Chapter Text
In Shang Qinghua’s defense, he hadn’t thought any of it was real.
The five-year period after which Shen Qingqiu had committed suicide and died in Luo Binghe’s arms was Hell on earth. Luo Binghe had begun his conquest to unite the human and demon realms in earnest, and there was no man, woman, or child in the jianghu that did not buffet the storm of change.
The emperor fought like a storm. He subjugated town after town, wrought endless amounts of violence. He tore the veil between the human and demon words to shreds until they converged with a vengeance. Human settlements were destroyed with natural disasters as the climate readjusted to the merge, and swathes of desert from the human realm crushed the life out of lush demonic wetlands.
What had Cucumber-bro done to his stallion protagonist? Shang Qinghua, if pressed, could admit that he was discomfited by what had become of Luo Binghe. Who was this sticky lovestruck fool? The emperor was as exacting and merciless to the world at large, but he neglected his duties and spent all his time shut in the Holy Mausoleum with the cold corpse of his beloved teacher.
The yellow books speculated of the debauchery that might occur behind sealed doors between two men whose relationship drama had torn apart the very fabric of reality. The books flew out of the market stalls, and some were quite good. Shen Qingqiu took in a demon child and was rewarded for his efforts with his own death by the hands of his unfilial disciple and the total obliteration of his sect!
They reminded Shang Qinghua of the derivative cutsleeve erotica of Proud Immortal Demon Way the Zhongdian jiejies had written. The Shen Qingqiu x Luo Binghe pairing had a small but devoted fanbase. Who, these brave jiejies dared to ask, had inspired as much passion in Luo Binghe as his scum shizun? How could hatred endure, these jiejies persisted, without the shadows of an ardent love? Who was Shen Qingqiu to Luo Binghe, they asked yet more daringly, but his beloved white moonlight?
The fanworks had nearly gotten flamed to death, but they’d also ranked remarkably well on the weekly charts. No one was above a good dogblood revenge story. Shang Qinghua did not totally disbelieve them. Shang Qinghua lit a candle in his heart for Shen Qingqiu’s asshole.
The Northern Wastes were not spared in the upheaval. Mobei Jun had been thoroughly thrashed in his battle against the young upstart heavenly demon, and had pledged allegiance in a desperate bid to survive. He now served as Luo Bingghe's right hand man. Mobei Jun as of yet had not been crowned king, and so the Northern court bristled under his rule as his uncle schemed to steal his position and his own father lay convalescent in bed. It had been the worst period of his employment so far. Power struggles over the dwindling of already scarce resources and massive displacement via natural disaster was no petty task.
Shang Qinghua worked from dusk to dawn and was granted with the honor of not getting eviscerated where he stood. In other words, peanuts. How did Mobei Jun expect Shang Qinghua to hold together his kingdom without a full stock of his good imported baijiu??? God forbid a man have a piping hot bowl of spicy noodles after working himself to death! Where were his employee benefits? If he were a less shallow or more ambitious man he’d have already toppled the throne and installed a puppet regime. If Mobei Jun’s breasts weren’t as perky as they were, Shang Qinghua would have already hurled the entire ice palace into the Endless Abyss.
At this point Shang Qinghua’s sanity was held together by a splintering thread. As an immortal cultivator, he did not have to eat or sleep. This body he inhabited was nothing like the one he’d had in his first life. For one, he had quite a good face. But there were still issues he couldn’t escape even across dimensions. He still had phantom aches when his stomach was empty, or when he neglected to shower and he began to grease from his scalp. The only person he’d ever been halfway honest with had not reappeared in his new plant body. As such, the days blurred together in a cocktail of panic and drugs and anxiety, and he could not clearly distinguish when he was awake or asleep.
Now Luo Binghe, Supreme Ruler, the lord of the three realms, is off playing housewife to Cucumber-bro in their love shack on their eternal honeymoon. After leaving behind a death toll in the tens of hundreds of thousands and forever altering the world as they knew it. Shang Qinghua could really just die from anger.
He might die now.
“Junshang,” Shang Qinghua says cautiously, darting his gaze to possible exits. “Might this servant dare to inquire how he has offended you?”
Luo Binghe is in full royal regalia. Kitted out like he hasn’t been in months now since he’d gotten his happily ever after, because he hasn’t bothered to attend a single state meeting. The bold red and black silks in a single one of his outer robes could feed a town center for two winters.
“Shang Qinghua loves to play the fool when it suits him,” Luo Binghe observes coolly. He yanks Shang Qinghua up by the lapels of his robe and slams him to the wall. Shang Qinghua’s head clacks painfully against wood. A hand wraps around his neck in casual threat.
