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Chapter Text

In the early days after getting poisoned with a Without-A-Cure, it didn’t seem much to Shen Qingqiu. It was just another plot device among hundreds meant to make the nth wife a damsel in distress to be saved by the protagonist.

Because of this, Mu Qingfang’s warnings about the effects of the poison did not quite sink in Shen Qingqiu’s mind. He merely took the healer’s prescription and went on his way.

He honestly did not know what the fuss was about. After all, the cultivation world was full of miraculous remedies to all sorts of maladies, unhindered by the limitations of the mortal world he had come from. Surely Without-A-Cure was not serious enough to warrant this much attention.

Yue Qingyuan did not need to look so weighed by guilt at having not been there during the invasion when he heard of what happened, nor did Mu Qingfang need to look so grave while delivering the news. Even the stoic and gruff Bai Zhan warlord had a frown on his face.

Shen Qingqiu was at Mid-Core formation and currently an immortal. Armed with an endless supply of medicine from the best healer the cultivation world had to offer, there really wasn’t anything to worry about, truly.

Was what Shen Qingqiu thought, at least, until the first blockage occurred.

Shen Qingqiu was with Liu Qingge when the pain hit him.

Next thing he knew, Shen Qingqiu was crouching on the floor, his head and torso curled protectively around his right arm. His forearm and hand were writhing helplessly, as if seeking a position that would not make the pain worse but finding no relief no matter which way it positioned itself.

Shen Qingqiu could feel his breaths coming out fast, hissing between clenched teeth, as if trying to contain the growing hysteria he was feeling from the panic of being hit with something like this out of nowhere– what was- what was happening to him?!

But soon enough, Shen Qingqiu was panting harshly, unbidden whines slipping past trembling lips. If Shen Qingqiu had any sense left with him at that moment, he would have been mortified at the embarrassing display he made in front of his shidi, but there was no room in his mind except for the sharp ripping ache that was racing down his arm to the very tips of his fingertips.

Beside him, he could vaguely recognise Liu Qingge hovering. Someone seemed to be talking to him. Shen Qingqiu assumed it was Liu Qingge. He tried to make out the words but his efforts were in vain for the words remained muffled against the throbbing of his heart in his ears that drowned out everything but the pain, the pain that was still there and only growing.

Hands tried to grip him as if to carry him, but it jostled his right arm, which did not at all help matters. A desperate whine filled the air and Shen Qingqiu distantly realized it had come from him.

The hands left him as if in a panic, which also makes Shen Qingqiu let out a whimper, an aching loneliness resounding through his chest at the thought of being left all alone with whatever this was.

Shen Qingqiu tries to search blindly for those hands, looking past tears he had not noticed had already spilled over onto his cheeks, but only ends up dragging himself closer to the ground, his knees crashing roughly against the gritty earth.

The hands immediately return, this time circling around him in support, likely to prevent him from face planting into the ground, while also avoiding the limb that was currently giving him so much grief.

Shen Qingqiu felt warm against those arms, those hands now rubbing soothing circles into his back. Shen Qingqiu pushes his head against the chest of his benefactor, whom he could only assume, once again, was Liu Qingge.

‘Poor guy,’ Shen Qingqiu thought to himself through the haze, ‘demoted to being a babysitter for this crybaby of a peak lord.’

Dazedly, Shen Qingqiu buries the crown of his head even further into the comfort of the warmth of his martial brother, seeking any sort of distraction from the burning of his arm that he wanted more than anything to cut off. What was an arm anyway, compared to being strapped to a torture device zapping him 24/7.

Thankfully, it seems that this torture device has found itself an off button as the pain gradually, but still so slowly, tapered off into a more manageable aching throb that did not have Shen Qingqiu out of his mind with the pain. It still made him want to cry, but Shen Qingqiu was still grateful for it because it was not as bad as it was a few moments ago. Not as bad as it could be, he has now come to realize.

“This... this one is a-alright now, Liu-shidi. Apologies f-for the inconvenience,” Shen Qingqiu breathes out. He’s quite proud that he did so with barely a stutter. After that ordeal, he was surprised he could even think, let alone talk.

Liu Qingge immediately stiffens before him once he hears Shen Qingqiu speak again. After a few moments of silence pass, moments which Shen Qingqiu gratefully takes advantage of to catch his breath, Liu Qingge bites out a reply so tense, Shen Qingqiu thought quite surely that Liu Qingge was very much annoyed with this whole affair.

"Not an inconveinece," his grumpy shidi says.

A burst of warmth blooms in Shen Qingqiu's chest as hears his shidi's attempts to hide his true feelings despite how uncomfortable he must be trying to take care of his burdensome shixiong, and even taking the initiative to prevent Shen Qingqiu from literally eating dirt. Shen Qingqiu figures he should probably stand up right now and relieve Liu Qingge of his inconvenience, because despite what his shidi said, it really couldn't be all that pleasant to be holding on to someone that was staining his robes with snot and tears.

Despite that, Shen Qingqiu made no move to remove himself from the confines of Liu Qingge’s arms, nor did Liu Qingge attempt to let him go.

Chapter Text

“This is all really unnecessary, shidi.”

“I would like to disagree, shixiong.”

Shen Qingqiu almost couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes at hearing the medic’s adamant refusal.

‘If that’s what makes you feel better, shidi,’ Shen Yuan thought, holding back a put upon sigh.

“Yes, that would make me feel better, shixiong,” Mu Qingfang says.

Oops. Shen Qingqiu had said that out loud.

Shen Qingqiu looked more closely at his shidi and noticed his usually deadpan eyes holding an uncharacteristic spark of worry, his eyebrows tilted ever so slightly upwards and downwards in what Shen Qingqiu could only assume was frustration, and maybe even guilt?

Not wanting to see what was clearly an unintended glimpse beneath the medic’s mask, out of respect for his shidi’s professionalism, Shen Qingqiu turns away to the other wall, and sees another shidi in distress.

This time, Shen Qingqiu could not hold back his sigh.

It was Liu Qingge, standing stiff as a board by the wall, his arms crossed, and his eyebrows, too, in a similar manner.

His other shidi had been watching him like a hawk all this time, ever since he had marched Shen Qingqiu to Qian Cao peak all those weeks after that incident.

Shen Qingqiu regrets to say that he had truly acted like a damsel in distress and ended up not being able to stand up on his own power to drag his poorly self away from the scene, preferably back to his peak to lick his wounds in peace; he’s lost enough face, thank you very much. Instead, he had needed his shidi to airlift his sorry ass to Qian Cao. Which was very responsible of him. Don’t be afraid to go to the doctor, kids.

Liu Qingge, strangely enough, did not put up much of a fuss on their way to the peak. The whole time was really just Shen Qingqiu praterring on with apologies for being such a troublesome shixiong and praises for his reliable shidi for taking such good care of him. At the former, it seemed like Liu Qingge would furrow his eyebrows as if to interject, but hearing the latter brought such redness to his cheeks that he seemed to forget what he was so bothered about in the first place.

Shen Qingqiu’s nonsensical prattle eventually died down as his injured arm started complaining again, and with quite a vengeance really. Shen Qingqiu was near tears when they reached Qian Cao peak.

Liu Qingge had also rushed at the last stretch of their short journey. Shen Qingqiu could vaguely remember how the swift passage of the wind sluiced through his cheeks, damp they were already at that point but Shen Qingqiu would deny it. His shidi probably broke a few sound barriers with that stunt. Shen Qingqiu thinks his shidi must have been rushing to get rid of him, before the waterworks started again.

“-and don’t forget to drink this twice a day. Shixiong, are you listening to me?”

Just like any student caught not paying attention, Shen Qingqiu blurts out a hurried yes, shidi, this one has listened to every word you just said. Mu Qingfang didn’t seem very convinced, which does not surprise Shen Qingqiu. His Er-ge had never been convinced either whenever he caught him daydreaming instead of listening to the doctor’s instructions.

“Could you please repeat what I had just said, shixiong?” Mu Qingfang asks, adopting a most long-suffering tone that almost offended Shen Qingqiu, if it weren’t for the fact that it relieved Shen Qingqiu to see his martial sibling not look so guilty anymore. It was no one else’s fault but his own that Shen Qingqiu was in this predicament.

“A tincture to be taken once in the morning and again in the evening,” Shen Qingqiu diligently recaps, thanking his cultivator’s hearing to have caught that. “Oh, and weekly qi infusions to circulate the affected arm’s pathways that are prone to stagnation.”

Mu Qingfang’s unimpressed stare tells Shen Qingqiu that he missed quite a few details.

“... Here’s a list of your medication regimen, shixiong.” Mu Qingfang holds out a palm-sized scroll, which Shen Qingqiu takes and obediently slips into his sleeve, slightly cowed at the unspoken judgment of his incompetence. “Perhaps, if this shidi could recommend, shixiong may also share this regimen to one of his disciples, so that there is someone else who could… assist shixiong in remembering.”

It was worded as a question, but Shen Qingqiu didn't think it was a request. “This shixiong agrees. That is a good suggestion and this one would do well to follow it. Thanking shidi for for his assistance.”

And with that, Shen Qingqiu stood up and hurried out of the medic’s office. That was really all his thin face could take at the moment.

Without-A-Cure was barely talked about in books and manuals, not because there wasn’t much to talk about, but because no one survived long enough to learn much about it.

A new discovery was made during a peak lord meeting, starting from something as small as a paper cut.

Shen Qingqiu lets out a tiny hiss as he registers the new injury. He bemoans his lack of restraint as he sees several heads jerk toward him, those of the Bai Zhan and Qiong Ding peak lords lingering on him the longest.

A papercut really shouldn't bother someone as resistant as an immortal cultivator. But Shen Qingqiu was a modern man who was not used to holding back tears from injuries that fell under stupid mishaps like stubbing your toe or hitting your funny bone really hard against a table corner. It really was already an achievement that he limited his reaction to a mere hiss.

He dismisses the-tiny, really-injury and places his hands on his lap once more after arranging the accursed papers that had grazed his hand. Faintly, he notes that it was his right hand that was injured.

Strange. He wondered why he was starting to feel faint. It was just a papercut.

He tries to ignore it as best as he could, dragging his fraying attention span back to the meeting. Honestly, his mind was much more suited to the dopamine-choked environment of modern day Earth rather than this anachronistic xianxia setting where he couldn't even read his phone under the table during boring lectures.

He catches the gaze of Liu Qingge who was sitting across from him. Shen Qingqiu notes that his martial brother was still looking at him. Almost sheepishly, Shen Qingqiu wonders if he had been staring at him this whole time. ‘Apologies, shidi. Your weak and incompetent shixiong is not used to the rough and tumble of the cultivation world! Even a papercut is enough to best him.’

Looking a bit more closely, Shen Qingqiu spots the growing furrow between his shidi’s unfairly handsome brows. His embarrassment growing, Shen Qingqiu raises his right arm to unfold his fan and cover his face.

For some reason, Liu Qingge’s eyes widen. In fact, several peak lords’ eyes widen in the direction of Shen Qingqiu. Shen Qingqiu wonders what he did to deserve being gawked at like an animal in the zoo.

In a flurry of flapping sleeves and sudden movements, Shen Qingqiu found himself surrounded by peak lords at all sides, Yue Qingyuan to his back left, Mu Qingfang to his right, and Liu Qingge at his front, almost blocking him from the rest of his martial siblings.

Yue Qingyuan was all but cradling him in his arms, with one hand supporting his back and the other hovering over him like a worried mother. Shen Qingqiu hadn’t noticed but he had already been leaning to the side. ‘Apologies, shixiong, for encroaching on your personal space.’

Mu Qingfang was gripping his right hand quite firmly, an urgent blast of cool qi already rushing from him to Shen Qingqiu. Shen Qingqiu’s gaze falls to his right hand and is greeted with a worrying but also quite disgusting sight. His brows furrow slightly in distaste.

His hand, almost the whole lower half of sleeve even, was drenched with bright red blood.

“Oh dear, what a mess,” Shen Qingqiu breathes out a bit shakily.

“Are you really worried about that right now?” demands Liu Qingge, his voice raising in indignant alarm.

“That would be no trouble, shixiong. We have cleaning talismans for that,” Mu Qingfang says, almost placatingly, while shooting a look of consternation at Liu Qingge as if to say, do not argue with and stress out the invalid. ‘Way to make a fool of myself to my fellow peak lords’, Shen Qingqiu groans mentally. It was a wonder the system wasn’t taking points at his OOC behavior.

[Injury caused by plot-relevant conditions is not grounds for points removal. Suffering through its natural consequences is in-character behavior. Keep up the good work, host.]

Shen Qingqiu flaps annoyingly at the floating blue screen. Apparently, the system did not deem the action OOC enough to hide it from onlookers, and as the people around him see him flapping his free arm around like an idiot, the alarm that pops up on their face is quite understandable.

Shen Qingqiu immediately stops the action but the damage was done. But he couldn't seem to muster the will to be too bothered about it. His head was getting fuzzier by the second.

“Mu-shidi, what’s happening to Xia-Shen-shidi?” interjects Yue Qingyuan. His arm had migrated to cradling almost all of Shen Qingqiu’s weight. Shen Qingqiu gives a silent apology to the Sect Leader for having to be a glorified couch for his lazy self. Shen Qingqiu was feeling quite lazy at that moment. In fact he wanted to sleep right this sec-

“-hixiong, shixiong, are you with us?”

