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Chapter Text

Later, Luo Binghe would not be able to determine what made this night different from any of the others. Why tonight, as he eased himself into sleep holding the limp, cool wrist of his shizun’s empty body, his fingers unexpectedly caught on a thin gossamer thread.

Of course, it was a metaphorical thread; or rather, a spiritual one, given form in the dream realm by the power of Luo Binghe’s perception. He’d already tried, night after night, to find his way to any shadow or echo of Shen Qingqiu’s soul that might still use his body as an anchor, but had found nothing. Perhaps in another universe on this night, his hand might have missed the thread. But in this one, Luo Binghe clung to his treasured discovery as if to life itself.

Keeping the thread firmly in his intangible grasp, Luo Binghe followed it deeper into the dream realm. He passed by countless dreaming minds, easy to identify after years of training by Meng Mo. Each was anchored in life, to a living body. Luo Binghe could sense the vibrant connections as he passed. But his thread–Shen Qingqiu’s thread!–led onwards, further and further until there were no other minds nearby. And then, the thread… stopped.

It felt like a wall. A barrier both impenetrable and invisible. Luo Binghe clung to calm, but his excitement at finding a lead was rapidly churning into a frenzy of fear and rage. The thread remained as solid as it ever had been–that is to say, barely–but as he slid himself along it, he was abruptly stopped. It was as if the thread was passing through the crack between a closed door and the doorframe, but Luo Binghe couldn’t find the edge: no handle, no ridge, no handhold. Luo Binghe threw his incorporeal self at it. He spread his mind into thousands of tiny filaments, and probed at every speck of space in his suddenly blocked path. He called up more and more demonic energy, pushed harder and burned hotter. He thought to himself, despairing, If I cannot find and bring back my shizun, I won’t be able to hold on. I’ll die. I’ll cease to exist.

And then suddenly, like breaking through the surface of clouded water, Luo Binghe was somewhere else.

It felt like entering someone else’s dream, but he couldn’t identify any dreaming mind controlling the space, nor could Luo Binghe take control. He couldn’t alter his appearance or the environment, and yet Luo Binghe looked down to find a faithful approximation of his real body, dressed in red and black robes and wearing Xin Mo.

And standing in front of him was a young man: slim and pale, dressed in a strange version of undergarments–wildly patterned but without identifiable embroidery, brocade, brushstroke or seam–with shockingly short cropped hair. If Luo Binghe hadn’t followed the slim spiritual tether from Shen Qingqiu’s body to this strange realm, he wouldn’t have been able to see the faint echoes of his shizun’s face in the youth. They were in a room with vague outlines; there was a suggestion of bed, a desk, and wall hangings, but all remained blurry no matter how Luo Binghe squinted. Though identifiable, the furnishings were also startlingly foreign in appearance. The desk was too high and cluttered with strange shapes; the bed oddly formed; the wall hangings shiny, flat and somehow sharp, despite the images on them refusing to clarify into anything that Luo Binghe could parse.

The young man startled, obviously noticing him. “Oh! Luo Binghe!” he cried, excited, his big eyes lighting with interest.

Luo Binghe’s heart sped up. If this was somehow Shen Qingqiu, and he recognized Luo Binghe–had he found Shen Qingqiu’s lost, trapped soul? Even if he looked… different?

“Shizun?” Luo Binghe choked out. But the young man immediately made a face of distaste.

“Oh, weird! Why would I dream of being the scum villain I always wanted to castrate?” Luo Binghe choked. The–what? The young man continued, blithely: “No, I’m not Shen Qingqiu.”

Luo Binghe, stupefied, said nothing. The youth walked towards him; Luo Binghe stood still, frozen. Up close, I’m-not-Shen Qingqiu’s eyes were even more heartbreakingly familiar. The man–this strange creature, who might somehow, still, be his shizun–peered into Luo Binghe’s face curiously.

“You’re just how I always imagined him, but better!” Luo Binghe jerked. Better than what? The youth stepped around him, examining him from other angles.

From behind Luo Binghe, he remarked, “Xin Mo looks so cool. My imagination is so good in dreams! And you! Just as handsome as promised. I wonder if…”

He reappeared on Luo Binghe’s other side and, bafflingly, reached out and poked Luo Binghe in the face, denting the flesh of his cheek. Luo Binghe grabbed his hand.

“Oh! It’s almost like you’re real!” the young man cried, obviously surprised.

“Of course I’m real!” Luo Binghe snapped. The young man stared at Luo Binghe, startled for a moment, before recovering his composure.

“Oh yeah?” he challenged Luo Binghe, with a condescending air. “Well, where did you find Xin Mo: the cave of the Undying Fire Dragon or the Arcane Sea Serpent’s lair?”

“I fought the Serpent for its scales, to use as armor and weapons to defeat the Fire Dragon in its cave,” Luo Binghe replied sharply. How did this man–possibly shizun–know how he’d gained Xin Mo in the abyss?

“Well, of course you’d know that,” maybe-shizun said, almost to himself; almost as though Luo Binghe wasn’t even there. “I know that! I basically have the whole novel memorized, and you’re a figment of my imagination,” he muttered.

So, this person thought himself to be dreaming? Dreaming of Luo Binghe? Though he said he wasn’t Shen Qingqiu, he seemed to know Luo Binghe regardless.

Heedless of Luo Binghe’s confusion, the youth-who-might-be-shizun continued: “Hmm, I’ve always wanted to see if–” Luo Binghe watched, disbelieving, as the man reached for Xin Mo. As his fingers brushed it, Xin Mo’s energy spiked, and Luo Binghe, in a panic, jerked himself backward.

He found himself back in the blackness, the unpopulated dream realm. Luo Binghe charged forward, furious and heartsick, and slammed against the wall again. Nauseated by the threat of losing the mysterious young man, his only clue thus far to shizun’s whereabouts, he slid himself out like spilled water across the surface. At last, he brushed up against the gossamer thread again. Panting, he clung to it, and summoned Meng Mo.

“What is this?” Luo Binghe demanded. “What sort of prison is this, how do I get back in?”

“Kid, I just got here!” Meng Mo grumped. “Give this elder a moment to look at it!”

Luo Binghe’s grip spasmed on the thread as Meng Mo brushed against it. The dream demon hmm’d consideringly, and turned to inspect the invisible wall.

“Well, the cord does feel a little like your shizun’s spiritual energy,” Meng Mo allowed.

“It’s definitely him? He’s alive?” Luo Binghe breathed. “Help me bring him back to his body, now!” he commanded.

“This senior did not say that!” Meng Mo snapped. “If he were a soul wandering, lost to his body, he’d be like me–we’d both be able to see him. This–this wall,” Meng Mo paused, considering. “This master has never seen anything like it. You say you got in before? And there is someone inside, who might be your Shen Qingqiu?”

“Yes, this lord got in, and yes… it might be Shen Qingqiu,” Luo Binghe said. “But… it’s not clear to this one exactly how he entered,” he admitted.

“Well,” Meng Mo said. “Try what you did before, and I’ll watch and see how it happens–if it happens.”

