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Proud Immortal Demon Way was the year’s biggest BL hit—there was no other. Shen Yuan, as a red-blooded heterosexual, had zero interest in reading about pretty-faced muscular men casting longing glances at each other under silvery moonlight, but Shen Yuan had a little sister. A sister who ignored Zhongdian’s age recommendation as cheerfully as he himself had at the age of sixteen, and who had somehow zeroed in on him as the family member most likely to listen to her obsess over the million word xianxia epic whenever she dropped by after school. As a consequence, he knew the plot almost as well as if he had read it himself.
This was the set-up: In an era of gods, heroes, and demons, a wicked cultivator rose up from humble beginnings to become a challenger king, clamoring to take over all of the human realm. Meanwhile, a half-demon raised among the noble Cang Qiong Mountain Sect claimed his birthright as the ruler of the demon world. As Shen Jiu’s assassins razed down any who opposed him and his iron-fisted rule spread, it was up to Luo Binghe to stop his tyranny, ironically with the aid of his demon hordes.
What a pitch! If it wasn’t for the BL angle, Shen Yuan would have wanted to read it himself. But according to Meimei, that was only the beginning. What followed was a treachery that reset all expectations and forced the two rulers to work together to defeat a third challenger, and fall in love in the process.
“That’s ridiculous,” Shen Yuan complained, even though he hadn’t meant to get invested; some things just couldn’t be allowed to pass without comment. “How could a proper hero like Luo Binghe fall for someone as villainous as that? If it has to be a man, what’s wrong with Mobei-jun?”
He shouldn’t have asked. Meimei went on a rant about all the ways that Mobei-jun, Luo Binghe’s demonic left hand man, was a terrible fit for him, and how Shen Jiu instead deserved sympathy and absolution for his suffering. He had, after all, once been an abused slave, then a murderer’s apprentice, before reinventing himself as a rising star in the cultivation world. Even then, poor, dear Shen Jiu, having no connections or family, had had to scheme and sleep his way to the top position, using his cultivation, beauty and cunning to do away with all opposition—all so that no one could enslave or control him again.
Shen Yuan rolled his eyes. While Shen Jiu was advancing himself, Luo Binghe was striving and struggling, facing all enemies with a pure heart and a tyrannical disposition, a truly magnificent protagonist, and--
"--The only one who can save Shen Jiu from himself!"
“Will you stop talking about that stupid novel,” Shen Yuan groused. “I am NOT going to read it.”
But he still let her go on telling him about the snake demons of the south, the ancient mausoleum of the heavenly demons, and the shining vanguard of Cang Qiong’s flashing spiritual swords. It was something to listen to that wasn’t the beeping of the machine he was now permanently attached to, or the rattle of the nurses’ trolleys in the hallway.
-
Shen Yuan was not surprised to die. It had been expected. The lead-up had been overly emotional, but Shen Yuan had indulged his family in getting closure, wanting to end on a good note. There had been tears. It had almost been a relief when the darkness had started to descend, and he could let his rattling breaths slow down and stop.
It surprised him when, on the other side of the blessed darkness, he heard a woman sniffling.
Someone warm was clinging tight to his arm. They were both being rocked from side to side, as if he was riding one of those tourist trap horse carriages on a cobble-stoned street somewhere in Europe. He blinked his eyes open, and could see silk and gauze in golden tones hung up on the close walls. He was in a rolling box, dressed in layers of heavy clothing, and a young woman with jeweled ornaments in her hair was crying into his shoulder.
Now he could also see the shuttered windows of the carriage and hear the driver's whip lash, the hooves of the horses striking the road.
Holy shit. He’d transmigrated. That’s what this was. It wasn’t a dream. “Xiao-er," the girl said, shaking his arm. "Don’t zone out like that! You need to comfort me!” She was very pretty, with a round, sweet face, dressed all in pink worked through with gold. Shen Yuan noted that despite the sniffling, her eyes were dry, and furious.
Still dazed, he patted her hand. “It will be alright.”
“How?!” she wailed. “You and I were supposed to be the next generation of Huan Hua Palace's leaders! Now I'll have to marry that brute, and you’ll have to appease his unnatural desires! How could Father do this to us? Xiao-er, why aren't you angry?”
Oh for fuck’s sake.
Shen Yuan looked down at himself and saw layers of gold-hued cloth. He felt... healthier and stronger than ever before. There was a gleaming sword by his side, in a jewel-encrusted white sheath. He knew that if he had a mirror to look into, a handsome young hero would look back. He knew where he was. He knew who he was.
In Proud Immortal Demon Way, soon after Shen Jiu’s rise to power in Jinlan, the leader of the Huan Hua Palace Sect had made a bid to ally with the upstart by sending his only daughter to be his queen. After all, who could be more suitable? Huan Hua Palace was the richest of the sects, with the most land to its name. The more illustrious heroes of Cang Qiong Mountain had no system of heredity, even if they had been inclined to ally with such a notorious character. The marriage move could protect the sect and enrich the king. But of course, King Shen—or Xuejian-jun, as he styled himself—was a known cutsleeve (after all, he had seduced his way to the top of the cultivation world), so to sweeten the deal, the Old Palace Master had thrown in his top disciple, Gongyi Xiao, as a male concubine.
It hadn’t worked. Insulted by the offer, Xuejian-jun had sent the girl back—along with the head of Gongyi Xiao.
What was the point of transmigrating just to die all over again??
And of course it hadn’t worked!! What kind of an idiot sends a shou to appease a shou?? Don’t these people know what kind of a novel they’re in? You’re either the wife or the husband! No switching around!
"Xiao-er, you're zoning out again. What are you thinking about?"
"Nothing." He patted her hand again. Damn, he had no idea what Gongyi Xiao would say to her in this situation. Why didn't transmigration come with a manual??
