Archive of Our Own ^beta

Panic tastes an awful lot like vomit in Luo Binghe’s throat. A cold sweat prickles against his skin and he can’t breathe. Every inhale he takes feels like knives. It’s too soon. He isn’t ready. Would he ever have been ready?

His skin burns where the zuiyin pulses on his forehead. A beacon. He still feels the spark of Mobei-Jun’s qi on him. There is no denying it now. Shizun has seen. Shizun knows what he is. And Shizun is angry.

Luo Binghe hasn’t faced Shizun’s anger in a long time. His hands are shaking. He tastes blood in his mouth. He cannot live in a world where Shizun hates him. He’s spent too long basking in his love and affection; how can he go back now? He can make it better. He can explain.

He throws himself to his knees.

“Get up!” Shizun snaps immediately, but Luo Binghe shakes his head.

Tears escape his eyes unbidden, blurring his vision. But Shizun’s cold visage is already burned into his mind. He can still see it just as clearly as if it’s right in front of him. Even if he closed his eyes, it would still be there.

“I won’t,” he sobs. The ground trembles beneath him, the gaping hole into the Endless Abyss screaming just a few meters behind him. It’s taunting him. Taunting Shizun. He had planned to tell him eventually. He didn’t want to lie…but he did, didn’t he? He should’ve told Shizun as soon as he knew. As soon as he had met Meng Mo in the dreamscape, he should have confessed and asked for guidance. What would Shizun have done then? Luo Binghe feels like his lungs are collapsing. “Shizun, Shizun.”

Shizun clicks his tongue and huffs impatiently. It sounds almost like a growl. Even through his misty eyes, Luo Binghe sees the scorn on Shizun’s elegant face. He’s glowering at Luo Binghe like he is the lowest mite on the face of the earth. Like he’s disgusting. Luo Binghe’s breath heaves and another sob shivers out of him.

Shizun’s sword is pointed right at him, its tip only a few inches from his face. Luo Binghe stares at it, wondering what it would feel like if it pierced his skin. He would let it. If Shizun wants to hurt him, he will take it.

But he is not above begging, first.

“Shizun, I’m so sorry,” he pleads. “I didn’t – I didn’t mean to. I thought – because of what Sh-Shizun said – it would be fine.” His words come out fragmented and stuttering, tumbling over one another too quickly for him to catch. He needs to explain. If he can just explain, then Shizun will understand. Shizun always understands. “I just wanted to be strong. To be able to protect Shizun. I didn’t – didn’t know it was bad. I’m sorry, Shizun. I’ll never do it again. I’ll – this disciple will follow your teachings exactly.”

Luo Binge chokes on his own tears, all the fluids leaking from his face making it hard for him to speak. Eventually, he can do nothing but cry hopelessly at Shizun’s feet. He keeps stumbling over apologies, begging Shizun to understand, begging for his forgiveness.

He drops his forehead to the ground and presses it into the dirt.

If Shizun wants to strike him dead, he can. Luo Binghe will not fight him. Shizun has saved his life enough times that it already belongs to him. He can do with it as he pleases.

The sound of his own crying drowns out much of the bubbling and screeching from the Abyss, but Shizun’s words cut through like a sharp sword.

“Fuck,” is all he says. Over and over again. Any other day, Luo Binghe might have laughed. He’s never heard Shizun swear, although sometimes he thinks he catches impolite mutterings under his breath. But Shizun must be so angry to lose his composure like this, so Luo Binghe can do nothing but continue to give his tears to the ground.

He just wants Shizun to keep him. He’ll take any punishment. He’ll consent to being demoted to the lowest position in the whole sect. He’ll feed the animals or clean the latrines. Anything. He’ll take the daily beatings he used to, he’ll sleep in the woodshed again, he’ll work his body until its sore. He only wants Shizun to let him stay.

A clattering sound jolts through Luo Binghe’s eardrums. Shizun has dropped his sword.

Luo Binghe peers up from the ground, his tears momentarily halted by surprise. Xiu Ya lies on the rocky ground, discarded. Does that mean…?

Luo Binghe risks an imploring look at Shizun’s face.

He doesn’t look cold anymore.

His eyes are scrunched and his lips bitten red. He rushes forwards towards him, and before Luo Binghe can even take another breath Shizun is forcefully pulling him up and into his shoulder. Shizun’s arms are around him. Shizun is patting his hair. Shizun isn’t going to kill him.

Luo Binghe weeps even harder. He howls into Shizun’s shoulder and clings onto him tightly, his fingers almost tearing right through Shizun’s robes.

“It’s okay, Binghe,” Shizun says. “It’ll be fine. I’ll fix it.”

Luo Binghe can do nothing but believe him, and thank the Heavens that his Shizun is so merciful.

“I’m sorry, Shizun,” he mumbles, refusing to take his head out of Shizun’s embrace for even a second. “I’ll be good now, I won’t do it again.”

“I know, I know,” Shizun says. He strokes Luo Binghe’s hair, hushing him and holding him close. His sweet, comforting words sound so gentle and soft that Luo Binghe’s heart swells with warmth. Shizun wouldn’t kill him. Shizun wouldn’t throw him away. Shizun would never hurt him.

The night stills, the Abyss closes. Luo Binghe keeps his fingers firmly entwined in Shizun’s clothes like he’ll disappear if he lets go, and Shizun keeps patting his hair and telling him everything will be fine.

Relief washes through Luo Binghe, flooding ever corner and crevice of his body. All he wanted was to be strong. If his blood was so powerful, why couldn’t he use it for good? But he won’t stray again. If he cannot cultivate the pure path, he will not do it at all. What good is power to protect Shizun with if Shizun doesn’t want him?

Next time he sleeps, he will tell Meng Mo to leave his head. He won’t touch demonic cultivation again. He’ll find a way to suppress the demonic qi flowing through him, now his blood has been unsealed. If it was sealed once before, it can be sealed again.

If he could have all the power in the world, or Shizun, he would choose Shizun without hesitation.

He can become strong without it. He can protect Shizun the right way. Shizun will never suffer harm because of him again, nor will he have reason to be disappointed in him. Luo Binghe will be a model disciple from now on.

“Thank you, Shizun,” he whispers. “I won’t let you down again.”

Shizun doesn’t respond, his hand stilling in Luo Binghe’s hair. Then, it stiffens. Luo Binghe hears Shizun suck in a ragged breath and then…he coughs. Coughs again.

Luo Binghe pulls his head out of Shizun’s shoulder and sees – blood.

It drips from Shizun’s chin, down his robes. It’s seeping into Luo Binghe’s clothes, too. It’s on his hands. Shizun’s blood…

“Shizun?” Luo Binghe cries. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

He reaches for Shizun’s wrist to check his meridians – improper and presumptuous for a disciple to do, but he has to see – but Shizun pulls away too quickly.

“This master is just fine,” he says. But his face is as pale as stone and contorted in obvious pain. He coughs up another round of blood and Luo Binghe bites his tongue so hard he pierces it.

He doesn’t know what to do. Panic swells up him all over again as he grasps at Shizun’s robes. As if being close will prevent him from suffering.

“Shizun, tell me how to help–”

Before he even finishes asking, Shizun collapses into a heap. Luo Binghe yelps and catches him; Shizun is a dead weight, his head flopping uselessly onto Luo Binghe’s arm. He cradles him close and tries not to think about all the blood coagulating between them. Shizun is cold and clammy to the touch, sweat dampening his hair.

Luo Binghe reaches for Shizun’s wrist again. His qi is fluctuating as if in battle, ebbing and flowing, but it isn’t depleting overmuch. Not a qi deviation, he thinks. But what does Luo Binghe know? He is only a disciple.

He gives a helpless sob and reaches around in his sleeve for a flare. He sends it up into the sky with a plume of spiritual energy. People will find them soon, and given Shizun’s condition it cannot be soon enough. But when they do…

Luo Binghe quickly wipes some of Shizun’s blood over his forehead to conceal the zuiyin. If the rest of the sect find out what he is, they will not be as forgiving as Shizun. He will be cast out, never able to see his beloved master again. He cannot allow that to happen.

Only a few minutes after he set off the flare, a group of elders and older disciples descend upon the clearing, some from Cang Qiong Mountain and some from other sects.

