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Chapter Text

Luo Binghe, known to his first world as Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, and to this world as the An Ding Peak Lord Shang Qinghua, stares boredly down at his paperwork.

Ever since the main plot ended up concluding with the explosion of Mai Gu Ridge and defeat of Tianlang-Jun, things had settled into a doldrum of the worst sort. Cucumber and the protagonist are off on a seemingly endless honeymoon, leaving Binghe to settle their accounts and such largely by himself.

The tedium of it all brings a sort of bitterness to him that he hasn’t felt in a while, too busy scrambling to survive and find ways to circumvent his inevitable demise to truly focus on how he felt about this transmigration of his.

The system is finally keeping its digital trap shut, thankfully, no longer blaring alarms at him or bothering him with this or that. In a way, it’s as great as it is terrible.

He’d long since helped Mobei-Jun ascend, and, even though there had been that scrape with his troublesome uncle, his king had been most generous in taking him back to his side. At least… that’s how he thought of it at first.

However, Mobei-Jun’s actions since then… pulling the cart, preparing noodles, the extravagant gifts… Binghe might be a bit slow when such things come his way, but he’s not stupid.

“Aiya, if only you were a few decades earlier, my king…”

Such a bold statement is only offhandedly muttered as Binghe brings another handful of melon seeds to his lips to munch on.

Binghe finishes signing the documents for the day while his mind is elsewhere, considering his next moves carefully. He could, in theory, do whatever the hell he wanted now. But what would that be?

Life as the Northern Consort was certainly a tempting proposal, but Mobei-Jun had long beaten the affections Binghe held for his favorite creation to a much tamer degree than what they had initially burned.

Perhaps he should see how Tianlang-Jun is settling in at Huan Hua, now that Zhuzhi-lang and Gongyi Xiao’s deaths had been prevented by way of careful intervention (you’re welcome, Cucumber).

Ah, but that would raise far too many questions. Not worth the trouble at all, really.

Binghe sighs and stretches languidly as he stands, popping several discs in his back. Being an immortal cultivator didn’t prevent bones from settling unpleasantly when one was hunched over a desk all day, unfortunately.

As he idly scratches his cheek, Binghe stares thoughtfully at his reflection, highlighted by a mirror he’d long since abandoned in the corner by the setting sun. His cheeks, so much fuller than in his first life, almost hamster-like, tinge pink as his fingernail scrapes thoughtlessly.

His bright honey-brown eyes, rimmed with sleep bags and irritation, are so different from the nearly black ones of his original body. Same with his brown, only slightly wavy hair, so much unlike his luxuriously wavy ginger-orange locks of the first life, truly the only good thing his father ever left him besides tuition money. At least it made him somewhat confident.

Really, modelling the protagonist after himself was quite the bold choice, looking back. The protagonist had been his son, the fantasy version of how he wished to be pretty and bold and lash out at those who hurt him… but those days are gone.

Now he is supposed to find contentment in being Shang Qinghua, a mousey, average looking man. Shorter and plumper than he was even in that first life. He idly wondered what Cucumber looked like then. He’d been from a rich family, so his skin probably wasn’t marked up and down with acne scars and such like Binghe’s had been.

Binghe honestly felt a sense of loss, ever since learning more about Cucumber’s first life. To know his greatest hater was rich was obvious. You’d have to be to blow that much money on a stallion novel so carelessly. But to know he’d never had to work for it? That he’d been some kid, younger than Binghe himself, and wanted for nothing, and still acted so bitter over PIDW?

It was sobering, in a sad way.

Here he’d thought Cucumber had been some disgruntled CEO or something, angry to see his leisure hours wasted by his obsession with the protagonist. But no, it was some shut-in nerd like himself, but with more resources than could ever truly be considered fair and far too much time on his hands.

Whatever. Not much use crying over spilled tea.

Binghe makes his way out of the office and makes his rounds around his peak, greeting hall masters and reassuring the stragglers, those struggling disciples of his. Most were street rats and such, kids plucked from the worst of life, that Binghe might at once help them find betterment and gather useful people who wouldn’t hesitate to help him out in times of stress.

As he’s nearing his house again, he’s startled to make out the moody visage of his protagonist, his most unfilial son. Forcing the mask of nerves and shaky smiles he keeps for moments such as this, Binghe wrings his hands and greets the demon emperor.

“A-Ah. T-This servant bids you good evening, Junshang.”

The protagonist eyes him as one would a roach crawling out of their book bag, and Binghe smiles wider, both to keep up appearances, and also to subtly grind his teeth. He’s got a migraine from all that paperwork, both imperial and logistical, and his unfilial son’s unexpected visit is not helping.

The protagonist scoffs, “Shizun wishes to see you, shishu. It’s urgent.”

Binghe bites back a sigh. Of course, Cucumber wants something. Aiya, how inconvenient. And just when he’d been close to puzzling out what to do with himself.

Binghe settles across from Cucumber with nary a fuss. He idly considers if he can manage to get struck by that fan less than a dozen times this time. His standing record is ten whacks, perhaps there is a chance of whittling it down to nine this time. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Cucumber’s woes are the same old song and dance. This and that plant caused his precious husband to go feral and wreck him, and now he wants to lambast Binghe for writing that heavenly pillar and the stupid plant and all the other dumb wife plots he’s getting caught in and hither and yon.

Binghe goes through the motions. Whine at each accusation, raise his hands just a bit too slowly to stop the fan’s arc, cling to the metaphorical thighs (his unfilial son’s stares are eviscerating enough, thank you), and then limp away dramatically into the now dark and cold evening, thoroughly chastised to Cucumber’s liking.

Maybe a trip across the ocean would solve things. A nice getaway in the sun on a warm beach. Ah, who was he kidding? The paperwork when he made his way back would simply murder him.

Still, a man can dream, can’t he?

Chapter Text

Binghe’s temples throb with irritation and pain as he stares down the resolute Liu Qingge. The ‘War God’ of Cang Qiong’s Bai Zhan peak has once again overstepped his bounds, and, as always, it falls to Binghe to make it right.

Qi Qingqi, the veritable fortress of a woman that leads the all-female Xian Shu peak, stares down her nose at Binghe, as impeccable and fiercesome as ever. He should feel more intimidated, perhaps. Really though, he’s just thankful that she’s already laid out the budget for the repairs to her peak after Liu Qingge’s latest outburst.

Qi Qingqi huffs, “Are you with us, Shang-shixiong?” She taps the papers on his still overwhelmed desk. “We of Xian Shu peak really do need these repairs done soon, lest Sha Hualing make good on her promise to the rest of her demon sisters to have a joint visit with us.”

Liu Qingge stiffens, glaring at Qi Qingqi before turning that self-righteous ire towards Binghe. Aiya, how troublesome these beauties are.

Liu Qingge bites out, “Qi-shijie should know better than to just let that demon around her peak, right, Shang-shixiong?”

Binghe stares at the pair with the expected nervous façade, all the while swallowing the scouring tirade he truly wishes to give the Bai Zhan peak lord. Oh, to have Cucumber’s immunity…

Binghe shakingly hums, “Liu-shidi, don’t you think it’s rather rude to just assume that Qi-shimei is incapable of handling her own peak?”

Qi Qingqi triumphantly huffs, “Exactly. Liu-shidi should remember well that Liu Mingyan chose my peak for a reason. What she does with that troublesome demon saintess now that we’re trying to negotiate is her business, not his.”

Liu Qingge’s fist slams onto Binghe’s now splintering desk like a gavel as he growls. “Liu Mingyan should have better instruction! Should we just sit idly by as she’s stolen away like Shen-shixiong?”

Binghe grits his teeth as subtly as he can, his brow twitching minutely, the slight movement far beneath the notice of these hotheads he calls martial siblings.

Sometimes, he almost wishes that Liu Qingge really had succumbed to that qi deviation. Really would’ve made the bills easier to handle, and resulted in about a third of his paperwork vanishing overnight.

But that’s cruel to even consider, isn’t it? Goodness, he almost sounds like the original goods version of his most unfilial son.