The carriage rolled up into a busy intersection. Voices of travelers and shouts up ahead penetrated the carriage. Shen Yuan opened a window and poked his head out. There, beside the carriage, was an accompaniment of fearsome-looking guards on horseback, and there, behind them, the forests of Bailu Mountain, winter-touched and dark. Up ahead, as they crested a hill, he could see glimpses of the riverside city expanded and fortified in the recent years since Shen Jiu had overtaken the area from the monks’ oversight: Jinlan, once a lively trading center, now the capital of a new kingdom, and in the near future, of the whole of the human world.
Fine. Alright. He had to think. He was a veteran reader of isekai and xianxia, after all, and he had at least some understanding of the tropes of BL! He could do this. The original Gongyi Xiao had been heroic and loyal, perfect to be slaughtered for pity points. Shen Yuan intended to live long enough to enjoy this new world, even if it meant acting like a scumbag or a catamite for a while. He knew something no-one else knew, after all—his ass was safe. Shous are shous, gongs are gongs, that was all there was to it.
“Xiao-er, what are we going to do?” the Little Palace Mistress sobbed, shaking his arm again.
"We'll think of something." Shen Yuan remembered this character from Meimei’s rants. She liked to act the little woman around the man she was attracted to, and then turn around and whip a poor servant girl to death for looking at her funny. Even so-- What a fate! “Just follow my lead.”
By and by, they arrived in Jinlan itself. Shen Yuan kept the shutters firmly down as the carriage navigated through the city streets, shutting out the sounds of commerce and banter, as well as the occasional snatches of music floating out of the pleasure houses. Eventually they rolled up to the sound of gigantic gates opening on their hinges and the carriage drove through into the palace grounds. The Little Palace Mistress flipped the shutter on her side open and gawked, and so Shen Yuan did too.
The palace had been built in the centre of the city, leveling some existing manors to expand into a well-fortified complex surrounded by an open, easily defensible garden area with training grounds. Everything looked fresh and new, including the paint, the decorations elaborate and glamorous. The carriage rolled to a halt in front of the great staircase leading up to the palace, and the two of them disembarked.
Shen Yuan almost tipped back looking up the stairs, blinded by the sun and its reflection off the golden roof-tiles. At the top, with one hand behind his back, stood a tall, thin figure dressed in green and gold, flanked by the royal guard. The future Emperor himself.
The Little Palace Mistress had wiped her tears, such as they had been, and stood as fetching as pretty as her barely hidden fury allowed as they began their long climb up. Shen Yuan pulled himself up as tall as heroic as he could, something he had been mentally preparing for. It turned out to be an easy pose to hold once you were in a body that was accustomed to it. They both kept their eyes lowered as they bowed before the king, and Shen Yuan held out the Old Palace Master’s letter. A guard came forward and took the letter, and handed it to Shen Jiu.
There was nothing preventing Shen Jiu from kicking them both back down the stairs. Shen Yuan clung to the knowledge that that had not happened in the novel as Meimei had described it.
After a moment, there was the sound of a mocking, mirthless laugh. Shen Yuan caught the Little Palace Mistress trembling beside him. How much was her anger tangled up with fear? Then the king spoke, his voice smooth and low. “This venerable one bids the delegation enter. General Shu will take care of the Old Palace Master’s daughter. The youth should come with me.”
Shen Yuan risked a glance through his peripheral vision at the guard approaching and bowing to the Little Palace Mistress, and caught her panicked look. He would feel sorrier for her if he wasn’t the one most likely to get his head chopped off in the next few minutes, but risked an imperceptible nod of reassurance. To cover the motion, he bowed again, and then followed the king’s green robe-hems into the building.
He was led through hallways of the inner palace, and then through a hidden doorway into the king’s private chambers. The floorboards here looked brand new, too.
“Look up.”
Shen Yuan looked up at the command and met the cold gaze of a pair of dark eyes under dark brows.
Xuejian-jun was beautiful, as of course he would be, with fine sophisticated features and a cool, aloof expression under his beaded hat. You would hardly think this was a former slave, whose hands were coated with the blood of his masters and countless others. As Shen Yuan watched, Shen Jiu drew his sword, Xiu Ya. It was a magnificent jian, glowing with spiritual power, but the sight made Shen Yuan’s throat constrict in anticipation.
“This king does not tolerate spies in his court, no matter how well dressed or sweet to look upon,” Shen Jiu said coolly. “Does the old man really think he can get to me this way? Does he think this venerable one is stupid?”
“This lowly one cannot say; but it is this one’s intention to be useful to my king.”
Shen Jiu snorted. “Useful how?”
“This one was sent to join Xuejian-jun’s household. If accepted, this one would be loyal to his household and no other, and what this one does know of Huan Hua Palace’s intentions, resources and secrets will be available to him.”
“False information to mislead us!”
Shen Yuan shook his head. “This one’s honor and duty would be clear. My king can test all I tell him as it pleases him. Only allow this one to be of service.”
“Fine. Serve me, then. Kill the Little Palace Mistress and pack her head to be sent back to her father.”
Shen Yuan shifted on his feet. That sword looked very sharp.
“I see.” Shen Jiu’s tone was mocking. “You speak fine words, but you won’t even do this small thing for me?”
“It would be unwise for my king to follow this course of action.”
“Would it? Explain.”
This was the speech Shen Yuan had rehearsed in the carriage. He had exactly one go at saving his neck. “My king is right to suspect treachery. Huan Hua Palace ostensibly seeks to forge an alliance, but would expect to use their influence to take over the Jinlan region. If openly rejected, they will seek to ally with Luo Binghe instead.”
“They would ally with demons?”
“They— The Old Palace Master believes Luo Binghe’s cultivation sect would also ally with their old disciple, and the three of them could form a front strong enough to turn the tide. This one would advise the king to wait, and appear to accept the offer, using the time to create a plan to counter that eventuality.”
Shen Jiu gave him a piercing look, and Shen Yuan resisted the temptation to drop into another bow. Gongyi Xiao wouldn’t shiver or scrape. Of course, Gongyi Xiao also would never betray his old master like this.
