Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Dumbfuck author, dumbfuck novel!”

With his dying breath, Shen Yuan spits out that final curse. Life, a merciless bitch as it has always been, spits back in his face.

Shen Yuan awakens. After the blackness flooding his consciousness and the pain of his death, it's actually a surprise not to feel any more pain. Oh, he can feel pain, of course; there's a sensation spreading through his muscles, a weariness perhaps too dense, the bitter feeling of stiffness in a body that has been asleep for a long time, the same kind of sensation that, if it weren't for the canopy over the bed, the antique furniture, and the robes covering his pale skin, would make him think that, in fact, he's only had a very bad nightmare. And what a bad one it was! A horrible ending, an ending so horrible that it’s caused his death!

But it's not a nightmare, nor was it ever. Shen Yuan stretches out in bed, the throbbing against his veins more painful than a simple cramp, the heavy weariness weighing on his chest. With one hand on his chest, he takes a deep breath, trying to control the pain: back, ribs, lungs. It's not unlike a bad day, and it could be worse.

The first familiar thing in the room is a letter. It lies unsealed and, written in his own handwriting, Shen Yuan rolls his eyes as he feels, stupidly enough, like Alice in Wonderland when he reads on the envelope: “Read me.”

Well, it's a letter, what else is he going to do?

"Congratulations, you've transmigrated. You're in PIDW. You're Shen Qingqiu. Yes, the System usually handles this information, but why not hear it from a friendlier source! You're not cursed, and you haven't lost your memory due to any kind of curse, poison, or anything that can be undone. I know you, I know myself. Welcome to your new life.

You can't let anyone find out. Your notebook is in the second drawer of the desk. In the first drawer is your daily reminders. In the false bottom are all the drawings and notes of things that are no longer relevant to this point in the plot, so you don't get too confused.

We're just a few months away from the Immortal Alliance Conference. You have approximately 7,600 B-points. Farm points like your life depends on it, because that's literally what it is!!

Idk, good luck. You're going to need it. Save this letter for tomorrow unless there's a major update.

-Peerless Cucumber."

Shen Qingqiu finishes reading with a premonition of the first headache he'll have that day. The scum villain, of all possible transmigration scenarios! And so close to the Conference, damn it! It's not difficult for him to locate the drawer or find the books. In fact, when Luo Binghe appears with breakfast a moment later, Shen Qingqiu feels mentally prepared to face anything.

"Shizun," Luo Binghe says, his hands full of a laden breakfast tray, and Shen Qingqiu nearly gasps. Of course, he hadn't exaggerated in any of his notes about that boy! Dressed in his immaculate white uniform, his hair in a high ponytail, and with the rounded, soft face of a teen who hadn't quite finished growing, he truly was a tender white lotus! Shen Qingqiu feels his chest blossom, a warmth spreading through his chest, arms, and legs automatically. And why wouldn't it? Just looking at Luo Binghe boosted his health points simply by being within range! “It's a beautiful day today. There are no rain clouds on the horizon, and the last pear trees have blossomed. Would Shizun like to take a walk after his morning classes? Mu-shishu mentioned that meditating in the bamboo forest would help Shizun with Without-A-Cure.”

Ah, that poisoning. Shen Qingqiu can only feel resignedly fed up with his past self for being such an idiot. Yet, he can also justify it. Who would want to see Luo Binghe suffer? No one, of course! No one coherent or with a real heart in their chest, that is. Shen Qingqiu would do whatever it took to protect him, even from something as trivial and stupid as that.

"If your Shishu says so, we should obey, shouldn't we?" Shen Qingqiu murmurs. Luo Binghe nods. He pours the tea carefully, and Shen Qingqiu puts on a slightly more presentable outer robe before going to the table by the window where, as if it were an everyday routine, Luo Binghe has begun serving him breakfast. Perhaps it is an everyday routine. What would Shen Qingqiu know, after all?

Luo Binghe serves breakfast. A bowl of perfectly tender white congee, sprinkled with spring onions, the delicate scent of ginger wafting through the air. There's tea, pickled vegetables, and egg omelets rolled into tender little buns. Shen Qingqiu tastes it, and has to pause for a moment, overwhelmed by the intoxicating sensation that washes over him from head to toe. He feels flooded with warmth, as if he's tasting a flavor from home; except none of his mother's cooks ever cooked like this, and no processed food could ever taste nearly as good.

However, trying it feels... like being at home.

"Is Shizun not happy with the food?" Luo Binghe asks quickly, perhaps a little too nervously. Shen Qingqiu feels disappointed in himself. Hasn't he assured this boy a thousand times that he shouldn't be afraid of his reactions? Shen Qingqiu hopes, prays, that he has. After all, he doesn't know.

“Binghe made an exquisite breakfast, as always,” Shen Qingqiu says with a sigh. The boy seems to ease the tension in his shoulders, but he still looks tense, so Shen Qingqiu forces himself to say, “Binghe's food is the only that pleases this master.”

The boy looks as happy as he is presumptuous. Shen Qingqiu could laugh at him, but he has a face to keep up, so he continues his breakfast in silence. Luo Binghe is the one doing the talking, gathering things up here and there, tidying up a mess that's barely there, choosing the right robes for the weather. When Shen Qingqiu has finished breakfast, he lets Luo Binghe help him put on new robes and tie them (what does he know about dressing in so many layers? How good it is to have a disciple willing to be so helpful!) and right after, Shen Qingqiu is standing in front of his dressing table, with Luo Binghe carefully brushing his hair, helping to tie it up with his guan and a green ribbon.

Luo Binghe doesn't seem tired or fed up after basically being the villain's servant. Shen Qingqiu gently pats his head, but to do so, he realizes he needs to raise his hand a little. Aiya, isn't this boy really tall?

“Binghe must remind this master of something,” Shen Qingqiu hums, and Luo Binghe looks at him with wide eyes, ready to answer every question and everything Shen Qingqiu asks or requests. Truly, what a filial young man… “How old is my disciple now?”

Luo Binghe blinks once. Then, he bows his head respectfully.

“Seventeen, Shizun,” he says, in a soft voice and a polite tone. Then, all politeness vanishes as, in a slightly more playful tone, he says, “Has Shizun already forgotten? This disciple thought he was more important to Shizun.”

Shen Qingqiu barely has control of his hands. Before he knows it, he's pinching the boy's cheek, who lets out a surprised sound.

“And where did my disciple get the idea to speak to his Shizun like that, eh?” Shen Qingqiu murmurs, pinching the smooth skin until it turned red. It isn't rough, and not so different from what his grandmother used to do to his cheeks when he was a child. Even so, Luo Binghe pouts, and in his eyes, bright as starry nights, he was a spoiled young man being reprimanded. “This Master was prepared to say that if Binghe were seventeen years old, then this Shizun could send him on an important night hunt suitable for his age and cultivation...”

“Shizun!” the boy protests. It's cute, and when Shen Qingqiu lets go of his cheek, it's flushed and adorable, as if he'd been given blush. “Shizun is mean.”

