Chapter Text
The only sound in the alley was Shen Qingqiu’s strained, gasping wheezes. Sweat prickled across his skin as the cool night air breathed over him. His earlier flight should not have left him so breathless. His lungs burned, and pain dominoed up his body. In front of him, Luo Binghe smiled. It was warm and gentle, a grand contrast to the chilling blackness in his eyes.
“After so many years of separation, we meet amidst golden wind and jade dew, yet Shizun calls someone else’s name. That truly saddens this disciple a little.”
Shen Qingqiu’s eyebrows folded. He fought to keep his face clean of emotion; fear was a beast inside his chest. He was almost certain Luo Binghe could feel the tenacious tempo of his heart with the hold on his neck. His jaw clenched as that hold tightened. Black spots started to dot his vision. It was too soon. Luo Binghe had returned far too early. He should have more time than this!
A light flashed in the corner of his eye, and a dialogue box popped up in front of him. Through the haziness of his fear, he barely caught the words:
[ Accept a System tip to resolve the small complication our valued customer is facing? ]
Shen Qingqiu almost laughed. “Small complication?” Years of practice smothering his emotions was the only thing that saved him. He had no doubt if he started laughing that his once beloved little sheep would truly show how far Shen Qingqiu’s betrayal had blackened his soul.
As he glanced at Luo Binghe’s face, his heart stilled.
Luo Binghe had his head cocked to one side, with the smallest of wrinkles forming between his eyebrows.
The System, almost as if sensing something was off, abandoned him.
What the fuck?? HELLO? Where is my tip?!!
With a desperate breath, Shen Qingqiu caught Luo Binghe’s wrist. He did not dig his nails into him, as much as his terror desperately wanted him to. The hold suddenly loosened. He sucked air greedily into his lungs, and collapsed to the ground. His palms scraped against rough stone. Gentle hands caught his arms, and guided him back up to his feet. As soon as he was steady, Luo Binghe drew his hands down his arms and caught lightly onto his wrists. His fingers pressed against his quickened pulse. He was so caught up in the warmth of that smile, with memories nibbling the back of his mind, that he forgot that he had nearly blacked out seconds ago from those same hands.
Luo Binghe had changed. He was no longer a little sheep. The softened fat of youth had hardened into sharp cheekbones, and an even stronger jaw. His shoulders were wide, with strength decorating his arms with muscles. He was beautiful. Every inch of the man before him was the very essence of beauty and power. A strange twist of emotions boiled in Shen Qingqiu’s chest: pride and absolute dread. His disciple had truly grown up. It was too bad that he would have to look at that sweet, beautiful face as it tore his limbs free from his body.
Would he still be wearing that same gentle smile as he did it?
“Why did Shizun think to take such a late night stroll? Especially with the state of his health?”
Drawing back his shoulders, Shen Qingqiu straightened. His ears heated. Luo Binghe had used his hold on him to check his meridians!? Not that the flare-up wasn’t obvious. Fuck you, Without a Cure! He tugged one hand free from Luo Binghe’s grasp, only to find the other trapped in a harsh, bone-creaking grip.
Luo Binghe’s eyes flashed dangerously.
“This master can… take walks whenever he pleases,” Shen Qingqiu rasped. He wished he still wasn’t so winded. No, protagonist! That wasn’t terror in his voice!!
System?? Help? Shen Qingqiu cried out.
“Besides,” Shen Qingqiu pressed. “Luo Binghe should worry about his own health.” His eyes slid down to the hand that grasped onto his wrist. There he saw the mark of the sower. By all level-headed reasoning, he knew that the disease would not harm Luo Binghe. That knowledge did nothing for the worry that wormed in his brain.
[ Friendly reminder: the protagonist is a Heavenly Demon, immune to most poisons and diseases! ]
…
[ You’re welcome. No B-Points will be deducted for this explanation! ]
As Shen Qingqiu went to dismiss the dialogue box, he saw it again: that curious tilt to Luo Binghe’s head. The fingers against his pulse dug deeper. Pain smarted up his arm, and he forced himself not to cringe. He swallowed the discomfort down.
“Shizun has learned some new tricks,” Luo Binghe said. The warmth in his voice had a sharp edge, and his eyes were lifeless things. “Shizun truly harbors such hatred towards his own disciple, he goes to such extremes to call for help?”
Wait.
What?
There was something dangerous in Luo Binghe’s eyes. Any hope that Shen Qingqiu had that he might be able to ask for forgiveness was dashed on that darkening glimmer. Fear laced through him. Terror wiped his mind of any sense. Luo Binghe took a single step forward. Without thought, Shen Qingqiu brought his free hand to Xiu Ya and began to draw it.
Fuck, FUCK-
He had to run. He had to get out there. He was a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf. It was too late. That didn’t stop him from trying to kick out his feet in one last attempt to leap away.
