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Liu Qingge thought that everyone involved should have predicted that Shen Qingqiu would react poorly to the news that Cang Qiong would be hosting the first revitalised Immortal Alliance Conference. It wasn’t like the man had spent five years in mourning for his disciple lost at the last one, before everything that followed. But rather than bring this matter up delicately (rather than someone else bringing the matter up delicately, that was, since that wasn’t Liu Qingge’s speciality), even the first tentative beginnings of a discussion turned into an argument amongst his fellow Peak Lords.
“Why can’t Shang-shidi handle it?” Qi Qingqi sniped, arms crossed, tapping her hand-fan against her shoulder with an irritated expression. Fa Qinghai nodded, while Mu Qingfang frowned.
Yue Qingyuan’s answering expression was strained. “Given the… situation at the last Immortal Alliance Conference, this one decided that it would be for the best, both for safety and for the confidence of the other sects in the proceedings, that Shang-shidi not be involved in the hosting of this conference.”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.
“Fair,” Wei Qingwei said.
Across the table, Shang Qinghua leaned back on his cushion.
“Ahh, oh noo, Sect Leader, please don’t punish this one by making him do less work! How cruel, for all of you to have to see what hosting an inter-sect competition is like! I’m sure it will be super easy and no trouble at all. Good luck, guys.”
He clasped his hands together and shook them at the other Peak Lords.
Shen Qingqiu rolled his eyes and leaned around both Yue Qingyuan and Wei Qingwei to hit him over the back of the head with his fan. Liu Qingge gave an approving nod when Shang Qinghua whined and shrimped up, clutching at the spot. Shen Qingqiu must have infused the strike with spiritual energy.
Straightening, Shen Qingqiu struck a flat palm with the fan, glancing around the table without meeting anyone’s eyes. Liu Qingge noticed because Shen Qingqiu usually made piercing eye contact for emphasis, which always irritated him.
“I am sure the eleven of us are capable of organising an event without Shang-shidi’s no doubt valuable insight. Let us discuss delegation. Doubtless, we will require oversight for the guest list, accommodation and provisions for all participating cultivators, safe sourcing of the demonic creatures to be hunted, a suitable location to host, and medical staff and supplies. I would like all of the sects to feel assured there will be no repeats of the previous incident.” Here he glared at Shang Qinghua, who raised his hands in surrender.
“Well said, Qingqiu-shidi,” Yue Qingyuan agreed, sending Shen Qingqiu a wan smile. Liu Qingge eyed it, unsettled. “I’d like to begin planning immediately, so that everything can be ready by, say, late summer? That gives us half a year or so to arrange things.”
Shang Qinghua’s brows raised, and he gave a small whistle. Yue Qingyuan ignored him, ploughing ahead. “I believe it would be advisable to delegate by speciality. Fa-shimei, I would like you to source the prey for the hunt. Mu-shidi, medical. Li-shimei, wards and enchantments for the grounds. Liu-shidi, please consult on both location, prey, and wards; your insight on ideal conditions to challenge competitors without overwhelming them would be appreciated. Shen-shidi, please look into the sect’s resources for accommodations and consult with Li-shimei and Liu-shidi on their assignments. Wei-shidi, Qi-shimei, please be on standby for both materials and suggestions for coordination as we draw nearer to the time of the event. This one will handle general management as well as outreach to our allies and invitations—”
“If you wouldn’t mind, Sect Leader,” Shen Qingqiu interjected. “This one would be more than happy to take Shang-shidi’s place to oversee the general coordination of the event. Sect Leader is busy enough with managing the sect; please leave such simple matters to this junior.” He ducked his head into a shallow bow, which had Yue Qingyuan immediately reaching for his elbow, drawing him out of the bend with a touch.
“This one would be grateful, if it would not be too much to place on Shen-shidi’s plate?”
“Not at all,” Shen Qingqiu said.
It wasn’t that Liu Qingge didn’t understand why Shen Qingqiu would want to take the assignment on himself. Ever since the battle at Maigu Ridge, although he made every effort to appear as stalwart as he had in the preceding decades, Yue Qingyuan had appeared… tired. Less himself. It was a change that Liu Qingge noted, considered, and decided to keep his silence on, but it was one of the reasons he’d begun staying closer to the sect in recent years. He knew that Shen Qingqiu had noticed as well, although he was tight-lipped on the subject. Although Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan had always had a relationship that was difficult to parse, both before and after Shen Qingqiu’s catastrophic qi deviation, they now often spent time together when Shen Qingqiu was free, going on long walks on Qing Jing or taking tea together on Qiong Ding. Liu Qingge was sure that Shen Qingqiu knew more about the Sect Leader’s condition than he did and found it telling that the man would go out of his way to take work off Yue Qingyuan’s plate.
