Work Text:
·❅ prologue - planting seeds ❅·
Shang Qinghua reflected, as he did a few thousand times more per day than he’d like, that being an omniscient single parent was a tragically thankless task.
You’d think your child would feel at least a tiny bit grateful for the endless reserves of power, influence, and good looks that you and you alone are responsible for. Is it so much to ask that you give Daddy his due instead of fixing him with a murderously demeaning gaze and opening your mouth to spew out what will certainly be some heinous remark about—
“—Courtship strategy,” Luo Binghe said.
Shang Qinghua blinked in confusion for a long moment before realizing that Luo Binghe’s gaze was still keenly trained upon him. His mouth sputtered to a start.
“W-would my lord mind repeating himself once more? This one was deep in thought,” he fumbled, cringing internally as Luo Binghe let out an enigmatic sigh.
“How does one go about enacting a more rigorous courtship strategy than the one that has previously been recommended?” Luo Binghe articulated, each word clear as crystal and delivered with the same offhanded tone one might use to ask the time of day.
Shang Qinghua’s fingers went limp, mending needle clattering to the ground. The sound was reverberant in the suddenly silent great hall of Huan Hua Palace, the pleasant murmur of activity withering away in a single second.
Can it be? My precious son is really asking me for advice? What a momentous occasion!
“What is it my lord is having trouble with?” he prodded. “Have his attempts at courting been unsuccessful? Does he wish to take a new approach?” He could feel Sha Hualing’s eyes burning holes into his back, but a wave of Luo Binghe’s hand stemmed each of the roughly seven scathing comments she likely had at the ready.
“It is difficult to put the previous advice into practice without some sort of formula or guideline to work with,” Luo Binghe answered, letting out another heavy sigh, this one tinged distinctly with longing. “I fear that merely acting clingy without a further plan will not yield the results I desire.”
Shang Qinghua worried his bottom lip for a moment, formulating what to say next. Mobei-jun shifted next to him, gaze flitting over Shang Qinghua’s pondering form once before becoming singularly focused upon the bejeweled tie of his belt. Shang Qinghua was too immersed in trying to remember terminology from his previous life to notice.
After a few long moments of reflection, a thought occurred to him. “Has my lord ever heard of the five love languages?”
Luo Binghe shook his head and inched forward on his throne ever so slightly, a gleam of interest suffusing his gaze.
Such a beautiful moment I’ve been given to parent my son — it’s almost too much to handle! Shang Qinghua wept happily to himself. Don’t worry, Daddy’s gonna help you get your man!
“Back ho— in a faraway land this subordinate visited once, these love languages were used as a guide for both bestowing and receiving affection. Certain languages worked better for people than others, and a person’s preferences for certain languages could be used to deepen relationships.”
“And these languages were effective?” Luo Binghe pressed. “Are they hard to learn?”
Shang Qinghua barely suppressed a laugh at the unintentional cuteness of Luo Binghe’s questions, opting instead to spread what he hoped looked like a well-meaning smile across his face.
“Despite their name, these languages are not verbal languages in the full sense of the word. They are a method of showing love through specific types of actions or words. The five most commonly agreed upon are quality time, acts of service, words of affirmation, gift giving, and physical touch,” Shang Qinghua lectured. “While they cannot fully account for every action one takes in a relationship, many people find them effective for understanding how they and their partner or partners enjoy being treated.”
Shang Qinghua mentally patted himself on the back for recalling something he’d tucked far, far away in the recesses of his mind. Why utilize ooey-gooey techniques as a stallion novel author when you could just make your protagonist fuck his way through the masses of his admirers? There was no need to get that deep into any of the relationships — if you could even call them that. But thanks to good ol’ Cucumber-bro’s mystifying charms changing the very fabric of the universe, the day had come when that very protagonist needed precisely that information. Just when you think you know your own son—!
“I see,” Luo Binghe said, thumb and finger curved contemplatively against the base of his chin. “And how does one go about determining which language works best for the object of their affections?”
Chuckling softly, Shang Qinghua declared, “It’s beneficial to try all five to see which ones feel best for all parties. Nearly everyone benefits from a combination of all five and indeed from actions outside the ones listed, so practicing them in rotation usually works well.”
Luo Binghe nodded, settling back into his seat and crossing his arms, eyes shading over as his brow grew contemplative. “Thank you for the advice.”
Shang Qinghua bowed with a smile, almost brought to tears from the recognition. My pleasure, my beautiful son!
“It is this subordinate’s honor. This subordinate earnestly hopes that these tools will help my lord in the pursuit of his honorable beloved.” Sha Hualing’s gaze grew somehow even more venomous, her teeth baring as she glared daggers at Shang Qinghua. He couldn’t help but shoot a self-satisfied grin her way before picking up his needle and resuming his mending.
As he sewed, however, he felt the inimitably frosty gaze of Mobei-jun alight periodically upon him. Each time he tried to meet it, however, it flashed away from him and onto some other random object at hand.
“Does my king need something?” he finally asked after several minutes, growing too antsy to keep silent.
“Only for you to finish mending my robe more quickly,” Mobei-jun retorted, his tone positively chilling.
“Of course, my king. M-my apologies,” Shang Qinghua stammered out, resuming his stitching in earnest. He may have pricked his typically nimble fingers more than usual, but perhaps he could write it off as giddiness from finally imparting some paternal wisdom to Luo Binghe.
As the rip in Mobei-jun’s robe grew smaller and smaller, Shang Qinghua noticed that Mobei-jun’s surreptitious side-eye was persistent: he was doing the thing he did where he pretended not to be interested in something but ended up staring straight down his nose at it anyway. Perhaps he could have fooled a lesser man, but Shang Qinghua was no stranger to his king’s mannerisms.
I may not know what’s going on inside your mind, my king, but I know something’s up! You can’t fool a fooler! Hopefully whatever’s weighing on you isn’t the urge to give me another beating—
·❅ i - quality time ❅·
The sunrise on this particular morning was an incomparably beautiful one. Crisp waking light shone down upon each brick of Huan Hua Palace, gilding every surface with a warm glow. Birds could be heard chirping melodically in the distance, cheerily welcoming the new day. Shang Qinghua shared none of their joy, as he was too busy running around in a tizzy trying to find his goddamn sword.
