#﹙ ᶦⁿ ᶜʰᵃʳᵃᶜᵗᵉʳ ﹚ ✕ 𝐋𝐔𝐎 𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐄.

[altarfates]

The implicit trust that exists between them was adamantine, that even as Luo Binghe had been thrust into the purgatory of the endless abyss his heart had yearned insistently to be reunited with his master.

It would have been apposite for it to grow tremulous with ire, the violent quaking of his rage enough to bring the four cultivation sects unceremoniously to their knees. Even he, consumed by the vehemence of it, had imprudently leant upon the notion of it only consisting of resentment. It hadn’t been until his shizun’s elegant spine was pressed flushed to a wall and his hand had clasped firmly over his mouth pouring blood down his desperately constricting throat, that something else had kindled within him, the origins of a fierce inferno. It was a past steeped in treachery, a childhood that had only known torment dissolved before the benevolence of one man insisting on keeping a practised distance between the two of them. That disciple’s urgent, enthusiastic gait had walked just a few strides behind him for much of his youth; afterwards, when he returned from that hellish abyss, he had been certain to hunt him more effectively. 

He cannot think of anything other than the immaculate jade of Shen Qingqiu’s features now flushed prettily, his mouth parted obediently around his thick shaft, something about that debauched act stokes that unrelenting heat to terrifying heights. Within the sanctuary of his mind, confined for their depravity was too grotesque to allow him to witness, Luo Binghe tames the delirious reverie of splitting apart his skin so he might make room for himself beside the fluttering alacrity of his heart. The ways he wants him are endless, his mind craves it all from the mundanity of folding his washing and cooking his food, to caressing his elegant visage as he moans the demon lord’s name, unrestrained, captive to the intensity of his own desire. Punishment was right, he did covet it. Craving the act of being unmade by the very hands that sought to appease him, longing for both the exquisite act of pleasure verging upon agony to the gentlest caress those hands could bestow. Greedy, Luo Binghe was greedy and he shows no remorse for being seen in that morbid act, revealing the avarice of his heart without the need to obstruct it, a part of him wants, needs, to know that even as his most sullied Shen Qingqiu will still accept him. He knows he will, the reassurance is yet another integral part of that greed.

Know me, he behests, baring the squalor of his blackened soul as Shen Qingqiu lowers down the length of his cock, saliva assisting in accommodating his descent, the back of his throat spasming as the head brushes against something sensitive, the jolt of pleasure from it is enough to have him sinking his teeth into his own fingers, repressing something visceral, mindlessly laving the stain of crimson off of them. The taste alleviates it, there’s something inherently sinful about the way Shen Qingqiu preserves their eye contact, divesting his rebellious disciple of chances to evade that piercing, inquisitive darkness. It’s a wicked thrill that curls within him, sinuous tendrils that encircle the notches of his spine, swathing the molten heat in his gut and compelling his hips to thrust further into the pleasantly constricting heat of his mouth. Luo Binghe doesn’t want to hurt him, doesn’t want to force more of his dick into the other’s mouth than he can take but his mind, effaced of frivolous things like consideration, wants no needs to feel him choking upon the girth of it again. It was unfair how he could remain so alluring as saliva trickled down his chin in a thin rivulet, his lips parted salaciously around him, tongue slipping between them to tease him in tantalizing lines of slick, unforgiving heat. It was almost too much, Luo Binghe watched him through the thick, dark veil of his lashes, his pupils widening to consume the crimson hungrily circling them. He could not look away, did not want to look away, he needed to carve the image of it beneath his eyelids, to immortalize it. If he is to restrain that animalistic urge, the persistent aching in his gums to ruthlessly dethrone him and pin him down, ravaging him until the silken sheets twisted with how he writhed, he deserves at least this as compensation. 

Then his hands, deft and gracile, slip further down, not interrupting the steady way he takes his husband’s cock into his mouth but punctuating that all encompassing heat with a new, unfamiliar lance of pleasure. His dark, expressive brows are drawn together, breath hitching as Shen Qingqiu learns how best to dismantle him. It begins with those dauntless fingertips caressing the smooth skin of his balls and ends as they press, not urgently but firmly against the puckering rim of his ass. It was a besetting onslaught of pleasure, an exquisite contrast between mouth and hand that has Luo Binghe moaning his name wantonly. The way it settles upon his lips is tantalizing, no longer relying on the appellation of shizun to separate the two of them, his name, Shen Qingqiu, pitched from behind his teeth as they sink into the pliant skin of his bottom lip is utterly obscene. His fingers press further in, exploring the places within Luo Binghe that only he will ever witness, coaxing wave after wave of pleasure to carve him anew. Despite how the bestial thing in him hungers for Shen Qingqiu’s ruinious pleasure it is his cock that twitches against his shizun’s tongue, it is him who has to restrain the exigent desire to coat the other’s throat in thick, white ropes of cum. It’s a relief then when he pulls back, heaving gasping mouthfuls of air into his lungs, his eyes hazed and his mouth alluring, wet with spit and precum, ruddy with the filthy ways he sought to pleasure his disciple. As Shen Qingqiu rises, settling once more atop the sharp contours of his abdomen, he is struck by the wetness that dwells between his plush thighs, the profound need that was derived not from his own pleasure but from sucking off Luo Binghe. It goes straight to his head, a writhing sort of static pleasure that effaces any other thought he could have summoned. As he is kissed he groans, vulgarity swallowed by the other’s tempting mouth against his own, Luo Binghe’s tongue caressing their seam and asserting his dominance. He had heard what had been said, was still reeling with the revelation when he pulled back, just enough so that their breath can be one shared in tandem. “ Shizun.” The proud curve of his cock is pressed firmly against the curve of master’s ass, the voracity that Luo Binghe cultivated in his presence evinced in the way it strains against his skin, desperate to be deep inside of him rather than condemned like this. He trembles with it, the raw, unrestrained desire he had possessed for his shizun erupts in a disgorging moment of precipitous motion, fingers finding purchase against his hips and effectively dragging him from his seat atop Luo Binghe’s stomach. It isn’t ruthless, nor violent but the relentless desire betrayed in the way he effortlessly switches their position says more than words could ever. 

Shen Qingqiu is now beneath him, their bodies so close that their shared heat is almost unbearable. Luo Binge’s hand still presses insistently into the places his waist narrows, almost bruising, deliberately possessive. “ …inside.” he repeats the word prolonging the sound with a rumination that belies his inner machinations, the way that demon lord became volatile around others but tempered to something softer with him. He was regarding him cautiously, repressing the hunger that clawed him into a festering wound because his Shizun’s features were open, honest, flustered in a way that made him insatiable. He leans down and buries his face in the crook of his throat, initially it’s just warm breath fanning against sensitive skin but soon it devolves into chaste kisses along the enticing arch of his neck, then, after that, teeth that graze and tentatively bite. “ Shizun won’t regret this, will he.” he murmurs hotly against the warmth of his skin, the need to be inside of him, fucking him open, was rapidly eroding on the tenuous remnants of his restraint. He hasn’t given him time proper to articulate when he draws the other’s thighs close to him, the authority of that single hand pressing into the supple skin of his thigh and dragging him closer was less Luo Binghe disciple of Qing Jing peak and more heavenly lord of the demon realm. His cock rests against the tempting heat of his pussy, teasing as it eased through the mess indicative of Shen Qingqiu’s desire. Not yet, even as his mind riots violently, wanting nothing less than to rut urgently into the heat of him, he manages another soft, breathy warning. “ I need you..” 

maybe  Shen  Qingqiu  should  submit  to  his  disciple's  declarations  and  admonish  punishment  after  all.   again  and  again,  as  if  gleaning  some  kind  of  sick  enjoyment  from  the  concept  of  it,  Luo  Binghe  has  reminded  his  master  that  a  punishment  was  in  order  for  his  salacious  tongue.  that  Shen  Qingqiu  should  assume  the  role  he  was  rightfully  granted  the  moment  they  entered  this  relationship.  though  they  treated  each  other  as  equals,  there  was  still  a  very  clear  power  imbalance  between  the  two  of  them  in  a  very  unique  way.  while  Luo  Binghe  excelled  far  above  Shen  Qingqiu  in  physical  and  spiritual  strength,  Shen  Qingqiu's  status  as  both  his  teacher  and  his  mentor  had  somehow  subdued  this  heavenly  demon  into  acquiescence  for  his  master's  every  decision.  love  was  an  incredulous  thing  deserving  of  a  thorough  dissection.  it  could  transform  even  the  most  violent  creatures  into  the  most  harmless  of  entities.  to  no  one  else  but  Shen  Qingqiu  did  Luo  Binghe  willingly  bend  the  knee,  and  it  was  due,  in  no  small  part,  to  the  voilatile  nature  of  that  thing  called  love.  it  seemed  to  fester  in  his  disciple's  heart  like  an  infection  in  an  open  wound,  spreading  through  his  veins  to  his  bones,  weakening  his  organs  and  consummating  his  decision  to  offer  himself  before  Shen  Qingqiu  like  one  offers  golds  and  riches  to  a  god.  in  Shen  Qingqiu's  mind  though,  Luo  Binghe  was  worth  far  more  than  any  physical  treasure  coveted  by  man  and  beast  alike.  Luo  Binghe  was  special  beyond  words:  his  secret  heaven,  his  respite  away  from  the  chaos  of  the  cultivation  world.  Luo  Binghe  was  the  foundation  to  his  resolve;  the  soil  fertilizing  the  garden  flourishing  unfettered  in  his  heart.  vines  woven  in  between  every  bone  in  his  ribcage,  constricting  his  heart,  leaving  no  room  for  anyone  but  himself.  and  he  knew  well  that  he  was  the  groundwork  that  kept  Luo  Binghe  rooted  in  the  realm  of  reality.

never  again  would  his  mind  stray  down  dark  paths   –   never  again  would  his  feet  deep  into  bottomless  depths  that  swallowed  him  whole,  choked  the  air  from  his  lungs,  filled  his  body  and  his  bones  with  resentment  and  hatred.  because  each  time  he  was  submerged,  it  was  always  Shen  Qingqiu's  hand  that  pulled  him  out  from  beneath  those  murky  waters.  they  were  each  other's  greatest  salvation  and  sinful  downfall.  and  Shen  Qingqiu  was  fine  with  this   –   had  aptly  accepted  it  so  long  ago  the  moment  he  unveiled,  with  certainity,  the  axiom  of  Luo  Binghe's  feelings  for  him.  Luo  Binghe  was  a  great  many  things:  a  liar,  a  beast,  a  demon,  a  disobedient  disciple,  and  incorrigible  youth   –   perceptions  and  false  narratives  sculpted  of  him  rooted  in  surface-level  interactions.  those  who  condemned  him  rarely  had  the  insight  of  the  man  lurking  beneath  the  beast.  no  one  knew  Luo  Binghe  better  than  Shen  Qingqiu,  nor  would  they  ever,  for  the  things  revealed  so  flagrantly  to  Shen  Qingqiu  were  things  meant  only  for  his  eyes  and  no  one  else's.  they  were  a  gift  of  the  highest  honor  bestowed  upon  him,  and  Shen  Qingqiu  had  every  intention  to  cherish  them.  there  wasn't  an  ounce  of  betrayal  to  be  found  lurking  in  the  corners  of  his  heart   –   never  would  he  offer  his  disciple  as  a  sacrifice  to  the  avarice  and  prejudice  of  those  who  failed  to  really  understand  him.

on  the  subject  of  punishment…  Shen  Qingqiu  does  contemplate  it.  he  has  the  time  do  so  now  that  his  mind  had  made  space,  and  banished  the  former  flurry  of  catastrophic  thoughts  he'd  nearly  crumpled  to.  twice  now  Luo  Binghe's  suggested  his  master  should  take  some  sort  of  action  against  him,  and  the  glimmer  in  his  dark  red  eyes  betray  the  mounting  concupiscence  in  his  heart.  Shen  Qingqiu's  mind  momentarily  leans  on  the  laurels  of  askance:  he  almost  wants  to  verify  the  validity  behind  Luo  Binghe's  protrusive  insistence,  that  there  isn't  some  underlying  catch-22  hidden  in  the  catacombs  of  it.  you  can  never  actually  tell  what  the  heavenly  demon  is  thinking:  numerous  times  he's  been  able  to  deceive  Shen  Qingqiu  into  believing  one  thing,  only  to  reveal  the  opposite  later  on.  it's  generally  earned  him  a  verbal  lashing,  but  Luo  Binghe  is  an  exceptionally  intelligent  individual,  and  isn'tt  one  to  be  underestimated  in  any  capacity.  failure  to  take  this  into  consideration  often  lead  to  unfavourable  outcomes.  the  only  one  who  wasn't  completely  at  risk  of  falling  to  Luo  Binghe's  subterfuge  was  Shen  Qingqiu  himself   –   once  again  lead  by  his  relationship  to  his  master,  pure  and  unbridled.  it's  as  if  Luo  Binghe's  greatest  fear  is  crafting  consternation  between  the  two  of  them,  permanently  sullying  the  undiluted  bond  between  them.  it  proved  to  Shen  Qingqiu  that  his  heart  really  was  fragile  when  it  came  to  him   –   that  the  smallest  imbalance  could  send  it  into  disarray,  and  he  loathed  the  thought  of  shattering  him  like  glass.  Hadn't  the  original  flavour  already  accomplished  this  enough?  and  hadn't  Shen  Yuan-now-transmigrated-into-Shen  Qingqiu  make  it  personal  mission  to  cherish  and  protect  this  pure  and  unsullied  flower?  even  after  Luo  Binghe  was  shoved  into  the  Endless  Abyss  by  none  other  than  Shen  Qingqiu  and  his  heart  blackened,  his  master  was  determined  to  never  repeat  the  same  mistake  again.

so  much  had  been  miscommunicated  between  them  due  to  their  inability  to  use  their  words  correctly,  but  now  Shen  Qingqiu  had  a  chance  to  rectify  that  mistake.  he  once  more  flicked  his  gaze  toward  Luo  Binghe  when  his  disciple  earnestly  divested  his  true  thoughts  about  what's  being  done  to  him.  Shen  Qingqiu  can  count  the  amount  of  times  his  disciple's  lied  to  him  on  one  hand   –   he  trusts,  more  than  anything,  that  he  isn't  holding  back.  that  what  flows  freely  from  his  lips  is  precisely  in  line  what  with  he  feels.  it  makes  Shen  Qingqiu's  heart  swell  with  pride.  he  may  lack  for  experience  in  this  particular  act,  but  as  long  as  he  had  Luo  Binghe's  guidance,  he  could  rest  assured  he  could  navigate  through  this  correctly  and  produce  the  most  satisfaction  for  his  cultivation  partner.  therefore,  it  wouldn't  come  as  any  shock  that  his  efforts  picked  up  in  earnest  directly  after  that,  and  suddenly  he  wasn't  just  testing  the  waters,  but  experimenting  more  fervently.  picking  apart  his  lover's  responses  and  measuring  the  results  he  receives.  it's  with  a  little  difficulty  that  he  finds  success  in  swallowing  his  erection  down  far  enough  that  it's  tapered  head  is  nestled  against  the  back  of  his  throat.  he  experiences  some  mild  discomfort,  and  even  gags  a  little  bit,  but  the  ordeal  isn't  wholly  unpleasant.  if  anything,  once  he's  adjusted  enough,  he  finds  he  enjoys  it.  his  response  to  Luo  Binghe's  confirmation  creates  a  current  of  confidence  in  him  even  though  it's  his  first  time.  soon  enough  the  room  is  filled  with  the  vulgar  sounds  of  his  lips  sweeping  along  the  length  of  his  erection  and  the  suckling  that  came  with  it.  he  starts  slow  at  first,  and  then  gradually  picks  up  the  pace  as  his  confidence  swells  to  new  heights.

then  comes  the  addition  of  his  hand   –   not  on  the  shaft,  but  cupping  his  balls.  it's  another  experiment  he  wants  to  engage  in.  he  finds  the  flesh  especially  soft  like  velvet  here,  delicate  and  smooth  beneath  his  fingertips.  he  gives  himself  only  a  fraction  of  a  second  to  marvel  at  this  revelation  before  manipulating  his  fingers  into  a  gesture  that  resembled  rolling  them.  he  keeps  them  cupped  in  palm  as  lithe  digits  smoothed  over  pliant  edges  and  toyed  with  dual  mounds.  these  movements  are  significantly  slower  than  how  he  drapes  his  mouth  over  his  erection,  but  he  wants  to  take  care  and  give  him  time  to  thoroughly  enjoy  his  treatment.  Shen  Qingqiu  could  delegate  an  adequate  punishment  for  him  later  on:  here  and  now,  in  this  moment,  he  only  wants  to  pleasure  Luo  Binghe.  his  eyes  have  yet  to  severe  from  the  connection  with  Luo  Binghe's,  keen  to  unearth  all  the  things  he's  feeling  right  now.  all  the  thoughts  whipping  around  his  catastrophic  mind.  the  hand  on  his  balls  slips  further  down   –   suddenly  there's  something  small  and  rounded  pressing  at  his  lover's  entrance.  he  waits  the  span  of  precisely  two  seconds  before  pushing  his  way  in  and  being  enveloped  by  heat.  he  thinks  vaguely  to  himself,  of  how  many  times  Luo  Binghe's  done  this  to  him;  touched  him  in  these  intimate  and  animalistic  ways.  the  uncountable  instances  of  him  eating  Shen  Qingqiu  out  while  sticking   a  finger  or  two  into  his  puckered  hole.  a  mere  rememberance  alone  causes  the  wetness  between  his  own  legs  to  surge   –   to  ache  with  wanton  desire.  would  that  he  could  climb  on  top  of  him  right  now  and  beset  that  taunt  pillar  in  the  plush  walls  of  his  arousal.  he  can  already  guess  how  fervently  his  discple  plans  to  rut  into  him  after  Shen  Qingqiu's  relinquished  control  and  passed  the  reigns  to  him  instead.  his  arousal  swells  yet  again;  he  feels  liquid  trickle  down  his  inner  thigh.

but  just  as  all  good  things  begin   –   so  do  they  come  to  an  end.  Shen  Qingqiu's  jaw  eventually  grows  tired,  and  he's  dragged  this  out  long  enough.  he's  no  doubt  in  his  mind  Luo  Binghe  might  complain  in  the  absence  of  his  lips,  but  he'd  be  duly  rewarded  for  his  patience.  so  Shen  Qingqiu  releases  him  from  the  confines  of  his  mouth  with  a  soft  ‘pop’.  he  swallows  a  few  mouthfuls  of  air,  having  almost  completely  denied  himself  until  now,  and  affixes  his  lover  with  an  engrossed  expression.   “   this  master  will  punish  you  later.  ”   he  offers  his  rebuttal  long  after  those  thoughts  have  dissipated  from  the  air.   “  for  now…  ”   his  hand  rises  to  cup  the  swell  of  of  Luo  Binghe's  cheek.   “  …  this  master  has  a  gift  for  you  instead,  since  you've  been  so  good  these  days.  ”   he  might  come  to  regret  this  decision  later  on,  especially  when  taking  into  account  Luo  Binghe's  voraciously  sexual  nature   (  demons  had  too  much  stamina!  too  much!  ),  but  he  didn't  care  to  entertain  those  thoughts  for  now.  his  lips  seek  his  disciple's  as  he  ascends  the  length  of  his  body  and  rests  his  hips  upon  his  stomach,  mere  inches  above  that  weeping  erection.   “  you  may  cum  inside  this  master  tonight.  ”   if  he  had  any  reservations  about  it  before,  there  was  no  going  back  now.   “   raw.  ”   he  added,  almost  as  a  careless  afterthought.  Luo  Binghe  had  been  hounding  him  for  weeks  to  let  him  do  that,  and  thanks  to  his  exemplary  behaviour,  he  had  finally  earned  his  lover's  approval. 