Instead of answering, Shen Qingqiu raises his stained sleeve. “Can you clean the blood? Luo Binghe will worry.”

Shen Qingqiu vaguely recalls Luo Binghe volunteering to do his laundry this week. A stain like this will definitely add to his workload, and Shen Qingqiu didn’t want to so clearly inconvenience the protagonist in such a way. And also the poor kid was inconsolable back when Shen Qingqiu was poisoned. He didn’t want to remind his little sheep of a disciple of something that brought him so much distress-

Mu Qingfang slaps on him a cleaning talisman. The sudden movement slightly jolts Shen Qingqiu out of his stupor, which he had not noticed falling into.

“Please don’t worry about that, Shen-shixiong,” he says.

Shen Qingqiu watches, fascinated, as the talisman absorbs the blood like a mini cotton swab vacuum. He makes a mental note to himself to hoard blood cleaning talismans. It’s sure to be useful in the future.

With the bleeding now stopped, Mu Qingfang swiftly wraps gauze around the injured finger. He presses his hands around Shen Qingqiu’s hand, wrapping around it like a cocoon, to put pressure on the wound. Mu Qingfang restarts his previous qi transfer.

“That feels nice,” quips Shen Qingqiu in a breathy exhale.

“How are you feeling, Shen-shidi?” a warm baritone voice with a clear undertone of worry rumbled behind him, encircling arms tightening like the way Da-ge would hug him over a fluffy blanket during cold rainy nights.

“Sleepy,” Shen Qingqiu answers. He battles the drooping of his eyelids and attempts to right his reclining position, knowing that there was still a meeting to attend to.

“Then sleep,” a grumbly voice says somewhere to the front of him. Shen Qingqiu could not see who spoke, his eyelids having won the battle and are now firmly shut. But he feels like he would recognize that voice anywhere. He does not hesitate to follow.

Chapter Text

Shen Qingqiu wakes up to the feeling of soft bedding beneath his fingertips, a familiar aseptic scent permeating the air. His body felt heavy, and honestly, he really just wanted to go back to sleep. After a few moments of trying and failing to do so, he decides to open his eyes.

“Shixiong, are you awake?” a voice sounds to his right. He turns his head towards it. Of course he was awake. How else would he be able to answer the question if he wasn’t. He never understood why people felt the need to ask that question.

“What happened?” Shen Qingqiu asks instead.

“It seems that your… condition has presented new symptoms.” Mu Qingfang reports, his face carefully blank.

Shen Qingqiu hears the words but couldn’t seem to parse out the meaning at that moment, with his vision swimming and his head still kind of floating. Mu Qingfang must see his confusion because he takes the initiative to elaborate. 

“Shen-shixiong nearly bled out during a peak lord meeting.”

It all comes back to Shen Qingqiu in a rush, rudely shoving him back to awareness. 

How embarrassing! 

Liu Qingge had already seen him bawling his eyes out like a baby, and now all of his fellow peak leaders have seen him sleep away like one! He had even fainted into the sect leader’s arms, as if the poor guy did not have enough going on in his plate dealing with the original good’s dramatics. What must the other peak lords think Shen Qingqiu was up to now, disrupting important meetings with his inability to manage his own incompetence?

Shen Qingqiu groaned behind his hands which he had raised to hide his face behind. “It was just a papercut,” he mutters incredulously.

“It seems that the qi pathways on your right arm suffer through sudden bouts of stagnation that has physical manifestations, such as decreased tendency for the blood to clot and the body to heal when getting an injury, whether it be as innocuous as “just a papercut”, as you say.”

‘You think?’ Shen Qingqiu grumbles in his head.

“The qi transfusions may not be enough.”

This comment catches Shen Qingqiu’s attention. It sparks indignation in Shen Qingqiu at the implication that the efforts of his martial brother were not enough.

“But Liu Qingge attends to me almost every week. I can’t possibly take up more of his time than that!” Shen Qingqiu exclaims. He feels a stone-like weight settle on his chest at the thought of imposing on his shidi even more than he already has. How was he supposed to obtain the good will of Liu Qingge and his martial siblings, and gain their protection by the time Luo Binghe comes knocking for retribution when Shen Qingqiu keeps being a burden to everyone?

“This one would be willing to assist, Shen-shid,” a gentle voice says to his left. Shen Qingqiu swivels to the direction of the speaker and is met by Yue Qingyuan’s concerned gaze. It almost made Shen Qingqiu feel uncomfortable looking at the degree of devotion it held.

They are interrupted by the medic. “Shixiong does not need to resort to additional sessions of infusions if he does not wish to do so.” Shen Qingqiu supposes that his discomfort must have been quite obvious “This doctor has a suggestion.”

“What does Mu-shidi suggest?”

It was a pleasant day to travel in the countryside. The sun was high up in the sky, but a cloudy cover and a cool breeze kept it from getting too hot. Together with the gentle rocking of the carriage, it was enough to put anyone to sleep. At least, that was Shen Qingqiu’s excuse. Not that Qi Qingqi was buying it, not in the least.

Shen Qingqiu could feel his shimei’s judgemental stare from where he sat. But try as he might, he couldn’t keep his eyelids from drooping. He blamed Mu Qingfang for this.

Half conscious, but conscious enough to be bothered by it, he picked at the bandages née talismans wound around his fingers. He can’t believe he used to think these were cool. He has thoroughly been discouraged from doing so, given the side effects that were sure to come if he disrupted its arrangements.

Mu Qingfang’s proposed solution meant wearing a skin-shielding talisman through his whole arm, from the tips of his fingers to his biceps, projecting sort of like an invisible barrier that stopped injurious elements from making contact with his skin. ‘Sounds like a discount rip-off of Holtzman shields to me,’ Shen Qingqiu scoffed inwardly. And it was itchy. Really itchy. But Shen Qingqiu couldn't do anything about it, since it would definitely be OOC for the Qing Jing peak lord to be seen scratching away at an itch like a child.

As he brushes his finger against the bandages–in the way one tends to do when they want to scratch an itch they’ve been told by their mother time and time again not to scratch–he also feels the lingering exhaustion he had been nursing since this morning grow slowly but steadily. Mu Qingfang had said it had to do with the nature of the protections set in the talismans, on how, given how experimental it was (since there had been no established precedent given the previously 100% fatality rate of Without-A-Cure), this method still had issues. And one of them was its need for the wearer’s qi to fuel the talisman. Which he was in short supply of, currently. 

It was his fault, since he had tried out a flashy sword technique the other day, even when he was specifically told not to use too much qi until Mu Qingfang could finetune his treatment. But how could he not try out flashy techniques when he now had legal access to a freaking sword? It would have been a wasted opportunity not to. He was already stuck in the terrible fate of this character in this stupid cultivation world with its rules and its tendency to lean towards the dramatic that made no sense. He might as well make the most of it.

He tries to deepdive once again into the mental archives of his mind, immersing himself in the lore of this world that he loved to hate (but also actually kinda loved despite the hate), as he tends to do when he wants to distract himself from the situation he has been cursed with. And now, he does it to distract himself from the dull but persistent ache emanating from his poisoned arm that now never seems to go away.

Qi Qingqi was aware that she had a reputation of being someone not to be crossed, a peerless beauty hiding razor thin knives that can flay enemies in a battlefield, whether it be through swords or through words. She was aware of this reputation because she had made it so, cultivated it with well-placed whispers, sharply raised brows, a narrowed gaze directed to just the right person and a doe-eyed innocence at another. She was a viper ready to strike at any time, no movement wasted, every gesture precise, deliberate, and controlled.

But even with all that her fearsome reputation held, she couldn't stop her heart from beating a little too fast every time she saw those slender fingers – far too slender, almost fragile, far too breakable , she has come to realize – trailing over white cloth bandages serving a most important function, terrifying in its necessity. The longer they lingered, looking as if to peel away almost absentmindedly, the more she could see in her mind’s eye the color of crimson spread, spreading endlessly.

“Stop picking at it, it is unsightly,” snaps Qi Qingqi.

“Apologies, Qi-shimei, I hadn’t noticed,” says Shen Qingqiu.

Qi Qingqi starts at the apology, and, against her better judgment, she softens her regard at who had used to be her most disliked shixiong–ever so slightly.

She assesses her shixiong more closely. Shen Qingqiu truly had changed after his qi deviation. 

When before, the cold and cruel Qing Jing peak lord would not have dared to let anyone see him as anything less than perfect, this newer, seemingly kinder version of him bares his heart for the whole world to see. He may still hide behind that fan and that persona of a cool and detached immortal, but to a cultivator’s senses, even something as small as the twitch of an eyebrow, a slight crinkling of the corner of the eyes, a slightly muffled laugh, was clear as the brightest springs.

Qi Qingqi had seen Shen Qingqiu laugh, seen him bored, seen him annoyed and argue almost playfully (mostly at the Bai Zhan peak lord, and vice versa) through the few snippets she had observed of him since he had that Qi deviation. She had heard of what Shen Qingqiu had done, dealing with the conflict with the demons as an honorable and scholarly warrior, saving one of his most hated shidi and one of his most hated disciples, with the latter causing him to receive this most injurious wound.

Red flashes in her mind again.

Qi Qingqi wonders what those memories must have been, to have turned her shixiong into this gentle and tender-hearted man once they disappeared.

Her eyes settled on the slight dip between his fine brows,  a little furrow of discomfort which had been there the whole time they had been together from earlier that day, and it had only deepened since.

To no surprise, after a few moments, Shen Qingqiu’s fingers went back to worrying at the cloth seals wrapped around his right arm.

Qi Qingqi huffs irritably at the sight. “Mu-shixiong clearly stated that those seals were not to be fiddled with,” Qi Qingqi says sharply.

Qi Qingqi sees her shixiong flinch slightly at the tone, and she feels a little bit guilty, as if she had kicked a puppy that had already been downed.  

They were off on one of the rare instances Xuan Shu peak and Qing Jing peak were assigned a mission together, and rarer still that supervision from both peak lords were deemed necessary, especially since this mission was for senior disciples and was more of an artistic pursuit than martial. But Shen Qingqiu just had to insist that he be able to come and watch his disciples’ progress. And now Qi Qingqi was saddled with being his glorified chaperone because he was not to be left alone by himself, especially during a mission, Zhangmen-shixiong had said, not after that disastrous meeting .

At the reminder of the incident, a small chill runs up her spine, and the memory she had been trying to suppress comes rushing to the front of her mind.

A memory of Shen Qingqiu, pale and unmoving. A once proud and hale immortal brought down low.

It was a scary thought that even her most scathing and untouchable shixiong could be able to succumb to such an injury.

As she sees her shixiong start fidgeting with the bandages again, an absent look on his face as he stares out at the window of the carriage, Qi Qingqi has the urge to do something she has never dared to do before.

She reaches out and holds his hand.

Shen Qingqiu stares at her wide eyes. It almost prompts a chuckle from her. Her shixiong looked so cute when the countenance of hatred and malcontent was wiped from his face. 

While maintaining her nonchalance–as she has now come to learn that her shixiong was as thin-faced as ever, with or without memories–she starts pressing a light massage into her shixiong’s hand.

Shen Qingqiu’s shoulders loosen ever so slightly and Qi Qingqi lets out a tiny triumphant smile, just a quirk of her lips, really, as that was all she would allow, what with how new this sense of camaraderie was with her most infuriating and troublesome shixiong.

Chapter Text

Shang Qinghua loved the quiet moments in between all the craziness this world kept throwing at him. This world may have come from his imagination once upon a time but he has grown to accept that it has taken a life of its own a long long long time ago. And from the moment Shang Qinghua had woken up in it, this world has made him its personal punching bag.

And so, during those precious few times when he got to be alone and spend the rare moment to relax, Shang Qinghua decided to get some mental health benefits from nature exposure (he read that from a magazine once!) and enjoy the xianxia stereotypical scents of the clean mountain air and the tunes of birdsong.

But then he came across a gaggle of panicked An Ding disciples waving around scrolls and calling out to him in distress. Turns out a bunch of Baizhan disciples had destroyed yet another training ground and ended up crashing into a warehouse storing important supplies. It just so happened that one of those supplies was capable of starting small scale explosions. Not enough to maim of course; those kinds of arrays were stored in cryoprotected underground bunkers that Shang Qinghua kept under lock and key, in hopes that, for the sake of his sanity, this safety precaution would be able to limit the amount of property destruction in Cang Qiong and serve to not add to his already overflowing workload.

Thus, Shang Qinghua could feel his back metaphorically break at the site of the scrolls that amounted to an armful that reached past his head once they were desperately handed off to him. Once he had given reassuring one-handed pats and leaves of absence for the harried disciples that definitely needed it (because if he needed a break, he knew his overworked disciples were in desperate need of one, too), he set off onto his stroll once more. He did not want to give up the route that he had already chosen (and had been looking forward to going to all week) so he decided to take the peaceful and blessedly empty route on the way back to his office. For the heck of it, he sings his favorite song. After all, there were no prying ears around this area.

And then, Shang Qinghua ends up tripping.

Sending scrolls flying.