Liu Qingge understood. He just didn’t think the person to handle it should be Shen Qingqiu.
“Qingge, I’m fine,” Shen Qingqiu said when Liu Qingge brought this up. He was at his desk in the bamboo house, going over the official requests for each peak lord to begin preparations.
“I don’t see why someone else can’t do it.”
“Who could?” Shen Qingqiu asked. “The Sect Leader is busy. Shang-shidi wouldn’t be trusted by the other sects. This master is the second-ranked peak lord of Cang Qiong—who else could take on the task?”
Liu Qingge considered this. He would volunteer himself, but he knew that would end in disaster. He didn’t have the mind for things like ‘diplomacy’ or ‘resource management,’ and would certainly cause something to go wrong even if he tried his best. Wei Qingwei was similarly unreliable—all he thought about was swords, and Mu Qingfang was just as single-minded.
“Qi Qingqi,” he suggested. She was a woman. Women knew things about parties.
“Too vindictive. Uninterested in inter-sect unity,” Shen Qingqiu said. He stamped a scroll on the desk a bit too hard. “She prefers to maintain her peak and leave those she considers beneath her to fight amongst themselves. I don’t think that’s the impression Cang Qiong wants to give the rest of the cultivation world.”
“Zhu Qingxian,” Liu Qingge said.
“Same problem. And our guests would riot without alcohol at the event. Jin Qingsong would riot too, if the Brewing Peak wasn’t allowed to represent Cang Qiong.”
“Jin Qingsong, then.”
Shen Qingqiu sighed and finally set down his work to look at Liu Qingge head-on. There was that piercing eye contact again. Liu Qingge stared at his nose.
“Is there a reason Liu-shidi feels this shixiong is too incompetent to host a single conference?” Shen Qingqiu asked.
“Not incompetent. I know you can do it. But you shouldn’t have to.”
“And why is that?”
“You know why.”
“Enlighten me.”
“The last time you went to a conference, your disciple died.”
Shen Qingqiu’s flinch was small, but it was there. “Luo Binghe isn’t dead.”
“No. But you thought he was,” Liu Qingge said.
“I thought he was lost.”
“Shen Qingqiu,” Liu Qingge gritted out. “Be reasonable.”
“Shidi is the one who should listen to reason,” Shen Qingqiu said coolly, and looked back down at his work. “This Shixiong will have no problems with arranging the event. Especially with the rest of my shidimei assisting. Now, does Liu-shidi have a recommendation for the location? That’s one of the first concerns we should square away.”
To Shen Qingqiu’s credit, he was correct that he could host an Immortal Alliance Conference with the utmost competence. Although he lacked the practised efficiency of the An Ding Peak Lord, he was organised, personable, practical, and timely. He set things into motion with the same grace that he ran his peak—he was a person whom people wanted to do things for, which made delegation to other peak lords, hall masters, and outside traders much easier than they might have been if they were being wrangled by anyone else, even Shang Qinghua.
However, doing so wasn’t without consequences.
Liu Qingge sat in the receiving room of the Bamboo House two months before the new Immortal Alliance Conference, a cup of tea growing cold on the table in front of him. Luo Binghe had invited him over for dinner. He’d invited him to come over for dinner around yǒu hour, and Liu Qingge was no longer sure if that had been an optimistic invitation or a desperate one.
When he’d arrived, Luo Binghe had been the one to greet him. The man was dressed in Qing Jing robes, an apron covering the fine fabric, and the demonic huadian on his forehead was visible beyond the soft fall of black curls.
“Shishu. Come in,” he’d said, before turning over his shoulder and calling: “Husband! Liu Qingge is here.”
Shen Qingqiu had appeared a moment later. Liu Qingge eyed him, noting the smudges of tired bruising under his eyes and the ink stain on his right sleeve. Shen Qingqiu smiled at him.
“Thank you for joining us, Qingge. I have a few things to finish up, then I’ll join you two.”
“Shizun, don’t you want to share what you’re working on with Liu Qingge? I’ll bring over some snacks for the two of you.”
Shen Qingqiu waved a hand. “It’s better if I get this done now. You two enjoy them.”
Then he disappeared back into his office, leaving Liu Qingge with a keyed-up Luo Binghe, a plate of qingtuan he had no interest in, and a lot of silence.
Normally, sitting with Luo Binghe in silence wasn’t too bad. Shen Qingqiu was the chatty one amongst the three of them, and it wasn’t uncommon for Liu Qingge and Luo Binghe to simply sit and enjoy each other’s company. Luo Binghe didn’t look like a man enjoying peaceful company, though. The longer the two of them sat with no sign of Shen Qingqiu returning, the more tense Luo Binghe became. Eventually, he was practically vibrating in place.
