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Shen Qingqiu is married to the most beautiful man that he knows. 

It’s hard to believe it some days. Liu Qingge is effortlessly handsome, breathtakingly pretty. His long, silky hair spills over his strong shoulder like dark ink strokes. His sharp features come together in a manner that steals Shen Qingqiu’s breath away. High cheekbones, a sculpted jawline. Blazing phoenix eyes with a perfect beauty mark underneath the left. 

In the early morning, swaddled in a swirl of silken blues and greens, Liu Qingge is a sight that Shen Qingqiu has always been fascinated with. He prefers waking up in the loving arms of his husband’s embrace, yes, but the mornings where Shen Qingqiu wakes early are just as stunning. His handsome face, slackened and soft in sleep, is precious. If Shen Qingqiu could find it in himself to leave the bed, he would commit the sight to canvas, dark ink strokes and washes of color to depict that mesmerizing view.

But Liu Qingge isn’t just beautiful— there’s a reason he carries the title of Bai Zhan War God. His skill with Cheng Luan is unmatched, deft and precise slices that could only be achieved by a master. Liu Qingge could fight off hordes upon hordes of monsters by himself, and emerge from the battlefield unscathed. There is none that could defeat Liu Qingge (Luo Binghe is still young, but Liu Qingge could easily match his prowess later on). 

Shen Qingqiu could speak on and on about his husband. Strong and beautiful, kind and sweet. Even materially, the Bai Zhan War God possesses riches beyond compare. All things considered, Liu Qingge is someone that Shen Qingqiu would have never thought he could have.

But as he looks at the matchmaking booklets sent to Liu Qingge, Shen Qingqiu wonders if he is truly worthy.

When all is said and done, when the dust finally settles, it is apparent that Shen Qingqiu is lacking. He has nothing to give to Liu Qingge— the priceless treasures of Qing Jing are not his, and the amounts of money that he does have, though significant, is paltry compared to the wealth of the Liu family. He is barely a peak lord— a peak lord in name, if anything. He is fragile, weak. Yue Qingyuan worries for the reputation of the sect because of him, Mu Qingfang must occasionally make difficult and complex medicines to supplement the regular dual cultivation from Liu Qingge. He cannot undertake the missions that the Qing Jing Peak Lord would take alone, he cannot travel to other sects by himself for political negotiations for fear of the poison running in his veins. 

He is a burden to Cang Qiong.

Shen Qingqiu flips through the matchmaking pamphlets to see carefully rendered portraits of pretty young women with descriptions. This one, a promising young poetess. The next, a girl from the richest mortal family in Ancient China. Peasants and nobles alike, powerful cultivators and fragile mortals with charming smiles and sweet eyes. Though Shen Qingqiu would like to say that he deserves to stand by Liu Qingge, the words in his throat become stuck. The statement rings hollow in his heart. It tastes of a sickeningly-sweet lie, the kind that sinks his heart deeper rather than lifting it.

He doesn’t know if he deserves that privilege. He doesn’t even know if he’ll be the only one in Liu Qingge’s life. After all, this is the world of Proud Immortal Demon’s Way.

Proud Immortal Demon’s Way was a stallion novel with a harem that spanned across all of Ancient China, from the Demon Realm to cultivator society. And in Shen Qingqiu’s own travels, he had seen first-hand how many mortal men would have a harem of women too. Though never the size of Luo Binghe’s original harem, he had seen the way that mortals would boast about the size of their harems, as if the wives were playthings and not people. And now that he thinks of it, the harems weren’t just to sate lust— they had a far more reasonable purpose.

Won’t Liu Qingge need an heir?

Shen Qingqiu balls his hand up into a fist, uneasy. He shoves the pamphlets away, into the depths of his desk. 

Liu Qingge loves him. It’s true, it rings in his mind with a refreshing clarity. Liu Qingge loves him, and all of this is just his stupid insecurities trying to worm into his brain.

But what use is love, the voice whispers, when you can’t give him a child?

Liu Qingge loves him. He loves Shen Qingqiu, there is no doubt. And Shen Qingqiu loves Liu Qingge with just as much fervor, with just as much passion and devotion and all of those feelings that come along with it. 

But love isn’t always enough.

At the end of the day, Shen Qingqiu can’t give birth to Liu Qingge’s child. The Liu family is renowned, famous; the bloodline is even more so. Liu Qingge would never pressure Liu Mingyan into something so serious, and he can’t just ask Liu Qingge to ignore his familial duties either. If Liu Qingge doesn’t have children, then the Liu family will slowly fade away, a powerful and influential bloodline ended by Shen Qingqiu’s selfishness. Shen Qingqiu will never be able to give anything more than his love— so why would Liu Qingge stay when he could get that and so much more from others? Money, prestige, a child… 

Liu Qingge would be a wonderful father, soft but strict with his beloved children. A little boy, clinging to Liu Qingge’s pants with a pout, and his older sister already training with the sword. And if Shen Qingqiu continues to be selfish, then that sweet future and those days of bliss will be forever closed off.