Luo Binghe called up more energy, as he had before; he spread himself far and wide, and simultaneously focused his attention into infinitesimally small fingers, and pushed. He groped and strained; bodiless, he nonetheless panted and sweated. Nothing was happening–nothing was happening! No, no it couldn’t be; he couldn’t have gotten so close, and then… Luo Binghe felt a familiar despair crash over him like a wave. This failure… he couldn’t bear it. I’d rather die…

Abruptly, he was back in the uncanny place.

The young man startled, obviously noticing him. “Oh! Luo Binghe!” he cried, excited.

Luo Binghe responded with a slow nod, wary; he felt a powerful deja vu, layered on top of the unsettling and bizarre environment. The youth moved toward him in exactly the same way as before and peered into his face, curiously.

“You’re just how I always imagined him, but better!” The same step to the side, the same circling behind his back; Luo Binghe’s skin crawled.

“... and Xin Mo looks so cool. My imagination is so good in dreams! And you! Just as handsome as promised. I wonder if…”

The youth appeared on his other side and, again, reached out and poked Luo Binghe in the face. When Luo Binghe didn’t stop him, the stranger stroked his cheek absently, like you’d pet a dog you’d just met. Luo Binghe reached out slowly and took hold of the hand.

Unperturbed, the youth pulled Luo Binghe’s hand toward himself, turned it over and examined it; he tested Luo Binghe’s sharp nails against his fingertips and exclaimed at their edge. He flexed Luo Binghe’s wrist and fiddled with his cuffs and layered sleeves, caressing them and exploring Luo Binghe’s body, fearless. Luo Binghe stared. No one, ever, had treated him this way; with curiosity and care, and yet casually. Lately, he’d been feared; before, he’d been unremarkable; before that, he’d been an object of scorn and pity.

The youth’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Oh, this silk is so soft! Is it spider demon silk, I wonder? Isn’t that supposed to be indestructible…?” he mused, again, almost to himself.

“Yes,” Luo Binghe croaked. “It is.”

The young man looked up, startled, and registered Luo Binghe staring at him. “Oh, you talk?” Shen Yuan said, obviously surprised.

“Yes-s… yes. This… lord must ask, who is holding his hand?”

Shen Yuan flushed. “Oh, nobody,” he said quickly, then coughed, and mumbled under his breath, too soft for any but demonic ears to register, “Just your biggest fan.”

“Your name?” Luo Binghe prompted, confused but hopeful.

“Shen Yuan,” the youth–Shen Yuan?–admitted.

“And Shen Yuan… knows this Luo Binghe?” Luo Binghe politely inquired.

Shen Yuan nodded firmly. “Better than anyone.” After a pause, he added snottily, “Better even than that stupid author, probably.”

“That author,” Luo Binghe repeated, baffled.

“Airplane Shooting Towards the Stupid, yeah,” Shen Yuan replied, guileless, smirking.

“Airplane?” Luo Binghe echoed, confused.

Shen Yuan snorted. “I know, right? Ridiculous,” he said, smiling, as though they were sharing a joke. Luo Binghe stared at him, mesmerized. It was obviously the same smile, his shizun’s smile. Luo Binghe was absolutely, positively, sure of it. Though he’d never seen it this big, this shameless.

After too many beats, the smile began to falter, when Luo Binghe failed to respond to the unfathomable joke as Shen Yuan obviously expected. Luo Binghe hastened to fill the silence.

“Airplane is the author of…” Luo Binghe prompted.

“Your book,” Shen Yuan replied. “Wow, strange to talk to the protagonist about the novel you read about him in! Dreams are so weird,” Shen Yuan mused. Luo Binghe, shocked, took a retreating step backward… and fell out of the space again.

This time, however, Luo Binghe was reasonably sure he knew what the key was. With barely a pause, he focused on his conviction that without his shizun returned to him, he would give up; he would stop; he would fall into a despair so profound he could never emerge. As he did so, he exerted the smallest amount of pressure and felt the smooth wall soften, become permeable. He felt sure he could pop through, and so backed off, holding on to the thread carefully.

He turned to Meng Mo, who shrugged and reported that once he’d gone in, Meng Mo had lost all sense of him. He disappeared; it was as if he had died. When he’d popped back out of the bubble realm, he felt totally normal; his power undiminished, his demonic energy unchanged. Luo Binghe dismissed the dream demon, irritable; he was no help with the real questions! What was this prison, and who made it? Was it really Luo Binghe’s trapped shizun inside?

Luo Binghe crouched alone in the darkness, clinging to the thread and pressed against the wall, thinking hard. He knew that his shizun had changed, when Luo Binghe was young, about fourteen years old. Something strange had happened after his shizun’s attack of fever that year; even as sidelined and oppressed as he’d been then, he’d noticed the strain in his martial uncles and aunts as they came, unusually often, to visit him as he recovered.

After, once his shizun had stopped hating him and started… taking care of him, Luo Binghe had wondered if it had been an act of grace by the gods, granted to him after all his suffering. Or maybe Shen Qingqiu had suffered from heart demons that he’d finally defeated in meditation. Maybe he had a qi deviation, and had forgotten crucial tormentingly bad memories, a tragic past, something–anything! Luo Binghe had been desperate to understand. Why then? Was it something he’d done? Was it destiny?

He’d wondered if it was Shen Qingqiu taking another step towards ascension, to becoming a god himself, and leaving Luo Binghe alone again. But under his continued careful scrutiny, his shizun had been too fussy and too bashful, too much a real person, with charming flaws and little foibles, to have become enlightened. He was just… different. Profoundly so. Luo Binghe had eventually given up figuring it out as a bad job, stuffed his worries deep inside just like his nightmares and childhood memories, and luxuriated in having a teacher, a mentor, a role model; a protector, a shelter, a home. But then, at the conference…

He’d never been able to make sense of that, either. He knew his shizun. He knew Shen Qingqiu, he’d lived with him, cheek by jowl, for years! Luo Binghe had asked him carefully about demons and he’d heard his shizun’s fair and calm judgment. He’d seen Shen Qingqiu with demonic beasts, always pleased and fascinated if at times cautious, but never horrified or disgusted. Everything Luo Binghe knew about his master conflicted deeply with what Shen Qingqiu had said that night, as he rejected him, as he… as he drew his sword, and...

After Luo Binghe had finally escaped the abyss, he’d gained no clarity or insight. If anything, the situation was more confusing. Why, if shizun had rejected him so suddenly and resolutely, had he never revealed Luo Binghe’s nature to the world? Why did he run from Luo Binghe, terrified, but continue to protect his reputation? Why was he silent when questioned, even when they were alone together in the Water Prison, except to imply that Luo Binghe had betrayed him–framed him? And then… after all that, after refusing the hand Luo Binghe held out, and escaping as a wanted man, had he reappeared to sacrifice himself for Luo Binghe? He left his lifeless body in Luo Binghe’s arms on the roof, watched by the whole world– without leaving Luo Binghe a single clue to his true feelings, his motivations. Nothing made sense!

As confusing as those events were, they seemed human-scaled. There was some misunderstanding, he was sure, that hopefully could be resolved once Luo Binghe had recaptured his shizun’s soul and reunited it with his body. Luo Binghe would never leave Shen Qingqiu’s side again, no matter what. Eventually… eventually, they would reconcile, and return to their happy life together.