“Motherfucker,” he swore under his breath, sweeping an armful of clutter off his small bureau. The objects tipped over the beveled edge of the finely carved wood, crashing discordantly to the ground. Shang Qinghua cringed at the noise but carried on, dropping frantically to his hands and knees to search under his bed. A chilled gust of wind from behind him captured his attention after a few fruitless moments of patting down the floor like a madman. He drew his head back out of instinct, thumping it squarely against the bottom of his bedframe. Swearing again, he rubbed the sore spot with one hand as he half-turned around to see Mobei-jun leaning against his doorframe.
“M-My king! Did my noise wake you up prematurely? I apologize,” he said in a rush, head still throbbing a little. Mobei-jun merely stood frostily in place for several moments, not saying anything. Shang Qinghua cleared his throat awkwardly as he realized his ass was still several inches higher in the air than was decent. Quickly repositioning himself to a kneeling posture, he gazed up at Mobei-jun with as penitent a look as his stress would allow. Mobei-jun broke eye contact, brows knitting microscopically closer and Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.
“I was already awake,” he finally answered.
“Oh, thank goodness! This subordinate was worried for a moment!” Shang Qinghua heaved a sigh of relief. “Say, my king wouldn’t have happened to see Little M— my sword anywhere, would he?” Nice save, Qinghua. Your tall, dark, and handsome master absolutely does not need to know that you secretly named your sword after him because its silvery glare reminded you of him. You are so normal! Rise and shine!
Mobei-jun shifted his stance, drawing the arm behind his back tighter to his body. “No.”
Shang Qinghua missed the movement due to a piece of yet-unstyled hair flopping into his eyes. Blowing it aside, he huffed in frustration.
“Great. Just great.” He stood up and brushed himself off, realizing after a moment that Mobei-jun’s icy gaze was back on him again. It seemed to say something like don’t even think about troubling me with your petty little human problems. Unfortunately for Mobei-jun, however, Shang Qinghua was never one to miss an opportunity to complain.
“This subordinate is supposed to be at Cang Qiong Mountain for a peak lord meeting tomorrow afternoon, and now his quickest way of getting there is gone,” he sighed, flopping dramatically onto his bed, one leg crossed over the other as he leaned his head back in frustration.
“Mm,” Mobei-jun hummed.
“I wouldn’t dare to ask my lord to use his teleportation powers on such a small matter, so I suppose I’ll just have to travel by foot and hope for the best,” he said in his most wheedling tone. You want to take pity on me sooooooo bad, my king.
“Of course I will lend you my power,” Mobei-jun decidedly did not say. He still stood in the doorway, stiff as a board except for a slight ignition in his eyes.
Shang Qinghua, a bit power-hungry from the lack of a morning beating, was far from giving up. “I heard the Saintly Ruler has been dealing with an uncommon number of undead in the area lately,” he continued, shifting his weight to his other hip. “It would be unfortunate for this subordinate to run into one of the hordes without any protection.”
Mobei-jun took him in with a level gaze. “I will come with you, then,” he said in his deep voice, the decisiveness of his tone enough to make any maiden’s heart skip a beat.
Shang Qinghua, affected maiden, sat bolt upright, surprised at his success. “Really, my lord?” he stammered, a grin making its way across his face.
Another mm was all he got in response, but it was enough.
“Thank you, my king! This subordinate is so lucky to have such a generous, thoughtful ruler to serve,” Shang Qinghua praised, laying it on thick. He couldn’t believe his luck!
Mobei-jun remained in the doorway for another moment before turning around and walking into his adjoining room, jewelry clanking much louder than usual. Shang Qinghua couldn’t help but feel that, however unfortunate its beginnings might have been, this morning really was going his way after all.
· ❅ ❅ ❅ ·
The afternoon was not going Shang Qinghua’s way at all.
The frigid impassivity Shang Qinghua had written into Mobei-jun’s attitude and physique was often awe-inspiring and leagues more cool in person than it had any right to be. However, in some very choice situations, it was that very frozen quality that led to migraine-inducing stubbornness.
“My king, please, ” Shang Qinghua pleaded. “This is unheard of. I’ll be a laughingstock! I’ll be ridiculed! I’ll—”
Mobei-jun’s cerulean eyes blinked once, slowly, by way of response. Shang Qinghua threw his hands up, nearly at his limit.
“There’s nothing my king could possibly gain from attending this peak lord meeting with me! It’s just social and procedural nonsense — nothing of significance. And even if there were, how do you think the others would react to a demon sitting in their midst? They already look down on me for associating myself with—”
A sudden glare, swift and scathing, shut Shang Qinghua’s mouth immediately.
“You need not worry about what others think while I am here,” Mobei-jun rebuked him.
“I appreciate your sentiment, my king, but my job as peak lord relies on my dependability! If I can’t perfectly show face at this meeting, how do you think it’ll go for me?” Shang Qinghua ducked mid-sentence, narrowly avoiding a smack on the forehead.
“Do not worry,” Mobei-jun repeated. “No harm will come to you. If they try to attack, I will summon my swords.” His gaze, as always, was cool, collected, and consummately self-assured.
Well. There was no arguing with that.
·❅ ❅ ❅ ·
Needless to say, the other peak lords did not take kindly to Mobei-jun’s towering, glowering presence. More than one shiver passed through their midst as they whispered among each other, some louder in voicing their distaste than others. After a few unbearable minutes, Yue Qingyuan whispered an awkward request for an extra chair to a passing attendant and Mobei-jun was eventually seated securely next to Shang Qinghua in the corner.
Oh, Airplane, we’re really in it now!, Shang Qinghua groaned to himself, trying his best to deflect the myriad of constant looks ranging from confused to afraid to outright rageful that were being thrown his way. The only respite from the constant humiliation rising in his stomach was Shen Qingqiu sitting on his other side — however much of a poser act it was, his calm, badass energy held significant weight with the other lords.