Instead, Binghe waves a hand limply through the air, hemming and hawing as he chuckles. “Ah, Liu-shidi, that’s not what Qi-shimei is suggesting at all!” He smiles forcefully, masking his anger with nerves, as always. “Qi-shimei merely means that staying on good footing with Sha Hualing is a good move for the sect while we recover from the confrontation with Tianlang-Jun.”

Qi Qingqi smiles mercilessly as Liu Qingge’s ire grows. “Shang-shixiong is right again, Liu-shidi. I won’t up and let Sha Hualing steal Liu Mingyan from us so easily. You really should reign in that temper. You’d think Luo Binghe’s victories have chipped away at your maturity along with your reputation, war god.”

Binghe bites back a vicious grin at that. Ah, Qi Qingqi really is just as ruthless as he’d hoped her to be when he’d written her concept down so long ago. A true big sister to put the rest of the peak lords in their place from time to time. Just like he’d longed for an older sister to reign him in when he went too far.

Liu Qingge’s brow furrows dangerously, and so Binghe drops the mask slightly, only letting the ‘War God’ feel a fraction of his true ire. “I approve this budget whole-heartedly, Qi-shimei. See that Yang-shidi gets on it immediately.”

Qi Qingqi snatches the copy of her budget happily, bowing graciously. “Thank you for seeing reason, Shang-shixiong.”

With that, she flairs her purple robes and vanishes as quickly as a gale. Ah, what a wonderful martial sister he has. So quick to actually get work done.

Binghe stares at Liu Qingge, letting the fire of his fury shine but slightly through the curtain of nerves. It makes the man double take. “Liu-shidi, please accept this one’s apologies, but you see, there’s a beast wandering close to a border town, and now that you’ve given me so much paperwork, I’m afraid I won’t be able to handle both tasks.”

Liu Qingge’s eyes widen in disbelief.

Binghe allows just a few more whispers of the flame into his voice. “Please, won’t you help your poor shixiong, Liu-shidi?”

Liu Qingge has never left his office faster. Perhaps a bit too much flame was aired out. Aiya, how troublesome.

Binghe chews his melon seeds carelessly as he allows himself to ponder his lost son, the real Shen Qingqiu.

He’d been rather cruel to his beautiful, cold son, ah?

In truth, if the protagonist was all that Binghe wished to be, then Shen Qingqiu was all that he felt he truly was. An unwanted, resented son, seen as cold and heartless by his siblings for not forgiving their parents for abandoning him to whatever dregs of life he could seize.

Heh, his eldest younger sibling despised him for even reminding their father of his need for tuition money, wanting those funds to go to her spending on the newest gaming chairs and such.

She’d wanted to be a streamer, he recalls distantly. Was that so different from an author, when the chips were down? Perhaps not.

Still, Shen Qingqiu (he would never call Cucumber that when he could help it that hate reader hadn’t earned that name) was all that he felt he was seen as, the scum villain in someone else’s story.

He remembers loosely that athletic college roommate of his, who called him wanton for deigning to kiss a man he’d liked in their room. How he’d based rash Liu Qingge on that beautiful man, who he now belatedly realizes was likely harboring a closeted crush.

Ah, well. That man would marry soon after anyways, so it was no use reflecting there.

Though, he’d heard once, through an old college buddy he’d met at a pointless job interview, that the man had been distraught that he’d found married life not at all fulfilling.

Poor guy.

Anyways, if he could go back, he’d have found a way to at least give Shen Qingqiu a body of his own. Perhaps a sun-moon dew mushroom body he could’ve sold as an emergency option?

Ah, but Cucumber would’ve seen through it. He still hated Shen Qingqiu with a passion, dismissing his villain son’s suffering, blathering on about how poorly he treated the protagonist, as if the root cause of that treatment meant nothing in the face of opposing his unfilial son.

Cucumber really was an audacious man. Sure, his inner disciples adored him, but the outer disciples of Qing Jing would often beg help with their cultivation from elsewhere, their elder martial siblings too busy doting on Cucumber’s whims to teach properly.

Goodness knows what will happen when the next ceremony to take in new disciples comes. Cucumber is unlikely to attend, and his students are ill-prepared to make the selections alone.

Honestly, he would bring that up, but the protagonist would likely wring his neck. Not worth it.

His brush snaps. Huh. Must’ve let the resentment stress get to him again. How troublesome.

Binghe almost regrets the way he wrote Yue Qingyuan, sometimes. The most powerful man in the world, stronger than even the protagonist, no matter how much the readers would whine the opposite.

This man, so often wearing a mask of placid smiles to hide the endless despair in those dark eyes, is truly something else.

Every meeting feels like it hangs on the edge of a knife, these days. This tragic son recognizing somewhere in his being that his soulmate, his dear Xiao-Jiu, is no more.

Binghe stares at the empty nail beds the man possesses, all hope of regrowth and healing stripped away long ago by the struggles in the Lingxi caves, when he unknowingly tied his very soul to Xuan Su.

That is not all that Binghe regrets writing.

Yue Qingyuan’s shizun was a pragmatic bastard, truth be told. He’d broken his student’s bones and torn his ligaments when he sensed how potent the oncoming qi deviation would be.

It served them well, to not have Cang Qiong torn asunder by Yue Qingyuan’s desperation, but still…

Yue Qingyuan smiles softly, the cold dread spreads in response. “Shang-shidi, you’ve spoken with Shen-shidi recently, yes?”

Binghe nods stiffly, his mask not as tight as it usually is, due to the lack of his need for acting to be nervous in the face of this titan. “Y-Yes, Zhangmen-shixiong. Is there something troubling you?”

Yue Qingyuan sighs, shoulders slumping ever so slightly. Binghe has to restrain himself from leaping. “Yes… Shen-shidi has been away for such a long time. And with no one else to play head disciple, Ning Yingying is struggling to keep Qing Jing afloat.”

Binghe wants to hiss at this man to not use him as the messenger. His unfilial son will never accept the mere implication that his ‘Shizun’ is somehow not up to par.

Still, roles must be kept to, and so he bows his head. “Ah. Forgive this lowly one, Zhangmen-shixiong, but is it really my place to question Shen-shixiong?”

Yue Qingyuan’s eyelids lower slightly. Binghe forces back the shiver with all that he has. Fuck. To be stuck between the two strongest men in the world, all because of Cucumber…

Yue Qingyuan, likely sensing his very real fear, slumps even further. “I see… I apologize, Shang-shidi. This sect leader did not mean to bring undue stress to you. Please, accept my apologies.”

Binghe nods. “Of course. Zhangmen-shixiong is just looking out for the sect.”

Yue Qingyuan nods distantly. “Thank you for the budget, Shang-shidi. You may go now.”

With the dismissal, both men take up their masks again, each pitying the other as their paths part.

The flash of Huan Hua gold in the corner of his eye damn near causes Binghe to plummet from his flying stance atop his sword, Yan Yu.

Gongyi Xiao smiles apologetically, clearly fighting back a grimace as he comes to Binghe’s aid, gently repositioning him.

Binghe blinks at the younger man in confusion. “Gongyi-wanbei? What are you doing here?”

Gongyi Xiao almost seems to flush in the pink light of the sunset. A clear trick of the light. “Ah. Apologies, Lord Shang. This one was merely sent as an envoy from Huan Hua palace.”

Binghe furrows his brow. “For this one?”

Gongyi Xiao nods. “Yes, Lord Shang. The… Tianlang-Jun requested your presence for something, and Lord Shen insisted that this one fetch you with haste.”

Binghe bites back a groan. He adores Tianlang-Jun, a man who he, to his amusement and concern, doesn’t know much about.

He completes a trifecta with Gongyi Xiao and Zhuzhi-lang of characters he never truly completed. The system did more work with them, and they have all proven delightful.

Still, the whims of the former Heavenly Demon Emperor are vivid and ever-shifting, resulting in a few more headaches to pile atop his mountain of them.

Well, if Cucumber is inclined to give him more stress, it’s not like he can stop it. He sometimes wonders who really has possession of that protagonist halo…

Binghe hums, “Alright. I’ll need about a shichen to prepare for the trip. Apologies, Gongyi-wanbei.”