“Very mean,” Shen Qingqiu says, gloating, albeit playfully. “Binghe should be careful. If he continues to be a brat, this Master will have to make him run five hundred laps around the Peak.”

"Shizun!" Luo Binghe continues to protest, but even he seems to be doing it as a joke. Something in his eyes, in his face, fills Shen Qingqiu with peace. It's inexplicable. Technically, he's just met this boy. Yet, it feels as if he's been by his side for months, teaching him for years, as if his heart holds onto every tender memory of the sweet boy he's been raising by deflecting plot points and, well, clinging to the protagonist's thighs. Not a difficult task at all, given that Luo Binghe was his favorite protagonist in the whole world! How could he find clinging to him anything less than satisfying? “If this humble disciple runs five hundred laps, how will this Binghe manage to make Shizun's lunch?”

Shen Qingqiu hums to himself. Well, that's a perfectly valid concern; if breakfast is this delicious, he can't wait for lunch!

“It'll be fifty, then,” he says haughtily. The sneer on Luo Binghe's mouth twists into a small, sly grin, clearly so playful, believing he's gotten away with it, so Shen Qingqiu quickly adds, “Fifty for every time Binghe acts like a spoiled brat. That way, his behavior will be kept in check.”

“Shizun!” Luo Binghe protests, pouting, and Shen Qingqiu twists the corner of his mouth into a slight smile.

"That's one hundred laps already," he says, and Luo Binghe blinks, completely neutralizing his spoiled expression. “Does my disciple wish to add more laps to his punishment?”

"No, Shizun! This disciple will behave, Shizun!" the boy says, and Shen Qingqiu nods, smiling contentedly. Yes, yes, the boy is an exceptional protagonist, but right now, he's just his tender disciple, his soft white lotus! Shen Qingqiu can bear to play with him a little like this. And perhaps, when Shen Qingqiu would be a human stick...

The smile fades with the bitter reminder that he won't be able to hold onto those memories. That tomorrow he'll open his eyes, wake up, and find his memories just as empty as they are today. No matter what he's written about his disciple in his notebook, tomorrow they won't exist. They'll be just words his imagination will try to recreate, without success.

"Binghe is a good boy," Shen Qingqiu exhales. He opens his fan—one that Binghe also chose for his day—covering the way his expression has shifted from playful to bitter. Ah, this fickle old man, somehow… "He doesn't have to worry about punishment. Not today. How about Binghe join this master for his walk and meditation after his classes?"

"He would be honored!" Luo Binghe smiles, and from behind his fan, Shen Qingqiu is enveloped in the warmth of that smile. It reaches him like rays of sunshine in winter, and even the dull ache in his body hurts a little less. Everything is better just because Luo Binghe is there.

Bitterly, he thinks how hard it will be when he has to let him go. But he won't remember him, so it shouldn't be so bad. Right?

Shen Qingqiu has never been good at having hope.

──・──・・✧ ・・──・──

“Dumbfuck author, dumbfuck novel!”

With his dying breath, Shen Yuan spits out that final curse. Life, a merciless bitch as it has always been, spits back in his face.

Shen Yuan awakens. After the blackness flooding his consciousness and the pain of his death, it's actually a surprise not to feel any more pain. Oh, he can feel pain, of course; there's a sensation spreading through his muscles, a weariness perhaps too dense, the bitter feeling of stiffness in a body that has been asleep for a long time, the same kind of sensation that, were it not for the canopy over the bed, the antique furniture filled with scattered books, a clutter slightly more chaotic than would be respectable, and the robes covering pale skin, would make him think that, in fact, he's only had a very bad nightmare. And what a bad one it was! A horrible ending, an ending so horrible that it's caused his death!

But it's not a nightmare, nor was it ever. Shen Yuan stretches out in bed, the throbbing against his veins more painful than a simple cramp, the heavy weariness weighing on his chest. With one hand on his chest, he takes a deep breath, trying to control the pain: back, ribs, lungs. It's not unlike a bad day, and it could be worse.

The first familiar thing in the room is a letter. It lies unsealed and, written in his own handwriting, Shen Yuan rolls his eyes as he feels, stupidly enough, like Alice in Wonderland when he reads on the envelope: “Read me.”

Well, it's a letter, what else is he going to do?

“Congratulations, you've transmigrated. You're in PIDW. You're Shen Qingqiu. Yes, the System usually handles this information, but why not hear it from a friendlier source! You're not cursed, and you haven't lost your memory due to any kind of curse, poison, or anything that can be undone. I know you, I know myself. Welcome to your new life.

You can't let anyone find out. Your notebook is in the second drawer of the desk. In the first drawer is your daily reminders. In the false bottom are all the drawings and notes of things that are no longer relevant to this point in the plot, so you don't get too confused.

We're just a few months away from the Immortal Alliance Conference. You have approximately 7,600 B-points. Farm points like your life depends on it, because that's literally what it is!!

Idk, good luck. You're going to need it. Save this letter for tomorrow unless there's a major update.

-Peerless Cucumber.”

Shen Qingqiu finishes reading with a premonition of the first headache he'll have that day. The scum villain, of all possible transmigration scenarios! And so close to the Conference, damn it! It's not difficult for him to locate the drawer or find the books, especially the notebook with its slightly rough binding under his fingers, as if it had been recently restored. In fact, when Luo Binghe appears with breakfast a moment later, Shen Qingqiu feels mentally ready to face anything.

"Shizun," Luo Binghe says, his hands full of a laden breakfast tray, and Shen Qingqiu gasps. Of course, he hadn't exaggerated in any of his notes about that boy! Dressed in his immaculate white uniform, his hair in a high ponytail, and with the handsome face of a young man who seems to be somewhere between a teenager and a young adult, he truly was a tender white lotus! Shen Qingqiu feels his chest bloom, a warmth spreading automatically through his chest, arms, and legs, almost making him dizzy and faint. And why wouldn't he? Just looking at Luo Binghe boosted his health points simply by being within range! "It's a nice day, albeit a bit windy. Shizun doesn't have classes to teach today, and the senior disciples haven't returned from their night hunt yet. Would Shizun like to take a walk after the midday sun sets? Mu-shishu mentioned that meditating in the bamboo forest would help Shizun with Without-A-Cure."

Ah, that poisoning. Shen Qingqiu can only feel resignedly fed up with his past self for being such an idiot. Yet, he can also justify it. Who would want to see Luo Binghe suffer? No one, of course! No one coherent or with a real heart in their chest, that is. Shen Qingqiu would do whatever it took to protect him, even from something as trivial and stupid as that.

"If your Shishu says so, we should obey, shouldn't we?" Shen Qingqiu murmurs. Luo Binghe nods, his up-and-down movements looking more robotic than enthusiastic. Shen Qingqiu wonders if he's playing his part well. Something about Luo Binghe seems a little tense, but maybe that's normal? Maybe the boy is just nervous about making a good impression or something.