Liu Qingge opened his mouth to say something—what?—when Luo Binghe shot up off his cushion.
“This one needs to check on the food,” Luo Binghe said, and darted off to the kitchen. Liu Qingge was left alone in the Bamboo House’s receiving room, looking between the doorways each of his hosts had disappeared through.
He sighed and got up.
“Qingqiu.”
Shen Qingqiu didn’t startle when Liu Qingge spoke. Liu Qingge wasn’t sure if that was because Shen Qingqiu heard him come in or because he was too tired to care. He certainly looked exhausted, his forehead resting on one palm while he stared at the pile of scrolls on his desk. Liu Qingge couldn’t see if he was actually writing anything or just looking at them, his brush crasped loosely in his other hand.
“Hm?” Shen Qingqiu said.
“Come eat.”
“In a minute. I need to finish this letter to Zhao Hua Monastery and have it sent out by morning, and it still needs Zhangmen-shixiong’s approval.”
“Come eat and then finish the letter. Yue-shixiong won’t care if he gets your draft now or in a shichen.”
“I’ll forget my place. And there are some other things I need to finish up tonight.” Shen Qingqiu put the brush down and stretched, rubbing the back of his neck like it was sore.
“Luo Binghe is going to pace a hole in the floor if you don’t come and eat whatever thing he’s cooked up this time.”
The smile Shen Qingqiu sent him was thin. “You two go ahead. You shouldn’t let the food get cold.”
Once Liu Qingge had made his contribution to the Conference (a selection of demonic prey captured from various corners of the human and demon realms), he didn’t have much left to do. All his martial siblings were handling logistics of some kind or another, which he was wary of being roped into. So he left on an extended hunt. Two weeks later, he returned to Cang Qiong mountain with a broken nose, bruised rib, and a stack of formerly-deadly vines delivered to Qian Cao, where he assumed they would be used for something. Once he was back on Bai Zhan Peak, he collapsed into his bed for a well-needed nap.
There was a knock on his door. With a groan, Liu Qingge dragged himself up to answer it, noting with academic interest the smear of blood he’d left on his pillow.
“What,” he said, sliding the screen aside and revealing Luo Binghe in his doorway. He blinked. Luo Binghe was not who he had been expecting to be waiting to bother him in the middle of the night immediately upon returning from a hunt.
“Shishu,” Luo Binghe said, which meant he really wanted something. His eyes were averted to the side, and one of his feet was practically scuffing at the ground. “May this one come in?”
Liu Qingge took a step back, and Luo Binghe slipped into his home.
He tried not to feel self-conscious as Luo Binghe glanced around them. His home on Bai Zhan was nothing to write home about, and this was not the first time Luo Binghe had been in it. It was a lot like he was—practical, serviceable. He kept it in good condition for the same reason he kept his sword well taken care of: things that served you did so best when you took care of them in turn. Still, it was nothing like the Bamboo House.
Whatever he was feeling about this imagined comparison made him annoyed. He frowned at Luo Binghe. “What is it?”
Luo Binghe took a deep breath and dropped to one of the cushions at Liu Qingge’s receiving table. Instead of speaking, he held his breath until his cheeks turned pink and then, letting it out in a rush, he said: “Shizun hates me.”
Liu Qingge stared at him. Luo Binghe stared at the table.
“I find that hard to believe,” Liu Qingge said.
Luo Binghe burst into tears.
Sniffling, Luo Binghe sipped at the cup of tea Liu Qingge had given him. It was the only kind of tea Liu Qingge owned, served out of his only tea set—one he kept around for his sister. It did nothing to help Luo Binghe’s uncomfortably maiden-like appearance, with the spare blanket wrapped around his shoulders and his eyes red-rimmed from crying.
“And now he won’t talk to me,” Luo Binghe said, winding down a long and difficult to understand story, the gist of which Liu Qingge gleaned was this:
“He’s being an asshole.”
“Shizun is not an asshole.”
“Debatable,” Liu Qingge said, thinking of many, many occasions that he felt proved the contrary, “but not the point. He’s stressed and unhappy and taking it out on you. Give him another hour to calm down, and he’ll probably come crying to you.”
“Shizun doesn’t go crying to anyone,” Luo Binghe mumbled petulantly, but Liu Qingge could see that his shoulders were losing some of their despairing slump. Sulky was better than weepy in his book.
“No, he doesn’t,” Liu Qingge agreed.
“I just wish he would talk to me. I know he’s stressed about the Conference, but this one is the lord of an entire realm! If Shizun would only share his burdens with me, I could take over some of the preparations. But he insists on doing everything himself. The nearer the conference gets, the more often he’s gone, and when he’s home, he’s always working or tired from working.”