Gongyi Xiao shakes his head fervently. “Ah, you misunderstand, Lord Shang. We need not depart until the morning. This disciple has no intention of making you start such a long trek in the dark.”

Binghe blinks, and then offers a small, secretive smile. Gongyi Xiao is so thoughtful, as of late. It’s very refreshing to his worn nerves.

The light must be really doing a number on his eyes, for Gongyi Xiao’s cheeks seem to be burning brilliantly right about now.

Still, Binghe says his thanks and the pair make their way to An Ding with little fuss.

A few words with his head disciple sees the motions began to get the peak running without him for a bit, and he sees Gongyi Xiao put into the spare room of his leisure house, recently installed to house himself when Mobei-Jun sees fit to steal his bed, much to the ice demon’s chagrin.

The thought makes Binghe smirk somewhat. Aiya, my king, but you really should’ve brushed up on human courtship before letting your fists fly so freely. A man can only endure for so long before the heart hardens itself in the face of such seeming adversity.

Still, Binghe takes supper with Gongyi Xiao and chats freely with him. The young man is so polite, and almost affectionate in his words. It really is like stepping into a warm bath after a hard day.

Strangely, Gongyi Xiao is singing Zhuzhi-lang’s praises, somewhat. Then again, perhaps it is not so strange. Two young men, both beautiful and strong, known for manners and loyalty.

A rough beginning smoothed over by the masterful negotiating of Binghe, and voila. Instant friendship. And now intimacy, apparently.

As the pair go to their beds, Binghe allows himself to wonder just what it would be like, to have someone as sweet as either of those two young men to coddle him… what a nice dream, eh?

Chapter Text

Binghe sighs in relief as the landing area of Huan Hua palace comes into view, his aching legs burning as he dips beneath the surrounding rooftops to land safely upon the tiles.

Binghe allows himself a moment to stretch his legs, grunting as the joints in his knees and ankles crackle as he readjusts his weight. He glances behind to see Gongyi Xiao landing a respectful distance away.

It was strange, the shift in their flight pattern. For the first few days, Gongyi Xiao had been only at an arms’ length away, and had insisted on booking them small inn rooms, keen to cater to Binghe’s predetermined budget.

It had been… refreshingly casual.

But then, as they neared Huan Hua territory, Gongyi Xiao had begun to distance himself until he was the ‘respectable distance’ away from the Lord of An Ding Peak.

Binghe knows that the ‘signs’ he’s been picking up are likely result of his overworked and lonely mind utilizing his vivid imagination, but still, it stings him, this distance.

Gongyi Xiao stows his sword, meeting Binghe’s eyes with a flash of surprise, no doubt taken off guard by Binghe’s searching look, when a hissing, melodious voice drifts through the air. “There you are.”

Zhuzhi-lang slithers from just out of Binghe’s field of view, tenderly wrapping himself around Gongyi Xiao. “A-Xiao, you kept this one waiting.”

Gongyi Xiao flushes rather fetchingly as he returns the sudden embrace as best he can, running soothing hands through those luscious black locks. “A-Ah. Apologies, A-Zhu. This disciple merely wanted to make sure that Lord Shang’s trip was comfortable.”

Zhuzhi-lang’s pallid cheeks flush a minty green as Gongyi Xiao brushes his thumbs over them, looking awfully pleased with himself for garnering such attentions. Heh. The heavenly demons sure are a sticky bunch.

Binghe stiffens somewhat when Zhuzhi-lang’s golden-lime eyes shift to him, something in that gaze so intense as to cause the hairs on the back of his neck to stand.

The problem with snake demons, Binghe reflects as they stare off, is that their facial muscles don’t move exactly as a human’s do, no matter the form, lending them a most unfair advantage in terms of guile.

Zhuzhi-lang bows, keeping hold of Gongyi Xiao. “This one greets Peak Lord Shang. Thank you for coming to meet at J… Uncle’s request.”

Binghe fights back a wince. Zhuzhi-lang is still adjusting to the fact that his uncle is no longer the Emperor of the Demon Realm. Poor guy is so used to being a general that word has spread of him interfering with Huan Hua training sessions, correcting what he sees as mismanagement.

No wonder the sect has allowed his dalliance with Gongyi Xiao, if only to keep him out of their affairs. Truly, uncle and nephew have been through quite enough misfortunes. It would suit him best to not add to that staggering number, himself.

Binghe clears his suddenly thick throat, nodding as he stows his Yan Yu. “This one greets Lord Zhuzhi-lang.”

Zhuzhi-lang’s thin, scaled brows scrunch adorably as he tilts his head. “This one no longer has any rank or authority in the demon realm, Peak Lord Shang.” He shakes his head as he adjusts his hold on Gongyi Xiao, prepping him for a ride upon his back through the palace. Cute. “This one will take you to Uncle right away. Please, refer to this one by name only.”

Binghe nods slowly, watching the pair slither past before following at the respectable distance thoughtfully.

Mobei Jun had not been patient after his brush with death, leaving Binghe without much knowledge of what exactly the protagonist had done beyond barring his father from leaving Huan Hua and stripping him of his imperial titles.

To strip Zhuzhi-lang as well was a bit paranoid, perhaps, but Binghe could see the logic. After all, with how much of an absentee emperor the protagonist was, it would be best to prevent any other heavenly demons from having a role in the imperial machine, lest the other demons look to them instead for more readily available leadership.

As they make their way deeper into the sect grounds, Binghe occupies himself with thoughts of how to weasel some imperial funds towards uncle and nephew. After all, shouldn’t one’s family have some kind of spending budget?

Binghe blinks as he walks in to see Tianlang-Jun poking at his own disconnected arm. That’s… not good. The sun-moon dew mushroom bodies were meant for humans, sure, but what is this ridiculous decomposition speed, ah?

The former emperor glances up and smiles wide, his fangs glinting in the sunlight. Binghe stares into those scarlet depths of his thoughtfully. At least now he knows why Tianlang-Jun is bothering with him.

Truth be told, Tianlang-Jun is something of a late-game favorite. Unsurprising, given that he started as a daydream of what he wished his dad had been. So, it was pretty easy for Binghe to acquiesce to helping with whatever… this was.

Tianlang-Jun hums, “Good day, Lord Shang. As you can see, I called you for a bit of a… shall we say, medical mishap?”

Binghe puts on his usual nervous mask, noting with some alarm a fleeting glimpse of interest come annoyance in the former emperor’s sharp gaze.

Binghe politely answers, “Ah. Wouldn’t it have been better to ask for Mu Qingfang of our sect’s Qian Cao Peak? This one is afraid he’s not much of a medicinal expert.”

Tianlang-Jun arches an amused brow, though his eyes don’t carry the emotion. “Oh? Well, that’s good to know for the future. But no. I meant to call on Lord Shang’s, ah, esoteric knowledge.”

Binghe pauses slightly at that. Just enough for Tianlang-Jun to catch on and smile just a smidge wider. Whelp, looks like they’re past the pretenses, now.

Binghe sighs, “Lord Tianlang-Jun is—"

Tianlang-Jun waves lazily. “Just my name is fine, Lord Shang.” He glances meaningfully at the doorway, probably sensing where Zhuzhi-lang stayed behind to be respectful of their privacy. “After all, I don’t officially have any titles, right?”

Binghe nods politely, wringing his hands with all the nerves he’s beginning to feel for the first time in a while. When was the last time he foresaw so much potential trouble for himself?

Cucumber was probably behind this just to get his father-in-law to shut up. Binghe doubts his hate-reader would be all that behind helping Tianlang-Jun not fall apart at the seams.

Still, Cucumber isn’t here, and Binghe hardly thought it fair to condemn a man who’d technically done nothing wrong to just rot to nothing. Besides, there’s no telling what would happen to poor Zhuzhi-lang should he actually die.

Binghe’s glance behind must’ve been an obvious tell, because the heavenly demon chuckles.

“Don’t worry, Lord Shang. I made sure to teach my nephew how to handle himself on his own. Contingencies are… something I’m much keener on, nowadays.”

Ah. Well, at least that’s one problem down. Now comes the hard part.