He pours the tea carefully, and Shen Qingqiu dons a slightly more presentable outer robe before going to the table by the window where, as if it were an everyday routine, Luo Binghe has begun serving him breakfast. Perhaps it is an everyday routine. What would Shen Qingqiu know, after all?

Luo Binghe serves breakfast with slow, deliberate movements, taking his time to ensure everything is perfect. A bowl of perfectly tender white congee, sprinkled with spring onions, the delicate scent of ginger wafting through the air. There is tea, pickled vegetables, and egg omelets rolled into tender shells. Shen Qingqiu tastes it and has to pause for a moment, overwhelmed by the intoxicating sensation that washes over him from head to toe. He can almost feel his eyes welling with tears, as if he were tasting a flavor from home; except that none of his mother's cooks ever cooked like this, and no processed food could ever taste nearly as good.

However, trying it feels... like being at home.

"Is Shizun not happy with the food?" Luo Binghe asks quickly, perhaps a little too nervously, his tone a bit too high. Shen Qingqiu feels disappointed in himself. Hasn't he assured this boy a thousand times that he shouldn't be afraid of his reactions? Shen Qingqiu hopes, prays, that he has. After all, he doesn't know.

“Binghe made an exquisite breakfast, as always,” Shen Qingqiu says, sighing. The boy seems to ease the tension in his shoulders, but he still looks tense in the way his hands grip the empty tray so tightly that Shen Qingqiu wouldn't be surprised if it broke, so Shen Qingqiu forces himself to say, “Binghe's food is the only that pleases this master.”

The boy looks both happy and relieved. Shen Qingqiu could laugh at him, but he has a face to keep up, so he continues his breakfast in silence. Luo Binghe is the one doing the talking, gathering things up, tidying up a mess that's barely there, choosing the right robes for the weather, and putting a slightly warmer cloak on top of the others. When Shen Qingqiu has finished breakfast, he lets Luo Binghe help him put on new robes and tie them (what does he know about dressing in so many layers? How good it is to have a disciple willing to be so helpful!) and right after, Shen Qingqiu is standing in front of his dressing table, with Luo Binghe carefully brushing his hair, helping to tie it up with his guan and a green ribbon.

Luo Binghe doesn't seem tired or fed up after basically being the villain's servant. Shen Qingqiu gently pats his head, but to do so, he realizes he must raise his hand, even tilting his head back to look his disciple in the eye. Aiya, isn't this kid a bit too high-minded? He's already surpassed his Master!

“Binghe must remind this master of something,” Shen Qingqiu hums, and Luo Binghe looks at him with wide eyes, ready to answer every question and everything Shen Qingqiu asks or requests. The attention, the gleam in his eyes, is strangely intense, so intense it almost makes Shen Qingqiu look away. Truly, what an enthusiastic young man, eager to please his Master… "How old is my disciple now?"

Luo Binghe blinks once, then again. His mouth opens, then closes. Then, with a slightly shy expression, he bows his head respectfully.

"Seventeen, Shizun," he says, his voice soft and polite. Something about his voice sounds a little shaky, but Shen Qingqiu can barely make it out. Perhaps Shen Qingqiu might have asked him a little too soon? Hmm, he'll have to make a note of it. It would be suspicious if he kept asking him the same questions over and over.

“That’s good,” Shen Qingqiu hums, nodding to himself and his disciple. Luo Binghe’s expression is open, a little curious, a little too attentive, as if he wants to lose himself in his thoughts rather than simply hear his words. Bah, what nonsense! “Binghe is at an age and cultivation level suitable for participating in some longer night hunts, appropriate for his training. Don’t you think so, Binghe?”

Shen Qingqiu has little idea what to expect from the young disciple before him. What he doesn't expect, however, is Luo Binghe's swift and immediate reply: "No! This disciple is far from ready. Why would this humble disciple leave Shizun with so little training?"

The boy's expression reminds Shen Qingqiu a little of a heartbroken puppy. It shouldn't be like that, but what does he really know about this young white lotus? The changes between the white lotus mistreated by his Shizun and this sweet, filial disciple who had a room and a home could be truly considerable! Making him so tall and strong even in his teens, filling his heart with that anxious attachment visible in his raw expression.

Shen Qingqiu barely has control of his hands. Before he knows it, he's pinching the boy's cheek, who jumps as if Shen Qingqiu had slapped him. His eyes open wide, and it's almost as if his breath catches in his throat.

“Does my disciple think this Master has been undedicated to his education?” Shen Qingqiu asks, pinching the soft skin until it reddens. It’s not rough, and not unlike what his grandmother used to do to his cheeks when he was a child. Even so, Luo Binghe freezes, barely breathing, and in his eyes, shining like starry nights, it seems that Shen Qingqiu, instead of scolding him, is bestowing a gift. “How could my disciple possibly lack much learning if not for this Master’s shortcomings? Is Binghe calling this lazy man a bad Shizun? Is he being disrespectful?”

“Sh-Shizun,” the boy hiccups, and only then does Shen Qingqiu realize how tortured the young man’s expression looks. He quickly releases his cheek, but Luo Binghe lingers, leaving Shen Qingqiu no choice but to cradle the tender, flushed cheek in his hand. “This disciple would never… this disciple would never dare to insinuate…”

“This Master knows,” Shen Qingqiu says, exhaling gently. Tears well in the boy’s eyes, and Shen Qingqiu could do nothing but try to pretend he isn’t panicking. Damn it! How could this handsome face look so cute when it is full of tears?! He won’t lose his fingers before his arm over this, will he?! “Binghe is an exceptional disciple, the most talented of this Master’s disciples, and this one isn’t afraid to say he’s the most talented young cultivator Cang Qiong has ever had in all its generations. Is it so wrong for this Master to want Binghe to excel and gain a reputation worthy of him?”

Luo Binghe's nose wrinkled just a little. Before Shen Qingqiu knew what on earth was going on, the boy was cradling himself in his arms, sobbing on his shoulder. Gently, Shen Qingqiu hugs him, running his fingers soothingly down his back. Aiya, what a sensitive boy… He is sure he should make a note of this, after all. It might not be pleasant to remind the protagonist of one of his weak moments, but it seems to be a sensitive subject for him!

“Shizun is… Why is Shizun like this now?” he stammers, and Shen Qingqiu can barely understand or even respond to the words between sobs. Luo Binghe continues, embracing him, clinging to him as if Shen Qingqiu might vanish into thin air or crumble like a pillar of salt if he lets him go. “Shizun is so… It’s not fair.”

Shen Qingqiu sighs completely lost. He runs his hands through Luo Binghe's hair, pulling him back just a hand's breadth to wipe away the thick tears streaming down his face with his robes. At that, Luo Binghe only cries harder, tears that reddened his face. Truly, the boy…

“This Master trusts Binghe,” he says, and Luo Binghe seems even more deeply immersed in tears, as if his words only deepen the wound instead of helping it heal. “My disciple only wants what’s best for Binghe, even if it means this selfish Master misses out on some of the delicious meals my disciple so skillfully prepares.”