Everywhere.

With his cheek squished against the fallen leaves and his scrolls pitifully strewn around, his disciples’ awesome organization system now totally ruined (and would have to be redone by him now aaah T-T), Shang Qinghua was about ready to cry his heart out, when he noticed what he had tripped on. 

Or who.

It was the Qing Jing peak lord. Lying down on the leaf covered ground, hair spread out around him like a halo, eyes closed in peaceful repose. Looking very much like a graceful beautiful piece of roadkill.

“I’m so dead,” Shang Qinghua said.

“So so very dead. My poor overworked disciples. My poor king. My poor cactus hidden under the windowsill. It’s never getting watered again. Not after this world’s weird alternate universe Bai Zhan peak lord is done with me.”

“...”

“OH MY GOD, I’VE KILLED THE QING JING PEAK LORD!”

“... will you please… shut up… And Pokemon, really?... are you like, 12?,” a voice said, faint in volume but no less cutting in quality, chilling Shang Qinghua just as much as it brought him comfort.

“Oh thank god, you’re alive,” Shang Qinghua sighed out, his shoulders sagging in tremendous relief. Until those words sank in. “Wait, did you just say-”

“It’s… not enough… that my meimei sang that… 24/7, now I gotta hear it in this world, too?.”

“I can’t believe this,” Shang Qinghua said breathlessly. Have I officially reached heaven? How in the world have I been criticized about singing a 90s song of all things by a charac-

“No… you’re still very much stuck in this PIDW hell just like me,” came a deadpan reply from the Snow White looking peak lord who had just decided to open his eyes, glaring green eyes peering through heavy lids at the An Ding peak lord still sprawled on the ground.

“You’re a transmigrator!”

“Clearly,” said Shen Qingqiu, very much unimpressed.

“But, what are you doing lying down on the ground?” Shang Qinghua asks.

Shen Qingqiu does not reply, his cheeks reddening slightly as if in embarrassment. Shang Qinghua spots Shen Qingqiu’s fingers twitch slightly, reaching for a fan that wasn’t there, he presumes.

“... I’m just stargazing.”

“In the middle of the day?”

“... Yes.”

Feeling quite foggy headed trying to parse this surreal situation, Shang Qinghua sits up and absently wipes his dirty cheek with a sleeve covered hand. Then it sinks in how he just tripped out of nowhere. “Why the heck are you just laying down like a dead possum tripping people up?!”

“... Why weren’t you looking where you were walking in the first place?” Shen Qingqiu snarkily snaps back. It is then that Shang Qinghua picks up on the breathy quality to Shen Qingqiu’s voice and he realizes that there is something wrong with his fellow transmigrator. A foreign feeling of concern wells up in Shang Qinghua. He hadn’t let himself feel anything for the characters in this world. He couldn’t-no, wouldn’t! Not with the things the system–that fucking system—had got forced him to do. But seeing as this was not just a character but also a living breathing human being from the same hometown-

Shang Qinghua wanted to cry. He had been alone for a very long time.

“Are you okay?” Shang Qinghua is not quite able to hide the tremor in his voice.

Shen Qingqiu’s gaze sharpens, and Shang Qinghua imagines there to be concern in those eyes, too. Or at least he wished there was. Shucks, he was already imagining hoping things and he’s barely even met the guy.

“... I’m just taking a short break,” the Qing Jing peak lord mutters. His fingers twitch again, and Shang Qinghua notices the bandages wrapped around the arm those fingers were attached to. Shen Qingqiu’s right arm.

Ah. 

This must have something to do with Without-A-Cure then, Shang Qinghua thinks as he runs a slightly more critical eye over the peak lord who still had not made any attempts to sit up in this whole conversation with Shang Qinghua. The An Ding peak lord recalls what happened in the last peak meeting where he was (thankfully!) halted in his report (the early dismissal got him to catch up on some of the backlogs), but at the expense of the Qing Jing peak lord who had fainted for some reason. Shang Qinghua had suspicions then, but chalked it up to Shen Qingqiu’s poor cultivation and tendency for qi deviations. He’d had suspicions even before during the invasio-  

No. He won’t be thinking of that. Not today, not on this walk that was supposed to equate to a coffee break.

“Do you need help getting up?” Shang Qinghua offers.

Shen Qingqiu lets out a heavy sigh, eyes falling closed in defeat. “... might as well.”

Shang Qinghua doesn’t let it offend him, and instead shuffles to Shen Qingqiu as if approaching a deadly viper. This Shen Qingqiu may be a transmigrator, but he’s seen how this version of him was still able to act very much like the original goods when he wanted. He’d written the og and knew what to expect (which is that you wouldn’t know what to expect when it comes to Shen Qingqiu). Shang Qinghua wasn’t taking any chances. 

Once he reaches Shen Qingqiu, he tentatively arranges the other man just so in order to carry him on his back. When he grasps Shen Qingqiu's uncovered left hand, he feels a searing heat through the skin.

“Are you feeling okay? That’s a pretty nasty fever.” Shang Qinghua fusses, his eyebrows scrunching up in worry. Adding to more of his stress lines, Shang Qinghua bets. He can already feel the potential stress building up. But he also couldn’t help but feel budding alarm at the thought that his co-transmigrator, someone who could potentially know what he was going through and escape his terrible fate, a potential friend who was sick and could possibly die and leave him here-

He shuts up that line of thought fast. No need to get all panicked when he still got Cang Qiong peak’s resident Disney princess to bring to the doctor.

“... don’t worry about it.” Shen Qingqiu says, taking his hand away from Shang Qinghua’s clammy grip and setting it down on Shang Qinghua’s head in a ‘pat, pat’ motion. Shang Qinghua figures that his panic had been very obvious, obvious enough to let this snarky PIDW fan (?) attempt to comfort him.

Oh my god. The realization sinks in even more once he’s secured Shen Qingqiu on his back. Shen Qingqiu had just patted him on the head! His protagonist son was gonna kill him for this!

***

Shang Qinghua was halfway to Qian Cao peak when he felt a growing wet feeling seeping into his collar. He stops abruptly, and shifts his gaze to the side and sees Shen Qingqiu crying. Crying!

He should have known something was going on with the Qing Jing peak lord when he had been so quiet on their walk so far.

“Bro, are you okay??” Shang Qinghua asks, for what probably was the nth time in that whole afternoon.

“Who are you calling bro?,” Shen Qingqiu sniffles. Sniffles?! Shang Qinghua was about to have a conniption.

“Bro, seriously, why are you crying all over me?? Do you want me to die?” Shang Qinghua wailed.

“... you’re not gonna die. Who’s gonna kill you over me crying anyway?”

Just about everyone on this peak , Shang Qinghua thinks. He makes sure not to say that aloud this time. He doubts this Shen Qingqiu would appreciate it.

And then Shen Qingqiu whimpers. Just a tiny one, through gritted teeth, it sounded like. And Shang Qinghua realizes this is a lot more serious than he thought.

“Is it your arm?” Shang Qinghua asks tentatively after a considerate pause. “Do you need to take a breather?”

Silence greets his question. Until eventually, Shen Qingqiu speaks. “Yes, it really really hurts.”

“I see, just let it out, bro. I won’t judge.”

And as if that was the permission he was waiting for, Shen Qingqiu full on wails like a kid that had fallen off his bike and scraped his knee on rough gravel. “Stupid No Cure! Stupid novel!”. His Shen-bro was outright sobbing now, tears and yes, even snot, landing on Shang Qinghua’s hair. Shang Qinghua tries to ignore it in favor of trying to scramble to make a response, to say anything! Just to get the hysterical peak lord attached to him like a baby Koala to calm down.

“It’s going to be okay, bro! Mu Qingfang will get it healed up for sure!”

“No, he’s not!” Sheng Qingqiu vehemently rebuts. Shang Qinghua’s ears kinda ring at the volume. “He’s been working on a cure for weeks, for months now and nothing’s working!” Shen Qingqiu buries his head into Shang Qinghua’s shoulder and whispers bitterly. Shang Qinghua’s currently cultivator-level hearing picks it up, and wishes it didn’t.

“Stupid author for making this stupid world. It’s his fault we’re in this mess”

Shang Qinghua goes cold.

For a moment, he thinks Shen Qingqiu was talking to him, but as he hastily backtracks into the words they had exchanged so far, he realizes that he hadn’t mentioned who he was at all. And that Shen Qingqiu had said ‘we’.

“Ehehe yea Airplane’s the worst, isn’t he?” Shang Qinghua says.

“Yea,” Shen Qingqiu grumbles. Shang Qinghua’s hold loosens almost imperceptibly. To Shang Qinghua’s dismay, Shen Qingqiu notices his slip up, and says something that just makes Shang Qinghua feel downright rotten. “Are you okay, bro?” Shen Qingqiu says, in a similar fashion to what Shang Qinghua had been parroting to him all afternoon. “Am I too heavy? I can walk.” Shang Qinghua couldn’t hear a smidgeon of a lie in Shen Qingqiu’s offer and he knew that Shen Qingqiu would really try to walk even if he hadn’t been lying down for probably more than a sichen in that secluded corner of the forest. Who knows how long he would have been discovered if Shang Qinghua hadn’t literally stumbled into him?

“Nah, bro, it’s all good! I’m a peak lord after all, I’m just as strong as the Bai Zhan war lord, if not stronger!” Shang Qinghua puffs out, overcompensating for his moment of (mental) weakness with the bluster of a socially anxious millennial. He hikes up the Qing Jing peak lord up his back even further to prove his point. Shang Qinghua wheezes slightly at the change in weight distribution.

Shen Qingqiu lets out a little laugh. “Okay, Mr. strong man. Thank you for carrying me. I really appreciate it.” And Shen Qingqiu follows this with another (two in one day?!) head pat.

Shang Qinghua’s cheeks redden out of his control. His bro’s wife beam is too strong, it’s affecting even him!

It seemed like the pain may be coming in waves because right after that crying fit, Shen Qingqiu started talking Shang Qinghua’s ear off, his previous discomfort seeming to be on a downswing.

“-and the Soil-Eating Venom Critters are just fascinating, with what they do for the soil’s ecosystem! It’s such a shame though that cultivators keep mistaking them with Soul -Eating Mist Spiders. Their populations are already so low, and the hunts for them are just a sure recipe for their extinction!”

Shang Qinghua marvels at the level of detail his Shen-bro was recounting the beasts he had written in his less popular chapters. The ones where he slipped in his favorite ideas despite their lack of popularity. 

“You must be a huge fan of PIDW, huh.” muses Shang Qinghua. “You’re more of a Pokemon trainer than I am, you’re practically a walking bestiary!”

“Me? A fan of that trash with 600+ chapters of Luo Binghe harem fan service that totally cheapens the complex and nuanced themes of overcoming suffering and hardship it had started out with? And drowning out all the world’s cool flora and fauna that definitely weren’t explored enough, what a waste!”

Shang Qinghua’s chest warms at the hidden praise and realizes his newfound bro was an anti-fan. And that wording of his was really familiar. “Wait, Shen-bro, are you Peerless Cucumber??”

“How do you know that ID?!”

“Bro, you’re everywhere, in every forum, practically in every chapter!”

And you’re the only one who seemed to see the vision of PIDW for what I had intended it to be.

“And what about you, are you a fan? You’ve been nodding along to my explanation of Babbling Ice Bears defecation practices just fine.”

‘When you’ve been shoveling bear feces for compost of Dawn-Treading Glazed Lilies (his king kept trying to get him to cultivate these flowers for some reason; he didn’t blame the ice demon, though, those lilies were beautiful), you’d be pretty familiar with those said ‘practices’ just fine.’ Shang Qinghua thinks.

“... I guess you could say it was my hobby.”

“Oh cool, you’ve got great taste,” Shen Qingqiu says, as if he hadn’t just been lambasting PIDW for being the exact opposite of great taste. His bro was a hypocrite, and oblivious to boot.

But then Shen Qingqiu asks the question Shang Qinghua had been dreading ever since Sheng Qingqiu had let loose those words. “What was your ID?”

For a moment, Shang Qinghua teeters on the fine line between the choice to reveal his identity or not. He remembers Shen Qingqiu’s words earlier that day.

And he makes a decision that changes his life from that day forward.

“Ah I don’t really comment often, and if I do have to, I’m usually anon.” 

It wasn’t a lie. Just not the whole truth.

Chapter Text

Shen Yuan never liked getting sick. But then again, who did?

He figured it was a miserable experience for anyone.

When he got sick, all Shen Yuan would want to do was lie in bed all day and marinate in his misery, but even trying to figure out how to lie in bed was downright impossible. Using a blanket made him feel like he was cooking in a burrito bun, but going without one was a surefire way of turning into a popsicle. His pillows would also start betraying him and get way too hot, and when he flipped it over to the cool side, he’d have two hot sides. And what was he going to be able to do then?

Not to mention all the other nasty stuff that had to go with it, such as the aches and pains that would come out of nowhere, as well as the unshakeable lethargy that made Shen Yuan want to just melt into a puddle. Preferably a puddle with access to the internet. But he digresses.

What he hated the most about the whole lot of it was wasting people’s time, because whether he wanted them to or not, people, or at least the people he cared about and for some reason also cared about him, would end up getting worried over him.