A liability to Cang Qiong, and a burden to Liu Qingge. 

He hears the door to his home swing open, and Shen Qingqiu shoves down the whispers into a tiny, tiny little box in the corner to go greet his husband.

“Welcome home, Qingge.” Shen Qingqiu plasters on a small smile and quickly crushes Liu Qingge into a hug so he doesn’t see for too long— his smile might break off at any moment, and Liu Qingge can’t see this particular weakness. Liu Qingge leans into him heavily, his head dipping into Shen Qingqiu’s neck. “It must have been a long day, right?”

“Mn.” Liu Qingge pulls away just for a bit to press a kiss onto his cheek. Already, Shen Qingqiu feels the cruel edge of his thoughts dull, and his heart feels a little lighter. “I’m home.”

“Let this husband help,” Shen Qingqiu says gently. He can see the stress that plagues his lover, and though his own worries have not gone away, it’s easier to take care of those he loves first and process his own thoughts at a later point. Liu Qingge doesn’t nod, but he lets Shen Qingqiu guide him through their home.

Qing Jing is never quiet, but the sounds of soothing poetry and the accompanying instruments are relaxing enough. Liu Qingge follows quietly as Shen Qingqiu runs a warm bath, before stripping his robes. They’ve been intimate enough that it doesn’t cause Shen Qingqiu to flush, so he simply strips the fussy layers that he’s been wearing and picks up the washcloth. It’s a slow and gentle process as he washes Liu Qingge’s back, soaps his hair and rinses it. As he massages muscle, he can feel how Liu Qingge begins to relax into his touch. Overwhelmed by the tender feelings that rise in his heart, Shen Qingqiu leans forward to kiss the bared nape of Liu Qingge’s neck, revering in the small shiver that runs down Liu Qingge’s spine.

From there, it’s a simple process to do their hair. Liu Qingge insists on oiling and combing through his hair, something they did even while they were courting. Shen Qingqiu leans into the touch, and though the sun is barely sinking, Shen Qingqiu decides to forgo dinner and retire early with his lover.

Liu Qingge drifts off first, his eyes slowly sliding shut. Shen Qingqiu simply looks at the rare sight. No one could know how soft the Bai Zhan War God truly looks, with his marble-like face and cold beauty. But slackened in sleep, Liu Qingge looks less and less like a War God and more like a young, tender-hearted youth.

Rather than feeling comforted, Shen Qingqiu suddenly feels a wave of twisting discomfort within his soul. It feels wrong to be looking. Isn’t Liu Qingge his husband? Why should the sight of his husband cause him to feel like he’s committed a sin? Still, he can’t help but feel that overwhelming sense of wrong that flows through him. Like a knife slicing through his stomach, the sight of his vulnerable husband makes him feel sharp pain that he nearly gasps from.

He can’t sleep like this.

He quietly slips out of bed. Liu Qingge is usually a light sleeper on trips out, but at home he sleeps like the dead. It’s endearing, it's something that Shen Qingqiu takes pride in— his beloved completely dropping his guard to the point where his many years of training are overcome. It also makes it far too easy to move out of Liu Qingge’s grasp, replacing his own body with a pillow. Liu Qingge grumbles lightly, then stills as he clutches the pillow a little closer. Shen Qingqiu pulls the quilt up, covering Liu Qingge’s body again. He nearly presses a kiss to his husband’s forehead, then decides against it. It feels wrong to do so.

Shen Qingqiu quietly pads to his study and sits— oh, there’s a cup of tea still here— and looks out the window. Sunset breaks through the sky, and Shen Qingqiu decides that looking outside won’t do anything. But he knows that he shouldn’t look in his desk, he knows he shouldn’t. He knows that those matchmaking pamphlets are still stuffed in there, that they’re taunting him at every moment with whispered words that seem to coalesce into a singular, devastating storm—

(A nearly-forgotten tale of a woman and a once tightly-sealed box pried open by curious fingers comes to mind, before washing away into nothingness).

The desk slides open with a smooth sound. Shen Qingqiu blinks once, and then twice. In the span of a single moment, he had both opened the desk and automatically taken the pamphlets out. He might as well continue, now that he’s gotten this far. With a sip of the now bitter tea, Shen Qingqiu begins to look through the pamphlets again and ponders.

Was it selfish of him to pursue his affections?

Liu Qingge could have married anyone he chose, but Shen Qingqiu had taken that first. The rumors from when they first began courting comes to mind—

The Qing Jing Peak Lord, fawning and tripping over himself at a chance to get into Liu Qingge’s bed. The Qing Jing Peak Lord, shameless and temporary bed warmer. Shen Qingqiu, who pretends to be above all earthly desires, used as a plaything. An outlet for physical desire— the Qing Jing Peak Lord’s looks are known to be enticing, after all. And if the Bai Zhan Peak Lord uses him to fulfill those desires, well, no one can blame him. No respectable man would want to marry such a shameless person.