However, this–this strange and powerful prison, uncontrolled by any person or creature, and this baffling familiar/unfamiliar youth, who knew so much: this was something else entirely. The situation was more alien than suddenly discovering himself to be a demon, more existentially troubling than falling into hell. While he wasn’t as terrified now as then, at least in the abyss it was clear, if inhumanly difficult, that he could fight the monsters therein. Here, crouched in front of a barrier that responded not to force or strength, but only to his deepest, darkest despair, Luo Binghe felt small and powerless. Who was he fighting? With what weapons? He couldn’t imagine. It felt like the world here was touched by the intervention of strange and incomprehensible gods. Like a different universe, baffling and unearthly, unresponsive to mortal, immortal or demonic methods.

Nevertheless, Luo Binghe could not stop; he could not turn away. His life, somehow, lay beyond the strange barrier. Luo Binghe firmed his resolve, and considered the battlefield. How to proceed? What did he know, and what did he need?

Unfortunately, he knew… almost nothing, and didn’t know what he needed, either. Each question that plagued him in that empty darkness begat more. Was this Shen Yuan his shizun? If so, what was wrong with him? Why didn’t he remember being shizun? Why did shizun know of Shen Qingqiu–and maybe, perhaps, specifically Shen Qingqiu before the fever–and Luo Binghe, but not as himself and his disciple? How did he know what happened in the abyss? What did he mean, ‘author of a novel’ where Luo Binghe was the ‘protagonist’? And Shen Yuan didn’t seem to remember Luo Binghe’s first entry, their first conversation; so each time Luo Binghe interrogated him, would he have to start anew?

Though, Luo Binghe paused, considering, perhaps that could be a benefit. Finally, something he could use! If Luo Binghe erred in his questions, he could simply leave and return again, wiping the slate clean. He could ask… anything, and the consequences wouldn’t matter. The possibilities spilled out in front of Luo Binghe like priceless gems. He had held so many impossible questions in his heart for so long!

But if shizun didn’t remember their lives… Luo Binghe’s elation curdled. Those old questions, about the abyss and Shen Qingqiu’s strange behavior that burned so fiercely, could not be answered by whoever Shen Yuan was, as he was now.

Well, Luo Binghe’s life had rarely been easy, so he’d find some way to work around it. He clenched his fists. Xin Mo, at his side, vibrated with the force of his conviction. He tugged on the thread to the strange prison and threw himself into the suicidal despair that opened it.

The young man startled just as he had before. “Oh! Luo Binghe!” he cried, excited.

Luo Binghe said nothing, and watched as Shen Yuan moved toward him again and examined his face, exactly the same way he had twice before.

“You’re just how I always imagined him, but better!” Luo Binghe held his breath while Shen Yuan moved around him.

“... and Xin Mo looks so cool. My imagination is so good in dreams! And you! Just as handsome as promised. I wonder if…”

The youth appeared on his other side. Luo Binghe reached out and caught Shen Yuan’s hand as it approached his face.

“Shen Yuan,’ he said.

“Oh, you know my name!” Shen Yuan chirped, delighted.

“This Luo Binghe does,” Luo Binghe agreed. “And Shen Yuan knows this one from a novel,” Luo Binghe continued, staring intently at Shen Yuan, cataloging his every reaction.

“Yup, the worst novel on the web,” Shen Yuan replied, sarcastically and somehow proudly.

“But don’t worry, you’re still the best,” Shen Yuan assured him, smiling at him fondly and… familiarly, so familiarly. A warmth kindled in Luo Binghe’s heart; he even sounded just like shizun did, when Luo Binghe the favored disciple had stumbled, sparring (possibly on purpose).

Shen Yuan is shizun, he must be, Luo Binghe decided, relief welling up and filling his wretched body. He knew it in his gut, in his soul. He’d just lost his memory. And his body. And… he came from… from somewhere else. But it doesn’t matter where shizun came from, Luo Binghe thought. He’s mine!

Now that he’d found shizun, he had to restore him, which now seemed to be–rather more complicated than he’d anticipated. He eyed this strangely dressed, deeply bizarre young man. Somehow, this was shizun. Luo Binghe needed more information.

“Shen Yuan knows the whole story of this one’s life,” Luo Binghe ventured.

“Absolutely, I wrote most of the wiki,” Shen Yuan agreed, incomprehensibly.

“He also knows my shizun, Shen Qingqiu,” Luo Binghe said.

“Of course, the scum villain, lusting after your wife Ning Yingying! It was good that you made him into a human stick, but I do wish you’d castrated him first,” Shen Yuan nodded affably as he spoke, as though of common things.

Shocked, Luo Binghe fell all the way out of the dream realm and into his own bed, startled awake. Shizun…! Luo Binghe cried in his mind. He would never… he could never… Luo Binghe stared, wide-eyed, at the ceiling in his Huan Hua palace bedroom, and took deep breaths to recover his composure. He threw himself back to sleep, hauling himself hand over hand along the thread to Shen Yuan’s bubble.

The young man startled, obviously noticing him. “Oh! Luo Binghe!” he cried, excited.

Luo Binghe trembled. It had been simpler this time. He’d barely needed the guidance of the thread. He felt sure he could definitely find this space again; no matter what, he wouldn’t lose this person. Shen Yuan, heedless of his wild emotions, went through the same motions as before.

“You’re just how I–”

“Yes, you are dreaming,” Luo Binghe confirmed, cutting him off. “Why did I make Shen Qingqiu into a human stick?” Luo Binghe asked, urgently.

“Oh,” Shen Yuan deflated, sidetracked from his catalogue of admiration. “Well, because he was the scum villain who started your blackening,” Shen Yuan said, somewhat confused, as though this were too obvious to speak aloud.

Luo Binghe nodded encouragingly and waved at him to continue.

“He threw you into the abyss when he found out you were a demon?” Shen Yuan added.

Luo Binghe froze–was it, could it be–no, it couldn’t be as simple as that! Surely not! Luo Binghe gritted his teeth, tortured by the thought that his shizun did really throw him away because of his blood–but Shen Yuan blithely continued, interrupting his thoughts.

“But I guess he always hated you and that was just an excuse, or like, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back,” Shen Yuan mused.

“He always… hated me?” Luo Binghe asked, hating how pitiful he sounded.

“Yes, he beat the shit out of you all the time,” Shen Yuan agreed cheerfully. “He gave you a fake cultivation manual; he encouraged Ming Fan and his bullies to torture you.” Luo Binghe quailed, shivering. “He never gave you a single kind word, your whole life.”

Luo Binghe’s pupils shrank–there it was.

It was true, Luo Binghe thought. Shen Qingqiu had done that: tortured, deceived. But only–only before. It seemed that, in whatever novel Shen Yuan read, Shen Qingqiu never had his fever. There had been no kindly shizun replacing the cruel, no mentor who kept Luo Binghe close, moved him into his own home, ate the food he made, and patted his head.

“He never stopped torturing me,” Luo Binghe ventured, cautiously.

“No, never. So you tortured him back, and killed him, and you got your revenge,” Shen Yuan confirmed, satisfied–on Luo Binghe’s behalf?

“And,” Luo Binghe thinned his mouth, but continued despite his distaste for the idea, “and then I married Ning Yingying?”

Even saying it out loud was absurd. His shijie was kind, and he believed she loved him in her way, but she was… not his type.

