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His body aches.
His body aches, and his stomach churns, and it’s cold.
“Oh dear, Maxwell--why did you take off your hat?”
Luo Binghe opens his eyes, and finds himself in a strange room, lying in a strange bed. Walls of white stone; a white blanket; a white bed, surrounded by white curtains. White on white on white.
There’s a sharp smell in the air that tickles unpleasantly at his nose. It reminds him of the place from Shen Yuan’s worst memories.
Luo Binghe looks over to the woman talking to him. She’s standing by his bedside with an expression of earnest concern on her face.
It’s...his mother. Only, her appearance is as strange as that of the room. Her hair is cut short, and she looks well-fed and healthy.
“It’s itchy,” he says to her. His voice is the high, unbroken one of a child.
There’s a mirror on the far wall, near the room’s door. In it, Luo Binghe catches his own reflection: a child indeed, thin and pale and sickly. Completely bald.
He shivers.
His mother sighs. She takes something out of her pocket and taps on it. After putting it back, she says, “I asked your mother to pick up a different one on her way over.”
His mother? His mother is standing right here.
A few moments pass. His mother seems to be deliberating about something. Eventually, she walks over to a chair with a carrying bag, taking a small black box out of it. She returns to his side and opens the box, revealing a silver necklace inside. The centerpiece is a small cross.
“I know things are very hard for you right now, Maxwell,” she says. “But God has a plan for everyone. You’re a very special boy, and I know that God is watching over you.” Delicately, she pulls the necklace out of the box. “If you wear this, you can always be reminded of God’s love.”
The words are not quite the same, but Luo Binghe is still reminded of the time that his mother gave him the jade Guanyin. His eyes start to burn. “Thank you, Auntie Grace,” he says, in a choked voice. He shuffles around on the bed so that his back is turned to her. She fastens the necklace.
His hand curls around the metal as he lays back on the pillow. It’s cool against the skin of his palm, yet somehow, it makes him feel a little bit warmer.
Luo Binghe knocks on a wooden door.
“Come in,” says an achingly familiar voice.
Luo Binghe opens the door and enters. Shen Yuan is seated behind a wooden desk, clicking away at some kind of board while looking at a rectangular object in front of him. Probably something like a 'laptop'. His hair is disappointingly short.
Shen Yuan’s attention shifts to Luo Binghe. “Maxwell Wu?” he says, blinking in surprise behind his lenses.
“Yeah,” Luo Binghe replies, smiling. “It’s nice to see you again, Professor Shen.” The smile turns sheepish. “Princeton fell through, so I decided to take an opportunity here instead.”
Shen Yuan frowns slightly. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s alright,” Luo Binghe says. “UCI’s an excellent institution in its own right. And--” Luo Binghe grins “--it means that I get to see you again.”
Shen Yuan blushes, clearing his throat. He gestures at the padded chair on the other side of the desk. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
“I’m not interrupting? I don’t mind coming back later if you’re busy.”
Shen Yuan waves his hand dismissively. “I’ll be busy no matter when you come, so it may as well be now.”
Luo Binghe is sitting on a bench in a very fine park. Across from him, on the other side of the footpath, a tree is in full bloom with pink, fragrant flowers.
Shen Yuan sits beside him.
He gets the sense that this is a special place, and that this is something that they do together often.
Shen Yuan has a box in his lap, filled with an assortment of foods: eggs, rolled and cut into bite-sized pieces; white rice, decorated with vegetables; little sausages split into slivers at one end.
“I can’t believe you actually went ahead and made bentos,” Shen Yuan says, his expression bemused.
“I always follow through, Professor Shen.” He uncovers the box in his own lap, revealing a near-identical arrangement of food.
“No kidding,” Shen Yuan says. There’s a pause, and then: “You know, you don’t always have to call me ‘Professor Shen’.”
Luo Binghe’s lips quirk upward. “How about ‘Laoshi’?”