A cacophony of noise immediately riles up around them, so Luo Binghe squeezes Shizun tightly and shuts his eyes. He knows how it must look. Unconscious or dead disciples from various sects around him, including two Peak Lords. If they saw his zuiyin, they would have no doubts about immediately casting blame.

As it is, they shout about the horror of demons and the tragedy of the fallen young disciples without so much as a look at Luo Binghe. The Huan Hua elders and disciples quickly scoop up their fallen and whisk them away, but the elders from Cang Qiong are more cautious. A few of the eldest disciples set off searching for any living demonic creatures to capture, and the rest crowd around Luo Binghe.

Mu-Shishu is the first to acknowledge him. He crouches beside them and discretely feels for Shizun’s pulse.

“Luo Binghe,” he says gently, like he is a wounded animal. Luo Binghe clings to Shizun tighter, suddenly afraid he’s going to be taken away and he’ll never see him again. He doesn’t care how much blood gets all over him, he’s not leaving Shizun! “You’ve protected your Shizun well. Will you allow me to take him somewhere where I can examine him properly?”

Luo Binghe blinks dumbly. The elders are all completely silent, watching him with sorrowful eyes. No resentment, no blame. Just an unfortunate tragedy. He thinks he can hear Ning-Shijie crying and Da-Shixiong’s shaky voice trying to comfort her.

Blood rushes through Luo Binghe’s ears. He stares at Mu-Shishu, examining his kindly face. He’s a physician, one of the best. And Shizun is hurt. Luo Binghe, he acknowledges with a visceral pain in his stomach, cannot help him. Mu Qingfang is the person he needs right now.

Luo Binghe nods.

Several elders step forward at once to take Shizun out of his arms, but it is Peak Lord Liu who gets there first. He scoops Shizun up in his arms, surprisingly gently for a man so known for violence. He wordlessly hops onto his sword and darts away.

Luo Binghe whimpers and brings his arms tightly around himself. Suddenly, he feels so cold.

Other disciples and Peak Lords disappear, too, following Liu-Shishu. They take Shang-Shishu with them, and any unclaimed disciples left lying around after Huan Hua Palace left.

Mu-Shishu, however, doesn’t move. He places a hand on Luo Binghe’s shoulder.

“Are you hurt, too?” he asks.

Luo Binghe shakes his head. He cannot find any words to say. He is entirely unhurt, although he perhaps shouldn’t be. He thinks about Shizun’s sword pointed directly at him and cannot contain a small, pathetic whimper.

“I’ll take a look at you when we get to safety. Can you follow behind us?”

“M-My sword…” he chokes out. It’s shattered, the pieces lying fragmented around him.

Mu-Shishu picks up Shizun’s discarded sword and hands it to him. “Take Xiu Ya, I’m sure your Shizun won’t mind.” Mu Qingfang gives him a sympathetic smile and Luo Binghe feels more tears spill silently onto his cheeks. If he knew the truth…would he still treat Luo Binghe so kindly?

“Shishu,” Ming Fan interrupts with a quivering bow. “We’ll en-ensure he gets back safely.”

Mu Qingfang nods as he rises. “Please bring him to the inn your Shizun was staying at. The rest of you may stay in your lodgings and be seen to for injuries by my disciples. Return safely.”

With a final comforting nod to them all, Mu-Shishu climbs back onto his sword and flies away gracefully.

Luo Binghe runs his fingers tentatively over Xiu Ya’s hilt as he watches him leave. He holds the sword close, clutching it like it’s Shizun himself. The hilt is still warm, slightly pulsing with the remnants of Shizun’s qi. Before he can take another breath, he’s crying again. Screaming. Howling.

Arms quickly curl around him. Ning-Shijie cries with him, and he thinks Ming Fan might be there too, his arms somewhere in the lump they all make. Their comfort only makes Luo Binghe cry harder. They do not know either. Would they hold him if they knew he was a monster?

“Shizun will be – fine,” Ning Yingying hiccups. “You’ll see.”

But Luo Binghe cannot stop crying, even when the others do. Because Shizun chose to keep him, despite all the ways Luo Binghe has done him wrong. Despite the evilness of his blood. Shizun said that demons could still be good…

For the first time, Luo Binghe is forced to consider that it might not be true.

As he cries around Xiu Ya, he’s overwhelmed by the feeling that, somehow, this is all his fault.

Luo Binghe sits on the floor outside Shizun’s room. He hugs his knees to his chest, uncaring about how undignified the position is, and tries to control his shaky breathing. He’s run out of tears, and an uncomfortable pounding headache is all he has to show for it. That and itchy, bloodshot eyes.

He’d been unable to stop crying long enough to mount Xiu Ya and fly to the inn. In the end, he’d been dragged bodily onto Ning-Shijie’s sword, clutching Shizun’s blade close to his chest and sobbing. Letting Shijie take charge was much easier, and by the time her sword landed and he was close to Shizun again, his tears had run dry. He’s exhausted, feeling as wrung out as a dirty washcloth, but he can do nothing but sit and stare. And think.

There’s still blood all over him.

Ning-Shijie had told him to get cleaned up before she left, but he hasn’t moved. He can’t move. He doesn’t want to be more than a wall away from Shizun now. And…he doesn’t know if his ziuyin is still emblazoned on his forehead. He can’t feel it anymore, now that the residual tingle of Mobei-Jun’s qi has abated, but that doesn’t mean the mark itself has gone.

Time moves slowly, and Luo Binghe doesn’t know how long its been when the Peak Lords eventually start filing out of Shizun’s room, still muttering about the demonic attack. They don’t acknowledge him as they leave, but Luo Binghe gives the best approximation of a polite bow as he can from his position to each of them.

When he looks back at the door, Sect Leader Yue is there, watching him with strained but curious eyes.

“Luo Binghe, will you come in here a moment, please?”

Luo Binghe leaps to his feet and bows deeply, folding himself almost entirely in half. He’s never talked directly to the Sect Leader before, only a few cursory words about his training and his potential on the occasions that he visits Shizun for tea.

He knows Sect Leader Yue is supremely powerful, rarely even drawing his sword except in the direst of circumstances, but he seems like a kindly man. He only ever has smiles for Shizun, so Luo Binghe can only think well of him, even if he sometimes feels a little jealous.

Luo Binghe follows him and bows to the remaining Peak Lords when he enters the room. Peak Lords Liu, Qi and Mu have remained behind, each of them with a wan, tired look on their faces.

Mu Qingfang hovers by Shizun’s bedside, fiddling with a small metal object Luo Binghe supposes is some kind of medical instrument. Liu Qingge and Qi Qingqi stand by the window, looking agitated. Liu-Shishu’s arms are crossed and his eyes narrowed, but there’s a twitch in him like he wants to jump into a battle stance immediately. Qi Qingqi bites the skin around her fingernail and sways minutely from side to side.

These, he realises, are Shizun’s closest friends. Each of them so clearly overcome with just as much trepidation as Luo Binghe. Somehow, that makes him feel calmer.

When Sect Leader Yue directs him to sit, he does so, ignoring how much his hands and legs are shaking. These people care about Shizun the most. If they find out Luo Binghe is a demon, they will remove him immediately. Violently.

Luo Binghe peers at the bed at the end of the room, trying to catch a glimpse of Shizun’s condition, but the bed is covered in drapery. He cannot see anything but Shizun’s silhouette.

“Don’t worry, he’s stable at the moment,” Mu-Shishu tells him, and Luo Binghe lets out a sigh of relief. “He’ll be just fine.”

Sect Leader Yue sits opposite him and smiles sympathetically. It just makes Luo Binghe want to cry again. He feels, for the first time in years, like the child he is.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Luo Binghe gulps and feels his breath start to quiver. “I – I don’t know. It was all – I – this one…”

“Let me ask a better question,” Sect Leader Yue says. Luo Binghe lets out a long breath. Something about Yue Qingyuan’s demeanour makes him feel calmer, like no matter what he says this man would understand. He supposes that’s what makes him so dangerous. A friendly, trustworthy appearance can make someone divulge all sorts of secrets. “You and Shen-shidi were right beside the Endless Abyss when it opened. Did something come out of it and attack you?”

Luo Binghe nods. The direct question is easier to answer. He doesn’t have to explain everything from the beginning. He knows what Sect Leader wants to hear. “Yes, um. A demon. A pure-blooded one, I think. He attacked Shang-Shishu.” Luo Binghe swallows around a lump in his throat. He doesn’t know Peak Lord Shang at all, has never spoken a word to him, but the ferocity with which Mobei-Jun had immediately aimed for him makes Luo Binghe feel sick. “Is…is Shang-Shishu alright, too?”