“We should get out of the sect for a while,” Liu Qingge said.
Luo Binghe looked up at him. “What do you mean?”
“He’s been cooped up too long. It’s letting him stew. Stress, bad memories, all of it—he needs to get away from it. Let’s go for a hunt.”
“An expedition,” Luo Binghe said, brightening. “Do you think so? Something really good, some creature that Shizun will have to go to see.”
Liu Qingge nodded. “I’ll find something good. Rare, that he hasn’t seen before. You work on convincing him. Tell him it’s…” he searched for a convincing lie, his mind not particularly accustomed to coming up with them on the fly. “Important. I don’t know, you’ll think of something.”
Luo Binghe sprang from his seat, eyes sparkling. Then they dimmed as he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, maybe tomorrow… when he’s not angry with me anymore.”
Liu Qingge conceded that this might be wise. “Let’s go spar, then.”
“But Qingge, your face—!”
Three sets of footsteps crunched against the forest floor. Luo Binghe’s cloth pack slapped against his back as he walked. He had a qiankun pouch, of course—several, actually, as well as several storage rings and other nifty places to hide away spare food, water, medical supplies, weapons, and so on. But he enjoyed the feel of a real pack; the heft and weight of it, the small exertion of carrying it while travelling.
Behind him, Liu Qingge grunted as a demonic hawk dropped through the tree cover, chased by a flock of smaller birds. Luo Binghe watched him track it with his eyes, his hand going to Cheng Luan for a moment before dropping away. Not notable enough prey for the War God.
From Liu Qingge, Luo Binghe’s graze travelled to Shen Qingqiu. Normally, Shen Qingqiu would be smiling at the sight, maybe telling them some little-known fact about this specific type of hawk, or flying after it to take a sketch. Instead, he was silent. He hadn’t even looked up at the bird, just continued to trudge along with his eyes on the sticks and leaves beneath their feet.
“Shizun,” Luo Binghe tried prompting, falling into step with him. “That bird—this one hasn’t seen one before. What is it?”
Shen Qingqiu looked up, watching as the smaller birds bullied the hawk. “It’s… ah. A Four-Winged Fire Hawk.”
The hawk opened its mouth and a gush of fire burst forth, instantly roasting several of the small birds. The others flew off, leaving the hawk alone as a few small, crispy bodies thumped to the forest floor.
“It breathes fire,” Shen Qingqiu added belatedly.
Liu Qingge and Luo Binghe exchanged a look. Liu Qingge cleared his throat.
“We should be able to see the river we’ll be following soon,” he said, nodding towards the north. “Let’s head to the tree-tops, see if it can be spotted from here. Once we find it, it won’t take long to reach the bay.”
“Perhaps this master would be better able to assist Liu-shidi in navigating if the two of you would tell me where we’re going?” Shen Qingqiu said. His tone wasn’t exactly annoyed, but it was strained, like he was working hard to keep it pleasant. “This one will need to get back—”
“That would ruin the surprise, Shizun!” Luo Binghe said. He smiled and hoped the expression wasn’t just as strained as Shen Qingqiu’s.
Liu Qingge grunted in agreement, and Shen Qingqiu sighed as Liu Qingge began to leap up the branches of the nearest cypress tree. Luo Binghe offered Shen Qingqiu a hand, and the two of them followed after him, all three of them ignoring their spiritual swords in favour of savouring the climb.
When they made it past the leaves and only the thin, white trunk extended above them, Liu Qingge paused on a thick branch and peered around the forested valley which extended beyond them.
Luo Binghe did the same, but paused, the breath stolen from his lungs by the view. The tree was at least a fifty bù in height. As the sun began to set on the horizon, the entire world was cast into brilliant gold. The air was perfectly crisp and still, just cold enough to nip at the skin. Even Shen Qingqiu made an appreciative noise, and didn’t resist when Luo Binghe pulled him down to sit on the branch. A moment later, Liu Qingge dropped down onto Shen Qingqiu’s other side. In silent agreement, all three of them sat breathing in the cool air, watching the birds and beasts dart amongst the trees as the sky slowly turned from blue to pink to orange.
Eventually, Liu Qingge caught Luo Binghe’s eye behind Shen Qingqiu’s head. When he turned back to face the horizon, he said, “Are you ready to talk about it?”
Shen Qingqiu glanced at him. “... to talk about what?”
“What your problem has been recently.”
Luo Binghe hid a wince as Shen Qingqiu bristled.
“What problem?” Shen Qingqiu snapped. Then, perhaps hearing his own hostility, he leaned back and said, more quietly, “... point taken.”
