Grasping a Kite with Broken String [FIC]

[notturnito]

Title: Grasping a Kite with Broken String
Fandom: The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System
Rating: T
Pairing(s): Liu Qingge/Shen Yuan | Shen Qingqiu
Warnings: Canon compliant, dealing with FEELINGS, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence.
Notes: set during 3 year gap after endless abyss, and contains spoilers for chapter 43. title taken from love song from west sea.

---

Perhaps it begins here.

There is a cave. Within it, a sickly cloying scent of floral perfume lingers. Its walls reflect the ripples of light from a pool within. But most importantly: there exists a memory, of a man with green robes; his soft, slightly teasing smile hidden behind a fan.

.

Liu Qingge grabs the man’s ankle and pulls—

Shen Qingqiu falls without ado.

He hears him hit the pool with a loud splash, resurfacing later to spit out rose-scented water. “Shidi?” He hears him ask, slightly lacking his usual poise. “Liu-shidi?”

Liu Qingge doesn’t resurface first. He picks up a fan that has been dropped to the bottom of the pool instead.

When he does, he is met with Shen Qingqiu’s wronged expression. “This shixiong only wishes to help Liu-shidi,” he says bitterly. “Must you retaliate like this.”

Liu Qingge recalls the hot burn coursing through him earlier, of seeing Shen Qingqiu and wanting—though he does not know for what. His body is calm now, yet his mind hasn’t quite forgotten yet.

He somewhat feels denied of something. “However you feel now,” being wronged to this extent, “is how I feel.”

Shen Qingqiu exclaims, ruffled. “Me?!”

Liu Qingge doesn’t answer. He gets closer to the man in silence, rising up from the water until he stands right on his feet, until Shen Qingqiu has to slightly tilt up to look at him.

They’re very close right now—as close as Liu Qingge has ever been to anyone else, his sister not included. He can see the beads of water dripping down the side of Shen Qingqiu’s cheek down to the length of his neck. The stray, limp hair falling out of his hair crown. Unsightly; a view unbefitting for a peak lord.

Yet, Liu Qingge’s heart burns at the sight.

They’re very close. How easy it is to slide his arm around Shen Qingqiu’s waist? To pull him even closer, until he can dip his head down to—

“Shidi?”

Shen Qingqiu stares up at him, eyes slightly wide.

Liu Qingge lets out a shuddering breath from between his teeth. Even as he knows it is not a succubus’ poison, it must not be nurtured in his mind. Avoid it further disturbing his body. He raises the fan he’s picked up to view.

“Your fan,” he says woodenly.

Shen Qingqiu stares at the dripping fan, before plucking it out of Liu Qingge’s grip. He gives it a slight dubious onceover.

Shen Qingqiu clears his throat. “Thank you, shidi.” Belatedly, he seems to remember something. “Oh. The poison?”

Liu Qingge clicks his tongue. “Gone.”

They both wade to the edge of the pool. Liu Qingge leaps out of the pool to its side. Nothing splashes to signify Shen Qingqiu coming out the pool. When he looks back to see why Shen Qingqiu hasn’t followed, he sees Shen Qingqiu is extending an elegant hand out. Liu Qingge looks at the extended hand, as if it’s for him to reach, before looking at the expectant look at Shen Qingqiu’s face.

He grunts as he pulls him out, annoyed. But Shen Qingqiu suddenly staggers to his chest, and he doesn’t dare breathe.

The contact doesn’t last long. The warmth, though, somehow lingers.

Shen Qingqiu distances himself and waves his fan, trying to assume a peak lord stance even with the dripping fan. “Many thanks to Liu-shidi.”

Liu Qingge doesn’t answer. He lets his hand fall to side, fist clenching.

Suddenly, Shen Qingqiu reaches out to him.

Lifetime of martial arts training has steeled him, and so he tenses in anticipation of a fight—though this does not qualify at all, he realizes when Shen Qingqiu’s hand returns, a red flower petal pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

Shen Qingqiu gives him a slight, odd smile. “All done.” He flicks the petal off.

It doesn’t stop Liu Qingge from batting his hair and head to ward off anymore annoying petals, though.

He hears Shen Qingqiu snort and snaps up his head—did he hear wrong?—to the man looking sideways, his fan propped to chin. There’s some straining on the side of his lips; Liu Qingge suspects he is laughing at him.

“Now, now, shidi,” Shen Qingqiu says, spreading open his fan with a single, elegant move, hiding his face behind it as well as leaving only his eyes to view. They are curved in crescent shapes, when he looks back at Liu Qingge. “No more petals left, this shixiong can assure.”

Shen Qingqiu pauses. He tilts his head to side before adding, “Though red is an awfully nice color on you.”

Liu Qingge can feel something flaring up again, this time it comes along with an image of Shen Qingqiu dressed in red, his head covered by a ve—

A hand comes reaching to him again. Liu Qingge grabs the wrist to hold, and just realizes by a startled yelp that it’s Shen Qingqiu’s. Still.

“What are you doing?!”

Shen Qingqiu winces, and Liu Qingge loosens his grip. “This shixiong should ask you the same, what are you being so antsy about.” Shen Qingqiu shakes his hand and clucks when Liu Qingge doesn’t release it. “I am only about to dry your clothes, dearest brother Liu. No need to be so vigilant.”

They stare at each other like this, until Liu Qingge finally pries open his grip, reluctant. Shen Qingqiu sighs before shooting him a Look, before moving in closer to dry his clothes.

Liu Qingge tries to regulate his breathing throughout the ordeal, fists clenching, and it’s only once Shen Qingqiu finishes that he dares let out another breath.

However, that man always manages to dash his expectations in pieces.

With an expression not unlike how he had looked at him back in the pool, he says, “Now, it’s your turn, Liu-shidi.”

Liu Qingge takes a look at Shen Qingqiu’s layers of robes, his messily damp hair, and braces himself as though he is going in a war.

He dries Shen Qingqiu’s robes in perfunctory motions. It’s when his hand is by Shen Qingqiu’s hair that the man chuckles. Liu Qingge is not startled, though he frowns at it as he exerts more control. Qi manipulation for battle and fighting he can do well. This, is something he doesn’t do as often.

Before Liu Qingge can ask, Shen Qingqiu offers him an explanation first.

“We never seemed to do this when we were still disciples ourselves, did we?”

He dares say this? Does he truly not remember?

Shen Qingqiu is- was not someone like this, someone who behaved like the man in front of him.

Shen Qingqiu had loathed many things and many people, being touched was one of then, and he was loathed by many in return. Before, Liu Qingge would rather stab his hands first rather than do something like this with him.

It all changed though, somewhere, in the middle of their tangled lives.

Liu Qingge clicks his tongue.

“No matter,” he says brusquely, stepping out as he is done.

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t press further. Again, he spreads open his fan. “Many thanks to Liu-shidi.”

Liu Qingge stares at this man in front of him, all sly smiles and pretentious and confusing. Annoying. Generous.

He….

Shen Qingqiu looks better, though.

His visage now is a stark difference to him several months ago, and it brings him to a memory. Of another side of this man he’d seen one time ago, his figure gaunt and pale and unmoving in front of a broken sword mound.

He remembers standing behind that man, seeing how vulnerable his back was, as if inviting the whole world to strike at him without a semblance of mercy. Shen Qingqiu had looked as though he was a man about to die—and the thought struck Liu Qingge alarmingly.

That couldn’t be, he had thought. Shen Qingqiu musn’t die.