“Yes, he’s perfectly fine. His attack was purely physical, and his cultivation is strong so he will heal quickly,” Sect Leader Yue says. What is left unsaid is that Shizun’s condition is not physical. Or rather, not necessarily physical. It is much harder for a cultivator to recover from an injury to their qi than to their body. “Please, continue.”

“Um, Shizun argued with him.”

“They fought?” Liu-Shishu interrupts.

Luo Binghe shakes his head. “Not really. I don’t know, the demon just left. No blood was drawn.”

He bites down on his lip, guilt at obscuring the truth plaguing his mind. But how could he possibly tell a group of Peak Lords that Mobei-Jun seemed to be there for the sole purpose of revealing Luo Binghe’s heritage. He left, not because of any sudden pacifist urges, but because his mission had been accomplished.

“He left?” Liu-Shishu scoffs. “An obvious lie.”

It does sound implausible. Luo Binghe lowers his head. He cannot tell them the truth, but if he evades it will that impact Shizun’s care? It shouldn’t…right? Mobei-Jun wasn’t even there when Shizun collapsed.

Before Sect Leader Yue can respond to Peak Lord Liu’s accusation, Qi-Shishu interrupts. She elbows Liu-Shishu in the gut and his glare turns in her direction. “Don’t be so insensitive. The poor boy was probably scared out of his wits.”

Liu Qingge snorts as he fixes his eyes back on Luo Binghe. “You expect us to believe that a demon general, when faced with a prime opportunity to destabilise the world’s foremost cultivation sect, simply walked away?”

Luo Binghe blinks his eyes rapidly and takes a deep breath. No need to panic. Liu-Shishu is just like that. Shizun is always saying how grumpy he is.

His guilty conscious prepares for a more forthright accusation from Liu-Shishu, but it is Mu Qingfang who speaks next.

“It is not entirely unheard of,” he sighs. “The demon nobility can be prideful. They are often less impulsive and are driven by cunning rather sheer bloodlust. If we knew which one it was…Luo-Shizhi, can you describe the demon to us?”

Luo Binghe sucks in a shaky breath. Shizun had said the demon was Mobei-Jun, but Luo Binghe doesn’t know what that means. Nor does he know if he should share the name of the demon who knows what he is. He won’t lie, though. He doesn’t think he could with Liu-Shishu’s gaze burning through him. “Um, he just looked like a man. He had a mark on his forehead.”

Mu Qingfang nods encouragingly. “Yes, most pure-blooded demons do not look that different from you and I. Do you remember what colour the mark was?”

“Blue,” Luo Binghe answers. He wonders…he hadn’t seen the zuiyin on himself. Is it blue, like Mobei-Jun’s? Is that why Mobei-Jun knew about him? Luo Binghe doesn’t know anything about his birth parents, after all. But the colour doesn’t matter and he’s not sure he wants to find out. He wishes it wasn’t there at all.

“Hmm, a Mobei, I imagine. The younger is said to be increasing his reach of late.”

Qi-Shishu huffs. “He wants to start a war by the sounds of it, attacking our Shixiong so brazenly.” Liu Qingge grunts affirmatively.

“Thank you, Luo Binghe,” Sect Leader Yue says. “You have been very helpful.”

“But – um,” he interjects. “After the demon left, the Abyss closed and everything was fine. it wasn’t until afterwards that Shizun…that Shizun…”

This might be, he thinks, an incredibly stupid thing to say. But Qi Qingqi had said war, and Luo Binghe may be ignorant, but he knows that a war between humans and demons would be terrible. Letting the Peak Lords blame Mobei-Jun for something he didn’t do, and starting a war over it…well, that sounds like an even more terrible idea than speaking in his defence.

Even if it makes him look suspicious.

Liu Qingge raises an eyebrow at his words, but Yue Qingyuan only smiles sadly.

“Demons are incredibly tricksy, Luo Binghe. Sometimes the curses they wield do not take effect immediately.”

Luo Binghe nods. What else can he say? If he insists that Mobei-Jun was not responsible, they will naturally seek to discover how he knows this. His own involvement will be incredibly suspicious…and then they might take him away from Shizun. He doesn’t know if the zuiyin still stains his forehead, or how effective Shizun’s blood is at concealing it, but he does not want to stay around long enough for them to start looking more closely.

He cannot insist, so he only lowers his head politely.

“Luo-Shizhi,” Mu Qingfang announces. “We will be returning to Cang Qiong Mountain in the morning. Somebody will need to take charge of Shen-shixiong’s care; since you are so accustomed to serving him and are his most favoured disciple, are you willing to take on this role? I can send a disciple of my own, but I imagine your Shizun would be more comfortable with somebody he trusts.”

Luo Binghe’s heart does a flip, then collapses back into his chest when Mu Qingfang says the word trust. “Y-Yes, Shishu. I would be honoured,” he answers with another deep bow.

“Are you sure that is wise, Shidi? Your own disciples are medically trained.”

Qi-Shishu rolls her eyes. “Why so suspicious, Qingge? He’s only a child, and Mu-Shidi is correct. You know how Shen-Shixong is, he would much prefer a disciple of his own caring for him than an unknown shizhi.”

Liu Qingge grunts. He says nothing more, but his glare informs Luo Binghe on no uncertain terms that he will be being watched very closely.

“All this disciple wants is for Shizun to be well,” he says quietly. Then, he stands and turns to Sect Leader Yue. He cups his hands together and offers a deep, formal bow. “This one failed to protect his Shizun and requests Sect Leader’s punishment.”

“There’s no need for that,” Sect Leader says, pushing him upright by his shoulder. “It is not the responsibility of the younger generation to protect the elder.”

Qi Qingqi takes a step closer. Her face is sharp but her expression turns soft when she meets Luo Binghe’s eyes. She smiles at him, almost conspiratorially, as she mock-whispers. “Sect Leader is a little scared of your Shizun, you know. If he punished you, he might as well wring his own neck.”

Yue Qingyuan laughs good-naturedly, and Luo Binghe manages a small smile, too. He doesn’t know the nature of Shizun’s relationship with the Sect Leader, or how close they are, but it is nice feeling involved in the small intimacies of Shizun’s friends. They trust him. Or most of them do, anyway.

Luo Binghe bites his lip and wonders what kinds of things Shizun tells them about him.

“Don’t let Xiao-Jiu know, Shimei, he might take advantage,” Yue Qingyuan quips back. Even Liu Qingge manages half a smirk at that, and the tense mood snaps to pieces. Luo Binghe’s gut twists with jealousy at the intimate name, but he buries the feeling. He has no right to feel possessive over Shizun’s friendships, especially not now. He is not a demon. He is not a brute. Luo Binghe will not give such base feelings any time to fester in his head.

“Please, go wash up and get some rest,” Mu Qingfang says, slipping a small packet of herbs into his hands. “These will help you sleep. When we return home, I will show you how to care for his condition. Your Shizun will be in the very best hands.”

Luo Binghe clutches the herbs tightly and gives a shaky nod. He gives a final bow to each Peak Lord in the room, including his unconscious Shizun, and takes his leave.

No matter Mu-Shishu’s intentions, the herbs will not help him sleep tonight.

Falling into a new routine is surprisingly easy. The first day back at Qing Jing Peak, Mu-Shishu stays with him and explains the nature of Shizun’s condition. Each day, new wounds will appear on his body. Mu Qingfang talks Luo Binghe through how to change the dressing on the lacerations and apply ice to the bruises. He shows Luo Binghe the most efficient way to funnel spiritual energy into Shizun’s meridians to help him fight off the curse.

But Luo Binghe spends each day feeling sick to his stomach. Weeks pass. A month. Two months. Shizun doesn’t wake. It gets a little easier as time goes on. Luo Binghe weeps less often when a particularly bad wound appears on Shizun’s body.

Mu Qingfang continues to stop by almost daily, but new wounds appear so often and change so quickly that Shizun needs constant attention. Attention that Luo Binghe is happy to provide.

Serving Shizun is as easy as breathing. He feels like he was born to do it.