“Yes, she was your first wife,” Shen Yuan nodded, appearing thrilled to regurgitate basic details of Luo Binghe’s other life.

“My first wife,” Luo Binghe repeated, skeptically.

“Oh yeah, of like, hundreds,” Shen Yuan rolled his eyes. “Some of them were really dumb, Binghe, honestly. I get that you needed to papapa them to sate Xin Mo’s hunger, but surely you could have been a little more selective!” Shen Yuan shook his head, disappointed. “I don’t think you even liked most of them,” he mused.

Luo Binghe recoiled–wives, hundreds of wives! Who he barely liked–barely knew, if there were so many! The idea was abhorrent. Ever since the Skinner Demon incident, when Luo Binghe had been forcibly awakened to his sexual desire, he’d been… focused, erotically. He could see beauty and appeal in others, but it wasn’t very interesting to him. How could it, when it wasn’t paired with his shizun’s kindly, focused attention? His care, his… maybe his love?

Shen Yuan’s clear eyes were watching him react with great interest. He wore a little smile as he watched; a subtle one, one that should properly be half-covered by a folding fan.

“Even you agree with me,” Shen Yuan said, clearly thrilled. “Luo Binghe also thinks Airplane’s wifeplots were stupid!” He hooted, making some sort of obscure gesture with his arm and elbow. Luo Binghe watched him, uncomprehending.

“This Luo Binghe has no wife,” he said, still reeling from the idea of a harem full of faceless women. He was unable to connect the idea to any version of himself.

Shen Yuan froze in the middle of some absurd, possibly celebratory, dance. “No wife?” he asked, confused. “Not even Liu Mingyan?”

Liu Ming–what? Ning Yinging’s friend, the head disciple of Xian Shu, the one that shizun always stared at whenever she appeared? Luo Binghe dumbly shook his head.

Shen Yuan seemed to deflate. “That’s too bad,” he said–sympathetically? “She was my favorite,” he continued. Luo Binghe’s stomach soured, remembering the way his shizun’s gaze had followed her–longingly, he suspected at the time.

He supposed it was true, then; his shizun admired Liu Mingyan.

“Of all of them, she was one of the few who I really thought deserved you,” Shen Yuan consoled, and patted Luo Binghe’s shoulder.

“Deserved me?” Luo Binghe asked, wrongfooted. Had shizun been watching her because of him?

“Though I never could figure out why you didn’t sleep with her,” Shen Yuan mused, as if Luo Binghe hadn’t spoken. Suddenly, he brightened. “Well, I guess I can ask you, huh? Was she too pure? Was she sworn to chastity?”

“I’d never,” Luo Binghe choked out. “I don’t… know,” he corrected himself. And then he remembered: Shen Yuan wouldn’t remember this. He could say whatever he wanted.

“This Luo Binghe doesn’t want to sleep with Liu Mingyan,” he said, firmly.

“Oh, why not?” Shen Yuan asked, confused. “Isn’t she the most beautiful woman in the cultivation world? One of the strongest female cultivators? Why wouldn’t you want her?”

“This Luo Binghe doesn’t want to sleep with any woman,” Luo Binghe said, even more boldly, though honestly, he was terrified. It felt so strange to say it out loud!

His shizun had obliquely referred to Luo Binghe’s future romances, his marriage, or interest in women–or more often, theirs in him–so many times. Luo Binghe had always just changed the subject, fearful of bringing up his true desires before the proper time. But now, he could just say it, say whatever he wanted. It wouldn’t matter; he could leave and come back, and reset the conversation.

“What!?” Shen Yuan shrieked, throwing up his hands, grabbing handfuls of his short hair in obvious distress. “No, no, that’s not possible!” he moaned.

“Why not?” Luo Binghe retorted, confused and alarmed at this outsize reaction. “Why do I have to?” he added, sullenly.

Shen Yuan sputtered. “Xin Mo is why!” he snapped. “How are you going to control Xin Mo, without… sex?”

“There are other ways!” Luo Binghe defended. Not that those ways were very good, either–well, he hadn’t killed the cultivators he’d used for the purpose, at least. He didn’t think his shizun would approve, but he’d done what he had to do.

“But you’re the stallion protagonist!” Shen Yuan howled, sounding almost offended. “That’s what you do–you fuck women, you marry them, you get revenge, you use your golden finger to conquer!” Shen Yuan angrily pointed at Xin Mo, his… golden finger?

Luo Binghe felt squashed like a bug, crushed; like garbage. This was what shizun expected him to achieve, to aspire to–- a violent, power-mad, vengeful slattern?

“But you said my wives were stupid,” he mumbled, heartbroken.

“They are,” Shen Yuan agreed, confused, but still angry. “They are! You deserve better!”

“So why do I have to marry them?” Luo Binghe shouted.

This stopped Shen Yuan cold, his mouth open already to spew more exhortations, probably.

Luo Binghe stared at his confused little face, so familiar and yet so foreign, and thought: well, why not?

“Why can’t I marry someone I love?” Luo Binghe asked, quietly, into the awkward silence. “The one person… just one person, who means more to me than anyone else?”

This time it was Shen Yuan who took a step back, confused. “Who?” he mumbled, clearly wracking his brain for the identity of such a person. Morbidly curious, Luo Binghe waited to see who he’d suggest. Who else did Shen Yuan know? What were the limits of his knowledge?

“You already said not Liu Mingyan, even though she’s the best,” Shen Yuan murmured, gaze downturned. This attitude, where Shen Yuan forgot he was there–forgot he was a person, that he could hear Shen Yuan talking–was making Luo Binghe itch. He needed Shen Yuan to see him. Shen Qingqiu–his own Shen Qingqiu–had always seen him.

“Not…” Shen Yuan cut himself off, shook his head. Luo Binghe watched as Shen Yuan mimed counting on his fingers, then made a sharp gesture with one hand, dismissing whatever or whoever he’d been considering. His mouth moved, talking to himself; his brow furrowed. Luo Binghe was entranced. Shen Yuan, too, despite his… unnatural knowledge, couldn’t think of anyone that Luo Binghe could love that way.

Of course he couldn’t, Luo Binghe thought, struck by how right this was, how true. He doesn’t remember being Shen Qingqiu. Shen Yuan’s knowledge was incomplete.

Finally, Shen Yuan seemed to give up. He raised his eyes to Luo Binghe’s slowly, apologetically. At last–at last!--he looked Luo Binghe in the eye and spoke to him directly and clearly.

“I don’t think there’s any woman I know of who you could love like that,” Shen Yuan said, sadly. Luo Binghe’s heart squeezed.

“I know,” Luo Binghe replied.

“I really wish there was,” Shen Yuan continued. “I flamed and flamed stupid Airplane about it,” whatever that meant, “but he chose to end your story without anything like that happening.”

Shen Yuan fiddled with his hands again and ducked his head. “I’m sorry,” he added, darting a glance up at Luo Binghe through the short fringe of hair that fell over his forehead. “You deserve a better story,” he added softly.

“Don’t be sorry,” Luo Binghe said, filled with hope. He looked into Shen Yuan’s earnest face and felt his sincerity reverberate in the air. Luo Binghe considered the ‘end’ that Shen Yuan knew, which he realized didn’t have to be his own. Because somehow, inexplicably, Shen Yuan had come and taken over Shen Qingqiu’s body during his fever, and changed his story.