Just as the promise he had made to himself that day, seeing Shen Qingqiu like this, his eyes glittering, fan spreading out, a small smile offered to him, Liu Qingge reminds himself this:

No matter what, though the world will be against Cang Qiong Sect, though the world will be against them; he will always protect this man.
 

 

---

Liu Qingge first sees again Shen Qingqiu’s face after the Immortal Alliance Conference in Mu Qingfang’s ward. No. He saw him in the meeting after the Conference, when each peak lords had gathered to officially report their losses from the utter disaster that was the conference.

“Luo Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu had said, a trace of shakiness unable to be hidden in his voice. He hid his face behind a spreading flap of his fan, before continuing in a more neutral voice. “That is all from Qing Jing Peak.”

He drops by Qing Jing Peak occasionally, often finding Shen Qingqiu kneeling in front of his dead student’s sword grave. There are times when he feels itchy in his chest, at the sight, and it makes him always drag Shen Qingqiu back to that man’s small bamboo house. Shen Qingqiu always lets him.

When they have a chance to talk again, the occasion takes place in Mu Qingfang’s ward one month later, while that man is having his hand tended to by Mu Qingfang.

Hearing his entrance, Shen Qingqiu looks up to him in slight interest. “Ah,” he says.

Liu Qingge notes that there are no other wounds on his person. He clicks his tongue, still, at the bandaged arm. “What happened.”

“Hello to you too, Liu-shidi,” Shen Qingqiu says amicably. He looks as though he was not a man who has not returned to his sect for a month. Liu Qingge glares at him.

“Shen-shixiong had an encounter with a demon,” Mu Qingfang answers in his stead, his tone flat. His gaze too, when he looks at Liu Qingge, is equally flat. He yanks on Shen Qingqiu’s bandage a little too tightly as he finishes wrapping the wound, inviting a slight yelp from Shen Qingqiu.

Mu Qingfang stands. “Liu-shixiong is right on time,” he says, as though he hasn’t done anything wrong. Shen Qingqiu is giving him an evil eye. “Shen-shixiong’s meridians are blocked by Without A Cure Poison again. I will leave the treatment to Liu-shixiong.”

Liu Qingge grunts as answer, permitting Mu Qingfang’s leave. Then, he walks toward Shen Qingqiu’s bed and sits on the edge.

Shen Qingqiu seems to be paying attention to something in Liu Qingge’s face.

“Liu-shidi seems troubled, not wounded,” he surmises, tilting his head.

Liu Qingge feels his mood worsen. He is only here because he heard that Shen Qingqiu has returned. And as for looking troubled: whose fault is that, exactly.

But he doesn’t give any retort, reaching for Shen Qingqiu’s wrist instead. Shen Qingqiu spreads open his fan, hiding the lower part of his face beneath it. He can hear Shen Qingqiu’s soft humming as he directs his spiritual energy into the meridians, cleansing its impurities.

When all is done, Shen Qingqiu says first, “Thank you, Liu-shidi.”

However, Liu Qingge doesn’t release his hold on Shen Qingqiu’s wrist.

He sees Shen Qingqiu’s eyebrows scrunch, his eyes narrowing. But even as Shen Qingqiu has tugged on his hand, Liu Qingge still doesn’t release him.

“What are you doing, shidi?” Shen Qingqiu asks, slowly, enunciating his tone.

Liu Qingge frowns. “What happened to you?”

He directs his gaze to Shen Qingqiu’s hurt hand, the bandaged one. Shen Qingqiu follows his line of sight and lets out a soft, ‘ah.’

“Trivial wound.” Shen Qingqiu waves his fan with the injured hand, as if to show that he is alright, his wound is trivial. Again he hides his face and expression beneath it. “A mere moment of carelessness.”

Liu Qingge frowns.

He hates it when Shen Qingqiu starts doing this—hiding behind something, even it’s only behind a single layer of paper fan.

He knows that by all means he is not particularly good with human interactions. Before, he would pay no attention to it. He’s had enough of the snakes in Liu family. Choosing to dedicate himself for a life of cultivation, he had thought it had meant he would lead a life free of deceptions and underhanded techniques. But he was naive. It only means that he is now seeing those deceptions and those underhanded techniques he so loathes of in a different form. As long as humans exist there is no change to this.

He’s grown to accept that too, even if that loathing of his was what primarily drove him into achieving the Bai Zhan Peak Lord position.

But now, he wishes to be good at it. At least, he wants to be good enough at speaking the right words.

“You are not like this,” Liu Qingge settles for, having no other words at his disposal. Shen Qingqiu had valued living. It is very evident from the way he teaches his disciples; to yield as soon as it comes clear they will lose, to run when situation turns against their favor.

When it comes to that dead disciple of his, however, Shen Qingqiu seems to forget those core values he follows.

Shen Qingqiu tilts his head, his eyes following him. Cautious. Regarding. “This shixiong doesn’t understand what Liu-shidi means?”

Liu Qingge clicks his tongue in impatience. “You don’t take care of yourself.”

“Me?” Shen Qingqiu’s eyes curve beneath the paper fan, and he snaps it shut, revealing the amused smile beneath it. Somehow, finally seeing his expression doesn’t make Liu Qingge feel any better. “Shidi needs to specify how exactly this shixiong is not taking care of himself.”

Liu Qingge slowly exhales, from between his teeth.

Not returning to his peak for one month. Allowing himself to be hurt over some demon. Staying in front for that sword mound, without sleeping, eating, drinking.

Too much effort. Liu Qingge glares at Shen Qingqiu’s bandaged hand instead. “Then that?”

“Like I said before, merely a moment of carelessness.”

Liu Qingge grips Shen Qingqiu’s wrist tighter.

Shen Qingqiu stares at the grip, seemingly helpless, before tapping Liu Qingge’s hand with it. “What is this. Shidi, shidi. Dearest brother Liu. You are not abiding propriety, are you now.”

We’ve been past that already, Liu Qingge thinks sourly, but he releases the grip anyway. He clicks his tongue. “Don’t move your hand so much.”

“Yes, yes,” Shen Qingqiu says. “Liu-shidi sure has time to worry over this old man. It must be nice if Bai Zhan Peak’s disciples were to receive the same attention this shidi gives.”

Those of Bai Zhan Peak are too weak to face even the slightest bit of his sword intent. “And your own peak?”

Shen Qingqiu waves his fan, using his uninjured hand this time. “They can manage on their own. The hallmasters should give them enough tasks to do.”

Liu Qingge sits up in alarm at this. “You’re going away again?”

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t answer for a while. He spreads out his fan again, peering at Liu Qingge from the corner of his eyes.

“Why the curiosity? Does shidi wish to accompany?”

Liu Qingge frowns at the slight jab in the tone. But he’s made up his mind over this matter.

“When?”

Shen Qingqiu stares at him.

Liu Qingge stares back. “When?”

Again, no answer.

Shen Qingqiu starts to lightly fan his face. He turns to side, giving Liu Qingge view of his side profile, of the slight frown on his face. When he speaks, his voice is only a murmur. “... in two days. Zhangmen-shixiong gives me permission to leave the mountain only after I have healed.”

Two days.

Liu Qingge says, “Then I will come to you in two days.”

He leaves Shen Qingqiu to recuperate, feeling that man’s eyes on him until he leaves the room.

 

---

It is the start, Liu Qingge supposes, of the journey they both share.

When he finds out Shen Qingqiu has set out without any particular destination in mind, Liu Qingge takes him night-hunting. The less Shen Qingqiu could think of that dead disciple of his, the better. Slaying monsters, investigating paranormal occurrences; Liu Qingge does his usual routine when he is outside the sect.

One particular aberration: Shen Qingqiu.