Besides, it wasn’t the first time a demon had been in their midst — Luo Binghe was often found attending these meetings, and he was far less classy about it than Mobei-jun was, always clinging to Shen Qingqiu’s sleeves and vaingloriously grinning at the rest of the room like the cat who got the cream. Additionally, since Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu had become prone to months-long unexplained absences, the other high-ranking demons had been too busy infighting to cause much trouble with Cang Qiong. As such, this particular meeting was more of a formality, and the business matters discussed weren’t of great importance. This also meant that the issues were largely of a logistical nature, and Shang Qinghua was often called upon to give a report or weigh in on a topic.
He was incredibly nervous during his first order of business due to the presence of the looming blockhead to his right. If he flopped at this meeting and made himself look ridiculous in front of a room of people who were already murmuring about him, he might as well bash his head against the table and die. Wringing his hands, he made sure to spread the thankfulness for hospitality on thick, hoping and praying throughout his report that no choice comments about the dirty demon race would be uttered. Miraculously, things were about as quiet as could be hoped for, and he gained more and more confidence throughout the meeting, eventually managing to reach the level of energy he usually brought to his presentations. It was his job after all, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t capable of trudging on despite hardships!
After his last speech of the afternoon, he turned to sit down. Without making a conscious decision to move, his eyes slid towards Mobei-jun, offhandedly wondering whether his king was even invested in what was going on. What he didn’t expect was to see Mobei-jun sitting back in his chair with ease, his half-lidded eyes meeting Shang Qinghua’s own. A light blue flush Shang Qinghua could have categorized as sweet on anyone else suffused his high cheekbones, lending a softness to his normally frosty features that made Shang Qinghua’s stomach do something altogether unfathomable.
Settling into his seat, Shang Qinghua leaned in close and whispered, “Is my king bored with this subordinate’s chatter? Surely these trifling human affairs are of no consequence to you.”
Mobei-jun merely held his gaze for a moment before looking away and shifting in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. Shang Qinghua’s System unexpectedly chirped in congratulation, a cheery, sparkling kaomoji flashing in his peripheral vision.
What kind of an answer is that? And what’s with all of these B-points coming out of nowhere?!
Next to Shang Qinghua, Shen Qingqiu opened his fan with a snap!
·❅ ii - acts of service ❅·
While their journey to Cang Qiong Mountain was run-of-the-mill, the way back was anything but.
They had been traveling on foot for several hours, and Shang Qinghua had been seriously considering begging for a piggyback ride when a mysterious force grabbed his travel-mussed bun and yanked hard, sending him stumbling back several paces. An inhuman screech echoed through the remote valley, immediately answered in kind by a handful of other strange voices. As Shang Qinghua’s back hit the ground, he realized what they were.
Just my luck — it’s gotta be a fucking Horde of the Undead!
He’d written about them briefly in a throwaway chapter of Proud Immortal Demon Way, but had eventually expanded upon their capabilities after getting a rare congratulatory comment from Cucumber-bro. While reanimated corpses were usually slow and shambling, this particular strain of the undead had been experimented upon by a demonic cultivator far to the West and possessed more strength and speed than was typical. In essence, Shang Qinghua knew all their specs, but without his sword to defend himself, he was completely and utterly boned!
“My ki— ahhh!” he grunted out, ground into the dirt again by a nasty-looking decaying hand. More and more undead began to pile on top of him, the stench compounding with each unbearable second. Shang Qinghua tried to squirm free, but the sheer number of rotting hands and feet pressing him into the ground immediately halted any progress he made.
Mobei-jun whirled around, his eyes murderous. He felled every moving corpse within a ten-foot radius with a single palm strike before sprinting over to where Shang Qinghua was completely swarmed by the majority of the horde.
Shang Qinghua tried to cry out, but a particularly loathsome-smelling hand smashed its greasy palm against his mouth, turning his shout into more of a pathetic whimper. Hearing this, Mobei-jun began to fight as if possessed, grabbing bony shoulders and exposed skulls and hurling them into the distance like they weighed nothing at all. In a few seconds flat, Shang Qinghua found that he could breathe again. Dragging himself up onto his elbows, he tried to cough up the unpleasant smell and taste filling his senses, spluttering as he took in the sheer wreckage thrown around the valley.
“You really didn’t hold back, my king,” he groaned, pawing at a stain of indeterminate substance and color on his sleeve.
Mobei-jun’s fur-lined boots entered his field of vision, and Shang Qinghua followed those long, long legs of his upwards. Mobei-jun’s cloak had come loose, slipping down the broad span of his shoulders and exposing his heaving, sculpted chest. Even from Worm Qinghua’s point of view, his face was ridiculously striking as he stared down at Shang Qinghua with a hard-to-read storm swirling in his eyes.
Damn it, Airplane. You really did make him too beautiful! Shang Qinghua groaned to himself as an inky strand of hair drifted free from Mobei-jun’s long braid and unfurled against his smooth ivory neck.
Brain temporarily occupied as it was with Mobei-jun’s sweaty glory, Shang Qinghua managed to stammer out a thank you. Before he could finish, however, Mobei-jun had wrapped one arm around Shang Qinghua’s waist and drawn him into a half-embrace. His breath was cool against Shang Qinghua’s flushed cheeks, and Shang Qinghua nearly forgot for a moment that he was a) probably in for a hell of a beating and b) stinking to high heaven.
“Are you hurt?” Mobei-jun asked, voice quiet yet demanding. Shang Qinghua blinked slowly up at him before regaining his wits.
“N-no, not at all, thanks to my king’s quick action!” he prattled. “Once again, my king has proven himself to be unmatched in combat!”
“Mm,” Mobei-jun intoned. Then, “Hold on to me tightly.”