Binghe sits across from Tianlang-Jun with some stiffness. “Well, to be perfectly honest, this one doesn’t know where to start. Did you have any specific questions?”

Tianlang-Jun hums, “Well, I have noticed a rather… peculiar detail about things in all my reading.”

Binghe feels sense of unease come over him.

Tianlang-Jun continues, “You see, it seems that, for all the plants and artifacts that humans might use to say, dodge death or cure seemingly incurable diseases…” He smirks. “Demons always seem to possess an equivalent.” He chuckles, “Almost as if the gods looked upon us equally.”

Binghe feels his heart drop. Crap. He really had overdone it in that first life, huh? Pretty sure Cucumber had hated that whenever a new arc would start, Binghe had always been prone to just re-using old cure-all ideas, just re-flavored for whichever part of the merged realm the protagonist happened to be stomping about in at the time.

Now, Binghe knew helping Tianlang-Jun not fall apart as quickly would make Cucumber antsy and upset to a degree, but it probably wouldn’t amount to much. But if Tianlang-Jun’s tone was any indication… he wanted something on a whole other scale.

Tianlang-Jun’s eyes flash with power as if he’d catching on to Binghe’s thoughts. “So, I began to think to myself, ‘have I ever heard of something to help fix heavenly demons?’ and to my surprise, my dear nephew had the answer.”

Binghe interjected, “Zhuzhi-lang would’ve sought out such a thing before had he known of it, wouldn’t he?”

Tianlang-Jun’s smile grew. Shit. “Well, one’s childhood bedtime stories don’t typically come to mind in times of distress, do they?” He huffed, “No. See, there’s an old story amongst we heavenly demons of a spring, further north than even the Mobei Clan’s desert, said to sit at the foot of heaven itself.”

Ah, crap. Now Binghe remembered.

The protagonist had needed a real challenge to satisfy the fight fans that had seeped in despite all the porn arcs, and, since Binghe didn’t feel like losing his utilities, thanks, he’d come up with a doozy.

The Black-Maw-Dark-Light Dragon, which he’d shamelessly based on some DLC dragon from that obnoxiously hard video game that had been all the rage at the time, had basically atomized like, a third of the protagonist’s body, and had barely been put down in time.

The fight fans went nuts for it, praising the kick ass might and clever wit of the protagonist in conquering such a foe, but Cucumber had lambasted him hard for putting the protagonist through that trouble, claiming ‘he’s stronger than that, you hack’ and ‘you ripped this off from some game, didn’t you,’ which had gotten the hate-reader quite a few hate comments of his own, heh.

Regardless, the dragon necessitated the protagonist to find a way to overhaul his body, since his blood parasites and such just weren’t going to cut it. Down an arm, half a thigh, and missing some torso and face, the protagonist had made his way back to the palace, where the latest wife, one of the dragon’s old wardens before it got loose when the protagonist had papapa’d her and accidentally broke the seal in her womb (boy did Cucumber come at him for that one), told him of an old wives’ tale, the Spring of Everlasting Blood Boiling.

The spring was known to only the heavenly demons, and the wardens they’d placed to guard the dragon damn near a millennium before the protagonist stumbled upon the scene, way before any of them had gotten powerful enough to kill the thing.

Anyways, the spring had incredible, but fleeting power. See, it could damn sure fix up a body what good, but one, it was guarded by zealous mosquito demons, and two, it only worked on heavenly demons, and only once in a half-millennium.

See, mosquito demons don’t sound too terrible, until you take into account that they stand half a human’s standard height and are, like their smaller cousins, annoyingly fast.

It had taken Mobei Jun a full day to quell them enough for the protagonist to take a dip, and boy was Cucumber annoyed that the protagonist had needed his right hand’s help to ‘take out basic pests.’

Thankfully, if Binghe remembered correctly, the mosquito demon’s numbers had only barely recovered enough after some plague or another, to provide a convenient excuse for their small numbers.

If he remembered his years right, a rare feat, they’d be lucky to have a fourth of the number they’d had when the protagonist needed a bath.

But getting to the cave in and of itself… well. He knew the basic route, the veritable Mount Doom he’d written being visible on the horizon from even the Ice Palace, but… well, you try traveling in weather that would make even Mobei Jun get frostbite if he wasn’t careful.

Speaking of, his king wouldn’t likely be willing to indulge in this, and even if he was, he’d just tell the protagonist and the area would be locked down like mad.

Tianlang-Jun, patience wearing thin from the silence, sighs, “Well, if you can’t help…”

Binghe startled, and then shook his head. “Ah! Wait, please! This one is sure he can—!”

A flash of purple. Grapes. That’s right!

See, the arc hadn’t quite satisfied some of the fight fans, so Binghe thought he’d create a cannon-fodder villain for one last little hurdle once Mobei Jun was exhausted and the protagonist got near the spring.

Some noble human who’d barely survived the merger, cooped up in his manor for too long, and eager to try stealing the spring for himself. He’d had an old treasure, a blade with some of the spring’s boiling blood trapped inside, meant to be an emergency portal to the spring for the first heavenly demons who’d discovered it.

He was actually fairly nearby in the mountains around Huan Hua territory, barely a day away.

He’d been ditched because Binghe wanted to write some recovery papapa and pay rent, but now he could finally come in clutch.

Or at least… he would. If granting Tianlang-Jun a new lease on life wouldn’t almost guarantee that the protagonist would be furious with Binghe. In fact, he might as well be co-signing on another civil war in the demon realm. Yikes.

Tianlang-Jun’s grin returns. “If I might make a humble guess, Lord Shang does know something, but doesn’t want my son mad at him, right?”

Binghe blinks out of his thoughts, scrunching his nose. Oh boy, here comes the pitch…

Tianlang-Jun spreads his hands. “Well, fear not! See, I haven’t been idle. My son wouldn’t be too comfortable with the old man getting his wind back, but hey, that’s what sailing is for!”

Binghe is pretty sure his eyes are wider than they should be, and that his ears aren’t working.

Tianlang-Jun chuckles. “You know, there’s a whole world out there…” He stares out the window wistfully. “I always did want to take… Ah, a trip.” He crookedly grins again. “See, I had some money stashed in the human realm, and so, I recently bought myself a nice little boat. I figure that if I’m not near him, my son might not mind so much.”

Binghe tilts his head. That… might work? I mean, if he’s not near the throne, then what would the protagonist care…? Cucumber would still be livid that they used up the spring for five-hundred years, though…

Honestly… it would solve a few problems, right? Huan Hua gets to stop babysitting their most troublesome ward, Zhuzhi-lang can dedicate himself fully to Gongyi Xiao, and the protagonist gets a load off his mind. Wins all around.

Binghe sighs. Might as well. “Alright… I’ll go fetch something that might help, but you have to keep this between us.”

Tianlang-Jun grins wider than ever, unfortunately causing his cheeks to literally split. Ick.

Turns out, the nobleman folded quicker than wet laundry without any of that merger trauma hyping him up. Flight was a lot shorter, too.

Curling up in a makeshift hammock for the night after getting the silly dagger (it was so curvy for no reason), Binghe shuts his eyes for a nice bout of sleep.

“Enjoying yourself, Shang-shidi?”

Binghe’s eyes fly open to see a ghastly sight. A flickering, green vision of Cu… No. Those hateful eyes, not built out of a rich kid’s ire, but true pain and resentment… Couldn’t be…

The spirit, blood dripping from eyes, nose, ears, and mouth, hisses, “Or should I call you Airplane?”

Binghe’s body breaks into a cold sweat. This… this can’t be happening. What the hell is even happening?

Shen Qingqiu, poor little discarded Shen Jiu stares balefully at him. “I didn’t expect you to hear me this time, any more than the last few years you’ve had me screaming in your face.”

Binghe stares at him numbly, feeling out of his own head. It makes sense. The spirit of Shen Qingqiu couldn’t just… vanish. But… how did it go undetected? What was…?

|| Error! Error! Error! Unfortunate things must be said three times! System power limits reached! Thanks to the customer for engaging! Emergency shutdown imminent! ||

Binghe only realizes a moment before the screen cracks that he’s not the only one staring at it. He jolts. “Shen-shixiong, don’t tell me—?!”

