Liu Qingge hops from Cheng Luan with acuity, striding to the door of Shen Qingqiu’s hosue without pause in one fluid motion. For some reason, his fist trembles as he raises it to knock.
He gathers his breath. He’s not afraid, and yet he hesitates, unfamiliar emotions churning in his lower dantian, butting up against where his qi usually circulates and is now cut off from him.
Frowning, he lowers his hand and instead kicks the door open. There; simple. The hinges don’t even protest, well-used to this treatment.
He walks into the room, already scowling.
Shen Qingqiu is there, of course– and so is the demon Luo Binghe. Their configuration is slightly surprising, but not overmuch. Shen Qingqiu sits as flawless jade, robes draped just so over his elegant wrists, clad in a mere two layers with his elaborate outer robe hanging by the door.
Of course, he should be comfortable in his own home, but seeing it makes Liu Qingge’s chest clench. Shen Qingqiu’s hair flows softly over his shoulders, completely loose, which feels even more inappropriate than the state of undress.
He’s pulled a table up to the futon, upon which rests a qin, and his fingers pluck delicately, confidently– and sporadically, obviously composing instead of playing [reciting?] something already established. Or at least he was until Liu Qingge barged in.
The demon is sitting on the floor, an oddly content look on his face. His chin is all but resting on Shen Qingqiu’s knee, body curled against the futon loosely.
Abruptly, he feels like the worst kind of interloper. Shen Qingqiu’s pants have ridden up where his legs are tucked under him, showing a flash of pale ankle. Both turn to look at him, Shen Qingqiu’s expression shifting into pleased recognition even as his eyes are barely lifting from the instrument, soft mouth curving a softer bow. Luo Binghe goes from the peaceful expression to something dangerous, cold and frightening all at once, but it– changes, when he sees Liu Qingge.
It thaws only slightly. Luo Binghe blinks, and then looks to his Shizun to take his queue on how to react. Liu Qingge has no doubt if Shen Qingqiu didn’t want to receive him, the demon would throw him out with ruthless [word], but as that’s only proper, he can’t exactly get bent out of shape about it.
Intruding on such a scene–
He’d turn around and leave right now if he could. Instead, Qingge clenches his jaw and takes another step forward. He has to take responsibility.
Forget the demon; Qingqiu can’t use his sword right now. He’s at a severe disadvantage, and without even his guard dog to protect him. Liu Qingge has leashed that beast of his one good use, too. [fix this last sentence to be less awkward]
His jaw works silently.
Finally, he manages to speak.
“Whatever I have to do.” He says shortly. “I’ll do it.”
“Shidi.” Shen Qingqiu’s hand twitches like he wants to reach for a fan to hide his dawning smile, but in the privacy of his own home, there’s not one within reach. Who’d he hide from, his husband? Qingge hasn’t seen him flustered around Luo Binghe behind closed doors in years.
Luo Binghe stands in a flow of red, until his head is a few centimeters above Qingge’s. He brushes imaginary dirt off his trousers.
“I’ll make tea, shall I?” He doesn’t even don that fake simper that makes him seem younger than his years, merely turns to Shen Qingqiu with a small, unconscious smile.
Shen Qingqiu tips his face up to him like a flower toward the sun, humming, pleased. His returning approval is quiet, like Qingge hadn’t entirely disturbed the domestic scene; like it could continue with him right there, despite the interruption.
Luo Binghe’s hand trails down Shen Qingqiu’s calf as he passes, skating featherlight against the ankle. Intimate; thoughtless.
“Did Shidi find any more information about the scroll?” Shen Qingqiu unfolded his legs like a swan might ruffle its wings, graceful and unthinkingly beautiful. He stretches his arms far above his head, cracking his back and neck from the long period of stillness.
[make lqg answer the question or change the question. Maybe qingge answering that they should wait for binghe or sqq saying nevermind let’s wait for binghe]
His sleeves slip down a little, flashing the delicate insides of his wrists. With his hair down, and undressed like this–
Liu Qingge looks sharply away.