Whatever! He was a scumbag now! It would probably add an interesting touch to the original. Never trust a glittering young hero, and all that.
A ghost of an ironic smile on his lips, Shen Jiu raised his sword—and sheathed it. “Let’s get you two settled in, then.”
And that was how Shen Yuan, Zhongdian YY expert reader, ended up a political strategist to a wicked cultivator king, though the world would only ever know him as a submissive boytoy and/or a traitor to his sect. Press F. Light a candle for his face. Funeral at 5.
-
The palace had many rooms and many barred doorways. Shen Jiu had built it, and he had meant for it to be confusing. Shen Yuan was given fine rooms, a personal servant, and free reign to roam in certain parts of the palace, but this did little good, since wandering too far meant getting turned around and ending up back where he started.
One part that was definitely barred to him, despite his apparent role as a concubine, was the seraglio. It was officially empty, but Shen Yuan soon found out that it was a hub of ladies of varying ages and, he eventually learned, shredded reputations. The Little Palace Mistress was sent to live among them, but it took only two days before the ladies ejected her, and she had to take up quarters in the same closed courtyard that Shen Yuan, as Gongyi Xiao, had been appointed.
Which meant Shen Yuan had to sweat bullets trying to figure out how Gongyi Xiao, her childhood friend and intended future husband, would act around her. At least they had a damn good reason not to fool around.
As the days piled on, he tried to throw himself into anything that would keep him too busy for social relations. There was no shortage. He had his daily meetings with the king, who grilled him for information about Huan Hua Palace. The sessions were gruelling, and their tea grew cold on the table between them. Shen Yuan told him everything he knew, as precisely as he could, knowing that the moment he was sent away, Shen Jiu would send for his spymasters out to verify what he had been told.
Shen Jiu poked and prodded at every detail, carefully examining his stories for holes, which was enough to make Shen Yuan want to cry tears of despair. What he said didn’t only need to be true but also logical, which wasn’t always the case. There had been just too much he didn’t know about the story—that Meimei even didn’t know—and that Shen Yuan suspected the author, Great Master Airplane in the Sky, also didn’t know.
It should have been Meimei here with her encyclopedic knowledge of Proud Immortal Demon Way and her fully considered take on Xuejian-jun’s psychology. Instead it was Shen Yuan, wracking his brain for any detail he could remember and trying to apply what he knew of the genre’s conventions, while also figuring out how to behave, how to eat, to practice martial arts—even how to write! It was a long time since he had to draw perfect characters with an ink brush, okay?!
And through it all, Shen Jiu remained unreadable—aloof, to the point, simmering with sinister intent. Anybody would wilt under that snake-like stare! Maybe there would have been a fanfic somewhere where Shen Jiu and Luo Binghe’s roles were reversed and Shen Jiu was some kind of a snake demon-heavenly demon hybrid; it would certainly suit him!
Shen Yuan took a moment to imagine what the king might look like as a snake-demon. Pretty badass, probably.
He could only avoid the Little Palace Mistress so long, however.
“You’ve been so distant recently,” she said, warming her hands by pressing them together, her lips forming a pretty pout. It was the deep of winter, and the palace was punishingly cold. “Is he— Are you— Is he very terrible to you?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Shen Yuan deadpanned. The previous evening, Shen Jiu had kept him up past midnight asking increasingly pointless questions about the Bailu Forest defenses. Shen Yuan had already told him everything he could remember. But on the way back, tired and not a little angry, he had run into the Little Palace Mistress and she’d jumped into a number of conclusions. This morning, she had showed up right after breakfast in Shen Yuan’s assigned quarters, flaunting all rules of propriety as if she was already the mistress of Jinlan Palace.
“We’re not married yet! You’re not officially part of the harem! So he shouldn’t be—taking liberties with you!”
“Young mistress is very kind to be concerned.” Shen Yuan said. “But for that reason, and many others, you and I really should not be meeting like this. Now if you’ll excuse me, I should attend to my training.” He stood, bowed, and left her to go swing his sword around the training ground.
What a pity that such a pretty girl was doomed by the narrative and her own psychology to be so deeply unlikeable! But Shen Yuan had his own worries, and the fact was that the Little Palace Mistress was wearing his already fragile nerves down. Maybe she was the reason the original Gongyi Xiao had spent so much time on the training grounds, too, growing all those muscles.
This was definitely one of the upsides of his new situation—Gongyi Xiao’s cultivation had been nothing to sneer at! Shen Yuan may be playing the role of a would-be boytoy, but he was fast, strong, and spiritually gifted to the point that he could lash straight through five training dummies with a single slash of his sword’s glare. It was awesome! Awesome and pointless but— Well, you never knew. Shen Yuan took some definite pleasure in shredding the practice ground with the cool moves his body clearly remembered on its own while the feathery snow fell aesthetically across the training ground, piling up on the upturned corners of the roofs.
After a moment, his senses told him he was being watched. He slashed and somersaulted to finish the series of movements, then ruffled his ponytail to get the snow out, and turned. “Mistress, don’t you think you should be spending time on—”
But it wasn’t the Little Palace Mistress. Shen Jiu, Xuejian-jun, was gazing at him coolly from the side of the training ground.
Had he done something wrong? No, of course that wasn’t it—Shen Jiu was jealous and ambitious like a palace woman in a court drama. He probably hated to see him excel and wanted to prove himself better. Well, Shen Yuan wasn’t too proud to throw the fight, if that was what the king was after. He sheathed his sword, put his hands together and bowed. “My king.”
Shen Jiu’s robe-hems whispered across the snow, stiffening with ice as he crossed over to when Shen Yuan stood. His hand was on the hilt of Xiu Ya, but he did not draw it, or ask Shen Yuan to take a fighting stance. Instead, he said, “I think it’s time to give you a new name. What would you pick?”
“Peerl—” He caught himself at the last moment. “Shen Yuan.”
Shen Jiu turned to him, raising his brows. “Presumptious.”