Shen Qingqiu grits his teeth. “Of course, I can see the thing that’s kept me out of my own body! What, did you expect me to just let that pretender ruin everything I’ve worked for?”

Binghe’s fright must be evident as the cracks grow thicker, because Shen Qingqiu looks downright hateful now. “Then again, he isn’t the only one play acting, is he, Airplane?”

The screen bursts into static that sounds far too much like his own strangled cry from that stupid night, and Binghe’s vision blurs out entirely.

Chapter Text

Binghe groans as he awakens, feeling as if his brain is full of static and crackling shards of glass. He blinks into the midday sun with tears spilling freely, his ears ringing and… scabbing…?

“Tch. Finally up, are we?”

Binghe’s eyes snap to an ethereal, thankfully not bleeding version of… his current body. The original Shang Qinghua. The man’s eyes are smaller than his own, or seem to be in a strange way. Perhaps made less open by long years spent squinting and such.

Binghe is on alert from the moment their eyes meet, throwing his spiritual awareness around him like a net in hopes of catching Shen Qingqiu before his cold son does something dangerous.

Shang Qinghua snorts, “So, this is the ‘Great Master Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky?’ Honestly, I think you were better off, Shen-shixiong. At least your imposter has brains.”

Binghe’s chest seizes with cold as a spectral hand, with blood dripping beneath the nails, passes through his sternum, wriggling curiously.

“It seems so, Shang-shidi.”

Binghe’s head whips around to face Shen Qingqiu’s disgusted sneer.

So much for sympathy from the devils, then.

Shang Qinghua pushes on. “So, Airplane. What’s your true name? I don’t fancy referring to nonsense from another world.” He steps closer still, his dour expression and slimmer body really doing a number on Binghe’s current self-image. “Don’t make us drag it out of you, yeah? That would take more effort than I’d like.”

Binghe meets his doppelganger’s eyes tiredly. Barely awake for four minutes and already he’s too tired for anything more than the flight back to Huan Hua.

“Luo Binghe.”

Both souls pause in their menacing, staring at him in disbelief.

Shen Qingqiu recovers first, scoffing, “Of course that beast you call a protagonist would be a self-fulfilling fantasy. How crudely simple of you, Binghe.”

Binghe represses a shudder as his name spills hatefully from another’s lips for the first time in a lifetime nearly four times his first one’s length.

Shang Qinghua even has the gall to stifle a chuckle into his fist, sardonically staring him down. “A pity you got stuck in a, what did you call me again? Ah, yes. A ‘cannon-fodder’ villain, rather than your carefully crafted wish body, eh, Binghe?”

Binghe rolls his eyes, too worn out for this conversation. Rising to his feet, he starts taking down his bedding.

Shen Qingqiu glares daggers at him, opening his mouth to complain.

Binghe is all too happy to cut him off. “Not now, Shen-shixiong.” He glances behind to Shang Qinghua. “I’ll be helping Tianlang-Jun get his own body before I can risk getting both of you your own set.”

Both Peak Lords pause, taken aback.

Shang Qinghua eyes him suspiciously. “What’s that supposed to mean? Why would you stick your neck out for us so soon after helping the former demon emperor defy his son?”

Binghe hums, “Well, I don’t suppose you’d leave me alone. And if I can see you now, Cucumber probably can, too.” He scoffs, “And that’s if we get off lucky. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you two how bad my luck actually is.”

Neither argue for another word as he stows his things and makes his way back down the mountains.

Gongyi Xiao grunts as the mosquito demon manages to suck some of his blood before Zhuzhi-lang swallows it whole with a squelch. Both lovers are back-to-back, constantly trying to get closer to Binghe, for some reason, despite Tianlang-Jun being like, right there, in need of protection.

Binghe himself is quite proud to say that none of the demons have gotten a hit in on him. His religious watching of Star Wars media finally coming in handy in this world. See, the third form of lightsaber combat, Soresu, had always fascinated him. A martial art focused entirely on defense and minimalist effort? Sign him up, please!

With careful wrist movement and footwork had Binghe made his way to the eye of the oncoming storm, repelling and countering as smoothly as a sculptor molds their clay. With simple thrusts and cuts, the demons fall one after the other, his tight control of his blade and spiritually bolstered speed proving a match for the off-guard horde.

His prowess is not shown often, as he prefers to cower and conceal his abilities to catch opponents off-guard and prevent himself from being too well-known for his espionage.

In truth, Liu Qingge had sparred him only once when they were but disciples, storming off after realizing that Binghe could not only match his stamina, but that while his defenses were too good to penetrate, his counter offensives couldn’t touch Liu Qingge, either. The stalemate, while reassuring, no doubt bored the War God.

Within minutes, the danger is gone, Binghe’s stamina reserves not even close to flagging. Gongyi Xaio’s body is pockmarked with wounds, his robes torn. Zhuzhi-lang fares little better, though if Tianlang-Jun’s grin is anything to go by, the former emperor is just fine.

Tianlang-Jun claps merrily. “Quite the show, Lord Shang! I dare say you’re a veritable fortress unto yourself!”

The original Shang Qinghua’s spirit huffs from behind Binghe. Thankfully, the pair of spirits are undetectable to all but himself, so far.

Tianlang-Jun strides into the boiling blood of the spring, not offering Binghe any time to retort. He turns and waves. “See you all in a bit!”

As Tianlang-Jun is submersed, Binghe tends to the wounds of the two young men left behind with him.

Gongyi Xiao is crimson, skin practically steaming as Binghe carefully plies bandages and salves to his now bared skin. Strangely, the recently seen to Zhuzhi-lang’s jealous stare isn’t directed at Binghe, but to his paramour, his own cheeks minty green as he seems to pout.

Gongyi Xiao stammers, “T-Thank you again, Peak Lord Shang…” He stares up through his lashes, eyes shimmering. “Can I do anything to pay you back?”

Zhuzhi-lang huffs, “A-Xiao. We talked about this, did we not?”

Binghe’s brows furrow in alarm. “Uh, what are you two…?”

Gongyi Xiao sighs, before rubbing Binghe’s knuckles just as Zhuzhi-lang comes closer, looking at Binghe imploringly. “Lord Shang, this Zhuzhi-lang and Gongyi Xiao wish to—!”

A cerulean glow fills Binghe’s vision on his left. His emergency jewel, always bound to his sash on the inside, is aglow with Mobei Jun’s power.

Binghe’s eyes widen as he realizes what is about to happen, just as Tianlang-Jun resurfaces, a large shadow blooms. They’re too late.

The protagonist is, naturally, the first one out. A repaired Xin Mo is in his hands. Binghe’s eyes narrow in suspicion.

The protagonist shouts, “Shang Qinghua, what is the meaning of this?”

Tianlang-Jun, freshly restored, steps out of the water, his power radiating throughout the cavern, exceeding even the protagonist. But it won’t be enough to stop this trio, as Cucumber and Mobei Jun also storm out, Cucumber looking especially aggrieved for but a moment, before his eyes trail behind Binghe, no doubt seeing the twin apparitions staring balefully at him.

Binghe meets Mobei Jun’s eyes, noting betrayal, fury, and… heartbreak. Huh. Guess it fits, but still… How troublesome his king is, these days.

“Qinghua… why?”

Mobei Jun’s voice is wracked with pain, his eyes pinching just so.

Binghe meets his gaze evenly, though his grimace is still heavy. Gongyi Xiao and Zhuzhi-lang, cut off from their confession… Oh, goodness. He’s going to have to deal with that, huh?

Two beautiful young men, much better than he deserves, really, confessing to him? Gee, that sure is… something.

Binghe huffs, “Well, my king. It hardly seems fair to condemn Tianlang-Jun to die when he can just leave.”

Tianlang-Jun, wringing out his black locks, nods. “That’s correct, Mobei. I don’t intend on seeking power. In fact, I bought a cute little sail boat to coast out of my dear son’s hair forever.”

The protagonist scoffs, “And you expect me to believe that?”

Cucumber, shaken by what he’s seeing, and hearing, as Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu are giving rather scathing performance reviews to the poor hate reader, is mercifully silent for once, paler than he should be.