Foolish! He shouldn’t be thinking these kinds of things. Except…
No. Chest tight, Qingge forces his thoughts away. Regardless of his… distasteful obligations… Shen Qingqiu doesn’t– can’t– factor into that.
Thinking of him like that… He might as well think of Luo Binghe instead; at least that fortune will be coming true.
Qingge’s mouth turns down heavily. Suddenly needing to busy his hands, he walks over and lifts the qin, not even stumbling as he realizes he knows exactly where to put it.
Since when is he so familiar with Shen Qingqiu’s house!?
[With despair, he dreads the idea of being even more familiar with it. Of becoming familiar with Shen Qingqiu’s husband.]
Like a man marching to the gallows, Qingge also puts the small table away.
Shen Qingqiu is relaxed and comfortable in his home. His shoulders are loose– his hair is down— and his steps leading Qingge to the low table in the adjoining room are languid, almost lazy.
He’s normally the picture of serene grace; like this, he is smoother than water, all slow like a cat just waking up.
“Begging Shizun’s pardon.” Luo Binghe comes behind with a tea set on a bamboo serving tray. While Qingge’s back becomes ramrod straight, Shen Qingqiu somehow relaxes further; he sinks into his cushion like a tiger into a river, seamlessly, utterly unworried.
Luo Binghe walks also with easy confidence, completely unbothered. And why would he be? Qingge grudgingly concedes that he lives here, too; not as the apprentice he once was, but truly residing here as much as Shen Qingqiu does.
It’s his house too.
Qingge doesn’t have to like it.
He takes a sip of tea because Shen Qingqiu pours it, no other reason. It’s immediately evident that Luo Binghe prepared it. Not only is the temperature perfect, the leaves steeped for the exact right time– even the blend is immaculate, obviously hand-picked, mixed, and preserved by his hand.
There are delicate notes too subtle for Qingge’s tastebuds, but Qingqiu has no such [compunctions]. He lets out a soft moan just from the smell, holding the delicate cup close to his mouth and letting the steam waft up to him.
Qingge’s mouth goes dry. He takes another sip of the annoyingly delicious tea to compensate.
In the past, Binghe would be radiating smugness from his position next to Shen Qingqiu. Now, he just watches with quiet pleasure, head propped up on his hand. His elbows sprawl inelegantly on the table.
Qingge kind of wants to fight him about it, hand twitching towards his sword, but he restrains himself.
This is, unfortunately, his house too.
And he can’t afford to get too distracted, much as he’d love to put off this talk. Among… other things.
Ugh.
Coward that he is, he takes his time with the tea, even accepting another cup when it’s offered– by Luo Binghe, surprisingly. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to disturb Qingqiu’s almost indecent enjoyment of his first cup, or risk Qingge breaking the elaborate, obviously expensive tea pot.
“Thanks.” He grunts, minding his manners in Shen Qingqiu’s home. If the demon doesn’t start a fight, Qingge won’t either. Today.
Luo Binghe blinks at him, seemingly surprised. Perhaps he doesn’t think Qingge capable of such, despite his upbringing and position. Qingge bites back a snarl. He inhales deeply.
Two cups later, it’s Shen Qingqiu who brings up [chinese version of elephant in the room]. He pulls the acursed scroll from his sleeve and sets it on the table between them like a [chinese version of a bomb], cheeks flushed a [different word than delicate since I’ve used it three times so far] pink.
[make qingge casually say “oh yeah” that the victor can’t lie to the vanquished for the duration of the contract, well into it. He didn’t think of it as a serious issue.]
“Shixiong and his husband tried a few things.” Shen Qingqiu begins cautiously/carefully. Qingge fights the urge to avert his eyes.
“More than a few.” Luo Binghe demurs with amusement into the rim of his tea cup, eyes glittering.
Tried some things– from the ‘sex list’ as Luo Binghe so crudely put it!?
Luo Qingge spins around to eye Luo binghe, specificlaly the [go back add visible chains on his neck when he lounging?] skin visible with his audacious, open-front robe.
The chains at his wrist are still there. The chains wrapping around his throat and dipping down between his– Liu Qingge jerks his eyes back up, but the demon only smirks lazily, as though flattered by the attention.