Shen Qingqiu brushes the hair from Luo Binghe's forehead, trying to catch the tears that trickle from the corners of his eyes. Luo Binghe wraps his hands around his wrists, and for a moment, Shen Qingqiu thinks the young man will pull his hands away, embarrassed that Shen Qingqiu is combing his hair like a mother. So tall, bending over him, letting himself be combed and comforted like a child!

But Luo Binghe doesn't pull away. Like handcuffs, his hands wrap around his wrists, with a grip almost so firm it could become painful.

“Would Shizun be capable of sending me away? Even now?” the boy asks. Frowns furrowed, face red, and what is Shen Qingqiu supposed to say? He exhales, shaking his head.

“Given such denial, how could this Master even consider such a thing?” he says, with a crooked smile. Luo Binghe doesn’t seem at all pleased, and Shen Qingqiu barely has enough control of his hands to pat his head. Ah, should he find it strange? Not that he has any idea what kind of behavior they usually exhibit. “If this Master ever sends Binghe away, it’s always so that his cultivation can improve, his reputation can grow, his skills can find their best fit,” he explains, as patiently as he can. For his part, Luo Binghe tilts his head, like a sad puppy. “However,” Shen Qingqiu points out, “this Master always does it with a selfish goal in mind.”

“May this disciple ask?” Luo Binghe says, barely a whisper. Shen Qingqiu smiles gently, a quiet, slightly playful smugness.

“After every night hunt, after every night away, my disciple will always return to this Master,” Shen Qingqiu says, because it is, after all, a truth. It is a truth until it is no longer so, but that is not the concern of the Shen Qingqiu of today, and it is not something that the Shen Qingqiu of tomorrow needs to know. “So, my disciple can see that this Master cares not only for his cultivation, reputation, and abilities, but also for himself. If this Master believed that Binghe would not return, he would never send him away again.”

For the duration of a heartbeat, Luo Binghe inhales, and it is as if his eyes are flooded with stars.

“Shizun,” the boy whispers, his lips trembling. Something in his eyes, in his face, fills Shen Qingqiu with peace. It’s inexplicable. Technically, he just met this boy. Yet, it feels as if he’s been by his side for months, teaching him for years, as if his heart holds every tender memory of the sweet boy he’s raised by derailing the plot and, well, clinging to the protagonist’s thighs. Not difficult work at all, given that Luo Binghe was his favorite protagonist in the whole world! How could he find anything less than satisfying about clinging to him? “Is Shizun serious?”

Shen Qingqiu hums to himself. “Absolutely serious,” he promises, with a smile he tries to make reassuring. “This Master has never been more honest.”

Luo Binghe remains silent, as if analyzing the conversation. If he is honest with himself, Shen Qingqiu is a little lost, but he tried to act completely normal! After all, wouldn't it be more suspicious if he started asking awkward, inappropriate questions that would give him away? If his past self had said it was best not to reveal his memory problems, then there must be a reason!

Finally, Luo Binghe loosens his grip on his wrists. Shen Qingqiu takes the opportunity to reach out and gently pat his head, which Luo Binghe seems to chase after with ragged breath, like a puppy settling into its favorite position for a pat. Aiya, really, how badly has Shen Qingqiu raised this boy? He's such a spoiled brat!

“If that’s the case, this disciple never wants to leave,” Luo Binghe says firmly. Tears still clung to his eyelashes, and his expression was so sweet it broke Shen Qingqiu’s heart. Truly, so much cute aggression! “This disciple only wants to be with Shizun.”

Shen Qingqiu swallows the sudden bitterness that this isn't something that will last; of course, the Stallion Protagonist wouldn't want to be alone with his Shizun when he was courting his vast harem, but what does it matter?! A little tender vulnerability, a sweet little boy yearning for a bit of affection and getting it in a safe place instead of the mistreatment from his original master—won't Shen Qingqiu be able to preserve that image when he would be a human stick…?

The bitterness is multiplied a millionfold by the bitter reminder that he won't be able to cling to those memories. That tomorrow he will open his eyes, wake up, and find his memories as empty as they are today. No matter what he has written about his disciple in his notebook, tomorrow they will be gone. They will be just words that his imagination will try to recreate, without success.

“Very well, then,” Shen Qingqiu exhales. He steps aside, opening his fan—one that Binghe had also chosen for his day—covering the way his expression had completely soured. Ah, this fickle old man, somehow… “My disciple may remain with this Master as long as he wishes. However, when his cultivation stagnates and he makes no progress, it will be his own responsibility!”

For a moment, Luo Binghe's eyes remind Shen Qingqiu of his sister’s cat’s eyes, a little ball of dark fur that would suddenly become very still, its pupils fully dilated and looking extremely adorable an exact instant before leaping with its bare claws.

But of course, Luo Binghe is no cat and has no claws, so when he blinks, the gentle smile that floods his face seems to wash away the last traces of tears in his eyes.

“This disciple will take responsibility.” Luo Binghe smiles, and from behind his fan, Shen Qingqiu is enveloped in the warmth of that smile. It reaches him like rays of sunshine in winter, and even the dull ache in his body hurts a little less. Everything is better just because Luo Binghe is there.

Bitterly, he thinks how hard it will be when he has to let him go. But he won't remember him, so it shouldn't be so bad. Right?

Shen Qingqiu has never been good at having hope.

──・──・・✧ ・・──・──

Later that same morning, as Luo Binghe was leaving for his classes, Shen Qingqiu receives a visit from Ning Yingying. It’s a little difficult to actually recognize her as Ning Yingying, because after all, she was a fully grown young lady! With a firm back, a different hairstyle than the one described in PIDW, and even a more mature appearance, it is a case of guesswork to call her Yingying, and she responded naturally, so point for Shen Qingqiu!

But what other disciple – besides Luo Binghe right now, of course – would have such freedom to be allowed into the bamboo house with correspondence among other things?

So Shen Qingqiu allows her to leave his correspondence on the desk, submit some reports on night hunts delegated to some disciples, and some masters report on the evaluation of the disciples lagging furthest behind in their learning. Shen Qingqiu listens patiently, piecing together the information in the gaps left by his daily reminders. Well, judging by the dates, it's clear there will be some laggards before the end-of-autumn exams, but it's not too alarming…

“This Master appreciates Yingying’s cooperation. She may return to her classes,” Shen Qingqiu says as she finishes her report. He has made some general notes to add to his daily reminders, mainly to assess and review disciples who need a little more attention, so he is somewhat surprised that Ning Yingying doesn’t just… say goodbye and leave or something like that.

In fact, she hesitates a little, shifting slightly from side to side as if she can barely stay still. Finally, as if she has made up her mind, she asks:

“Did Shizun eat breakfast today?”