The protagonist catches on quickly. “Shizun, what’s wrong?” He glances behind Binghe for the first time, double-taking. “S-Shizun?!”

Shen Qingqiu sneers. “Hello again, little beast. Having fun with that pretender to this master’s flesh, are you?”

Binghe notes that Cucumber and the protagonist are too busy gawking to intervene, and Mobei Jun’s focus is entirely on him. With a deft motion, the ridiculously curvy dagger goes from his sash to the hand of Tianlang-Jun, just as a blast of harmless qi sends Gongyi Xiao and Zhuzhi-lang his way.

Binghe glances at them as the three interlopers stumble back. “Go!”

Tianlang-Jun smiles bitterly, scoops up the young men, and vanishes as the dagger glows. No doubt going to it’s other ‘checkpoint,’ the fortress hiding that stupid dragon.

Binghe is alone with three very cross men. The strongest team in the realms, some would say. With a flip, he stands at the bank of the spring. One dip would be fatal in the half-millennium intervals between uses, the spring’s hunger to restore it’s power ravenous.

Mobei Jun lunges for him, shouting, almost desperate in tone, “Qinghua!”

Mobei Jun’s next words are lost, as a flash of crimson fills his vision, before he opens his eyes again after furiously blinking, to see his suitors(?) staring at him with relief.

“Lord Shang!”

As he’s enveloped in twin embraces, he notes that the spirits of his poor creations have come with him on this unexpected trip, both rather put out after their rant towards the protagonist was cut off prematurely.

...What a mess.

Chapter Text

Sun-Moon dew mushrooms take entirely too long to cultivate, Binghe reflects bitterly. It’s been almost a month since he was ‘saved’ by Tianlang-Jun, who had cast his emergency Mobei Jun talisman into the spring just before teleporting them to the fortress housing the Black-Maw-Dark-Light Dragon, which they unleashed upon the protagonist to keep him preoccupied.

From what little Binghe garnered from his demonic agents before he had to cut contact, the newly fixed Xin Mo was a result of the system’s panicked last gasps. It had reforged the blade in order to do… something.

Binghe is honestly unsure of what it all means. He’s just thankful that he can breathe without being smothered by paperwork that should rightfully be done by someone else.

“Are you almost done, Binghe? This lord is getting bored.”

Shang Qinghua is as pleasant as ever. Since Binghe has his body, it’s only him getting the body. The soil was prepared by Gongyi Xiao, who…

Binghe is still trying to puzzle out how to reflect on his uh, relationship.

Being loved in return is a revelation, an experience he was never prepared to have. To have two beautiful men in love with him, wanting to support and tend to him… it’s really something.

“Shang-shidi shouldn’t get his hopes up. Binghe is clearly not all that clever if this plant is all he can think of.”

Shen Qingqiu is all too eager to tear Binghe down, his ire entirely earned, really. Binghe should have been nicer to his two cold, calculating sons, ah?

It’s out of respect for Shang Qinghua that Binghe has not allowed for even a kiss to pass between himself and his lovers. They’re free to trade words and emotions, but no touch.

Not that Shang Qinghua laid down such an edict, but Binghe imagines watching another man make love with your rightful body is…

Well, he’s watched the protagonist with a modified version of his face make enough expressions to know the sickly feeling of rage and wrongness inherent to such an act.

He’s about to retort to the peanut gallery when the air chills.

Well, shit.

Mobei Jun’s never been more fearsome than he is now, stalking out of the trees of this enclosure, so close but so far from the dragon keepers’ fortress.

Mobei Jun’s face is one of rage and hurt, betrayal lancing his frosty heart, a deep regret oozing from his aura.

Binghe sighs, dropping the makeshift garden hoe and turning to regard his former employer.

Mobei Jun quietly snarls, “Why?” He barges on without allowing a response. “Why would Qinghua betray this king? Is power all there is? Have this king’s…” He swallows thickly, looking for all the world as if there are thorns in his esophagus. “Have this king’s overtures been too little for you, Qinghua?”

Shang Qinghua bitterly snickers, “Perhaps it was the beatings, your majesty.” He flutters his lashes. “Why, if only you had treated either of us with more respect, our affection for your strength wouldn’t have wilted and died in the cold.”

But of course, only Binghe can hear the dead man’s snark, and so Mobei Jun is left without an answer for but a moment.

But it’s enough to cause the Northern King to stiffen in emotional agony.

Binghe sighs, “My… Mobei Jun. This lowly one has some things he needs to make amends for. Until I do, I can’t really explain what’s going on.” He meets those icy depths head on, too tired, worn, to recoil now. “Just know that I don’t want to hurt you if possible.”

Shang Qinghua sneers. “Of course, can’t forget your favoritism even now, eh?”

Binghe ignores the comment, gripping Yan Yu as Mobei Jun forges a sword of ice in response to his words.

Mobei Jun snarls, “Consort Shen has promised this king that he will allow Qinghua to live so long as his intervention is put to an end.” The king charges forth. “This king will not allow Qinghua to abandon him again!”

Binghe’s mind clears with a breath as he falls into a Soresu stance again. He’d pondered calling this style of his something else, but there’s no real point when it’s more based on lightsaber books than actual cultivation swordplay. Besides, it works, so he gets to call it whatever he likes.

Mobei Jun forgets a lot of things often. To not wear the same festive robes two ceremonies in a row. To stop pushing around the cooking staff near their mating season. But most importantly, he forgets that Binghe knows how to fight an ice demon better than anyone in the realms.

See, the system didn’t care if Mobei Jun lived or died until his role in the plot became too critical to ignore, at which point the option of killing him was taken away. But Binghe’s always been a bit pragmatic, and never planned to slip quietly into that sweet night.

A burst of qi passes through a vial of oil and demon blood as Binghe throws it at the frost beneath his king’s feet, emboldening his charge.

As soon as it hits the ice, it explodes.

Binghe is already moving, propelling himself away from the now ruined plant body and king.

Mobei Jun hisses in pain as his boots melt away in thick globs of sizzling leather and fur, his demon mark flashing brilliantly as he attempts to freeze Binghe with a burst of demonic qi, only for another vial to destroy the oncoming ice and make a fine mist.

Mobei Jun can see through it with some difficulty, but not well enough to stop Binghe from cutting into the meat of his shoulder with more of the concoction coating his blade.

Mobei Jun screams as the specially crafted anti-ice-demon formula begins blazing through blood vessels and meridians alike.

Binghe feels tears sting his eyes. He really, really hates hurting Mobei Jun. But…

A flash of gold and laughter, a shimmering green accompanied by gentle hissing hums…

Mobei Jun has lost his dominant perch in Binghe’s heart, and he has two men he slotted onto that pedestal that need him, want him. He won’t fail again them.

His escape is anticlimactic, his harried flight to the fortress matching Mobei Jun’s scrambling portal conjuring back to his palace.

So wasteful…

Zhuzhi-lang is a fearsome nursemaid, as it turns out. Binghe has only a slight chill to his skin when he returns, but straight into a cuddle pile of furs he goes, doctor’s orders.

Gongyi Xiao pouts from his place amongst the shimmering coils. “Will Qinghua really not reconsider? We could help you warm up so much faster.”

Zhuzhi-lang sighs, “A-Xiao, stop pestering Qinghua. He’s obviously tired.”

Binghe’s lip is ripe for the splitting with all this biting. He should—

Tianlang-Jun joins them for the first time since they got here. “Good news and bad news. Good: my darling son is currently licking his wounds along with the mountain sect. Bad: his dear teacher is hot on our trail.”

The demon emperor glances at Binghe. Or rather, behind Binghe. “And I think I know why.”

Binghe startles, eyes widening in alarm.

Shang Qinghua, who’s been sullen since seeing Mobei Jun driven off, scoffs. “Just our luck, Shen-shixiong, now the senile emperor can see us.”

Shen Qingqiu huffs, “Of course. Why would the world not force more dog food down our throats?”

Tianlang-Jun looks bemused. “I believe that Shang… No. Our venerable guest has something he needs to say.”