Shen Yuan dropped his eyes but said stubbornly, “My lord should not ask if he does not wish to hear an answer.”
Shen Jiu let out a breath of air, something akin to a laugh. “Very well. Kneel.”
They were of a height; Shen Yuan could look directly into those cool eyes. They flashed with impatience, and Shen Jiu pressed down with his hand. Shen Yuan dropped down to his knees. A light touch on his chin brought his face up, and now he was gazing up at the king.
He shifted uncomfortably on his knees, and not just because the snow was soaking through his trousers and chilling him. Somehow this position was a little… You know!! He hadn’t forgotten this novel was a BL. His cheeks were already pink with exercise and the biting weather, and he felt even more uncomfortable thinking of how the king might read his face.
Shen Jiu smiled, a sharp, satisfied smile, and brushed a thumb across Shen Yuan’s jawline. “Shen Yuan. No matter how strong you are, all your strength is for me to use. Say it.”
“It is as you say. This one's strength belongs to Xuejian-jun.” Then, thinking he should make the moment count, he unbuckled his sheathed sword from his side and held it out to Shen Jiu. “My spiritual weapon, Lieren, is yours to command.”
Sounded good, right? It’s the sort of thing a character like this would say.
Shen Jiu placed his hand on the sheath, ran long elegant fingers up along to its hilt, and grasped it. A sensation went through them both then—from the king to the sword to the kneeling servant, binding all three together. The men looked at each other, surprised.
Shen Yuan had no notes about this! What was this, a binding oath? A spell of some kind? Shen Yuan’s already ruddy face turned red as a beet. Whatever this stupid BL plot device was, it was—affecting him. There was a flutter in his center and an odd shiver passing through him, and with the snow floating in the air still—it was—disgraceful, cheap, tropey, oversold…!
He lowered his gaze, unable to keep a straight face any longer, and Shen Jiu suddenly snatched his hand back as if burned.
“Good,” said the king icily, turned and marched away.
Shen Yuan got up, and after a few dumb-founded moments, swished Lieren back and forth a couple of times just to make sure he hadn’t accidentally gifted it to Shen Jiu. To his relief, the sword still responded to his spirit the same way.
Okay! So he would probably die fighting for Shen Jiu, bound to him forever by this vow! Pity points like bullets raining down the comment section! Fine. He’d already won himself weeks more of life, when otherwise he would have been rotting in pieces. He was going to count that as a win, and not think too closely about how near to his lips Shen Jiu’s thumb had come, because down that path lay madness.
He was still straight! Don’t forget that! How many other men would be able to make it for so long in a BL novel without succumbing to homosexual thoughts? Hah, he’d like to see them try.
-
Finally, after a week, Xuejian-jun sent out a word to invite his prospective father-in-law, the Old Palace Master, to meet him on neutral grounds in the Borderlands that marked the boundary between the human world and the demon world.
He also sent word to Luo Binghe, the ambivalent figure straddling the illustrious Cang Qiong Mountain and the bloodline of demonic emperors, and Mobei-jun, the lord of a northern kingdom deep beyond the borders, in the wild wastes of the demon world.
The preparations would take nearly a month—they needed cooks, dancers, temporary banquet grounds, perhaps a setup for an archery competition. The entertainment alone should be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
It was also bringing a fated scene forward by several chapters, and on Shen Jiu’s own terms. Shen Yuan would have been more nervous, and a little excited—actual demons! The magnificent male lead!—if he wasn’t also busy with another project: martial training. Some of the martial guards of Shen Jiu’s household had approached him to help them train. Gongyi Xiao had been young, but he had cultivated for longer than some of the older guards, while the older guards still had plenty to teach Shen Yuan about protocol and military strategy. And so they worked and studied together, until the calm of meditation or the heat of exercise did away even with the cold.
In his first life, exercise had not been Shen Yuan’s thing. If it wasn’t a game, he wasn’t interested. This was different. His body enjoyed moving. It was more—alive, connected, hungry for action. Besides, the only game anyone ever played around here was weiqi.
Clashing swords with cultivators was more like it!
On occasion, the king would come and watch. And, as eventual as the sunrise, one day he sent all others away and demanded a match.
Nothing had changed. Shen Yuan was just as willing to throw the fight to save Xuajian-jun's face, but since Shen Jiu was a main character, he should be able to win easily anyway. Instead, they struck and came apart, one elegant motion after another, evenly matched. Shen Jiu’s cool expression became sharp and focused and a touch of colour rose on his cheeks, making him even more distractingly beautiful.
Perhaps that was why Shen Yuan faltered, and one sword strike went far closer than intended, shredding through Shen Jiu’s sleeve. The king looked up, startled, scowled, and doubled his attack.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t hold back!” Shen Jiu shouted. “Fight me!”
And so Shen Yuan did, no longer pulling his strikes. He still ended up on his back on the frozen and snow-dusted courtyard, Xiu Ya pressed against his chest.
He nodded to indicate surrender. The blade moved aside and the king offered him a hand up.
Shen Yuan put his hands together and bowed. The king nodded in acknowledgment.
The moment between them stretched. Shen Yuan wondered if Shen Jiu meant to grill him once again about the politics between Huan Hua Palace and the Northern Kingdom; that had described the majority of their interactions up to this point, after all. Instead, the king smiled.
“This venerable one suspected Lieren would not win against Xiu Ya, and he was right. It seems the oath was binding.” There was satisfaction in his voice. “Shen Yuan really is mine, having freely given himself. Does he not worry that he picked the wrong side?”
Did he ever. “This one strives to do what is honourable and right,” Shen Yuan said, not thinking much about his words. He was busy once again trawling his brain for any information about binding oaths of allegiances in Proud Immortal Demon Way.
“Drop the humble act,” Shen Jiu snarled in a sudden change of mood. “I know your kind. Talented young masters like you have every opportunity in the world handed to you from birth. Why would you put your head under my heel if not to bite my shin the moment it becomes advantageous to you? I know.”