Shen Yuan makes a face.
Luo Binghe chuckles. “Is my pronunciation really that bad?”
Shen Yuan doesn’t respond at first, and it’s clear that he’s deliberating about something. At length, he says, “If you really want to address me the Chinese way, then...you should call me ‘Yuan-ge’.”
Bittersweet warmth blooms in Luo Binghe’s chest. He leans in closer to Shen Yuan and drops his voice into a low, seductive purr. “Alright, Yuan-ge,” he says.
Shen Yuan’s cheeks go a truly fetching shade of red.
He presses down a smooth, protruding circular piece of metal encased in a black box, and there’s a high-pitched ringing sound beyond yet another door.
After some time, Shen Yuan opens it. His hair is a mess and there are bags under his eyes. His clothes look wrinkled. “Max,” he says, his voice hollow.
“Can I come in?” Luo Binghe asks.
Shen Yuan sighs, then nods, stepping back to allow Luo Binghe through.
“Sarah told me what happened,” Luo Binghe says, casting a glance around what must be Shen Yuan’s dwelling. It’s a mess: papers strewn over the table; dirty dishes piled high in the kitchen. “You haven’t replied to any of my texts.” There’s a lump in his throat. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“Sorry. I haven’t been checking my phone. Too busy packing.” Shen Yuan runs a hand through his hair. “I’m fine.”
A very obvious lie. “When’s your flight?”
“Tomorrow morning. I have to be at the airport at six.”
Luo Binghe heads over to the sink. “I’ll clean up while you finish packing.”
“That’s really not necessary.”
“It is necessary,” Luo Binghe says, picking up a yellow and green rectangle and pouring some kind of viscous liquid onto it from a clear bottle. “The last thing you need is to come back to moldy dishes.”
“...Thanks, Max.”
This time, it’s Luo Binghe opening the door to find Shen Yuan on the other side.
“Hey,” Shen Yuan says. “Thanks for letting me come over on such short notice.”
“Don’t be silly,” Luo Binghe says, ushering him inside.
A little dog comes running up to Shen Yuan, yapping excitedly and jumping up on Shen Yuan’s legs. Shen Yuan smiles in a way that looks a bit strained. “Hi there, Freddie,” he says, giving the dog a few pats on the head.
“When did you get back to Irvine?” Luo Binghe asks.
Shen Yuan straightens. “Yesterday.”
“The jetlag must be killing you.”
“Yeah. I also have very many papers to grade, but I’m trying not to think about that right now.” He pulls out a slim black box. “I managed to find a subtitled version of the original Legend of the Condor Heroes.”
Luo Binghe winks. “I have popcorn and beer ready to go.”
They end up on a soft, comfortable couch, watching the ‘television’. The people on screen appear to be martial artists of some kind, if not strictly cultivators, and are dressed in more familiar kinds of clothing.
Luo Binghe loses focus on the unfolding story, however, when Shen Yuan starts to cry. Gently, he puts his arm around Shen Yuan’s shoulders. Shen Yuan curls in against him, sniffling softly.
Luo Binghe presses something which pauses the action on the ‘television’, then says, “I know it’s hard to talk about, Yuan-ge, but...I also know what it’s like to lose a father. You don’t have to hold back with me.”
In a small voice, Shen Yuan says, “Let’s just keep watching?”
“Okay. Whatever you want.”
They’re on that same couch, only now they’re watching something else on the television. This time, the people on the screen are on something called a ‘starship’.
Shen Yuan is sitting very close to Luo Binghe, and his demeanor is...inviting. Luo Binghe is exceptionally good at picking up the signals of one who wishes to be seduced, but is acting coy.
The time has come at last.
Luo Binghe’s pulse pounds in nervous anticipation as he shifts closer to Shen Yuan, cupping his face to pull him in for a kiss. Shen Yuan is hesitant at first, but soon melts into it, all sweet and eager.
Luo Binghe’s heart swells with joy.