He’d definitely surpassed his quota for that in his past life.

And it was even worse when he was making other people worry about things that were his own fault.

Like the times when he would spend too many sleepless nights in a row binge reading, knowing full well his body wouldn’t take it well, not like how his other peers could spend the whole night partying and still be functional people the next day. Or when he proceeded to scarf a bowl of spicy noodles that was going to hurt going out just as much as it did going in, or dig into yogurt in the fridge that was clearly expired and he’d be puking that out within the hour. Or when he would stubbornly decline the wheelchair and make matters worse by taking the stairs instead of the perfectly functional elevator just to prove to himself that he could.

And at the end of it, it was his family that had to pick after his sorry ass, wasting their time and resources for someone who was too damaged to be useful.

He didn’t think he would have to do the same in this one, too.

He thought it would be different now that he has become a cultivator but it had only gotten worse. No wonder cultivators did almost everything to avoid getting seriously ill or injured. Being sick while having cultivation-enhanced senses sucked.

All sensations got ramped up to a hundred, leaving him to feel every bodily issue with way too much detail. Even if he was in peak health when his qi was circulating normally, that just made it all the more jarring a change when that cultivator-grade vitality is abruptly taken away.

For now, Shen Qingqiu was taking particular care not to move a certain poisoned appendage to not trigger another crying fit. He’s had enough of those these days.

And as humiliating as it was, Shen Qingqiu was supremely grateful he was being carried, because with the way he was now, he didn’t want to lift a finger, let alone use his legs to walk.

He’d closed his eyes almost as soon as Shang Qinghua had started carrying him, not being able to bear the swaying of his vision. He could feel his breath fan out and circle back to hit his cheeks. It was uncomfortably warm. He gave a silent apology to Shang Qinghua. He must be overheating by having what was practically a heating pad strapped to his back.

The remainder of the flight to Qian Cao was spent in silence, as if Shang Qinghua could sense that Shen Qingqiu was not in a fit state to carry the other half of a conversation.

Eventually, Shen Qingqiu starts to hear soft murmurings around him. Shang Qinghua must have finally made it to Cian Qao because Shen Qingqiu could feel himself being laid down in a way that has now become very familiar, a blanket then being tucked up to his chest.

Soon, he feels cool qi untangle the sluggish flow of his pathways, and he lets out a soft sigh of relief. A bowl is put to his lips and he drinks reflexively. Shen Qingqiu wrinkles his nose. ‘Bitter, as always, Mu-shidi. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.’

Despite the taste, whatever Mu-shidi made him drink does make Shen Qingqiu feel a whole lot better, but the stubborn pull of sleep still nipped at his heels. In fact, it seemed even worse, a weighty feeling that told Shen Qingqiu he wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon. However, Shen Qingqiu digs in his heels and pulls away, not wanting to give in just yet.

Once he has managed to regain some of his bearings, he opens his eyes just in time to see Mu Qingfang laying a damp folded cloth on his forehead. Which means someone else was passing him qi.

His eyes shifted to the right and met the worried gaze of Shang Qinghua.

Oh.

He was still here.

‘He stayed’, a stray thought flits in his mind, too quick for him to dwell on.

For reasons unknown, and Shen Qingqiu could not muster the energy to figure them out, it gives him the urge to do something which he would be too mortified to do were he in a less… foggy state of mind.

Shen Qingiqiu attempts to lift up his left arm to the level of Shang Qinghua’s face but falters midway as if he couldn’t manage to reach the place he was aiming for.

Shen Qingqiu looks at his hand with frustration, and redirects the same emotion to Shang Qinghua, who was now looking at the Qing Jing peak lord with confusion.

“Closer”, demanded Shen Qingqiu.

Shang Qinghua looked even more befuddled, but obliged the command and lowered his head to bring it closer to the waiting hand. Once within distance, Shen Qingqiu’s fingers make contact with the anxious crinkle that made its home between Shang Qinghua’s brows and he proceeds to smooth it out with gentle but firm strokes.

Just like how his mom did to him whenever he got too worked up over a novel. Or two. Or three.

A-Yuan don’t frown too much, or your face will get stuck like that.

“What did I say earlier, ha? Don’t worry too much. Or your face will get stuck like that.”

Shang Qinghua brows lift up in surprise. This removes the crinkle, and Shen Qingqiu counts that as a victory. But his job was not over yet.

He had learned quite a few things in the short and very recent time he has spent so far with the other transmigrator. And one of those things was that his newfound bro was in desperate need of calm and reassurance.

On that front, Shen Qingqiu could relate. He had only been under the system’s control for a few months and he was about ready to pour water onto the System’s hidden circuits and set it on fire. The electric kind.

He did not know how long Shang Qinghua had been subject to that same control, but Shen Qingqiu knew that it could be exhausting and absolutely soul-sucking. And his new friend seemed to be a bit of a more fragile sort. Which was completely fine, of course, but like his Er-ge used to say, different people have different needs. And Shang Qinghua needed some extra TLC, Shen Qingqiu has decided.

“There, there,” Shen Qingqiu says, as he continues on caressing the same spot, so that the crinkle doesn’t come back. At the back of his mind, a voice tells him that he was being ridiculous but he wasn’t too bothered by it now. Important things must be done. And comforting a friend was very important.

But it seems that Shen Qingqiu’s victory was short-lived because Shang Qinghua does not look comforted at all. In fact, he looked like he was about to cry.

This jars Shen Qingqiu to some awareness as his fevered mind registers that he had taken a major misstep, even if he couldn’t figure out what it was at the moment. Only that it did, and he had to make it right asap.

Shen Qingqiu does the only thing he could think of.

“Aaah, Mu-shidi, help!”

Mu Qingfang swoops in like the awesome doctor that he is, and fixes what Shen Qingqiu did wrong with ease.

“How can this one help, shixiong?”

“I’ve made Shang-shidi cry, can you make him feel better?”

Mu Qingfang is quick to reassure that, yes, this doctor will make sure that Shang-shixiong is attended to, which is enough to make Shen Qingqiu relax and let his hand fall. And right on time, too, as Mu Qingfang’s next words were a request for Shen Qingqiu to take a rest and recover, as Mu Qingfang will handle things from here. Shang Qinghua echoes Mu Qingfang’s promise, saying, yea, Shen-bro listen to the doc. We’ll take care of things for you.

Things get blurry to Shen Qingqiu after that, but his current floaty state of mind was appeased by both of his shidis’ promises. But right before he gives in to the heady call of medicine-induced sleep, he hears the words, “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

Shen Qingqiu wonders what that meant, but then sleep takes him away, and he hears and knows no more.

Apparently, this incident does not remain an isolated case.

Shen Qingqiu’s fever-addled mind got it right. Mu Qingfang’s new blend of herbs did not yet have a reliably non-drowsy version. Adding to this the near constant qi drain from his glorified arm sleeve on permanent installment orders does not help matters, which means that Shen Qingqiu ends up falling asleep almost everywhere.

He's found himself waking up at lunchtime from a nap, to be greeted by tea, long gone cold, which Ming Fan had prepared for him for midday snack time. He rapidly drinks the cold tea just before Ming Fan comes in with lunch. It does not taste any better cold than it did hot. Sorry Ming Fan. As a mere cannon fodder, you really cannot compete with the protagonist’s culinary skills. But this Shizun still appreciates your efforts!

Then another instance during a class, where he had embarrassingly nodded off while listening to his students read aloud some history texts. He’d normally find that topic quite titillating but his brain was just not having it that day. He swore all his students in that class to secrecy by giving them a day off.

They probably still wouldn’t have agreed if they hadn’t seen their Shizun almost fall asleep on his feet but still stubbornly keeping awake just to try and convince them to follow his (unreasonable) instructions.

They quickly acquiesce, just so that they could herd their sleepy Shizun back to his bamboo hut for a much needed afternoon nap. One of the (more worried) disciples still sneaked out, however, to tell on him to Mu Qingfang. Much to Shen Qingqiu’s relief, Mu Qingfang does not escalate the matter to Yue Qingyuan, even if he was well within his rights to report a teacher sleeping on the job. However, he does put Shen Qingqiu through another rigorous checkup and an insistence to come to him immediately if anything serious comes up.

Thanking shidi, for keeping this foolish shixiong’s secrets. But this shixiong shall not bother you with your generous offer. Shen Qingqiu has got it under control, he promises.

And for the most part, he does. Shen Qingqiu learns to recognize the signs and routinely makes a quick exit to his bed (which was too comfortable, now that he was able to commission feather pillows from An Ding Peak; Shang Qinghua is a godsend) before the full drowsy attack hits.

This routine has been so effective lately that Shen Qingqiu feels that he would even be able to hide his current situation from the protagonist himself! He still has to iron out a few kinks, as sometimes he ends up sleeping in a few (many) more places he did not intend to, but he’s sure he can make it unnoticeable even to Luo Binghe once he gets back from his mission.

Like he promised his students, Shen Qingqiu has it under control.

Until it finally happens during a peak lord meeting.

What was it with Shen Qingqiu that he kept disrupting peak lord meetings. At least the bright side was that he could give some of his fellow martial brothers and sisters a full day off if he had such an episode during the morning.

Unfortunately, this one happened in the afternoon, and all Shen Qingqiu accomplished was to force his martial siblings into overtime.

He held them back with all his power but his lids eventually started drooping, until finally they fell shut like mall doors at closing time.

However, instead of sneakily sleeping upright like Shen Qingqiu hoped he would be able to do, he falls forward and almost smashes his head onto the table if it weren’t for Yue Qingyuan catching him just in time.

Absolutely. Moritying. Eugh. Shen Qingqiu didn't like thinking about it so he shoved it in a mental recycling bin along with the other things his avoidant millenial mind couldn't handle. It was running out of storage but that was neither here nor there.

Now that the secret was out in the open to the other peak lords, Shen Qingqiu could already anticipate the peak lords wanting to get their noses into Qing Jing’s business now that its peak lord was in a vulnerable state. At least that’s the only explanation Shen Qingqiu could think of when peak lords start visiting him.

Some more than others.

Shen Qingqiu could already feel a headache forming just thinking about it.

Mu Qingfang swiftly moves into action, transitioning smoothly from the state of confusion he had fallen into while watching the bizarre series of events unfold before his eyes, as if it never happened.

But those feelings of confusion lingered, as Mu Qingfang had never heard the Qing Jing peak lord speak so informally. And Shen Qingqiu’s newfound closeness with the An Ding peak lord whom he had had displayed no interest in before boggled Mu Qingfang to no end, even if he rarely indulged in caring about trifles such as who was friends with whom.

“How can this one help, shixiong?”

“I’ve made Shang-shidi cry,” Shen Qingqiu says with a frown, his eyes glassy and not quite all there, but his voice was firm as he followed it up with a request that sounded more like a demand. “Can you make him feel better?”

Shang Qinghua, still stuck under Shen Qingqiu’s weak but insistent ministrations, looks at Mu Qingfang with panicked eyes, appearing stupefied at what is currently happening. Out of courtesy, Mu Qingfang opts to ignore for now the tears currently streaming down the An Ding peak lord’s face. Dealing with one hysterical peak lord at a time is usually Mu Qingfang’s strategy, and it has worked well for him so far.

But Mu Qingfang could somewhat understand the An Ding peak lord’s reaction, at least when it came to Shen Qingqiu. It was reminiscent of what he himself felt every time his shixiong did something that was completely outside the realm of Mu Qingfang’s carefully deliberated expectations.

And here it was again, Shen Qingqiu’s personality post-qi deviation where he put everyone else’s needs over his. Watching his shixiong deliriously give out apology after apology to a stupefied peak lord made Mu Qingfang’s throat feel tight, thinking of his own judgments of his Shixiong in the past, and how much he had thought the man was incapable of even the slightest of kindness.

Now, the man was too kind, and was suffering far too much because of it.

One cup of calming tea and scheduled wellness checkup for the An Ding peak lord later, Mu Qingfang turns his full attention back to Shen Qingqiu and the matter of his current condition. And despite how tightly he usually reins in his emotions, he can still feel his mood plummet the more he takes it in.

Ever since the poison, Shen Qingqiu’s body has been through a battleground of symptoms. The war remains in full swing and all Mu Qingfang could do was help his shixiong tide through it.

The fatality of the poison has been held at bay, yes, but its effects remained strong, and Mu Qingfang is not blind to the fact that his shixiong is little more than surviving. His cultivation is forever ruined, but his shixiong, for all that he makes a show of whining and complaining, at the end of the day, acts as if Without-a-Cure was nothing more than a slight inconvenience, compared to the death sentence it actually was.

Mu Qingfang wouldn’t begrudge him if he raged at everyone like he did as his old self, for the misfortune that had unfairly befallen on him. He had done a good deed and he had been dealt a wrong turn. Who would not be furious with that turn of events?

And Mu Qingfang was furious, even though he would never let it be known to the world. As Cian Qao’s peak lord, he had the responsibility of being level-headed and competent at all times. But he has never felt so undone and incompetent as he has now, treating his shixiong’s symptoms as they appeared instead of preventing their occurrence altogether.

Even with the best of what the cultivation world had to offer right at his fingertips, he couldn’t help his shixiong to more than just survive.

Chapter Text

“How long has this been going on, Mu Qingfang?”