As if!
Mottled color breaks out across Liu Qingge’s cheeks and he grips Cheng Luan before he can help himself.
Only Shen Qingqiu’s voice pulls him out of it.
“Binghe.” He chastises, the steam from his most recent pour heating his cheeks. He holds the cup in front of his face the way he would a fan, even though it’s mostly his own hands blocking the view.
Isn’t that enough tea for everyone by now!?
Qingge manages to release the hilt of his sword. He puts both hansd on his knees and if his fingers immediately clench on the fabric of his trousers, what of it!? It’s not like the other two can see under the table.
“Did it work.” He bites out.
“Hmm?” Binghe flutters his lashes.
“Be nice, Binghe.” Shen Qingqiu says, rolling his eyes. “Ah… no. It didn’t. The words on the contract stayed perfectly red.”
“Damn.” Liu Qingge says gruffly.
“It would have been too convenient, I suppose.” Shen Qingqiu sighs.
“Cheer up, Shizun. It could still be fun.” That demon–
The words register.
The table moves. The table moves across the floor several inches, and Liu Qingge realizes it’s because he’s jerked to his feet, heedless of the barrier.
“Fun!?” He demands, ears burning.
Luo Binghe’s eyes had widened, generous mouth dropping open in surprise– clearly more of a reaction from Liu Qingge than he was expecting. He got to his feet as well.
“You’d joke about this?” His voice is louder– ah, he’s shouting.
“Shidi…” Shen Qingqiu, placating. Liu Qingge feels a hot rush of shame as he notices the other peak lord’s cup had sloshed over in the commotion, a few drops of tea falling onto his robes.
All of the fire leaves him in an instant.
He sits down miserably.
“Apologies.” He bites out, and has to busy himself counting dust motes to calm down.
“It’s fine. Sit down, Binghe! I said it’s fine.” Shen Qingqiu adjusts his arms and his posture with utmost grace, as though nothing had happened. Luo Binghe is slower to recover, sitting down stiffly.
The demon is frowning.
“This might be harder than I thought.” He says, nonsensically.
Shen Qingqiu seems to understand, though. He reaches a hand across and takes up his disciple’s, rubbing soothing circles along his first knuckle. Liu Qingge’s shifts his own hands restlessly in his lap.
“Don’t worry.” Shen Qingqiu says quietly. “It’ll work out.”
“Mm. You’re right, as always.” Luo Binghe looks up through suspiciously wet lashes, his expression doing convoluted things Qingge doesn’t bother to decipher.
“Thanking Shizun.” He murmurs, flipping their hands so Binghe can draw them into his other hand, cupping Shen Qingqiu’s between both of his– larger, several shades darker, the fingers thicker and less elegant.
But not by much.
“What.” Qingge’s voice is so gravelly he has to swallow and try again. Shen Qingqiu immediately frees his hand to pour Qingge another cup of tea, surely cool by now– no, the teapot is marked with a talisman. Of course.
“What did you try.” He manages, face burning.
And it turns out Shen Qingqiu does have a fan, after all, because one whips out of his sleeve just as his ears flush pink, and suddenly his expression is hidden behind its subtle to-fro wave.
“Shizun didn’t let me see the list directly.” Binghe picked up, thankfully more serious, though Qingge had already resolved to let his irritating words fly over his head, as unbothered as a master under a waterfall. The water would break over his shoulders, but he would not break under it, cultivating with utter composure.
Do you worst, demon!
His long fingers, freed from Qingqiu’s pity, trace along the edge of the scroll’s parchment. Qingqiu’s hand twitches around his fan, obviously wanting to reach out and slap Binghe’s away.
Qingqiu clears his throat.
“We tried an item from the middle of the list, and another from the very top. Neither fulfilled the requirement.” Shen Qingqiu says. “This master thought at first they simply had to be completed in order, but not even that helped… I fear it might take both of you.”
Qingge startles. Qingqiu’s shoulders had slumped as he visibly decided to be more candid than the layers of refined dignity that he usually wore so effortlessly. Using ‘I’…
Qingge tries to be flattered at being witness to such unravelling and fails utterly.