Shen Yuan felt like he had been slapped.
Shen Jiu advanced on him. “What did you think? That I’d take you straight into my bed and let you pull my strings, like I am some brainless lovesick slattern? You shouldn’t believe everything they say. I’ve lain with men, true. That doesn’t mean I have any desire to have one lay hands on me again.” He advanced another step and hissed right into Shen Yuan’s face: “You do what I tell you to do, because if you don’t, I will have you whipped and beaten, and then I will take your head. That is what this is.”
Of course. Shen Yuan had been swept away with the tropes of falling snow and binding oaths and had forgotten. He put his hands together and bowed. "I thank Xuejian-jun for the reminder."
It wasn’t until later he remembered the part of the story where Shen Jiu had been the personal pet and punching bag of a young master, and put the two together. He felt bad then, but it was too late to say anything. There wasn’t anything to say, anyway. According to the storyline, the only person the king could ever come to trust would be Luo Binghe, who had protected him through the vicissitudes of the Endless Abyss. He certainly wouldn’t trust the spitting image of his past abuser, who, as Shen Yuan recalled, he had eventually skewered and burned.
He lay awake that night, tortured with too much feeling, alternating between annoyance, trepidation, and an odd sort of pity.
-
The day of the conference dawned at last, muggy and windy as it often was at the Borderlands where the roiling energy of the demon world darkened the skies and made the plants of the human world wither. The shining banners of the cultivation sects approached, flying at the head of their leaders’ processions, white and gold against the grey. From the other direction rode the black, red and silver banner of Luo Binghe, and the blue and white of the Northern Kingdom. They met in the middle of the conference grounds, in a field surrounded by tall viewing platforms around an arena set for martial displays, and a banquet tent on a platform on the side.
Shen Yuan's eyes roamed around with a genre-lover’s glee only when no-one was looking in his direction. Otherwise he maintained a suitably calm expression, even when the lords dismounted and met to bow to one another, and he got his first look at the demon lords. Luo Binghe almost blew him away with his beauty and badass aura, his silky hair and tall heroic stature, a true protagonist's looks! Beside him, Mobei-jun was alien and impressive with his long fur-lined cloak and arrogant expression. Their retinue looked less human-like, consisting of creatures half-way into snakes or foxes, or something else entirely, reptilian or otherworldly; some moved like slime, others like mist.
So maybe he did stare a little.
Luo Binghe gave earnest and polite looks to his host Xuejian-jun, a soft smile on his lips, the perfect accomplished gentleman, if you discounted the company he kept or the red demon mark on his forehead. Shen Yuan felt his heart sink a little. He wanted to avert the Abyss storyline to protect his king, but there was no doubt that even then he—Shen Yuan—could never compete with…
He shook his head fiercely. What was he thinking? It wasn’t a competition!
He watched Xuejian-jun, a creature of pure elegance, as he went forward to greet the lords. Shen Yuan and the Little Palace Mistress stood side by side with the king’s retinue. The girl kept turning anxiously towards the Huan Hua Palace delegation. She looked like she was about to run to daddy at any time.
Shen Yuan felt a touch of regret. She had been furious with her father, but she'd found no-one at Shen Jiu's palace who would listen to her or take her side, and he hadn't been there for her either. It struck him all of a sudden that she must have been frightened and desperately lonely, enough so to want to go back to the old bastard who had sold her for political gain. Moved by compassion, he put his hand soothingly on her arm. She whipped back around and studied him, then put her hand over his and squeezed it, and so they stood, each pitying the other.
Shen Yuan felt more than saw Shen Jiu’s eyes shift towards him, and the ice of his regard as he noted the little interaction. He drew his hand back.
As the lords took their places inside the pavilion, the servants who had been hard at work putting all this together hurried up with dishes and drinks, and kept busy stoking the grates of fires that kept the temperature inside pleasant.
Shen Jiu gestured to Shen Yuan to approach. “Shen Yuan will stay by this lord and serve him personally,” he told him, “and don’t make any faces.”
What faces? Shen Yuan braced himself for whatever was to come.
Shen Jiu took his place among the first tables as dancers poured out and set up in lines, their graceful, fairy-like movements accompanied by percussive music. Shen Yuan went to stand behind him, looking around for the Huan Hua contingent. The Old Palace Master was not difficult to miss; in the company of eternally youthful cultivators, he was the only advanced individual who yet had a long white beard and a wizened look. His beady eyes looked in Shen Yuan’s direction.
Shen Yuan kept his expression carefully neutral. He did not really know what the relationship between these two characters had been like, other than that the old man had raised Gongyi Xiao to the position of top disciple, and then turned around and sold him. Maybe Gongyi Xiao had done something to upset him; either way, that memory was now as gone as the hero himself.
He felt Shen Jiu tug at his robes to pull him down. “Sit, you idiot.” Shen Yuan dropped down to sit next to him. The king gave him a sideways smile and put his hand on his thigh. “Better. Now… feed me.”
Oh.
Shen Yuan glanced to the lower end of the pavilion, where the Little Palace Mistress had been seated with a few of the palace ladies. If he was making a face, she must have been making half a dozen.
Shen Yuan swallowed, braced himself, selected a bowl and fed Shen Jiu from it, trying not to stare at his lips closing on the spoon, or his tongue licking up a stray drop of soup. Their eyes met, Shen Jiu’s eyelids low and his gaze sultry, and Shen Yuan must have been eating some BL poison again because he could feel that look right down to the bottom of his belly.
It had the intended effect, in any case. There was a scoff from somewhere beside them. Shen Yuan risked a glance around the room. The Old Palace Master had turned purplish, Luo Binghe looked curious, and the sect leader of Cang Qiong Mountain seemed to want to look anywhere but at them.
The feasting began in earnest after the dancers retreated, and there were some rehearsed and halting speeches about amity between the sects. Luo Binghe did not bother to talk much, only raising his bowl of wine to join in on the salutes. The real talking would happen behind the scenes.