The dropping of the title is telling. The room chills despite the midday sun bearing down its heat into the room through the open window.

“Just a little over a month, Zhangmen-shixiong.”

“And you did not think to inform this one of this sooner?”

“Shen-shixiong had not wanted you to know. And this doctor had it under control at that time.”

A hand slams down onto the desk of the Qiang Cao peak lord, so forceful that a gust of wind spreads from the point of contact and whips against the walls, jostling carefully arranged jars and sachets stacked on the shelves, and hopelessly disturbing stacks of papers and scrolls piled around the room.

“Under control? Is losing consciousness at any moment what you call under control?”

The room went still. This was not the Yue Qingyuan the peak lords of the this generation had grown up with. Yue Qingyuan, benevolence renown and manners impeccable since the moment he had stepped foot on the mountain, had never broken his composure in front of any member of Cang Qiong peak. Not until today.

Mu Qingfang was unmoved.

“Shen-shixiong had been prescribed to not accept any martial missions and remain on the peak for the foreseeable future. His senior disciples have been briefed on contingencies for when their Shizun experiences an attack. Emergency talismans have been disseminated among key individuals and have been installed in Qing Jing connecting it to Qian Cao for easy access. Zhangmen-shixiong would have been informed when the necessity arose.”

“Did you not think the health of your shixiong is a matter that this one should be aware of? That this is a liability that this Sect Leader should be responsible for?” Yue Qingyuan says coldly, his gray eyes flashing dangerously.

“Is Zhangmen-shixiong telling me to betray my patient’s trust? Especially one who has had a long history of refusing to let this doctor know of, let alone heal, his ailments?” Mu Qingfang counters placcidly, but his flinty eyes betray his anger.

“Would it not do more harm if my patient—if Shen-shixiong—starts to hide his symptoms from even me once more?”

“And who are you to know, Zhangmen-shixiong?” Mu Qingfang ploughed through.

“Shen-shixiong has time and time again, even before he had lost his memories, insisted to never let this one breathe a word to anyone of anything that happened to him.”

“Especially to you, Yue Qingyuan.”

At the mention of his name, Yue Qingyuan wilts before their eyes, his broad frame almost curling inwards with the weight of what one looking carefully might be able to call despair, a feeling that appeared disproportional to the current concern that it could be surmised that the origin of this feeling spoke of something that was deeper and older than what the onlookers were privy to.

Qi Qingqi was very much annoyed by it. But Yue Qingyuan’s unexpected outburst and inappropriate guilt, Mu Qingfang’s newfound stubbornness and insubordination was not the immediate concern. This matter has been going on long enough.

“Respectfully speaking, Yue-shixiong, Mu-shidi, this is neither the time nor place to have this sort of discussion,” interjects Qi Qingqi, her voice twice as cutting than that of either man, definitive in its intent to end this pointless quabble. Shen Qingqiu was sleeping off whatever was wrong with him in the next room. And the walls were thin. And these two idiot’s bickering was not something he should have to deal with on top of everything else.

“Mu Qingfang, what is wrong with Shen Qingqiu?” The Bai Zhan peak lord who has been standing at the corner, silent this whole time, speaks up, not even batting an eye at the drama that had just befallen. “I thought Without-A-Cure was being managed.”

At his side stands the quivering form of Shen Qingqiu’s head disciple, who had been granted with the grand task of making sure the Qing Jing peak lord did not forget to drink his medicine. With how forgetful Shen Qingqiu has become, this task has been more stressful than grand, if it ever was in the first place. Presumably, he had been called to Qian Cao to hear the latest developments of his master’s condition.

Liu Qingge spares a considering look at the disciple.

“You don’t have to hear this. Scram.”

The disciple almost jumps out of his boots, but obeys and quickly scurries away.

Mu Qingfang heaves a put upon sigh, the first emotion he’s shown since they’ve gathered in the room. “Liu-shidi, this one actually needed that disciple here.”

Liu Qingge does not make any move to reverse his actions. The disciple looked fit to cry. Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t have wanted him here. He was too soft on his disciples that way. Liu Qingge turns back to Mu Qingfang.

Mu Qingfang’s face visibly hardens as the weight of his martial siblings’ unspoken (and spoken) questions hang heavily in the air.

“Like this one was telling Zhangmen-shixiong, Liu-shidi, this doctor cannot inform you without Shen-shixiong’s conse-“

“It’s alright, Mu-shidi,” Shen Qingqiu speaks from the doorway. He stood regal and tall, his hands tucked into his sleeves hanging before his waist. But a certain wanness to his face betrays his poorly constitution despite his strong front. Behind him hovers the An Ding peak lord, shoulders hunched and hands anxiously wringing each other.

“Our martial siblings deserve to know of this one’s current condition. This Qing Jing peak lord would hate to be an unchecked liability,” Yue Qingyua lets out a slightly choked noise. No one pays heed to it, hanging onto Shen Qingqiu’s every word.

“…lest this one accidentally hurts someone with my negligence. Mu-shidi, please, continue.”

Mu Qingfang’s face is stricken, but acquiesces.

“To put it simply, Shen-shixiong’s qi stores are in a constant state of exhaustion, being used up just as soon as it is replenished by his body, even with the help of the qi transfusions. The barrier installed in his right arm also consumes much of his spiritual energy. Together with the herbs that I have recently prescribed him to promote the flow of his spiritual pathways which comes with the cost of increased qi catabolism, his body is in constant overdrive trying to cope.”

My Qingfang takes a deep breath, his eyes downturned. “All of that is obvious and can be managed, but not completely resolved. Shen-shixiong, you’ll likely have these symptoms for the rest of your life”

A silence settles in the room.

“This is nothing new. Why is this a cause for concern?” Shen Qingqiu says.

The simple acceptance in his voice jars the people in the room. Qi Qingqi can’t help but sigh. Her shixiong truly was too inconsiderate.

“The problem is that, shixiong, given recent developments to your disease presentation, this doctor has predicted that the trajectory of your symptoms are going to worsen.”

Qi Qingqi was well-read in the study of poisons. Stereotypical it may be, but she made sure to make it her business to know what some of her most favored weapons could entail.

As for Without-A-Cure, most cultivators are aware that its primary mechanism is to act as a deterrent to the natural inclination of flow. It was a stasis agent at its core, halting in its track things that normally rely on movement. While spiritual energy is initially protective by contributing resistance to passage of poison, after prolonged exposure, this spiritual barrier is predicted to be eroded and eventually compromised.

For cultivators, the aftereffects can go either of two ways.

One is a stagnation of cultivation, keeping it from progressing beyond its current level. Qi Qingqiu knows that that is what Mu Qingfang hoped for Shen Qingqiu. But it seems like Shen Qingqiu was going to be experiencing the second route.

They had underestimated Shen Qingqiu’s long history of qi deviations. Happier the Qing Jing peak lord may look like now, but the wounds inflicted by his heart demons had lingered. The moment Shen-shixiong manifested physical symptoms, it was a losing battle. The poison had found a breach in his spiritual pathways and spread to the physical body, making other pathways such as blood circulation stagnate as well.

But knowing all this was pointless. Qi Qingqi turns away to the door to leave before Mu Qingfang could continue.

The end result remained the same.

Shen Qingqiu was dying and they could do nothing about it.

Two peak lords lie down on the closest xianxia approximation of a modern day mattress, feather filled pillows fitted snugly beneath their heads and squished in between them like in a classic sleepover.

Shen Qingqiu frees one of the pillows from their constraints in the fort and throws it up in the air. He catches it with a light oof being punched out of his chest when the weight pushes against his lungs. He hugs it closer to his chest and closes his eyes.

“I don’t know why everyone is making such a big deal out of it, bro. Everybody dies, mine just has a set date now.”

Shen Qingqiu is greeted with a face full of pillow. Shang Qinghua had just hit him in the face with one.

“Don’t joke about that, please, just don’t.”

While spitting out feathers, Shen Qingqiu apologizes. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me. But it’s really all I’ve ever known.”

“What do you mean?” The sentence ended with a wobble, the telltale sign of tears likely already streaming down ruddy cheeks.

Shen Qingqiu sighs. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything. Especially since the other peak lord was really a bit (more than a bit) of a crybaby. Or maybe Shen Yuan was just a bad person who did not know when to keep his mouth shut and not hurt other people.

“I’ve been diagnosed with a terminal illness since I was two. It’s a miracle I’ve lived long enough to be able to reach the age requirement for access to content like PIDW.”

There was no response. But Shen Qingqiu could hear the sniffles. He sighs again.

“But I’m not even the original goods. And even if I were, no one ever cared about him in PIDW. It should be even better to have him, me, gone, right?”

The sniffles were now outright sobs, choked back as they were. Shen Qingqiu was a terrible person.

“I’m sorry, I should have known you’d miss me,” Shen Qingqiu says while pulling away the pillows to draw the other peak lord in for a hug. Or should he say friend? He’s certainly hugged the guy more than he ever did any other friends he had before. And Shang Qinghua had certainly given him a lot in the past few weeks. From a free ticket for a flight to Qian Cao, to custom made feather down pillows, an actual spring bed, several tomes of rare bestiaries that definitely did not make Shen Qingqiu squeal like a child during their birthday, and even a portion of Shang Qinghua’s treasured stock of melon seeds (while Shen Qingqiu was not a big fan of the snack, he appreciated the effort, and made sure he maintained a steady supply for when Shang Qinghua visited).

Shang Qinghua had even given him drafts of stories he’d written throughout the years to give his signature Peerless Cucumber feedback. And they were all pretty good. Strangely, it even read like Airplane Shooting Across the Sky’s writing style if he weren’t always pandering to the fan service demands. Shang Qinghua should have been the PIDW author instead. They probably wouldn’t be in this mess, and the world would have been way cooler then.

Going back to the matter at hand, Shen Qingqiu wasn’t used to holding back his pessimistic thoughts, not when in the last few months before his death in his first life, he had been all alone and his thoughts became the darkest they could be.

“For you bro, I’ll stay,” Shen Qingqiu promises, even if he knew that they were both aware of how unlikely that was.

It takes a while for Shang Qinghua to calm down.

When he does, he says tremulously, “Bro you do know that there actually is a cure right?”

If Shen Qingqiu was not well-versed in decoding his sister’s post-crying sessions after finishing those depressing dramas she kept watching, he would not have been able to understand what Shang Qinghua had said while sounding like he had a very stuffy nose that tempted Shen Qingqiu to place a napkin under Shang Qinghua’s nose and ask him to blow.

“I doubt Luo Binghe would be very willing in a few years after I’ve thrown him into a fiery hell.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“…”

“We still gotta do something bro!”

Another sigh, a few pats on the back, and many tissues later, Shen Qingqiu asks the root question, “What else can be done, though?”

“Hmmm, bro, have you ever heard of the sun and moon dew plant?” Shen Qingqiu has to take the time to decipher the words once more since Shang Qinghua had hidden his face quite throughly in his arms, curling almost painfully small in the circle of Shen Qingqiu’s slung over arm.

“Bro, that plot point is so obscure. How can you even remember that?!”

“Eheh. I have my ways. Come on, bro, let’s go seed hunting.”

Liu Qingge didn’t understand people. He’s long accepted that, just as he’s accepted all his other weaknesses and strengths. He was an uncomplicated man who only knew to fight. He’s known that his whole life, has seen it in his own father, an honest warrior who held no secrets.

But despite all that, Liu Qingge still couldn’t make peace with the fact that he couldn’t understand Shen Qingqiu.

-

Liu Qingge sees at the corner of his eye the flash of a blade heading for his unguarded back. Swift as lightning, he twists around and meets the blade of the seething Qing Jing peak head disciple.

“I swear, I will kill you, Liu Qingge!” Shen Qingqiu yells as Liu Qingge pins him to the ground once again, defeated despite his dishonorable attempts to attack Liu Qingge from behind.

-

“Liu-shidi, try this tanghulu. It’s very good,” says Shen Qingqiu gleefully as he places the candied treat in front of Liu Qingge.

Liu Qingge takes the stick and bites into the candy obediently. Shen Qingqiu huffs with laughter and pulls out a white handkerchief from his gauzy sleeves.

“You eat like a child, shidi,” the Qing Jing peak lord says, smiling indulgently as he wipes away at the sticky caramel.

-

The difference from now and then was stark as night and day.

Back when he first met the other as young disciples, he could distinctly remember how infuriated he had been with the boy’s barely hidden sneers, false smiles, and sly actions, layered with meaning upon meaning that he couldn’t understand no matter how hard he thought about it.

-

Liu Qingge watched as the disciple Yue Qingyuan had returned with from the conference stared at him from above his fan, his eyes dismissive and arrogant, like a prim and spoiled young master who thought everyone else was beneath him.

He approached the disciple named Shen Jiu to introduce himself. Regardless of Shen Jiu’s origins, it was still Liu Qingge’s duty as martial brother to greet the new addition to Ciang Qiong. Liu Qingge had not yet even opened his mouth when Shen Jiu turned away from him dismissively.

-

Liu Qingge lays a hand on Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder, calling out to him at the same time.

Shen Qingqiu startles, but quickly turns around upon recognizing his voice. “What can this shixiong do for you today, Liu-shidi?” he greets Liu Qingge, his face hidden by his fan, but Liu Qingge can hear the smile in his voice.