Binghe pinches his eyes shut, but then reluctantly opens them to meet the emperor. “How?”

Tianlang-Jun smirks. “I first saw them in the springs, when I was under. They were trying to pinch me, you know.”

Binghe huffs, “Of course.”

He glances to Gongyi Xiao and Zhuzhi-lang, who are staring at them as if they’ve gone mad.

Binghe rises. No time like the present. He mutters, “This is going to sound so stupid…”

About two weeks since his confession of all to the three men he’d up-heaved the world for, Binghe feels much lighter. Turns out that carrying the knowledge and guilt of writing the whole world out in a past life really weighs a man down.

Things had gone… better than he had any right for them to.

Tianlang-Jun laughed his ass off upon hearing his real name, joking about how obviously he was totally a dream father come true if Binghe went to this much trouble for him after all this time. Good luck getting that ego back down to tolerable levels, future Binghe.

Gongyi Xiao had taken it the poorest, being so confused. He’d been reassured by the knowledge that his affections and in fact, his overall personality were unknowns to Binghe in the end.

Zhuzhi-lang had only stared, nodded, and murmured that it made sense of many things. Binghe tried to not allow himself to feel stung about the implications of that statement.

In the end, his… well, his boyfriends had agreed to wait until the spirits were satisfied and fleshy again before resuming their relationship progress, and speaking of…

“Did you really have to write such an obnoxious artifact down here?”

Shang Qinghua has been so moody since they last saw Mobei Jun. He tries to play it off as anger that Binghe held a better lot with the demon, but Binghe’s been there. He knows what it is to worry about a man you love in spite of his seeming indifference and too eager fists.

Shen Qingqiu has been pointing out flaws in the biome down here in these caverns for hours now, fully intent on reminding Binghe why him writing the world was an insult to all scholars and their ilk.

At least Shen Qingqiu was willing to inherently accept that Binghe hadn’t been writing with accuracy in mind, constantly sneering at the papapa plants they came across. Binghe’s heard at length a critique of even those, but not in the same vein as Cucumber.

Rather than being content to condemn their existence, Shen Qingqiu takes it upon himself to describe, in detail, why their functions are inefficient and poorly thought out. From the carnivorous tentacle clutches to the sex pollen flower fields, the man spares nothing in his critique.

Honestly, Binghe dreads giving the man his own body. He knows damn well a garden of horrors will be created, if for no other reason than to ‘improve’ on Binghe’s ‘poorly thought out flora.’

As if they need more effective man-eating plants, ah.

Speak of misfortune and it shall come upon you.

There, near the Mirror of Equivalent Truths, sits Cucumber. Xiu Ya is swiping at the mirror’s surface in a predetermined pattern, clearly feeling out it’s arrays to try and find a way to dismantle it.

Fat chance of that, really.

It was meant to bring back a wife’s ghost after some harem drama or something, with her closest friend as a ‘sacrifice’ to activate it like the legends foretold.

Of course, all it really did was bring the wife back and turn the friend, a sullen male harem guard, into his true self, a woman who the protagonist proceeded to congratulate on her newfound truth by, you guessed it, papapaing her into blissful wedlock.

Cucumber sure had hated that plot point.

Shen Qingqiu scoffs, “Trying to affect this master’s airs, are you?” He crosses his arms. “A dismal display.”

Cucumber glowers at the spirit, snapping his fan shut. He glares at Binghe. “Airplane. What the fuck.”

Binghe stares back tiredly. “Cucumber, do we really have to do this?”

Cucumber glares at him, eyes flashing as Xiu Ya returns to his hand. “I’m not getting shoved into a mirror just so Binghe’s worst nightmare can get his body back.”

Binghe blinks slowly. “Cucumber… I was just going to find the harem guard guy. Heck, I would’ve brought him along. If he weren’t in a cell.”

Cucumber huffs, “I’m not letting you do this. I’ve worked hard enough for these lifetimes.”

Binghe’s anger flashes. Worked? In this lifetime maybe, but even then…

Cucumber’s eyes narrow at the silence. “Stop thinking you worked harder in our first life. You wrote bad porn, Airplane.”

Binghe rolls his eyes. He’s done masking. “Look, Cucumber. I’m not here to shove you in the mirror. I just want to make amends.”

Cucumber scoffs, “As if Mobei Jun would be happy with a rat wearing your face.”

Binghe sighs, “I’m not all that interested in Mobei Jun at the moment.”

Cucumber’s face crumples in disbelief. He must assume that Binghe is like him, doggedly attracted to one man and one man only. Sorry, bro, but he’s more flexible than that.

Binghe draws Yan Yu reluctantly. Words are getting them nowhere fast. Shouldn’t be too hard to deflect past Cucumber and get into that mirror, though who got dibs would be interesting.

Too bad for you, Cucumber, but Binghe knows a stalling tactic when he sees one.

Shen Qingqiu smirks. “Careful, Binghe. You never know when the beast will show up. Best treat his little doll with decorum.”

Cucumber’s eyes flash in anger at the spirit, and then pause in uncertainty. “Binghe…?” His face is a twisted war of anger and visible distress. “Y-You mean—?!”

Binghe shrugs, smiling trollishly. “Well, I had to name him something.”

Cucumber wails in pure frustration. “Oh, you hack!”

Chapter Text

Binghe isn’t all too surprised by his dominant position in his personal duel of fates. Cucumber employs Xiu Ya in a classic Star Wars fashion too, using his qi to have it move on its own. A novel trick, able to catch most off-guard, but Binghe’s seen and done worse, so it’s really just a pest.

Blocking and slipping between the spiritually wielded sword’s frankly amateurish strikes, Binghe bats away Cucumber’s version of the Plucked Leaves Flying Flowers technique, which, though honed through his inherited muscle memory, is no match for the genuine article used by Shen Qingqiu.

Cucumber is shouting angry things now, not that Binghe pays much attention to banter in the midst of a fight, something about how he knew he couldn’t trust him.

Binghe huffs. As if his trust in Cucumber hadn’t been let down as soon as the plot was over. Drowned beneath a sea of paperwork that was Cucumber and the protagonist’s responsibilities to begin with.

Binghe’s style of swordplay had an offense problem, but he’s been working on that of late. See, the Soresu style in Star Wars was really half a martial art when you think about it. The fourth form of lightsaber combat, Ataru, made of purely offensive acrobatics and physical strikes, was always meant to supplement the defensive form.

Really, as soon as the word ‘acrobatics’ had left his mouth, Gongyi Xiao’s heart was in his throat, so eager was he to help cultivate that new branch of Binghe’s swordplay.

Tianlang-Jun’s demands for a full brochure on lightsaber combat forms is an unexpected, but at the same time, entirely expected outcome, really.

Binghe really hopes his new life isn’t being cataloged somewhere. If Disney got wind of this… well… Yikes.

Cucumber tries to use a qi enhanced fan to smack Binghe in the face, to which the author responds with a rolling duck away, followed by a sideways thrust kick to the jaw.

Two problems become immediately apparent.

One, Binghe hit him too hard, blood spewing from between those lips. It’s hard to pull a punch on a guy who’s pissing you off. His bad.

Two, Binghe’s new offensive training has stifled his environmental awareness, because Cucumber is sent flying right into the mirror. Oops. Whelp, deep end it is, then.

Binghe gasps for air as he returns from the mirror, his body, his original body, having changed. It’s taken on his new training and such, leaving his once scrawny frame lined with lithe muscle. Magic mirrors allowing you to see yourself through changes are at once comforting and surreal.

He now looks like a ginger, utterly cutesy twink version of the protagonist, the sort of feminine male lead one would expect in a danmei novel.

Cucumber… isn’t faring well.

Binghe knew a lot about Cucumber’s old life. The nepotism, the entitlement, the sheer anger hiding behind an utterly spoiled little brat…

The chronic illness is new, and devastating.

Honestly, Cucumber and Shen Qingqiu had more in common than he’d thought, so reluctant to share vulnerability, no matter how much damage it does to their standing with people.

Cucumber’s body is taking to the painful merging with less success than even Binghe’s formerly unhealthily malnourished frame, his body wracking with harsh coughs and squeals of distress.