Sometimes, when he feels especially brave, he gently smooths out the crease between Shizun’s eyebrows. He massages his palms, brushes his hair. Shizun’s skin is cold and clammy under his touch, but it feels like glistening porcelain. He talks in a low, soft voice just in case Shizun can hear. He only talks about nice things, usually reading entries directly from Shizun’s bestiary. Sometimes, Shizun’s breathing is heavy and his eyes dart about behind his closed lids. Like he’s in a terrible nightmare.

Other than that, Shizun is completely catatonic. So deeply asleep he doesn’t move. Most days, the only sign of life is the laboured rising and falling of his chest and the appearance of those strange wounds.

Luo Binghe helps change Shizun’s position several times a day. Even cultivators can get bedsores, Mu Qingfang says, if they’re not awake to heal themselves. His meridians do seem to be functioning normally, albeit with constant fluctuations, so Shizun remains strong in spite of his condition. Luo Binghe doesn’t even need to feed him, though occasionally he tips small cups of water into his mouth.

Each day, Mu-Shishu grows ever more confident that Shizun’s condition is only temporary. If it wanted to kill him, he says, it is certainly powerful enough to have done so already. The fact that the curse doesn’t even bother to deplete Shizun’s qi means that, for whatever reason, it has no intention of harming him permanently.

The fact that it seems intent on only harming Shizun in non-lethal ways is apparently a good sign. Luo Binghe isn’t convinced. Surely that just means the only thing it wants is for Shizun to suffer.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe whimpers. He holds Shizun’s icy hand to his forehead, letting it cool his hot skin and imagining all this is a terrible dream. Maybe Meng Mo has crafted all this in revenge for Luo Binghe abandoning him. Maybe Shizun will wake up and pat his head and tell him that none of this is his fault.

But that is just wishful thinking.

His haze is interrupted by a knock at the door. His days move slowly and quickly all at once, and he has no idea when he last had company. Did Mu Qingfang already visit today? Is it time for another Peak Lord to sit by Shizun’s bedside and temporarily relieve Luo Binghe of his duties?

He is content here, in this room with Shizun. He doesn’t need anyone else. The Peak Lords – Shizun’s friends, and Shang-Shishu too now that he is well again – insist on coming by for a few hours each week. Mostly it is Liu-Shishu and Sect Leader Yue. He doesn’t know what they say to him, because each time Luo Binghe is gently encouraged to leave.

During those times, he excuses himself to train. Or rather, forces himself to go through the motions of training. He practices his sword glares, his formations. He meditates in the bamboo grove, close enough that he can immediately return to Shizun’s side as soon as he is able. In the bamboo house, he works on the rest. His guqin, his painting.

He will show Shizun that as well as being strong (the correct way, with no demonic tricks), he can also master the Four Arts. He will be an exemplary disciple of Qing Jing Peak. He will make Shizun proud.

But, today, it is only Ning Yingying at the door.

He smiles as best as he can. If Ning-Shijie is here, that means he doesn’t have to leave. She’ll drag him outside to get some fresh air, but he will remain close enough to Shizun to hear if anything changes. He lets out a sigh of relief.

“A-Luo, have you been eating?”

Every time he sees her, she asks him the same question. She corners him while he meditates or trains with practice swords – he mourns his broken sword and stares at the fragmented pieces of it when he isn’t staring at Shizun – and forces him to eat.

He doesn’t want to eat. How can he even step in the kitchen without thinking of Shizun? Sometimes, in the dead of night, he sneaks in when he gets particularly hungry. At least then, the darkness means he doesn’t see the shadows of all the times he’s cooked for Shizun hanging around the corners. He does eat. He nabs fruits and rice when he can. And Mu-Shishu always brings him a meal and subtly leaves it behind when he comes to check on Shizun. Sometimes Luo Binghe even eats it.

Most of the time he feels too sick.

Grief. Guilt. Sorrow. Regret. They all weigh too heavily in his stomach for him to fill it with anything else. But he knows he needs to keep his strength. For Shizun. So, he diligently eats whenever he’s told.

Today, Ning-Shijie has brought him dumplings and vegetables. He takes them with a polite bow and thanks her. She smiles reassuringly, but it doesn’t meet her eyes.

“A-Luo, I…can we talk?”

This is the other thing. Ning-Shijie always wants to talk. The Peak Lords, at least, only greet him awkwardly when they come to visit Shizun and ask for updates. The only one that asks how he’s doing is Mu Qingfang, and he fortunately does so in such a way that it doesn’t make Luo Binghe feel like a child. And he doesn’t pester if he doesn’t believe Luo Binghe’s answer.

But he’s been squirming his way out of Ning-Shijie's company for long enough, and she’s always been a good friend to him. Back when he was constantly tormented by Ming Fan and his friends, Ning-Shijie always comforted and defended him. Luo Binghe will never forget it.

Even though Ming Fan and his cronies are fine these days (he’s forgiven them, although not quite as easily as he forgave Shizun), he still appreciates the way Ning-Shijie sticks her tongue out at them to make him laugh.

He remembers, as well, the way her arms around his middle kept him steady when they flew out of Jue Di Gorge on her sword. He could barely keep himself standing, unable to stop crying. She kept herself together for him. Ning-Shijie has always been strong where he has not.

So, he readily agrees.

He sets the food down and follows her outside. He’ll eat it later, taking small bites bit by bit to stave off the worst of the hunger pangs. It’ll probably last him a day or two. But he will not tell her that. He doesn’t want Shijie worrying anymore than she already does about how bad his eating habits have gotten.

They sit on the porch steps, facing the bamboo forest, and Ning Yingying immediately scoots up beside him and rests her head on his shoulder.

“A-Luo, you are my best friend.”

A lump forms in Luo Binghe’s throat. They aren’t as close as they once were, that’s for sure. Ning Yingying gets along well with everybody, and Luo Binghe hasn’t given her as much time as he should have since Shizun started favouring him. He always wanted to be by Shizun’s side; every second away from him felt like a moment lost.

“I’ve not been a very good friend,” he admits. “I’m sorry for that.”

Without moving her head, she snakes her arm around and pinches his bicep. “Don’t be silly, you’ve always been good to me.” She gives a low chuckle. “It’s okay if Shizun is your best friend. You’re still mine.”

“He’s not–” Luo Binghe starts, flushing with embarrassment. His relationship with Shizun feels so personal, something just for him. He knows other disciples on this peak and the rest all have opinions on how close they’ve become, but he doesn’t like to hear it. But then, he thinks, she’s right, isn’t she? That bond Luo Binghe shares with his Shizun has long since surpassed an ordinary master and disciple relationship. Shizun, very occasionally, confides in him. And Luo Binghe confides in Shizun, too. They are still separated by a wall of propriety, but, yes…he supposes Shizun is his best friend.

He doesn’t waste his time thinking about how silly that might sound to others his age. So what, his best friend is his teacher? Nobody better exists in the world. Nobody else makes him feel so warm.

Ning-Shijie giggles at him, grinning, and Luo Binghe scoffs at himself.

He lowers his head, leaning it back against Ning-Shijie’s. “I don’t know if…I’ll still be allowed when he wakes up,” he confesses in a small voice.

“How come?” she asks lightly. “You know you’re his favourite.”

Luo Binghe swallows an iron lump in his throat. His breath shakes. Ning-Shijie pats the back of his hand, and he feels a little safer.

“We…fought. Before.”

Ning Yingying abruptly sits straight up and shifts to look at him. He keeps his eyes lowered, avoiding her worried gaze.

“Really? That’s…what about?”

Luo Binghe wants to shrink in on himself. He shouldn’t have said anything. He should keep it locked away in his chest and vow to never think about it again, never speak about it. Let it carve him apart from the inside out, until Shizun wakes.

But…it does feel good to voice his worries. And Ning-Shijie said he was her best friend. He wonders for the hundredth time how quickly that would change if she knew the truth.

“I did something bad. Really bad.”

Ning-Shijie sighs and squeezes his hand comfortingly. Luo Binghe squeezes back, holding on to her like she will prevent him from drowning in the sea of his own thoughts.

“And he was angry?” she prompts.

Luo Binghe gives a trembling nod, his eyes turning misty. He feels sick again, the look on Shizun’s face burned into his mind.

“Did he hurt you?” she asks, her voice sharper.