Mirthful eyes flash and Liu Qingge’s breath is stolen away. He forgets what he wanted to say.

-

He’d thought it would be better after the Qing Jing peak lord had extended that olive branch.

But every move only seemed even more suspicious as the Qing Jing peak lord doubled down on his defenses, making every smile even more impenetrable. Or, at least, it would make a lot of sense if they had been more suspicious.

But Liu Qingge’s traitorous heart skipped a beat every time those green eyes turned to him.

Mystery and pretense still shrouded the Qing Jing peak lord but this time, Liu Qingge found himself wanting to work hard and earn the right to unravel each one, just to hear the other peak lord show that unbridled emotion and his true self once more.

Liu Qingge got that wish, but not in the way he wanted.

-

“Liu Qingge, get away from me, you brute!”

-

“Liu-shidi… d-don’t leave…”

-

When Without-A-Cure ravaged his shixiong’s spiritual veins, it left Shen Qingqiu stripped of all his masks, all his defenses. Liu Qingge longed more than ever for the days when Shen Qingqiu was the pampered young master that fought Liu Qingge at every turn.

Because he’d rather have a Shen Qingqiu that hated him but was strong and healthy rather than a Shen Qingqiu that had decided to grant him the precious gift of his smiles and his laughter, only to take them away from Liu Qingge far too early.

But that, of course, was easier said than done.

Now that he had his shixiong’s favor, he was very much unwilling to part with it.

These thoughts run through Liu Qingge’s mind as he watches Yue Qingyuan carefully arrange Shen Qingqiu’ sleeping form in his arms, preparing to lay him down in one of Qian Cao’s beds.

Liu Qingge had just landed on Qing Jing peak for a visit when he encountered the Sect Leader flying away, Shen Qingqiu’s sleeping form in his arms.

He must have fallen asleep again during one of his tea sessions with the Sect Leader.

Catching Yue Qingyuan’s sad gaze, Liu Qingge is met with a nod. Taking that as permission, he follows after the pair.

Liu Qingge trailed after them, unwilling to part from Shen Qingqiu just yet when the man was looking so poorly.

The man was not calling out for him now. But he remembered when his shixiong did, and knew that his shixiong hated to be alone when in pain.

The jostling causes Shen Qingqiu to shift in Yue Qingyuan’s hold. He also starts mumbling indiscernibly. Somehow, Liu Qingge manages to hear a few soft words from the slumbering man.

“…Gege”, Shen Qingqiu says, the word muffled against the thick Qiong Ding robes Yue Qingyuan had placed over him. Liu Qingge hands itched to raise the robes up to Shen Qingqiu’s chin. Shen Qingqiu has seemed so easy to get cold recently.

Yue Qingyuan stiffened upon hearing the call, looking as if he was carrying a heavy burden, even if he had picked up the Qing Jing lord without effort.

The matter between Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan had been under much discussion among the peaks, enough so that it had reached Liu Qingge’s ears despite his disinterest in such gossip.

It had angered him then to learn that Shen Qingqiu had entered the sect not with his own merit but with the special word of Yue Qingyuan. His Yue-shixiong was the most honorable man Liu Qingge knew. Liu Qingge had strongly suspected then that Shen Qingnqiu had a malicious hold over his shixiong and had taken advantage of Yue Qingyuan’s kindness.

It had taken all this time for Liu Qingge to even begin considering that there may be a different side to the story. Especially seeing Shen Qingqiu’s distress as Yue Qingyuan tries to let go and lay him down onto one of Qian Cao’s beds, stubbornly clinging with clammy and trembling hands to Yue Qingyuan’s robes, saying, gege, don’t leave me.

The murmurings of a fevered man could be easily passed off as the troubled dreams that come with illness. But Yue Qingyuan’s answering look of despair and guilt tells Liu Qingge that the blame lay elsewhere, and it was not solely on the man sleeping fitfully in the patient bed.

His thoughts must have shown in his face because Yue Qingyuan eyes dull even more with shameful contriteness. He says nothing in his defense. Instead, he makes to stand up, unheeding of his shidi’s plea. Liu Qingge bristles at the sight.

“He asked for you, so you should stay.”

Yue Qingyuan does not meet his eyes, instead looking pensively at the window beside Shen Qingqiu’s bed. “Mu Qingfang was right. My presence has never brought him joy in the past. I don’t want to take advantage just because he doesn’t remember why my presence would displease him anymo-.”

“He’s hated me, too, before.” Liu Qingge interrupts.

“You’ve not hurt him like I have.”

“Treat this as a clean slate”, Liu Qingge continues stubbornly, echoing the words a certain Qing Jing peak lord had told him that day in the Ling Xi caves.

But something tells Liu Qingge that it was not as simple as that.

Liu Qingge wonders what it must feel like to be forgotten, and to be the only one left to remember.

Shen Qingqiu looked so happy now that he was freed from the memories of his past, while that past trailed after Yue Qingyuan, weighing down on him with the chains of guilt.

Liu Qingge hopes Shen Qingqiu never remembers.

“Binghe is just a child. He shouldn’t have to face burdens like this.”

His shixiong would say this often, to justify the way he hid his symptoms like a shameful secret, even if his scars are nothing to be ashamed of, especially to the disciple whom he had sacrificed almost everything for.

Going by how that precious disciple of his looks at Shen Qingqiu with so much devotion, Liu Qingge thought that Luo Binghe would gladly carry the burden of his Shizun’s sacrifice for him, and spend everyday of his life diligently trying to make up for it.

“He is a disciple of Cang Qiong. He should be able to take it.”

“But it would make him sad, shidi. Children shouldn’t have to be sad, especially not if this teacher can help it.”

Liu Qingge wonders what Shen Qingqiu would have had to face for him to have that haunted look on his face at the mere thought of a child being sad. An expression Liu Qingge could now trace back from before the qi deviation that had changed Shen Qingqiu so, during the times his martial siblings laid down such terrible accusations against him, when Liu Qingge himself let out poisonous barbs that weighed on his conscience to this day, and strangely, especially when Yue Qingyuan was in his presence.

Liu Qingge continues to bear the weight of his sins to this day, despite the unspoken forgiveness Shen Qingqiu has granted him in still extending a hand of friendship despite their past.

Shen Qingqiu may have been vicious, but Liu Qingge had been just as much so and he now hated himself for it everytime he would see his shixiong smile and laugh at him, thinking that he did not deserve such kindness, for the amount of cruelty he himself had displayed in return.

Liu Qingge is beginning to understand why Yue Qingyuan did not want to take advantage of it.

But leaving him is not what Shen Qingqiu would want. And Liu Qingge had made a promise to himself he wouldn't make the same mistake again. He’s failed his shixiong in the past. He won’t fail him again.

As Liu Qingge watches Shen Qingqiu tears and blood mix with the shards of his disciples' broken sword, he finds that he has now joined the ranks of those who have failed his shixiong so terribly.

Shen Qingqiu did not deserve this.

And Liu Qingge did not deserve Shen Qingqiu.

Chapter Text

After

All it took was a moment.

A flash of white and green, a gap suddenly appearing in between the rising trails of smoke, a mess of blood red fire down below, mixed with darkness hiding untold despair Shen Qingqiu could not even begin to imagine. He couldn't bear to imagine it.

Luo Binghe, with his pristine white robes Shen Qingqiu knew he preferred to keep meticulously clean, his eyes sparkling brighter than the stars in the clearest night sky, his fluffy sheep-soft hair that always wanted to burst from its ribbon despite Luo Binghe’s best efforts to tame it down, Shen Qingqiu always reassured Luo Binghe to be completely fine, in fact it was more than fine, Binghe has beautiful hair. What is this foolish disciple thinking calling his hair terrible–

“—qiu, Shen Qingqiu, breathe!”

The voice’s command sounded so simple. Of course Shen Qingqiu was breathing. Why wouldn’t he be breathing?

“Breathe!”

A tinge of desperation now colored the word. Now, this was unusual. This voice has traversed well trodden paths in his memories ever since he had woken up in this world. It has never failed to calm his heart whenever it felt the need to thud out of his chest when facing one stupidly dangerous mission from the system to another. Its deep tones are a touch too callous at times, but always refreshingly bare and innocent, always confident and self-assured. But this time, this voice was uncertain. Terrified. Worryingly so.

This, above everything else, brought Shen Qingqiu crashing into reality, the reality that his lungs have been deprived a little bit too long for comfort, that he was in the Immortal Alliance Conference along with his disciples and his martial brothers and sisters, that the demon attack had come to pass, that there were shards on the ground, that Binghe had come with him to the rift, that Binghe was, that Binghe- there were shards on the-

He forced his eyes to clear past the haze that was more than just smoke but also the creeping but all-consuming terror from the realization of what he had just done and what that entailed, and meet blue eyes set beneath familiar furrowed brows. Those eyes held a fear that grounded Shen Qingqiu back to a thready but focused point on the fact that something was terrorizing his peerless warrior of a shidi and that his duty as a shixiong was to take care of his shidi’s problems and be useful for once.

But despite all that, Shen Qingqiu still could not make his lips form the words. Those eyes, however, seem to know what he needed without him even speaking, without him even knowing what he needed. Strong gentle arms pushed his body, still unbreathing, against a waiting chest clothed in gray and blue, buoying Shen Qingqiu with a steady cadence of in and out, in and out, over and over, until his body learned to breathe again.

One sputtering breath followed after the other, until Shen Qingqiu was able to gather enough air and push against his shidi’s chest to meet those eyes again. The loss of that gaze made it harder to focus against the tide of his treacherous mind but the minute trembling of his shidi brought him back enough to remember that he had still not solved what was bothering his shidi.

“Are… are you hurt, Liu-shi…di?”

If anything, that worsened the anguish in those blue eyes, and Shen Qingqiu could feel his heart chip away little by little, even more broken than it already was. Was Shen Qingqiu truly good for nothing but to be a scum that could do nothing other than make the people around him miserable?

Shen Qingqiu did not know what sounds he made but it must have done something to offend his shidi even further when those eyes shuttered, closing off all emotions from Shen Qingqiu’s view.

He could feel himself spiraling quickly at that, his breath becoming more rapid, making him more lightheaded. Shen Qingqiu was a disappointment. He could not even help his shidi in his time of need.

Those beautiful blue eyes were cold and pale, a steadily growing pale like the lightest of snowflakes on the coldest of winters. Cold like Shen Qingqiu will be when Luo Binghe comes back from the abyss for his well deserved revenge. Cold like his martial siblings and disciples will be as Luo Binghe’s army razes it to the ground. Cold like his too loyal too honorable shidi will be when Shen Qingqiu inevitably drags him down in his selfishness and greed for every modicum of safety and comfort he could get.

He didn’t want to see those eyes anymore. He couldn’t make himself look at the future he had doomed them all to.

And so he looked at the shards on the ground once more and remembered that it was all too late anyway. Shen Qingqiu should have chosen death. He should have chosen to save them all.

*

Before

Caring for a plant didn’t sound particularly complicated in principle. But then again, Shang Qinghua had never owned a plant in either of his lives. As was the running theme of his rebirth into a world that used to be mere self-indulgent thoughts he’d typed on a screen, writing about something was much easier than actually living it.

Shang Qinghua had expected that bringing life to a Sun and Moon Dew seed he had written to be notoriously fussy in choosing its time and place to grow would be a challenge, but he had failed to imagine how much so it was going to be, and that he was completely in over his head in taking on this task.

As its name implied, a Sun and Moon Dew plant required sunlight and moonlight. But apparently too much of one or the other could either delay or speed up the ripening process. And this mushroom was useless if not perfectly ripe.

This world’s weather was a temperamental beast, designed to engineer as many drama-filled teary-eyed scenes under the rain or heat exhaustion-induced faints beneath the scorching sun, and a painfully short calm in between said moments for the rare slice-of-life world exploration episodes that did not quite appeal to the masses that perused his PIDW (except for one certain cucumber).

Shang Qinghua constantly had to meet the balance. If there was too much moonlight, growth would slow. Too much sunlight, growth would speed up and the plant might end up rotting. But Shang Qinghua was nothing if not resourceful. He had to be, to have survived as long as he had. He made do, as he always did.

Trial and error filled his days as he had to counterbalance overexposure to the sun or make up for moonlight deficiency during cloudy nights by digging deep into the lore of his world and see what he could do to maximize on soil moisture, plant shade, mulching, and so on.

Trial and error was a part of the process of learning something new. It was normal. It was expected. Being the lord of the logistics peak, Shang Qinghua could even say that he enjoyed it to some extent, as knowing how to plant all these finicky herbs was also a means of increasing inventory. However, it was not something that Shang Qinghua could handle doing right now because he had a certain someone who was very much quickly deteriorating right before his eyes and any trials or errors could not be tolerated, not when the timeline was as tight as it was.

And the timeline was getting shorter, if the tiny hisses and insistent nudging of his ankle was anything to go by. Shang Qinghua looked behind him to see Zhuzhi-lang’s small snake form persistently butting its tiny head against his boot half buried in the mud. Zhuzhi-lang rarely left Shen Qingqiu’s side in the rare instances he managed to visit. The snake demon’s presence must mean that something must have happened to their beloved Shen-gongzi that they did not know how to handle and were panicking about again.