[altarfates]

It is expected that Liu Qingge won’t heed his commands, he is no low level demon cowering before Luo Binghe’s imposing power nor is he those other sect disciples that only stare on with bitter contempt. Unlike them he meets him head on, a clash of indomitable wills that erupts in a shuddering of incandescent sparks. There’s gratification to be derived from that, even if his shishu thoroughly despises him, views him as nothing more than an loathsome beast, he doesn’t turn from him, always levels him with an unwavering glare that somehow carried more weight than it should. It isn’t something either seeks to fully understand, it’s better kept clandestine, ignored, repressed by violently attacking one another until one of them, likely Liu Qingge, bends at the knee. This fight was inevitable, so long as those two opposing forces occupied that vicinity they would clash, Shen Qingqiu must know this to be the case and yet, he doesn’t intercept them, allowing them to indulge like this. part of him wonders why, as insatiable as the other parts of him, why did his shizun not attempt to prevent this ? what did he see or understand that neither of them were capable of ? His eyes are compelled to savour the way the other crumples, the burgeoning pain shooting out from his knee enough to render him momentarily incapacitated. He was like a predator, hungrily circling his favoured prey with a diabolical glint to his eyes, red, burning vermillion, withering crimson, the sort that would reduce his shishu to ashes if he stared too long or too hard.  “ Liu Qingge !” his name is punctuated with fury, because that fact was not too far removed from reality. no one else saw this abominable disciple as anything less than a vile beast, loathing him was standard, relentlessly reviling him was normalcy. there was no other opinion to be had about that hellish disciple of qing jing peak other than he was incorrigible and deserved all that befell him. 

As Cheng Luan appears, rising from the neat stack of books and effectively sending them sprawling about, xiu ya meets it and repels its initial assault. The blades wail in a strident cacophony, reuniting only to parry one another again and again, the two who oppose each other such disparate forces never growing reluctant to strike. It’s reminiscent of their confrontations long ago, just like this time, Shen Qingqiu had been the nucleus of that battle. Luo Binghe and Liu Qingge could seemingly never get along, even if their love was directed at the same person their opposing personalities could only hope to incessantly clash in this way. As proud as Liu Qingge stands, directing Cheng Luan does Luo Binge’s effortlessly shift between defensive and offensive, caught between their calamitous battle the room is effectively sent into a disarray, arbitrarily books are strewn about, scrolls unravelling across the floor. It’s within that turbulent chaos that Liu Qingge lunges for him and his hand reaches to intercept only to find himself spattered with a lurid sheen of blood. Pain erupted from between the other’s pursed lips in a guttural howl, a frenzy of excruciating agony and fury contorting his shishu’s features vehemently. The very tip of the blade had flushed to his shoulder but not so much as grazed his delicate black robes, embedded instead in the flesh of Liu Qingge, protruding through and out just below his collarbone. Luo Binghe’s mind almost refused to accept this fact, that his shishu had taken a blow intended for him was inconceivable. what enduring resentment urged someone to place themselves between an imminent strike and their enemy, what revulsion lured him into abandoning their fight in order to protect Luo Binghe. Was it instinct or by choice ? What sort of thoughts were rushing through his mind as he wedged himself into that precarious position, unbothered if Luo Binghe’s own qi might have once again forced him to his knees. 

As the other marches furiously out of the room, the impression of his fingers pressing into Luo Binghe’s shoulder remains, suffusing warmth through the rest of him, an inexplicable feeling he does not want to acknowledge but also cannot entirely ignore. Liu Qingge whips around, his long, inky black hair lashing out behind him as he storms out of the hole in the wall, ruthlessly hunting down whatever had stooped to interrupting their fight. Incredulously he blinks, unable to prevent his feet from following, standing before the decimated wall as his shishu swiftly dispatches their enemies. It’s as if all of the tightly coiled fury had dissipated beneath his skin, a receding crimson that left him startlingly aware of how hastily Liu Qingge had acted in his defense. It was foolish, utterly foolish, so why were his eyes drawn back to the proud silhouette he cut against the bamboo as he stalked back towards him. He was steeped in a macabre red, spattered across his chest, soaking his sleeves, dripping in thin rivulets down his blade, all of it stirred something unfamiliar yet also painfully familiar in that broken disciple. By instinct his hand reaches out to steady Liu Qingge, a firm, unfaltering touch that feels utterly brazen and intrusive but doesn’t relent beneath his inevitable retaliation. “ hold onto me.” he says, the absence of hostility in his voice is disconcerting but he doesn’t hesitate to vice his fingers around the blade’s intricate shaft and slowly, with his shishu’s help, far too aware of the shallow rasp of his breath, pulls the blade free. “ I don’t understand you.” he mutters, there’s something bitter smeared across his tongue, it might be the heady aroma of the other’s blood. “ protecting the one you say you hate, injuring yourself for the sake of a lowly beast.” he grits his teeth but there’s something rather pitiful about his expression, his incisive gaze framed by dark, furrowed brows, his mouth drawn not into a cruel sneer but an ambivalent line. “ Never mind it, your wounds . . shizun won’t like it if you bleed all over his floor, i’ll treat you, sit down.”

                 of  course  Liu  Qingge  knows  full  well  his  attack  is  going  to  miss:  he's  been  fortunate  enough  in  the  past  to  strike  Luo  Binghe  a  number  of  times,  but  all  of  those  strikes  have  been  hard  won,  and  not  without  Liu  Qingge  suffering  in  retrospect.   for  each  triumphant  hit  landed,  the  same  had  been  returned  to  him  threefold.  he  didn't  have  enough  fingers  on  his  hands  anymore  to  count  the  amount  of  times  he'd  been  thoroughly  beaten  by  Luo  Binghe.  but  like  a  disease  you  just  couldn't  seem  to  shake,  Liu  Qingge  always  came  creeping  back.  it  would  take  nothing  less  than  outright  killing  him  before  Luo  Binghe  would  know  any  semblance  of  peace   –   but  maybe  that  was  the  appeal  in  it.  maybe  it  was  there,  in  Liu  Qingge's  incessant  drive  to  clash  over  and  over,  that  gave  Luo  Binghe  so  much  gratification.  after  all,  it  was  just  as  easy  for  him  to  simply  kill  his  Shishu;  he  held  more  than  enough  power  to  do  so,  and  he'd  barely  break  a  sweat.  the  fact  that,  in  spite  of  this,  he  didn't  seem  all  that  interested  in  actually  doing  it,  meant  that  there  was  something  more  to  all  of  this  than  Liu  Qingge  could  guess.  not  that  he  cared,  necessarily   –   alive  or  dead,  the  only  thing  that  mattered  to  him  was  beating  Luo  Binghe  down  whenever  he  had  the  chance  as  some  vain  outlet  into  avoiding  his  own  pitiful  shortcomings.  because  beating  Luo  Binghe  up  meant  he  could  avoid  reflecting  on  his  own  prior  transgressions;  it  meant  he  could  pretend  like  he  hadn't  failed  Shen  Qingqiu  in  the  past,  and  would  continue  to  fail  him,  even  if  he  was  his  cultivation  partner.  it  was  no  small  wonder  that  Liu  Qingge  and  Luo  Binghe  constantly  came  to  blows,  when  Luo  Binghe  seemed  to  have  a  penchant  for  reminding  Liu  Qingge  of  his  failures  at  every  chance  he  got.  for  the  moment,  though,  such  words  hadn't  yet  left  Luo  Binghe's  lips   –   but  Liu  Qingge  had  a  sneaking  suspicion  it'd  come  up  eventually.

                  “  Luo  Binghe,  you  impudent  little--  ”   when  his  strike  landed  true,  Liu  Qingge  had  been  forced  gasping  to  his  knees,  ignoring  the  pain  that  erupted  over  his  limbs  like  wildfire.  it  ran  rampant  throughout  his  nerves,  wrecking  havoc  and  sapping  his  strength,  but  a  single  blow  wouldn't  be  enough  to  subdue  the  beast,  for  Liu  Qingge  was  more  formidable  than  even  the  most  feared  villains  residing  in  the  underworld.  he'd  spotted  Luo  Binghe's  absent  gaze   –   watched  as  it  descended  on  a  nearby  stack  of  volumes  fondly  kept  by  Shen  Qingqiu.  Liu  Qingge  felt  a  twinge  of  regret  when  he  saw  them.  he  knew  some  of  them  were  bound  to  get  damaged  in  the  aftermath  of  their  squabble,  but  if  he  stopped  now,  he  wasn't  going  to  forgive  himself.  once  something  was  started,  Liu  Qingge  would  obstinately  see  it  to  the  bitter  end,  even  at  the  cost  of  his  own  life.  he  was  intractable  by  nature.  he  was  a  violence  tempered  by  the  catastrophies  of  indomitable  human  nature.   “  Shen  Qingqiu  coddles  you  too  much.  ”   Liu  Qingge  viciously  spat  out.   “  he's  too  blinded  by  his  bias  for  you,  but  make  no  mistake,  no  one  else  sees  you  the  same  way.  ”   his  tone  cleaves  sharply  through  every  word,  splitting  them  apart  by  fibers.  as  he  pushes  himself  back  up  to  his  feet,  he  makes  a  sign  with  his  pointer  and  index  fingers,  and  flicks  them  upward.  a  flash  of  steel  screeches  through  the  air  and  dances  with  the  same  brutal  and  savage  grace  as  the  one  who  masters  it. 

                  Cheng  Luan  appears!

                  having  lept  from  beneath  the  prison  of  books  it  was  previously  stashed  under,  it  soars  unceremoniously  straight  for  Luo  Binghe.  in  seconds  the  room  is  filled  with  the  sounds  of  steel  clashing  against  steel   –   he's  no  doubt  Luo  Binghe  will  be  quick  to  parry.  Liu  Qingge  stands  proudly  where  he  is,  one  hand  folded  behind  his  back,  the  fingers  of  the  other  guiding  Cheng  Luan  in  battle.  he's  purposefully  ignoring  the  twinges  of  pain  in  his  legs,  not  wanting  to  give  his  companion  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  he'd  dealt  quite  a  blow.  it'd  been  so  devastating  in  fact,  that  Liu  Qingge  is  certain  his  left  ankle  is  sprained.  he  finds  that   –   when  he  puts  a  little  too  much  weight  on  it   –   an  ache  unspools  into  his  veins  like  molton  lava.   “  do  you  really  think  it  bears  repeating?  ”   Liu  Qingge  barks  over  the  ear-splitting  sounds  of  steel  striking  steel.   “  you  know  exactly  what  you've  done  to  take  advantage  of  him   –   i  wouldn't  be  fighting  you  if  you  weren't  such  a  beast.  ”   for  the  time  being  he's  elected  to  ignore  the  blatant  attempt  at  insulting  his  lifestyle;  realistically,  he  could  give  two  shits  less  what  Luo  Binghe  thought  of  him.  his  fondness  for  fighting  was  something  he  took  great  pride  in.  even  if  it  was  all  he's  good  for…  what  did  it  matter?  Liu  Qingge  grit  his  teeth,  his  rage  billowing  like  his  sleeves  in  the  soft  summer  wind,  and  once  again  began  to  gather  spiritual  energy   –   this  time  in  his  unoccupied  hand.  however,  before  he  could  deign  to  gift  it  to  his  insipid  opponent,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  something  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye.  without  thinking  twice,  he  let  the  spiritual  power  in  his  hand  disperse  and  lunged  toward  Luo  Binghe.  from  a  glance,  it  looked  like  he  was  about  to  tackle  him,  but  at  the  last  second  something  rather  fast,  sharp,  and  metal  buried  itself  in  his  shoulder.  the  blade  was  long  enough  that  it  pierced  through  the  other  side  of  his  clavical  so  it  was  sticking  straight  through.  a  pained  cry  of  surprise  leapt  from  his  lip  and  he  spit  blood,  but  with  it  came  a  newfound  fury.

                  having  nearly  lost  his  balance  thanks  to  his  injured  ankle,  Liu  Qingge  managed  to  catch  himself  by  gripping  onto  Luo  Binghe's  shoulders  at  the  last  second.  after  steadying  himself,  with  blood  pouring  from  the  wound  and  dripping  off  of  the  sword  currently  embedded  in  his  shoulder,  he  narrowed  his  eyes  and  roared;   “  YOU  DARE?!  ”   as  he  whipped  his  head  toward  the  now  hole  blown  into  the  side  of  the  bamboo  house.  a  number  of  books  and  personal  items  the  three  inhabitants  had  in  the  house  were  now  strewn  all  over  the  floor,  but  the  sight  of  it  wasn't  what  enraged  Liu  Qingge  so  much.   “  HOW  DARE  YOU  STRIKE  WHEN  SOMEONE  ISN'T  LOOKING?  COWARD!  ”   he  couldn't  yet  see  who  it  was  that'd  just  interrupted  their  fight,  but  quite  frankly…  he  didn't  care.  seeing  as  how  he'd  successfully  blocked  their  attack  and  shielded  Luo  Binghe,  his  attention  was  now  drawn  entirely  on  the  hidden  offender  outside.  normally  one  would  ask  why  someone  like  Liu  Qingge  would  try  to  protect  someone  like  Luo  Binghe,  much  less  using  his  own  body  as  a  shield,  but  at  the  present  moment,  there  wasn't  any  time  to  ponder  the  details.  instead,  Liu  Qingge  acted  like  there  wasn't  a  longsword  jammed  into  his  shoulder  and  stooped  to  pick  up  Cheng  Luan,  which  had  fallen  mere  seconds  after  he  was  struck  by  that  unknown  assailant.  he  held  it  in  his  good  hand  and  stomped  indignantly  out  through  the  hole  in  the  wall,  disappearing  momentarily  into  the  thicket  of  bamboo  outside.  seconds  later  the  muffled  sounds  of  someone  being  assaulted  could  be  heard,  followed  by  a  silence  that  was  quickly  broken  by  Liu  Qingge  stomping  back  into  the  house.  he  was  now  covered  in  more  blood,  but  in  spots  that  didn't  make  sense,  indicating  that  it  was  someone  else's  instead.  furthermore,  Cheng  Luan  was  now  drenched  in  it,  which  made  it  easy  to  put  two  and  two  together  into  what  happened.

                  he  shot  a  vicious  glare  at  Luo  Binghe,  but  there  was  something  else  tangled  with  the  fierceness  in  his  gaze.  relief…  perhaps?  that  the  other  hadn't  been  seriously  injured?  his  eyes  lingered  a  little  too  long  on  Luo  Binghe's  face  before  they  slid  to  the  ground.  Liu  Qingge's  vision  swam,  and  he  swayed  a  little  bit  in  place,  forcing  him  to  use  Cheng  Luan  as  a  crutch,  but  he  didn't  lose  his  balance  alltogether  just  yet.  what'd  just  happened  made  for  an  awkward  situation  he  wasn't  quite  ready  to  acknowledge.   “  help  me  get  this  thing  out.  ”   he  muttered,  his  chagrin  evident.   “  too  many  of  those  damned  demons  have  a  grudge  with  you.  ”   and  with  that  final  sentence…..  he  dropped  his  sword  and  collapsed  on  his  side,  breathing  heavily  and  his  eyes  pinched  closed.

[altarfates]

It was nothing short of farcical, the quaint life that Shen Qingqiu had formed with diligent, well-meaning hands. Because what did his husband know of suffering, even if he endured it, was it not benign in comparison to the maladies running rampant in this world. Luo Binghe should know, he was the most virulent of all. A sickness plagued him, it’s onset found amongst days that should have been dictated by the fervour of youth but were instead permeated with vitriol and cruelty. Even if this shizun attempts to imitate the counterpart Luo Binghe had slain they could be nothing short of polar opposites. It mattered not that his gaze remained reticent, only ever glancing at him in transience, his eyes an inhospitable wasteland. Luo Binghe had long since digested the subtle nuances of his shizun, he had to, his survival depended on it. That is why he can exhume his sedulously concealed expressions and differentiate them, picking them apart with the same avarice that had led to the destruction of countless lives. There was something to be said about conquest, whilst the exultation tasted sweet and tempting after a while, when all else had been reduced to detritus and nondescript graves, the life he had vindictively cultivated was rather lonesome. Perhaps that is why he asks the question, burying his gaze into that immaculate visage, or maybe it was merely another atrocity uttered from the brazen mouth of a imperious beast. Who could say for certain. Perfect, because only someone so blissfully ignorant, who had withstood only a fraction of Luo Binghe’s anguish, could be considered without flaw. It doesn’t quell the immediate thought that rises to breach the surface, was Shen Qingqiu dull witted, or was it that his gaze was hazed in an inebriating roseate, the sort of intoxication only love could entail. It compels his brows to furrow, it isn’t a vehement expression but it’s enough to convey that his brandished weapon had found its mark. He wanted Luo Binghe to know that despite all of his exploits and accomplishments he was indubitably inferior to Shen Qingqiu’s original disciple. That perforating stare had dissolved into a flinty glare, the belligerent crimson of his eyes indurating into a formidable weapon. Impressively he does not yield, rising abruptly to his feet and finally violating that distance he had cautiously kept between them.  “ Is he as perfect as you say, or are you blinded by your affections ?” even as his heart was rendered efficiently by those verbal claws Luo Binghe’s voice remained icy, it is then, whilst his pretty countenance contorts in the throes of utter disdain, that a hand comes down and collides with his cheek. The resonating sound leaves more of an impression than the pain, a dull, quickly receding ache that leaves him to rapaciously await another. This sequestered moment stills, grows stagnant, if one cast their gaze to the moonlit sky perhaps everything had grown infinitely darker. Something that had simmered within him for hours, days, years even begins to seethe viciously. Shen Qingqiu’s voice disperses that tense silence with a commandment, a reminder, that despite all he was this Luo Binghe remained insignificant in comparison. A punitive hand shoots out and grabs his wrists in a vice, thumb pressing with insistent fury into the delicate bone at his wrist, awaiting the moment that impervious facade finally begins to fracture. 