“What do you mean? Surely my king doesn’t intend to tele— wooooahhh!” Shang Qinghua yelped as the world around them began to spin. Following orders (and for no other reason), he flung both hands around Mobei-jun’s neck, clinging tight. The motion caused their cheeks to press together, warm rose to cool pearl. Shang Qinghua involuntarily closed his eyes as Mobei-jun’s refreshing juniper scent enveloped him, grounding the lift in his stomach as they teleported back to the Northern Palace.
Upon rearrival to their shared quarters, Mobei-jun stood stoically, giving Shang Qinghua a moment to recover. His grip never faltered once, broad palm and long fingers splayed steadily across Shang Qinghua’s stomach as he took in a large gulp of air.
“Is Shang Qinghua still all right?” Mobei-jun asked.
“Yes, my king. You were very fast in saving me and needn’t worry about this subordinate’s health. After a shower, this subordinate will be just fine,” Shang Qinghua reiterated, slightly confused as to why something deep in his chest was still kicking when they’d been standing still for so long.
Mobei-jun’s eyes were still locked intensely on Shang Qinghua’s own, unblinking in their focus. He raised his unoccupied arm, and Shang Qinghua shut his eyes out of instinct, expecting a penalty for his weakness. Instead, he felt cool fingers awkwardly brush a piece of unfastened hair away from where it was tangled in his eyelashes. Batting his eyes open hesitantly, he found that Mobei-jun’s cheeks had taken on the same dark blue hue they had earlier in the day.
Are you all right, my king? was what he wanted to ask, but for some reason his mouth froze after parting, unable to shape itself around a single syllable. Mobei-jun followed the miniscule movement with those piercing eyes of his before dropping Shang Qinghua unceremoniously to the ground and turning to exit into his own room.
“I believe you will find your sword next to your desk,” he called, before slamming his door shut. The trinkets on Shang Qinghua’s shelves rattled with the aftershock.
Shang Qinghua stood stock-still for a long moment before sliding his eyes over to the mentioned area. Sure enough, there was Little Mobei, shining bright as the day he got it — brighter, actually. It reminded him of the spark in Big Mobei’s eyes — ever so rare but proportionately precious beyond measure.
How could I not have seen you? You would have saved me a lot of heartache, you know! Looking down, Shang Qinghua groaned. It seemed he had a little unfortunate something to add to his already lengthy to-do list.
His subsequent shower was multipurpose indeed.
·❅ iii - words of affirmation ❅·
Shang Qinghua was having one of those days.
To be more accurate, he was having one of those days which was not a single day at all but rather a horrific amalgamation of countless hours muddled together by countless tasks that caused him to lose all track of anything that wasn’t the paperwork in front of him or the persistent ache in his temples. It might as well have been an evening for all he knew. Or a long, long, endless night. In hell. Just An Ding Peak Lord things!
He was reflecting, as he often did, upon the fact that he had really got the short end of the transmigration straw. Cucumber-bro had it easy — the most difficult thing he had to deal with was Luo Binghe’s massive dick — and that was partially self-inflicted anyway. No one was making him take that heavenly pillar up his oh-so-precious ass every night. Shang Qinghua, on the other hand, had about fifty grubby little subordinates from all over Cang Qiong breathing down his neck about this temple renovation or that pilgrimage date, asking if maybe he couldn’t have things done just a little sooner than they’d asked for? And, to add insult to injury, Mobei-jun’s yearly expenditure summary was nearly due, and just so happened to coincide with a major logistical spat between Xian Shu and Bai Zhan.
(All right, so maybe Mobei-jun didn’t require Shang Qinghua to do his taxes. Most times, he just sat and stared blankly at Shang Qinghua as he summarized it for him, not even glancing at the extra copy Shang Qinghua had summoned his best calligraphic skills for. But one time, he’d inclined his head and murmured a “good job,” and so what did Shang Qinghua have to lose? Gratitude was hard to come by in his line of work, but if you kept going, you never know when you’d strike gold — even if he was getting more than a little fed up with mining for it.)
Sitting back a bit in his chair, he let out a lung-crushing sigh for what seemed like the millionth time that day, rubbing his eyes and feeling the discs at the bottom of his spine pop alarmingly loudly. He didn’t have the time to spare for much more respite than that, however, and picked up his brush only a few moments later. If he really pushed himself, he could probably finish everything in a few hours and drag his sorry ass to bed for as much sleep as he could squeeze in before his meeting with Xian Shu and Bai Zhan the next morning. At least, he thought it was the next morning. He really couldn’t pinpoint what time it currently was. Thinking was hard.
The tip of his brush had just barely grazed the surface of the paper when he felt an icy breath on the back of his exposed neck.
Starting, he whirled around, feeling a different part of his spine pop at an even more unfortunate volume, and found himself nearly face-to-face with Mobei-jun. After giving his heart a second to resettle itself inside his ribcage, Shang Qinghua mustered the wherewithal to speak.
“My king! I didn’t hear you come in. How long have you been here? Why aren’t you at your palace? Did you need something? I’m afraid I’m rather tied up at the moment.” His questions were delivered in a half-slurred rush born partially from his fatigue and partially from the adrenaline still coursing through him. Annoyingly, his heartbeat failed to settle after a few moments, spiking higher and higher as Mobei-jun just stared at him silently, regarding him fathomlessly, bent slightly at the waist. Fuuuck, he’s totally angry with me this time! He could at least look a little less regal before he pounds me within an inch of my life! No, maybe ‘pounds’ isn’t the word I’m looking for—
After a long moment, Mobei-jun shifted back a few inches, restoring the veneer of Shang Qinghua’s personal bubble. Only after he had tilted his head up and to the side in mock loftiness did he answer.
“You are — not incompetent at times,” he said, voice much softer than its usual commanding tone.
Shang Qinghua narrowed his eyes in confusion, his exhaustion-addled brain struggling to keep up. “I’m — what, my king?”
Silence reigned for several moments. Mobei-jun must really have admired the tapestry on the opposite side of the room with how intently he was surveying it.
“You are — only incompetent sometimes. Other times you are not.” Mobei-jun’s delivery was stilted, fringing on awkward. His gaze shifted ever so slightly to peek at Shang Qinghua, who was still kneeling in a daze.