After the meal, which seemed to drag on forever with new entertainments and more music between the courses, most guests moved towards the platforms, while young heroes gathered to volunteer for the archery competition. Shen Yuan shadowed Shen Jiu as he went this way and that, smiling his cold smile and greeting noted personalities. Shen Yuan was not sure how it was managed, but in time he found himself behind curtains in a private area, alone with Shen Jiu, Luo Binghe, Mobei-jun, the Cang Qiong Mountain sect's Yue Qingyuan, and a heroic figure emanating spiritual power who was introduced as Liu Qingge. The leaders were meeting without Huan Hua Palace, with only their personal bodyguards beside them.
This was it!
In the original storyline, this conference had happened months later, when certain things were already in motion that should now be only possibilities. That was, if the Old Palace Master had really believed Shen Jiu had been taken in by his offer, and had held off acting. Now there was an opportunity to nip his plot in the bud.
Luo Binghe spoke first, softly. God, he was beautiful. “This lord wonders what Xuejian-jun would wish to discuss that requires only the three of us present. Why invite Huan Hua Palace if they are to be excluded?”
“Because they are the subject under discussion, of course.” Shen Jiu sounded bored, but there were nods all around. The question had been practically rhetorical.
“My spies have informed me of a plot against all of us. As you know, Jinlan has no quarrel with the demon world, nor with Cang Qiong Mountain.” Yue Qingyuan shifted uncomfortably. “Huan Hua Palace has offered friendship with one hand and readied a weapon in the other. My lords are familiar with the demon who calls himself Linguang-jun.” His eyes shifted smoothly towards Mobei-jun.
Linguang-jun was the brother of Mobei-jun’s father, the previous king of the Northern Kingdom. In the novel, he had coordinated with Huan Hua Palace to open a portal into the Abyss and pull Luo Binghe and Shen Jiu through, while Huan Hua Palace cultivators passed through a different portal into the demon world and assassinated Mobei-jun at a vulnerable moment when he was consuming his father’s spiritual body. (Ah, Shen Yuan would have loved this novel. Why hadn’t he read it, again?) Next came the takeover of Jinlan; then, domination of Tian Yi Overlook. By the time Cang Qiong Mountain could turn around, the Old Palace Master would have strengthened his position beyond any challenge.
Shen Jiu explained the plot to the gathered lords, his hand occasionally caressing Shen Yuan’s arm possessively.
“It is a bold claim,” Luo Binghe said calmly. Beside him, Mobei-jun had turned twice as icy, which really should not have been possible.
“Where’s the proof?” said the gruff but gorgeous Liu Qingge, whose beauty proved beyond any existing doubt that this was a romance. There wasn’t an ugly person in sight. Ridiculous. Shen Jiu’s hand on Shen Yuan’s arm tightened to a grip when he caught him looking for too long, so he turned his eyes away obediently.
Fair! You wouldn’t want your concubine looking at other men. Even if it was all an act, it would be shredding the king’s face.
“Easily discovered, if true,” Shen Jiu replied to Liu Qingge, then turned to the demons. “Arrest Linguang-jun, examine his connections. If I am wrong, at most he will suffer embarrassment. If the plot turns out to be true, Jinlan offers an alliance against the dog that tried to bite us all.”
“So you can take over their territory,” Liu Qingge accused.
Shen Jiu smiled. “This lord would never do such a thing without Sect Leader Yue’s approval.”
Yue Qingyuan looked broken. He moved his mouth, but made no sound.
“Then this lord considers himself forewarned.” Luo Binghe made a bow and Shen Jiu returned it. Shen Yuan couldn’t help but glance between them, examining the pair for some spark, some romantic lingering gaze. Of course, they had not had their experience together in the Abyss. It might still come. It was predestined. Wasn’t it? He felt a funny ache at the bottom of his belly at the thought. “But perhaps we ought to return to the entertainments.”
They each filed out through different entrances and folded back into the crowd. “Keep watch,” Shen Jiu told Shen Yuan, and broke off to join Yue Qingyuan by the edge of the viewing platform. The two fell into conversation, and Shen Yuan looked around.
The Little Palace Mistress was still surrounded by the palace ladies, but was clearly losing her patience, stamping her foot and gesturing at her father. Shen Yuan sighed, squared his jaw, and marched over.
She seemed only to grow more belligerent at his approach. “Why won’t they let me talk to my father? Xiao-er, help me. Persuade the king. Father will put things right once he sees he made a mistake.”
Shen Yuan put his hands up. “Mistress…” But as soon as she saw he was not going to help, her expression grew furious and she shoved a lady out of the way.
The Little Palace Mistress’s cultivation was not great, and Shen Jiu had taken her fearsome iron whip away, but she was still a match to untrained aging courtesans, and so she bolted forward towards her father, who opened his arms to accept her embrace. All eyes turned in their direction.
Shen Yuan followed, uncomfortable.
“Father, he’s horrible,” she was saying into the old man’s beard. “Why did you give me to him when he won’t even look at me? It’s so humiliating!”
The Old Palace Master had been carrying himself with sour dignity, but now Shen Yuan felt a cold dread as his black spiritual power surged and his eyes looked straight through Shen Yuan before shifting to where the leaders of Jinlan and Cang Qiong Mountain still stood together, looking down at the grounds where the archers had begun to show off their skills with trickshots at the straw targets. “You mean, you are not properly engaged?” the old man asked
“Engaged!” she piped up. “He has sequestered me and made me entertain his whores!”
Shen Yuan felt his sympathy for the Little Palace Mistress take a dip. The ladies, retired courtesans and Shen Jiu's old friends, were a provocation, as were many other things that Shen Jiu did, but in his own palace they were honoured as high as imperial officials. No one insulted the palace ladies. He could see some of them draw themselves up haughtily as the Little Palace Mistress’s words carried.
The Old Palace Master picked up his chin and walked up to Shen Jiu, who raised his fan like a shield, but behind it, Shen Yuan could tell he was smiling. He sidled closer, and at Shen Jiu’s gesture came to stand behind his back.