“ Now who is the shameless one ?” inexplicably that unyielding hold can worsen, twisting the ivory skin of his wrist until it reddens beneath him, jerking him close enough to disturb the cooling bowl of neglected food on the table, sending its contents spilling out as it rolls uselessly to the floor. “ Was it not you who said I was never your disciple, that you did not raise such a heinous beast ?” his anger singes the air, a darkness that he had cultivated, harnessed, that Shen Qingqiu had spared Luo Bing-mei from ever experiencing to its full extent. “ Tell me Shen Qingqiu is Luo Bing-mei coming to save you ?” He does not doubt for a moment that his devoted, earnest counterpart would urgently be seeking a way to trespass into this world but could he ? How long might pass before that would come to fruition. The echo of bones yielding beneath his touch is familiar, it should become a reprieve but it remains nothing but another potent reminder that he could not hope to retain the same inherent gentleness that defined the two apart from one another. Luo Bing-mei would always apologize when he hurt his shizun, would sulk and punish himself for it, Luo Binghe resorted to violence as an instrument to attain everything this world might offer. Yet not him, never him, it was infuriating that he did not relent, pleading desperately as his shizun had before he delighted in tearing him limb from limb. This was the only language he was proficient in, everything else became redundant when fear was all others could direct at him, even his wives paled in comparison to the audacity Shen Qingqiu wielded currently and Luo Binghe was supposed to favour them. “ He is weak because of you.” it felt like an accusation but wasn’t it the truth, strength was derived from suffering, that was an infallible lesson that he had long since been taught. “ You should get used to this place, you won’t be leaving.” In one, final decisive blow he reached for a handful of the steamed rice, ignoring the way it stung against the palm of his hand and ruthlessly pressed it against his mouth, narrowing his eyes. “ Hit me again.” Perhaps those two sado-masochistic disciples weren’t so different after all. 

                 that  this  Luo  Binghe  should  hold  a  precedence  over  him  that  the  other  would  never  dare  to  indulge…  it  was  almost  laughable,  the  contrast  between  the  two  of  them.   where  one  willingly  bent  the  knee,  keen  to  fulfill  whatever  desire  his  shizun  beheld,  regardless  of  it's  absurdity   –   the  other  kept  his  head  held  high  and  an  iron  fist  wrapped  around  Shen  Qingqiu's  throat.  Shen  Qingqiu  knew  better  than  to  test  his  luck  with  the  one  in  front  of  him   –   no  matter  how  long  he'd  remained  in  that  other  world,  his  bitter  memories  of  that  poorly  written  novel  hadn't  faded  in  the  slightest.  he  could  still  recall  with  startling  clarity  the  kind  of  person  this  Luo  Binghe  was  in  front  of  him;  his  cruelty,  his  avarice,  his  arrogance  and  unbreakable  will.  in  this  world,  this  Luo  Binghe  was  at  the  top.  in  this  world,  this  Luo  Binghe  stood  in  opposition  to  none,  and  Shen  Qingqiu  was  the  equivalent  of  a  worm  writhing  restlessly  beneath  his  boot.  that  same  worm  now  slowly  turned  to  face  him  with  an  undetectable  expression.  he  neither  smiled  nor  frowned,  but  was  stone-faced  and  seemed  to  be  saturated  in  deep  thought.  he  keeps  his  lips  tightly  sealed  for  a  time  and  deigns  to  offer  no  response  to  anything  Luo  Binghe  says,  no  matter  how  this  version  of  his  disciple  tries  to  dig  underneath  his  skin.

                  he's  come  to  the  conclusion  that  getting  rid  of  this  one  is  going  to  be  a  lot  more  difficult  than  it  would've  been  with  Bing-mei,  but  that's  almost  a  given.  his  beloved  is  a  stubborn  thing,  but  not  uncompromising.  a  few  words  were  oft  enough  to  bring  him  to  heel  in  reverence  of  his  beloved  Shizun.  Shen  Qingqiu  could  ask  Luo  Binghe  to  strip  naked  and  throw  himself  off  a  bridge  and  he'd  do  it  without  question.  more  often  than  not,  his  requests  need  only  be  simple,  and  Bing-mei  rushed  earnestly  to  complete  them.  when  it  came  to  this  Luo  Binghe,  however,  making  such  ludicrous  or  mediocre  demands  were,  without  a  doubt,  impossible.  which  meant  that  even  when  he  tried  to  divest  him  of  his  attention,  Luo  Bing-ge  remained  planted  firmly  in  place,  his  eyes  boring  into  Shen  Qingqiu's  back  like  twin  hot  irons,  burning  his  clothes  and  scalding  his  flesh.

                 lonely?  was  Shen  Qingqiu  lonely?  a  bubble  of  laughter  almost  wrenched  itself  from  his  throat  at  the  mere  revelation  of  it.  just  who  was  this  Luo  Binghe  to  ask  if  Shen  Qingqiu  was  lonely  in  a  place  that  existed  as  the  graveyard  of  all  that  he  once  knew  and  cherished?  his  pretty  eyes  narrowed  and  he  shot  an  indignant  glare  at  his  companion,  but  rather  than  acknowledge  the  epithet  of  his  statement,  he  once  more  changes  the  conversation's  course  by  fixating  instead  on  something  else.  that  something  else  being  the  mention  of  Luo  Binghe's  wives.   “  ridiculous.  ”   he  shook  out  his  sleeves  with  an  impassive  huff.  his  attempt  to  emulate  the  other  version  of  himself  was  only  a  mediocre  attempt  at  getting  Luo  Binghe  to  leave  him  to  his  peace.  if  he  gave  in  the  same  way  here  that  he  did  in  his  own  world,  it  would  only  open  the  gateway  into  Bing-ge  thinking  he  could  keep  this  one  for  himself.  but   –   if   –   instead,  he  was  treated  in  an  identical  manner  as  how  the  former  Shen  Qingqiu  treated  him,  then  surely  he'd  grow  spiteful  and  toss  him  back  where  he  came  from.  there  would  be  no  need  to  covet  what  isn't  his,  because  it  wouldn't  give  him  what  he  really  wanted.   “  what  need  do  i  have  for  your  wives  when  i  have  my  husband?  he's  perfect  enough.  ”   words  that  would  undoubtedly  spear  their  way  through  this  Luo  Binghe's  chest,  lacerating  his  heart  until  it  was  shredded  to  ribbons.   “  nothing  can  replace  him,  he's  all  this  master  needs.  ”   oh,  if  Luo  Bing-mei  could  hear  what  he  was  saying,  Shen  Qingqiu's  convinced  it  would  make  him  tremble  with  adoration.

                  these  are  things  you'd  be  hard-pressed  to  string  from  his  lips  on  a  normal  day;  Shen  Qingqiu  wasn't  a  strong  believer  in  his  words.  he  felt  that  his  actions  spoke  better  than  idle  placations,  but  for  the  sake  of  preserving  his   –   and  Bing-mei's  dignity   –   he  would  say  whatever  he  needed  to  to  get  his  point  across.  if  that  meant  speaking  in  a  way  that  humiliated  himself,  then  so  be  it.  some  sacrifices  were  necessary  for  the  sake  of  self-preservation.  when  Luo  Binghe  deliberates  instruction  over  him,  Shen  Qingqiu's  expression  only  grows  more  fierce.  placid  waters  breached  by  disdain  and  accompanied  with  strong  footfalls  as  he  crosses  the  threshhold  separating  the  two  of  them.  there  wasn't  very  much  space  between  them  to  begin  with,  so  it  only  takes  a  couple  steps  before  he's  standing  face  to  face  with  Luo  Binghe,  and  cranes  his  neck  to  look  up  at  him.  there  is  a  brief  moment  of  silence,  and  then…

                                                                                   SMACK.

                   boldly,  Shen  Qingqiu  raised  his  hand  and  struck  Luo  Binghe  across  the  face  with  his  palm.  he  knows  full  well  that  doing  this  puts  his  disadvantageous  state  into  something  bordering  dangerous.  striking  Luo  Binghe  is  the  equivalent  of  informing  everyone  he'd  like  to  commit  suicide,  but  even  while  knowing  this,  he  won't  back  down.  he  chooses  to  stand  there  defiantly  with  something  dangerous  flashing  in  his  irises.   “   who  are  you  to  tell  me  what  to  do,  Luo  Binghe?  who  is  the  master  here?  who  is  the  disciple?  i  don't  remember  raising  someone  as  ungrateful  as  you.  ”   the  words  flow  incessantly  from  his  lips  before  he  can  fully  pull  the  reigns  in  on  them.  not  that  it  matters   –   Shen  Qingqiu  might  come  to  regret  this  later  on  after  Luo  Binghe's  doled  out  his  punishment   –   but  right  now,  he  feels  exhilarated.  maybe  it's  his  way  of  venting  out  all  the  feelings  in  his  heart;  the  frustration  of  being  caught  off  guard,  the  loneliness  that  came  with  separation  from  his  loved  ones,  and  the  fear  of  what  his  husband  must  be  feeling  right  now.  the  fear  that  Luo  Bing-mei  is  going  to  lose  himself  to  his  madness  when  he  realizes  that  the  glue  that  kept  him  together,  is  nowhere  to  be  found  anymore  in  the  world.   “  either  kill  me  or  get  out,  i  refuse  to  waste  my  time  with  you.  you…  you're  nothing  like  him   –   you'll  never  be  him.  ”   a  tiny  part  of  him  feels  a  bit  of  regret  for  striking  this  handsome  face   –   it's  identical  to  his  husband's  after  all,  so  it'd  actually  taken  quite  a  bit  of  resolve  to  work  up  the  strength  to  actually  do  this.

[altarfates]

Shen Qingqiu hovers over his abdomen with an affliction that only reaches his eyes, Luo Binghe notices, when does he not notice. It causes something serrated to twist in his gut, ushered in alongside the smouldering fire of his lust. part of him wants to urgently apologize, to remind his shizun that he was an exemplary disciple and not deserving of his unbridled contempt. There is panic there, infinitesimal veins of it that burgeon from the skin his warm breath fans across, his muscles contracting, tension coiling sullenly beneath his skin. He had been holding his breath, his dark, dark eyes devouring that inscrutable expression as if it might neutralize the poison icing his veins. His fingers hesitate, restlessly resting against Shen Qingqiu’s head and trembling, just enough to convey the turmoil he was enduring, just enough to remind his shizun that even with this delicate exchange of control — his shizun still reigned over him, wholly, completely. Luo Binghe is searching for a reply within his eyes, exquisitely soft lashes caressing his cheeks in exasperated crescents and preserving that stagnant purgatory until he sees fit to speak again, admonishing him — which he could take, which he eagerly craved. 

His fingers sink further into that silken, dark hair, wanting to entice him to come closer, needing more than just the wisps of his breath against his skin, knowing the intensity of the pleasure he would find fucking languidly into his mouth. every pace was set by Shen Qingqiu, inadvertently or not, Luo Binghe would only ever unravel at his command, only ever submit to the reprimand of the one person whose opinion mattered to him. Again, his breath comes out shallow, his expression dithering between apology and remorse, impatience and frustration burying beneath his skin and writhing furiously. ❝ Shameless…❞ it comes out as a whimper, divulging a weakness that was incongruous to the power he so effortlessly brandished, blinking down at him with wet, guileless eyes, his heart a sanguine, weeping thing in the lithe hands of his shizun. ❝  shizun should punish this disciple.. ❞ his timbre remains tremulous, his reluctant grip on the other’s hair hasn’t regained its vice, dark strands sifting between his fingers like a cascade. Luo Binghe cannot dispel the inkling that his restraint had wavered, that he had caused his shizun an inconvenience or affront and being far too wanton. Even if it were honesty, the animalistic impulses that paced beneath his skin demanded he pin Shen Qingqiu beneath him and ravage him mercilessly. But he wants to be good, more than anything, Luo Binghe, that heavenly demon lord, that defiant disciple, wants to be good for Shen Qingqiu. It was tearing him apart, pulling sinew from bone and delighting as it severed and wept blood. He has been staring for so long now that his lungs are searing, pleading with him to relent, to release his tenacious hold on all that besieged him.

It’s relief then when his mouth quirks at the corners, when his voice banishes the disquiet that became palpable between them by pinching his side, it isn’t enough — he wants more, needs more but he regards that cautiously, silently, not wanting to disrupt the tenuous truce the two have come to. ❝ For a long time. ❞ he admits, though adds no context, as if admission alone were enough, if Shen Qingqiu knew how long and how fervently he had longed, hungered, starved, would he not be mortified by the student he had laboriously poured himself into raising ? It is partially because Luo Binghe is repentant, but only ever for things that cause his shizun to make that face, never anything others might deem him guilty of. Also because he wants Shen Qingqiu to feel good above all else, to relish these stolen moments of intimacy and not abhor the aberrant way Luo Binghe devolves into a hungry beast when the two are alone. ❝ Can Shizun forgive this disciple once again ? his tongue is far too shameless. ❞ his lachrymose eyes are dark and wet and his expression lingers upon the precipice of despair, if despair also included an abundance of lust and a soft, roseate fluster dusting his cheeks. He would gladly bite it off if that were the punishment his shizun saw fit for him.

Each contusion etched into his skin is a reminder, a brand, gratifying in an unspeakable way. His disciple, whose mouth had become quite impertinent, is reduced to soft, shallow breaths and the occasional moan, guttural and unrestrained. Luo Binghe’s hands haven’t wandered from his hair, guiding him in a way that was docile, concealing all of his grotesque desire beneath his skin. Once he pulls away, his shizun’s mouth ruddy and debauched, he would find his disciple’s hand resting across his mouth, fingers pressing relentlessly into his skin, desperate to hold onto his waning restraint. It had felt so good, the other’s teeth biting down, sucking until a dark, lurid mark was blighting his skin, he was so fucking hard now, his thoughts reduced to the places his shizun thought were deserving of his mouth, his touch. Their gazes meet and his treacherous lust billows, a turbulent storm of quaking thunder and streaking lighting. It’s then that the sash holding his clothes in place is unceremoniously removed, a hiss earned as cool air collides with oppressive heat and the other is allowed to admire his body in full.

This isn’t the first time he’s seen him naked, not by far but being seeing his shizun’s gaze enthralled by the sharp contours of his body, the proud arch of his cock that aches as those hands deign to touch him, stroking him, spitting on his cock. Something about that subtle degradation sends a filthy thrill through him, knowing that beneath Shen Qingqiu is where he belonged, whether like this, or being ridden until he cried. Luo Binghe has long since been satisfied, impressed, any touch from his shizun made his own touches, hungry and desperate, feel futile, nothing could rile up that heavenly demon like the one before him now. ❝ S-Shizun.. ❞ he cannot prevent it, his fingers tighten in his hair, not particularly hard but firm, insistent. Between the emotions raging within him, spurred on by his decision to choose Luo Binghe, to remind him of what he meant to his shizun and why that was. His cheeks burn, a single tear sliding down his cheek and clinging to his chin, glittering. He felt it, all of it, too much, not enough, the sensation of being surrounded by the wet heat of his mouth made his insides violently churn. Then, his gaze flicks up, appraising his expression, pathetic and needy, instantly captivated by the colour in his ivory cheeks, in the way his mouth parted around the thick head of his cock. Gingerly he reaches out with his other hand, flushing it to the side of his face so he can trace a thumb over his flushed cheeks. It felt good, too good, good enough that he could have climaxed merely from the sensation of his tongue dragging a warm line of saliva from base to tip. It was a cruelty Luo Binghe wanted, coveted, pleasure so heightened not merely by the salacious act but because of whose mouth it was, whose hands they were.

He nods, earnestly, his long, tousled hair cascading over his shoulders, his mouth parted in delirious praise or titillating whines. ❝ you’re doing so good.. ❞ he says, softly, caressing aimless circles into the soft, pliant skin, his gaze half-mast and his lashes inequitably long.  ❝ Shizun, your mouth, it’s so.. It feels so..❞ Luo Binghe lets out another shaky breath which dissolves into a moan not of his revered title, but his name, his name upon the tongue of the heavenly demon which becomes inebriating. He was falling apart, rupturing at the seams and all it took was that mouth and that tongue upon his cock for his mind to efface all other thoughts. Just him, him, him, him, him. 

crimson   shades   pay   homage   to   porcelain   cheekbones;   nestles   on   porcelain   flesh   like   a   sinner   kneels   before   the   altar,   and   spreads   over   the   vast   expanse   stretched   just   beneath   the   curvature   of   his   eyes.    lashes   flutter   and   fan    –    for   a   moment   Shen   Qingqiu   freezes   mid-way   descent   and   appears   to   be   thoroughly   perturbed.   yet   again   he's   found   himself   lamenting:   when   did   i   raise   such   an   audacious   disciple!   truly,   this   master   will   vomit   blood   until   he   passes   out   if   Luo   Binghe   keeps   saying   these   brazen   things!   his   face   doesn't   betray   his   inner   monologue:   it   remains   perfectly   suspended   in   a   state   of   chagrin   as   he   hovers   over   Luo   Binghe's   midsection.   in   this   moment   he's   reminded   briefly   of   those…   those…   despicable,   unprincipled   novels   that   were   circulating   around   Cang   Qiong   Sect.   was   Luo   Binghe   reading   those   again?   was   he   taking   inspiration   from   them?   that   rascal!   he   curses   to   the   high   heavens.   immoral   writer   with   his   brazen   writings!   what   are   you   teaching   my   disciple   now?!   unknowing   that   the   author(s)   of   these   fanfictions   were   none   other   than   some   of   the   most   prestigous   beauties   from   Xian   Shu   Peak,   including   it's   very   own   Liu   Mingyan!   were   Shen   Qingqiu   actually   enlightened   on   this   fact,   he   really   would   vomit   blood   until   he   passed   away   on   the   spot.   the   women   of   Xian   Shu   Peak   were   always   viewed   through   a   rose   coloured   glass   –    pure   and   untouchable,   fragile   like   delicate   porcelain.   little   did   anyone   know   they   were   capable   of   the   same   level   of   degeneracy   as   Airplane   Bro!

Shen   Qingqiu   could   sit   here   for   the   rest   of   his   life,   lamenting   and   mentally   laboring   over   his   woes    –    but   realistically,   he   knows   he   shouldn't.   Binghe   is   waiting   for   him,   probably   mulling   over   what   might've   caused   his   beloved   Shizun   to   freeze   on   the   spot.   Shen   Qingqiu   doesn't   want   to   keep   him   leashed   with   anticipation.   Luo   Binghe   can   be   as   much   a   creature   tamed   by   patience   as   he   could   be   violatile   and   unpredictable.   Shen   Qingqiu's   been   fortunate   enough   to   keep   him   subdued   for   now,   but   knows   all   good   things   aren't   destined   to   last.   he   can   feel   those   carmine   eyes   digging   into   his   flesh;   peeling   him   apart   layer   by   layer,   diving   between   the   cracks   in   his   bones,   carving   out   sinew   and   gore.   he'd   devour   his   soul   if   it   was   handed   to   him   on   a   silver   platter    (    fuck!   fuck!   fuck!   )    only   so   he   could   have   a   chance   of   possessing   Shen   Qingqiu   as   his   alone.   his   body   weakens   momentarily   when   a   spark   of   realization   ignites   in   the   spaces   between   his   spine.   hasn't   he   already   been   possessed,   body,   heart,   and   soul,   by   Luo   Binghe   long   ago?   the   white   lily   he   fondly   recalled   as   his   innocent   disciple   back   in   those   days   had   always   been   surrounded   by   the   dessicated   corpses   of   his   bitter   memories,   strewn   out   in   pieces   in   the   dry   soil.   no   matter   how   much   Shen   Qingqiu   tried   to   nurture   the   lone   bloom,   it   had   inevitably   wilted   and   died…   in   no   small   part   due   to   him,   too!

perhaps   the   moment   Shen   Qingqiu   kicked   him   into   the   Endless   Abyss   was   the   moment   Luo   Binghe   resolved   to   take   dominion   over   Shen   Qingqiu    –    not   necessarily   for   revenge,   but   for   preservation   of   the   tiny   flame   that   flickered   in   his   heart,   barely   fed   by   the   scraps   of   affection   his   beloved   shizun   gave   it.   that   flame   might've   almost   been   extinguished   in   that   moment,   if   not   for   his   demonic   blood   awakening.   demons   were,   as   they   always   said,   unpredictable   creatures    –    so   who's   to   say   when   it   all   really   began?   all   Shen   Qingqiu   knew   was   that   it   began   long   before   he   became   really   aware   of   it.   the   man   in   question   felt   his   head   throb   and   pinched   his   brows   together   for   a   moment,   before   shaking   it   in   an   attempt   to   chase   away   these   suffocating   thoughts.    “   shameless.   ”    he   answered   in   a   hoarse   voice,   attempting   to   pull   together   faint   subterfuge   and   avoid   being   questioned   for   his   delay.    “   this   disciple   of   mine…   i   say   it   again,   when   did   this   master   teach   you   to   be   so   shameless?   hm?   ”    he   sounds   angry,   but   he   definitely   isn't.   it's   merely   for   show    –    for   a   way   to   save   face.   the   corners   of   his   lips   twitch   upward;   he's   smirking   as   he   pinches   Luo   Binghe's   side   and   resumes   where   he   left   off.

by   the   time   he   reaches   his   disciple's   waist,   there   isn't   an   inch   of   his   tanned   skin   that   hasn't   been   lacerated   by   some   part   of   Shen   Qingqiu's   mouth.   his   lips,   his   teeth,   his   tongue    –    every   weapon   in   his   arsenal   has   been   employed   with   exacting   care.   if   there's   one   thing   he   knows   for   certain,   it's   that,   without   a   doubt,   Luo   Binghe   takes   pride   in   being   branded   by   him.   his   teeth   sink   into   the   sharp   jut   of   bone   at   his   hip.   he   suckles   just   long   enough   to   leave   a   purpling   lesion   behind   after   he's   withdrawn.   deft   fingers   untie   the   sash   around   Luo   Binghe's   waist,   allowing   the   thin   cloth   of   his   under   robes   to   fall   away,   revealing   the   complete   canvas   of   his   body.

