Chapter Text
Stumbling out of the Mo clan’s ancestral grave, Shang Qinghua is already shoving the petty vindication of pinching Mobei Jun’s cheeks out of his mind. He hasn’t survived this long by not immediately planning his next three steps.
He’s already rejected the System’s Return Home? Function, and to be honest…even if he still had the choice, he’d rather not use it. What’s left for him at home? Some old noodle cups, a broken computer, a perpetually disinterested family? Ha! He’s invested over six decades into this strange life by now, he’s not giving it up just yet. There’s so much he can see and do now that a demon’s oppressive thumb isn’t hovering over him!
Well. The thumb is definitely still there. Mobei Jun is not going to be merciful if he ever catches sight of Shang Qinghua again.
So, Shang Qinghua concludes, carefully picking his way out into the cold of the Northern Desert, he has to run. And run far, too. An Ding Peak is almost certainly a no-go, even if his stash of funds there is tempting; it’ll be the first place Mobei Jun looks, and let’s be real, Liu Qingge will not be rushing to defend his ass (that’s reserved exclusively for one Peak Lord Shen). Shang Qinghua’s wing of the Northern Palace is an equally poor idea. Even if he only stays for a day to pack up, there’s a good chance someone will see which direction he leaves in.
That leaves…everywhere else in the world.
Namely, however, it comes down to two sets of choices: human or demon realm, and wilderness or civilization? Both have considerable risks. He also needs to take into account where he thinks Mobei Jun will think he’ll go.
His head almost hurts just thinking about it, which is a fun reminder that his arm actually does hurt. Linguang Jun truly isn’t the type to pull his punches, ah. The lingering remnants of Mobei Jun’s demonic energy still pulse in Shang Qinghua’s core, shielding him from the worst of the cold, so he’s able to focus his spiritual energy in on healing his arm. It’s not broken, but the muscles are probably torn. What a mess.
He doesn’t have a fantastic idea of where he is, currently; at least, not enough to place himself on a map. Near the border, he knows, but the Wastes of the North span over a thousand miles (approximately - it’s not like anyone’s measured), so he could be just about anywhere. Damn Mobei Jun and his teleporting.
Still, as Shang Qinghua lets the grand doors of the fortress fall away behind him in the whipping winds, all is not lost. He has a seven day head start, at the very least. And , he thinks gleefully, he has a qiankun pouch full of various supplies that are useful for escaping nasty scrapes. He even sleeps with it! Black Sun Tinder is hardly the most useful thing he has on him, ice brats!
For now, he pulls a fist-sized glass globe from the pouch. It shimmers and gleams with swirling black ice trapped inside, like a captured snowstorm. It is, somewhat literally, wind in a bottle. Or, uh. Orb.
He did, admittedly, take it from Mobei Jun’s vaults- but with permission! It was a rare instance of Mobei Jun rewarding him, allowing him to take a prize from the stash. It’s not Shang Qinghua’s fault that he had insider knowledge on the most useful item to take. In a world without planes, trains, or automobiles, the ability to travel vast distances in short times is king. Why else would Luo Bingge and Mobei Jun be so OP, ah?
As rare as the item - a Globe of Storm’s Passing - is, it’s best to use now. Unlike the very, very small stash of teleportation talismans Shang Qinghua owns, this tool is hardly discreet. Everyone in a five mile radius will see him coming and going. It’s better to use it now, here in the wild when Mobei Jun is incapacitated and his retinue has scattered in fear, rather than wait for an emergency and accidentally give away his destination. He can ride the winds at his whim, set himself down a few miles out from a remote town, and walk the rest of the way.
He’ll probably do a mix of wilderness and civilization. It’s harder to be spotted and tattled on out in the wild, but it’s also a lot easier to just straight up fucking die. He needs supplies, at the very least. And he does have tools to aid with disguising himself.
He rolls the globe in his palm. That just leaves the question of whether to flee to the human realm, or hide under the beast’s nose here in the demon realm. The human realm is tempting; Mobei Jun has no authority there, and can’t just sweep his troops across the land to find a single traitor. Plenty of cultivators there to make a fuss. The demon realm will initially be more dangerous as well, since if Mobei Jun doesn’t know about how fast Shang Qinghua can travel, he will want to search his own realm first. He won’t know how far Shang Qinghua can go.