Being used to traveling alone, Shen Qingqiu’s presence is rather odd—no matter how he has invited that man himself—by Liu Qingge’s side. Before, he’d always thought if he should have someone to accompany him, he’d have Mu Qingfang. His presence is always a welcome one, and his capabilities are worthy of being called a Peak Lord. Sometimes Liu Qingge had even thought of fighting alongside Yue Qingyuan, somewhere, somewhen. He’d never thought of accompanying Shen Qingqiu now, out of his volition, moreover.

Shen Qingqiu, as humans are, have habits. And Liu Qingge knows he has to be very mindful to those habits, taking in consideration of that man’s grief.

Whereas Liu Qingge is used to travel simply by sword, he now has to ride along in those bumpy carriages with Shen Qingqiu. Whereas he is used to take shelter as he wished, sometimes even bearing the elements to toughen his skin, he now sleeps in inns, his room next to Shen Qingqiu’s own.

They fight monsters and take part in exorcisms together. It makes them fall into a familiar routine: Shen Qingqiu would recognize which creature they are fighting against and which recourse to be done against it; Liu Qingge provides the killing blow. It is a pattern they both fall into with ease.

“Liu-shidi seems familiar with this area,” Shen Qingqiu says, one time. They are investigating about a poisonous snake tribe—one Shen Qingqiu identifies as “Tiger-Fanged Snakes” under his breath—which has caused many villagers to be poisoned with yin energy with one bite. It’s an easy task—save for the tracking of their nest and the trek to the place.

It’s only Liu Qingge’s luck he’s once dealt with similar case, before.

“My shibo lives nearby,” Liu Qingge says, looking around to spot the supposed cave the creatures dwell in amongst the greenery of the forest. Shen Qingqiu’s clothes make him nearly indistinguishable from trees. “Mother takes us visiting and hunting, in occasions.”

He doesn’t expect Shen Qingqiu to sound so interested. “Your shibo?”

“Sect Leader Luo Mingchuan, of Cangya.”

Shen Qingqiu is silent for a while. Liu Qingge is about to unleash his spiritual intent to sense the snakes, when Shen Qingqiu suddenly speaks out. “Liu-shidi seems close to the family.”

Liu Qingge pauses. Apart from his mother, the Matriarch of Liu family, and his sister, he cannot say he has a good relationship with them. “Quite.”

“If the Liu family’s area is as nice as this, it would make a good place for retirement,” Shen Qingqiu ponders.

Liu Qingge pauses. A sudden stuffiness pricks his heart, the feeling spreading through his chest languidly.

“Liu-shidi?”

Liu Qingge doesn’t turn to face Shen Qingqiu.

“… Bai Zhan Peak Lords don’t retire.”

When all other Peak Lords are planning for retirement houses, places to travel to once they leave, Bai Zhan Peak Lord won’t have any of that. There is one place for them after being succeeded by the next peak lord.

Grave.

It is the previous Bai Zhan Peak Lord’s fate, and it shall be Liu Qingge’s fate as well—in the far future. This life Shen Qingqiu has saved before, it shall eventually meet its end in some other time, in some other way.

There is silence.

“Oh,” Shen Qingqiu says, his voice odd. Then, “My mistake, Liu-shidi.”

Something drops into the pit of Liu Qingge’s stomach, and it’s as though something has risen up to the back of his throat, forcing him to speak out—though he doesn’t know what for. He swallows back these unnamed words, and releases his spiritual sense instead.

Within the scope of his sense, he manages to find the location of the Tiger-Fanged Snakes: in the cave before them. He retracts back his sense and turns back to announce to Shen Qingqiu.

As usual, that man has his fan spread out, covering his face. He is only looking at Liu Qingge when he turns, his previous contemplative look now vanishing. “Did shidi find the nest?”

Liu Qingge nods. “Over there.”

It’s when they both begin to enter the cave that Liu Qingge realizes.

Shen Qingqiu’s dead disciple. The mention of his own future death.

Liu Qingge stops on his track, effectively stopping Shen Qingqiu behind him. Even though both of them are holding a Night Pearl ever since they have entered the cave, when he peers back, he cannot see Shen Qingqiu’s face.

What he could not say outside the cave, it all now comes to him right at this moment.

“Death for cultivators is something that comes and goes,” Liu Qingge reminds Shen Qingqiu. He struggles for the right words again, and blurts out, “That course is only natural.”

Silence.

Then Shen Qingqiu laughs.

“How easy it is for us to speak of such matters,” he says, sounding sad and tired. “But grief… it is a different course of nature itself. What we say now might not be what our heart feels, in that far future.”

… he cannot say anything to that. Liu Qingge’s own experience cannot measure up to what Shen Qingqiu feels for that dead disciple of his.

His heart itches. Liu Qingge turns around. His eyes catch the surprise on Shen Qingqiu’s face.

“I won’t die that easily.”

Shen Qingqiu stares at him, eyes wide at first, then searching. And then he smiles. “Of course,” Shen Qingqiu spreads open his fan, leaving only his curving eyes to view. “Bai Zhan Peak Lord isn’t a mere title, after all.”

Liu Qingge nods. Lightness spreads through his chest, the boulder within it rolling over as though it has never existed.

He turns again, and walks further into the cave’s tunnel.

The Tiger-Fanged Snakes are rather simple in nature. They could only cultivate into the later level of Qi Condensing stage, making it naturally laughable to be considered a challenge for Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu. The problem lies more in their venom reserve. Unlike their bodies, the Tiger-Fanged Snakes can extract and store powerful yin energy in their fangs. This reserve can poison humans, turning them into fierce corpses. If powerful enough, it can even block a cultivator’s meridians. If the snakes devour humans or cultivators poisoned by their yin energy, they will refine the yin energy in those bodies in digestion and strengthen their own venom.

If it were only Liu Qingge here, he would just unleash his sword intent and destroy this cave. But Shen Qingqiu demands to look at the creatures, to study its fangs. Therefore, Liu Qingge can only comply to that man’s whims.

These creatures live in a further part of the cave. But occasionally they roam about the outer part of the cave, hiding on its walls, waiting for a chance to sneak attack. The thought makes Liu Qingge’s falter, quite, before glancing back for a while at Shen Qingqiu behind him.

He senses movements from his right. His arm reacts faster than his mind, slashing his sword to his side. The tip of his sword meets with soft flesh.

When Liu Qingge brings it closer to view, he sees it—a Tiger-Fanged Snake, twitching for a while before laying limp, pierced through by Cheng Luan.

Liu Qingge observes it—nothing much to see; it looks just how an ordinary snake would except with the hideous, overgrown fangs in its mouth. He turns back to show it to Shen Qingqiu.

The man looks at the creature with an odd fascination. Liu Qingge holds up Cheng Luan for him, as Shen Qingqiu props his fan up the Tiger-Fanged Snake’s jaw, examining it with the interest of Mu Qingfang finding out of an unknown disease. After Shen Qingqiu is done, Liu Qingge shakes the snake’s body off of Cheng Luan.

“Done?”

Shen Qingqiu spreads out his fan and lightly fans himself, looking pleased. “Traveling with Liu-shidi truly brings new insights. There is no end in learning, indeed, indeed.”

Liu Qingge ignores him, and leaves Shen Qingqiu behind to take care of the Tiger-Fanged Snake’s nests in the deeper caves.

When he returns, with Cheng Luan still burning with spiritual energy, with the inner caves collapsing behind him, it’s to Shen Qingqiu’s proud smile. That man is holding up a Night Pearl in one hand, and the soft glow emitting is lighting up one side of his face. Several Tiger-Fanged Snakes are littered around him, limp and dead. He peers into the scene behind Liu Qingge’s back and clucks, shaking his head lightly.