Shen   Qingqiu's   breath   stutters   in   his   throat.   he   nearly   chokes   on   it.

with   as   many   times   as   he's   taken   the   damn   thing   between   his   legs,   he'd   be   accustomed   at   the   sight   of   it.   but   here,   up   close   and   personal,   Shen   Qingqiu   is   reminded   of   the   monster   described   as   Luo   Binghe's   heavenly   pillar.   this   is   his   first   time   offering   to   stick   it   in   his   mouth,   rather   than   his   ass   or   pussy,   so   this   reaction   makes   sense,   ok!?   damn   it   ‘Great   Master’   Airplane   Shooting   Towards   the   Sky!   it's   one   thing   that   you   wrote   him   OP,   but   why   did   you   also   have   to   give   him   this   massive   weapon?!   it's   going   to   kill   me!   i'm   going   to   choke   and   die!   Shen   Qingqiu   was   mentally   berating   Shang   Qinghua   when   the   system   suddenly   ‘dinged’   in   front   of   him,   displaying   a   message:

【𝖢𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌!   𝖬𝖺𝗂𝗇   𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗋'𝗌   𝗌𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗌𝖿𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇   𝗁𝖺𝗌   𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇   𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾𝖽   𝖻𝗒   𝟧𝟢𝟢.   𝖡-𝖯𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗌:   𝟣𝟧𝟢   𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾   𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇   𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝖾𝖽.   𝖯𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾   𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾   𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋   𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽   𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄. 】

what   the   fuck!?

B-Points   just   for   offering   to   give   him   a   blowjob?   are   you   fucking   serious?!   System,   don't   just   go   giving   those   out   for   moments   like   this,   thank   you!   as   if   Shen   Qingqiu   wasn't   already   embarrassed   enough,   now   he's   being   rewarded   like   a   child   who   performed   well   in   school   just   for   coming   up   with   the   brilliant   idea   to   put   this   damnable   thing   in   his   mouth.   rather   than   let   his   thoughts   stress   himself   out   more,   he   pushes   everything   out   of   his   head   until   it's   completely   empty,   leaving   only   room   for   him   to   focus   on   his   self-proclaimed   task.   he   offered   to   do   this;   he   wasn't   about   to   back   down   now,   no   matter   how   intimidating   the   thing   in   his   hands   looked.   the   whole   time   he   was   mentally   cursing   out   the   system,   he'd   been   idly   stroking   his   palms   over   it's   hard    &&    hot   surface.   now   and   again   he'd   spit   on   it,   the   wetness   helping   add   to   the   friction,   but   he   could   only   do   that   for   so   long.   he   needed   to   impress   Luo   Binghe    –    he   wanted   to   impress   him,   and   show   him   how   much   this   master   really   cared   for   him.   he   leaned   forward,   his   tongue   lashing   a   hot   trail   from   base   to   tip,   then   back   down   again.   he   shivered   at   the   salty   and   bitter   taste   that   spread   over   his   tongue,   but   ignored   it.    “   again   and   again,   this   master   will   always   choose   you.   ”    he   suddenly   breaks   the   thick   silence   that'd   long   since   permeated   the   air   between   them:   his   words   are   punctuated   by   half   of   Binghe's   dick   suddenly   disappearing   into   his   mouth.   he   probably   should've   given   himself   a   moment   to   try   and   adjust,   as   the   corners   of   his   eyes   immediately   pricked   with   tears,   but   it   was   too   late   now,   wasn't   it!?   he   kept   swallowing   it   down   until   the   head   pressed   against   the   back   of   his   throat,   almost   making   him   gag.

Shen   Qingqiu   flicked   his   gaze   up   toward   Luo   Binghe,   wondering   what   he   might   be   thinking   or   feeling   right   now.   was   this   good?   was   it   enough?   was   he   satisfied,   or   was   he   displeased   with   how   poorly   his   shizun   was   taking   his   dick   right   now?   so   many   questions    –    none   of   them   spoken,   but   wordlessly   articulated   by   the   strained   expression   on   his   face.

[altarfates]

Luo Binghe’s devotion, his love, was a fervent fire, it burned and burned, searing away at cognizance and sanity alike, until the heavenly demon was reduced to something harrowingly covetous. It had begun as fondness often does as a small thread of joy sprouting from desiccated soil, neglected for so long its withered leaves wilted under the harshness of his fellows disciples, of his shizun but when cultivated with even a modicum of gentleness it grew rampantly. There were still far too many things he did not know for certain, dark crevices where doubt tends to propagate, however, with each resolute step Shen Qingqiu had taken towards Luo Bignhe a divine light illuminated those places where only darkness prospered. He was dedicated to this deliberation, to understanding the whys and the hows and the wheres of his shizun, that only infers much of his obsession, that he needed to know, needed to hear the words of adoration whispered or declared just to feel like he could breathe again. His restraint, insufficient as it was, is what prevents him from unravelling, from dissolving into something fetid and blackened, as he wants only the best for his wife; he only reveals fragments of his aberrant insides.

It isn’t fair then when Shen Qingqiu offers him something like this, languorously stripping away layers of dignity until all that remains is sanguinary and amorous. It threatens to bereft him of his self-control, to diminish him into a hunger narrowed to bore itself into the inviting, soft skin of his shizun. He is then torn between imbuing each touch with the restless impatience of his wanting or to tease both of them until his mind unspools into blackness. He is still paying close attention to him, it is written in the intensity of his gaze, in the way his fingers press incessantly into the skin offered to him, in the way his breath is oppressive and heavy. Only he could command the demon-king, convincing him to become docile or obedient with words or gesticulation, it really mattered not but there was an innate power within that which thrills Luo Binghe. It isn’t merely because he craves reprimand, harsh tirades or a fervent beating but because so long as it was his shizun he wanted everything. He makes a plaintive sound as those fingers withdraw, resting now upon his shoulders. What he says, however, rattles Luo Binghe, his eyes widening, his mouth slightly agape. Trust, it was such a fickle, tenuous thing, between them it felt tacit, that they both knew it existed because Luo Binghe would live and die for him without hesitation. He knows now, after many adversities, that the sentiment is earnestly reciprocated. “ Shizun..” his voice is pained, his touch both a comfort and a searing brand. “ you trust me..” he has to repeat it for if he doesn't, how can he trust in its veracity, the tears that prick at his dark lashes are redolent of days when he had doubted he had worth at all. It is with the same urgency he shakes his head, desperate to refute that his shizun had ever done anything wrong, that the fault entirely lays upon his shoulders, consumed by euphoria from being accepted, completely, without hesitation and believing whole-heartedly that the man before him could do no wrong. “ there is no world for this disciple without you, if you are alive so am i and if you are dead i am too.” he repeats, his tone is less dependable now and his dark, expressive eyes are obscenely damp. There was something inherently pitiful about him yet the flush that crept up from his throat was attestation to the lust that was churning dark and cavernous within him. Luo Binghe almost goes to interject, protesting that is effortlessly quelled by Shen Qingqiu’s mouth descending upon his, the initial kiss is slow and deliberate, his tongue coaxing his disciples to part and he does so, eager and willing. It only worsens, there is no conflict for dominance when the opponent is that heavenly demon because his intentions are to devour Shen Qingqiu from the inside out and the kiss proves that. He had forgiven him so long ago there is nothing left to forgive now, all that remained within that disciple’s heart was reverence, devotion and an abundance of love. “ choose me again, again and again.” he murmurs, it’s a puerile plea and yet he needs to hear, wants to hear it, if the soft lilt of his voice could remind him again and again he thinks he would invert himself for it. Their foreheads rest together and the mark of his, indicative of the demon race, seems to glow softly, as if it were responding to that touch. part of his soul belongs to Shen Qingqiu and there was no path forward where he would want to rescind that, never.

“ I believe..” he almost says but those lithe hands guide him down, slowly, purposefully and he complies, his eyes searching his shizun’s for a moment only for him to lower and press a firm, demanding kiss against the arch of his throat. He groans, shamelessly, the feeling of that warmth unfurling from the kiss and straight to his groin. With each lesion he worries into his skin Luo Binghe’s unabashed murmurs that verge upon moans continue, a twisted part of him wanting them to be noticeable, wanting the wandering and prying eyes of familiar cultivators and strangers alike to know who belonged to who. When he grips his disciple’s cock this time there’s no ambivalence about it, the strokes languid and filled with intent, his mind reduced to anarchy, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip until he tasted the acrid savour of blood. It is when Shen Qingqiu speaks again, softer, against the pale column of his throat, that he digs his fingers back into that buckling fabric in earnest. “ Shizun cannot say such things and not expect this disciple to respond in turn.” he mutters, sinking a hand into his long, silken hair, fingers indolently scraping against his scalp, encouragingly. “ shizun’s mouth is so pretty… the disciple cannot help but wonder how much better it will look around his cock.” he observers Shen Qingqiu through a veil of dark lashes, his carmine gaze burning. It was at times like this that the lachrymose Binghe and the heavenly demon king Binghe brushed against one another, a reminder that his disciple was truly a creature of impulse and need before anything else.

would   that   Shen   Qingqiu   could   erase   the   memories   of   that   shizun   from   his   disciple's   memory,   he'd   have   leaped   at   the   quickest   opportunity.   though   he   was   not   at   fault   for   what   that   Shen   Qingqiu   did,   he   cannot   help   but   blame   himself   anyway.   not   because   he   felt   that   he   was   the   one   who   did   it,   but   because   a   small   part   of   him    –    a   part   he   keeps   tightly   locked   away,   wishes   that   he'd   gotten   here   sooner.   it   may   have   originally   been   against   his   will,   and   he   might've   cursed   his   luck   at   the   start,   but   as   the   sands   of   time   continued   to   pour   in   the   hourglass,   he   began   to   appreciate   his   newfound   life.   a   desire   to   change   the   narrative   and   preserve   his   own   existence   gradually   bled   into   wanting   never   to   leave   again.   even   if   he   felt   as   if   he   were   walking   on   eggshells   around   his   disciple,   he   was   firm   in   the   notion   that   this   life   was   much   better   than   the   one   he'd   previously   been   living   as   Shen   Yuan.   that   old   him    –    that   loser   that   somehow   managed   to   die   from   sheer   rage    –    he   was   so   much   better   than   him.   he   may   never   admit   it,   and   he   would   certainly   never   reveal   the   truth   to   anyone   else    (    as   they'd   undoubtedly   label   him   as   a   lunatic    )    he   liked   this   life.   he   really   did.   and   being   married   to   Luo   Binghe…   if   he   said   it   aloud,   his   disciple   would   surely   weep   in   joy,   but   Shen   Qingqiu   couldn't   envision   himself   at   anyone's   side   but   his.   just   as   he   was   Luo   Binghe's   entire   world    –    Luo   Binghe   was   the   only   reason   he   chose   to   keep   on   breathing   anymore.   he   knew   it    –    felt   it   saturated   deep   within   his   soul    –    he   loved   Binghe   unconditionally.   there   was   no   question   about   that.   no   matter   how   Binghe   threatened   him,   clung   to   him,   attempted   to   possess   him    –    would   crawl   into   his   very   skin   if   he   could,   Shen   Qingqiu   would   never   second-guess   to   give   his   life   over   to   the   heavenly   demon   king,   Luo   Binghe.   that's   just   how   things   were.

he   can   feel   his   disciple's   eyes   digging   beneath   his   flesh,   his   hands   longing   to   do   what   his   eyes   could   not.   Binghe   has   always   only   ever   been   overtly   fixated   on   the   one   he   called   shizun.   his   carmine   eyes   rarely   strayed   from   his   shizun's   visage   for   long    –    Shen   Qingqiu   felt   them   carving   his   image   into   memory.   he's   certain   if   someone   asked   Luo   Binghe   to   draw   him   from   memory   without   a   reference,   he   could   do   so   with   exacting   perfection.   should   anyone   else   be   capable   of   doing   so,   it's   likely   his   disciple   would   split   them   in   half   on   the   grounds   that   only   he   should   be   allowed   to   memorize   his   shizun's   countenance.   the   thought   of   it   sent   an   uncomfortable   thrill   down   Shen   Qingqiu's   spine;   his   fingers   finding   Luo   Binghe's   shoulders   as   he   withdraws   his   hand   from   his   robes,   and   curls   his   palms   around   those   strong   shoulders.    “   this   master   trusts   his   disciple.   ”    the   intention   behind   his   words   palpable    –    he's   genuine   in   this   sentiment.   he   trusts   Luo   Binghe.   as   Shen   Qingqiu   exhales,   he   speaks   again,   bringing   his   gaze   level   with   that   of   his   disciple's.    “   you   can't   live   in   a   world   without   me.   ”    again,   he   proffers   articulation   steeped   in   verisimilitude.    “   as   long   as   i'm   alive,   then   so   are   you.   doing   anything   that   would   harm   me   is   not   like   you   Binghe.   the   only   thing   you   lack   is   restraint,   and   for   that   i   blame   myself.   i   fear   i   failed   you   as   a   master   in   that   regard.   ”    self-restraint,   trust,   sanity    –    there   were   so   many   avenues   with   which   Shen   Qingqiu   had   failed   to   adequately   educate   his   disciple.   what   he   hadn't   failed   to   do   was   teach   him   the   meaning   of   betrayal   and   what   it   felt   like   to   have   your   heart   shattered   by   the   one   person   you   trusted.   betrayal   turned   into   hunger    –    hunger   became   obsession,   possession,   and   the   shadow   of   a   beast   stalking   Shen   Qingqiu's   every   move   at   every   moment   he   was   awake.

his   master   didn't   blame   him   though    –    he   was   the   sole   reason   Luo   Binghe   turned   out   the   way   he   did.   he   could   only   blame   himself.   hands   have   found   their   way   back   onto   his   disciple's   face,   each   one   molding   itself   perfectly   around   those   tanned   cheeks.   Shen   Qingqiu   smiles   for   Luo   Binghe,   for   only   Luo   Binghe   was   worthy   to   see   this   side   of   him.    “   once,   you   said   this   master   would   never   choose   you   no   matter   what.   do   you   remember?   ”    he   doesn't   wait   for   an   answer   as   his   lips   seal   themselves   against   Luo   Binghe's   in   a   carnivorous   kiss   that   begs   for   his   mouth   to   be   devoured.   he   lashes   his   tongue   against   his   disciple's;   it   dances   fervently   in   revelation,   in   reverence,   begging   for   forgiveness.   they   only   separate   when   the   oxygen   depletes   from   his   lungs,   leaving   him   gasping   heavily   while   he   connected   their   foreheads.    “   you   were   wrong,   Luo   Binghe.   in   every   life    –    in   every   world,   i'd   always   find   my   way   back   to   you.   i'd   only   ever   choose   you.   ”    his   eyes   search   his   disciple's    –    sanguine,   awaiting   how   this   information   might   be   digested.   he   kisses   him   again    –    then   again    –    then   again    –    his   body   presses   impossibly   close   to   Luo   Binghe's   as   if   desperate   for   their   flesh   to   melt   together   into   one.   and   wouldn't   that   just   be   heavenly?   to   fuse   your   very   essence   to   the   one   you   called   your   soulmate?   when   Shen   Qingqiu   dies,   his   flesh   will   rot   and   return   to   the   soil,   but   his   soul…   his   soul   shall   remain   with   Luo   Binghe,   or   he   will   cease   to   exist   entirely.   he   wants   never   to   be   separated   from   his   side,   even   by   death   itself.   if   this   is   to   be   his   fate,   then   he   will   do   everything   in   his   power   to   defy   it.

“   if   you   don't   believe   this   master,   let   me   show   you.   ”    porcelain   hands   brace   against   the   junction   of   each   of   Luo   Binghe's   shoulderblades.   he   exercises   a   very   light   amount   of   force,   hoping   to   help   push   him   onto   his   back.   should   Luo   Binghe   allow   this   and   Shen   Qingqiu   find   success,   then   he   would   dip   forward,   a   curtain   of   black   hair   falling   around   them   as   his   mouth   connected   with   the   hollow   of   his   disciple's   neck.   there   he   seeks   to   etch   the   veracity   of   his   feelings   for   Luo   Binghe   over   the   canvas   of   his   flesh   with   sharp   bite   marks   purple   lesions.   he   isn't   a   violent   love   like   his   disciple,   but   he's   capable   of   carving   his   mark   in   his   own   way   nevertheless.   as   his   mouth   works   over   his   flesh,   his   calloused   hands   have   once   again   ventured   between   the   thin   folds   of   Luo   Binghe's   robes   separating   his   flesh   from   the   rest   of   world.   one   presses   against   a   toned   pec,   while   the   other   finds   homeage   over   that   erect   organ.   this   time   it   grips   with   pressure   and   meaning   behind   it,   no   longer   interested   in   letting   just   the   ghost   of   it   linger   there.   even   when   not   fully   erect,   the   thing   is   impressively   large,   and   Shen   Qingqiu   should   get   some   kind   of   reward   for   being   able   to   take   that   thing   with   as   much   grace   as   he   does.    “   let   me   suck   you   off.   ”    thank   god   his   face   is   concealed   by   that   column   of   flesh,   or   Luo   Binghe   would   undoubtedly   be   able   to   espy   the   deep   crimson   that's   dusting   his   cheeks.   he's   not   accustomed   to   being   this   forward,   but   he   wants   to   venture   out   of   his   comfort   zone   to   prove   just   how   genuine   he   is   right   now.