As an explanation for the strange events of his life, it was ridiculous. Impossible! Despite this, Luo Binghe was sure of it: it was true. This person, Shen Yuan, had somehow become his shizun, and the center of his life.

“This Luo Binghe promises you, he will find his true love, and marry them, and only them,” he said, serious as a vow.

Shen Yuan, who had been gazing at him sorrowfully, brightened. “Oh,” he said, surprised. “Oh, good!”

Then Shen Yuan smiled, big and bright, happy and honest. Luo Binghe grinned back, thrilled. He was going to figure this out. He was going to visit Shen Yuan every night until he knew everything; he would discover all the answers to all his questions. It was crystal clear that Shen Yuan wanted to help him; he wanted Luo Binghe to be happy.

When Luo Binghe was satisfied he knew everything he needed, he’d figure out how to shove Shen Yuan back into Shen Qingqiu’s empty body, and then, he’d fulfill his promise, and marry him.

Chapter Text

Scene 1: Shen Yuan, what does ‘gay’ mean?

“Oh! Luo Binghe!” Shen Yuan cried, as he always did, when Luo Binghe entered his bubble.

“Hello, Shen Yuan,” Luo Binghe replied, smiling. “How are you?”

The question always baffled Shen Yuan. “Who cares?” Shen Yuan said, dismissively. “How are you? Where are you in the story? Who or what are you fighting?” Shen Yuan drifted closer as he peppered Luo Binghe with questions.

“Oh, nobody important,” Luo Binghe dismissed (meaning Liu Qingge, as usual). “But I have a question for you, if you don’t mind.”

Luo Binghe had grown used to—and cherished—how casual in their speech he and Shen Yuan were with each other. It was like talking to a childhood friend. Or—in his case—a childhood crush. A crush who loved him and wanted him to be happy, but couldn’t remember anything about their lives, except as a weird sadomasochistic novel of revenge and meaningless, depressing promiscuity that he’d read and been obsessed with. You know… that tired old dogblood plot.

“Anything, Binghe—this expert commenter is at your service,” Shen Yuan sighed happily, and as he often did, referenced something Luo Binghe didn’t understand. No matter— he only needed to care about what Shen Yuan said when it was relevant to their future, in Luo Binghe’s own world; not wherever Shen Yuan had been, before.They could talk about it later, maybe, when everything was settled.

“Do you think,” Luo Binghe asked, searching Shen Yuan’s shining, interested face, “that I could ever fall in love with a man?”

Shen Yuan had been leaning forward a little, anticipating Luo Binghe’s question. At this, he reared back in shock, lost his footing, and fell backwards onto his butt.

“What?!” he shrieked, flailing.

Sighing, Luo Binghe helped him up. Once standing, Shen Yuan held on to his hand for a moment, searching his face. “You’ve got to be kidding! Luo Binghe, gay?! Impossible!”

“Shen Yuan,” Luo Binghe sighed again. “I don’t know what ‘gay’ is, but I don’t see why it’s so impossible,” he pouted.

“But you have all those women throwing themselves at you!” Shen Yuan sputtered.

“But they’re all dumb and beneath me,” Luo Binghe reminded him; Shen Yuan had said so himself, several times. Even if, as Luo Binghe suspected, most of them were perfectly fine people with reasonable intelligence.

“Uh, well,” Shen Yuan gulped. “That’s… true; except for Liu Mingyan! She’s great, even if you don’t sleep with her. But that doesn’t mean you should go gay!”

“Why not?” Luo Binghe asked, honestly. Every time he’d brought up the possibility of loving a man, Shen Yuan had gotten flustered and refused to answer properly, merely insisting it wasn’t possible. But Luo Binghe meant to pin him down today. He needed to know what was keeping Shen Yuan from considering him as a potential suitor.

Shen Yuan gaped at him. Luo Binghe pressed: “What’s wrong with being gay, anyway?”

“Nothing!” Shen Yuan yelped.

“So why can’t I be gay?” Luo Binghe demanded.

“Who would you even be gay with?” Shen Yuan snapped. “It makes no narrative sense! There aren’t any men worthy of you in PIDW either!”

Hmm, Luo Binghe thought: a new objection, hard to counter. Luo Binghe was, after all, interested in only one man. He eyed Shen Yuan, who was blushing prettily. Time for a redirection.

“Who would you pick?” Luo Binghe asked, sly.

“Who would I pick for what?” Shen Yuan replied, flustered.

“What man would you pick?” Luo Binghe clarified.

“For you?” Shen Yuan scoffed. “Didn’t I already say? There isn’t one. They’re all your enemies, or beneath you; there’s nobody. And you aren’t gay!”

“Not for me,” Luo Binghe said softly, stepping closer. “Who would you pick, for you?”

Shen Yuan gulped, looking up at Luo Binghe, like a mouse mesmerized by a snake. “Me?” He choked and then coughed a little and wiped his mouth. “But I’m not… I’m not gay, either.”

“Why not?” Luo Binghe asked, edging even closer. He considered for a moment, and then dared to put his hand on Shen Yuan’s waist, just that one soft, thrilling layer between him and Shen Yuan’s warm skin.

“This is a weird dream,” Shen Yuan said, absently, as he stared up at Luo Binghe.

“Would you…” Luo Binghe crooned, leaning closer. Shen Yuan gasped, and then bit his lip. Luo Binghe put his other hand on Shen Yuan’s sweet, thin cheek, and tipped his face up firmly.

Shen Yuan panted in his hold. “Would you pick me?” Luo Binghe breathed.

“Oh,” Shen Yuan gasped. “Oh, it’s one of those dreams,” he breathed, sounding both scared and excited.

Luo Binghe was thrilled. He nudged his cheek against Shen Yuan’s, feeling the ends of Shen Yuan’s cropped hair brush along his skin as he nuzzled closer. He was determined that their first kiss would happen in real life, not… wherever this was. He wanted Shen Yuan to remember it.

“What happens in those dreams, Shen Yuan,” he whispered into Shen Yuan’s ear, sliding his body closer and closer, but not touching him—not here, not yet.

“I don’t remember,” Shen Yuan said, firmly but desperately. Luo Binghe was filled with glee.

“No?” Luo Binghe asked, mournfully, and made sure to breathe heavily onto Shen Yuan’s ear.

“No!” Shen Yuan yelped.

Scene 2: Shen Yuan, genre expert

“Oh! Luo Binghe!” Shen Yuan cried, as usual.

“Shen Yuan, have you ever heard of someone reading a novel, and then becoming part of the novel?” Luo Binghe asked. Tonight was about business, even if talking to Shen Yuan the last time about being ‘gay’ was so thrilling he had to frantically masterbate multiple times over the course of the following day about it.

“Oh, sure,” Shen Yuan said, waving the idea away casually. “Isekai,” he continued, dismissive. “Those can sometimes be fun stories, but the people who transmigrate always make such stupid mistakes—either they forget things about the story they’re in, or they just say dumb stuff and get caught.”