“As expected of Liu-shidi,” Shen Qingqiu chuckles.

Liu Qingge doesn’t acknowledge the praise and merely steps towards that man. “You’re not injured?”

Before Shen Qingqiu can answer, they both hear a hissing noise. Liu Qingge’s body works faster than his mind, and he raises up his hand, backing into a protective stance to protect Shen Qingqiu.

“Liu-shidi!”

The Tiger-Fanged Snake falls from the side of the cave onto Liu Qingge. It has his fangs sinking into Liu Qingge’s arm. Not even a heartbeat later that Liu Qingge feels his arm pulsing, yin energy transferring into his body.

He rips the snake off his arm. With a single tightening of his fist, it drops dead.

It is his own fault. He has let down his guard.

He hears footsteps nearing him, and Shen Qingqiu’s face drops into his view, closer than they both have ever been. “Liu-shidi, are you alright?!”

Liu Qingge is about to answer when he feels coldness spreading from his arm, followed with tiny pinpricks as the venom courses through his meridians. Liu Qingge frowns.

Shen Qingqiu sees his expression. “Let me see.” He removes Liu Qingge’s arm guard and rolls up his sleeve, examining the wound—two bleeding holes by the diameter of a large incense stick. He rummages into his Qiankun pouch immediately with one hand.

“Eat this,” a pill is shoved into Liu Qingge’s mouth. The suddenness of the action makes Liu Qingge accidentally lick Shen Qingqiu’s fingers, and he nearly chokes himself from the pill because of that.

He doesn’t, evidently, but what Shen Qingqiu does next makes him rather choose to choke on a pill instead.

A hot mouth closes on his wound. Shen Qingqiu’s. Liu Qingge’s mind suddenly blanks out, as though a clean sheet of paper. He stares uncomprehendingly, as Shen Qingqiu sucks on his wound, drawing blood out.

His body is numb. His brain is muddled. The coldness in his arm does die out, but suddenly he feels a hot, cloying sickness from within, taking root in his body from his neck to the bottom of his stomach, deadlier than any poison he’s ever known.

He watches Shen Qingqiu spit out black blood once he is done, his lips red. He watches Shen Qingqiu also take a pill for himself—that’s Poison-Removing Pill, Liu Qingge realizes belatedly, very much later on, the one their pill-making Peak Lord shidi has made for their sect.

“Is Liu-shidi alright now?” Shen Qingqiu asks cautiously.

Liu Qingge can’t help but stare again at the blood on Shen Qingqiu’s lips, and staggers.

“Shidi?!”

Liu Qingge grips onto Shen Qingqiu’s arm, feeling the unknown poison in his body flare up again, in his chest, in his heart. He sees how Shen Qingqiu’s face has gotten closer to him, and his legs weaken again.

“No use,” Liu Qingge grits out. “It has reached my heart.”

Shen Qingqiu pales.

Something falls into Liu Qingge’s mind now. He thinks of his mother, and his sister, and the Liu family, and he grips Shen Qingqiu’s arm even tighter. “If I should die… tell Mingyan….”

Shen Qingqiu looks up at him, his eyes flashing with steeled resolve. “No.”

Then he hauls Liu Qingge within his arms, and drives off.

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t wait until they’ve gotten out of the cave completely before he hops onto Xiu Ya, taking Liu Qingge with him. They are flying now, different from their usual habits: Liu Qingge is on the back, holding onto Shen Qingqiu. Two small, green paper cranes flies out Shen Qingqiu’s hand; one presumably to report to the head of the village they’ve taken the case for, one to report to the sect.

Liu Qingge tries to work with the poison himself, strengthening his Core, sending spiritual energy to fend off its course as not to reach his own heart so quickly. Every time it flares up across his chest, weakening his limbs, Liu Qingge thinks back to his and Shen Qingqiu’s earlier conversation prior entering the cave.

“I won’t die so easily,” he had said. How foolish he had been.

Shen Qingqiu secures Liu Qingge’s arms around his waist, and Liu Qingge feels the poison flare up again.

Shameful. It is shameful. He is the Bai Zhan Peak Lord of Cang Qiong Sect. He has defeated so many monsters before, what is a snake’s poison to that?

Before he can think further, Shen Qingqiu reaches out and places Liu Qingge’s head to rest on his shoulder.

“Don’t think so much,” Shen Qingqiu whispers, as Liu Qingge is tongue-tied and uncomprehending. “Focus on fending off the poison. Don’t let the mind wander.”

Liu Qingge takes a deep breath. The scent of dew and fresh linen permeates his nose, calming his mind. How familiar it is. How it reminds him of Qing Jing Peak and of Shen Qingqiu.

Liu Qingge exhales.

He tightens his grip on Shen Qingqiu’s waist, and doesn’t let go.

 

---

Shen Qingqiu drops off on Mu Qingfang’s Qian Cao Peak.

“There is nothing wrong with Liu-shixiong,” Mu Qingfang says.

Liu Qingge is lying on the infirmary bed, Shen Qingqiu by his side. They both stare at him blankly.

Shen Qingqiu breaks the silence first. “But the poison…?”

Mu Qingfang stares back. “With Liu-shixiong’s cultivation, the poison has already been dispersed in his bloodstream, the yin energy in his meridians too will be assimilated, strengthening his cultivation within time.”

Shen Qingqiu quietly lets out an ‘oh.’

They are all silent.

Liu Qingge then remembers the unknown poison, flaring in his body and especially in his chest. “Then what about the other poison?”

Shen Qingqiu turns at him. “Another poison?!”

Liu Qingge nods as Mu Qingfang’s face turns carefully blank.

He takes Liu Qingge’s pulse for a while, his clinical eyes searching. “There is no other poison in your body, Liu-shixiong.”

It musn’t be. “It’s strong,” Liu Qingge says—more like grunts out. Knowing Mu Qingfang also comes with knowing how he likes to be presented first with an illness’ symptoms without prompting. “Reaches the heart not even a heartbeat later. It burns. Like having qi deviation.”

Weakening both body and mind; corroding his will.

Mu Qingfang lets his grip last longer on Liu Qingge’s wrist, to take his pulse. After a while, the serious expression in his face relaxed.

“There is no residual poison left your body, you are as healthy as ever. As for the yin energy, I was about to suggest taking a pill to help it disperse, but knowing Liu-shixiong, there is no need for that.”

Then, Mu Qingfang turns to Shen Qingqiu.

“As for Shen-shixiong,” his lips are pursed. “Shen-shixiong has exerted himself by flying for several hours without stopping, while carrying two persons. There is no problem with this, of course, but Shen-shixiong should be recuperating now.”

Mu Qingfang gives them both an expectant yet patient look.

Liu Qingge turns, meeting with Shen Qingqiu’s gaze. He gets out of his blanket from one side. Shen Qingqiu enters the bed from the other.

Mu Qingfang nods, seeming pleased by the arrangement. His face is light despite the dark bags under his eyes.

“If there is nothing else, then this shidi shall leave,” Mu Qingfang says.

When he leaves, Liu Qingge turns to Shen Qingqiu, finding that that man is also looking at him.

They stare at each other for a while. Liu Qingge doesn’t know what to think exactly of this predicament. He is glad he is not poisoned? He is frustrated that Shen Qingqiu is the one who has to recuperate now?

A laugh breaks him out of his train of thoughts.

Shen Qingqiu is leaning forward, his hand covering his mouth, eyes curving in that way that signifies he is amused. His laughter spills out of him more and more uncontained as it goes on, even though muffled. Liu Qingge can even see how his shoulders shake.

