this case.
He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected from his former shizun’s trip–probably some kind of hedonistic bender in the pleasure houses–but as he followed the cultivator towards the borderlands on the edge of the human and demon realms, he was quite certain this wasn’t it.
The person Shen Qingqiu met with didn’t appear to be a prostitute, although there was always the possibility that the man was simply wearing a disguise. And it did seem to be a man, or else a woman with a flat chest and broad shoulders, but it was difficult to be sure of anything with the stranger’s face hidden behind the veil of a weimao.
Not being able to hear their conversation was maddening, but Luo Binghe just wasn’t ready to confront Shen Qingqiu yet; he couldn’t risk being caught. At any rate, the two did not speak very long before they went their own ways. Shen Qingqiu headed back in the direction he had come, towards Cang Qiong Mountain Sect. Of course Luo Binghe couldn’t know for sure that was his destination, but it seemed likely.
What, Binghe wondered, was so important about this man that Shen Qingqiu would travel all this way to speak with him in person and then leave? What message was so sensitive that it could not be entrusted to a courier to be delivered?
And so as Shen Qingqiu flew away, Luo Binghe stayed behind. There would be other opportunities to observe Shen Qingqiu, but if he lost this man, he would never know whose face was hidden behind that weimao. He followed the stranger out of town, being careful not to make his presence known. He’d already been hiding his demonic qi when he’d followed Shen Qingqiu here; with a target of unknown abilities, he continued to keep his presence under wraps.
Eventually the stranger and Luo Binghe arrived at a cottage a few miles outside of the city proper, and the man evidently felt safe enough to remove the hat obscuring his features.
Luo Binghe could see familiar features reflected in unfamiliar ways in this stranger’s face. It was obvious that the man was related to Shen Qingqiu. A brother? A child? He knew that the Qing Generation had come into power within a few years of his own birth, but he wasn’t entirely sure how old his shizun had been at the time. Age was always hard to tell when cultivation was involved.
Cultivation and–apparently–demonic blood, because Shen Qingqiu’s relative very clearly possessed demon traits, and everything Luo Binghe had thought he had known about his shizun’s views on demons had been turned on their head.
It was still entirely possible for Shen Qingqiu to hate demons in general and make an exception for his own kin, but things had been complicated considerably, and Luo Binghe did not enjoy uncertainty.
(There was no way Shizun was a demon himself, right?)
He had to speak to this man.
The approach would be a gamble. Ultimately, he knew very little about this demon, except that his name was presumably Shen. But Luo Binghe had a lot of experience with charming strangers, and he was confident enough in his ability to adapt during a conversation if needed.
The well-tended herb garden next to the house spoke to some level of healing knowledge, at least enough to be largely self-sufficient. Making up his mind, Luo Binghe took out Xin Mo and slashed at his arm, deep enough to be convincing but nothing that his blood couldn’t heal in a moment if necessary. Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t have thrown him a rag to stop the bleeding; his relative would get one chance to prove himself different.
Steeling himself against the kind of nerves he hadn’t felt in years, Binghe limped up to the door of the cottage and proceeded to make a nuisance of himself.
“Hello? Is the owner of the house home?”
It only took a few moments for Shen-xiansheng to come to the door. “Who– oh! Oh you’re bleeding.”
Without even asking, the man helped Luo Binghe into the house and deposited him onto a chair. Observing the demon up close as he fluttered around grabbing ointments, Binghe was even more star struck.
Something of it must have shown on his face, as Shen-xiansheng commented on his staring.
“Are you in shock, or do I have something on my face?” He asked jokingly.
Luo Binghe blushed in a way that he knew suited him. “Sorry, xiansheng, this one was just struck by how much xiansheng resembles my shizun.”
The man paused. “Your shizun?” he asked carefully.
“Shen Qingqiu,” Binghe said, paying close attention to the man’s reaction. “What is xiansheng called?”
“Shen Yuan,” the man said. “And what may I call my patient?”
“This disciple’s name is Luo Binghe.”
A frown crossed Shen Yuan’s face. “I was under the impression that Luo Binghe of Qing Jing Peak had perished during the invasion of the Immortal Alliance Conference.”
Interesting. So Shizun had told his relative about his lost disciple, then? The audacity. But how much did Shen Yuan know? A demon living amongst humans on the border with the Demon Realm may or may not be aware of Luo Binghe’s recent campaigns. Until proven otherwise, Binghe would continue to play at being a simple lost disciple.
“This one… fell into the Endless Abyss and only emerged after great difficulty.”
Shen Yuan sighed and set down the jar of ointment he had been holding, taking a moment to choose his words before making direct eye contact with Luo Binghe.
“Tell me, Junshang, what are your plans for my brother?”
Luo Binghe had never cut his sleeve, but he’d be sorely tempted to do so if Shen Yuan kept piercing him with that glare.
“That depends,” he said, “on how this conversation goes.”