Hmm, Luo Binghe thought. No risk of the first error from Shen Yuan; Luo Binghe had quizzed him on flora, fauna, illustrious personages, politics, and the specific layout of Qing Jing peak, and Shen Yuan’s knowledge was flawless.

“So you’ve seen this happen? Seen someone go into a story?” Luo Binghe asked, excited to have his theory confirmed.

“Oh, no,” Shen Yuan said. “No, the isekai stories are just fantasy; it’s another kind of story, a genre. But I do read a lot of webnovels,” whatever that was, “so I’ve read a few, and sometimes I think about what I’d do, if I transmigrated.”

“Oh?” Luo Binghe asked, trying not to betray his interest. “And what would you do if you… trans…”

“Transmigrated,” Shen Yuan prompted, smiling.

“Transmigrated into my story?” Luo Binghe finished. Inside, he was cramped tight with nerves.

Shen Yuan considered this question thoughtfully. “Hmm,” he said. “It would depend on who I transmigrated into.”

Luo Binghe signaled his confusion with a gesture.

“Oh, you transmigrate into an existing character, usually!” Shen Yuan clarified, cheerfully. He truly was a natural teacher; he loved to explain things. Luo Binghe felt smarter every night he spent with Shen Yuan.

Luo Binghe’s heart leapt. “What if you transmigrated into Shen Qingqiu, when I was a disciple?” he asked, affecting casualness.

Shen Yuan recoiled. Luo Binghe held himself still; this was expected. He knew Shen Yuan hated the old Shen Qingqiu, and why: because the old Shen Qingqiu hated Luo Binghe, while Shen Yuan loved Luo Binghe. He wasn’t rejecting their life, their future happiness—he wasn’t!

“That would suck so bad,” Shen Yuan observed, impressed. “I guess I would… stop hurting you, probably, but it might not let me.”

What? “What might not let you?” Luo Binghe asked, a bloodhound on a trail.

“The system,” Shen Yuan replied, easily.

“What… is a system?” Luo Binghe asked. Could this be…?

“Oh, it’s like a video game computer,” Luo Binghe sighed internally—what on earth was that?—but kept listening for things he could understand. “It helps you navigate the story’s world. It can give you quests, and points, which you can trade for upgrades. But sometimes the system won’t let you take actions that are OOC, or forces you to take actions that you don’t want to take, for the sake of the narrative,” Shen Yuan explained.

Luo Binghe considered which nonsensical word he wanted to tackle first.

“What’s OOC?” he asked.

“Oh, out of character,” said Shen Yuan blithely. “Like, if I was Shen Qingqiu, a system might not let me be nice to you, since he normally wouldn’t; at least for a while, until I upgraded.”

Luo Binghe could have wept with joy. “And the system might make you do things? Like…” Luo Binghe, pausing, reminded himself as he often had to, that he could bail out of this conversation and restart if it went awry. Any information is good information!

“... for example…” Luo Binghe continued, and paused again, nervous despite himself. Shen Yuan nodded at him, encouraging. Helpful. Interested. Oh, Luo Binghe loved him!

“... throw me into the Endless Abyss?” Luo Binghe held his breath as Shen Yuan frowned for a moment, then nodded.

“Yeah, that sounds about right—the abyss broke your cradle seal, and you found Xin Mo there. It’s a key part of your story. That’s the sort of thing a system would do, for sure.”

Luo Binghe stared at him for a moment, and then burst into tears.

“Oh god, Binghe, what’s wrong?!” Shen Yuan cried, reaching for him, but then pulled back awkwardly. Luo Binghe didn’t let him escape and threw himself into Shen Yuan’s arms. Shen Yuan adapted relatively quickly, and patted Luo Binghe’s hair frantically as he wept.

Scenes 3-??? Wife Plotting

“Oh! Luo Binghe!” Shen Yuan’s enthusiasm never dimmed. Luo Binghe took comfort in this.

“Shen Yuan,” he returned respectfully. Shen Yuan’s eyes always lit up when Luo Binghe knew his name; it was another treat Luo Binghe hoarded. And when Luo Binghe followed up his name with a broad smile, he could usually avert Shen Yuan’s near-ritualized inspection of his person.

“This lord was hoping for some advice,” Luo Binghe continued. Calling himself ‘this disciple’ hadn’t worked—it only confused Shen Yuan, so Luo Binghe had mournfully stopped using it. Luo Binghe had later narrowed down the problem to Xin Mo being visible on his person. According to Shen Yuan, after the Abyss, Luo Binghe was no longer a disciple. Of course, according to Luo Binghe, he would always be his shizun’s disciple. Arguing with an amnesiac was not very satisfying, Luo Binghe had learned; excepting when he was able to make Shen Yuan blush, of course.

“Is it poison? Or a monster?” Shen Yuan asked. “Oh, I need my spreadsheets,” he complained sotto voce. Shen Yuan immediately became very focused when asked for advice. His fingers twitched strangely, as though he wanted to reach for something to fiddle with.

“Neither,” Luo Binghe replied, readying himself for the conflict that would follow. “Marriage.”

“Uh,” Shen Yuan blinked. His thrumming readiness appeared to halt abruptly. “I stopped tracking the wives after a while…” he hedged, appearing nervous.

“Not advice about… them,” Luo Binghe said, judiciously. “Rather, advice about a future relationship. The… my ideal marriage,” Luo Binghe tried.

“Oh,” Shen Yuan said, doubtfully.

“This lord knows you take a dim view of my prospective partners, so thought you might help him… strategize.” Luo Binghe watched Shen Yuan turn this appeal over in his head. This approach was working a bit better than the last, at least? He continued: “Shen Yuan might help this lord—” Oh, what was the word again? He’d committed it to memory! Ah, yes. “—brainstorm for qualities to seek out, in a… spouse.”

Luo Binghe watched the gears turn in his beloved’s mind. Perhaps this was the way to tackle the issue, finally?

“Okay,” Shen Yuan said, at last. “Well, maybe we can start with qualities to avoid?”

Luo Binghe sighed. This again. “Of course. What do you recommend?”

“Well!” Shen Yuan began, obviously warming to the subject. “First off, she shouldn’t be gullible enough to fall into every trap there is! You don’t need to spend so much time rescuing wives who don’t have any sense!”

Luo Binghe nodded at him encouragingly.

“And another thing!” Shen Yuan’s voice was unusually strident; he did often become passionate on this topic, Luo Binghe found. “So many of your wives had good potential, but as soon as you married them, they became suddenly stupid and weak. You should have a wife you can trust to handle herself! Or even help you once in a while, for a change!”

Luo Binghe felt a smug smile trying to take root on his face; these criteria were exactly correct. He resisted and kept his expression neutrally interested.

“And enough with the pratfalls into poison lakes and aphrodisiac meadows! She should not be accident prone. And I don’t mean clumsy, although—maybe that too,” Shen Yuan concluded.

“Good advice,” Luo Binghe replied, entirely pleased; he agreed wholeheartedly. “So Shen Yuan thinks I should marry someone knowledgeable about potential threats, clever and powerful enough to outwit and overpower foes, and graceful and elegant in bearing?”

“Yes, exactly!” Shen Yuan beamed at him, utterly unaware he had described himself perfectly. It was impossible for Luo Binghe not to smile back. Sometimes, they’d get caught in a loop where all they could do was stare and smile at each other: Shen Yuan delighted by a happy Luo Binghe, and Luo Binghe thrilled by Shen Yuan’s very existence.