He leans his head to side, his hair in disarray, wild strands coming out of his skewed hair crown. “What a mess,” Shen Qingqiu says, between giggles, “we have made of ourselves.”

Liu Qingge stares.

“What is with that look you’re giving this shixiong, Liu-shidi?” Shen Qingqiu grins at him. “One might think shidi has never seen me laugh before.”

He hasn’t. He has never seen Shen Qingqiu this way.

“No,” Liu Qingge says—more like chokes out.

Shen Qingqiu slightly straightens his posture, still grinning so widely. “Mm, then what is shidi thinking of, now?”

“I did tell you.”

Shen Qingqiu raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

It takes a while before Liu Qingge finally finds his voice. “I wouldn’t die so easily.”

Shen Qingqiu stares at him. He smiles.

“I know you wouldn’t.”

The sight strikes Liu Qingge, so suddenly. From this angle, with his hair strewn across the pillow behind him, with light illuminating his profile, Shen Qingqiu’s visage strikes deep into his mind, into his heart, as though there is no other view left in the world.

Yet again, Shen Qingqiu’s voice breaks him out of his daze.

“Ha, that was fun.” Shen Qingqiu’s grin fades into a softer-looking smile. He glances at Liu Qingge with amused eyes. “Where to then, shidi, for our next destination?”

There is no exact way Liu Qingge will know this, just as Shen Qingqiu won’t. But at the moment, one thought enters Liu Qingge’s mind, an answer as sure as an unbending steel.

The future.

 

---

It’s a continued extension of their previous routine: Shen Qingqiu identifying monsters, Liu Qingge finishing them off as usual.

But there is something different, after all. At first, Liu Qingge suspects it’s the poison, but after he has consulted with Mu Qingfang so many times that he has already been thrown out of Qian Cao Peak once, he realizes it might be something different.

“This shidi has said this so many times to Liu-shixiong before: this shidi's knowledge is not sufficient. There is no known poison that can affect someone in less than a heartbeat, that makes the body weak as though having qi deviation!”

A pause.

“Wait. That might not be poison.”

A swish of the robes, Mu Qingfang now facing him.

“Liu-shixiong. This is merely a guess, but… this symptoms you have. Could they possibly… manifest only when Liu-shixiong is by Shen-shixiong?”

Silence.

“Ah,” Mu Qingfang says, in his weariness. “I thought so.”

What Mu Qingfang had said, Liu Qingge cannot stop thinking about that. And when he starts to think, he dwells.

It’s true what Mu Qingfang notices; that this supposed “poison” only acts up whenever Shen Qingqiu is near him. Whenever Shen Qingqiu tilts his head at him; whenever both of their gazes line up. Simple gestures: him getting closer to Liu Qingge’s space; him looking away into the distance; smiling and laughing; closing his eyes as he faces the billowing wind.

And every single time, something within Liu Qingge would flare up.

He doesn’t know what it is. He doesn’t know what to call it. It is only when he is by Shen Qingqiu’s side that he experiences as such.

It is as though…

It is as though there is root of a tree that has taken residence within him, wringing and twisting to mold into his heart—so tenderly besieging him and yet so hurtful, that he will be mangled if he tries to wrench it out. And whatever Shen Qingqiu does, with whatever demeanor Shen Qingqiu chooses to present himself as, that invisible root would tug at Liu Qingge’s heart, making him not impervious to every single bit of Shen Qingqiu’s whims.

Is that what Shen Qingqiu’s existence is to him?

Is that truly what he feels now?

Before another trip, he gives his sister a visit at Xian Shu Peak, seeking for answers.

“I cannot tell you what to feel, Brother,” Liu Mingyan had said, looking up to him. Her eyes crinkle nearly the way Shen Qingqiu does when he is smiling. “You must tread this path on your own.

“But let me help you, just this bit. In all of your life, you have fought for so many reasons, one of them being to protect. If Shen-shibo is included in those Brother wishes to protect, then what does it mean, when you have so little of them you wish to keep safe?”

Liu Mingyan had held his hand with hers.

 

“That answer lies within your heart.”

 

“Liu-shidi?”

Liu Qingge stiffens. The memories disperse from his mind, leaving Shen Qingqiu’s face to view.

Again, his chest pulses with the familiar pain. Liu Qingge rests his hand over the place.

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes follow the movement. He spreads open his fan again.

“Can Liu-shidi feel the miasma too?” His voice is wan. “How malicious. A shame that such a place turns out this way.”

Forcefully, Liu Qingge directs his gaze to the formation of caves that makes Jue Di Gorge. Even from here, he can sense the demonic aura pouring out of the caves, despite the purifying formations Zhao Hua Temple has placed on their surroundings. After the last Immortal Alliance Conference, Jue Di Gorge has been contaminated by the miasma brought from the opening of the Demon Realm. The Thousand-Leaf Cleansing Snow Lotus has been plucked who knows by whom, leaving the area without protection. And since the barrier between the worlds is weakened from the opening, naturally the area often attracts some of the weaker monsters and spirits.

“Twelve cultivators have died already, Elder Shen,” a young monk from Zhao Hua Temple relays to them both, his youthful face filled with worry. Beside him, two other monks as young as he looks are checking the broken formations with concerned frowns.

“Five of Qi-Refining stage, seven of Foundation-Establishment stage.” The young monk fiddles with his sleeves for a while, before straightening his back. “Us from Zhao Hua Temple are ignorant; we do not know what malicious creature could be causing this tragedy. We could only hope for Elder Shen’s guidance in handling them.”

Shen Qingqiu waves his fan. “No need for the formalities. It is only Cang Qiong Sect’s duty to help fellow cultivators. Are there more clues about this creature?”

The young monk nods. “Though we don’t know anything about the creature itself, we have been informed that the victims would wake up in the middle of the night, after experiencing nightmare.”

“Do the nightmares have similar pattern?”

The young monk hesitates, before nodding again. “Elder Shen’s insight is vast. Yes, the nightmares have similarities. The victims would often dream about companions whose death they had seen in Jue Di Gorge.”

Shen Qingqiu’s hand stops fanning.

Liu Qingge spares a look to Shen Qingqiu’s face—which suddenly looks ill and pallid—before cutting in. “The victims. They were present in the Conference.”

“Yes, Elder Liu,” the young monk affirms. “They were either participants or observers of the previous Immortal Alliance Conference.”

Liu Qingge frowns. Troublesome creature. He extends his spiritual sense into the caves, trying to search for it, however the miasma in the caves is meddling. There are too many impurities in the gorge that it prevents him to pinpoint even a single one of them.

He retracts back his spiritual sense and relays to Shen Qingqiu. “Can’t sense. We have to enter ourselves.”

Shen Qingqiu stares at him, then at the opening of the caves. His gaze lingers for a long while, deep and unfathomable. When he finally speaks again, his voice is listless. “Are your fellow disciples finished with fixing the purifying formations?”

The young monk turns to check, before affirming with Shen Qingqiu. His fellow disciple brothers also scurry to near their group, greeting both Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge with reverence, affirming the question.

Shen Qingqiu nods, his gaze still affixed to the opening of the gorge. “I see… Cang Qiong Sect shall take care of this matter, then.” He turns slightly to the young monks, glancing at them. “The journey back to the temple is rather long. You three shouldn’t linger before it becomes dark.”

The young monks of Zhao Hua Temple spare glances at each other, before they nod and cup their hands in salutes. Not too long after, they leave both Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge to themselves.

Shen Qingqiu returns his attention to the opening of the gorge.