Liu Qingge hummed. “I know you’re stressed. We both do.”
Shen Qingqiu sighed. “I just need to make it through the Conference. Once it’s all settled, it will be at least twelve years before we’ll need to worry about hosting it again.”
“But Shizun, even before the conference, can’t Qingge and I do anything to help you?” Luo Binghe asked. “Shizun has been so busy, and you look unhappy.”
“It’s sweet of you to offer, Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu said. “But it’s really fine. I’m not bothered by some hard work. After all, Shang Qinghua did this all himself. And had time to sabotage it. How much harder can this be?” His words grew slightly bitter at the end, and Luo Binghe saw Liu Qingge’s subtle frown.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Liu Qingge said, gesturing with one hand. “Shang Qinghua fucked it all up. Now you’re fixing his problem, and doing this whole thing by yourself. We can tell it’s bothering you. You’ve never been like this over any of your duties before, not since—” his gaze flickered to Luo Binghe for a moment, and then away.
Shen Qingqiu huffed, not missing his meaning. Luo Binghe knew he was sensitive about the time after he’d pushed Luo Binghe into the abyss. He refused to allow anyone to talk about it in his presence. Luo Binghe only knew as much as he did because he’d interrogated Ning Yingying and Ming Fan thoroughly on the subject, and he was sure there were still parts of those years that Shen Qingqiu hid from him.
“What do you want me to do, Qingge? Just not do the work?”
“Give it to someone else! Like I’ve been saying this whole time!”
Shen Qingqiu’s hands curled into fists against the rough bark of the tree branch. His brows furrowed harshly, and for just a moment, he wore such a ferocious scowl that he looked like he once had, in the first days Luo Binghe was with the sect. He saw his surprise mirrored on Liu Qingge’s face and knew the man was thinking the same thing. How alien the expression looked on Shen Qingqiu now.
“It is this master’s responsibility,” Shen Qingqiu spat. “This master has been entrusted with ensuring the conference goes to plan. Last time, if this one and the other sect masters had provided more oversight—”
“It would have gone exactly the same,” Liu Qingge said. “Because none of us knew that Shang Qinghua was a traitor working for the demons.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“You don’t. I appreciate the two of you attempting to—to cheer me up, or distract me, but it is unnecessary and, frankly, insulting. I am perfectly capable of overseeing the Immortal Alliance Conference myself. As soon as we return to the sect, I will continue to pursue my duties, just as any other lord of this master’s position would.”
By the end of this speech, Shen Qingqiu was breathing heavily. Luo Binghe wanted to reach out to him, but felt entirely forestalled by the expression on his face. He sensed a familiar barrier between himself and his husband that it had been years since he had last brashly forced his way past—pressing him, hunting him, hurting him. He no longer had that rage and grief inside himself that made him want to crash through the walls that Shen Qingqiu put around his heart with force. But without it, he didn’t know how to push his way in through the cracks.
Liu Qingge didn’t seem to have the same problem. He reached out and gripped Shen Qingqiu’s hand.
“It’s not about thinking you're incapable. We know how capable you are. It’s about wanting you to give yourself a break. Even if you won’t leave the matter entirely. Take some time for yourself.”
“I can’t—” Shen Qingqiu’s angry voice broke. He ducked his head, hiding his face from Luo Binghe through a curtain of hair.
Liu Qingge made a noise of surprise. His head was tilted down, not hiding his expression, but looking at where his hand was clasped over Shen Qingqiu’s between them. A dot of red rolled down the back of his palm.
Heart hammering, Luo Binghe reached out and brushed Shen Qingqiu’s hair back from his face. He tucked it behind his ear, revealing a pale face with blood slowly trickling down his chin.
Shen Qingqiu wavered where he sat on the tree branch. Liu Qingge grabbed his other hand, saying: “Catch him, don’t let him fall—”
Luo Binghe was already wrapping his arms around Shen Qingqiu’s waist, easing his husband back against his chest. After the knots he had been working himself into over Shen Qingqiu’s bad mood the last few weeks, Liu Qingge expected Luo Binghe to panic over this development. Instead, his face shuttered into complete, placid calm. He freed one hand to wipe the blood from Shen Qingqiu’s nose.
“It’s alright, Shizun.”
Shen Qingqiu struggled weakly. Liu Qingge intertwined their fingers and began to circulate his qi. It had been several years since Shen Qingqiu had last needed him to clear his meridians from the influence of Without-A-Cure, but long experience had made him intimately familiar with Shen Qingqiu’s spiritual pathways. It made it easier to soothe the qi deviation, neatly resettling Shen Qingqiu’s energy before it had a chance to truly riot out of control.