Luo Binghe shakes his head, the corner of his lips twitching at the way she immediately jumps to his defence. Back then, she was too young to intercept Shizun’s cruelty. She could only try and use her words to convince Shizun to spare him. Now, Ning-Shijie is a strong cultivator. Not as strong as Shizun, obviously. But he has no doubt she would defend him…as long as she didn’t know the truth.

But it doesn’t matter. Shizun is not like that anymore.

“No, he didn’t hurt me.” Luo Binghe thinks about the sword pointed at his chest, and the way Shizun dropped it. The old Shizun would not have hesitated. But Shizun…he did consider piercing Luo Binghe’s heart. Would he have really done it? Luo Binghe isn’t sure…

He didn’t, his brain reminds him. That’s what is most important. It doesn’t matter because he didn’t.

“It might have been better if he did,” he finishes shakily.

Ning-Shijie clucks her teeth and shakes her head. “A-Luo, don’t torture yourself. When Shizun wakes up, I’m sure he’ll allow you to explain yourself. He’ll understand. Even if he’s still mad, he’ll forgive you.”

Luo Binghe nods. He hears the hidden sentiment under her words – Shizun isn’t like he was before. But she still asked if Shizun hurt him. He wonders how deeply her confidence in Shizun’s kindness extends. She loves Shizun, he knows. They all do.

But he’d been harshest with Luo Binghe. A handful of other disciples got the occasional beating, but it was Luo Binghe who became the object of his ire. Ning-Shijie never saw the worst of him.

But she’s right. He’s different now.

She only asked to be sure.

Shizun might hate demons…he might hate Luo Binghe. But he didn’t kill him when he had the chance. He didn’t even disarm him. And Shizun said everything would be okay. I’ll fix it.

It wasn’t forgiveness, but Luo Binghe hopes he meant it all the same. He hopes it is a promise that Luo Binghe can stay.

Shizun dropped his sword. Shizun held him. Shizun didn’t hurt him.

Shizun trusted him – decided to trust him – enough to take that chance on him. A dangerous chance. If Luo Binghe’s heritage is ever revealed and it is discovered that Shizun knew about it…his reputation will be ruined.

Luo Binghe will not allow that to happen. He vows to himself, for the hundredth time, that he will be the most righteous, upstanding, impeccable cultivator who ever lived. He will be a credit to his sect and his Shizun, even if he has to hurt himself to do it. Nothing will stain his name, nor his Shizun’s, not if he can help it.

“Thanks, Shijie,” he sniffles. “I wish he would wake up.”

“He will. And when he does, he’ll tell you how silly you’re being.”

“I hope so,” he whispers.

He leans back into Ning-Shijie’s side and allows her arms to come up around him. He appreciates that she doesn’t ask, or doesn’t care, what he did. He imagines telling her everything and confessing who he is. He imagines her saying it doesn’t change anything for her – he is still the same person – and she is sure it won’t change anything for Shizun.

But he doesn’t tell her. And she doesn’t ask.

When Shizun wakes, Luo Binghe thinks for a moment that he is seeing things. He holds Shizun’s wrist in his hand, channelling spiritual energy and admiring the blueish tint of the veins that run along his knuckles.

Then, a particularly deep breath. A small sigh.

Luo Binghe looks up and Shizun is staring right back at him, his eyes heavily hooded with sleep.

“Binghe, there you are,” he says with a small smile. It looks like it takes a lot of effort, the corners of his lips dragged up by sheer force of will. It turns his eyes into pretty crescents and Luo Binghe’s mouth falls open in awe.

“Shizun…” he breathes. “You’re awake.”

“So I am.”

Luo Binghe reverently lays Shizun’s hand back down on the bed, his entire body throbbing with nervous vibrations. “One moment, Shizun. I’ll get Mu-Shishu.”

He leaps to his feet and runs out of the bamboo house. Within a few long strides he stumbles upon another disciple, one of Ming Fan’s friends, and breathlessly instructs them to get Mu Qingfang. The disciple’s eyes go wide and he runs off promptly, spurred by the urgency in Luo Binghe’s voice.

When he returns to the bamboo house, still breathing hard, less than a few minutes have passed. It’s still too long.

“Oh,” Shizun says, blinking in surprise when Luo Binghe tumbles back into the bedroom and returns to his position kneeling next to Shizun’s bed. “That was very fast.”

Luo Binghe gives a deep nod as he tries to catch his breath. “Yes, Shizun.”

It’s silent for a long moment; Luo Binghe is unsure what to say. There were so many things he thought about telling Shziun once he woke up, but now that he’s here his tongue seems to have tied itself in a knot. All he can think about is Shizun’s ragged breathing. He sucks in sharp inhales and releases them tremulously.

“Shizun, are you in pain?” Luo Binghe asks.

“Just a little. Nothing to worry about,” Shizun replies with another wan smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and his pale, clammy skin only makes it even less believable. “How long has it been?”

Looking at Shizun’s face makes Luo Binghe’s heartbeat quicken, so he lowers his eyes. “Shizun has been asleep for three months.”

“Is that all…” Shizun whispers.

His next breath sounds something like a huffed laugh as he shakes his head.

Shizun tries to pull himself to sit up, but his face contorts in obvious pain. Luo Binghe springs up in half a second and, with careful hands that do not linger, helps Shizun sit. The most recent wounds have yet to fully heal, and when Shizun moves the neck of his sleeping robes fall open and Luo Binghe sees around his neck…a bruise in the shape of fingers.

Luo Binghe feels his lip quiver.

To distract himself – and do something helpful for a change – he pours Shizun a cup of water from the pitcher he always keeps on the nightstand filled with fresh spring water and passes it to him. His hands hover while Shizun drinks, and Shizun’s fingers quiver where they touch the cup. Dark bruises twist around both of his wrists. Those definitely weren’t there yesterday. Luo Binghe has been slack with his assessments of Shizun’s wounds.

“How does Shizun feel?” he asks tentatively.

“Much better now,” he says. He gives a satisfied sigh as he finishes sipping the water and hands it back to Luo Binghe. The roughness in Shizun’s voice makes a painful lump swell in Luo Binghe’s throat. And the white cast to his lips, so pale and thin. He looks…sick.

Somehow it seems even worse now that he’s awake.

At least when Shizun was unconscious Luo Binghe could pretend that his eyes would still shine and his cheeks would still flush.

Shizun leans back against the headboard, his hair cascading over his shoulders. Luo Binghe wants to stroke the ends with his fingertips…but he cannot do that now. Not when Shizun is awake to scold him for it.

“How have things been here? I have neglected my disciples,” Shizun says.

“Shizun has neglected nothing. Ning-Shijie and Da-Shixiong have been managing affairs in your absence and teaching the younger disciples, too. Everything has been running smoothly.”

At his report, Shizun only raises an eyebrow and says nothing. He doesn’t look pleased, but Luo Binghe supposes he doesn’t have much to feel pleased about right now.

“Um, this disciple–” Luo Binghe starts, but his words are interrupted by the door sliding open with a loud thud. Shizun’s body jolts and his eyes go wide before he realises its only Mu-Shishu and he sinks back down. He releases a sigh and presses his palms into his eye sockets.

“Shidi, good morning,” he says. After another breath, he drops his hands from his face and smiles.

“Shixiong, how wonderful to see you awake.” Mu-Shishu is practically shaking with exuberance as he rushes to Shizun’s bedside. His hair and robes are completely dishevelled in contrast to his usual refined appearance – he probably flew by sword rather than taking the rainbow bridge – but his grin is wide and joyful when he sets eyes on Shizun.

Luo Binghe dutifully rises from his spot and steps away. He takes a few steps back, hands crossed politely in front of him and his eyes cast down. Usually, he would leave the room when Mu-Shishu is examining Shizun, but this time he cannot bring himself to move even half a step further. Part of him is terrified that, now that Shizun is awake, he will disappear. Another is concerned…Shizun never got a chance to tell anyone about Luo Binghe’s demonic heritage before the curse befell him.

Will he do it now, with Luo Binghe here to witness it?

Luo Binghe gnaws on the inside of his cheek and waits.

Peak Lord Mu does his typical examinations, testing Shizun’s circulation and qi levels, and asks all his regular questions. Shizun answers them efficiently, if a little weakly, but he notably avoids answering when Mu Qingfang asks him what he experienced while he slept.

His lips are sealed shut, his eyes staring off into the distance, and Mu Qingfang promptly moves on.