Liu Qingge stares at the faraway look in Shen Qingqiu’s face, seeing how empty that expression, how it comes close to how he had always looked as he kneeled down near that sword mound, and Liu Qingge feels something in his chest tightens.

“We should go back,” Liu Qingge says.

That stirs Shen Qingqiu’s attention, and he glances at Liu Qingge from the corner of his eyes. “Go back where?”

“The sect.”

Shen Qingqiu shakes his head. “And leave this matter unattended to? My, my, weren’t Liu-shidi always the one to care about the sect’s reputation? How come it turns to this? Shidi, shidi.”

But I care about you too. Liu Qingge sucks in a harsh breath at the imposing thought, feeling the back of his neck burn. He struggles to find subtler words as he ignores how the revelation weighs his chest.

“You are not fine with this.”

Shen Qingqiu stills.

He opens his mouth, before closing it again, frowning. Liu Qingge thinks he can better recognize the troubled look in Shen Qingqiu’s face, and watches as the man leans his closed fan on his forehead, deep in thoughts.

Shen Qingqiu looks up again, lowering his fan. “We have already taken the case,” he says quietly. “If we return without a thorough conclusion, it will only invite criticisms to our sect.”

Before Liu Qingge can say anything to refute, Shen Qingqiu cuts in. “Moreover,” he eyes Liu Qingge. “We need to solve this matter before it can claim more victims. The other sects are too far from Jue Di Gorge. Only us are here. If it takes actions again, we don’t have to worry. Both of our cultivations are sufficient to deal with this.”

Liu Qingge exhales.

“Luo Binghe,” Li Qingge says, finally finding the name to Shen Qingqiu’s once-favored disciple. He sees how Shen Qingqiu stills again from the mention of him. “That disciple. You watched him die in front of your eyes there.”

He can’t let Shen Qingqiu enter that place again, for his sake.

For a moment, Shen Qingqiu is silent, not even with his fan’s usual flutter. Liu Qingge can finally see the pallid of Shen Qingqiu’s skin, the dark bags under his eyes, his tiredness etched into him. It makes him look sad. It makes him look as though he is beginning to grieve again.

But then Shen Qingqiu tiredly smiles.

“Isn’t that what makes this old man the perfect bait?”
 

---

They find an inn in the nearby village when night has fallen, having agreed to enter the gorge tomorrow instead.

Shen Qingqiu is about to order two rooms for them when Liu Qingge stops him.

“One room,” he says, using both the inn owner and Shen Qingqiu’s surprise to pay for the bill. He finds Shen Qingqiu, still looking surprised once he turns, and Liu Qingge raises an eyebrow. Shen Qingqiu stares at him for a while, before he looks away.

The room is alright, with a single wide, spacious bed and a table with snacks. Liu Qingge enters immediately and throws his Qiankun pouch on the table, finding a good spot to meditate on the floor before sitting down, placing Cheng Luan by his side.

Shen Qingqiu is still by the door when Liu Qingge looks, his whole body stiff as he surveys the room, eyes mainly directed towards the bed.

“Take the bed,” Liu Qingge says immediately. “I will meditate.”

Shen Qingqiu finally breaks his gaze away. “I see,” he says quietly, his voice rather odd. “I will trouble Liu-shidi to take care of this shixiong again.”

By this point, Liu Qingge has already his eyes closed for meditation. But hearing the oddness in Shen Qingqiu’s voice makes him open his eyes again. When he turns to look, Shen Qingqiu is—

Liu Qingge chokes. He turns his back immediately, feeling his heart battering hard within his chest.

Behind him, the unmistakable rustle of clothes being removed is stark clear against the silence of this night. Liu Qingge’s mind fills with his prior sight—Shen Qingqiu removing his belt, shedding his outer clothes, leaving only a flimsy inner robe behind—and he promptly shuts down all of his thoughts. “Mm? Why is Liu-shidi sitting like that?” He hears Shen Qingqiu ask behind him, as the bed creaks, dipping from Shen Qingqiu’s weight.

Liu Qingge grits his teeth. “Nothing!”

“Mm?” Another rustle. Liu Qingge thinks Shen Qingqiu now is pulling up his blanket. “If Liu-shidi says so.”

Liu Qingge is trying to not think about Shen Qingqiu in bed, only in his inner robe with his hair down. This is not working. He contemplates chanting cultivation manuals or sword manuals in lieu of chanting Buddhist scripts, to banish irrelevant thoughts in his mind.

Shen Qingqiu’s voice is a bother. “Just sleep!” Liu Qingge angrily says.

“I am, I am,” Shen Qingqiu lazily says. “Shidi, shidi. Dearest brother Liu. Ah, good night then.”

Liu Qingge grunts, before focusing on his meditation again.

There is silence for a while.

Then, “Liu-shidi?” A rustle.

“What.”

Silence.

Liu Qingge is about to turn around before Shen Qingqiu pipes up, his voice uncharacteristically small. “If the creature attacks through dream….”

The annoyance within Liu Qingge is flushed down. Despite the strong, infallible front he has put up earlier, Shen Qingqiu must be actually shaken by the creature’s ability.

The least Liu Qingge can do is to protect him.

“… I will wake you up.”

Silence.

Then another rustle. Shen Qingqiu returns to bed. “Then as always, this shixiong is counting on you, Liu-shidi.”

Liu Qingge doesn’t answer.

He waits until he hears Shen Qingqiu’s breath even out, falling into a relaxed stagnation. He makes some time thinking about the mission. If it were up to him, he would not even let Shen Qingqiu handle this case, let alone letting him go anywhere near Jue Di Gorge. He knows Yue Qingyuan would agree. He knows even the other Peak Lords have shared his sentiment.

But even Huan Hua Palace has asked for their assistance, some of the dead cultivators being theirs, and Qing Jing Peak has always been renowned for their knowledge over the various monsters and spirits that have ever roamed the land.

Liu Qingge lets his mind roam to Shen Qingqiu again, that man asleep on the bed behind him.

True to what that man says. They cannot turn back now. The wood has been made into a boat; they have already accepted the case. And if anything goes wrong….

Liu Qingge is never an oathbreaker.

This settled, Liu Qingge continues to meditate. With ease, he regulates his breathing and lets his mind settle. Darkness welcomes him once again.

Deep into the night, a voice breaks Liu Qingge’s concentration.

“Binghe!”

Liu Qingge opens his eyes. Grabbing Cheng Luan and turning around, he sees Shen Qingqiu sitting up, his figure on the bed illuminated by the moonlight coming from outside the window, revealing the terror coloring his face.

He is heaving, hands clutching blanket to his chest.

Liu Qingge goes to his side immediately.

“What did you see?”

Shen Qingqiu’s gaze is still locked to something in front of him, as though he had seen a phantom. Liu Qingge doesn’t know if it’s the moonlight that Shen Qingqiu’s face so pale, almost making look him otherworldly—less an immortal but more of a spirit, as though he is about to fly away.

Liu Qingge shakes his shoulders. “Shen Qingqiu!”

At the sound of his name, Shen Qingqiu lets out a shuddering breath, focus finally regained in his eyes. He lowers his head, nearly leaning on Liu Qingge’s shoulders, before he blinks and looks up to Liu Qingge.

“Liu- shidi,” he breathes out, helplessly. His mouth opens, before closing again, his lips thinning into a single line.

Liu Qingge grips his wrist. “You,” he says, “are not there.”

He hears Shen Qingqiu exhale again, nodding shakily, and Liu Qingge releases him, also exhaling a shallow breath. What did he see? What did he see that shakes him this way?