When he pulls back just slightly, to let Shen Yuan catch his breath, Shen Yuan murmurs, “I’m not gay.”
Somehow, Luo Binghe understands this to mean “I’m not a cutsleeve”. A very silly assertion, since Shen Yuan has never looked at even peerlessly beautiful women with so much as a hint of desire.
Luo Binghe smiles and says, “That’s okay,” before abruptly kissing him again.
Luo Binghe allows himself to sink into the heady pleasure of life with Shen Yuan, for all that he catches only disjointed glimpses of it.
Moving in together. Eating meals together. Holding each other in the aftermath of lovemaking, chatting about things that Luo Binghe only half understands. (Frustratingly, he never actually experiences the lovemaking itself.)
Here, he makes Shen Yuan smile and laugh so easily. Here, Shen Yuan chooses him, every single day.
Luo Binghe wants nothing more than to stay here, like this, forever.
Luo Binghe has a sense of unease as he enters the home that he shares with Shen Yuan. A vague half-memory of an argument.
“Things are different here, Yuan-ge. We can be proud of what we are to each other.”
“We don’t have to be married in order to do that.”
“You’re just afraid of what your mother will think.”
“I’m not afraid, Max.”
“You’re ashamed of me.”
“I’m not--”
“You are. You’re ashamed of me and you’re ashamed of yourself. It’s pathetic, Yuan-ge.”
“Where are you going?!”
“Out. Give me a call when you decide to stop being such a fucking coward.”
Panic surges at the snatches of memory. How could he have said those things? What if Shen Yuan hates him now?
Somehow, he has to make this right.
He enters the sitting room, eyes already burning, prepared to beg for forgiveness. But he stops short.
Shen Yuan is on the floor. The two dogs are sniffing and nudging at him, whining. Freddie lets out a bark of alarm.
Luo Binghe walks automatically towards Shen Yuan, dread spreading inexorably through his body.
Shen Yuan’s eyes are open, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Luo Binghe sinks down to his knees and reaches out to feel for a pulse.
Nothing.
There’s nothing.
Vaguely, he’s aware of his surroundings dissolving into mist.
“Hello there, Little Bing.”
Luo Binghe forces himself to look up at his other self. “You,” he says, voice choked with pain and hatred. “This was--”
“A little taste of my memories.”
“Why?”
The impostor’s expression is completely blank. “A free lesson in effective torment,” he says mildly. “To torture someone to the utmost extent, they must first know joy and contentment. This is why you and I were never able to truly break Shen Qingqiu. Since he had only ever known suffering, his torture was incomplete.”
Luo Binghe can’t stop the tears, no matter how much he tries. It hurts too much.
The impostor tilts his head. “Do you know why you deserve this pain, Little Bing?”
Luo Binghe can’t answer him.
The impostor takes a step closer. “It’s because you almost murdered Shen Yuan.”
“No,” Luo Binghe says. “No, I never--”
“You did, when you tried to rape him.” The impostor's tone remains mild. Even amiable. “You saw for yourself how Xin Mo’s energy killed him once already, yet it didn’t occur to you that it could happen again?”
Luo Binghe shakes his head. “He was hurt that time, but he didn’t die.”
The impostor takes yet another step closer. “He died, Little Bing, and the System brought him back to life. But the System isn’t active at the moment. So this time, his soul would surely have returned to his original world instead, where it would be forever out of your reach.”
No, no, that can’t be true. It can’t be.
The impostor reaches down, gently wiping away the tears on Luo Binghe’s face. “Because of you, I almost had to see him like that again. That’s why it’s only fair for you to share in this pain.”
Luo Binghe wants to lash out. To strike the impostor down before ripping off his arms and legs.
His body won’t listen to him.
The impostor gets on his knees as well, cups Luo Binghe’s face tenderly in his hands, and presses a kiss to Luo Binghe's forehead.
“See you soon, Little Bing.”