Luo Binghe moved at the same time, and caught the blade with his bare hand.
Before the sword even fully drew from its scabbard, Luo Binghe stopped it. His blood dripped down the cold metal. Shen Qingqiu stared, aghast, as his disciple’s blood drenched the blade once again. A torrent of emotions rushed through him, none of which he could fully digest before he was pinned to the wall once more.
“Is this lowly one truly such a beast that Shizun can’t stand holding a single conversation with him?” Luo Binghe snarled. His eyes flashed red.
No, it's not that! Shen Qingqiu cried, then paused, Well, with how you're acting right now, sort of. SYSTEM!!
[ Yes, Host? ]
WHERE IS MY TIP!!
“Who does Shizun call for!?”
W-what… what? WHAT?
Luo Binghe growled. Anger twisted his expression so fiercely, it no longer was anything Shen Qingqiu recognized. There was only blood lust in those eyes.
Luo Binghe couldn’t sense the System… could he???
Could he have leveled up so much-
“If Shizun wants so badly to be tied to another, why not this disciple as well?” Luo Binghe caught Shen Qingqiu’s hair and wrenched his head back. His bloodied hand clamped over his nose and mouth.
Hot iron hit his tongue. Shen Qingqiu fought, trying to twist away. The hold on him tightened. He held his breath to close his throat, only to choke in surprise as a leg shoved between his own and nailed him to the wall. He flailed.
Motherfucker – SYSTEM!!!!
[ Access privileges activated. Use key item to maintain state of living? ]
His vision was starting to splotch again. Fuck fuck fuck! Despite his best efforts, his body betrayed him and he tried to gasp in a breath. Blood slid down his throat, and he started choking in earnest.
[ Item is- ]
“There it is.” Luo Binghe threw out a clawed hand, one drenched in demonic energy, and cleaved through the dialogue box. It splintered.
The dialogue box broke. Shards of bright light exploded outwards, demonic energy threading into it like a parasite. Then there was agony. It was as if someone had grasped onto the threads of his nerves and tried wrenching them from his body. Feverish heat burned through him. He didn’t realize he was screaming until Luo Binghe’s hand fell from his mouth; that wretched sound was him?
It was an inhuman noise – something he hadn’t even expected he could make.
All at once, the blood lust fled from Luo Binghe; like someone had ripped open the curtains and he finally saw sunlight.
Shen Qingqiu’s vision blackened.
He was on the ground, body seizing.
Someone else was bellowing.
Shizun!
Shizun!!
Ah. He was dying, wasn’t he? Blood coated his throat, and he wasn’t sure how much of it was Luo Binghe’s or his own. Blood parasites flooded into his veins, stirring around in a strange frenzy. Blood spilled from his mouth, his nose, and he was almost certain from his eyes and ears as well. Shen Qingqiu’s vision was blurry. The pain was immense. It turned his limbs to cement. Still, above him, his sheep cried. He couldn’t have that, could he? What a tender heart. He raised a hand and caught the face of his desperate little sheep. Blood smeared across his cheek.
Panic and fear filled Luo Binghe’s eyes.
Shouldn’t he be celebrating…?
Shen Qingqiu tried to speak. He had to tell him that it was fine. That this master understood what was coming for him – he understood what he had done. The words stubbornly refused to leave.
Then there was darkness.
A quiet, steady beeping stirred Shen Qingqiu. It brought old memories crashing into him – ones from another life. Years spent in and out of the hospital. His fingers twitched. He wanted to snap at Mu Qingfang; whatever made that sound needed to stop now. Shen Qingqiu hated it. He hated it! The beeping quickened.
Voices murmured somewhere in the room.
That’s when Shen Yuan gasped, tearing up into a seated position.
At the far side of the room, his father startled. He shot Shen Yuan a warning glance, and responded to someone on the phone. Be quiet, that glance warned him.
The beeping quickened. Shen Yuan threw a wild look around the room, one that was so familiar to him. Most hospital rooms were carbon copies of another, with very little variation. Though his family might as well have rented one like a hotel room with how often Shen Yuan had been carted to one.
“...I have something to attend to, you will have to excuse me,” his father said. “I will call you back later.”
Shen Yuan drew his eyes out towards the large windows that faced the city. His heart rate continued to run in the background like a tiny needle picking at his eardrums. Confusion bent his brow. It took him too long to realize his father was addressing him.
“How long…” Shen Yuan interrupted.
His father’s face twitched with irritation.
There was a time in Shen Yuan’s life that he would have had both of his parents at his bedside when he woke, both clinging on to him with an aggrieved terror shining in their eyes. That was many years ago, hundreds of hospital trips before now.
“Two days,” his father answered.