Shen Qingqiu glances between her and the pile of plates and cups. Luo Binghe had left it on the table at Shen Qingqiu's insistence; after all, he didn't want the boy to be late for class! Luo Binghe had agreed to leave it there on the absolute condition that Shen Qingqiu wouldn't clean it up. How could Shizun get his hands so dirty!

Aiya, Luo Binghe, if he only knew how dirty his Shizun got his hands right before becoming his Shizun… anyway!! Shen Qingqiu nods dismissively with a wave of his hand. That his disciple is so alarmed just because Shen Qingqiu had eaten—ah, that must be a bit odd! Isn't he a dedicated Immortal Master, his body a shrine and all? Someone at his cultivation stage, whether affected by Without-A-Cure or not, shouldn't need to eat a single bite! Mere morning dew should satisfy his appetite and nourish his soul!

“This Master understands that inedia is the natural state for the balance of qi. However, isn’t being at peace with oneself also about allowing oneself these small pleasures?” he hums. Ning Yingying has a strange expression on her face, nodding slowly up and down. “My disciple doesn’t need to overthink it. Sometimes, being too hard on oneself is what causes the worst demons of the heart.”

Ning Yingying seems to freeze for a long moment; for a moment, judging by her frozen expression and the alarmed look in her eyes, Shen Qingqiu feared he had completely messed up. So early in the day?! However, Ning Yingying only nodded again, perhaps with movements that were a bit too drawn out.

“…This disciple sees,” she says, clearing her throat. “If Shizun will allow this disciple to ask, has Shizun visited Mu-shishu lately?” her expression is gentle, but for some reason, it gives Shen Qingqiu a little goosebump. Ah, visiting the doctor… Has he said something genuinely wrong? “This disciple has heard that Mu-shishu has been busy with Zhangmen-shibo preparing emergency medicinal pills for the upcoming Conference, but perhaps he might have also prepared a special herbal mixture for Shizun…?”

Ning Yingying stares at the cup Shen Qingqiu has right next to him on his desk. Shen Qingqiu observes the leaves, ground flowers, and the last reddish residue at the bottom of the cup among the dried leaves. If he could read leaves, he would say something poetic; the truth is, all his less-than-talented eyes can see in the Roscharian shapes at the bottom of his cup are something resembling nonsensical spirals. Or very weird eyes. It could very well be both.

Without a clear answer, Shen Qingqiu shrugs: “Perhaps. Yingying is very perceptive.”

Relief seems to hit Ning Yingying like a needle on a balloon, deflating her defenses. She exhales, and a wide smile spreads across her face. Just by looking at her, Shen Qingqiu is certain that if he saw that face with that smile for the first time, he would have no doubt that it was Ning Yingying, the Protagonist's high school sweetheart.

With that smile, he also notices that it's the first time he's ever seen her smile. Ah, is the poor girl really that stressed about everything? Shen Qingqiu doesn't know exactly how long until the Immortal Alliance Conference, but if his past self doesn't seem alarmed enough to even take notes, what can the Shen Qingqiu of the present do?

“Before Yingying leaves,” he says, cutting off the way she seems about to bow respectfully and leaves to do her things, “how have the preparations and training progressed? This Master hasn’t had a chance to see them lately…” or at least that’s what Shen Qingqiu thinks. Because if he did, he should have taken notes! In his recent notes, there isn’t a single one mentioning his disciples’ training, and he’s supposed to be a responsible Master!

Ning Yingying tilts her head, somewhat confused. Shen Qingqiu isn't even afraid of having put his foot in it when she asks, in a slightly dazed voice, “...Training, Shizun? May this disciple ask what for?”

Shen Qingqiu blinks. Ah, aren't those Ning Yingying's responsibilities? He clears his throat, holding his fan in his hands, ready to open it if necessary to cover up the embarrassment of saying something completely wrong in front of her.

“The Immortal Alliance Conference, of course,” he says, trying not only to keep his face steady, but also raising an eyebrow haughtily. Well, he may have no idea what he’s doing, but at least he’ll do it with dignity! “It won’t be long now. This Master wonders how his disciples have been doing. After all, good training isn’t possible without adequate rest.”

Ning Yingying blinks slowly, once, then again, as if she doesn't understand the words Shen Qingqiu is saying to her. Shen Qingqiu is already about to open his fan in front of her face when she says, her voice trembling slightly:

“…This disciple thought that, at this point, Shizun wouldn’t send his disciples to the Conference,” she says. She looks nervous, her brows furrowed, her smile completely gone. Again, isn’t her face too mature to be Ning Yingying? She looks a bit older than the girl she must have been, but isn’t Ning Yingying just a few years older than Luo Binghe? This girl must be nineteen, twenty, maybe? Even so, she looks too grown-up!

“This Master may have been slow to fill out the disciple lists. However, how can Qing Jing Peak not show up? It’s not just our reputation as Peak, but as Peak of the Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, and we must represent it with the elegance and strategy that befits us, ” Shen Qingqiu says, trying to keep his composure.

His past self hasn't mentioned anything about that in his notes, even if he jotted down something about waiting for the formal invitation letter. He's supposed to have a proper list of the disciples he'll send! Aiya, he must definitely check which other disciples besides Ning Yingying, Luo Binghe, and Ming Fan he'll send… There must be at least a few cannon fodder disciples with some talent or at least skill who can survive the Conference! Besides, it would be suspicious if Shen Qingqiu only sent three disciples, and only two returned…

Shen Qingqiu feels bitter just thinking about it. Ning Yingying, in front of him, nods her head robotically.

“Of course. If that’s Shizun’s wish,” Ning Yingying says, nodding her head. It is an almost alert movement, with a disgruntled expression that Shen Qingqiu couldn’t decipher. “She’ll look for the list when Shizun has it ready. Da-shixiong will send the correspondence. Has Shizun already informed Zhangmen-shibo of his decision?”

“Not yet,” Shen Qingqiu says, unsure why he should warn him, but assuming… well, transportation? Perhaps his past self has been putting it off until the last minute, but seriously, Cucumber-bro, if you were avoiding doing something, you’d better leave a follow-up! “This Master trusts Ning Yingying with her suggestions. Which Qing Jing disciples does she think would be suitable to bring this year?”

Ning Yingying looks a little uncomfortable, strangely pale, and somewhat nervous, but she doesn't hesitate to give him a few names. They aren't names Shen Qingqiu recognizes, but he still takes notes to keep track of and review their skills, techniques, and ways of handling emergency situations. After all, that's somewhat what the Conference will be about.

He doesn't like to think about it. He doesn't like to think about what he'll have to do.

As Ning Yingying takes her leave, Shen Qingqiu rubs his temple, sighing wearily. So he has an average of 7,600 points and needs 10,000 to avoid the Abyss for Binghe, huh?

“System,” he calls, resignedly. He hasn't seen the System yet, but if his past self has mentioned it... “Do you have any side quest you could give me? I need more B points.”