“I detect no signs of the curse remaining; it seems to have abated entirely.”

Shizun nods, no flicker of emotion on his face. Like it doesn’t matter to him whether the curse lingered or not. Or…as if he already knew it would not return.

“Forgive me, Shixiong, for asking so much of you when you have not long been awake. But certain shixiong are calling for us to declare war upon the demon race. Some of us more cautious Peak Lords have managed to stay their hand until your perspective could be heard.”

“Why?” Shizun asks, his face scrunching up. “For what happened at the conference? Whomever allowed the demons in must have been an ally of ours. Until we can discover their identity, there is no use in calling for war.”

Mu Qingfang nods deeply. “No, Shixiong. I meant about your condition. Your disciple said that you fell ill just after the Mobei demon spoke with you. He did not see you attacked, and we have remained cautious until the truth can be ascertained.”

Luo Binghe flinches. The truth. As if Luo Binghe had lied. Well, technically he had lied. But not about that. Never about that.

Shizun’s eyes find Luo Binghe’s, and Luo Binghe’s tongue suddenly feels impossibly dry.

“That is correct. It was not Mobei-Jun that made me…ill, as you say. I merely talked with him, and he left.”

Luo Binghe breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

“You are certain?”

“Yes.”

“Does Shixiong know what caused him to suffer? It was not a qi deviation…”

Shizun’s eyes dart about momentarily, and Luo Binghe can tell that whatever hurt him, he knows what did it. Luo Binghe bites his cheek harder, drawing blood.

“It does not matter. As Mu-Shidi said, it is past.”

Mu-Shishu stares at him for a long moment, and Shizun stares right back. His eyes look so tired that Luo Binghe wants to cry. This whole ordeal is his fault; Shizun shouldn’t have to lie to his friends for him. But then again…perhaps Shizun wants to deal with it more privately before he shares the truth with his sect siblings.

“Well, then,” Mu Qingfang says eventually, clearing his throat. “I will report to Sect Leader. Shixiong is correct that there is no point going to war if we do not know who on our side is guilty of collusion. I will encourage caution. I must say, I am thrilled to hear that it was not Mobei-Jun who attacked you. He would be a terrible enemy to have.”

“He can be reasoned with,” Shizun says flatly.

Mu Qingfang squeezes his shoulder and gives a low chuckle. “You must be a demon whisperer,” he quips.

Luo Binghe gulps. His lower lip begins to tremble, so he releases his cheek and bites down hard on it. His breath hitches in his chest. He cannot cry. He will not cry.

“I will let you get some more rest,” Mu-Shishu says, gliding to his feet. “I’ll do my best to keep everyone away for the rest of the day while you regain some strength. In the meantime, I’m sure your disciple will happily tend to your needs. He has been truly excellent.”

Luo Binghe should beam under that kind of praise. He’s usually elated for Shizun to hear good words about him, because it only means he’ll hear more kind words from Shizun later. This time, he’s not so sure. He keeps his head down and waits patiently while Mu Qingfang bows to Shizun once more and leaves.

Shizun’s laboured breathing is once again the only sound Luo Binghe hears. It beats against his eardrums much more loudly than it should.

“You have been looking after me?” Shizun asks after a moment. There’s a particularly soft quality to his quiet voice that Luo Binghe hopes is tenderness. Luo Binghe feels his eyes grow misty.

“Yes, Shizun,” he says, voice thick with unshed tears.

“Thank you.”

Luo Binghe cups his hands and bows. Shizun huffs at him. Such formality has grown rarer between them as the years have passed, but Luo Binghe doesn’t know where he stands. Shizun is Shizun. It doesn’t matter how improper Luo Binghe has been with him in the past, skirting through and in between the boundaries of what makes them master and disciple. He must continue to show the respect that is due.

“Come here, Binghe.”

Luo Binghe steadily approaches, trying to maintain the even flow of his breathing, and kneels back down at Shizun’s bedside. He stares at the floorboards, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill.

“Will you look at me?”

Loathe to disobey an order, Luo Binghe lifts his head. Shizun’s face is filled only with concern, not even a hint of the coldness or disappointment Luo Binghe had seen on it back at the Immortal Alliance Conference. His tears finally burst from his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Shizun!” he sobs. “It was me, wasn’t it? I hurt you. I’m so sorry, I sw-swear I didn’t mean to.”

“Hush, you silly boy,” Shizun says. If he had his fan in his hands, Luo Binghe knows it would be tapping him lightly on the head. “I know it wasn’t you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Luo Binghe sobs harder. “I’m sorry!”

“Why are you apologising? Didn’t I just say it wasn’t your fault?”

Luo Binghe sucks in a shaky inhale, trying to catch his breath. “I – I’m sorry for – for what I am. I didn’t know, I – I mean. I thought I could still be good. I didn’t mean to be bad.”

Luo Binghe collapses over himself and weeps into his knees. He hears Shizun shuffle and then, a moment later, feels Shizun’s hand petting his hair.

“Binghe, sit up, please.”

Luo Binghe quickly forces himself to obey, gritting his teeth together to contain his sobs. Tears still escape from his eyes, falling uninhibited onto his cheeks, and his chest heaves, but he maanges to keep quiet so he can listen to Shizun’s instruction.

Shizun gives him a few moments to gain better control over himself, for which he is grateful.

Once he’s gotten hold of his crying, his chest still instead of quivering, he cups his hands in front of him again and bows. “Shizun, please punish this unworthy disciple. He will endeavour to never do you wrong again.”

Shizun makes a small squeaking noise and grabs his hands. His palms are still cold and clammy, but to Luo Binghe they are still so soft. “Come, sit up here with me.”

Luo Binghe doesn’t question Shizun’s orders – it isn’t his place – and rushes to obey. He sits on the edge of the bed, and from here his eyes are now level with Shizun’s. When he sits down, Shizun doesn’t free his hands. He grips them tightly, and Luo Binghe feels all the blood in his body rush towards them.

“Listen to me very carefully.” Luo Binghe nods seriously. His eyes are still streaming, but he will not move his attention from Shizun’s words for even a moment. He will cry even harder when Shizun punishes him, he knows. And having to wait until Shizun is recovered enough to do it will be torturous, but Luo Binghe can take it. He is not unfilial enough try and get out of paying for his own wrongdoings. But Shizun’s next words confuse him even more. “I should not have said those things to you. This master was…taken by surprise and spoke rashly. I said things I did not mean, and I am very sorry.” Luo Binghe blinks dumbly, Shizun’s words not quite fitting together in his head. “There is nothing wrong or bad about the way that you are, as long as you choose to use it for good.”

Luo Binghe’s tears freeze on his cheeks in his shock. Shizun is apologising to him. He shouldn’t do that…not when Luo Binghe has disgraced him so terribly.

“B-But, Shziun…I practiced demonic cultivation. In secret. I lied to Shizun…”

Shizun shrugs. Shrugs! Luo Binghe must be going crazy. Maybe he fell asleep and this is only a wonderful, ridiculous dream. He will wake up, and Shizun will still be sleeping and Luo Binghe has yet to plead forgiveness for his mistakes.

“Only a lie by omission. Not quite as bad,” Shizun says with a smile that is almost mischievous in the way it inflates his thin cheeks. It looks so painfully fond that it strikes Luo Binghe right in his gut.

“Shizun forgives me…?” he whispers, hardly able to believe what he is hearing.

Shizun tugs at one of his curls. “There is nothing to forgive. You have done nothing wrong, Binghe. You cannot help the way that you were born, and it would be foolish not to take advantage of the gifts nature has given you.”

Luo Binghe squints his eyes in confusion. It sounds an awful lot like Shizun is telling him to continue practicing demonic cultivation. But that cannot be right. Shizun would never…Shizun was so angry…

“You’re a good boy, Binghe. Demonic qi is incredibly strong; think of all the good you could do. You will be supremely powerful, you could have your pick of women and sects. Everything could be yours”

What use does he have for women and sects? He thinks he knows what Shizun is implying, but it isn’t even close to what he wants. Why would he want any of that when Shizun is right here, saying he is good just the way he is? Nothing else could even compare to that.

“Shizun…but…”

“Hm?” Shizun prompts.

“I want to stay. I want to keep cultivating with Shizun.”