Which would not be their fault, actually. Who’s fault was it that a chronically ill patient was left in the care of two beings who did not even have any limbs?

Against Shang Qinghua’s better judgement, he feels a small (but no less present) spark of irritation towards his shixiong.

He cared for Shen Qingqiu, really he did, more than he’d dare admit to himself, But Shang Qinghua was at the end of his rope. And he could not handle another problem just quite yet. Not when this was a moment in time where Shang Qinghua was kneeling over mushrooms that could be a direct solution to all his past, current, and impending problems. Not when this was the first time in months he was able to take a breath to himself without anyone hovering over his shoulder. Not when he finally had the time to stop thinking about the never ending responsibilities he had tacked onto his soul to resolve his guilt, he just wanted to grow these stupid mushrooms.

He… he had barely been coping, handling his towering workload at An Ding Peak, the demands of his King in the northern demonic realm who beat him up faster than his bruises could heal, and the doom overlord that was the System. In the midst of all that, meeting his Shen-bro where he could just turn off all the noise in Shang Qinghua’s head with his snacks and his mild to extremely severe scathing book reviews, his head pats and his hugs…it was all a blessing.

But Shen Qingqiu grew sicker and sicker, and Shang Qinghua’s list of urgent responsibilities just kept getting longer and longer. He wanted nothing more than to drop everything and hunker down in this cave and grow these mushrooms as fast as he could so that the other man did not have to go through another day of the consequences of what he had cooked up to please the masses in yet another wife plot Shang Qinghua could care less about. To drop everything, including the role that had been assigned to Shang Qinghua in taking care of Shen Qingqiu’s needs because Shang Qinghua was a horrible caretaker.

And yet Shen Qingqiu insisted that he just had to accompany Shang Qinghua with tending the mushrooms and maybe visit Tianlang-Jun and Zhuzhi-lang with new novels and snacks from the outside world. Shen Qingqiu and his gods-damned bleeding heart, couldn’t he have just stayed home and rest?!

But Shang Qinghua was weak. Especially to the man leaning against the far wall bundled up with blankets, shaking with the struggle of what appeared to be him attempting to braid Tianlang-jun’s hair.

Shang Qinghua carefully tucked away the transport seal under a barrier seal and putting them all under a rock near the cave entrance. Finished with that troublesome but necessary task, Shang Qinghua walked closer to the comical tableau of a Heavenly demon chained to the ground but with his head cushioned by a feather filled neck pillow against the wall, his hair strewn around him in tiny braids tied at the ends with pale green ribbons, and a few pinks and purples since Shen Qingqiu insisted these matched his red eyes the best.

“Your hair is just…just like my… meimei’s.”

“Really now, Peak Lord Shen? Was your sister’s hair a rat’s nest, then?”

“…”

“You’ve made your point, Peak Lord Shen. No need to tug at my beautiful tresses so harshly. You’ll make this Lord cry.”

“Tianlang-jun has… beautiful hair.”

“Well if this one’s hair is beautiful then surely they can stand to be braided some other time, Peak Lord Shen. Your little guard dog in icy blue might bite my remaining body parts off if you don’t reschedule.”

Even with Tianlang’s pitiful attempts to stop Shen Qingqiu from doing what looked to be a painful endeavor in making his afflicted arm coordinate in any fine tuned way, Shen Qingqiu was not deterred.

Shang Qinghua could not yet see an obvious problem that would have prompted Zhuzhi lang to make the long trek to the plant nursery, but then he spots the bright red line of fresh blood dripping down his shixion’s nose pooling slowly but steadily onto the blankets wrapped around him. Shen Qingqiu was never bothered because Shang-bro, they’re stain proof, he’d say with so much glee. But Shen-bro, that was really not the point.

That was enough, Shang Qinghua decided. “Shen-bro,” he called out.

Like a Twilight Grazing Lanium flower looking to the sun peeking out on a cold autumn’s day, Shen Qingqiu beamed at Shang Qinghua, as if his mere presence was enough to brighten his day all over again in this dark and dreary den, despite just seeing him a few hours ago.

Sigh.

This was the reason.

This was the reason why Shang Qinghua slaved over the mud for hours to grow plants and back-up plants, went through sleepless days, weeks even at times, the bags upon bags of eyebags growing an apartment building of several floors the way they were piling on top of each other beneath his eyes. He’d thought that cultivators wouldn't have eyebags of all things but Shang Qinghua’s body proved him wrong like always.

Despite all that. Shang Qinghua still caved in to his shixiong when he gave him that smile that showed… that showed…

…that showed that Shen Qingqiu cared for him.

It still confused Shang Qinghua to this day as to why.

But he has come to learn, like all chronic overthinkers learn, that sometimes, a win is a win. As Shang Qinghua caressed Shen Qingqiu’s hair as the other man leaned into Shang Qinghua’s personal space with a sleepy embrace, Mu Qingfang’s medication tiring him out again, Shang Qinghua resolved within himself that he just had to take blessings like Shen Qingqiu as they were, beautiful, overflowing, and all too painfully fleeting.

And it was conditional, too, as Shang Qinghua had painfully realized.

His fellow transmigrator may have his soft-hearted moe tendencies, but Shen Qingqiu had a mean streak that could pack a figurative literary punch if he wanted to. With how incensed Shen Qingqiu could get in his pages-long comments as Peerless Cucumber, Shang Qinghua was all too aware of how opinionated and frankly, self-righteous, his bro could get. But it didn’t prepare him for how terrified he himself would become when faced with the prospect of Shen Qingqiu treating him that way in his life now as Shang Qinghua.

This was the case when, in the months leading up to the Immortal Alliance Conference, they had come to talk about what exactly the System wanted Shang Qinghua to do during the Conference.

Being a spy to a demon lord, Shang Qinghua was no stranger to being made to do tasks of a… deplorable nature. He has had his fair share of banishing corrupt officials, bribing rioting clan heads, stealing treasured artifacts, all while working in the shadows and letting others do the dastardly deeds directly. That did not by any means absolve him of his crimes. It was just that he was too cowardly to do these things upfront like a more righteous traitor would, such an oxymoron even existed.

His task during the Immortal Alliance Conference was no different. He was assigned by his king to release high level demons into the competition grounds to sow discord and chaos and pave the way for his king’s grand entrance, ridding as much cultivator interference as he could in the process.

Shen Qingqiu knew that Shang Qinghua was a traitor in the novel, but perhaps he had not yet bothered to think about the implications of being a spy–that he had not yet considered what exactly being a human cultivator forced to be traitor to his own race would entail.

Shang Qinghua himself had not thought twice about mentioning his mission, thinking that Shen Qingqiu would automatically understand, since the other transmigrator had his own mission of throwing the currently still innocent protagonist into the horrors of the Endless Abyss. But when Shen Qingqiu heard of the details of Shang Qinghua’s mission, he had turned a shade so pale Shang Qinghua had thought he would collapse right then and there. It had almost jolted Shang Qinghua to action, back then already used to catching his bro during sudden attacks of that dreadful Without-A-Cure. But Shen Qingqiu’s next words stopped him in his tracks.

“But, what about the disciples?” Shen Qingqiu had asked then, his voice so subdued, Shang Qinghua could not help but feel that he had committed a terrible misstep, he just did not know what exactly that was.

“What about them?” Shang Qinghua had replied, so stupidly now in hindsight.

“They’re all just children.”

Shang Qinghua’s heart sank, his mind working a mile a minute, swiftly realizing where Shen Qingqiu was going with this.

“Are you really just going to let them all die?” Shen Qingqiu said, his voice holding a tremor of, something akin to, dare he say it, anger that Shang Qinghua had not yet heard from him before–not from this version of Shen Qingqiu at least. Shang Qinghua was not unfamiliar with being the brunt of the anger of the people around him. He got beaten black and blue on the regular just from his king who he held so dear but was almost always angry at him. Shang Qinghua could not bear it if Shen Qingqiu got angry at him too. Not him, too. Please. Anybody but him.

Shang Qinghua, snivelling coward that he was, has always been a survivor. And this world held immense cruelty for weaklings like him. He had been here for a long time definitely not with a good time, and he had learned the lesson well that this world was not kind to the weak, and the weak that continue to survive in this world would not have survived had they been kind.

Shang Qinghua never had to admit it to himself. He never let himself. Constantly burning on both ends, did not give himself the bandwidth to dwell on the concept of the souls of his characters come to life around him. But it was true that, to have survived for as long as he had with the entity of the System chaining a collar around his neck controlling his every step, had come at the cost of many a life of many a cannon fodder and NPC, and many of those Shang Qinghua had never let himself spare a thought for.

Despite his proclivity for self-deprecation, he couldn't help but be angry at Shen Qingqiu, too, for judging him at that moment. With how quickly and extensively Peerless Cucumber would buy chapter updates, Shang Qinghua could deduce that the other transmigrator was someone of much means. He likely belonged to the class of the philanthropic few, altruistic enough to care for more than themselves, but far too wealthy and detached from hardship to understand what it felt like to resort to being cruelly and inevitably selfish. Some people simply could not afford to be kind. And Shang Qinghua belonged to the latter.

Shang Qinghua was not kind.

But Shen Qingqiu was. Rough around the edges though he may be, letting out cusses that would prompt mothers to scrub their children’s mouths and stuff their ears with cotton when he read novels he hated to admit he secretly enjoyed.

And he had been kind to Shang Qinghua. And Shang Qinghua had been deprived of kindness for far too long that he could no longer imagine going back to that lonely aching pain of being the butt of the world’s jokes, not now that he had gotten a taste of what it is like to be embraced gently into someone else’s world. For Shen Qingqiu, Shang Qinghua was willing to try.

“It’s going to be so hard to save them all, though,” Shang Qinghua said in a near whine, his cracking voice betraying how bone-deep tired he felt in that moment. He kept his eyes trained to the ground. He could not bear to look up and meet his bro’s eyes, not wanting to see disappointment from the last person he wanted to receive it from.

Believe it or not, this was not the first time he tried to reduce the number of casualties in his missions. Back in the beginning, he had tried so hard to find ways to circumvent the system and not get any innocents killed.

He too had developed a soft spots for the children on his own peak. But he did not let it extend past them. What’s his was his. Let others take care of their own.

Peerless cucumber surely would not have remained completely ignorant in this world. Bandits and nighthunts, swords and battles, monsters and creatures, treasures alike—Shen Qingqiu saw them all given his close proximity to the protagonist. While that did not guarantee him missions that were safe and easy, it did guarantee him victory so long as the protagonist was near. Shang Qinghua had no such luxury.

If Shang Qinghua were to be honest for once in his life, he’d almost prefer to turn a blind eye. What ever did the world do for him? These cultivator disciples died all the time, if not during the conference, then during a night hunt gone wrong, or a battle overrun.

But Shang Qinghua could almost hear what Shen Qingqiu would say. Just because they were not fortunate enough to be born in the same sect doesn’t mean they deserve to just die like that.
But what did Shen Qingqiu expect him to do? He was just one man, and he was oh so weak from his humanity.

Defeat after defeat, massacre after massacre, the sheer number of lives that were so carelessly and easily snuffed out under the suffocating weight of the contriveness of the System were more than enough to cause Shang Qinghua to retreat beneath the all too tempting comfort of apathy and disillusionment. To dwell is to be distracted, and to be distracted is to be dead.

But this was the first time he had someone else on his corner.

“Don’t worry too much.”

Shang Qinghua’s eyes shot up at that, and they rest on pale green eyes that held a familiar look of pity and comfort. And Shang Qinghua could feel himself almost shuddering with relief, warm sharp pricks growing at the corner of his eyes, his breaths coming out slightly ragged and his lungs rattling with wheezes of released tidal waves of anxiety. All this in the face of the growing evidence that supports his dearest wish—that perhaps his dearest friend would not forsake him once he learned the truth.

“You got me now, don’t you?” Shen Qingqiu said softly, almost a whisper into the night. A promise of linked arms marching onwards to fates of their own making. A promise of two imprisoned souls to stay together until the end of the road, whatever that may be.

“Yeah. Yeah I do.”

Shang Qinghua wasn’t alone anymore. And he would do everything in his power to keep it that way.

The truth of the matter is Shen Qingqiu hasn’t seen what Shang Qinghua has seen, has not gone through what he has gone through. But was it really a bad thing that he hasn’t? Was it a bad thing that he his terribly naive outlook at life was still very much preserved, that he still believed that the right and the just will prevail?

Shang Qinghua didn’t think so. If one of them could still keep that hope in humanity, hope in life and second chances, then he’d rather it be Shen Qingqiu.

Chapter Text

After

An ear splitting shriek tore through the air, and continued to do so, one after the other.

If Mu Qingfang were of a lesser caliber of a professional than he was, his hands would be shaking. As it was, he was barely holding it together, as he focused on stabilizing the shattered fragments that made up his shixiong.

On the bed, his patient was thrashing uncontrollably, while a man in dark gray robes did his best to pin the patient into place on the pallet and avoid further injury. As the incense sticks burned away in their braziers, Mu Qingfang could see at the edge of his vision how those gray robes slowly turned darker with tacky crimson, inch by dreadful inch.