The System is a bright blue screen that stuns him for a moment. Translucent, with a robotic Google Translate voice, the System simply says:

[Host is currently going through the Main Quest: “Groundhog Day + Memento = 50 First Dates?”, reward for successful completion: 2,000 B Points, 5,000 Protagonist Satisfaction Points. Would Host like to check what other Side Quests are available?]

Shen Qingqiu blinks, contemplating the ridiculous name. First of all, damn it, Past Cucumber!! Isn't that something he's supposed to write down?! Shen Qingqiu rushes to his notebook, abandoning his desk behind him; luckily, the System screen follows him without disappearing. He hurriedly writes out exactly what he's reading on the screen, but what the heck is the name of that mission, seriously?! Groundhog Day? Memento? Yeah, right, of course he remembers those titles, American amnesia movies, how funny, haha. But 50 First Dates?! What does that have to do with anything?! Isn't that a romantic comedy?! Who are they romanticizing in this absurd plot?! Not Shen Qingqiu!!

…At least 2,000 B Points are more than welcome. Even if that leaves him just short of what he wants, 9,600 B Points is still one step closer to avoiding the horrible fate of his white lotus! Getting the points he needs shouldn't be that hard!!

He finishes taking notes in the book, partly ranting, partly just scribbling down memories he mustn't forget. He revises the list, checking which disciples he'll send to the Conference. Yes, Ning Yingying didn't mention Binghe, but of course she didn't mention herself either! It's obvious she wouldn't mention those who are definitely on Shen Qingqiu's radar to go.

Only when he finishes his notes does he turn to the System. Nothing has changed on the screen; it waits patiently for a response.

“Show me what other Side Quests are available,” he practically demands. The System does.

[The Host has the following Side Quests available: “A Happy Lotus, a Happy World,” upon successful completion: +500 B Points, Protagonist Satisfaction Points: +2,000; “Arc of Redemption: Now Cracks a Noble Heart, Good-night, Sweet Prince!” upon successful completion: +3,000 B Points, Protagonist Satisfaction Points: -5,000; “Eternal Regret of the Spring Mountain,” upon successful completion: +5,000 B Points, Protagonist Satisfaction Points: +5,000. Does the Host wish to activate any of these Side Quests?]

Shen Qingqiu squints at the screen, trying not to get confused. What the heck? First of all, what were those quest names?! Good-night, sweet prince? For crying out loud, isn't that fucking Hamlet?! Besides, what was the point of doing a mission that gave him 3,000 points but subtracted 5,000 points from the protagonist's satisfaction? It was pointless having any amount of points if Luo Binghe wasn't happy!

“Which of these missions is shorter?” Shen Qingqiu asks.

The System, almost cheerfully (for an AI with a Google Translate voice), informs him:

[The Side Quest: “Eternal Regret of the Spring Mountain” is the mission that requires the least amount of time and the fewest requirements to complete successfully.]

Shen Qingqiu narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Something about this particular mission didn't feel... exactly like the best choice. After all, a short mission that also awarded so many points? Too good to be true! Why didn't he decide to do it sooner, if that's the case?

“What’s the catch?” Shen Qingqiu asks. He’s not stupid, and at least he considers himself smart enough to be suspicious of something so good presented in such a convenient way.

The System responds a little later: [...There's no catch. If the Host chooses the Side Quest “Eternal Regret of the Spring Mountain,” once the quest is activated, the Host will have access to the quest requirements to complete them. Upon successful completion, the Host will receive: +5,000 B Points, +5,000 Protagonist Satisfaction Points. Does the Host wish to accept the side quest? Y/N]

Shen Qingqiu thinks about it seriously. With probably much more to gain than to lose, he stares at the 'Yes' until the System window receives the indication.

[Thank you so much for your active participation in the story! The Side Quest “Eternal Regret of the Spring Mountain” will activate as soon as the Host completes the Main Quest: “Groundhog Day + Memento = 50 First Dates?”. Keep up the good work!!]

Shen Qingqiu's outburst was one of pure indignation. Seriously?! And he asked what the stupid catch was!! What's the point of offering a side quest that cannot be activated while the main quest is active? That's not how anything works, really!! Shitty System!! What kind of absurd scam is this, really!? How much longer until the main mission is over!? System, this Host is demanding a mission requirements breakdown!! System, come back, you-…!!

The System doesn't reappear. Shen Qingqiu curses aloud at nothing until he runs out of coherent insults to hurl at it, the silence as heavy on his ears as it is on his chest, a suffocating feeling he can't decipher the source of or even how it came about. Suddenly overwhelmed, Shen Qingqiu feels a desperate need to just… leave the bamboo house. He doesn't know where to go, so he sits on the back terrace, breathing in the air scented with pines, bamboo, and flowers. The wind is a little cooler, but not quite cold.

The feeling does not leave him for the rest of the afternoon, not at least until Luo Binghe returns from his classes to serve him some tea.

──・──・・✧ ・・──・──

“Dumbfuck author, dumbfuck novel!”

With his dying breath, Shen Yuan spits out that final curse. Life, a merciless bitch as it has always been, spits back in his face.

Shen Yuan awakens. After the blackness flooding his consciousness and the pain of his death, it's actually a surprise not to feel any more pain. Oh, he can feel pain, of course; there's a sensation spreading through his muscles, a weariness perhaps too dense, the bitter feeling of stiffness in a body that has been asleep for a long time, the same kind of sensation that, if it weren't for the canopy over the bed, the antique furniture filled with neatly arranged books, and the robes covering pale skin, would make him think that, in fact, he's only had a very bad nightmare. And what a bad one it was! A horrible ending, an ending so horrible that it’s caused his death!

But it's not a nightmare, nor was it ever. Shen Yuan stretches out in bed, the throbbing against his veins more painful than a simple cramp, the heavy weariness weighing on his chest. With one hand on his chest, he takes a deep breath, trying to control the pain: back, ribs, lungs. It's not unlike a bad day, and it could be worse.

The first familiar thing in the room is a letter. It lies unsealed, with three small rustic crescent marks like nails stuck into the paper and written in his own handwriting, Shen Yuan rolls his eyes as he feels, stupidly enough, like Alice in Wonderland when he reads on the envelope: “READ ME.”

Well, it's a letter, what else is he going to do?

“Congratulations, you've transmigrated. You're in PIDW. You're Shen Qingqiu. Yes, the System usually handles this information, but why not hear it from a friendlier source! You're not cursed, and you haven't lost your memory due to any kind of curse, poison, or anything that can be undone. I know you, I know myself. Welcome to your new life.

You can't let anyone find out. Your notebook is in the second drawer of the desk. In the first drawer is your daily reminders. In the false bottom are all the drawings and notes of things that are no longer relevant to this point in the plot, so you don't get too confused.

We're a few months away from the Immortal Alliance Conference. You have approximately 7,600 B points and a couple of active side quests. Active new quests to collect more points. Nothing important right now, the damn System hasn't bothered to give any details about it. Investigating leads nowhere, but what does it matter.

Idk, good luck. You're going to need it. Save this letter for tomorrow unless there's a major update.