After the initial sweep, though…hm. Mobei Jun will probably assume Shang Qinghua is in the human realm and focus his efforts there instead. And he may be overconfident in his reach here in the North.
So, between the claws of the beast Shang Qinghua will remain, or at least until this all settles down. He’s confident Mobei Jun won’t search for more than a month or two; he’s never been a terribly patient man. Once Mobei Jun loses interest and commences with his kingly duties, Shang Qinghua can sneak out into the human realm scott-free. Maybe become a soap maker, or even, gasp, a writer! The world shall be his oyster and all that crap.
He only feels a little bit bitter, crunching the glass globe in his uninjured hand, that he has to leave Mobei Jun’s side. It was inevitable, he supposes. No relationship ever lasts, especially not one founded on fear like theirs. But as the frigid Northern winds swirl around his feet and take him aloft, all he can think of is the wretched tone of Mobei Jun’s voice, demanding that he come back.
A month into hiding, Shang Qinghua is feeling pretty good about himself.
Yes, he’s had to regularly dodge Mobei Jun’s soldiers every few days, and yes, it’s cold as tits. Yes, he may or may not have had to dive into a few ponds and random people’s houses in order to avoid search parties. Yes, he has a tiny nick on his chin after shaving off an unimpressive attempt at a beard disguise. But he remains uncaptured!
Demonic towns are, surprisingly, not very different from human towns. A bit more violent, for sure; drunken barfights are more likely to end in death than in a human restaurant, and disputes during haggling over wares tends to lead to bloodshed, more often than not. But at the end of the day, demons are just people, too. They eat, they sleep, they have families, they screw over those families, they have jobs, they fear death. So the hustle and bustle of a village is largely the same, comprising of many people just trying to go about their business.
It must just be the demon nobility who are so prone to developing such alien personalities, Shang Qinghua concludes.
He watches the demon merchant he’s buying rice from carefully as the rice is poured; if demons are the same as humans, then their merchants will gladly short you all the same as well. And he really can’t afford to be skimped on right now. His funds are slim, and while he can practice inedia, he’s found that he weathers the harsh Northern wilderness a lot better on a full stomach.
“There,” the demon grunts, purple hands thrusting the bag of rice at Shang Qinghua.
“Get a move on.”
“In a rush?” Shang Qinghua asks, carefully stowing the bag away.
“Closing up shop for a bit.”
Shang Qinghua hums. It’s a sentiment he’s been seeing in the few towns he’s passed through this week; a hurried bustle, a sense of hunkering down to weather a storm. He’d ask about it, but- the talisman wrapped on the inside of his wrist heats up warningly. Shang Qinghua thanks the demon and beats a hasty retreat. Therein lies the other downside of his current fugitive status; he hasn’t spoken to anyone for more than five minutes in weeks, and besides how crazily antisocial it makes him feel, it’s also making him antsy from lack of information.
The talisman was developed by Qing Jing a few years back for spying purposes, which Shang Qinghua happily appropriated. It works for 24 hours a piece, muddying the memories of anyone you’ve spoken to so you slide through their fingers like water. The downside is that it will only work on any interaction lasting less than 5 minutes; any longer, and it simply fails.
How is anyone supposed to get decent gossip in that little time?! He can’t even listen in on conversations easily, because demons are so suspicious at times that they’ll gut you just for the offense of being too close!
So yeah, he hasn’t exactly been a social butterfly lately.
He winds his way carefully down the street, making sure he doesn’t come into close contact with anyone. He isn’t wearing any particular disguise; another useful artifact, retrieved from the plot early for Shang Qinghua’s convenience, makes sure that casual eyes tend to overlook him. Like this, he makes his way through the busy merchant stalls and back towards the front gate.
It seems that everyone else has a similar idea as the rice seller. Customers are being herded away after their purchases, canvas overhangs are taken down, wares stored away. There’s a tense air in the marketplace.
When Shang Qinghua focuses, he can hear whispers of conversation on the air.
“...frantic…searching for some-”
“-absolutely crazy, he’s abusing his power!”
“...if I were…made him furious…dare show my face again!”
“Who is it?”