When he was sure that the deviation had passed, he peeled his eyes open to find Shen Qingqiu limp against Luo Binghe, his expression drawn and eyes half-lidded, no longer so tense and wild with anger and confusion. Shen Qingqiu huffed a slow breath.
“Ridiculous,” he said.
Liu Qingge didn’t know what he meant, but he didn’t like it. He scowled and gave Shen Qingqiu’s hand a small shake, resisting the urge to grab him by the back of his neck and do the same.
“Don’t be stupid.”
“Shizun is not stupid,” Luo Binghe protested.
“Sometimes, he definitely is.”
“This master appreciates the vote of confidence.” Shen Qingqiu pulled away from Luo Binghe, swiping at his face with his sleeve, although Luo Binghe had already cleaned away the blood while he was indisposed. “My apologies. I haven’t been meditating recently; it must have caught up with me.”
Luo Binghe and Liu Qingge exchanged a look over his head.
Luo Binghe leaned into Shen Qingqiu’s space, pressing their foreheads together while Liu Qingge leapt down from the tree branch to the ground far below.
“Shizun, you feel a bit warm,” he heard from overhead while his gaze swept over the surrounding forest.
“Let’s set up camp here,” Liu Qingge called. “No point in pressing on further today.”
“We can keep going,” Shen Qingqiu protested. There was a rustle of fabric that had to be Shen Qingqiu freeing himself from a clingy Luo Binghe, and then the Qing Jing Peak Lord dropped down next to Liu Qingge with barely a waver to indicate he’d just been moments from qi deviation. Luo Binghe followed close behind.
“It’s a pleasure trip, not a night hunt. I spotted the river while we were up there; it isn’t far. We won’t miss anything by taking one early night,” Liu Qingge said.
Shen Qingqiu remained mulish, but allowed Luo Binghe to distract him with questions about the local environment while Liu Qingge got out their camping supplies from his qiankun pouch. He and Luo Binghe erected the tent while Shen Qingqiu laid the fire. He couldn’t help but notice that Shen Qingqiu was moving more slowly, his bearing subdued. He had been subdued the entire trip so far—absent of his usual quiet cheer, his excited chatter about this-or-that. The air between them felt tense. He thought he understood a bit of why Luo Binghe had been driving himself to distraction the last few weeks. Perhaps Liu Qingge was only slightly less unsettled by it because he recalled both what Shen Qingqiu had been like as a disciple (bitter, angry, hateful) and what he had been like after Luo Binghe’s presumed death at the Immortal Alliance Conference (absent, exhausted, fragile).
Sometimes it was like Liu Qingge had known a dozen different versions of the man. To think, one bad mood could bring back so many complicated memories.
When they settled into their tent that night, Shen Qingqiu didn’t take his customary position in the middle of their makeshift bed. Instead, he settled off to the side and turned his back on the two of them, curling in on himself under the blanket that Luo Binghe lovingly spread out.
When Liu Qingge rolled over, Luo Binghe looked crushed. Tentatively, Liu Qingge reached out and wrapped an arm around Luo Binghe’s chest. They didn’t cuddle, just the two of them, often—it felt a bit awkward to be doing so now, and Liu Qingge half-expected a huffy rejection. Instead, Luo Binghe sighed and relaxed into the bedding. He curled around Liu Qingge, letting Liu Qingge use his chest as a pillow while he placed a broad palm on Shen Qingqiu’s waist. Liu Qingge slid a foot over to hook around Shen Qingqiu’s ankle. Despite the cold shoulder, Shen Qingqiu didn’t brush either of them off. Liu Qingge thought he heard him let out a shaky breath as night settled outside the tent.
Liu Qingge was a light sleeper. It made him very aware of the way Shen Qingqiu was tossing and turning next to him. Several times during the night, he woke to find Luo Binghe peering over him as well, the younger man’s rosewood eyes narrowed fretfully.
The result was an early morning where Liu Qingge peeled himself out of a sweaty pile of bedding to see Shen Qingqiu completely buried in their blankets and Luo Binghe’s side of the bed empty.
Liu Qingge found him sitting outside the tent, a log rolled up next to the fire serving as a convenient seat. His back was rigidly straight, his legs spread, and his hands resting on his knees. He was staring into the flickering fire, his face blank. The fire was smoking and spitting—newly lit from fresh wood.
Liu Qingge dropped onto the log beside him. He sighed and tipped his head back, looking at the grey early morning sky.
“You’ve been upset,” he said.
“Shizun has been upset,” Luo Binghe said dully.
“It upsets you when he’s upset.” When Luo Binghe didn’t respond to that, Liu Qingge looked over at him. “Is it because it reminds you of when he didn’t like you?”