-Peerless Cucumber.”

Shen Qingqiu finishes reading with a premonition of the first headache he'll have that day. The scum villain, of all possible transmigration scenarios! And so close to the Conference, damn it!  It's not hard to locate the drawer or find the books, especially the notebook with its slightly rough binding under his fingers, as if it had been recently restored. The paper feels heavy and rough under his fingers, and the binding is slightly damp. Perhaps it had suffered some damage at some point and had been restored? It should be dry by now, though the humidity in the air…

Anyway, none of that really matters. In fact, when Luo Binghe appears with breakfast a moment later, Shen Qingqiu feels mentally ready to face anything.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe says, his hands full of a laden breakfast tray, and Shen Qingqiu gasps. Of course, he hadn't exaggerated in any of his notes about that boy! Dressed in his immaculate white uniform, his hair in a high ponytail, and with the handsome face of a young man who seems to be somewhere between a teenager and a young adult, he truly was a tender white lotus! Shen Qingqiu feels his chest bloom, a warmth spreading automatically through his chest, arms, and legs, almost making him dizzy and faint. And why wouldn't he? Just looking at Luo Binghe increased his health points simply by being within range! “It will rain later, it seems. Shizun doesn’t have any classes to teach today, and the senior disciples haven’t returned from their night hunt yet. Would Shizun like to take a walk after breakfast and before it rains? Mu-shishu mentioned that meditating in the bamboo forest would help Shizun with Without-A-Cure.”

Ah, that poisoning. Shen Qingqiu can only feel resignedly fed up with his past self for being such an idiot. Yet, he can also justify it. Who would want to see Luo Binghe suffer? No one, of course! No one coherent or with a real heart in their chest, that is. Shen Qingqiu would do whatever it took to protect him, even from something as trivial and stupid as that.

"If your Shishu says so, we should obey, shouldn't we?" Shen Qingqiu murmurs. Luo Binghe nods, his up-and-down movements more robotic than enthusiastic. Shen Qingqiu wonders if he's playing his part well. Something about Luo Binghe seems a little tense, his shoulders stiffer, a barely perceptible tremor in his fingers… but perhaps it's normal? Perhaps the boy is just nervous about making a good impression or something.

He pours the tea carefully, and Shen Qingqiu dons a slightly more presentable outer robe before going to the table by the window where, as if it were an everyday routine, Luo Binghe has begun serving him breakfast. Perhaps it is an everyday routine. What would Shen Qingqiu know, after all?

Luo Binghe serves breakfast with slow, deliberate movements, taking his time to ensure everything is perfect. A bowl of perfectly tender white congee, sprinkled with spring onions, the delicate scent of ginger wafting through the air. There is tea, pickled vegetables, and egg omelets rolled into tender shells. Shen Qingqiu tastes it and has to pause for a moment, overwhelmed by the intoxicating sensation that washes over him from head to toe. He can almost feel his eyes welling with tears, as if he were tasting a flavor from home; except that none of his mother's cooks ever cooked like this, and no processed food could ever taste nearly as good.

However, trying it feels... like being at home.

“Is Shizun not happy with the food?” Luo Binghe asks quickly, perhaps a little too nervously, his tone a bit too trembling. Shen Qingqiu feels disappointed in himself. Hasn't he assured this boy a thousand times that he shouldn't be afraid of his reactions? Shen Qingqiu hopes, prays, that he has. After all, he doesn't know.

“Binghe made an exquisite breakfast, as always,” Shen Qingqiu says, sighing. The boy seems to ease the tension in his shoulders, but he still looks tense in the way his hands grip the empty tray so tightly that Shen Qingqiu wouldn't be surprised if it broke, so Shen Qingqiu forces himself to say, “Binghe's food is the only that pleases this master.”

The boy looks both happy and relieved. There is, however, something odd about his face. He looks tired, Shen Qingqiu notices; there's a subtle shadow of dark circles under his eyes, a shape that makes his face angular in a way it shouldn't be. Where are his full cheeks? Yes, of course, the boy must grow up and become strong, but he's just a young boy. Why does he look so miserable?

Luo Binghe seems trapped in a routine that Shen Qingqiu is obviously unaware of, picking things up here and there, cleaning up a mess that's barely there, choosing the right robes for the weather, putting a slightly warmer layer on top of the others. When Shen Qingqiu finishes breakfast, he lets Luo Binghe help him put on new robes and tie them (what does he know about dressing in so many layers? How lucky he is to have a disciple willing to be so helpful!) and right after, Shen Qingqiu is standing in front of his dressing table, with Luo Binghe carefully brushing his hair, helping to tie it with his guan and a green ribbon.

Luo Binghe doesn't seem any more tired than before, despite essentially being the villain's servant. Shen Qingqiu gently pats his head, but to do so, he realizes he must raise his hand, even tilting his head back to look his disciple in the eye. Aiya, isn't this kid a bit too high-minded? He's already surpassed his Master!

“Binghe must remind this master of something,” Shen Qingqiu hums, and Luo Binghe nods quickly. His eyes are so intense they almost make Shen Qingqiu look away. Truly, what a young man… "How old…?"

“Seventeen, Shizun,” he says, his voice polite even as he interrupts Shen Qingqiu’s question. His words sound almost strained, and Shen Qingqiu wonders if he’s missing something. If there’s something wrong with what he’s asked, or with Luo Binghe answering in front of him. “This disciple has scheduled night hunts that Shizun has so kindly assigned him, seeking to perfect his cultivation appropriate for his age.”

…Oh. Shen Qingqiu is almost certain that something like that is what he meant to say. Well, at least he can't say they're not on the same wavelength! The boy's expression reminds Shen Qingqiu of a sad doll, the kind painted with glistening tears at the corners of its eyes—except, of course, there are no tears in its eyes, just a strange expression that, Shen Qingqiu believes, could well be complemented by thick, sorrowful tears, just as a landscape could be complemented by a few flowers.

Shen Qingqiu barely has control of his hands. Before he knows it, he's gently patting the boy's cheek, who freezes as if Shen Qingqiu had slapped him. His eyes open wide, and it's as if his breath catches in his throat.

“My disciple is exceptional, of course,” he hums. “This Master is certain that Binghe will perform skillfully on his night hunts, bringing pride to his Peak and, of course, to this Master.” Before him, Luo Binghe freezes, barely breathing, and in his eyes, bright as starry nights, it seems as if Shen Qingqiu is stabbing him with a dagger. It is strange, because at the same time that the boy looks so miserable that Shen Qingqiu can hardly understand what is happening, he also looks as if he is trembling in place, holding back, maintaining his composure. Gently, Shen Qingqiu asks, “My disciple doubts himself and his ability? Did this Master not teach him enough?”