Fuck, when had he caught Luo Binghe’s ire? The last time they’d met was when Shang Qinghua had been hanging pathetically around Cucumber Bro’s love shack, but he’d left ages ago. They hadn’t spoken before then anyway, with one glaring exception, what with Mobei Jun in Luo Binghe’s direct report. What was Luo Binghe doing here now?
“This servant begs my lord’s pardon,” Shang Qinghua chokes out. Fingers constrict tighter around his throat. Shang Qinghua scrabbles at Luo Binghe’s grip frantically. “This servant is slow and does not catch my lord’s meaning.”
Luo Binghe is in no hurry to grant him mercy. He’s watching Shang Qinghua with clinical curiosity as Shang Qinghua goes limp in his grasp. Shang Qinghua fights a clawing desperation as his vision beginning to black at the edges. He’s a moment from truly passing out when Luo Binghe deigns to release him. He falls upon the floor, hacking coughs in a desperate bid for air.
“Many thanks to Junshang’s endless generosity in allowing this servant to live,” Shang Qinghua manages once he’s collected his bearings. He knows the drill by now, how to claw himself from the jaws of death. If he let slip any sign of defiance his body would be torn apart faster than he could scream.
Luo Binghe looks down on him in cool disdain. Never one for dealing one blow when he could deal two, Luo Binghe kicks Shang Qinghua onto his back and stomps a boot down on his chest.
“Shang Qinghua is suddenly acting so distant,” Luo Binghe comments idly, buffing his nails with his thumb. This is one of his nervous tics, but what would this son of a bitch have to be nervous about when he’s the one with Shang Qinghua’s life in his hands? “‘This servant’ this and ‘this servant’ that. What happened to the man who arrogantly called himself my gege?”
Shang Qinghua splutters in disbelief. Did this laozi have a death wish, who would dare when this brat answered to no one but his exalted shizun! If Shang Qinghua had the leeway to attempt such a thing, would he have spent so long on the run like a common rat?
“Shang Qinghua can try to explain himself,” Luo Binghe continues. He’s given up the pretense of acting like Shang Qinghua is beneath his attention, because his eyes have gone crazy and true anger is ringing through his words. He presses the tip of his boot meticulously against each of the joints in Shang Qinghua’s hands. “When this lord doesn’t hear an answer he likes, shishu can bid farewell to another finger. Aren’t they quite important for your work? You would need a week to recover at the least; speak wisely.”
Ah, fuck. Usually the best option when under threat by someone used to throwing their weight around, whether demon or cultivator, was to tell them exactly what they wanted to hear and working with the fallout afterwards. How in God’s green earth was Shang Qinghua to know what this temperamental brat wanted when he refused to give the slightest hint?
Shang Qinghua does what he does best: run his mouth. “The merger between the Wastes and the Western demon clans are going very well. We’ve worked out a trade system with the human contingent as well, and interspecies violence has decreased by 20% per capita on average. Cang Qiong is still holding Shen-shixiong’s place, although Ming Fan has stepped up his responsibilities and is co-running the peak with Ning Yingying.”
“Shen Qingqiu,” says Luo Binghe slowly.
“Yes, congratulations on your wedding. May you receive a thousand blessings and endless prosperity, haha, I should have sent in a red packet, but it was so sudden, I’ve only just heard the news, hahahaha!”
“My wedding,” Luo Binghe repeats. “To Shen Qingqiu.”
Luo Binghe was usually quicker on the uptake than this. Maybe the culmination of his earthly desires actualizing themselves was so overwhelming that he was still processing it all.
“Yes, may your marriage be harmonious and prosperous,” assures Shang Qinghua.
Regrouping, he finishes: “Otherwise I have nothing of note to report.”
Luo Binghe is frozen. His breath has stopped. His boot is still actively fracturing Shang Qinghua’s fingers.
As he’s discreetly trying to pull his hand free, Shang Qinghua realizes two things. One: that Luo Binghe has Xin Mo strapped to his side, though it had been shattered when the OG Bingge had come crashing into their dimension. Second, extremely suspiciously in this world’s xianxia setting, Luo Binghe is wearing a silver smartwatch on his wrist. If Shang Qinghua looks closer, it looks like the one he’d bought for himself once his first check for Proud Immortal Demon Way had cleared.
“…Xiao Bing?”
ERROR, blares his long dormant System. What, now when Shang Qinghua is about to die? This shitty system!!!! ERROR. IRREGULARITY DETECTED. SYSTEM UPDATE INITIATING.
And then he plunges into a white hot deluge of pain.