“Shidi, it’s going to be alright. It’s going to be alright,” Yue Qingyuan spoke in a litany tinged with a barely held hysterical quality, a vain unceasing attempt to comfort the distraught patient.

Shen Qingqiu was sobbing, almost choking on it, on his grief, and Mu Qingfang didn’t want to hear this, he didn’t–

Mu Qingfang activated the silencing talismans in the room. Just so that the other patients couldn’t hear. And for his junior disciples as well. The despairing cries were enough to unsettle any experienced physician, never mind those who were still new to the harrowing discipline of healing.

Still, Mu Qingfang made himself hear those cries, as well as everyone in this room.

Shen Qingqiu deserved this much.

By the door stood their martial siblings. One, in particular, had pale bloodless lips and wide horrified eyes, his yellow robes almost unrecognizable. It was the An Ding peak lord, the one who was first to reach the scene, and the second to discover Shen Qingqiu.

The absence of the Bai Zan war lord was stark. After all, in recent years, he was almost a permanent fixture tailing after the Qing Jing peak lord whenever Shen Qingqiu’s thin face would allow it, to all and between them appearing as the dearest of friends. Wouldn’t such a man be beside Shen Qingqiu in his direst time of need?

The man in question was knocked unconscious in the other room, placed in an induced coma.

He had been there for Shen Qingqiu. In fact, he was the first to see Shen Qingqiu, and had almost instantly succumbed to a qi deviation within moments after securing Shen Qingqiu into Mu Qingfang’s care. Mu Qingfang barely had enough mental faculties to save the two martial siblings of his who were struggling. He could not handle another one on his plate. But with the state of the Sect Leader and the A Ding peak lord, he might very well need to knock out two more.

It had been an unfortunate chain reaction. A relentless landslide of deviations Mu Qingfang had long seen coming. Shen Qingqiu was at risk for obvious reasons. His poisoning had put him into a slowed but nevertheless deteriorating state.

Seeing his dearest disciple fall…

It would have more than he could bear.

Liu Qingge was more robust in comparison but Shen Qingqiu’s dependence on him had some effect that inevitably led to Liu Qingge’s own deterioration, no matter how much Liu Qingge would deny it.

Yue Qingyuan and Shang Qinghua may have some degree of compatibility with Shen Qingqiu to be able to adequately aid in the circulation of his qi, but when more delicacy and purity of qi was required, Shen Qingqiu’s meridians accepted Liu Qingge’s qi the best.

Were Shen Qingqiu to find out what he was unconsciously doing to his shidi– it would not bear thinking about.

Mu Qingfang would have never told the Qing Jing Peak Lord, even if Liu Qingge had not begged him not to do so. And beg, Liu Qingge did.

It was uncharacteristic of the stoic uncompromising Bai Zhan warrior, but after what had been a harrowing treatment session for Shen Qingqiu where Liu Qingge had to remain by his bedside and share his qi for up to several days, Mu Qingfang had been able to see the aftermath. Liu Qingge then had, at his most exhausted and defeated state, asked if he were still enough to keep the Qing Jing peak lord alive anymore.

And now, as Mu Qingfang left with as much time as he could spare to check on Liu Qingge on the other room, he could hear the man murmuring to himself again and again, soft hitched sobs breaking every breath, body curled into itself still except for the trembling of his shoulders, long hair strewn over his face, eyes closed tight in denial of what was happening around him– his downfall a slow glacier fall compared to Shen Qingqiu’s raging tempest, but nevertheless falling.

“Not enough, not enough not enough not enough–"

*

Before

“What did I tell you, Shen-bro? Don’t tire yourself out or Mu Qingfang will unalive me for real this time.” Harsh words, sure, but the hand that combed through his hair and the cloth pressed to his nose were as gentle as ever. His shidi was a tender-hearted soul.

Shen Qingqiu was not a strategist for no reason. Pretender he may be, a person can learn a lot from faking it all these years. Shen Qingqiu was perceptive enough to hear the frustration in Shang Qinghua’s voice.

“Can we stay here… a while longer?” he asked.

He knew that Shang Qinghua thought Shen Qingqiu a burden–that Shen Qingqiu was a stubborn fool who was distracting Shang Qinghua from his neverending very much important to-do-list before doomsday all to avoid said doomsday. Shen Qingqiu knew they were on a tight schedule. But he could see how it all was wearing down on his shidi.

He just wanted his shidi to get some rest.

At the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Zhuzhi-lang making tiny hisses, softly nudging the blanket to cover both Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua better.

Such a good person, that Zhuzhi-lang.
Eventually, Shang Qinghua’s breaths had slowed and when Shen Qingqiui gazed upwards, the other peak lord was fast asleep– an unspoken acquiescence to Shen Qingqiu’s request. A smile tentatively curled up his lips and Shen Qingqiu let himself revel in this small victory.

“Good night, Qing Jing Peak Lord,” a disembodied voice called out, not without much amusement. Tianlang-jun had helped him come up with this little scheme to get their mutual friend some well-deserved snooze time. A tiny cold head bumped his ankle and Shen Qingqiu could not help but let out a small laugh. He reached down and laid Zhuzhi-lang in the space between him and Shang Qinghua, a warm place to settle down for the snake demon who had also done well as their accomplice today.

It had been easy enough to convince the snake demon to lure Shang Qinghua to transport himself to the cave where Tianlang-jun was imprisoned, which also doubled as another of Shen Qingqiu’s many hidden pillow forts. It was a childish comfort, but there were so few comforts in this world, and Shen Qingqiu knew that none in attendance would judge him for it. He could even say no one in the peak would begrudge him of it, but he did not want to intrude on their sensibilities. At least Shang Qinghua himself liked soft things. As did Tianlang-jun as he had so said to Shen Qingqiu many times since they had assembled the fort. And Zhuzhi-lang deserved all good things in life.

Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu had discovered Tianlang-jun’s prison a few months ago, a stroke of luck that had given Shang Qinghua a second wind in his search for the right planting grounds for the Sun and Moon Dew plants. And they had found new friends, too, once they realized that Tianlang-jun had a taste for terrible novels like Shen Qingqiu.

The demon was understandably cold and threatening to the two trespassing cultivators, who had blindly broken into his territory and prison, the dark recesses of Bai Lu Mountain. But then Shen Qingqiu had sneezed due to the dampness of the cave, and scattered the pages of the Shang Qinghua’s newest story that he was gladly lambasting *ahem* reading. (Shen Qingqiu was holding the looseleafs at that moment because he tended to read as he walked when he got bored.)

A page with a particularly cheesy scene with two lovers, an aloof scholar and a shy warrior, finally confessing their love for each other after decades of silently pining for the other, the slowest of slow burns Shen Qingqiu complained but still voraciously read every word of, fell on one of the traps near Tianlang-jun’s head.

As Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua stood there, carefully inching their way out of the cave and hoping that they had not triggered any alarms with their misstep, Shang Qinghua accidentally bumped into a monstrous abomination of a snake-human hybrid with a long curtain of hair similar to a horror movie, causing him to let out a very masculine scream and trying to tug Shen Qingqiu away from the new monster he was making sparkly eyes at and his hand was visibly twitching with the itch to pet.

Just as Shang Qinghua made to carry Shen Qingqiu over his shoulder and to get the heck out of there, Tianlang-jun had bid them to stop and asked for the next page.

Shen Qingqiu had immediately elbowed his way off of Shang Qinghua’s shoulder and rushed to find the next page to give to the scary demon lord and proceeded to sit down with the demon lord and rave about how genius the pacing was and that it was a rare gem to see a book deal with love shown through action instead of words, especially to people whose words were lost to them when they were overwhelmed with emotion.

And well, the rest was history as Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua’s book club of two came to include Tianlang-jun, and by association, Zhuzhi-lang even if the snake demon more often than not ended up sleeping in Shen Qingqiu’s lap instead of listening to Shen Qingqiu’s narration.

Shen Qingqiu was ashamed to say that he was too exhausted to think about the implications of what a demon as powerful as Tianlang-jun was doing being imprisoned beneath a mountain in such close proximity to Huan Hua territory.

The sigil on the demon’s head tickled something in Shen Qingqiu’s brain but for the life of him he could not remember what, which was unusual for him since Shen Qingqiu prided himself for being on top of all things PIDW lore at this point. Shang Qinghua was the first person he’s met who’s known more about PIDW than he had. Shen Qingqiu wondered if the other had access to more material that he hadn’t been able to get his hands on in his life as Peerless Cucumber.

That just proved to Shen Qingqiu how awesome Shang Qinghua really was, not just as an author but also as a researcher. He didn’t know how Shang Qinghua got his hands on the extra material and the other man was always so avoidant and stressed when he pushed so Shen Qingqiu figured he must have been some topnotch hacker in a past life, and was just a big enough fan of PIDW to perhaps hack even the Great Airplane’s computer files.

He’d asked Shang Qinghua who Tianlang-jun was, and it was clear that explaining was the last thing Shang Qinghua wanted to do. Knee-deep in mud even then, his shidi was hard at work, and there Shen Qingqiu was again, bothering him with questions.

He knew how he got, sometimes. Or most of the time. Or all the time, really. He was self aware enough to know that as Peerless Cucumber, he had been a perpetual flamer, spamming the contents with fiery tirades, that, in hindsight, he could admit to himself would get too far.

Having an author for a friend now made him realize that reading all that he had written would have hurt Airplane, whoever he was, Shen Qingqiu was sorry. It was not his fault they were in this mess.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t want to add more to Shang Qinghua’s stress. He already remembered how much he had agitated Shang Qinghua when he brought up the matter of the Immortal Alliance Conference and Shang Qinghua’s role in it.

He had to ease up on him. He had to– He shouldn’t have dared even question– Shen Qingqiu should just let Shang Qinghua—

Shen Qingqiu should just let Shang Qinghua work. He had no right to judge, whatever Shang Qinghua may have done.

“Sorry, Shen-bro. I don’t know.”

“I’ll look into it when I find the time, shixiong.”

“Shen Qingqiu, please. Not now.”

Each time, a heavy, exhausted sigh would ripple through Shang Qinghua’s shoulders, his eyes taking on a tortured light, as if Shen Qingqiu’s questions were the most difficult he would ever encounter. And each time, Shen Qingqiu’s teeth would ache at the image it made.

It was the least he could do. Because…

Not even Shang Qinghua…

Not even he was immune to…

That’s what Shen Yuan was– someone who couldn't even take care of himself, a bother to those around him.

Next he woke up, he was in Cian Qao. He must have fallen asleep too, then, and long enough that he had not noticed that Shang Qinghua had brought them both home.

A trickle of disappointment wrapped his heart. He wasn’t even able to say good bye to Zhuzhi-lang and Tianlang-jun.

Mu Qingfang was there, the wrinkle between his brows never disappearing. It had made its home there in the past few weeks, and Shen Qingqiu couldn’t help but hope for the Sun and Moon Dew plants to grow faster.

Shang Qinghua…

…was not in the room.

Shen Qingqiu clenched his fists and didn’t let himself speak until the burning in his eyes left.

He cleared his throat. Mu Qingfang turned to him, the wrinkle lightening as the doctor did his best to smile at his patient. Shidi, you do not have to try so hard. But this shixiong appreciates anyway. A stray tear falls, and the wrinkle forms again as Mu Qingfang wipes the tear away with a soft cloth.

“Shixiong, are you in pain?” he asked Shen Qingqiu, his voice ever so gentle, as if Shen Qingqiu would break at the slightest touch. There was no blame in those grey eyes. Another tear fell despite Shen Qingqiu’s best efforts.

He didn’t…

He didn’t know what he did to deserve this.

Mu Qingfang didn’t even want him to leave the sect and yet he allowed his and Shang Qinghua’s trips outside, keeping it secret from Yue Qingyuan at Shen Qingqiu’s behest, satisfied with Shang Qinghua’s fervent promise that their trips were not at all dangerous. That they were just visiting friends. Which were all true, even if there were still things left unsaid.

Shen Qingqiu cleared his throat again, letting Mu Qingfang dab the tears away.

“Is Liu– ”

Shen Qingqiu’s throat closed up, and the tears fell again. He couldn’t even bring himself to ask.

What a coward, Shen Qingqiu was.

“Liu Qingge had just come back from his mission,” Mu Qingfang answered, gentle smile unwavering. Shen Qingqiu looked away, unable to handle it.

Shen Qingqiu shrunk back into the covers. He was still hiding from Liu Qingge after their argument a few months ago. Back when Shen Qingqiu could still walk without trouble and had foolishly insisted he go out on a mission (supervised, because Yue Qingyuan would never have agreed otherwise). And Shen Qingqiu had–

He had failed and Liu Qingge had needed to pick up the pieces.

Never had those blue eyes looked enraged, not to Shen Qingqiu’s memory, and not at him. Never at him. Not until that day.

Hours later, when Shen Qingqiu is roused once more by movement in his patient room, he found himself gazing at his shidi, this one clad instead in blue and gray, this one too, sleeping. The elusive Bai Zhan warrior as of late, despite having been a steadfast presence at his bedside so many months before, now coming back to the duties to his shixiong that chained him.

Will you ever get tired of me?

Liu Qingge didn’t need to answer. Shen Qingqiu already knew.