[altarfates]

The altar of Shen Qingqiu’s exquisite skin, tormenting him as undefiled ivory has become something Luo Binghe intends to desecrate. Unconstrained by the dubious mortality of mortals and cultivators alike, his hunger proliferates into something abhorrent. part of him laments that he can be witnessed in such a wretched state, his insides lacerated by the fervor of his desire. That he might drive trepidation between the elegant span of Shen Qingqiu’s ribs is something he loathes above all else. Because it is no longer his visceral dread that this disciple covets but rather his rapacious hands long only to observe the way his heartbeat becomes erratic beneath his touch. It is not something he derives any modicum of shame from, in Luo Binghe’s lecherous mind no one was entitled to his shizun in the ways he was. If he had to face rejection once more he would no doubt wither into a desiccated husk, the incendiary pyre of his bones inviting only the most deplorable of mourners to stand by and weep. In the end, no one had cared about Luo Binghe aside from his shizun, no one concerned themselves with his existence with the same indefatigable devotion that Shen Qingqiu did. How could any other interaction feel anything bad facile when faced with their inexplicable bond as its contrast.

His innocuous propositions did not placate Shen Qingqiu, even if he intended for his words to be candid the eloquence of his silver tongue and artifice alone is enough to compel him to relent into his disciple’s awaiting hands. There would be no peace, not for Shen Qingqiu, not so long as he remained the cornerstone of his disciple’s world, every other thing hinging egregiously on what could have been a tenuous bond. But Luo Binghe is persistent, his reverence which verges upon obsession becoming inexorable as it advances on his shizun, long, hungry shadows encroaching rapidly with the intent to devour. All of what he does is dictated by this, every reckless action, every unspeakably shameless utterance, it returns invariably back to the cherished kindness one man had chosen to show him. If given the opportunity would he go back on it now ? revert to the cruelty he had initially shown, ruthlessly punish his unruly disciple for transgressions too slippery to grasp. Even as he has grown, formidable in strength, steadfast in his resolve, there will always be a secluded alcove of his heart reserved for that miserable child and it is that which urges him to become temerarious. He takes and he abhors how hasty he is, wants in lurid crimsons and hollow starvation but wants only to reject those unsightly parts of himself. In the end, the protagonist had become a complicated character deviating tremendously from how airplane had initially devised him to be. All of it was to be accredited to the man who sat precariously in his lap, knowing he held a monstrous power at his fingertips and choosing to employ decorum still.

Luo Binghe’s breath is unsteady, his eyes, cavernous and dark, have ravaged much of Shen Qingqiu long before his salacious hands might. The apertures of him that praise exploits reveals a lapse in his dominance, an auspicious place to caress and torment if he wanted to see his disciple reduced to dolorous tears. Good seems a word incongruous to Luo Binghe for he had inflicted pain upon many, depleted his own spiritual power in a hopeless attempt to revive the one person who meant something to him. When he hears those words settle upon Shen Qingqiu’s roseate lips something in him shudders, it is down to the marrow in his bones, igniting every nerve, eliciting a soft, unabashed groan from him. He could not resist when it came to his shizun, no matter what preposterous task was allocated he would fulfill it eagerly, in that way he had not divagated too far from that initial white lotus of a disciple he had been. He knows he wants punishment, craves punishment, it had to be beneath those two, gracile hands that it was inflicted or it would never satiate him. merely the way it is formed by his parted lips is enough to exhaust his restraint. Luo Binghe is so still he may as well have been of the dead, concentrating on the sensation of those bold fingers as they trace in descent across his cheeks, caressing the sharp line of his jaw, descending further and further. It is to defy propriety, to remind Luo Binghe that those who existed beyond the periphery of this moment were inconsequential, their censorious judgement rendered useless. If he existed only to serve his shizun, to participate in this perilous dance of intimacy and seduction, then he would happily relinquish all else. “ this disciple will do as he pleases.” he warns, because depositing all control into his hands was inherently dangerous. Luo Binghe does not know if he can repress his most exigent urges, wanting nothing more than to provocatively bend his shizun over that low, infuriatingly distracting table and fuck him until he wept. All of the breath in his lungs is pilfered as those fingertips ghost over his cock, closing around it with no urgency, it was exquisite, excruciating torment. “ you would leave your fate in the hands of this disciple ?” he murmurs, his breath hot, his muscles tensing with each tantalizing caress. His fingers ruthlessly grip the elegant dip of his hips, the beast within that hungers to decorate his skin with unsightly bruises rises to the surface and it is ravenous. “ this disciple trusts in his shizuns decisions ━ but once he has you, he won’t be able to stop.” pitifully he attempts to arch into his touch, to encourage more friction, to derive more pleasure but he knows that even as he has not had to wrestle control out of Shen Qingqiu’s hands there’s something implicitly intimate about entrusting it to him. 

his   body   is   an   altar    –    his   flesh   and   bones   an   offering.   his   lips   are   a   blank   canvas   that   Luo   Binghe's   engraves   his   desires   like   holy   scripture   upon.   every   touch   is   a   confession,   and   his   sins   are   swallowed   up   by   his   disciple's   ravenous   tongue.   they   love   they   share   is   thorns   hidden   in   the   garden   of   his   heart,   coiled   around   every   bone   in   his   ribcage,   suffocating,   stifling,   lacerating   his   organs.   often,   when   he's   with   Luo   Binghe,   he   finds   it   difficult   to   breathe.   it's   as   if   Luo   Binghe   has   shoved   his   hand   through   Shen   Qingqiu's   chest   and   squeezed   his   lungs   with   a   vice   grip.   he   knows    –    deep   within   his   golden   core    –    that   Luo   Binghe   longs   to   possess   him   in   every   possible   avenue    –    that   he   should   own   him   down   to   his   very   soul.   there   isn't   a   single   breath   Shen   Qingqiu   can   take,   a   single   step   forward   he   can   make,   that   doesn't   include   Luo   Binghe   hovering   right   near   his   side.   peace?   peace   escaped   him   the   moment   Luo   Binghe   returned   from   the   abyss   prematurely   with   eyes   that   were   fixated   only   on   his   ‘beloved   shizun’.   the   man   reveres   him   as   if   he   were   a   god    –    treats   him   as   if   he's   above   the   Buddha   themselves.   but   Shen   Qingqiu   is   no   heavenly   spirit;   he   is   an   unlucky   puppet   held   up   by   the   calculating   precision   with   which   his   disciple   wields   his   strings.

to   this   now,   and   forever,   Shen   Qingqiu   will   never   know   freedom   again.

his   disciple   is   as   cunning   as   he   is   sharp-tongued.   he   undermines   Shen   Qingqiu's   shaky   authority   with   innocuous   suggestions   of   punishment;   words   to   placate   ears   that   can   otherwise   exhume   the   truth   beneath   the   muddy   subterfuge.   he   knows   well    –    all   too   well    –    the   exact   amount   of   authority   he   lords   over   his   shizun,   and   what   little   Shen   Qingqiu   can   actually   do   to   rebuttle   it.    “   we   both   know   punishment   doesn't   suit   you,   Binghe.   ”    in   another   life    –    with   a   younger   version   of   him,   Shen   Qingqiu's   every   admonishment   would've   been   followed   without   question.   this,   he   knows   through   experience.   the   Luo   Binghe   of   seven   years   ago   would've   fallen   on   his   knees   in   benevolence,   in   adoration,   in   absolute   subservience,   prostrating   himself,   begging   to   be   forgiven.   now…   now   however,   if   he   does   it,   there   is   a   double-meaning   lacerated   behind   the   act.   his   movements   are   no   longer   beheld   with   an   honest   proclamation,   but   instead   covet   to   conceal   the   serpent   of   Luo   Binghe's   insanity   slithering   beneath   the   surface.   this   disciple   of   his…   this   Luo   Binghe   was   far   too   sagacious   for   even   Shen   Qingqiu   to   fully   handle.

but   perhaps…   Shen   Qingqiu   can   make   use   of   that   poisonous   devotion.   just   as   the   righteous   wield   pure   qi,   why   shouldn't   the   egregrious   make   use   of   it's   impure   counterpart?   there   isn't   a   doubt   in   his   mind   that   Luo   Binghe   belongs   to   him    –    just   as   much   as   Luo   Binghe   seeks   to   possess   him   wholly.   the   latter's   love   is   like   a   toxicon   in   his   veins,   withering   the   weak-willed   flowers   that   bloom   in   the   cracks   in   his   bones    –    but   that   same   love   could,   in   theory,   be   honed   into   the   perfect   weapon.   it's   an   ideology   he's   toyed   with   for   many   months;   if   he's   destined   to   never   know   freedom,   then   why   not   turn   an   uncomfortable   situation   into   something   he   can   semi-control?

“   you   have   always   been   a   good   boy,   Binghe.   ”    the   elements   of   his   articulation   are   strung   together   with   empathetic   emphasis.   he   intends   to   dig   his   heels   entirely   into   his   lover's   prurient   weaknesses.   the   slightest   shift   of   limbs    –    his   buttocks   ghosting   the   curvature   between   Binghe's   legs   as   he   settles   his   weight   to   better   accomodate   the   intent   of   his   own   desire.    “   you   say   you   want   punishment,   then   you   ask   this   master   what   he   wants    –    how   should   i   answer   your   question?   ”    lithe   digits   lift   and   descend;   their   tips   trace   the   gentle   apertures   of   Luo   Binghe's   cheekbones,   tracing   just   beneath   the   eye   and   following   all   the   way   to   the   sharp   cure   of   his   jaw.   eyelashes   fan   and   flutter;   it's   apparent   now   Shen   Qingqiu   intends   to   treat   this   as   a   game.   with   the   rest   of   the   outside   world   concealed   from   them,   he   feels   he   can   embrace   a   provocative   edge   to   his   personality.    “   what   will   you   do   if   i   deny   your   request?   ”    he   dances   on   the   edge   of   exigency;   Shen   Qingqiu   will   push   the   limits   until   his   disciple   plunges   into   the   abyss   of   madness.   fingers   that   once   carved   his   disciple's   facial   definition   had   now   invited   themselves   between   the   loose   folds   of   Luo   Binghe's   robes    –    they   descend   deeper   and   deeper,   until   they've   located   their   prize   wrapped   lightly   around   the   length   of   his   erection.   his   touch   is   barely   just   that;   a   touch.   it's   as   if   his   hand   is   both   there   and   not,   taunting   Luo   Binghe    –    daring   him   to   pressure   for   more.    “   this   master   thinks   if   he   should   punish   you,   then   what   better   way   to   do   so   than   by   not   telling   you   what   he   wants?   instead,   i'd   like   you   to   figure   out   on   your   own   what   i   want.   do   you   disagree   with   my   decision?   ”

[altarfates]

Luo Binghe’s love was an aberrant thing, having twisted itself into unrecognizable shapes as Shen Qingqiu irrevocably altered his narrative. He does not loathe him for it, if anything, it has only intensified the ways he’s devoted himself to his shizun, the depravity that seethes in his darkest depths always finding their way back to him. Having begun in his days as a disciple, when his master had shown him the first slither of clemency up until the moment he had thrust him off that precipice and into the abyss, he had loved Shen Qingqiu, even if it changed, even if it was grotesque. It is that same love, recast into adoration, that compels him now, guides his brazen fingers to coax apart his robes, yearns for the feeling of his alacritous heartbeat pounding out beneath them. Anything this disciple could offer him would never be glamorous, tarnished by his blackened fingertips or steeped in the steady flow of blood, yet shizun accepts him, craves him and part of that acceptance drives him mad with desire. Yet his shizun often relies too heavily on resistance, as if it might alleviate the strange, macabre thing that hunger becomes, disciplining him for being too wanton, too honest, it makes him writhe with need. Yet, sometimes, when his voice takes that weakened authoritative tone all of his suffering seems worth something, that if all he had endured had culminated to this point he would endure another life-times worth and still be content. “ did shizun not know ?” he says, his greedy mouth lingers far too close to his pulse to be anything less than minatory. “ this disciple has come to know you well enough to be able to discern your thoughts with only a glance.” it wasn’t a lie, not really, he was an assiduous study and Shen Qingqiu was his favourite subject. languidly dismantling him, reducing him from that revered decorum and into a salacious mess was his magnum opus. So he does not hesitate to adjust as his master shifts in his lap, eliciting a soft, obscene sound from him, grinding far too close to his crotch to be anything less than tantalizing.

“ is a lesson not in order then, shizun ?” his admonishment has met its mark but his voice is anything but repentant, the darkness that eclipses much of his crimson eyes reveals an unbridled starvation for all things that constituted his shizun. Still, he is perfectly still, repressing the urgent impulse to press into him, to feel the warm, inviting way Shen Qingqiu’s body would embrace him. He’s listening with rapt attention, the intensity of him so immense as to feel oppressive. It was only ever his voice Luo Binghe heeded, only ever his hands that could guide the demon lord away or towards a destination. Eagerly he leans into that touch, his lithe fingers cradling his cheek as if he were something delicate and not the devastating fire that threatened to swallow both of them. “ this disciple will be good for you, always you, shizun.” he mutters against his mouth, each utterance punctuated with another crashing of lips, of his tongue gingerly coaxing Shen Qingqiu to part his so he might deepen it. All of this was an act of unprecedented restraint, he wanted his shizun divested of his infuriatingly intricate robes, bereft of every ounce of propriety he futilely clung to. When they pull away, the exigent need of oxygen withering in his lungs, his hands have sought a place to rest at his hips, holding his gaze with such a fervent expression that it was utterly debauched. “ tell this disciple how you want him and he will become anything, do anything for you.” his voice is a low rasp, dangerous, tracing idle patterns into his clothing and finding no reason for it to remain. he could rip it from him, leave him bare upon the throne of his thighs but something about this torturously paced unravelling has him captivated, he wants to hear the things Shen Qingqiu wants from him uttered aloud, he’s been so good, he deserves it after all.

Shen   Qingqiu   knows   it's   only   a   matter   of   time   before   the   game   ends.   this   back-and-forth   between   them   is   bound   to   reach   it's   apex   sooner   or   later.   he's   already   placed   himself   in   a   rather   precarious   situation    –    it   was   by   choice,   but   not   the   wisest   he's   ever   made.   then   again…   if   wisdom   were   his   greatest   trait,   things   likely   would've   never   turned   out   the   way   that   they   did   for   himself   and   for   Luo   Binghe.   at   times   when   he's   alone,   he's   mulled   over   the   many   different   paths   he   could've   taken   back   then.   the   countless   alternatives   to   this   or   that,   the   choices;   anything   that   could've   potentially   changed   what   was   now   the   present   day.   he   would   be   a   fool   and   a   liar   if   he   didn't   admit   he   missed   what   was   once   his   most   beloved   disciple,   and   he   would   be   a   fool   and   a   liar   if   he   didn't   incessantly   blame   himself   for   how   he   turned   out.   to   know   that    –    despite   his   best   efforts    –    he   still   failed   Binghe   in   every   way   possible…   he   probably   would   never   forgive   himself.   never   again.   in   his   eyes:   forfeitting   his   life   back   then   hadn't   been   enough.   he   should've   died   a   thousand   times   over;   died   as   many   times   as   the   countless   days   Luo   Binghe   had   suffered   in   the   abyss.   death   was   not   enough   to   erase   the   weight   of   the   memories   Luo   Binghe   carried.

Shen   Qingqiu   still   remembers   the   moment   he   saw   the   purity   in   his   disciple's   eyes   shatter.

the   tip   of   the   blade   had   been   an   accident    –    but   punctured   his   skin,   nevertheless.   he   saw   it   then;   the   spiderweb   thin   cracks   forming   in   the   glass   of   Luo   Binghe's   love   for   him.   it   didn't   completely   break   until   Shen   Qingqiu   dared   to   push   him   away.   he   watched   in   silently   agony   as   Luo   Binghe   descended   into   the   hungry   flames   below;   a   thousand   times   he   considered   jumping   in   after   him,   sacrificing   his   own   life   for   a   better   future.   but   the   whole   reason   he   acted   as   he   did   then   was   because   he   so   desperately   wanted   to   live.   his   entire   existence   was   forcibly   transplanted   to   this   place    –    he   didn't   have   a   choice,   and   knowing   the   end   result   of   the   novel…   he   did   only   what   he   felt   could   help   him   survive.   that   included   betraying   Luo   Binghe   in   the   worst   way   possible,   even   when   he   didn't   want   to.   all   of   this   had   culminated   into   what   they   were   now   in   the   present   day    –    a   student   veering   on   the   edge   of   absolute   insanity,   and   a   master   doing   his   damnedest   to   ensure   that   didn't   happen.

he   is   wrenched   from   the   ethereal   plane   of   his   subconscious   by   the   shift   of   Luo   Binghe's   limbs,   and   he   realizes   that   his   student   is   in   fact,   dutifully   following   his   orders   and   stripping.   not   completely,   but   out   of   sheer   embarrassment,   Shen   Qingqiu   keeps   his   eyes   on   the   scroll   in   order   to   avoid   peeking   accidentally.   not   that   his   efforts   aren't   for   all   in   vain;   a   rush   of   flesh   against   flesh   draws   a   succinct   shivver   down   his   spine,   arousing   gooseflesh   to   the   surface.   the   sound   pulled   from   his   lips   like   a   harp   is   unintentional;   something   akin   to   a   groan   mingled   with   a   huff.    “   Binghe.   ”    he   warns,   but   sounds   not   at   all   the   authorative   figure   he   likes   to   trick   himself   into   believing   he   is.    “   when   did   this   master   say   you   could   touch   him   like   this?   ”    as   if   any   of   what   he's   saying   holds   any   precedent   over   the   demon   lord. 

and   just   who   is   Shen   Qingqiu   trying   to   fool   anyway?   not   himself   certainly,   and   most   definitely   not   Luo   Binghe   either.   already   his   mind   has   become   distracted    –    the   scroll   is   only   half-held   in   one   hand   as   he   twists   around,   craning   his   neck   to   look   up   at   his   thinly   clothed   disciple.    “   i   don't   recall   teaching   you   these   manners.   ”    he   only   vaguely   admonishes   him;   adding   any   real   emotion   behind   the   veil   of   those   words   is   the   equivalent   of   writing   his   own   eulogy.   he   waits   for   a   couple   of   minutes   to   pass   before   he's   brought   his   palm   level   with   one   of   Luo   Binghe's   cheeks   while   lifting   his   face   to   meet   with   his.   what   little   space   remains   between   their   lips   is   diminished   after   Shen   Qingqiu   says;    “   still,   this   master   is   pleased   with   your   work.   you've   done   well   this   time   again.   ”    and   then   he   kisses   him    –    drowns   in   the   scent,   the   feeling,   and   taste   of   him,   clinging   to   him   as   if   his   life   depended   on   it.   now,   caught   between   the   climax   of   his   feelings,   and   the   desire   beginning   to   pool   in   his   gut--

for   all   his   bravado    –    rejection   had   always   been   purely   for   show.