Luo Binghe snorted. “No. This disciple does not consider the man that Shizun was before his qi deviation the same as the person he is now. It has been clear to this disciple ever since Shizun was poisoned for him in the demon invasion that he changed irrevocably at that time. This disciple would not disrespect who Shizun is now by dwelling on actions he had no control over, before his mind was changed.”
“You sound so confident.”
“Aren’t you?”
Liu Qingge considered this. “I don’t know. People can be complicated.”
They were quiet for a time. Luo Binghe picked up a stick and poked at the fire until it stopped smoking so much. Birds called all around them, demonic and mundane.
A muffled, harsh cough cut through the silence. Liu Qingge jolted, hand going to Cheng Luan’s hilt before he registered the source of the sound. Luo Binghe was already halfway to his feet, Liu Qingge close behind him, when Shen Qingqiu stumbled out of the tent.
Far from looking recovered from his qi deviation the day before, Shen Qingqiu looked exhausted and pale, save for an unhealthy flush across his cheeks. Luo Binghe was at his side in an instant, a hand on his forehead.
“Shizun!”
Shen Qingqiu lightly pushed him away to cough into his sleeve. When he spoke, his voice was raspy. “It appears… the deviation had some side effects. Apologies.”
“Don’t apologise,” Liu Qingge said. He joined Luo Binghe at Shen Qingqiu’s side just to tug him towards the fire. Shen Qingqiu followed him easily and dropped into a crouch at the edge of the fire’s stone circle. “You look like shit.”
“You’re ill,” Luo Binghe said. He looked close to pacing circles around Shen Qingqiu, all wound up and with nowhere for the energy to go. “We should—”
“I just need a moment,” Shen Qingqiu said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “My cultivation is strong; it should take care of this quickly.”
Luo Binghe cast Liu Qingge a worried look. Liu Qingge was starting to think he and Luo Binghe would never stop exchanging worried looks over Shen Qingqiu’s head.
“Let me make you some tea, Shizun,” Luo Binghe said.
Despite his assurance and several cups of tea, Shen Qingqiu did not look better. Throughout their entire hike that day, he was miserably silent. Both Liu Qingge and Luo Binghe stopped them multiple times, either insisting on a break or offering to return to the sect, but Shen Qingqiu refused to go back.
“We came to get away from the sect,” he said around noon, when Luo Binghe tried, once again unsuccessfully, to convince him. “Let’s just go. I promise, I’m enjoying the hike.”
If he was enjoying himself, Liu Qingge couldn’t see it. He was no longer sullen or snappish, but instead held himself stiffly away from them, continuing to push ahead through the walk. His face was scrunched in a constant frown even while he followed them over boulders and around bends in the river without complaint. For most of the day, the only sound he made was hoarse coughing.
Given how tense Luo Binghe had been recently, Liu Qingge expected the worsening of both Shen Qingqiu’s mood and condition to launch him into previously unseen levels of anxiety. And while they hiked, Luo Binghe was anxious—skittish and quiet himself, leaving the three of them barely speaking to one another besides to check on their directions or note dangers in their path.
However, when they stopped to make camp (barely into late afternoon), Luo Binghe seemed to gain a second wind. The moment they placed down their packs and began preparing the tent, his face smoothed, and he stopped moving like he was going to jump at every little sound. While Shen Qingqiu dropped miserably onto a log to cough into his sleeve, Luo Binghe swiftly directed Liu Qingge to collect firewood.
“I can—” Shen Qingqiu offered, and Liu Qingge sent him such a flat look that Shen Qingqiu instantly sat back down and refused to meet either of their eyes.
Luo Binghe himself produced what appeared to be an entire large iron pot from somewhere on his person. As soon as Liu Qingge brought him firewood, he lit a blazing fire and set the pot on top of a metal grate.
“Would Qingge mind hunting down some fowl around here?” Luo Binghe asked. Shen Qingqiu was watching him with half-lidded eyes as Luo Binghe continued pulling things from his sleeves or pack—onion, several root vegetables, spices, and leafy greens—all of which he dumped confidently into the pot, followed by a considerable amount of water.
“Sure,” Liu Qingge said, shaking himself from the hypnotic sight. He briefly brushed his hand over Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder, then took off back for the trees, lightly pulling Cheng Luan from its sheath. Behind him, he heard Luo Binghe begin to shepherd Shen Qingqiu into the tent.
“Rest, Shizun,” Luo Binghe said. “There will be food in a few hours. I’ll bring you some tea.”
Liu Qingge returned to their camp with a fat pheasant already plucked and delivered it to Luo Binghe. Luo Binghe smiled his bright, near-uncomfortably shining smile as he accepted the bird and added it to the already-fragrant pot.