“What else should I look for?” Luo Binghe prompted.

“Well, since there are so many conflicts that arise from infighting in the harem—” Shen Yuan began.

“No harem,” Luo Binghe gracelessly interjected.

“No harem?” Shen Yuan said. “What do you mean, ‘no harem’?! Luo Binghe is a—”

“Stallion protagonist, yes; I know,” Luo Binghe interrupted again. “But don’t you think, since the harem was the source of so much trouble, and I had real connections with few, if any, of the wives, that it might be better to—abstain?” Luo Binghe had heard perhaps too much, these many nights, about the inadequacy of his alternate self’s harem and the troubles it had caused.

Shen Yuan reared back, but he was staring at Luo Binghe as if seeing him suddenly for what he was: a real person. It was a satisfying experience every time; and yet, it also ground down on a chronic wound. Luo Binghe felt sure—intellectually—that his shizun had already made this transition, from fan to friend. But he couldn’t be sure. And it certainly wasn’t possible to test the hypothesis with the same methods he was using to explore Shen Yuan’s alien assumptions and worldview, and hopefully, his desires. He would have to wait until Shen Yuan was back where he belonged—in Shen Qingqiu’s body, with all his memories restored. And so the wound festered.

“So…” Shen Yuan began, clearly poleaxed. “Just one wife?” Shen Yuan said this last so incredulously that Luo Binghe laughed. This made Shen Yuan blink, surprised, and tremulously, uncertainly, smile back.

“Yes, only one. This lord wants a true partner; a marriage of equals,” Luo Binghe agreed.

“Equals?” Shen Yuan scoffed automatically. “Luo Binghe has no equal.”

Luo Binghe would agree (currently silently) to disagree. “Complementary, then,” he conceded.

“Liu Mingyan…” Shen Yuan began.

“Not Liu Mingyan! A theoretical partner, remember? We are brainstorming,” Luo Binghe said. He hesitated a moment, then threw out a new lead. “My story could be… different from the one you read. This lord—that is, I—could make different choices.” Luo Binghe added hesitantly: “Maybe I could find someone new, someone you don’t already know from the novel.”

Shen Yuan blinked at him. “Like an AU?” he asked.

“A what?” Luo Binghe replied. Truly, would the jargon never cease? Why did Shen Yuan talk like this… what sort of world did he come from?

“Oh, you know! An alternate universe. Sometimes they’ll reboot a comic, or series,” whatever those were, “by changing some important event, and playing the scenario out,” Shen Yuan said, his lecturing tone familiar and beloved.

“Yes, exactly!” Luo Binghe cried. “We shall brainstorm an alternate universe!”

Shen Yuan’s expression matched his excitement—but then his face dimmed, and his eyes grew suspicious.

“Is my subconscious trying to get me to write self-insert fanfiction again?” he asked.

“I don’t know what that is, Shen Yuan,” Luo Binghe responded carefully, scenting blood. “What’s fanfiction?” The ‘self-insert’ qualifier intrigued him; it held potential.

Shen Yuan’s focus was internal; he was talking to himself again. “I mean, I could definitely do a better job writing Luo Binghe’s adventures than Airplane,” he muttered. “But does Airplane deserve fanwork? Does he deserve my fanwork?” Shen Yuan snorted to himself. “Hardly,” he added snidely.

Luo Binghe waited for his master to deliberate. He put a hopeful, patient look on his face. Sure enough, Shen Yuan eventually stopped muttering and looked up at him. The scornful look on his face melted. Luo Binghe smiled at him encouragingly. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to just—brainstorm,” Shen Yuan allowed. “In the privacy of my own mind!”

“Thank you, Shen Yuan,” Luo Binghe said, pleased. “Though this lord is curious—what does self-insert mean?”

Shen Yuan blushed—excellent. “Oh, it’s super sad. It’s like: fanb—” Shen Yuan cleared his throat quickly, and hurried to continue, “fangirls write themselves into the story, or make up new ones; so unrealistic! Pathetic! ‘Luo Binghe gazed into her azure orbs and fell instantly in love,’” Shen Yuan mocked in a high voice. “I would never do that!” he asserted, entirely unaware that his face was still betraying him, beet-red and adorable.

Luo Binghe could not believe his luck—could this be happening? Not for the first time, Luo Binghe worried briefly that instead of Shen Yuan dreaming Luo Binghe up—as Shen Yuan obviously believed—that perhaps Luo Binghe, in his grief, had dreamed up Shen Yuan. Shen Yuan could not possibly be real—how could someone so perfect, so tailored to Luo Binghe’s desires, truly exist? How else to explain that his shizun, the most admirable man in the world, the lofty immortal, had obsessively read about Luo Binghe, fantasized about Luo Binghe, imagined himself joining Luo Binghe in stories of his own devising?

Truly, it was as though they were made for each other.

“I’m sure,” Luo Binghe replied, thrilled. “Instead, maybe Shen Yuan could help imagine,” here Luo Binghe paused to ensure his vocabulary matched Shen Yuan’s assumptions, rather than reality, “a new character.”

“A wife character?” Shen Yuan asked—interestedly! Though Luo Binghe winced to hear the same assumption repeated ad nauseum, he kept the chagrin from his face and nodded.

“What, like, RP her?” Shen Yuan added. Luo Binghe squinted, and Shen Yuan, attuned as ever to his expressions, clarified: “You know, role play.”

Oh, Luo Binghe thought. Does that mean what I think it means?

“Yes, if Shen Yuan is willing,” he ventured.

“OK,” Shen Yuan said. “Here, let me think…” As if in response to his concentration, Shen Yuan’s clothes… changed.

Luo Binghe noted carefully that his face did not alter; nor his height, nor the shape of his body. But Shen Yuan’s hair grew long and thick, and then in an eyeblink was styled in an elaborate updo, with lovely dangling ornaments. His clothes—what Luo Binghe had learned on previous nights were actually, scandalously, outer garments in Shen Yuan’s world—changed to more familiar robes. However… they were women’s robes. Luo Binghe’s heartbeat sped up as his eye traced the flat plane of Shen Yuan’s unchanged chest, the gapping layers of his lapels—obviously designed for breasts!—pinned down by the high-waisted sash.

Shen Yuan noticed Luo Binghe’s gape-mouthed staring and blushed—again! What a treat this evening was turning out to be! “What are you looking at?!” he snapped. “It helps me get into character! It doesn’t mean anything!” Shen Yuan insisted.

Luo Binghe was impressed that Shen Yuan had been able to change the dreamscape—he himself had not managed to do so. Maybe this hinted at it being somehow Shen Yuan’s dreamscape after all? Regardless, an issue for later. Luo Binghe could not miss any moment of the current situation.

“I guess she needs a name,” Shen Yuan mused, examining his layered, flowing sleeves; he turned his hand back and forth, admiring an elegant jade bracelet on his sturdy wrist.

“We can name her later,” Luo Binghe croaked through a dry mouth. He cleared his throat. Of course, his prospective ‘wife’ already had a name. “What is… she… like?” he asked, vibrating with excitement.