Shizun smiles! Luo Binghe smiles, too, but he cannot help but bashfully look down at where Shizun is still gripping one of his hands tightly. He feels a hot flush run down his spine.

“This master will always accept you. Binghe must make whatever choices make him happy. If being powerful will make you happy, then you must do whatever you can to achieve it. If you feel you need to leave to do that, I will, of course, support you in every way I can. But if you do wish to stay…this master would like that very much.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really!” he says impatiently, pulling again on a lock of Binghe’s hair. “How many times do I have to say it? Are you fishing for compliments?”

Luo Binghe giggles at Shizun’s teasing. Ning Yingying was right. Shizun is his best friend. How could he not be? Shizun is so warm and caring, even when Luo Binghe is not entirely sure he deserves it. He will spend the rest of his life trying to be worthy of the love and kindness Shizun has shown him.

“Now, Binghe, you did not say if you accept this master’s apology. You do not have to do so; I will try to make it up to you any way I can.”

“Shizun needn’t apologise to this disciple!” he says quickly.

Shizun lets go of his hands and his hair and begins wiping away the tears on his face. Luo Binghe blushes deep red, his skin throbbing beneath Shizun’s fingertips.

“Of course, I do. I made you cry.”

“But, Shizun…”

“You’re allowed to be mad at me, you know. You don’t have to forgive me right away.”

He lets his eyelids droop low. His long lashes brush Shizun’s hand where he dabs the tears away from Luo Binghe’s face. He wants to hold Shizun’s hand again, and have Shizun hold his.

“I wasn’t mad at Shizun. Shizun said he didn’t mean it, so there is no reason to be upset.”

“If you insist,” Shizun sighs.

His hands fall from Luo Binghe’s face. Impulsively, he catches them before they can retreat. He traces the lines of the bruises on Shizun’s wrists, mournfully considering all the ways Shizun has suffered because of him over the last three months. It doesn’t matter what Shizun says. Even if Luo Binghe didn’t curse Shizun himself, he still knows it was somehow his fault.

But the fact that Shizun is willing to suffer for him…

It makes his heart warm.

He lifts Shizun’s hand to his lips and presses a reverent kiss into his knuckles.

“Is Shizun really safe now?” he murmurs into his skin, looking once more at the pretty blue lines on the back of his hand.

“Yes, don’t worry. Nothing will ever try to hurt you again.”

Surprisingly, Shizun doesn’t pull away from his errant kiss. He allows Luo Binghe’s lips to linger where they shouldn’t for far too long. Luo Binghe blushes even deeper at the acceptance of it.

“Will Shizun allow his disciple to draw him a bath?”

Luo Binghe begins to massage his thumbs into Shizun’s palms, and Shizun hums at the soft pressure.

“That would be lovely, Binghe. Make it warm.”

Luo Binghe turns over Shizun’s hands and kisses his palms. Once again, Shizun allows him to do so without complaint, and Luo Binghe takes full advantage.

“Yes, Shizun.”

Things, for the most part, return to normal surprisingly quickly. Shizun is eager to fall back into his regular routine and continue teaching. He jumps back into it with exuberance, being extra patient and affectionate with his disciples. Most importantly, he allows Luo Binghe to follow him around like a faithful dog, checking his meridians and ensuring no disciples give him any back talk, without complaint.

In the days after he first wakes, Shizun meets with each of his sect siblings and soothes their anxieties and talks of war, and their grumbling settles down. But when he meets with Shang-Shishu, the two have a strange conversation Luo Binghe cannot piece together. He waits outside, his keen senses picking up fragments of an argument he doesn’t quite understand. Something about aiming for the sky and a cucumber, and eventually Luo Binghe figures out they’re talking about something that Shang-Shishu has written. Which is odd, because before this very moment Luo Binghe has not seen Shizun and Shang-Shishu exchange more than a handful of words, let alone share important documents.

He supposes some of Shang-Shishu’s logistical work from An Ding Peak must surely pass Shizun’s desk often enough, though, so he decides it is best to pay it little mind. Especially because when Shizun steps out of Shang-Shishu’s study, he seems perfectly happy, and Luo Binghe gets a small, wicked satisfaction from how flushed and tense Shang Qinghua looks. Whatever they argued about, he is sure that he is on Shizun’s side.

“Will Shizun consent to listen to a new song this disciple has been practicing? I am keen to receive instruction,” he says, bouncing on the balls of his feet, as they leave a red-faced Peak Lord Shang behind. When Shizun is in a good mood like this, Luo Binghe always receives the kindest words and most gentle critiques on his guqin playing, and he greedily laps it up at every opportunity.

“Yes, though I’m sure Binghe doesn’t need my help.”

They continue like that, Luo Binghe falling easily back into the role of dutiful disciple and Shizun into that of an affectionate master. But something has changed. It cannot be avoided, no matter how much Luo Binghe wants to pretend it never happened. Everything at Jue Di Gorge is forgotten. The Immortal Alliance Conference was just a terrible, unforeseeable tragedy they must all put behind them.

And yet sometimes, when Luo Binghe closes his eyes, he sees Shizun’s cold, impassive face bathed in firelight. He hears Shizun’s disappointment, his disgust. He imagines Shizun stabbing him through the heart and casting him down to hell.

He tells himself it was just as Shizun said. A momentary shock that made him say things he didn’t mean.

But Shizun is…different. He’s quieter.

Always a man of few words, Luo Binghe initially assumed he was just being more reticent while he recovered the rest of his strength. But the weeks pass by, and Luo Binghe watches a dark, sorrowful shadow drape itself over Shizun’s face more often than he would like.

No amount of Luo Binghe’s guqin playing can cheer him up.

Shizun doesn’t want to talk about it, that much is clear. So Luo Binghe, being the ever-dutiful disciple he is, doesn’t mention it. He pretends everything is normal, thinking it will make Shizun happy. He will do anything to make Shizun happy.

He trains diligently, works on poetry and music with Shizun’s gentle instruction. He doesn’t leave Shizun’s side. Every time a call comes from down the mountain, Luo Binghe successfully shucks it off onto Ning Yingying and Ming Fan. Da-Shixiong complains, because he barely knows how to do anything else, but Ning-Shijie seems to agree with Luo Binghe’s assessment that Shizun should not be left alone. She says nothing, only sending him a determined nod when he asks her to take their assigned missions.

It means that Luo Binghe has time to gently coax Shizun through a return to normalcy. If he can show Shizun that nothing has changed, perhaps it will become true. He will show Shizun that he can be good. He will never give him cause to doubt it again.

“Good form, be sure to manage your strength rather than exerting yourself all at once,” Shizun instructs while they spar in the low light of dusk one evening.

Luo Binghe’s heart sings under Shizun’s praise. Despite Shizun’s hinted acceptance, Luo Binghe hasn’t called for Meng Mo or continued his demonic training. Maybe he will, one day, but it feels too soon. And he wants to see how far he can take his skills using the traditional methods. He wants Shizun to be proud of him.

If Shizun expects him to start outwardly training with demonic qi, he says nothing

Luo Binghe falls into step, charging spiritual power through his hands. Without a sword, he has the advantage of freer movement, not pinned down by close combat. He strikes fast and hard, but with only a fraction of his strength. Shizun dodges him easily and strikes back quickly. Channelling his own power through a sword makes him more precise and deadly, but Luo Binghe certainly has the advantage where brute strength is concerned.

He grins, feeling the rush and excitement of a good fight running through his veins, as he pulls back his arm to launch a powerful blast that will detonate behind Shizun’s right shoulder as he glides away. But Shizun doesn’t move.

Shizun freezes.

And for just a moment…Luo Binghe swears he sees fear. Shizun’s eyes go wide and he tenses all over. His face pales to a sickly white that sends a chill running down Luo Binghe’s spine. He only just manages to change his aim and send his spiritual blast hurtling towards the ground.

Shizun leaps back from it, skuttling away like a frightened mouse, and Luo Binghe gasps in horror.

“Shizun, are you alright?”

With a quick blink, Shizun’s face is back to normal. Luo Binghe might even have been imagining it. He could tell himself he was seeing things. Shizun only lost concentration for a moment, that's all. Maybe he isn’t fully recovered or worked himself too hard today.

But Luo Binghe knows better.

Shizun clears his throat. “Yes, Binghe, th-this master is just fine.”