“I…” he hears Shen Qingqiu say, his voice wavering. “I need to go to the gorge.”

Liu Qingge narrows his eyes. “No!”

Shen Qingqiu looks up to him, eyes wide. He grips Liu Qingge’s front robes. “Binghe-”

“That thing,” Liu Qingge angrily says, “is not your disciple!”

Shen Qingqiu lets out a gasp.

His hands, balled onto Liu Qingge’s robes, slowly unfurl. They slink down, before returning to Shen Qingqiu’s sides.

When he sees that Shen Qingqiu is about to lower his head once more, Liu Qingge can’t hold himself. “You—!”

Shen Qingqiu holds up a hand, eyes closed. Liu Qingge realizes that he already has his hands hovering near Shen Qingqiu’s shoulders. Not knowing what to do with them, he let them fall back again, fists clenching by his side.

Once Shen Qingqiu’s breath has been regulated, then he opens his eyes.

He is still not looking at Liu Qingge. “We need to go into the gorge,” Shen Qingqiu suddenly looks up at him, his eyes determined. “Now.”

Liu Qingge frowns, and is about to refute when Shen Qingqiu cuts in.

“Binghe—” he takes a deep breath, then corrects himself. “That thing, is waiting for me in there. Liu-shidi, now is the time to act.”

Liu Qingge stares at him. “You know what it is.”

Shen Qingqiu lets out a laugh. It sounds self-mocking.

“A demon,” he says, his lips stretching into an odd smile. Something flashes in Shen Qingqiu’s eyes, too fast of an emotion to be identified. “Spawned from the opening of Demon Realm, its original form is weak, incorporeal. It is a rather terrifying parasite, only instead of latching onto humans, it latches onto memories—specifically tragic memories left lingering in certain places.”

Shen Qingqiu is silent, before he asks another question.

“How many cultivators had met their ends in Jue Di Gorge, Liu-shidi?”

Liu Qingge has only but an answer; too many. And Shen Qingqiu’s prized disciple is among them.

Shen Qingqiu smiles again. It looks cold under the moonlight.

“Now that it has spread its bait and has drained the cultivations of several Foundation-Establishment stage cultivators, it will be a rather tricky opponent to defeat.” He taps a finger onto his chin, looking deep in thought. “But no matter. It is still thinking that it has lured me with into its trap. It won’t suspect anything about us… until we enter the gorge.”

Liu Qingge straightens his back. “What do we need to do?”

Shen Qingqiu glances at him. “Ah, of course, shidi. You are here. We can easily take care of this, no matter, no matter.

“But first,” Shen Qingqiu holds open his hand. “Hand over my fan.”

 

---

Jue Di Gorge at night is just as unwelcoming, perhaps even more, than how it looks at noon.

Both Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu enters the place with apprehension in heart. Shen Qingqiu enters first, of course, as bait. Liu Qingge has to wait for some moments before he can finally enter.

In the previous Immortal Alliance Conference, he had entered the gorge to help quell the chaos inside the gorge; rescuing young sect disciples, killing the too powerful demons that have somehow managed to slip inside. He doesn’t get much impression of the inside of the gorge. It was a battlefield inside, a messy one, messier than Liu Qingge had ever seen.

This time, it isn’t much better.

The gorge is cold, dark. The miasma running rampant in the area makes the air seem damp. It makes Liu Qingge itch to just take Cheng Luan and blast this damned place to pieces. And it is also quiet. Too quiet. Liu Qingge strains his ears for any signs of Shen Qingqiu’s voice. He finds nothing.

Cheng Luan’s aura is enough to drive off the weaker spirits. Still, their presences are enough to induce headache to Liu Qingge.

He releases spiritual sense, letting his power envelop the whole arena before he finally finds the qi signature belonging to Shen Qingqiu, in a quite remote area of the gorge.

This damned Shen Qingqiu. How did he even get that far?

Liu Qingge hurries, willing away his tangled thoughts, willing away the tightening of his chest. That man. He must absolutely not do anything stupid while Liu Qingge is not by his side.

He stops before he can completely reach Shen Qingqiu’s side.

It’s not that he wants to, however… the miasma on this ground is too thick. It rolls over the area with white, mist-like strands, filling up the space in front Liu Qingge. He cannot see through its thick smokiness, only hearing faint sounds from inside the miasma. Clashing swords; sinking into flesh; faint screams.

Liu Qingge sucks in a harsh breath.

It sounds as though a battlefield is inside the fog.

Without a second thought, he dives in.

This demon… it is a powerful one, Liu Qingge knows without doubt. Before they both entered the gorge, Shen Qingqiu had pulled him aside to inform him about the demon.

“Jinghua Shuiyue,” Shen Qingqiu had said, frowning. His fan picked up speed fanning himself. “‘As though a flower reflected in a mirror; as though the moon reflected on a water’s surface.’ A surprisingly poetic name—for a demon of this world. Just as it implies, it works best with illusions and mirage, maliciously too. Showing us what we desire, yet only those desires which are unattainable already to us.

“However, it doesn’t merely show desires. From the memories this demon feeds on, it gains insight to the regret inside a person’s heart, enabling it to twist the memories into something more painful, more sickening.” Shen Qingqiu snapped his fan shut, his face growing serious.

“Liu-shidi,” he had called. “This demon will manifest somewhere near this shixiong once I approach the center of its illusion. When that happens….”

Liu Qingge nodded. “I know what to do.”

Shen Qingqiu nodded back. “This shixiong knows. I am just reminding shidi that…,” he hesitated. “Don’t let your heart waver.”

Liu Qingge had nodded again back then, sure of his own capabilities. He had even wanted to return Shen Qingqiu’s words to himself, as Shen Qingqiu is the demon’s current target.

But upon entering the illusory realm, Liu Qingge finds out that he has underestimated its capabilities. It is more capable than Liu Qingge’s previous estimation.

It has somehow managed to create a reenactment of the battlefield from the previous Immortal Alliance Conference.

Young cultivators running around, slaughtered by the more powerful demons. Screams echoing all around him. Fire; there is even fire in the distance. Liu Qingge—

Liu Qingge cannot pay attention to this. His heart, which had wavered, is now certain. His mind is clear. Illusion, he reminds himself. This is all illusion.

What he has to do now is find Shen Qingqiu.

Liu Qingge goes.

 

He can sense something is wrong the further he goes. The sound of battlefield is still there, but it is more removed, so very far away. This part of Jue Di Gorge turns into a desolate land, rife with corpses, cultivators and monster both mingling together. Further in, Liu Qingge can see the marks of a great battle on the scorched floor, between two powerful beings— or demons, Liu Qingge thinks, eyeing the ice crystals jabbed onto the ground, the mark of Ice Demon attack. He sees too marks from an unknown demon, its dark spiritual aura replicated by the illusion so seamlessly, making plants wither and making even rocks decay.

Illusion, Liu Qingge reminds himself. Again and again. Illusion. This is all are illusion.

Shen Qingqiu. He needs to find that man soon. This illusory realm is powerful enough to make him nearly forget, if Shen Qingqiu is affected enough by it….

Liu Qingge grips Cheng Luan’s hilt.

 

At least, the distinct lack of sound makes him more alert.

Liu Qingge strains his ears—for any sound, for anything. Again, he tries to extend his spiritual sense to find Shen Qingqiu’s presence, only to be prevented by the strength of the miasma. Liu Qingge is about to tear the illusion apart with Cheng Luan when he picks up a sound.

Binghe. It is Shen Qingqiu’s voice, coming from somewhere in front of him.