[altarfates]

He must have realized by now how diverting the candour of his expression is; the anarchic fury that darkens his eyes, furrowing his elegant brows into a summit of exasperation. It’s because he offers these in earnest that Luo Binghe doesn’t find their interactions monotonous, instead, he is inexplicably intrigued by the desperate way Liu Qingge reaches and fails to seize control from his hands. It was different with Shen Qingqiu, Luo Binghe wanted to be good for his sake, as innately selfish as that desire had become it all began with avariciously craving his shizun’s attention, approval, acknowledgement. That is why he cannot resist the temptation to bury his fingers beneath the other’s hostile exterior, coveting the things that made him a worthy cultivation partner in the eyes of someone so significant, so important. It stokes a fire in him, a degeneracy that has no right laying claim over Liu Qingge, or so he berates him. He is unbothered, for his inextricable connection to his shizun cannot be severed by his shishu’s feelings, even if they were reciprocated. Fighting was, after all, all he was good for, wasn’t it ? This was the language he explicitly understood, that when the eloquence of compromise was whittled away to the bare ivory of its bones it could be conveyed with fists and smatterings of blood. Luo Binghe is more adept at harnessing his qi, can simultaneously wield both of his inherited bloodlines at will now, he has become a force so dangerous that, at times, it seemed paramount that Shen Qingqiu keep a firm hold on him. Who could say who he might endanger if he lost control again. “ The only thing.” he repeats it, the absence of that choleric demeanour turns the words acerbic, something about the way he retaliates annoys Luo Binghe, like an incessant smarting that pounds alongside the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Because, wasn’t that the same as saying fighting took precedence over the person Liu Qingge had stolen from him, that smearing vermillion across the prominent ridges of his knuckles was tantamount to his shizun’s life. Perhaps it is merely because he is already bristling, settling on the verge of an incandescent flame of bitterness, that his eyes narrow upon him like twin daggers, even as he’s effectively pushed away, only slightly burying in his heels despite his stubbornness.

“ Are you good for anything other than fighting ?” he asks churlishly, appraising the proud breadth of the other’s tense shoulders with a look of open disdain, who was truly beneath who here. Did Liu Qingge know the way shizun preferred his tea, the foods that he found appetizing, the gentle way his fingers might part the tangled knots of Luo Binghe’s tousled hair. His curt laugh is dismissing, finally revealing the sharp contours of his teeth, fingers resting absently upon the intricate hilt of his blade, the one Liu Qingge had so courteously returned to its sheathe. Did he want this fight to be fair, as equals ? The very prospect was absurd considering he had never seen that beast of a disciple is anything close to his equal, even as they strove as bitter rivals towards the same goal of devoting themselves to Shen Qingqiu he was still looked down upon. His vexation whets itself on that seared ego, the brittle, blackened thing that became his heart growing restless as Liu Qingge’s tirade bears down upon him. “ Would he think the same, that this is taking advantage ?” his retort is sharp, the glint of its edge as keen as the tumultuous emotions swirling around his slitted pupils. He moves precipitously, closing the distance between them in the second it would take to draw breath, knowing that he will either have to effectively dodge or repel his spiritual blast. That shishu isn’t stronger than he is, doesn’t possess the mettle to truly vanquish that despicable disciple and in the end he will not be able to prevent his advent either. “ Say it again.” he’s closer now, the demonic energy that evinces him as something other, something that could never truly belong here, curls sinuously around his fingertips, it’s hue ominously dark. Even if he were able to dodge one of his blows a subsequent one will follow, tracking him as he encroaches further and further into the space he desperately seeks to wedge between them. “ How you think I am taking advantage of him ?” it’s his turn, a spiritual blast that withholds none of his potent energy is directed at the other's legs, if he will not kneel willingly then he will force his hand. It’s then a clemency when his gaze slides off to the side, lingering amongst an arbitrarily stacked series of books and scrolls. “ Fight me properly.” and he draws Zheng Yang, pointing it’s lustrous blade towards his chest. 

                   even  when  it  looks  like  Liu  Qingge  has  the  upper  hand,  he   –   no,  the  both  of  them  know  it  will  never  truly  be  the  case.   he  is  like  a  mouse  caught  between  the  jagged  edges  of  the  cat's  teeth,  pierced  flesh  oozing  streaks  of  blood.  the  harder  he  writhes,  the  further  those  bones  dig  in  and  thoroughly  gore  him.  yet  like  that  helpless  animal   –   with  his  basic  instinct  to  survive,  he  still  struggles  anyway,  even  if  it's  in  vain.  the  sword  gripped  within  his  palm   –   the  hand  coiled  around  Luo  Binghe's  throat   –   it's  all  part  of  that  piteous  attempt  to  place  himself  in  a  space  higher  than  what  he  is  right  now.  he  intends  to  appear  the  hunter,  but  it  is,  and  will  always,  be  Luo  Binghe  who  truly  holds  the  reigns,  leaving  Liu  Qingge  utterly  at  his  mercy.  but  like  hell  Bai  Zhan  Peak's  lord  was  going  to  just  bend  the  knee  and  allow  himself  to  be  toyed  with  like  some  kind  of  doll:  not  without  a  fight.   “  beneath  me?  ”   two  words  spat  like  sharp  icicles,  carrying  all  the  icy  chill  with  them.   “  fighting  is  the  only  thing  i  care  about.  if  you  can't  match  me  in  battle,  i  have  no  use  for  you.  ”   oh,  how  little  it  would  take  to  carve  open  Luo  Binghe's  flesh  and  expose  raw  sinew  to  the  cool  summer  air.  blood  glides  down  the  glimmering  blade  like  an  elegantly  dressed  performer  on  a  stage   –   it's  not  enough.  Liu  Qingge  wants  more.  he  wants  bruises  and  cuts,  split  flesh  and  broken  bones.  he  wants  to  hear  them  snap;  he  wants  to  taste  metal  on  his  tongue. 

                  he  knows   –   better  than  anyone   –   that  what  Luo  Binghe's  trying  to  do  right  now  is  just  a  ploy  to  get  him  to  lower  his  guard.  there's  an  insatiable  hunger  blazing  in  that  disciple's  eyes,  a  hunger  that  Liu  Qingge  can  see  with  such  startling  clarity  that  it  sends  a  savage  chill  unfurling  down  his  spine.   “  disgusting.  ”   to  what  this  comment  is  particularly  aimed  at  is  unclear   –   perhaps  it's  just  an  amalgamation  of  all  of  Liu  Qingge's  turbulent  thoughts  arranged  into  one  word.  he  lowers  the  sword  after  a  moment  and  actually…  places  it  back  in  it's  sheath?  he  had  a  weapon  now   –   it's  unlike  him  to  relinquish  it  so  easily.  even  if  Zheng  Yang  is  nothing  more  than  a  simple  tool  when  held  in  his  hands,  it  was  still  better  than  leaving  himself  completely  unarmed,  wasn't  it?  Liu  Qingge  grits  his  teeth,  takes  both  of  his  hands  and  presses  them  to  Luo  Binghe's  chest…  and  exerts  the  full  force  of  his  strength  in  pushing  him  away,  even  going  so  far  as  to  utilizing  spiritual  qi  to  ensure  he  could  pull  it  off.  he  puts  enough  space  between  the  two  of  them  that  he  can  breathe  for  a  moment,  and  quickly  dodges  to  one  side  into  more  open  space.  now  there  is  no  longer  a  wall  pinning  him  underneath  the  demon  lord   –   he  has  better  access  to  an  escape  route  if  need  be   (   and  knowing  Luo  Binghe   –   it  need  be   )   as  his  gaze  frantically  sweeps  over  the  room,  trying  to  locate  Cheng  Luan.  he  considers  simply  trying  to  summon  it  with  his  spiritual  qi,  but  at  the  risk  of  accidentally  hurting  Shen  Qingqiu   (   because  who  knows  where  Luo  Binghe's  hidden  it   )   he  has  no  choice  but  to  refrain  for  the  time  being.  no  matter…  he  still  had  his  fists.

                   Liu  Qingge  is  still  a  cultivator  first  and  foremost;  one  that,  even  without  a  sword,  could  still  be  excessively  dangerous  to  challenge.  plenty   of  beasts  have  died  by  just  his  bare  hands:  he  wasn't  incapable  just  because  he  didn't  have  his  sword.  he  can  tell  Luo  Binghe  is  trying  to  keep  him  rooted  in  place  by  dangling  supplications  in  front  of  him   –   it  wouldn't  be  that  easy.   “  Luo  Binghe,  quit  mocking  me  and  make  plain  what  you're  planning  to  do.  whatever  it  is,  i  won't  let  you  get  away  with  it.  Shen  Qingqiu  might  coddle  you,  but  in  my  eyes,  you'll  always  be  that  abhorrent  beast  that  took  advantage  of  him.  that's  still  taking  advantage  of  him.  ”   hand  raised,  Liu  Qingge  gathers  an  adequate  amount  of  spiritual  power  in  his  palm  and  holds  it,  ready  to  fire  it  at  Luo  Binghe  on  the  drop  of  a  hat.  he  absolutely  refuses  to  give  him  anything  he  wants   –   not  without  a  fight.  that's  just  how  he  is   –   how  he  always  will  be.  saying  fighting  was  beneath  him  was  basically  the  equivalent  of  mocking  his  every  achievement  on  and  off  the  battlefield.  he  grits  his  teeth   –   his  eyes  are  narrowed.  sparking  within  them  is  a  mixture  of  revulsion  and  apprehension.  Liu  Qingge  knows  that  he  doesn't  stand  a  chance  of  winning,  no  matter  how  much  he  preens  his  feathers  or  puffs  his  chest,  at  the  end  of  the  day  it's  all  just  show.  he's  been  beaten  down  by  Luo  Binghe  enough  times  to  understand  that  his  cultivation  is  overpowered  by  Luo  Binghe's.  the  thought  makes  his  stomach  roil  with  a  hatred  that  seeps  into  the  glittering  dark  pools  of  his  eyes.  he  idly  twitches  his  other  hand  as  if  he's  trying  to  shake  something  of  it.   (   get  the  fuck  off  my  hand  red  string,  you  don't  belong  here.  don't  connect  me  to  him   )

                “  don't  forget,  i'm  only  here  because  he's  my  cultivation  partner.  don't  you  dare  look  at  me  like  i  belong  to  you  too.  ”   even  admitting  it  out  loud  has  another  sickening  shudder  crawling  through  his  limbs.  the  urge  to  vomit  rises  in  his  throat,  but  he  defiantly  swallows  it  back  down  and  glowers  at  Luo  Binghe  with  a  fierceness  that  could  rival  the  king  of  hell  himself.  he  opens  his  mouth  for  a  moment  as  if  he  wants  to  say  something  else,  but  ultimately  elects  to  keep  his  thoughts  to  himself.  enough  talking.  Liu  Qingge  doesn't  like  to  talk.  his  words  are  his  fists,  so  he  does  what  he  knows  best  and  fires  that  spiritual  blast  right  at  Luo  Binghe's  heart  without  another  word.

[altarfates]

If there is one weakness that Luo Binghe nurtures, as he had the unsightly, white corrugating skin on his chest, an account of treachery that should have turned that disciple vindictive but had only encouraged his fervent impulse to possess Shen Qingqiu, it was his shizun’s praise. avaricious demons might seek to oust Luo Binghe from his throne, desperately hoping to expose a vulnerability but none would ever possess something as effective as the dulcet silk of his shizun’s voice when it addresses him like this. he listens attentively, the ardent crimson of his gaze burning away the gossamers of white that separate his hungry eyes and hungry hands from his ivory skin. It does not falter until his fan closes, sliding beneath the underside of his jaw to tilt his head back. Luo Binghe’s nerves all lament each passing second that their contact is reduced to that elegantly folded fan yet he behaves, an obedience that no other can derive from the heavenly demon, both unthinkable and reverent as he commands luo binghe’s attention. his words lance through his body in hot, sultry pleasure, his expression softening as his shizun proves how inclined he is to indulge this disciple’s volatile nature. The kiss itself is ephemeral, however, with the taste of  Shen Qingqiu lingering upon his mouth Luo Binghe’s hideous desire rages. His restraint is being tested, withering into black filth as his shizun withdraws, the softness of him is so dissonant to the severity of Luo Binghe that he feels oppressed by it, coquettishly stroking his skin as if to become a distraction. He does not permit his concentration to deteriorate into insatiable loning only because he covets, more than anything else, another languid caress of praise from his shizun. As Shen Qingqiu raises with so much poise as to convince he was unaffected by Luo Binghe’s mouth upon his, his disciple’s gaze hunts him relentlessly. In all things his disciple had proven himself impudent, unbothered by all the discipline that had been ingrained in him until it was taken into account by Shen Qingqiu. As such, the door had been left as a gaping, cavernous mouth when he had shamelessly walked into his room as his single, perfunctory knock was addressed. 

To prolong this trial, abrading on Luo Binghe’s sedulously kept restraint, Shen Qingqiu lowers into the awaiting invitation of his lap. The immaculate robes that separate the two may as well have been diaphanous for his disciple’s gaze bores furiously into the elegant arch of his shoulders. It seemed as if he might relinquish his tenacious hold on restraint just to be able to impulsively sink his teeth into his throat but he remains rigid not unlike other parts of that incorrigible disciple’s who do not bother with such frivolous things as propriety. “ Shizun.” he murmurs, there was something pained about the tension in his timbre, excruciatingly aware of how lithe and delicate Shen Qingqiu felt when pressed mindlessly into the chest of his treasured disciple. He could have curled one large, malevolent hand around him and crushed something cardinal to his survival and that innate violence stirs sweltering arousal within him. Luo Binghe has yet to intercept him, remaining idle while he cast his scrutinizing gaze over his industriously written notes was tortuous and he felt it become cincereal as it settles in the pit of his gut. He breathed in, something both obnoxious and audacious but he could not resist it, the scent of pure - white lotus was far too intoxicating and his shizun was boldly using him as a throne. It almost takes a moment too long for his instructions to be understood, Luo Binghe’s flushed features tucked pitifully into the juncture between his throat and shoulder, his silken dark hair covering much of his countenance. His capable hands are rendered almost useless as he employs both haste and care in stripping away his outer robes, the relief from that oppressiveness is instant and he moans into the dark veil of his hair. “ tell this disciple.” his voice has dipped into salacity but his wandering hand furtively parting the front of Shen Qingqiu’s robes to greedily touch skin, is far more indecent. “ when did shizun become so wanton.” it is an affront to his decorum, however, the smirk that curls at Luo Binghe’s wicked mouth is both alluring and devilish. “ this disciple will not know if his notes are satisfactory if shizun does not praise him once more.” 

&   there   is   an   art   form   to   quelling   the   creature   that   lurks   beneath   the   surface   of   Luo   Binghe's   unassuming   countenance   that   Shen   Qingqiu   has   almost   thoroughly   mastered.     knowing   that   a   single   misstep   could   crush   the   thin   veneer   that   composes   this   gentle   tranquility   between   them,   this   master   knows   he   must   act   in   accordance   to   that   which   would   play   most   favourable   into   his   disciple's   emotions.   which   makes   it   no   surprise   when   the   edge   of   his   fan   meets   the   underside   of   Luo   Binghe's   chin;   a   single,   faint   gesture   urges   the   tilt   of   his   head,   and   Shen   Qingqiu   leans   in   close   enough   they   can   smell   each   other's   breath.    “   very   good.   ”    his   affirmation   firm   but   gentle,   intonation   laced   precariously   with   soft   praise.    “   this   master   is   proud   of   you.   ”    if   words   aren't   enough   to   soothe   his   voilatile   nature,   then   what   comes   next   would   surely   settle   any   unrest   his   disciple   might   be   feeling.

a   kiss.

a   tender   brush   of   lips   against   lips;   the   taste   of   something   sweet   and   the   faint   scent   of   pear   blossoms.   Shen   Qingqiu   lingers   long   enough   to   leave   his   ghost   behind   after   he's   drawn   back,   once   more   putting   space   between   them,   though   it   is   only   a   temporary   thing.   desired   space   is   traded   for   the   sound   of   rustling;   of   Shen   Qingqiu   rising   to   his   feet,   of   socks   padding   over   bamboo   floors   as   he   draws   close   to   the   door   and   reaches   out   to   slide   it   shut.   in   his   mind,   there   is   no   reason   just   anyone   should   have   complete   access   to   what   transpires   in   this   room.   he's   always   valued   his   privacy,   and   the   only   reason   that   door   was   open   before,   was   because   Luo   Binghe   had   carelessly   left   it   open   when   he   wandered   inside,   shattering   the   peace   of   mind   Shen   Qingqiu   had   been   scrambling   to   peace   together. 

with   this   out   of   the   way,   his   return   comes   with   an   unexpected   change   of   pace.   where   one   would   assume   he'd   take   his   position   behind   his   desk   once   more,   he   instead   settles   himself   on   something   a   little   more…   animate.   it   startles   him   almost   every   time   he   remembers   how   much   smaller   he   is   in   comparison   to   Luo   Binghe;   how   the   top   of   his   head   fits   perfectly   tucked   beneath   his   chin,   or   how   the   small   of   his   back   is   almost   entirely   eclipsed   by   his   husband's   large   stature.   while   he   would   prefer   to   perform   his   tasks   on   the   other   side   of   the   desk,   sitting   in   Luo   Binghe's   lap   was   probably   the   best   course   of   action   to   take   right   now.   anything   else   and   he's   certain   his   disciple   would   probably   explode    (    and   the   last   thing   he   wants   is   to   be   met   with   that   teary   face   restraining   the   violence   he   craved    ).   so   he   resigned   himself   to   this   fate,   leaning   the   full   weight   of   his   body   against   Luo   Binghe's   chest   as   he   idly   opened   one   of   the   scrolls   and   began   to   pour   over   his   disciple's   handiwork.

and   true   to   his   personality,   Luo   Binghe   is   incessantly   diligent.   there   isn't   a   word   out   of   place    –    his   sentence   structures   are   perfect,   and   each   detail   is   copied   with   exacting   care.   Shen   Qingqiu   wants   to   lament   his   luck,   but   whatever   is   going   on   inside   his   mind   right   now   isn't   reflected   on   his   face   currently.    “   take   off   your   outer   robes.   ”    he   comments   off-handedly.   he's   come   to   the   quick   realization   that   he's   sweating   right   now,   the   backs   of   his   clothes   sticking   uncomfortably   to   his   skin,   and   it's   because   Luo   Binghe   is   that   warm.   one   would   assume   he'd   take   up   his   disciple's   offer   to   undress   him,   but   the   thought   makes   chagrin   shudder   through   his   stature.   he'd   rather   just   have   Luo   Binghe   undress    –    it   was   less   embarrassing   for   him   that   way.

[altarfates]

Luo Binghe was a multifaceted creature, an amalgam of contradictions. one time he might be reduced to a piteous, lachrymose state, earnestly pleading for forgiveness and the next he would brazenly claim what had belonged to him from the beginning. It seemed, despite his natural proclivity for aberrantly twisting himself into new, grotesque forms his shishu could still effortlessly pry apart his ribs and glimpse what resembles the truth. oh, he could have barked a cruel laugh, like the depraved beast liu qingge often surmised him to be. yet, there’s something more ominous about the unabating stare that languidly peels back the invitation of the other’s skin and revels in the putrid revelations he finds within. They were, after all, a similar, monstrous sort, even if luo binghe knows, without room for doubt, that his shishu would rather be referred to as shit than labelled similar to that bellicose disciple. The ways in which luo binghe covets things is carnal, it begins as a stirring of the organs, coiling its serpentine length around the breadth of his heart. even if he stubbornly refuses him, baring his teeth like a brutally beaten dog, he also belongs to that demon lord. people that share an indistinct boundary with possessions, for being lusted after by that insatiable demon lord often proved to be utterly consuming. he bristles at the other’s reply, terse, a reminder of what had been stolen from beneath his fingertips albeit it was not his shishu’s name dripping saccharin with desire from his shizun’s tongue only hours prior. sharing, the concept of it held little significance for luo binghe who beheld both of those he wanted with a molten stare, the corruption of his longing something that could transform his decorous cultivation partners into something debauched. 