He clenches his teeth.
Where to start…?
“There’s any easy way to find out.”
Qingge turns around, expecting to see more smug amusement, only to see in surprise that Luo Binghe is being unexpectedly sincere. He’s not smirking, though his eyes are fixed on Qingge without blinking.
“Whatever it takes to get our cultivation restored.” Qingge says, resigned.
“Shidi…” Qingqiu’s voice has notes of worry. He folds up the fan. “This isn’t the kind of thing you should do because you’re forced to. We can find another way.”
“We can’t afford to wait that long.” Binghe frowns, thoughful. He eyes Xiu Ya, laying on a place of honor in the front room.
Shen Qingqiu starts to protest further, but Qingge cuts him off.
“He’s right.” He says, ignoring the rush of surprise on Luo Binghe’s face as the demon sits up straighter. “You’re– we’re all sitting ducks like this. The sooner we get this resolved, the better.”
Luo Binghe sat back on his palms, eyeing him with a glint of something.
Shen Qingqiu wrestled with that a moment. He pulled the document closer.
“Very well.” He said finally, with the air of great defeat. “If you’re sure.”
“It won’t be that bad, Shizun.” Luo Binghe adjusted his [posture but sitting. Pose?], leaning close enough that he could brush a lock of hair behind his husband’s ear. “It’s hardly torture.”
“Speak for yourself.” Qingge bit out, but kept himself rigid so he wouldn’t take the easy way out. If he tackled the demon, even without their cultivation, they could spend hours fighting until they were too exhausted to go through with anything, let alone… anything strenuous.
His ears burned hot.
Luo Binghe’s eyes flashed red, fixing Lui Qingge with a hot look. A smirk began to curl like the first hint of smoke on his lips, the promise of fire.
“Let’s see if it even works.” Luo Binghe said to Shen Qingqiu, though his eyes didn’t leave Qingge. “We can’t assume this is the right solution.”
‘This’, right. As if… As though…
“What is on this list?” Qingge demands, just to get it out there. Maybe if Luo Binghe thought it ‘wasn’t that bad’, it really wasn’t.
Qingge can admit, privately at least, to a… rather extreme lack of experience. In this department.
Funny. It hadn’t bothered him in the slightest until this conversation.
Even Luo Binghe turns to Shen Qingqiu, with a ravenous interest on his face that he tried and failed to hide behind mere curiosity.
“Ah.” Shen Qingqiu fans his face. “Let’s see… We need not worry about the rest of the list. I think… that is, let’s just worry about the first day’s prompt!”
“This husband will be generous and allow that.” Luo Binghe leans forward, brushing his lips along Qingqiu’s jaw. “For now.”
“Binghe! Behave in front of your Shishu.” The thwap of Qingqiu’s fan to Binghe’s shoulder was merciless and unhesitating.
Luo Binghe had the nerve to laugh, the sound soft in a threatening kind of way.
[oh maybe qingge thinks he can beat binghe if both don’t have qi. That’s fun]
[maybe save that for later?]
“But Shizun.” He grins shamelessly. “Aren’t we about to behave incredibly poorly together?”
Horrible! The worst! Maybe if Qingge killed him, the contract would be rendered null and void.
The thought of Shen Qingqiu’s face– of Shen Qingqiu, widower– caused him to flinch hard, though he carefully kept his face absolutely still and outwardly did not move.
Memories of those three awful years, with Shen Qingqiu pale, quiet, often red-eyed and listless– of Shen Qingqiu refusing to eat—
No. Annoying as he was, as awful as he was, he would not be killing Luo Binghe, not when Shen Qingqiu still turned to him with a smile.
The Shen Qingqiu of now wacks his fan hard on Binghe’s forearm, vibrant and alive enough to bring amusement to Liu Qingge.
“This master expects his husband to treat his Shishu with the utmost respect.” He says, critically. “If you do this…”
‘Treat him respectfully’, who!? And what’s this ‘poorly behaved together…?’
Qingge finds himself speaking without properly weighing the words.
“This really is a sex list, isn’t it?” He asks, despair strong.