Shen Yuan frowned, and tapped his mouth with a finger. Luo Binghe, homesick, could not hold in a suggestion. “Maybe she needs a hand fan?” he blurted.

Shen Yuan nodded thoughtfully and pulled one from his sash, and then used it to tap his lip again as he thought. Luo Binghe felt a burst of longing so intense he couldn’t think; he yearned to progress to the next phase of his plan and figure out how to stuff Shen Yuan back into the body!

“She’s a little haughty,” Shen Yuan mused, still tapping. Luo Binghe’s wandering desires rapidly refocused on Shen Yuan in female costume.

“Oh?” he prompted, breathless.

“Yes, but she has the right to be—she’s a powerful cultivator, and very well read,” Shen Yuan said. Luo Binghe nodded eagerly. “She’s a member of—no, she’s a rogue cultivator,” he corrected. “Independent. She’s traveled the world, exploring and documenting the natural world, and you meet her while on a quest for—” Shen Yuan paused, consulting his mental ‘spreadsheets,’ whatever they were.

“Does it matter?” Luo Binghe asked hoarsely, stepping closer to him—her?—as if compelled.

Shen Yuan smacked his shoulder with the closed fan. “Of course it does! The plot is important! We have to do this right!” he chastised.

“Yes, Shen Yuan,” Luo Binghe said, enraptured.

“She’s—documenting the flowers of the high steppe in the southern borderlands,” Shen Yuan extemporized. “She’s painting an excellent example of a Sacred Mountain Primrose, when you tear a portal through with Xin Mo,” Shen Yuan continued.

“What am I doing there?” Luo Binghe asked.

“You’re—” Shen Yuan’s eyes darted over Luo Binghe’s face, and then down to his body, which Luo Binghe held ready for whatever Shen Yuan wanted. “—wounded from a fight with Mobei jun,” Shen Yuan decided, nodding and beginning to pace. “It’s early in the story, just after you escape the abyss. You need help, support,” Shen Yuan mused. “Why not from the virtuous, esteemed—oh, we have to give her a name!” Shen Yuan protested, turning back to Luo Binghe.

“Why not you,” Luo Binghe breathed, taking Shen Yuan’s hand. Shen Yuan looked nervously to the side— “...my lady,” Luo Binghe added, grudgingly, to distract him. Shen Yuan breathed out unsteadily, but slowly raised his face. They stared at one another for a moment, before Shen Yuan’s countenance changed—he put on a slightly distant expression, and straightened his posture.

“Is my Lord wounded?” Shen Yuan asked, and the formal cadence of his speech was so familiar.

Luo Binghe stared a moment too long. Shen Yuan flapped his free hand at him, subtly. “Yes, I—this lord—ah,” Luo Binghe stuttered, unused to this sort of play. He gave up and returned to a classic he knew well: he stumbled into Shen Yuan’s arms.

Shen Yuan, shorter and slighter than Shen Qingqiu, struggled to catch him, managing only to help control Luo Binghe’s fall to the ground. But then he knelt, modestly and gracefully, at Luo Binghe’s side.

“If my lord can show this one his wounds, she could treat them with the medicines she has collected on the steppe,” Shen Yuan offered, his voice controlled precisely—confident but proper, elegant but assured—with his eyes averted.

Luo Binghe, dumbfounded, cursed his inability to conjure up a wound for Shen Yuan to nurse. Though… unexpectedly clumsy, he loosened the neck of his robes, one by one. No matter—he could pretend it was his ‘injury’ making him fumble-fingered, rather than nerves.

Astonishingly, Shen Yuan turned his face away and hid it demurely behind his sleeve. Once Luo Binghe had bared his chest, and the scar he kept there, he murmured, “The wound is here, my lady.”

Shen Yuan peeked over his own arm at Luo Binghe’s naked torso, but his eyes were caught by the sight and he openly gawked, instead of looking away as his chaste and bashful ‘character’ might. Luo Binghe breathed in and out deeply on purpose. Shen Yuan’s cheeks reddened. Ah, this was ecstasy! That his master might desire him…!

Shen Yuan cleared his throat, then coughed. “Ah… willow bark for the pain; honey, chamomile and primrose for the infection; peony to build blood; licorice for qi,” Shen Yuan recovered, as he reached for a pouch that appeared at his waist. He drew several bottles, lengths of bandage and a mortar and pestle from it, and occupied himself making a poultice.

Luo Binghe watched him work. Shen Yuan was in his own body (excitingly dressed though it was), but he was inhabiting it differently. The controlled elegance of his movements was achingly familiar; but the feminine gestures, the bashful modesty were… not.

“My lady is generous to help this lord, despite not knowing him,” Luo Binghe murmured.

“This humble one could not stand by and watch another suffer, when she had the means to help,” Shen Yuan said absently, as he tested the consistency of his mixture between his fingers. He sniffed the medicine and nodded to himself. Luo Binghe watched as Shen Yuan shuffled forward on his knees, closer to Luo Binghe’s half-naked body. His hand shook as it reached for Luo Binghe’s chest, but his fingers were deft and gentle as he spread the medicine on the puckered scar. Luo Binghe watched him silently bandage the ‘wound,’ lifting his arm and turning his body at Shen Yuan’s silent prompting.

“My lady’s medicine is potent; the pain is already fading,” Luo Binghe said softly, rising to kneel and closing and resettling his robes properly.

“This one is honored to have assisted,” Shen Yuan murmured, eyes downcast again as he turned away.

Luo Binghe, still on the ground, caught at Shen Yuan’s sleeve as he prepared to stand. “Perhaps this is too forward…” he started.

“Oh!” Shen Yuan gasped and halted his upward movement, settling back onto his knees. His eyelids fluttered closed and he tipped his chin up—anticipating a kiss?!

Luo Binghe stared at the now-familiar face and cursed his own scruples. He slid his hand from Shen Yuan’s sleeve to his wrist. He forced himself to continue the play.

“...but this lord is on a treacherous quest, and suspects that my lady would be of great assistance,” he ground out.

Shen Yuan’s eyes popped open with alacrity. “A quest?” he asked eagerly. “Me?” he added, anachronistically.

“Yes,” Luo Binghe said, helplessly smiling. “You.”

Chapter Text

Shen Qingqiu woke up in a soft, silky bed; his body felt rested, his meridians were clear. He felt as healthy as he’d ever been.

But he wasn’t… he wasn’t in the dirt. He wasn’t in a plant body—he was back in his real body! Shen Qingqiu’s body! Oh, god! Where was he? He sat up and frantically scanned the dark room.

Suddenly, the lamps all flared to brightness, illuminating a man sitting in a chair at the end of the bed. Not just any man—it was Luo Binghe! His blackened lotus! The demon emperor! Shen Qingqiu was so dead!

“Shizun, please listen to me carefully,” Luo Binghe said, staring at him intensely as he leaned forward.

Shen Qingqiu shrank back into a pile of pillows and pulled the blankets up to his chin. He didn’t make a single sound; where was the system?! What were his options here?! SYSTEM?!

“Shen Yuan, I am so glad you isekai’d into the scum villain and turned me gay,” Luo Binghe said solemnly. “I love you. Please marry me.”

Shen Qingqiu froze.

System error! The system has been permanently disabled, thank you for using our services! Goodbye!