His eyes glaze over and he stares off into the distance, that far-away, mournful shadow settling over his face. Luo Binghe hates it. He wishes he could fix it. How is it fair that Shizun has suffered so much, and is still suffering? He never did anything wrong.

If he ever finds out what caused Shizun so much pain, he will tear it to pieces with his bare hands.

“Let’s stop for the day,” Luo Binghe decides. Shizun’s eyes furrow and he gives a slight nod and lowers his sword. It shakes in his hand, and Luo Binghe pretends not to notice.

Luo Binghe gives his warmest smile and leads them both away from the training grounds. He takes them to Shizun’s favourite spot, on the edge of the bamboo grove, and sits on one of the stone benches. Shizun often comes here to meditate, or to read his romance novels in peace while he pretends to meditate. Luo Binghe likes to hover at a distance and watch the breeze dance between the strands of his long hair. He figures it is a place that Shizun associates with peace and quiet, and he hopes the effect isn’t fettered by his presence here.

Shizun, still holding himself tense, sits down next to him. But when Luo Binghe twists his body so he can see Shizun better and their knees brush momentarily together, Shizun flinches.

Without a word – but with a painful pang in his chest – Luo Binghe scoots another inch away to give Shizun more space and folds his hands on his lap in front of him. He understands, of course. Shizun may have accepted him, but that doesn’t mean the knowledge of his demonic heritage is something he has yet come to terms with.

“Is Shizun frightened of me?” he asks gently.

Shizun’s whole body sags, his spine folding over, and he sinks his head into his hands. Luo Binghe wants to hold them and count each wrinkle on his knuckles with his lips. He twists his palms together, forcibly holding them tight so he doesn’t reach out into Shizun’s personal space.

“No, Binghe,” he says with a tired sigh. Luo Binghe can do nothing but believe him.

“Is Shizun afraid of demons?” he tries instead.

Shizun just gives a dry chuckle. “Less so than most people, I imagine.”

Luo Binghe doesn’t say anything more, unwilling to push Shizun any further. If he says he isn’t afraid, then Luo Binghe will believe him. The last thing he wants is for Shizun to be afraid of him, so he soaks up the words as if they do not still hurt him somehow. He doesn’t want to remember the momentary terror he’d seen in Shizun’s eyes. He’d rather forget it altogether. Everything is perfectly fine. Evertyhing is back to normal, just like it used to be.

Except it isn’t. And Shizun is different now.

His illness changed him.

Luo Binghe remembers the bruises in the shape of fingers he’d seen around Shizun’s neck. Something had hurt him. Hurt him enough to change him like this. To make him flinch at sudden noises and constantly look over his shoulder. To struggle to sleep and cry when he thinks Luo Binghe cannot hear. To flinch at Luo Binghe.

He will kill it one day, whatever it is. Whatever hurt his Shizun will die a thousand painful deaths for so much as considering harming him.

“Binghe shouldn’t worry himself about me,” Shizun says after a long, silent moment. He sits up straight and sends Luo Binghe a smile that would, in any other circumstances, be completely convincing. But Luo Binghe thinks he’s coming to recognise the small ways Shizun often lies to him.

“I do,” Luo Binghe replies quietly. “Shizun has so often cared for me and protected me. I would like to do the same for Shizun, if he’ll let me.”

Shizun stares at him and Luo Binghe stares back, hoping his face shows his sincerity. Shizun’s eyes are so beautiful, even as hooded and sad as they have been lately. Shizun turns his face away and looks out into the bamboo grove, heaving a deep sigh. Luo Binghe wants to caress the pain out of him and make him know nothing but peace and quiet and love.

“Binghe…have you ever had a nightmare that felt so real you couldn’t quite tell the difference when you woke up?”

Luo Binghe nods. He knows those kinds of dreams. Ever since Meng Mo, he has avoided them for the most part, but occasional dark images still seize his sleeping mind before he can control them. When he was younger, they were more common. Sometimes, he dreamed his mother still lived and he’d only lost her for a little while. He’d wake and start stumbling around the alleyways trying to find her for half a morning until he remembered.

It always felt so fresh when he eventually did.

But Luo Binghe also knows that the kind of dream Shizun is talking about is far worse. That curse…it had hurt him in a very real way. It left bruises and scars and cuts behind. It ruined Shizun’s body. It inflicted pain. All his wounds have long since healed, but Luo Binghe knows that the scars left on the mind are much more difficult to recover from. They remain, even after the physical wounds are long forgotten.

“Well, this master sometimes feels that way still. It’ll pass.” Shizun tries for a reassuring smile, and Luo Binghe nods like he believes it.

“Does…Shizun wish to talk about it? The things he experienced while he was sick?”

Shizun smiles, but something about it is so painfully sad Luo Binghe feels his eyes well up. His Shizun…his poor Shizun. Luo Binghe would have done anything to suffer in his place. “Binghe would not want to hear it.”

Luo Binghe bobs his head in a small bow. “This disciple is always willing to share the burden of Shizun’s troubles. But perhaps Shizun would be more comfortable talking to his martial siblings.” He ignores the way jealousy twists in his gut at that. He doesn’t begrudge Shizun his friends – in fact, he has seen their very real devotion to him over the past several months. They are very special friends indeed. But Luo Binghe, selfishly, wants to be even more special to him. So special he will need nobody else.

Shizun’s eyebrows raise in an incredulous frown, and he barks a short, rough laugh. “No, they would not understand.”

Luo Binghe gives another small bow, refusing refute anything Shizun says while he still looks so fragile, and lets Shizun’s words hover in the air between them. If Shizun doesn’t wish to talk about it, perhaps he can simply be a comforting presence instead. Supportive and strong. He will always carry whatever loads Shizun asks of him.

“Binghe, you’re very sweet,” he continues with a more sincere smile. “When I say that Binghe doesn’t want to hear it, I don’t mean that you’re unwilling, but rather that hearing it would only make you suffer, too.”

Shizun reaches over and pats his knee. Luo Binghe furrows his eyebrows and juts out his bottom lip. The only thing he has wanted, for years and years, is for Shizun to share his private troubles with him. He will take any suffering that comes with it. He will do it gladly.

“Why – what does Shizun mean?”

“I mean…” he says with a playful lilt, tightening his grip on Luo Binghe’s knee in an affectionate squeeze. “You have a tendency to blame yourself for things, and I will do nothing to encourage that kind of behaviour.”

Luo Binghe pouts, but nods at Shizun’s assessment. It isn’t wrong, after all. A part of him still believes Shizun’s sudden illness had something to do with him. Shizun was perfectly fine when aiming a sword at Luo Binghe’s chest, and then as soon as he dropped it and decided to spare his unworthy disciple’s life, Shizun collapsed and suffered grievous wounds – internal and external – for three whole months? It’s simply too much of a coincidence to overlook.

If anything, the fact that Shizun is saying this now suggests to him that there certainly is something to blame himself for.

“I see what you’re thinking, don’t do it,” Shizun says, waggling a finger in his face.

“As Shizun commands.”

Shizun returns both of his hands to his lap and minutely scoots closer to Luo Binghe, trying to make the action look accidental. Luo Binghe smiles fondly at him and extends his leg slightly, so it brushes against Shizun’s. This time, he doesn’t flinch.

“I just need a little time,” he says. His hands fiddle with the hem of his long sleeves. “I know I have nothing to fear, here with you. My body will figure that out eventually.”

“If there is anything this disciple can do to help…”

“Hm, actually there is,” Shizun says, nodding seriously. “You can continue being you. You can make me congee and play your guqin and grow up well. That is plenty.”

Luo Binghe chuckles and lowers his chin to his chest, feeling strangely embarrassed. “This disciple will do all that and more. Whatever Shizun likes.”

Shizun smiles widely and reaches out to pat Luo Binghe’s head. Luo Binghe eagerly lowers himself to allow Shizun to reach better and purrs at the attention. To have Shizun with him everyday is plenty for him, too. There is nothing else he needs. As for power…as long as he has enough of it to protect Shizun, that is more than enough.

“Cute,” Shizun mumbles under his breath, low enough that Luo Binghe barely hears it. He beams anyway and pushes his head more firmly into Shizun’s hand, blushing ferociously. Shizun chuckles at his disciple’s cheekiness and his face heat, too. “I will always do my best to protect you, Binghe,” Shizun says quietly.

Luo Binghe hopes that, one day, he may return the favour.