“ Now who is the shameless one ?” he muses, the serrated edge of his voice belies the sentiments that simmered beneath his skin, writhing maggots desperate to bore their way through his pores. luo binghe gives and takes with arrogance and selfishness and it seemed only equitable that he would bestow the same gift upon his favourite shishu. Liu qingge’s hand abruptly launches for his throat, curling around the column of his neck and applying just enough pressure that his vision swims at the corners. He lets out a soft, expelled breath, gratification makes it tremble but it is within that ephemeral moment of indulgence that his hand drops down and stakes a claim upon luo binghe’s weapon. It fills him with a wicked sense of thrill, zheng yang pressed flushed beneath his chin, a thin rivulet of blood easing down its blade. “ Is that what my shishu really desires, a fight ? ” he asks, an innocuous tilt of his head only further encourages the weapon to press against his pliant skin. the way he gazes upon him now, down the ravenous shaft of his own weapon, churns with fervent hunger, the kind of darkness that would eagerly swallow all that lay before it. “ acting this way is beneath you, isn’t it ?” how badly he wants to feel those fingertips digging relentlessly into his skin, carving up the sharp contours of his shoulder blades in his own brand of possession. Is it lust or resentment that makes their conflict so addictive, the impulse to divest him of all those frustratingly intricate layers and ravage the skin beneath is something he doesn’t truly seek to deny. He’s waiting, a patience that reveals that, despite his willing domesticity, luo binghe wasn’t above strategizing the most sadistic way to impose his dominance over liu qingge. luo binghe towers over him, even as the others back remains ramrod straight, desperate to find leverage in that if nothing else, his hungry shadow lapping at the enticing edges of liu qingge’s mind, body and soul. “ There are more potent ways to harm me.” he smiles warmly, sickly, as if his mouth was awash in a disgorging of blood there’s a hint of red that turns all of luo binghe’s prior actions provocative. “ Does this shishu know my weakness ?” 

                 it's  in  this  particular  assumption  of  Liu  Qingge,  that  Luo  Binghe  has  made  a  grave  error.   had  prolonged  separation  clouded  his  memories?  veiled  his  eyes?  did  he  neglect  to  recall  the  incisive  nature  of  his  shishu   –   that  a  singular  glance  is  all  that  was  required  for  Liu  Qingge  to  recognize  even  the  most  well  guarded  secret?  to  pry  open  the  pages  of  Luo  Binghe's  heart,  and  bare  forth  the  wicked  designs  etched  on  parchment?  it  is  precisely  because  he  was  able  to  conceive  what  was  lurking  in  the  glittering  pools  of  dark  obsidian  that  Liu  Qingge  stooped  to  obstinance   –   to  vows  of  brutality.  his  feigned  innocence  is  a  tempered  shield   &&   his  vehement  words  a  weapon,  sharpened  at  it's  serrated  edges.  the  closer  Luo  Binghe  draws  to  him,  the  more  violently  his  heart  thrashes  against  it's  prison  behind  his  ribs.  he  doesn't  want  to  give  in  to  this   –   he  doesn't  want  to  crumble.  give  Luo  Binghe  even  a  centimeter  and  he's  sure  to  covet  a  mile.  he  knows  that  hungry  look;  has  witnessed  it  time  and  again  when  Luo  Binghe  sets  his  sights  on  Shen  Qingqiu…  but  Liu  Qingge  is  not  Shen  Qingqiu,  and  that's  the  most  frightening  part  about  all  of  this.

                 Liu  Qingge  is  not  Shen  Qingqiu,  so  why  does  Luo  Binghe  insist  on  splitting  his  flesh  with  his  teeth?  he  knows  why   –   he  knows  very  well,  and  because  he  knows  so  well,  he  adamantly  refuses  to  relinquish  what  little  dominance  he  still  maintains  over  himself.  he  will  feign  stupidity  in  this  moment;  cast  his  lot  on  the  resting  laurels  of  a  beast  about  to  rend  apart  flesh,  and  loosen  it  on  Luo  Binghe  in  exchange  for  ignoring  the  flash  of  crimson  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye.   “  he  might've  chose  you  in  the  end,  but  let's  not  forget  who  he  married  first.  let's  not  forget  who  took  his  virginity.  ”   fine.  if  Luo  Binghe  insisted  on  searing  his  ego  in  such  a  way   –   then  Liu  Qingge  would  graciously  remind  him  of  why  Shen  Qingqiu  insisted  his  beloved  shishu  live  with  the  two  of  them  in  the  demon  realm.  fight  fire  with  fire:  scorch,  sear,  until  only  the  blackened  ashes  remained.  the  palm  of  one  hand  cups  the  smooth  column  of  Luo  Binghe's  throat;  squeezes  just  tight  enough  to  invoke  a  promise  of  fulfillment,  and  once  again  crimson  dangles  itself  in  front  of  Liu  Qingge's  vision  with  this  single  motion.

                  he  denies  it.  refuses  to  perceive  it.  Liu  Qingge's  other  hand  has  taken  hold  of  the  hilt  of  Luo  Binghe's  sword  and  wrenches  it  from  it's  sheath.  fine,  his  mind  yells  again.  if  Luo  Binghe  refuses  to  return  Cheng  Luan,  then  Liu  Qingge  would  make  do  by  bringing  the  sharpened  edge  of  Zheng  Yang  to  the  underside  of  Luo  Binghe's  chin  instead,  just  above  his  own  fingers.   “  defeat  me  a  thousand  times,  and  I'll  still  come  back.  i  refuse  to  submit.  ”   if  that's  truly  the  case,  then  why  can't  Liu  Qingge  ever  deliver  the  final  blow?  why  does  he  draw  back  at  the  last  second,  again  and  again,  conceding  himself  into  the  position  of  defeat?  the  answer  to  that  is  glaringly  obvious   –   it  comes  in  three  forms:  a  man,  a  string,  and  a  wildly  beating  heart.  one  would  assume  their  rivalry  was  born  of  shared  affection  for  a  singular  individual,  and  on  a  very  small  scale  this  could  be  the  case.  but  Liu  Qingge   –   for  all  his  sharp  claws  and  gnashing  teeth   –   held  more  understanding  for  the  relationship  between  master  and  disciple  than  he  let  on.  true,  he  was  married  to  Shen  Qingqiu   –   true,  the  two  were  soulmates,  yet  his  heart  was  wider,  stronger,  accepting  of  more  than  just  this.  of  what  did  grow  between  shishu  and  disciple.

                  his  adoration  for  Shen  Qingqiu  was  why  he  could  never  end  Luo  Binghe's  life,  even  when  the  opportunity  presented  itself.  his  ardent  affection  for  his  Shixiong  was  what  brought  him  to  live  in  this  unforgiving  place,  as  he  found  he  was  unable  to  refuse  when  Shen  Qingqiu  looked  at  him  with  such  hopeful  eyes.  now,  he  wished  he  could  curse  him,  because  in  bending  the  knee  so  willingly  to  Shen  Qingqiu,  another  red  string  had  gradually  tied  itself  around  Liu  Qingge's  finger.  at  the  other  end  of  it  was  precisely  the  man  in  front  of  him:  Luo  Binghe.  their  fates,  too,  had  been  permanently  sewn  together   –   his  mind  reeled  with  this  terrifying  realization.

[altarfates]

His sincerity is an inferred thing, Shen Qingqiu does not have to speak it aloud for it to be known that his troublesome disciple has an unspeakable effect on him. It is merely that Luo Binghe has spent years diligently studying his master’s reactions and now can employ those impudent skills to dismantle him as his own leisure. The novel’s protagonist would have been far too OP had it been written into his character to be omniscient, having insight into all things, when it came to his shizun each act of unbridled obedience was intentional. he had truly raised his disciple to be a wicked individual, with peerless sadomasochism. The end of Shen Qingqiu’s fan collides with his head and as if compelled by the pain or the impact he lowers a little, the piteous furrowing of his brows conveys an innocent confusion which belies his true, nefarious intentions. was it not a virtue to know the soft, pale skin that nestled between his husband’s thighs and crave nothing more than to irreverently sink his teeth into it. when occupying such close proximity he was always driven mad with restraint, permitting Shen Qingqiu to breathe freely when all he wanted was to pour his heavenly demon’s blood into his awaiting mouth and watch him writhe. every thought which transpired beyond that disciple’s inscrutable countenance was one steeped in lechery. “ This disciple is sorry that he has caused his shizun so much trouble.” but he does not sound earnest, in fact, he has noticed the shudder that raced down his master’s spine and has taken a keen interest in it. It was as if those invasive hands of Luo Binghe’s were prying his mind open, wanting to know precisely what made his shizun’s body react so wantonly. Yet, as if to avoid ignominy, Shen Qingqiu detracts attention from himself and redirects it towards his disciple’s industrious efforts. Luo Binghe allows this, coaxing his shizun to be complicit in a game he does not know he’s a participant of just yet. “ this disciple inscribed them just as shizun had asked.” he retrieved the scroll that was tucked inexplicably within his inner robes, revealing slithers of skin and not bothering to readjust them once they had parted. Luo Binghe lays it before Shen Qingqiu and appraises his expression for approval. “ Everything.” his reply feels horribly obscene despite being nothing more than succinct confirmation. “ this disciple never forgets a lesson given to him by his shizun.” 

the   speed   in   which   the   fan   doubles   in   it's   intensity   is   almost   alarming.   there's   something   of   a   strangled   noise   that   flutters   from   Shen   Qingqiu's   lips;   a   cross   between   choking   and   coughing.   how   is   it   that   this   brat   can   read   everything   i'm   thinking!?   it's   like   Luo   Binghe   has   a   direction   connect   to   his   brain,   and   if   Shen   Qingqiu   didn't   know   any   better,   he'd   actually   believe   that   too.   there's   no   real   way   Luo   Binghe   can   actually   read   his   mind    (    …right?   right!?    ),   but   the   way   he's   been   able   to   exhume   almost   every   thought   Shen   Qingqiu's   brain   has   brought   to   the   forefront   of   his   mind   leaves   him   more   than   a   little   bit   breathless.   “   who   said   you   could   be   so   shameless?   ”   he   suddenly   snaps   the   fan   shut   and   reaches   out,   giving   Luo   Binghe   a   thorough   thonk   on   the   head   with   it.   it's   a   habit   his   dear   disciple   is   probably   all   too   familiar   with    –    an   instinct   to   which   Shen   Qingqiu   falls   upon   whenever   Luo   Binghe   says   or   does   something   that   borders   utterly   ridiculous!   take   his   clothes   off!?   was   he   mad?   what   if   someone   walked   in   and   saw   them?!   furthermore,   wouldn't   it   be   undignified   for   the   lord   of   qing   jing   peak   to   be   dressed   so   frivolously?   he   has   to   stop   himself   from   almost   whacking   Binghe   on   the   head   again   with   his   fan,   because   doing   so   would   probably   only   provoke   him   further.

he   can   already   see   the   look   in   Binghe's   eyes    –    his   voice   did   little   to   veil   what   darkness   lingered   beneath   his   benevolent   gaze.   Luo   Binghe   revered   him   like   a   god,   but   make   no   mistake…   Shen   Qingqiu   was   nothing   short   of   an   ant   in   the   grand   scheme   of   things.   it   wouldn't   take   a   great   deal   of   effort   for   Luo   Binghe   to   overpower   him,   and   if   Shen   Qingqiu   was   being   honest   here…   he   didn't   want   to   test   that   theory.   just   the   ghost   of   his   hot   breath   whispering   against   his   cheek   had   sent   a   pronounced   shiver   down   the   master's   spine.   it   was   prominent   enough   that   it   would   undoubtedly   be   caught   by   his   companion,   and   in   a   matter   of   seconds   he'd   opened   the   fan   back   up   and   attempted   to   hide   his   face   behind   it   once   more.   ridiculous!   he   cried   in   his   head.   utter   nonsense!   if   he   undresses   me,   the   next   thing   i   know   he'll   be   touching   me--    because   Binghe   is   rarely   able   to   keep   his   hands   off   of   Shen   Qingqiu   for   very   long    –    and   then   he'll   be   on   top   of   me,   inside   of   me--    wait   a   second   here…   wasn't   he   being   the   shameless   one   now!?   when   did   he   become   this   kind   of   person!?   the   kind   that   thinks   about…   thinks   about…   things   like   that!?!?   his   eyes   snap   almost   instantly   to   the   far   wall,   avoiding   any   potential   opportunity   for   Luo   Binghe   to   decipher   what   might   be   roiling   in   Shen   Qingqiu's   mind.

he   clears   his   throat,   deciding   it's   best   to   leverage   both   his   thoughts   and   the   conversation   itself   onto   other   topics,   and   attempts   to   scrape   together   what   little   dignity   remains   in   the   chaotic   aftermath   of   his   thoughts.   “   yes.   i'd   like   to   inspect   them.   ”   as   if   he's   going   to   find   anything   out   of   place.   Luo   Binghe's   due   diligence   was   far   too   immaculate   for   his   own   good.   it's   rare   that   Shen   Qingqiu   finds   any   error   in   his   work   anymore;   it's   as   if   his   obsession   with   his   master   has   driven   him   to   perfect   the   art   of   pleasing   him.   of   fulfilling   every   task   to   the   utmost   precision.   “   i   trust   you   memorized   everything   on   those   scripts?   ”   Luo   Binghe   isn't   the   type   to   slack   off   or   shun   his   studies.   even   now   after   he's   grown   as   much   as   he   has,   it   seems   his   attentiveness   to   the   things   Shen   Qingqiu   tries   to   teach   him   don't   seem   to   falter   in   the   slightest.

[altarfates]

Shen Qingqiu is an eternal mourner, a revenant of a past Luo Binghe had meticulously effaced. It was only in that absence of resentment, buried in the dark, hollow apertures of what was left behind, that he came to realize what he had irrevocably lost. It’s cruel how Bing-mei is allowed that refuge, immured upon Qing Jing peak, mocked and vilified until all that remained was rancour, he was not permitted that lenience, his master’s benevolent hand had only ever reached for him with violent intent. He seethed with it, an implacable adversary who only knew one recourse, take without remorse, plagiarizing their kinder, more hospitable narrative by purloining a shizun that was not his to possess. Luo Bing-ge had never been known to indulge clemency so why would he begin showing it to one who elicited such ire from him. “ Hm, that’s why I brought you here ?” for all the nonchalance that Shen Qingqiu brandishes, his countenance immaculately compelled to indifference, Luo Bing-ge is convinced he must feel their absence far keener than this disciple does. As he had sought to inflict devastation upon all who had reviled him there was none left to sully his name, none left to deserve his unbridled fury, no one who would rush to Shen Qingqiu’s aid remained breathing in this slither of time. so he can remain forbearing, even if it is wholly incongruous to his imperious demeanour and penchant for cruelty. If he yearned only to steep his hands in the other’s blood once more, to admire the cruor extracted as it sagged from his fingertips, he would have done so already. because the torment is not efficient and sanguinary, choosing to isolate him from others, preserving that icy exterior by his side, it’s quite evident that Luo Bing-ge had other intentions regarding his once departed shizun.  “ You know as I do that if I wanted you dead you would be so.” dark, crimson eyes bore into him, languidly divesting him of that resolute impassiveness. there was far more delectable things to be witnessed beneath it, an unease that was churning just below the surface, something he could almost taste and craved above all else. “ Is it so wrong for a disciple to want to serve their shizun ?” it is a crude mockery of their dynamic, heinously twisting what was genuinely affection and kindness into something quietly foreboding.  “ Are you not lonely?”it is an innocuous question but when it comes to Bing-ge that innocence is not to be trusted, settling to observe the elegant side-profile afforded to him as the other stares intently out of the window. Against that cascading silver light he was rendered ethereal, the stark absence of fondness for this disciple only served to heighten that allure, Luo Bing-ge knew this visage well, he had loathed it for a lifetime after all.  He lapses into a momentary silence as the other seeks to divert their conversation, guiding it with a steady yet ambivalent hand, certainty being an resource he was severely lacking whilst confined against his will. 

“ This disciple felt it necessary to keep his shizun company, yet you choose to concern yourself with my wives.” there’s a trace of abhorrence in his tone, a bitterness that whets their edges to sharpness. With the intellectual acuity he had cultivated alone he could discern the other’s intentions, Shen Qingqiu did not think him a fool surely, so this ploy is addressed with a disdainful stare, entirely unnerving. “ Would you rather they be the ones to serve you in my place ?” it was another test, his fickle heart and capricious mind sought to not only drive anguish down to the bone but tear apart that mind of his so he might learn why things had changed so drastically. what did Luo Bingmei have that he did not. “ Eat, I won’t ask again.” his commandment held within it a thinly veiled threat, the clawed ends of his fingers would not hesitate to pry his stubborn jaw open and spill the food down his desperately constricting throat if he still thought resisting was his best option.

                 as  Shen  Qingqiu  stares  restlessly  up  at  the  moon  hung  high  in  the  sky,  he  can't  help  but  find  himself  wondering   –   what  was  Luo  Bing-mei  thinking  right  now?   what  was  he  feeling?  did  he  even  know  Shen  Qingqiu  was  gone  yet?  did  the  others  know  he  was  taken?  would  they  miss  him?  would  they  search  endlessly  for  days  on  end,  until  their  frustration  had  them  beating  their  fists  into  the  ground  at  the  absence  of  him?  in  his  head  sails  a  tiny  boat  awash  a  sea  of  thoughts,  frantically  fighting  to  stay  afloat  as  the  storm  thrashes  the  water  about.  it's  close  to  capsizing  as  he  feels  an  ache  surge  violently  in  his  chest   –   absentmindedly,  he'd  just  called  out  Liu  Qingge's  name  when  it  call  became  too  much  to  bear,  as  if  the  man  could  just  appear  on  his  sword  and  whisk  him  away  just  like  that.  but  he  couldn't   –   he  was  long  dead  in  this  place,  and  in  that  frigid  and  unforgiving  realization,  Shen  Qingqiu  only  became  all  the  more  grateful  for  the  blessings  he  had  in  his  original  world.  that  those  with  whom  his  soul  had  been  inextricably  bound  could  be  relied  upon  with  a  single  call   –   that  all  of  them  still  lived. 

                  Liu  Qingge,  Yue  Qingyuan,  even  his  own  wretched  disciple  Ming  Fan…  they  had  not  fallen  to  terrible  fates  in  his  world  like  they  had  in  this  one.  here,  Shen  Qingqiu  was  utterly  alone,  and  his  throat  tightened  as  his  heart  ached.  before  he'd  come  to  fully  comprehend  it,  a  single  tear  had  rolled  down  his  cheek  as  he  outstretched  his  hand  toward  the  pale,  cold  light  of  the  moon.  that  unfeeling,  unconcerned  god  lighting  up  the  night  sky   –   you  could  call  out  to  it  again  and  again,  and  never  once  would  it  grace  you  with  a  response.  his  outstretched  hand  gradually  turned  into  a  clenched  fist  that  he  brought  back  down  onto  the  windowsill,  just  in  time  for  Luo  Bing-ge  to  come  haunt  the  little  space  Shen  Qingqiu  had  for  himself  in  this  place.  almost  immediately  does  his  shoulders  stiffen  and  his  back  straighten   –   he  schools  his  expression  to  remain  aloof  and  indifferent.  he  doesn't  want  this  Luo  Binghe  to  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  how  anguish  had  buried  itself  in  the  catacombs  of  his  ribs.  despite  this,  bits  of  evidence  still  haunted  his  brumal  features:  red  rimmed  eyes  and  a  streak  of  something  wet  still  drying  upon  his  cheek.  he  adamantly  refuses  to  even  look  at  this  version  of  his  disciple  ‘lest  his  heart  kneel  in  repenance  for  crimes  he  didn’t  directly  commit.