“My king, what do you — are you all right?” he asked, head tilting to the side in sheer befuddlement. Mobei-jun’s eyes briefly followed the movement before snapping back to the tapestry.
“You are also small. It frustrates me that you are so small. For someone with such a tiny body, I am always aware of your presence. It is irksome and illogical to always be aware of such a small human.”
Shit! He’s totally firing me. Or worse! Look at the way he’s clenching his fist — I’m dead meat for sure!
“If my king finds me bothersome, does my king wish for my services to — become less comprehensive?” Shang Qinghua asked, growing more and more disquieted with every passing second. He’d never seen Mobei-jun act like this before, movements flighty and on edge, as if he wasn’t sure where the next few seconds would take him. If he didn’t know much, much better, he would almost think Mobei-jun was nervous. Was there some sort of evil beast outside waiting to pounce? Should Shang Qinghua be hiding? Or running? Or—
“No need. This Mobei-jun merely came to say that you are small. And soft. And at times not incompetent.”
“Um—”
“I will take my leave.”
“Wait, my king! Is that a no, or—”
But Mobei-jun had already melted into the shadows, teleporting to who knew where. The only proof he had been there at all was a lingering chill in the air and the complete and utter bewilderment in Shang Qinghua’s head and heart.
No matter how many times he rehashed the conversation (if you could call it that), Shang Qinghua could make neither head nor tail of the whole affair. Needless to say, he walked into his morning meeting with eye bags so dark that even Liu Qingge was taken aback.
· ❅ ❅ ❅ ·
Shang Qinghua never got the nap he so desperately desired. As he was heading back to his quarters, he saw the shadows on the thatched roof elongate and lift up from the ridged surface, forming the shape of Mobei-jun’s demonic sigil. He sighed, recognizing the symbol as a five-minute warning for teleportation to Mobei-jun’s northern palace.
As expected, Mobei-jun whisked him away in a flurry of shadow and snow, not even waiting for Shang Qinghua’s stomach to leave his throat before shoving a stained outer robe into his arms. Shang Qinghua sighed aloud, rubbing his eyes pointedly before trudging to the washroom, leaving Mobei-jun alone in his throne room to sit and look regal (or whatever it was he did in his alone time).
Being Mobei-jun’s personal laundress meant that Shang Qinghua came across all sorts of suspicious stains on the regular. This one was particularly rancid, its purplish blotched edges steaming slightly as Shang Qinghua held it up to the light.
It really is a shame to have to clean up after his majestic battles, Shang Qinghua thought. It’s quite the image ruiner! If anyone saw how messy he was, they’d be hard-pressed to find him as formidable as his reputation would suggest!
Donning a pair of gloves, he scrubbed intermittently at the stain, pausing frequently to yawn and wrinkle his nose at the smell. Finishing up, he hung the robe up to dry and shuffled back to the throne room.
“Does my king require anything else?” he asked, just barely suppressing another yawn. He blinked slowly as he looked up at Mobei-jun, too tired to bow beyond the slightest bend of his waist. Mobei-jun regarded him inscrutably for a moment before answering.
“I have observed that your hair ribbon matches your outer robe. The resulting visual is — not unpleasant.”
That’s what you’re looking at?! Not the colossal dark circles under my eyes that are mostly your fault?! And why comment on it in the first place?!
“Respectfully, my king, this subordinate fails to see the importance of such a matter,” Shang Qinghua replied, trying his hardest to hide the weariness in his voice.
Mobei-jun huffed tersely, bicep twitching like he was itching to raise his hand and give Shang Qinghua’s ears a proper boxing. However, he seemed to stop and compose himself with great effort before any damage could be done, opting instead to adopt an expression that seemed almost pouty.
“You deign to decide the importance of my observation?” he snapped.
“I—”
“Is this coordination not intentional?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Am I wrong to comment upon it?”
“Um, no? It’s just that—”
Mobei-jun’s perfect, straight nose lifted haughtily into the air, long, dark eyelashes feathering over his high cheekbones as he childishly shut his lids tight. “You may go.”
Shang Qinghua’s poor, tired left eye gave a poor, tired twitch. This is all getting to be too much, he thought as he left the throne room. I should really beg for a raise sometime soon.
·❅ iv - gift giving ❅·
Shang Qinghua’s System woke him up with a persistent chirrup. He slowly sat up with a groan, blearily rubbing his eyes as he chastised it.
“What do you want, you little shit?”
<< DON’T BE LIKE THAT. WITHOUT THE SYSTEM HELPING YOU THROUGH EVERY TURN, WHO KNOWS WHAT STATE YOU'D BE IN? >>
“Resting in peace,” Shang Qinghua grumbled into his sleep-soft palm.
<< INSULT OVERLOOKED ON ACCOUNT OF USER’S BIRTHDAY. HAVE A GOOD ONE, AND THANK YOU FOR YOUR CONTINUED USAGE OF THE SYSTEM! ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ >>
With a shower of virtual confetti, the hologram folded itself out of existence.
Riiiight, Shang Qinghua thought to himself. With all the emotional and logistical turmoil he’d been trudging through in the past few weeks, he’d nearly forgotten about his birthday. He’d always found it ironic that the System, with its literal power of bestowing life and death, decided to carry over something as trivial as his old date of birth.
Scritching at his scalp, he contemplated the day ahead. Aside from a few boilerplate Cang Qiong funding approvals, he didn’t have anything else on his schedule. They were simple enough to complete remotely, and since today was his special day, he figured he’d work through them in the comfort of his bed. I deserve this, he thought. If my king needs something in the next eighteen-something hours, he can do it himself! What’s the worst he could do — beat me up? He wouldn’t dare harm the special little birthday boy, now would he? Besides, Mobei-jun had been busy recently, handling a land dispute with some remote demon nobility while Saintly Ruler of All Demonkind Luo Binghe traipsed shamelessly around gods knew where with his shizun. Mobei-jun probably wouldn’t even spare a single thought for Shang Qinghua while he was handling things.