Two days. Dread started to sink through Shen Yuan, and his heart rate began to settle. There was a precipice that he stood on in his mind. Almost-thoughts pressed against him, waiting for the right moment to toss him in. He shoved it down. Not. Now. His body was foreign to him. Aches pulsed up his arms and legs, with his own bones protesting abuse. His arms felt too short. He didn’t even recognize his own hands. His hair – where was his hair?
“...are you listening?” His father stepped up next to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. In a rare moment, his face softened. “The doctor said you were in and out of it for a while. Though you should be stable.”
Despite the softness of his face, his voice was as clerical as if he were talking about a hiccup in a business plan, not his own son. Shen Yuan had long since learned that some people just reached their capacity for empathy and sorrow, and they simply just… stopped. He had long since stopped blaming them. It was a relief, really, not worrying about being a burden on their hearts.
“I’m fine,” Shen Yuan lied. There was no point in telling his father anything else.
With a nod, his father withdrew his hand. “I told your sister you were on a short trip. You will have to come up with where you went.”
Right. Shen Yuan’s eyes fell shut. If his sister had heard that Shen Yuan had another episode, she wouldn’t have left his side. She was the only one left that he hadn’t exhausted. Not yet, at least.
Mistaking his silence for something else, his father chided, “She has exams.”
“I understand,” Shen Yuan said.
There was a long drawn out silence. His father stared him down. Shen Yuan did not want to hear the same lecture again – the same piss poor excuses. He was an adult now. They had spent so much of his youth doting on him. Now it was time for his siblings to be looked after.
It was only fair.
Sometimes, Shen Yuan wondered if they ever quietly pleaded, Just die.
“Someone brought my bag?” Shen Yuan asked, keeping his voice civil.
“Yes,” his father glanced towards the closet. “Your things are in there, including a change of clothes.” He paused as he glanced down at his phone, his eyebrows tightened together. “They’ll want to…” He frowned. “I have to take this. Your friend can take you home. Right?”
“Mn.” Shen Yuan stared out the window, not really listening.
His father didn’t even wait for his answer, heading towards the door. “Hello?” A pause. “No need to apologize. It wasn’t anything important.” The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Shen Yuan alone.
He stared down at his hands.
He should get out of here, and return to the Jin Zi Weapons shop, and see if there have been any developments with the sowers. Ah. Right. One had touched his hand. His cursed hand. Except that right now there wasn’t a single blemish on it. Just bright veins against his paper-thin skin. It was a stranger’s hand.
And there was Binghe. Binghe had been cursed as well.
Binghe.
His white sheep.
Now a black lotus.
Shen Yuan’s hands curled, his nails digging into his palms. He started shaking. His heart rate picked up, the annoying beep getting faster and faster.
He had done that, didn’t he?
The System had told him – hardly gave him a choice. Either betray his little white sheep or die. But it was a choice. And instead of dying…
“Binghe,” Shen Yuan choked. His arms wrapped tightly around his torso and his eyes squeezed shut. They burned. Something clogged his throat, making it hard to swallow and even harder to breathe.
His cheeks were suddenly wet.
A weakened, strangled noise ruptured from the back of his throat.
Whatever Luo Binghe had done, it brought him back here. That should have been impossible. He transmigrated. He thought he died. He thought…
Two days.
What if it all had been nothing but a dream?
His mind couldn’t connect from one thing or another. He kept thinking that Without a Cure was acting up, and that’s where his cultivation had gone.
When his eyes closed, he saw Luo Binghe. He had changed so much. He was broken. Shen Yuan had broken him. Was it worth it, if he was going to die anyways? If he was going to come back-
Was any of it real?
A quiet, shuddering breath left Shen Yuan, and his entire body started wracking with soundless sobs. He had learned to cry quietly decades ago. Hands clutched to his chest; he curled his knees up to his chest. Grief smashed his lungs flat, and he couldn’t take in a breath. His mouth dropped open in a silent, anguished scream.
Why was being back in his own body worse than being dead?
He didn’t want to be like this. He didn’t want the last near-decade of his life to be nothing but a dream. He wanted his disciples. His peak. His home. He wanted Luo Binghe at his side again, eager to learn with a sun-bright smile.
He wanted Liu Qingge’s awkward conversations, and even more awkward gifts.
He would even take Luo Binghe’s anger and his revenge. It was better than this. Better than-
Something hit the ground with a clang.
Shen Yuan dropped his hands. He hadn’t heard the door open again. Had one of the nurses…?
On the other side of the room stood a man. His presence alone ate up the entirety of the room. He stood tall, with a face so striking it made Shen Yuan’s lungs ache. His hair was thick and curled, pulled into a half-up style. A leather jacket adorned his shoulders. He had spikes on his belt, and thick military standard boots with a metal tip over the toes. Every single inch of this man screamed dangerous.
“...Binghe?!”