Luo Binghe throws his head back and laughs, eyes crinkling hard with mirth. The sound makes Shen Qingqiu’s whole face soften with affection and– probably, though Qingge hates to admit it– love.
It’s like his ribs are carved open, to see that kind of expression on Shen Qingqiu’s face.
“Control yourself.” He snaps at Luo Binghe, who eventually does. He cozies right up into Shen Qingqiu’s personal space, practically purring.
“Shizun,” He says. “Pray tell what the ‘prompt’ is?”
Shen Qingqiu has blushed several times today, the color usually modest: a touch of pink here, the refined flush of dawn there. Now his face slowly turns a dramatic shade of red.
Qingge has seen him color more in this one conversation than he has all the years before, combined.
Just what the fuck is on this list!?
“Ah, does Binghe understand the… purpose behind this kind of list?”
“This disciple can imagine.” He half drapes himself over Shen Qingqiu in the kind of display Liu Qingge would usually look away from, or leave their company outright.
“No, no! That’s the thing!” Shen Qingqiu– it’s not a laugh. It might be a high-pitched sound of what would be nerves on anyone else, but what does he have to be nervous about? It’s a noise Shang Qinghua often makes.
“Shizun?” Binghe drops the act, leaning in somehow closer. He wraps a comforting arm around Shen Qingqiu’s shoulders, drawing him close. Shen Qingqiu’s shoulders quake.
Liu Qingge almost jumps to his feet in pure alarm. A quick glare from Luo Binghe pins him into place, before the demon turns his full attention to his husband.
“It’s not supposed to be real.” Shen Qingqiu laments into Luo Binghe’s shoulder. “It’s just for writing purposes. A prompt, like the essays you were assigned not too long ago.”
“I know it’s just for Shang Qinghua’s yellow books, Shizun.”
“Yellow– urgh. I guess you could call them that. This is all Airplane’s fault.”
“That language– what’s that mean?”
“It’s Shang Qinghua’s pseudonym when he writes.” Shen Qingqiu explains casually. “The language is a common one, often taught as a second language where I’m from.”
All at once, Shen Qingqiu jerks away from Luo Binghe, eyes widening with horror as he stares blankly. Qingge is on his feet in an instant.
“I didn’t mean to say that. I didn’t know I could say that.” Shen Qingqiu’s words rush out, breath fast, hands tightening to the point of white knuckles on Luo Binghe’s robes. “How am I saying that!?”
“Calm down.” Luo Binghe says at once, soothing him. “It’s okay, everything’s okay. Liu Qingge, do you know what’s going on?”
A sharp look at him, and Liu Qingge falls back into his seat like a puppet with its strings cut.
“Yes.” He finds himself saying around a sour taste, gesturing. “I think so– it’s that thing. The contract makes it so he can’t lie.”
Shen Qingqiu turns to Liu Qingge with an expression so– so–
He finds himself elaborating at once.
“Just to us. As long as the contract remains active. It won’t compel him to blurt out whatever he’s thinking like some species of flower. It’s only that any time Shen Qingqiu tries to lie, he’ll tell the truth instead.”
He can’t tell if his words are a comfort, but Shen Qingqiu does relax a little. It’s painful to watch.
“Why didn’t we notice earlier?” Luo Binghe demands.
“Hush.” Qingqiu says quietly, mustering a small smile. “I don’t often lie to my husband, do I?”
Luo Binghe’s face is twisted in unhappiness.
“I’d hope not.” He leans in, resting his forehead on Shen Qingqiu’s. “I really hope not.”
“Ah, that’s fine. I’ll just– be careful. It probably won’t come up again.” Shen Qingqiu laughed a little, somewhat forced, and settled back into his spot with his fan in position.
The familiar posture actually had Liu Qingge relaxing a bit– insomuch as he could, after that.
“Where was this master? Ah. Anyway, the setup is pretty simple. A month of suggestions, for the writer to test himself. If he writes a piece for each day, one a day for the entire month, he wins the challenge.”
The knowledge settles like a lump in Liu Qingge’s stomach. What that foretells… Well, maybe it won’t come up.