Liu Qingge finds Shen Qingqiu near a cliff—he didn’t know Shen Qingqiu had come so close to the barrier—his lonesome figure kneeling, his robes the only different color in the midst of this fiery scene, with the cliffside all red from the Demon Realm, the stone walls reflecting its red miasma. There is despair in Shen Qingqiu’s expression, one of his hand raised low in front of him, as if hesitating to reach for something—or someone.

Liu Qingge follows the direction of Shen Qingqiu’s gaze, and on the edge of the cliff, is a familiar, yet long-forgotten figure.

It’s him, that disciple Shen Qingqiu had cherished so dearly. There is no mistaking the Qing Jing Peak robes, the sword Zheng Yan. The demon has even managed to imitate perfectly the handsome lines of that youthful face, down to the thick curls of his hair. It is Luo Binghe, brought back from memories.

Even Liu Qingge’s heart aches for Shen Qingqiu.

But he cannot take action. Here he must wait.

He must wait even as the illusion of Shen Qingqiu’s disciple regards his master with sad, betrayed eyes, ignoring Shen Qingqiu’s small call of ‘Binghe.’ He must wait even as the illusion shakes his head and begins to speak—his voice awfully similar, too similar to Shen Qingqiu’s dead disciple, calling, “Shizun.”

Even when Shen Qingqiu begins to shake from this cruelty. Even when the illusion says, the betrayal in his tone matching the ones in his eyes; “Why did you do it, Shizun? Why didn’t you save me?”

Even when Shen Qingqiu calls out again, his voice breaking down; “Binghe.”

Liu Qingge grips Cheng Luan’s hilt until he cannot feel his hand any longer.

The demon manifests behind Shen Qingqiu’s, dangerously close, rising up from the miasma with fog-like body, sinisterly smiling when he sees Shen Qingqiu’s vulnerable back. Then, Liu Qingge makes his move.

He launches forward. The demon is too preoccupied with Shen Qingqiu that it doesn’t even realize Liu Qingge is already behind him. Though its illusion is bothersome, its cultivation is still no match for Liu Qingge.

Cheng Luan’s spiritual aura burns the demon down, leaving no further trace of its existence.

Immediately, the fog around them quells. The cries from the battlefield fade out, the red from Demon Realm’s miasma dulls until it returns into the gorge’s original dark color. The cliff where Shen Qingqiu sits upon suddenly becomes whole, as though there is no cliff to begin with.

There are only both of them, in this empty, desolate place.

Liu Qingge approaches Shen Qingqiu first, as the man is still sitting on the ground, still staring to where the illusion of his dead disciple had manifested. His gaze is empty, vacant.

Liu Qingge doesn’t know what to say to him.

He lets the silence stretch longer, looking away antsily, until it is broken by Shen Qingqiu’s small, hoarse voice.

“Do you think…,” Shen Qingqiu visibly swallows, before continuing. “Would he… would he be angry at me?”

Liu Qingge stares at him.

If he were at Luo Binghe’s position, knowing that Shen Qingqiu has fallen to such deep grief this way, unable to move on with his daily life, he would be angry.

“Furious,” Liu Qingge truthfully says. “He is going to be furious.” Luo Binghe would want Shen Qingqiu to take care of himself.

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t answer. The silence stretches again, long, and when Liu Qingge peers, he sees two lines of tears, streaming down Shen Qingqiu’s cheeks, as silent as their surroundings. He reels back at the sight, as though he had taken a hit to the chest, sucking a harsh breath.

Shen Qingqiu is crying. He is crying.

After some time passes, Shen Qingqiu opens his mouth, exhaling a shuddery breath. “It’s my fault.”

Liu Qingge feels himself opening his mouth, before closing it again. He gets closer to Shen Qingqiu’s side, one hand hovering over his back with uncertainty.

He lets his hand settle on Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder. “No, it’s not.”

Shen Qingqiu shakes his head, vehement. “It is,” his voice breaks down in the middle. “My fault. It is my fault.”

Under Liu Qingge’s palm, he can feel how Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder trembles. He thinks of that dead disciple’s mirage, his cold voice asking, “Why, Shizun?” and Liu Qingge’s chest burns.

It is said that there are no monsters the Bai Zhan Peak Lord could not defeat. They are wrong. In this world, demons and monsters—not all of their manifestations are tangible. Some are invisible. Some are only tangible to a select few.

And Shen Qingqiu’s demons, though he truly wishes that he could, Liu Qingge cannot protect him from that.

With a sudden, unmounted feeling, he drags Shen Qingqiu into his arms. He ignores his own discomfort, and holds Shen Qingqiu up, his body limp in Liu Qingge’s embrace.

With a hand, he tucks Shen Qingqiu’s head so it leans on his shoulder.

Even so, even if he can’t defeat thoroughly this demon of Shen Qingqiu’s, at least, Liu Qingge can give him this semblance of protection.

“Cry,” Liu Qingge says. “You have lost someone. It is your right to grieve.”

His hand remains at the back of Shen Qingqiu’s head, one on his shoulder blade. Some time passes before Shen Qingqiu finally rests his hands on Liu Qingge’s back, returning his embrace, clutching Liu Qingge’s robes. Wetness spread on Liu Qingge’s shoulder, and his hand—moved by an instinct he doesn’t know—start to stroke on Shen Qingqiu’s back.

Shen Qingqiu clutches him tighter, and Liu Qingge does the same, letting that man sob onto his shoulder until night passes into dawn; until both of their knees ache; until Shen Qingqiu is ready to walk once more in this world that no longer has Luo Binghe.

 

---

Luo Binghe lives.

Luo Binghe lives and Liu Qingge cannot protect Shen Qingqiu from him.

The boy—no, the demon looks at him in cold anger, his unfeeling eyes a mirror to the ones Liu Qingge had seen once before, a few years ago, when he and Shen Qingqiu had solved a case in Jue Di Gorge. It sickens Liu Qingge. The sight makes his blood boil in fury.

Luo Binghe laughs. It sounds broken and unkind.

“Return Shizun’s body?” he asks, sounding amused by the question. The edge of his smile disappears, dropped and replaced by lingering fury.

“What does Sir Liu even know,” he angrily says, his tone rising higher. His eyes are glowing red, mark of his demonic heritage. As he walks closer, his forehead suddenly glows—giving way to a red mark, with the shape of flame, wedged between his brows.

This is what Shen Qingqiu gave up his life for?

“I am only taking care of my Shizun,” Luo Binghe says, his voice lined with deep resentment. “I am showing my filial piety, as disciple to master.”

Liu Qingge stares at him.

All of the sudden, the memories he has of Shen Qingqiu drifts past his mind. Shen Qingqiu holding his fan. Shen Qingqiu wielding Xiu Ya. Shen Qingqiu tilting his head to look at him, his eyes wide and innocent. Shen Qingqiu grinning and hiding behind the flap of his fan. Him smiling. Him watching the sceneries of the places they have traveled to, peace seeping into his expression.

Shidi.

Liu-shidi.

Dearest brother Liu.

He is right, Liu Qingge thinks. People can talk about overcoming grief all they want, but they will never know how it actually feels to those who have to live with it.

Liu Qingge draws Cheng Luan, its ring drawing Luo Binghe’s eyes towards it.

“Your filial piety,” Liu Qingge nearly spits out, “is too late. He is dead.”

Luo Binghe’s pupil shrink, his face turning ashen. When he looks at Liu Qingge, his eyes hold deep enmity—and the edge of something else. Something Liu Qingge sees often in Shen Qingqiu’s face during the last three years. Something he sees on his own expression when he passes through bronze mirrors.

Liu Qingge charges forward.

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