· ❅ ❅ ❅ ·
Tragically, Shang Qinghua’s birthday boy status did not lend itself to a perfectly peaceful day. No sooner had he picked up the last scroll of paperwork than his door whipped open with a bang, a chill suffusing his bedroom. Mobei-jun stalked in, looking grumpy as he took in a blanket-swaddled Shang Qinghua, still in his sleeping robes with his hair down.
“You did not set out my robes this morning,” he announced, voice level and in direct opposition to the irritated pinch between his thick, well-shaped brows.
“This subordinate apologizes,” Shang Qinghua said. “He did not think you were even at home. Is my king not currently dealing with the land dispute in the northwest?”
“How am I meant to deal with the dispute if my robes are not set out for me?” Mobei-jun asked, all seriousness. Shang Qinghua stifled a laugh as quickly as it began. He really can be such a baby sometimes.
“It seems my king got dressed just fine on his own, did he not?” His words came out more playful than he intended, and Mobei-jun’s eyes flared wide for a moment.
“Impertinent,” he snapped, but made no motion to strike Shang Qinghua. “Why have you not left your bed? Has your fragile human body grown ill?”
“No, my king,” Shang Qinghua answered, the suppressed laugh from before filtering through each syllable. “Today is my birthday, so I figured I’d enjoy a little relaxation — if my king does not object, of course.”
Mobei-jun’s eyes narrowed appraisingly as he continued to stare at Shang Qinghua. He seemed to be genuinely confused about something.
“Is your birthday so singular a day as to render you incapable of services?” he finally asked.
“Of course not, my king! I merely wish to request the rest of the day off to enjoy a bit of leisure time,” Shang Qinghua answered, heart beating a little faster as Mobei-jun’s gaze continued to bore into him, intense and unwavering.
After another drawn-out moment, Mobei-jun huffed out an “mm” before whisking out of the room as quickly as he had come. Relieved and self-satisfied, Shang Qinghua leant back against the pillows and twirled his quill between his fingers. He was getting almost too lucky as of late.
· ❅ ❅ ❅ ·
Having stepped out to buy a cask or two of liquor from a notorious street stall, Shang Qinghua was taking his spoils back to enjoy in the comfort of his own four walls. It’s a shame Cucumber-bro is off gallivanting with my son, he thought to himself, shaking his head. There’s no one else half as fun to get tipsy with!
Humming softly, he reentered the palace, nodding cheerily to the guards and sauntering in, uncaring of their less-than-impressed glares. He made his merry way to his room, giggling to himself in anticipation as his fingers closed around the door handle. However, when he opened it, he froze in surprise.
Mobei-jun was hunched over Shang Qinghua’s desk, muttering inaudibly to himself as he prodded delicately at something. His expression was gentler than Shang Qinghua had ever seen it, and Shang Qinghua realized that he had been holding his breath for the past few seconds, unwilling to tear his gaze away from the softness around the corners of his king’s eyes.
However, Mobei-jun’s demonic senses were supernaturally keen, and he realized after a moment that Shang Qinghua had reentered the room. His expression froze over, all traces of contentment wiped clean in an instant. He turned his head towards Shang Qinghua slowly, horror-movie style, eyes wide like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.
“M-my king?” Shang Qinghua asked, utterly bewildered. Mobei-jun merely stared at him with huge eyes before teleporting out of the room so quickly that Shang Qinghua would have thought he’d imagined the whole scene if not for the gust of wind that sent his robes flapping wildly and his hair whipping into his eyes.
Once the gale died down, he shook his bangs out of his field of vision and crept hesitantly over to his desk. As he drew closer, he could see that Mobei-jun had left behind some sort of sculpture, made of a transparent, glass-like material. Setting his liquor jars down, he picked it up with one hand, tilting it to catch the evening light. Once he realized what it depicted, he nearly dropped it, his grip loosening in shock.
The sculpture was only a few inches tall and made completely from beautifully crystalline ice. Shang Qinghua could clearly tell that it was comprised of two figures — himself and Mobei-jun standing side by side, Shang Qinghua gesturing broadly with one hand while Mobei-jun stared down at him with a faint smile lifting the corners of his mouth. While the proportions were a little off and each plane was roughly hewn, no detail had been spared, right down to Mobei-jun’s dangling earrings and Shang Qinghua’s favorite hair ribbon. Shang Qinghua noticed after a moment that his body temperature had failed to melt the ice, meaning some sort of charm must have been placed on the sculpture to keep it from melting.
“Where did he—?” he wondered aloud, turning the sculpture every which way in awe. Surely some sculptor had been commissioned for this, a person intimately familiar with both their dress and personalities. No such artist came to mind, though — perhaps it was someone Shang Qinghua was unfamiliar with? A new up-and-coming talent still rough around the edges? But how could Mobei-jun know about such a person if Shang Qinghua, whose business it was to be intimately familiar with all of Mobei-jun’s connections, did not? After turning it around a few moments longer, his eyes alighted upon a symbol etched into the base near ice-Qinghua’s feet. Holding it up to his face, he managed to make out Mobei-jun’s signature sigil, carved with a decisiveness that only the Northern Desert Lord’s own hand possessed. The cogs in Shang Qinghua’s brain suddenly clicked.
My king — made this? For me?
Great Master Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, known in both his previous and current lives for his unparalleled lexical output, suddenly found himself without a single word to describe his current emotional state. The tug between the firm coolness of the ice in his palm and the flaming heat rising in his cheeks made it impossible to think coherently. Happy birthday indeed!
·❅ v - physical touch ❅·
Mobei-jun was definitely avoiding Shang Qinghua. It had been nearly a week since he’d had caught his king with his tail between his legs, and he’d been given suspiciously few tasks to complete in the subsequent days. Shen Qingqiu had been less than impressed when Shang Qinghua had sniveled to him about it.
“I mean, what if the sculpture wasn’t even for me?” he’d pouted, pushing a melon seed back and forth across the table in front of him. “Maybe he was making some sort of dummy for target practice, left it on my desk by accident, and feels bad about it?”