“It is highly unusual to entertain a sect leader’s daughter in this way,” the Old Palace Master was saying. “If it came to be known she is not to be properly married…”
Shen Jiu snorted. “Old Palace Master should not worry. Surely no one thinks this king has lain a finger on her. She may return to Huan Hua Palace if she wishes. I will keep the one I prefer.”
Shen Yuan withstood the Old Palace Master’s dark gaze, though it emptied his mind of any thoughts. Then the old man turned without bowing and stalked off.
Yue Qingyuan said, “Xiao— Xuejian-jun, are you sure about this?”
“The angrier he is, the more likely he is to act rashly and reveal himself,” Shen Jiu told him coolly. “So long as we keep vigilant.”
“I—Cang Qiong Mountain won’t let you down again,” said Yue Qingyuan. Shen Yuan’s ears pricked. This sounded like some undiscovered backstory.
Shen Jiu snorted, looked over at the Old Palace Master, and pulled Shen Yuan up to nuzzle his neck. Yue Qingyuan’s eyes flew to the tent ceiling, and across the room the Little Palace Mistress made an affronted noise.
Shen Yuan’s face was in pieces, but he had to admit—this provocation seemed to be working. He turned his head, and for a moment his breath mingled with the king’s. Their eyes met—and then Shen Jiu moved away, his fan waving languorously despite the cool weather, leaving Shen Yuan drunk on the memory of his nearness.
The conference concluded that evening with more platitudes and pledges of friendship, and a rather stunning fireworks display. The Little Palace Mistress joined her father's people and was immediately spirited away out of sight, without so much as a last look at her once-fiance. Then everyone packed back into their carriages and rode off, leaving the pavilion, grounds, and viewing platforms to be deconstructed by the same faceless people who had put them up in the first place.
It was past sunset, and the stormy skies crackled above as Shen Jiu’s carriage rolled along the road back to Jinlan. Inside, a lantern swung from side to side, making the shadows dance in a disorienting way. “The look on the old man’s face,” Shen Jiu said with satisfaction, playing with his fan. “Shen Yuan did well. Some faces were made, but this lord is satisfied.”
“Then this servant is glad,” said Shen Yuan. “My lord is certainly… convincing.” If he sounded bitter, why shouldn’t he? He had just gone through the ordeal of being petted and flirted with in public, all the while knowing that he wasn’t anything more to the king than a war machine with a sword attached. His heart felt sour, and he felt very alone in the world.
“Practice,” Shen Jiu said coldly. “I told you, I have no interest in taking a lover.”
Well, that’s a lie. What about Luo Binghe?
Shen Jiu’s stone-hard stare startled Shen Yuan back into the moment. Had he said that out loud?
“What about Luo Binghe?”
Shen Yuan had to say something that wasn't 'my sister read a book that says you are fated soulmates', so he said, "I watched you two together. He's gorgeous, why wouldn't Xuejian-jun be interested?"
"Watched us!" Shen Jiu's voice rose. "You were the one gawking at Luo Binghe, and that Liu Qingge, and cozying up to that little virago! I had to steer you around like a puppet to keep you from humiliating both of us! If you're really that--"
It was then that the carriage jolted, slowed, and came to a rollicking halt. Shen Jiu reached his hands out to either side of the carriage to steady himself; Shen Yuan braced his feet against the floor. Then came the shouts and the sound of clashing swords.
Their eyes met under the wildly swinging lantern light. An ambush!
Shen Yuan’s brain kicked into gear, running scenarios from historical dramas and videogames. “Get low,” he said, and kicked the carriage door on his side open, Lieren’s hilt already under his palm.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” said Shen Jiu, as he shoved open the door on the other side, leaving the carriage with Xiu Ya’s blade already flashing a sword glare ahead of him.
Outside, a light, icy rain was dotting the air, and an unnatural mist hung at waist height around the road, snaking through the trees and undergrowth of the surrounding forest. The trees were sparse and suffering, this close to the Borderlands. Shen Jiu’s mounted guards were being beset by black-clad cultivators.
As Shen Yuan watched, one of the attackers swung himself on the horse beside a guard and ripped his chest open. Blood splurted out, and in the meagre light Shen Yuan could see a nasty, multi-bladed weapon in the attacker’s hand.
His body moves on its own, acting on muscle memory. One attacker dodged his first two sword glares, but ended up skewered on the sword of another guard. Then, they were really in it.
The attackers fought with precision and strategy, and had superior numbers. Time expanded into a haze of parries, trusts, and lightning motions, the cries of the dying filling the night. And in the moonlight, as Shen Yuan sliced through the robes of one of the attackers, he saw the glint of gold underneath.
The Old Palace Master had not wasted any time!
In the end, there were no attackers left standing. No guards, either. Shen Yuan had never killed before. He looked down at one of the cooling corpses at his feet, the sliver of his neck and shoulder showing underneath the hood, and felt sick. It wasn’t like a videogame at all.
He felt a sharp-fingered grip on his shoulder. “Retreat, retreat,” Shen Jiu rasped into his ear. “We are running, right now, before any more of them show up. Help me.” There was a trickle of black blood at the corner of the king’s mouth, and he was holding his stomach, nearly bent over. “I can’t—run. You’ll have to—”
Shen Yuan didn’t need to be told twice. He hoisted Shen Jiu up on his back. The king’s thin arms wrapped around him like a vice, and he held on to his thighs so he wouldn’t have to use his own strength to stay upright. Then he ran.
“Off the road,” Shen Jiu croaked. “I know this country. Turn left, left.”
Left they went, in the near-total darkness. Some way into the sparse forest, the ground sloped down towards a shallow valley where the trees grew thicker and more abundant. “River,” Shen Jiu directed, and Shen Yuan could hear it, a bubbling of water not far ahead. Crashing through a series of bushes, nearly slipping on rolling rocks of an older shoreline, he broke through to a wide, dry riverside.