“It’s not that, Shizun,” Luo Binghe says, his voice strangely hollow. He looks so tortured, so broken, and Shen Qingqiu can do nothing but cradle his face in his hands, trying to guess what’s happening. Are his Shixiong bothering him again? Did he get into a fight with those brutes from Bai Zhan? “This disciple is skilled. Shizun has taught him well. Shizun has taught him too well, and this disciple…” The boy closes his eyes for a moment, trembling, fragile. So tall, and crumbling like an icy mountain in an avalanche. “This disciple is afraid, Shizun.”

“Fear?” Shen Qingqiu asks, holding his breath against his chest. When Luo Binghe opens his eyes, his trembling eyelashes leave no trace of tears, but his bloodshot eyes look like those of a wounded animal. Oh, this poor boy… “What is Binghe afraid of? Is it something this Master can help with?”

“Is this what I should do?” Luo Binghe asks. His face was expressionless, his eyes hollow. Shen Qingqiu had no idea what to do, or what Binghe meant. “Shizun, is this the right thing to do? No, it isn’t. Would Shizun forgive this disciple? No, he wouldn’t. How could Shizun…?”

“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu chides, sighing. Luo Binghe wraps his hands around Shen Qingqiu’s wrists, and for a moment, Shen Qingqiu thinks the young man will pull his hands away, embarrassed that Shen Qingqiu is comforting him with these touches on his face in such a… well, maternal way! But Luo Binghe doesn’t let go. Like handcuffs, his hands wrap around Shen Qingqiu’s wrists, his grip almost so firm it could be painful. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t care. “What exactly does this Master’s disciple mean, eh? Nothing Binghe does will ever be unforgivable in this Master’s eyes.”

The truth in his words sounds so strange to his own ears. Nothing Luo Binghe has done, is doing, or will ever do is something Shen Qingqiu cannot forgive; after all, how could a boy like him not do what is right for the peace of his heart? How could a boy like this, a white lotus in need of affection and comfort, take revenge on those who ignored his pain or were the cause of his torment?

Shen Qingqiu knows that whatever Luo Binghe does will be forgiven.

Luo Binghe, however, doesn't seem to find the answer easing the heaviness in his heart. His face contorts, a grimace of disbelief and horror that then curves into an empty smile; his face grins, but in his pain-filled eyes, it only cracks like a grimace. Before Shen Qingqiu knows what on earth is happening, the boy has moved away, falling to his knees with a thud so deep it resonates against the wood of the bamboo house.

“Binghe!” Shen Qingqiu calls out, agitated, but even though he tries to move forward, a strange tingling sensation paralyzes him. It runs through his legs, his arms, numbing his joints slightly. Is it Without-A-Cure? Is that shit paralyzing too?!

“Shizun is teasing with this one, isn’t he?” Luo Binghe asks. His face is still twisted in the same emotionless smile, his eyes burning—red? Shen Qingqiu feels his heart leap, his breath catch, a tremor of panic instinctively gripping him. Something in Luo Binghe snaps in that instant, a hoarse laugh that doesn’t match the boy’s soft voice, something harsher erupting from his throat. His voice even sounds different when he says, “I see. So, even if Shizun doesn’t remember, can he remember how to fear me?”

…Does Luo Binghe know? Shen Qingqiu chokes on a torrent of words he can't utter, his throat almost completely closed, his mind numb. What's happening? The boy… his words… Shen Qingqiu isn't stupid. What the hell is going on? He needs, he needs…

“I think Shizun should sleep,” Luo Binghe says, his voice hollow. Shen Qingqiu studies his face, his eyes, his features. They were angular, with handsome, firm features, and how could Shen Qingqiu have mistaken this dark-hearted young man for a tender white lotus? With just a glance, even if he wore white, even if he wore his hair in a ponytail, how could Shen Qingqiu have been so mistaken? There was no emotion, no tenderness. In the emptiness, in the pain in his eyes, Shen Qingqiu could only think about how long Luo Binghe had been taking revenge on him, toying with him like this, and his own heart broke.

How long?

How?

“Close your eyes, Shizun,” Luo Binghe hums. Hypnotized—no. Clearly not hypnosis, but something creeping through the numbness of his blood, something stirring from within, makes Shen Qingqiu close his eyes. Heavy, his eyelids cover everything, and when his body collapses, it doesn't actually hit the ground. There are firm arms catching him from the impact, a hand trembling as it brushes a strand of hair from his face. “It will be better when Shizun wake up again. I will be better. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I was wrong today. Everything will be alright.”

Shen Qingqiu struggles against the tide that pulls him downward. It is, however, like fighting against chains bound to his ankles, dragging him to the bottom of the ocean. He is rocked in arms that undress him, leaving him only in his nightclothes, hands that settle him in bed, that skillfully undo his guan, letting his hair fall freely before resting his head on the pillow.

Unable to move, unable to shake off the numbness, Shen Qingqiu digs his fingernail hard into his hand. Without-A-Cure's hand has never healed well; it was written in his notes, his own handwriting explaining details he thought unnecessary. There, scars remain from when he was poisoned, burns from his lack of temperature sensitivity, wounds he didn't notice until they bled too much.

Shen Qingqiu digs his fingernail into his palm and prays that something as small as that won't be erased by blood parasites. After all, it's so tiny it wouldn't even attract attention. Right?

As he succumbs to sleep, Shen Qingqiu feels a single tear fall down his face; he isn't entirely sure it's his own. But it might be. After all, Shen Qingqiu has never been good at having hope.

──・──・・✧ ・・──・──

“Dumbfuck author, dumbfuck novel!”

With his dying breath, Shen Yuan spits out that final curse. Life, a merciless bitch as it has always been, spits back in his face.

Shen Yuan awakens to the heavy patter of rain seeping into his ears. After the blackness that flooded his consciousness and the pain of his death, it's actually a surprise not to feel any more pain. Oh, he can feel pain, of course; there's a sensation of utter agony spreading through his muscles, a dense weariness, the bitter, stiff feeling of a body that has been long dormant—the same kind of sensation that, were it not for the canopy over the bed, the antique furniture laden with neatly arranged books, and the robes covering pale skin, would make him think that, in fact, he's only had a very bad nightmare. And what a bad one it was! A horrible ending, an ending so horrible that it’s caused his death!

But it's not a nightmare, nor was it ever. Shen Yuan stretches out in bed, a sharp pain stabbing in every joint and muscle, a heavy weariness weighing on his chest. His head feels bulging, like when he's overslept, and at the same time, a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach, like going to bed right after eating. With one hand on his chest, he takes a deep breath, trying to control the pain: back, ribs, lungs. On the palm of his hand, in fact, there are at least nine small scars, sometimes overlapping.

Shen Yuan has no idea what they could be until he closes his hand slightly and discovers they match the shape of his fingernails exactly. Oh, wow, maybe he's been clenching his fists too tightly in his sleep? Anyway, he wouldn't have even noticed if it weren't for the pain of one of those wounds, a much more recent crescent, almost completely open. Blood has trickled down his sleeve, now dry, an opaque red darkening the fabric.

Taken together, all the pain is identical to that of a really bad day, but Shen Yuan knows very well that it could be worse.