“The new Mobei Jun’s forces- when they find him-!”
Nerves tense for a brief moment at the name, before Shang Qinghua forces himself to relax. If people are commenting on it, Mobei Jun must be pushing for a more extensive and extreme search, sweeping across the North. Enough to make them antsy about trouble. And fuck, if he’s really that mad, then Shang Qinghua really does not want to be caught.
But it shouldn’t be that bad - probably. Even if Mobei Jun intensifies his searching, he can’t come to every single little town or hamlet personally, much less comb every inch of wild land. And Mobei Jun alone is the only one Shang Qinghua doesn't think he could sneak past; the rest of his troops are all chumps. It’ll just be more of the same, idiot meatheads asking for a human that no one has seen, then getting frustrated and moving on. It probably won’t even last more than a week or two.
Mobei Jun does this - did this - often enough for Shang Qinghua to recognize. Get upset about something, get even more upset when Shang Qinghua couldn’t snap his finger and fix it, make a big show of violent force, and then storm off to sulk. It’s just more of the same. All Shang Qinghua needs to do is ride out the tantrum, and Mobei Jun will give up.
It’s fine. It will be. It has to be.
He makes it out of the town gates unscathed, riding the edge of a harried group of gossiping demons. Most likely, he should retreat to his little cave hideout for a few days, wait for the troops to pass through. He should certainly have enough food on hand-
A familiar name catches his ear. He slips a little closer to the group, hoping their distraction prevents him from being noticed.
“...razed a human village to the ground! He seems equally as crazy as his nephew.”
“I’ll say. Did you hear? His face is fried like street food, ha! They say a little human got ‘im.”
“I’d kill a few humans too, fuck.”
“Hope the damn cultivators don’t pitch a fit about it. We’re a little too close to the border, I don’t want them dropping it on our heads.”
“That’s Linguang Jun for ya. Never liked that guy.”
At that point, one of the demons - big teeth, bigger horns - starts eyeballing Shang Qinghua suspiciously for hovering too close. That’s his cue to slink away, he supposes. In his awkward sideways crab-shuffling to get away without turning his back on a leery demon, he manages to get his hair ribbon tangled on a branch. He curses and lets the damned bush have it.
It seems that even when things are sort of going his way, his life is defined by being cowardly and suffering indignities.
He has, however, picked up some delightful information! It’s a good thing he didn’t go to the human realm, as it seems Linguang Jun is searching for him there. And out for blood. More than blood, actually, he’s probably after Shang Qinghua’s whole skin. Ha! What Shang Qinghua wouldn’t give to see Linguang Jun’s handsome face now, scarred by a lowly human servant. That’ll teach him to think twice before meddling in his nephew’s affairs again.
Well. Not that Shang Qinghua will be there to stop him again. That’s part of the package deal in running away, isn’t it - no longer having to clean up after a bratty prince’s murderous family. It’s a good thing! No longer an issue to make Shang Qinghua’s hair go gray in spite of his cultivation.
But it’s the thought that counts. It’s like a parting gift from Shang Qinghua! Haha, here, your uncle won’t be so quick to try to usurp you again because I melted half his face off! Please don’t kill me the next time we meet!
Ha. Yeah.
Anyway. He does feel, perhaps, a teensy bit bad that a whole village of NPCs got frozen to smithereens because of him; but he feels very good about not having been in said village during said freezing. This feels like a good moment to give himself a mental pat on the back, for having the good sense not to flee to the human realm. No creation of his is gonna outsmart him anytime soon!
Shang Qinghua knows he’s not very strong. Not very charismatic or likable, not a genius inventor or godlike warrior or master craftsman. But unlike most of his various martial siblings or his protagonist (or bratty, spoiled, terrible, beautiful Mobei Jun), he knows how to put his head down and work. He knows how to endure. There’s a clever brain rattling around in this skull, god dammit, and he knows how to use it!
So he quickly makes his way back to the little cave he’s sheltering in for the next few days, and clambers up into it, and feels quite pleased with himself. He sets his new provisions aside and double (triple) checks his stock of tools. Everything is as it should be.
He’ll survive. He’ll survive, he’ll escape, and he’ll fucking thrive .
If he says it enough times, it might even come true.