He settled the king down on a patch of dry grass. Morning was getting closer and the sky was lightening, and in the half-light he could see the dark stain spreading all over the front of Shen Jiu’s dark green robes.
“May I?”
“Yes,” the king shot out impatiently.
Shen Yuan pulled the robes aside to reveal a golden weapon still lodged in the king’s stomach. He tried to pull at it experimentally, and Shen Jiu hissed in pain. He let go. “Fuck, what do I do?”
“Language,” Shen Jiu said, a faint smile on his pale lips. “Shouldn’t you know this weapon? Or did you never have to pull one out again after lodging it in someone?” His long fingers went to the weapon and pressed the sides just so, and it slid out of his stomach. It was a nasty five-bladed golden lotus—a specialty weapon of Huan Hua Palace. If there had been any doubt as to who had attacked them, that settled it. Its extraction was followedby another spurt of blood.
“There’s the proof.” Shen Jiu gasped, took Shen Yuan’s wrist and forced his hand against his stomach. “Now help, damn you. Please.”
Shen Yuan’s body knew what to do. Even his sword began to glow in its sheath as the spiritual power surged through him and poured into Shen Jiu’s wound.
The sun came up as they sat like this, healer and patient working together. The spring bubbled and sparkled, and now in this focused state, Shen Yuan could see why they had come here: the water carried a luminescent strain of spiritual energy. Up the rising mountainside, there must have been a sacred spring, a natural source of powerful qi.
Shen Jiu’s wound stopped bleeding, and his flesh knitted together inside his body, and the pain must have receded, because he let out a long sigh and fell quietly back against a tree-trunk, relaxing. Even so, Shen Yuan could tell this was not enough. The king needed rest, and a longer treatment. Reluctantly, he let their connection fade away as Shen Jiu fell into something like sleep, and looked around for shelter.
He did what he could, working on what he remembered from summer camps he’d never wanted to go on, to clear an area under the cover of the trees for them to rest where the icy rain would not find them. He washed their robes and Shen Jiu’s wound, eliciting a murmur of complaint at the touch of cold water. He cleared the area where the flow of qi was strongest, and with some difficulty managed to build a small campfire. It was just beginning to crackle in a satisfying way when Shen Jiu, stirring, said, “They will see the smoke. You have to bury the fire in a hole.”
“A hole?”
“Dig a tunnel with two exits. Build the fire on one end and cover it. Smoke comes out the other end, into the thicket. Less smoke, no light.”
“There’s no time for that.”
“Then extinguish it.”
“...You need to keep warm.”
“You’ll get us both killed!” Shen Jiu snapped. “You could at least leave me here and save yourself! Why don’t you? Are you afraid I’ll survive and come back for revenge? I won’t! You might as well run! Back to Huan Hua Palace, or over to Cang Qiong, I’m sure they’d love to have you! The Old Palace Master would thank you for handing him Jinlan.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“Everyone does it in the end.” Shen Jiu choked, but his expression only grew more furious.
Shen Yuan’s heart moved with a landslide of all the pity he had been holding back. “My lord,” he said softly. “Lie down on your side. Face the fire.” He lay down Shen Jiu’s tattered outer robe over the ground and maneuvered the weak king on to it. He draped himself across his back, spooning him, his own outer cloak over them both, and lay his hand over Shen Jiu’s wound.
Shen Jiu was, at last, wordless. Good. Shen Yuan closed his eyes and settled in, the connection between them staying open, golden and warm.
Shen Jiu stayed stiff for a long time, but exhaustion and pain caught up with him at last, and he fell into sleep, his breath deep and steady.
No one came to spear them to death where they lay. The sun moved across the sky, shifting the shadows of leaves around them. Spring was still early, but the fire and the warmth of their bodies sustained them. Shen Yuan drifted in and out of sleep, the connection taking care of the healing for him.
It was afternoon already when Shen Jiu pushed Shen Yuan’s hand aside and sat up, turning around to look down at him. The severance of the connection woke Shen Yuan up from a light doze, and he smiled up at the king in satisfaction. He didn’t have to ask to know that Shen Jiu was now out of danger.
He also knew he really had succumbed to the poison this time, because he wanted to pull Shen Jiu down and kiss him until he melted into some softer shape. It was strange and exhilarating and—it made him feel free and safe at the same time. He reached a hand up just as Shen Jiu reached for him. They grasped each other’s hands, Shen Jiu pulled Shen Yuan up, and their mouths clashed together. It was a kiss that felt like it been waiting to happen since the birth of the universe.
Shen Jiu knew what he was doing, which was fine, since Shen Yuan barely did. Besides, a smile kept trying to break through to his lips, which made it all rather more difficult.
“You’re mine,” Shen Jiu hissed when they came apart. Head swimming, Shen Yuan nodded. “Mine, nobody else’s, do you understand?”
“I understand. Yes.”
Shen Jiu pushed Shen Yuan down onto his spread-out robe and straddled his hips, swooping down for another kiss. Shen Yuan was happy to be caught in the vice of Shen Jiu’s legs and far too distracted to think about anything else, until a thought forced its way to the forefront of his mind:
He was gong!
Him!
He wanted to laugh and smack his forehead. Of course. The rules were immutable. And in this topsy-turvy world where the demon king was the hero and the human king was an underhanded villain, of course the shou would be the dominant partner.
Shen Jiu sat up. “You’re making a face,” he accused.
“My apologies," said Shen Yuan, suppressing a mad giggle.
“If you don’t want this, then say so.”
“That isn’t it…”
“Shen Yuan, say you want this or I will get off you right now,” Shen Jiu threatened.
“I… Yes. Yes. I want this. I don't know what I'm doing, but I want to find out.” He had wanted this—something like this—for a long time. Realizing that made him choke with an unnameable emotion, as if he had been holding his breath all his life.
Shen Jiu snorted. Shen Yuan held his arms up to him, and the king descended into them, melting under the warming sun.