                  “  it's  unlike  you  not  to  play  with  your  toys  first,  before  killing  them,  so  i  know  you  won't  poison  me.  this  master  simply  isn't  hungry.  ”   his  reply  is  both  curt  and  nonchalant.  it  matches  the  same  aloof  nature  of  his  expression:  it  bears  no  emotion  and  carries  no  weakness.  Shen  Qingqiu  is  lying  of  course   –   he  hasn't  eaten  in  over  a  day,  but  like  hell  he's  going  to  let  this  awful  brat  know  any  of  that.  who's  to  say  what  Luo  Bing-ge  would  do  with  that  information?  it's  best  to  keep  as  much  to  himself  as  possible;  the  less  Luo  Bing-ge  knows,  the  less  ammunition  he  has  to  pull  the  trigger  in  the  end  on  whatever  he  might  want  to  do  to  Shen  Qingqiu.  without  even  sparing  a  glance  at  either  the  man  in  question  or  the  food  steaming  on  the  table,  Shen  Qingqiu  flicks  his  sleeve  and  motions  with  his  hand.   “  take  it  away  and  give  it  to  someone  else.  don't  waste  it.  ”   he  knows  damn  well  he  holds  no  authority  here  and  is  in  no  position  to  be  bossing  Luo  Bing-ge  around,  yet  he  can't  prevent  himself  from  falling  into  the  error  of  his  old  ways.  quickly  realising  his  mistake,  he  drops  his  hand  at  his  side  and  turns  to  look  back  out  the  window,  silently  terrified  of  the  kind  of  face  Luo  Bing-ge  might  make.   “  just…  never  mind.  leave  it  there,  i'll  eat  in  a  while.  ”   Shen  Qingqiu  doubts  it's  enough  to  get  him  to  back  off,  but  he's  trying  to  minimize  their  interactions  as  much  as  possible.

                   given  the  nature  of  his  circumstances,  Shen  Qingqiu's  prospects  for  the  future  here  are  this:  A)  he  leaves  this  place  and  returns  to  Bing-mei's  side  in  a  casket  after  Bing-ge's  had  enough  of  toying  with  him.  or  B)  he's  forcibly  kept  here  as  replacement  for  the  Shen  Qingqiu  Bing-ge's  already  killed  and  toyed  with  for  an  eternity,  never  to  see  those  he  cares  for  again.  neither  prospect  is  in  his  favour,  but  if  you  asked  him  to  pick  one,  Shen  Qingqiu  would  honestly  prefer  just  dying  instead  of  suffering  for  grievances  not  made  by  his  own  hand.  he  can't  help  but  recall  the  pickle  pot  so  intimately  described  in  Proud  Immortal  Demon  Way,  and  the  urge  to  vomit  blood  rises  quickly  in  his  throat.  like  hell  he'll  become  a  new  human  stick   –   just  kill  him  at  that  rate!   “  if  you  spend  too  much  time  with  this  master,  won't  your  wives  get  jealous?  ”   a  feeble  attempt  at  diverting  attention  from  whatever  schemes  Bing-ge  could  be  devising  right  now.  Shen  Qingqiu  just  wants  this  abominable  bastard  to  get  away  from  him  as  soon  as  possible.

[altarfates]

It was preferable that Liu Qingge understand Luo Binghe’s true intentions, like a parasite he craves to hollow a place for himself between sinew and tendon, a sanguinary sanctuary where he might choose to bury his teeth. however, it seems he’s only capable of reaching the verdict that this insolent disciple merely wants to toy with him, an implacable adversary and endlessly amusing plaything. He wasn’t wrong, yet that demon lord cannot help but feel a smarting of disappointment at his narrow purview. he doesn’t understand even a slither of starvation, a craving so rapacious it could burn each sect to the ground overnight without the burden of remorse. his shizun had witnessed it, the way he devolved into a beast when enticed, his jaw straining against teeth too sharp to be anything less than preternatural. Now, he can but laugh, a harrowing, arrogant sound that resonates between them like a death knell. “ Shameless ?” he repeats, rolls the word from his tongue with the rumination of someone far too accustomed to insults to be ever again bothered by them. inadvertently shen qingqiu had turned his disciple into something depraved, an insidious longing that continued to corrupt every vein, echoing as might a shadow behind his every step. Liu Qingge can surely taste the malevolence that seethes between them, a palpable oath that carving his skin open would be nothing short of gratifying for Luo Binghe. Yet, he feigns this illusory kindness, as if he were extricated from every sin he had ever committed. He doesn’t want forgiveness, his shishu’s ire was a far more delectable flavour. “ He chose me.” it is said with utter finality, an unquestionable truth. He takes an impudent step forward, another, encroaching on the other’s space until they are almost a breath apart. “ Don’t forget who lost that battle.” his hellfire gaze inspects his countenance for weakness, finds it impervious and grins, wicked and mocking without a hint of sincerity. “ And who will lose each subsequent one.” he casts his gaze over the other’s shoulder back to the domicile where his shizun resides, having reprimanded him earlier for antagonizing him senselessly. “ Where. . I wonder.”  his resentment has surged, spiked, he wouldn’t be astounded if those hands truly did seek to curl furiously around his throat. “ Show me that mercy and maybe this disciple will consider your request properly.” arrogant, imperious, this Luo Binghe has softened edges because of his devotion to his shizun but it does not change that which dwelled just beneath his skin. He cocks his head slightly, offering a far more genuine smile now, it hints at the cruel things he wouldn’t hesitate to subject him to if given the chance. 

                  it's  no  surprise  that  Luo  Binghe  enjoys  toeing  the  line  of  what's  acceptable  with  Liu  Qingge,  and  what  will  quite  literally  push  the  peak  lord  over  the  edge.     the  fact  that  Cheng  Luan  is  missing  is  already  disorienting  enough  for  Liu  Qingge,  but  to  be  intentionally  poked  and  prodded  is  a  recipe  for  disaster.  it's  as  if  it's  Luo  Binghe's  life  mission  to  crawl  underneath  and  skin  and  make  his  bones  itch  without  relief.  both  hands  have  formed  into  fists  at  his  side  on  instinct   –   naturally,  the  first  thing  he's  inclined  to  do  is  start  swinging  if  he  has  to.  the  two  of  them  have  fought  numerous  times  already:  one  more  would  hardly  make  a  difference.  his  entire  body  is  wound  tight  with  tension  like  a  screw  that  was  fastened  too  earnestly.   “  you--!  ”   a  single  word  ground  out  between  clenched  teeth  and  spat  with  all  the  venom  of  a  snake  pinned  against  a  corner.

                  “  shameless.  ”   he  spews  another  word  and  straightens  his  back  in  an  attempt  to  appear  taller  than  he  actually  is.  it's  an  intimidation  tactic   –   one  that's  poorly  executed,  as  no  matter  how  tall  he  tries  to  make  himself,  Luo  Binghe  is  still  taller  by  a  margin.   “  don't  think  that  just  because  you've  won  him  over,  i'm  going  to  give  in  as  easily.  tell  me  where  you  put  Cheng  Luan  right  now.  ”   he's  still  silently  cursing  himself  for  being  so  careless  as  to  doze  off,  leaving  himself  susceptible  to  Luo  Binghe's  abhorrent  antics,  knowing  how  much  joy  that  bastard  of  a  disciple  gleaned  out  of  riling  up  his  shishu.  Liu  Qingge  narrowed  his  eyes  and  furrowed  his  brows,  but  never  let  his  gaze  drift  off  from  Luo  Binghe  for  a  second.  “  it'd  be  a  mercy  if  i  strangled  you,  you  know.  ”   because  if  Liu  Qingge  was  really  allowed  to  let  loose,  he'd  do  more  than  throttle  the  life  out  of  Luo  Binghe.  he'd  kill  him  over  and  over,  bringing  him  back  just  to  kill  him  in  a  different  way.  that  was  simply  the  nature  of  Liu  Qingge's  violence  when  it  came  to  dealing  with  someone  as  disrespectfuly  and  untrustworthy  as  Luo  Binghe.

[altarfates]

Luo Binghe’s conniving gaze lingers upon Shen Qingqiu’s countenance, utterly enraptured. The thing about being at the summit of his disciple’s world, the cornerstone of his existence, was that he was also subjected to his worst habits, his ugliest qualities. The possessiveness that rears its hideous head when he falls in step with his shizun drives others to take an intentional step back as if they might find themselves executed for merely curiously peaking at the pair. His smile is saccharine, seemingly delighted by the inordinate waving of Shen Qingqiu’s fan, like it might extricate him from something more than the oppressive heat.  “ if Shizun finds his clothes to be too constricting.” he says this with the utmost decorum as if this, amongst many other things, were merely tasks to see to completion for his shizun’s sake. “ this disciple would be happy to rid you of them.” his offer holds the baleful weight of a threat, each finger striking a minatory count down into the wooden table’s veneer, the dark, sharp ends of his claws looking rather sinister. He’s watching the other closely, savouring the way his cheeks dust with a soft roseate, the way the tenuous expanse of his fan doesn’t offer much in terms of salvation. Hastily Shen Qingqiu changes diverts the conversation and like any obedient disciple would Luo Binghe continues to listen, the intensity of him simmering just beneath the skin. “ All of them.” he replies dutifully, the recognition it warrants is something he hungers for and like all things he can derive from his shizun he’s insatiable about it. He blinks slowly, coquettishly, as if he were someone’s doting bride rather than the protagonist of an egregiously distorted harem novel. “ does shizun want to look over them ?” he tilts his head, his long, dark hair brushes against the table as he leans forward, just enough for his breath to caress those elegant cheeks of his. “ this disciple would be more than happy to show you.” 

&&    as   if   reading   Shen   Qingqiu's   mind    –    right   on   cue,   the   very   man   appears   before   him.   why   do   i   always   have   to   be   right??   am   i   doomed   by   the   stupid   narrative   of   this   stupid   novel!?!?   how   does   he   always   know   right   where   i   am???    –    and   many   such   laments   ran   hastily   throughout   his   mind   as   he   took   care   to   keep   his   face   concealed   behind   his   fan,   not   wishing   to   invoke   anything   more   out   of   Luo   Binghe.   his   most   beloved   disciple   is   like   a   ticking   time   bomb;   the   slightest   error   could   send   him   spiraling   down   a   path   that   Shen   Qingqiu   would   unwillingly   be   dragged   along.   he   swallowed   thickly   and   hung   a   thinly   veiled   smile   off   of   his   lips.    “    don't   be   ridiculous.    ”    his   approach   is   somewhat   stern,   but   wilts   around   the   edges   like   a   half-dead   plant.   he   knows   better   than   to   push   his   denial   too   far    –    not   unless   he   wants   Luo   Binghe   on   top   of   him   like   a   feral   a   cat.    “    it   has   nothing   to   do   with   you.   it's   simply…   too   hot.    ”    which   is   at   least   the   truth.   hoping   Luo   Binghe   will   buy   into   it   long   enough   not   to   notice   his   discomfort   with   the   notion   that   at   any   given   moment,   the   space   between   them   will   fail   to   exist.   this   confession,   however,   may   very   well   inspire   a   different   kind   of   inquiry   that   he   hopes   won't   be   brought   to   the   surface.   it's   far   too   embarrassing   for   him   to   even   think   about,   and   suddenly   he's   fanning   himself   just   a   little   harder,   doing   his   damnedest   to   shield   the   blush   that   settled   into   the   soft   apertures   of   his   cheekbones.    “    anyway…   did   you   finish   transcribing   the   scrolls   like   i   asked?    ”    of   course   he   did,   does   Shen   Qingqiu   even   need   to   ask?   if   Shen   Qingqiu   told   Luo   Binghe   to   jump   off   a   bridge,   he   probably   would   without   hesitation    (    under   the   stipulation   that   shizun   would   be   coming   with   him   too    ).    he   could   make   just   about   any   demand   of   his   disciple   and   it   would   be   seen   through.

[altarfates]

This Luo Binghe is absent of the softness that tempers Bing-mei, his ire remains a sweltering inferno even once his vindictive nature should have been satiated. He had slaughtered all of those who had wronged him, deriving the utmost pleasure from watching as their faces contorted in the thoes of death, his shizun had not been spared from that violent wrath. This Shen Qingqiu was different, his features remained immaculately poised like jade, his mouth a thin line of disquiet, eyes only ever regarding this malevolent disciple with the shuddering vestiges of fear. Luo Binghe had once greedily feasted on that very sentiment, gorging himself on the bowels of men far inferior to himself, laughing callously as he rectified every sin committed against him. In that other world, disparate to the one he now reigns over, things had unfolded in such an aberrant way that the docile him from that world drove contempt into this Binghe’s very bones. Often, Shen Qingqiu resorts to this, quietly staring out the window as if he were some maiden heinously confined against her will. It wasn’t that far from the truth, actually. Luo Binghe wanted to address the fallacy that his relationship with his shizun could ever be anything other than unbridled contempt but he had found, when he gazed upon those two in close proximity, he was driven mad with bitter envy. It made him want to vomit mouthfuls of blood, the way that even after his demise his shizun could have such a profound effect on him. Luo Binghe of this world could have whoever and whatever he wanted, his power was peerless, his cruel beauty without equal, yet coveting this master, this Shen Qingqiu, had proven to be a more arduous task than he had initially thought.

The door slides open and Luo Binghe’s shadow curls wickedly around him, lapping at the elegant edges of his robes as if it sought to singe them black. His gaze bears down upon Shen Qingqiu with the vehemence of someone who nurtured hatred and longing in equal measure, a grotesque amalgam of every sentiment he had ever held for that man. Shen Qingqiu was barbaric, imperious and had tormented his disciple because of a grudge that child could never fully comprehend. Luo Binghe had been brutally beaten, spat at, treated as less than a mutt, of course when it came time for retribution he would have each of them on their knees begging in earnest for their lives before he chose to kill them. This Shen Qingqiu had the audacity to rest his hand on Bing-mei’s head affectionately, his gaze possessing an open fondness for the demon lord and his mouth retaining the allure of a smile rather than sneering at him.  ❝ He made this for you, did he not ? ❞ contempt swathes the way he addresses his counterpart, settling what appears to be a bowl of appetizing food on the edge of the table in offering, never allowing his hostile gaze to shift away from his shizun. ❝ So, why wont you eat ? Do you find me abhorrent in comparison ? ❞ It sounds as if he’s affronted by this, an incessant smarting that buries into his skin again and again but his expression has yet to stray from indifference, a cursory glance spared between the other’s dignified posture and the meal he had laid out in offering. ❝ Shen Qingqiu. If you will feel less threatened should I eat first ? If I wished to poison you do you think I would act so indiscreetly ? ❞ he smiles, unlike the genuine warmth of Bing-mei’s grin when his shizun addresses him this one was mantled in a ferocity that belied an enduring hatred for the man before him alongside something else, something far less apposite given his feelings regarding Shen Qingqiu.

                 dusk  descends,  bringing  forth  a  dark  tapestry  to  devour  brilliant  blue.  slowly,  one  by  one,  the  mottled  stars  begin  to  blink  into  existence,  as  Shen  Qingqiu  finds  himself  observing  them  with  only  vague  interest.  he  sits  on  the  sill  of  the  window  nearest  to  where  his  bed  is   –   a  thousand  times  he's  entertained  the  thought  of  leaping  out  of  it,  and  it's  only  been  a  day  since  he  came  here.  why  would  he  want  to  leap,  you  might  ask?

                  because  the  boy   –   no   –   man  made  demon  that  dragged  him  here,  is  not  the  affable  child  he  once  raised.  the  one  he  raised  is  in  another  world:  another  dimension,  in  a  place  that  Shen  Qingqiu  cannot  reach  on  his  own.  not  without  Xin  Mo  anyway:  as  if  he  were  capable  of  using  it   –   he  wasn't. 

                  in  his  mind  he  still  cursed  his  negligence.  an  extended  absence  from  Bing-mei  should've  been  the  first  warning  sign…  but  what  a  fool  he  was  indeed.   (   hadn't  he  learned  from  the  first  time  this  happened?!   )   clearly  not,  because  when  Bing-ge  appeared  behind  him,  he'd  mistaken  him  for  Bing-mei  and  fell  into  his  arms  without  resistence.  a  second  later,  the  world  went  dark  as  cloth  eclipsed  his  vision,  and  the  next  second  he  was  able  to  see,  he  found  himself  locked  in  this  room.

Shen  Qingqiu  laughed  bitterly  to  himself.

                  though   –   taking  all  things  into  consideration   –   it  could  be  worse.  for  one:  he  was  entirely  unharmed.  for  two:  he  wasn't  confined  to  some  desolate  dungeon,  nor  were  his  hands  and  ankles  bound.  the  only  thing  missing  from  him  was  Xiu  Ya   –   which  Bing-ge  graciously  relinqiushed  him  of  before  having  Sha  Hualing  dump  him  into  this  room.  sure,  Shen  Qingqiu  could  count  his  blessings,  but  nobody  knew  how  long  it  would  all  last.  this  was  the  world  of  the  original  novel  after  all;  people  like  Yue  Qingyuan  and  Liu  Qingge  were  long  dead.  he's  certain  the  other  Shen  Qingqiu  has  long  since  perished  too.  in  short?  nobody  was  going  to  save  him,  which  meant  all  that  remained  was  to  wait  here,  wondering  what  sort  of  fate  Bing-ge  would  bestow  upon  him.  nothing  good,  he  imagined.

@altarfates ♡ Bing-ge jealously captures the shizun he feels he deserves

[altarfates]

Luo Binghe does not falter before Liu Qingge’s trenchant tongue, if anything that unscrupulous disciple is spurred on by the contempt curling his mouth into the inception of a snarl. He feigns innocence in the most flagrant ways, his lips forming a meek smile, his dark eyes glittering with a distinct absence of hostility. In this way is he not the polar opposite of his Shishu whose hand instinctively hovers over his waist where cheng luan should rest but doesn’t. “ …Merely another step ?” it doesn’t impede the arrogance that exudes from his tone, his intention to drape his fervent intent over the other’s shoulders is a stifling act of eventual suffocation. Luo Binghe was methodical, pragmatic, conveying precisely the right amount of emotion to drive Liu Qingge’s to the verge of madness. They had fought many times, this encounter however is imbued with a different quality, his encroaching shadow becoming a promise of undoing if the other did not tread with caution. “ Is your intention to wring my neck ?” he asks, the tilt of his head remains innocuous but there’s the hint of wickedness as his smirk widens in a portentous showing of teeth.  His own hand pulls at his collar, exposing plains of unblemished skin in offering, a threat or a challenge. “ If liu-shishu insists then who is this disciple to deny him ?” 

@altarfates ♡ one-liner call

“  another  step  and  i  promise  it'll  be  your  last.  "   Liu  Qingge  studies  Luo  Binghe  with  sharp  eyes  and  a  frown.  he  doesn't  appreciate  being  backed  into  a  corner,  especially  without  Cheng  Luan  strapped  to  his  hip.