Luo Binghe meets his eyes above Shen Qingqiu’s head and he knows the demon had the same thought; one a day, huh?
“So what’s the first day’s prompt?” Qingge asks, working to keep the waspishness out of his tone.
Shen Qingqiu takes a heavy breath behind his fan.
“There are– three to choose from. The author need only pick one.”
“A variety.” Luo Binghe says thoughtfully. “How generous of Shizun to provide for Shang Shishu.”
“It’s not my design.” Shen Qingqiu is quick to deny. “This whole list is one I’ve seen before, a long time ago. I just copied it down.”
His eyes suggested a frown, though it was of course hidden behind the fan. This one painted a winter mountain scene, one that Qingge was startled to realize was Bai Zhan covered in snow.
“Ah, this master should have taken more care. I’ll definitely clear my desk next time. But too late, too late… Okay. The first day’s prompt.”
He was clearly working himself up to it. Was it really going to be that bad?
Luo Binghe leaned forward and pressed a quiet kiss to Shen Qingqiu’s cheek, for once not being shameless.
“It’s okay, Shizun. Just tell us.”
“Fine. Fine. The first day is hands, time stop and… haha, we shouldn’t worry about the other one.”
Luo Binghe is visibly torn between following up on the third, and attacking the two he’s given like a dog.
“I thought these were meant to be writing prompts?” Liu Qingge’s brow furrows. “Something like, a young cultivator slays a monster?”
Luo Binghe snorts. “You would think of that.”
Liu Qingge glares at him, then turns his focus to Shen Qingqiu, who’s already shaking his head.
“It’s more abstract than that. Think of my students. If I tell them, ‘paint a butterfly’, I get a bunch of butterflies. If I tell them, ‘paint your favorite thing’, I get a big mess of objects, nothing in common.”
He shakes his head fondly.
“The ideal place is somewhere in the middle. For this one, hmm, for ‘hands’, the writer would have to incorporate… well…” Shen Qingiu trailed off.
“What, write about hands?” Liu Qingge doesn’t get it.
Luo Binghe, in contrast, understands at once.
He picks up Shen Qingqiu’s fine-boned hand, perfectly poised for brushwork and sword alike, and uses the other to run a finger over the back of it appreciatively.
“I see.” He says, prompting Shen Qingqiu to groan.
Liu Qingge startles at the sound.
“See what?” He demands.
“Well.” Luo Binghe says, looking at Shen Qingqiu– and then back at Liu Qingge contemplatively. Mischief and concern war out on his face. “It is a sex list.”
“Husband.” Shen Qingqiu complains.
“That will never be the rebuke you intend it to be.” Luo Binghe murmurs, a pleased little smile lighting up his face. “Husband.” He sighs, reverential.
Luo Binghe should count his lucky stars every day that he managed to receive such a blessing!
“Explain.” Liu Qingge orders.
“We can’t just hold hands.” Luo Binghe says, direct for once. Liu Qingge actually appreciates it, despite himself. As irritating as he is, the demon does–usually–know when to stop beating around the bush and get down to business.
“Obviously.” Liu Qingge has braced himself for… much worse than that.
It’s going to be unpleasant. It’s going to be undignified. He might never be able to look either of them in the eye ever again. He might even need several years of seclusion to cultivate away the horrible memories.
But Shen Qingqiu will be able to draw his sword again, and Luo Binghe will be able to protect him.
That’s worth… a great deal.
Certainly worth Liu Qingge’s own pride, especially when he bears no small amount of fault for the situation arising.
He nods sharply.
“Let’s take this somewhere more private.” Luo Binghe decides, standing. He offers a hand that Shen Qingqiu takes without even looking, helped to his feet– and reminding Liu Qingge that they’re both only wearing casual robes, hardly two layers.
“This isn’t private?” Liu Qingge frowns, but stands as well.
“He means the bedroom.” Shen Qingqiu closes his fan with a snap. He inhales as if to draw strength, and then thickens his face. “Come along, Shidi. If we’re going to do this, we might as well get started.”
Well. On that, they could agree.
Might as well get this over with.