Shen Qingqiu, unimpressed, gazed up towards the heavens for the umpteenth time that afternoon, looking unsuccessfully for a modicum of patience. “If he wanted to use your image for target practice, he would have killed you a long time ago. It’s not like he would have had to try very hard.”
Shang Qinghua sniffed indignantly. “Cucumber-bro, you’re so mean! I’m pouring my heart out to you and you’re insulting me!”
Shen Qingqiu sighed. “For a self-proclaimed romantic expert, you sure are dense.”
“And just what do you mean by that?” Shang Qinghua retorted, eyes narrowing. “What does Mobei-jun avoiding me have anything to do with romance?”
“Think about what happened immediately before he started avoiding you.”
“He left a sculpture on my desk?”
“And what did you tell me five minutes ago was the subject of said sculpture?”
“Him and I — talking—?”
Shen Qingqiu fixed him with a pointed glance, eyebrows raising in lieu of a response. When Shang Qinghua merely stared back blankly, he sighed, made a quarter turn, and stood up to leave.
“Woah, woah, woah, where are you going? You’re not being very helpful, you know!” Shang Qinghua whined at his friend’s retreating back.
“You’re beyond hope,” Shen Qingqiu shot back over his shoulder. And with that, he whisked away with a snap of his fan. Shang Qinghua could hear the delighted voice of Luo Binghe down the hall, exclaiming something along the lines of Oh, shizun! You were gone so long! This disciple was growing so distraught without shizun’s hand in his own!
Shang Qinghua smacked his forehead onto the cool wood of the table and groaned — whether it was more out of frustration or son-induced nausea, he couldn’t tell.
· ❅ ❅ ❅ ·
“You will enter my room and sit on the bed,” Mobei-jun commanded the next night, tone firm and expression dire. Shang Qinghua, on edge and disheveled from an intense bout of paperwork, snapped his head in Mobei-jun’s direction, heart plummeting down past his ribs and straight through the floor.
“Perhaps when I finish this form, my king, I’ve still got a bit to — yes, my king! Right away!” he squeaked, changing his tune as Mobei-jun glared icily down at him. Shang Qinghua set his quill down more slowly than usual, hand shaking as he stood up and shuffled pitifully out of the room after Mobei-jun.
As he trailed behind, his mind ping-ponged through a variety of possible scenarios, anxiety peaking as each one flashed through his thoughts. I don’t think my go-to trick of passing out will help me much here, he thought. Maybe with enough groveling, he can be appeased. Although I don’t even know what I did wrong!
When they reached Mobei-jun’s bedroom, Mobei-jun’s sizable hand alighted upon Shang Qinghua’s shoulder, a push indicating in no uncertain terms that he should sit down. Shang Qinghua faltered for a moment. It wasn’t like he’d never sat on the edge of his king’s bed before, but something about Mobei-jun’s insistence this time put him on edge. His hesitation pulled a dissatisfied rumble from Mobei-jun’s throat, and Shang Qinghua’s ass immediately became the best of friends with the folds of the comforter on the foot of the bed. Shang Qinghua noticed a small scratch on one of the elaborately carved bedposts, the cream-colored imperfection in stark contrast to the deep ebony column. Keeping his eyes down out of instinct, Shang Qinghua’s gaze fixated on the scratch as he tried to expel his nervousness with a prolonged, shaky exhale.
He sat there for what must have been the longest moment of his life, afraid to speak and bring down his king’s mysterious ire upon himself. Just when he thought he couldn’t take it much longer, he heard the clink of Mobei-jun’s earrings and felt the air around his poor, nervous body grow several degrees colder. Another indecipherable hum emanated from Mobei-jun’s throat. Oh, fuck, I’m so screwed! He’s gonna —
The solid weight of a palm descended onto Shang Qinghua’s thigh, stopping the rapid bouncing movement he hadn’t even realized he’d been doing. Mobei-jun’s other hand came to cup the underside of Shang Qinghua’s chin, forcing their gazes to meet, nervous brown to frosty blue.
—?!
Shang Qinghua’s brain went completely blank as he stared into his king’s incomparably striking face, suddenly so close to his own. He let out a tiny yelp that was far from proper, cheeks flaming hot of their own volition. Mobei-jun’s eyes narrowed analytically at the sound, roaming Shang Qinghua’s face intently. The fingers splayed across his thigh twitched almost imperceptibly, their coolness spreading through the fabric of his robes and onto the topmost layer of his skin. It took every ounce of Shang Qinghua’s remaining dignity not to fidget in response.
The hand underneath his chin drew back, and Shang Qinghua finally shut his eyes tight, bracing for a slap and a lecture about some weakness or other of his. Instead, he felt cool knuckles against his burning cheek, two fingertips pinching the flushed skin experimentally. The touch was shockingly and uncharacteristically gentle, and Shang Qinghua’s eyes snapped back open to stare at Mobei-jun in utter confusion. Mobei-jun’s sour expression had grown more neutral as he continued to pinch at Shang Qinghua’s skin. He almost looked — content.
“M-my king?” Shang Qinghua stammered, his words smushed around the edges due to Mobei-jun’s persistent prodding.
“Soft,” Mobei-jun responded, his matter-of-fact tone in complete contrast with his bewildering actions. “I see why you felt such satisfaction when you did it to me.” In the next second, Shang Qinghua found himself being hoisted up and whirled around. When the world eventually slowed down, he found himself perched on Mobei-jun’s lap, head spinning and heart racing fit to fly away.
Shang Qinghua, for all his bluster and foolishness, wasn’t stupid. He knew his king had been acting odd over the past few months: decreasing the amount of clobberings he doled out, becoming more interested in Shang Qinghua’s work and appearance, casting him peculiar glances —he just hadn’t known what was causing all the strange behavior. But now that his king’s sturdy arms were encircled around him, holding him in place as they gazed at each other — something clicked.