Binghe steps out, Yan Yu not in hand, dressed in newly done robes with a cut most would consider horrifically scandalous, baring collarbones and thighs, to see Shen Qingqiu put together with Xiu Ya in hand, whilst Shang Qinghua is likewise ready for battle, Yan Yu properly in his grasp.

Standing across the cavern are a stunned protagonist and Mobei Jun, both staring at the four figures with horror.

The protagonist screams, “Shizun!” His face twisting in anguish as he watches Cucumber shiver and writhe on the ground. He turns to Binghe, snarling, “Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky! What have you done?!”

Binghe stares his unfilial son down sincerely for the first time, allowing his hostility to show. “Actually, Junshang, it’s Binghe. As in, Luo Binghe. I did, after all, give you my name.”

Shen Qingqiu mirthlessly chuckles, “Now, now, beasts, there’s no need to argue over a silly name when there are more…” His fingers reveal knives between them, qi at the ready to fire them at Cucumber. “Pressing matters at hand.”

The protagonist, horrified and affronted at Binghe’s revelation, soon looks feral and desperate at the inherent threat. Cucumber is slowly coming together, sure, but he’s clearly in need of a hospital or something.

Binghe does what he’s always done, and seizes the opportunity with all the aplomb of a scrambling rodent looking for purchase in a cliff face.

Binghe hollers, “Well, Junshang, wouldn’t it be easier to help Shizun if you took him home?”

Shen Qingqiu almost falters, before catching on to the tone, and smiling viciously.

Shang Qinghua’s broader grin matches the smirk on Binghe’s lips.

All three of them, demure little scum villains, are very aware that a demon cannot exist in Binghe’s original world, and neither can his OP sword or qi. If the protagonist takes this offer, he and Cucumber will live long, happy lives, but at the cost of their world domination.

Quite the play if Binghe does say so himself.

The protagonist, of course, had taken the deal, even over Cucumber’s whining about how the protagonist is the best and deserves the world and how dare they take it away.

Honestly, Binghe hadn’t quite realized just how tiresome those tirades are until he’d been disconnected from Cucumber entirely for a while. It’s a miracle he lasted as long as he did under all that and the fan whacking, ah.

Mobei Jun had opened a portal for the disposal of Xin Mo, but it hadn’t come to that.

In fact, Binghe was happy to say that his little sword bun would never really be all that troublesome again.

Thrumming on his back, Xin Mo is chirping and singing of how it loves it’s baba and how sorry it is that it didn’t recognize him sooner, what with the nasty box sticking him in that ugly meat suit.

Binghe kisses the jeweled pommel to calm the blade as Shang Qinghua and Mobei Jun, who is now resigned to accepting this new version of his servant, negotiate new employment terms. Honestly, Shang Qinghua is not nearly as subtle as he should be, what with the peering through lashes and such.

Shen Qingqiu is currently lecturing Yue Qingyuan something fierce, batting aside pleading ‘Xiao-Jiu’ exclamations to continue chastising his newly found soulmate for being too stupid to tell him the truth, to make amends, and to allow some kid to gallivant off in his body.

The rest of the sect, now fully free of some sort of mental intervention by the system to ensure the acceptance of Cucumber as a replacement, were baffled by their former eagerness to take the ‘amnesiac’ Shen Qingqiu over the genuine article.

Guess the system knew that if it didn’t force their acceptance of the circumstances, then Cucumber would be outed one way or another, and it’s little game would’ve been over.

It’s not lost on Binghe that Mu Qingfang, Wei Qingwei, and Liu Qingge are all hungrily eyeing the slits in his pants that show off smooth, lithely muscled thighs. He can feel the hot and moist breath from here.

Binghe unconsciously preens under the attentions of his former martial brothers, all too happy to be eye candy for once. He shakes his head haughtily, the column of his slim throat, his prominent and exposed collarbones, and the bouncing of his ginger curls forcing knuckles to grind into knees.

Unfortunately for Binghe, he is not alone, and neither Gongyi Xiao nor Zhuzhi-lang are all too eager to share him, nor are they amused by the teasing, if the fingers digging possessively into his shoulders and hips are anything to go by.

Binghe’s wince makes Tianlang-Jun snicker. “Really, champ, you need to learn to mind how delectable we are. After all, your dear old dad once—”

Binghe, flushing deeply, damn this thin face, stares at Tianlang-Jun flatly. “Junshang, for the last time, I am not your son. I made you, remember?”

Tianlang-Jun chuckles, “Oh, yes. Don’t worry, my silly little thing, I remember that you made baba to be the best baba.”

Tianlang-Jun tousles Binghe’s hair and kisses his temple. Ack! The nerve!

Binghe bats him away, indignant as his dad’s Tianlang-Jun’s laughter echoes off the walls.

The mirror shimmers, and the quartet tenses.

The protagonist’s departure had been through a Xin Mo rift through the mirror, meant to theoretically give life to whatever demonic qi would be freed.

What stumbles out however…

Tianlang-Jun’s bulge. “A-Xi?!”

Su Xiyan, looking far more like a heavenly demon than normal, stalks out of the portal, reaches Tianlang-Jun, and smacks him upside the head hard enough to send him sprawling.

Su Xiyan then glares at Binghe… and kisses his forehead. She huffs, “We’ll talk in a bit.”

Binghe stares as she proceeds to lambaste her husband for handling their sons so poorly. Wait. Sons?

Zhuzhi-lang tilts his head, and Binghe blinks stupidly in turn. What is he meant to do with all of this?

Gongyi Xiao’s nibble on his ear causes him to gasp, a sound swallowed whole by Zhuzhi-lang’s soft lips and unfair tongue.

Binghe doesn’t remember much after that outside his wonderful boyfriends making up for all that lost time.

Life is good, Binghe reflects as he drafts his latest letter to Shang Qinghua.

Sure, he could use Xin Mo to just get to the ice palace, but his newfound body and fashion sense tend to bring challenges for his hand in marriage, despite his third anniversary coming up, and the clutch merrily churning in his belly.

Zhuzhi-lang and Gongyi Xiao are still adjusting to being joint-fathers, Gongyi having fertilized the eggs Zhuzhi-lang laid whilst Binghe’s womb keeps them happy and toasty until the time came to let the little terrors out.

Heavenly demon population problem? Ha.

Binghe’s now the eldest of three, soon to be four. His parents are about as enthusiastic as he is, for a change.

Speaking of, Gongyi Xiao is currently minding Xin Mo, who is still radiating pure demonic joy after all this time since being declared Binghe’s new favorite creation.

Zhuzhi-lang is busy embroidering the latest line of baby clothes, each set more cuddly and cute than the last.

Aw, what adoring husbands he has now.

Strong husbands, too, if the bands of finger marks on Binghe’s thighs have anything to say. He so adores being so small and demure again. Shang Qinghua’s physique was too thick to get grips like this, after all.

Getting back to the Northern Consort, he’s currently staying at the Northern Palace to appoint new staff, having appointed Binghe’s choice of head disciple the temporary Lord of An Dang in his absence, her street smarts and wheeling fashion of dealing with merchants having impressed the original goods just as much as Binghe.

She and Ming Fan, who is acting as new acting Peak Lord in place of the vacationing Shen Qingqiu, who is on honeymoon with Yue Qingyuan after two years of courtship and healing, are a fearsome duo.

All are aware they will be the next generation lords of their peaks, after all. Ah, what a power couple they’ll make.

Twin kisses to his belly bring Binghe back as he finishes the last line of the letter. He snickers as he takes in his love-struck husbands, both peering up at him with pouts.

The marks on his throat, tits, and thighs should be proof enough of his affections. But he won’t turn down more coddling. He tends to be naked in their personal chambers for a reason, after all.

Gongyi Xiao’s tongue traces the scar under his right tit whilst Zhuzhi-lang drags his nails over the matching adornment under his left.

Binghe flutters under the touches, smiling rather meanly. “Aw! Do A-Xiao and A-Zhu need something from this prince?”

Fuse lit, Binghe sits back, relaxes, and enjoys the resulting fireworks.

He sure loves happy endings.