“Thanking Shishu,” he said.
Liu Qingge hummed and leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth. When Luo Binghe deepened the kiss, he let himself fall into it. They only drew apart when Luo Binghe made an unhappy noise and waved him off to wash his hands.
“I’ll check on him,” Liu Qingge offered while he scrubbed off bird blood and feathers and Luo Binghe stirred the soup.
In the tent, Shen Qingqiu was lying on his side. His breathing sounded thick and heavy, and he was sweating through his travelling robes. Liu Qingge crouched down and shook his shoulder.
“Qingqiu. Hey.”
Shen Qingqiu grumbled tiredly, but didn’t resist when Liu Qingge began helping him out of his outer robes. Liu Qingge was sure that he was awake, but didn’t force him to speak. When he was looking a bit more comfortable, Shen Qingqiu pressed his face against his pillow, hiding his expression.
Liu Qingge stripped off his own outer robes and lay down beside him, pulling up the blankets to cover them both. Thinking of the night before, he expected Shen Qingqiu to roll away or resist. Instead, he turned over to bury his face against Liu Qingge’s chest. Liu Qingge rubbed his back and didn’t comment as Shen Qingqiu began to shake, his breath growing even thicker. Eventually, he fell still, and Liu Qingge quietly wiped the tears from his face while he fell into a restless sleep.
“Shizun, Shishu.”
Luo Binghe’s voice broke through the light doze Liu Qingge had fallen into. Against his chest, Shen Qingqiu groaned softly.
Liu Qingge looked up and found Luo Binghe smiling fondly down at the two of them, the flap of the tent held open.
“Dinner is ready,” he said, and crawled inside the tent to help Liu Qingge get Shen Qingqiu up.
“So sticky,” Shen Qingqiu said, while Luo Binghe tugged at his hands. Liu Qingge offered him a handkerchief to blow his nose and clean up his face, and then the three of them emerged into the cool night air, which was filled with the strong scent of garlic and ginger.
“Here, Shizun,” Luo Binghe said. He pressed a bowl into Shen Qingqiu’s hands. Liu Qingge glanced over and saw it was filled with an oily golden broth and chunks of pheasant meat, just before another bowl was thrust at him.
“Thanks,” he said, and watched with amusement as the soup was followed by bowls of rice, and then a tray of neatly cut fruit. Shen Qingqiu looked at each culinary offering with increasing levels of astonishment. He sniffed, then picked up a piece of fruit. It was cut to look a bit like a small rabbit.
“Oh,” Shen Qingqiu said. His lips thinned, his eyes growing watery. Fearful of more crying, Liu Qingge scowled at him.
“Eat your soup.”
Shen Qingqiu laughed and ate the little fruit bunny, then sipped at his soup. Luo Binghe looked pleased, coming to sit next to him on the log, and Liu Qingge took up position on his other side. The three of them ate quietly.
“I’m sorry for being so difficult,” Shen Qingqiu said, when the fire had dimmed and all of their bowls were nearly empty.
“Eat your soup,” Liu Qingge repeated, and Luo Binghe laughed. “Who cares if you’re difficult?”
“Mn,” Shen Qingqiu said, and took another sip.
In the morning, Shen Qingqiu was still pale and coughing, although when Luo Binghe pressed a light kiss to his forehead, his temperature no longer felt so high.
“It’s not far,” Liu Qingge said when Luo Binghe made noises about returning to the sect again. “Just past that cliff there.”
He pointed to the cliff in question, where the river they had been following left the forest behind and disappeared over a rocky ledge. It really wasn’t too far off. The three of them broke down their camp together, then made their way over. With the days growing shorter and darker this time of year, the sun had yet to fully make its way above the horizon. It crested the water just as they arrived at their destination, illuminating the glittering expanse of the ocean.
“Oh,” Shen Qingqiu breathed. Liu Qingge wrapped an arm around him while Luo Binghe laid out a blanket and began to pull the leftover soup and fruit from his sleeves.
The three of them sat on the blanket, Shen Qingqiu leaning into Luo Binghe’s side and Liu Qingge pressing their thighs together. It was quiet while they watched the sea—at last, a good kind of quiet, soft and comfortable. It meant that Liu Qingge could perfectly hear Shen Qingqiu’s breath hitch when the first enormous sea serpent breached the top of the waves. It formed a great arc as it burst up and then dipped back below the water’s surface. Then another joined it, and another.
“That’s a fucking gyarados,” Shen Qingqiu said, and then laughed so hard it sent him into a coughing fit.
Liu Qingge didn’t know what that was. But he liked the sound of Shen Qingqiu’s laughter. Over his head, he saw Luo Binghe smiling, too.