This something seemed to travel from Shang Qinghua’s overdriven brain and into the fingers of his right hand, nerves sparking to life and weaving their impulses into a small, slow motion. Hesitant, he raised his pointer finger to hover just above Mobei-jun’s forehead mark, staring at the way its faint sapphire glow illuminated the crescent curve of his fingernail. When Mobei-jun failed to swat his hand away, he tipped his finger forward to gently cover the mark, skin swallowing up the tiny gleam.
Mobei-jun exhaled slowly, equal strength coming from both his nose and mouth. His cool breath fanned over Shang Qinghua’s exposed wrist, and Shang Qinghua felt a shiver run up his spine that had only a little to do with the sigh.
“Qinghua,” Mobei-jun murmured, quieter than Shang Qinghua had ever heard him. Shang Qinghua could feel the gentle rumble of Mobei-jun’s chest against his own, the sound of his voice all-encompassing. He needed more of it, wanted the vibrations to travel throughout his entire body until he was ringing with it, smug and triumphant and satiated — and so he tilted ever-so-slightly forward, and in a moment of unparalleled daring, pressed his hungry mouth to his king’s.
The first attempt was awkward, Mobei-jun’s long, straight nose bumping against Shang Qinghua’s uncomfortably. But a few moments after their lips made contact, Mobei-jun purred again deep in his throat, took hold of Shang Qinghua’s chin, and reslotted their mouths together. Suddenly, everything made sense, and Shang Qinghua found himself bathed in coolness, afloat in a juniper forest, uncaring of anything that wasn’t his king’s fingers in his hair, beneath his chin, against his waist.
They kissed for a long, blissful moment before Mobei-jun’s grip on Shang Qinghua’s waist loosened, causing him to lose his balance and tumble awkwardly onto the bed. Mobei-jun doubled over, pressing his palms into the sockets of his eyes and grimacing.
Shang Qinghua instantly began to panic. Fuck, fuck, FUCK!!! What the fuck was I thinking?! He obviously regrets it; here comes the hiding of a lifetime —
Mid-anxiety attack, he noticed that his leg, still entangled with Mobei-jun’s, was prickling with goosebumps completely unrelated to their kiss or the harrowing aftermath. The muscled thigh under Shang Qinghua’s own was trembling slightly, Mobei-jun’s entire personage emanating a sharp, sudden chill.
“Um — my king — I’m sor—” he began helplessly, only to be cut off by Mobei-jun’s head whipping around in his direction. Mobei-jun’s eyes were squinting in some sort of discomfort, and Shang Qinghua noticed that the skin along those perfect cheekbones was beginning to flush a pretty dark blue. Mobei-jun stared at Shang Qinghua before his face went sour again, a finger and thumb coming up to pinch the skin between his eyebrows.
“What is it, my king? This subordinate will be happy to leave if my king so desires,” Shang Qinghua managed, proud of himself for stringing together a coherent sentence while he was still very much entangled with his boss (who was blushing like some virginal maiden)!
“No!” Mobei-jun roared, and immediately cringed at his own volume. He continued more quietly. “No, that will not be necessary. It is merely one of my short-term headaches. They happen sometimes when I am — ahem — overwhelmed. Emotionally.”
Gazing at him again, Shang Qinghua noted that Mobei-jun looked almost shy. Piecing together Mobei-jun’s flush, his faltering words, the chill in the air, and his sudden localized headache, he came up with a result he couldn’t help but laugh with glee at.
“My king, did kissing me give you a brain freeze?”
Mobei-jun looked abashed. “Brain — freeze?”
Shang Qinghua was cackling now. “I can’t believe it! You look so — so—”
“Pathetic?” Mobei-jun stared intently at him with eyes still half-squinting.
He’s got me cornered!
“Well, I mean, I wouldn’t use that word exactly—”
Mobei-jun pouted. “Is my courting method not working, then?”
“Courting method—?”
Shang Qinghua tilted his head in confusion before remembering in a sudden burst of enlightenment what he’d told Luo Binghe all those years ago: No man can resist a cute, weak, and docile partner! After the situation sunk in, he began to laugh again, much harder than before. Mobei-jun watched his shoulders jolt up and down, his expression growing more and more confused the longer Shang Qinghua went on.
Composing himself with great difficulty, Shang Qinghua replied, “My king need not act pathetic to curry my favor.”
Mobei-jun seemed pleased at this answer, his eyes growing soft with the hint of a smile. Seeing it made Shang Qinghua feel giddy, so much so that he opened his mouth to add to his statement.
“My king need only be himself, and this humble servant will follow him anywhere.”
Mobei-jun’s expression went through a kaleidoscope of variations, stunned stock-still for a brief moment. He soon recovered, though, and hoisted Shang Qinghua back onto his lap, already moving their faces closer together. Shang Qinghua whooped in surprise as he steadied himself by grabbing onto Mobei-jun’s broad, firm shoulders, settling himself comfortably in Mobei-jun’s embrace.
Shang Qinghua’s System rang out, clear as a bell.
<< HIDDEN ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: NORTHERN DESERT RULER’S INDESTRUCTIBLE DEVOTION! CONGRATULATIONS ON THIS MASSIVE ACHIEVEMENT! >>
He couldn’t have stopped the grin stretching over his face if he tried.
Mobei-jun smiled back, a novel sight Shang Qinghua thought he could get used to. “Then I take it Qinghua will stay with this Mobei-jun forever?”
Shang Qinghua beamed ear to ear, nodding against the crook of Mobei-jun’s neck. “And then some.”
Perhaps he was a bit presumptuous to attack Mobei-jun’s neck with a flurry of soft, smiling kisses, and perhaps he didn’t care as much as he should have when Mobei-jun wound his finger around his hair ribbon and tugged it loose, causing his hair to tumble down tousled around his shoulders. Perhaps a wiser man would have refrained from the sweet nothings he babbled through the night, fearing the tarnish the future might bring to their shine. A humbler man would certainly have avoided such a complacent, enduring grin.
But Shang Qinghua was an author altogether satisfied with his work. He wasn’t above a little self-congratulation.