Shen Qingqiu knows that Liu Qingge doesn’t know the extent of it. He had tried to spare his then lover of the details and the unsavory rumors. After all, they were the result of Shen Qingqiu and Shen Qingqiu alone. His lover had nothing to do with it, and there was no reason to make him feel guilty for Shen Qingqiu’s actions.

But perhaps Shen Qingqiu really is a temporary bed warmer. The love they share is real and true, but life is always full of ups and downs. Liu Qingge wouldn’t divorce him, he’s far too honorable for that, but it would make more sense for Shen Qingqiu to simply disappear quietly. With his husband presumed missing forever, it would give Liu Qingge the opportunity to marry the one he truly deserves. Shen Qingqiu would have to leave and never come back, knowing that they could never meet again. After all, Liu Qingge would be too busy with taking care of his wife, with devoting his time and patience to beginning his own family.

Ha. All this talk about heirs and harems, like he’s still on the forums. Proud Immortal Demon’s Way truly was a tragedy, wasn’t it? He had always focused on Binghe’s tragic life, but what about all of those wives? Real people that truly felt love, that found comfort in someone. They did their vows, made their pledges and made their marital bed with the expectation of love, only to be thrown into a harem of hundreds and forgotten as Binghe chased the next wife relentlessly. If Shen Qingqiu had been thrown into that kind of life… He’s not sure if he could ever survive. 

When he looks out the window again, he startles. The sun is nearly out— did Shen Qingqiu stay up the whole night? It’s almost time for Liu Qingge to wake up! Hastily, he puts away the matchmaking pamphlets and quietly pads back into their bedchamber. Liu Qingge is still sleeping deeply, thank heavens. Shen Qingqiu quietly slips in, replacing the pillow with his own body and letting himself be cradled by his husband. 

He closes his eyes and sees only that uneasy abyss of doubt and fear. It whispers to him, low murmurs and suggestions of selfishness and shame. He moves closer into Liu Qingge’s arms, comforted by the tightening of familiar muscled arms around him. This is something that he’ll have to talk about, he’s sure. But he’s nowhere near ready to talk yet— so it can wait another day.

When Shen Qingqiu wakes, the sun is far too low in the sky. Alarmed, he rockets up from the bed, only to be reflexively caught by familiar arms. Besides him, Liu Qingge looks worried, quiet stress radiating off of him. Shen Qingqiu, frazzled, reaches out to his husband in an attempt to soothe him, but Liu Qingge blocks the attempt.

Shen Qingqiu recoils back.

Liu Qingge’s never done that. Liu Qingge’s never stopped him from comforting him. Shen Qingqiu curls into himself, hurt blossoming in his heart. He pulls a soft quilt closer to himself, tightly clenching the soft fabric in his hands, and looks down. He knows that with his hair falling forwards, the raw expression on his face is obscured. One of Liu Qingge’s hands reaches out, gently covering his fist.

“Qingqiu,” Liu Qingge calls. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Shen Qingqiu lies, thorns of guilt prickling at his skin. Liu Qingge reaches out to brush his hair back and Shen Qingqiu lets out a hiss of surprise— barely audible, but easily heard to any cultivator. Liu Qingge withdraws completely, and Shen Qingqiu feels a sense of loss as his husband’s comforting touch leaves.

Great job, his mind whispers sardonically. So afraid that he’ll stop loving you, and yet you’re the one that caused him to withdraw.

“Qingge. I’m sorry,” Shen Qingqiu says, already feeling the guilt build higher and higher. He moves his gaze up, and meets eyes with Liu Qingge. Liu Qingge doesn’t say anything— no acknowledgement of his words, no acceptance— and Shen Qingqiu hesitantly reaches out. “Qingge?”

Liu Qingge takes his hand just as hesitantly, and speaks.

“You didn’t sleep last night,” Liu Qingge starts softly. Shen Qingqiu startles— how did he know? He came in before Liu Qingge was awake. “You didn’t stay with me. But once you came back this morning… You were so tired that you wouldn’t wake at all.”

That would certainly explain why it’s so late. Shen Qingqiu nearly sighs. But it’s far too early for Liu Qingge to be at Qing Jing already. As if reading his mind, Liu Qingge continues: “I didn’t want to leave you here.”

“I lost track of time last night, it’s not important.” Shen Qingqiu tells the truth. He really did lose track of time, and for something stupid at that. His worries aren’t something important at all. It wasn’t worth bothering Liu Qingge about, especially since his husband was already stressed. Liu Qingge’s face softens just slightly, and Shen Qingqiu feels so much worse at that gentle look that he surely doesn’t deserve. He’s made a mess of things already, caused more undue stress for Liu Qingge, and caused him to worry all because of his own personal problems.

“Thank you for staying, my love.”

Shen Qingqiu moves towards the side of the bed, and leans in to press an apologetic kiss to Liu Qingge’s cheek. He leans in towards his husband, and his breath stutters as Liu Qingge wraps comforting arms around him, grounding. As Liu Qingge gently presses devoted kisses to him and touches him with a sweet tenderness, Shen Qingqiu can’t help but greedily revel in  the softness of that affection. He thinks of the dialogue that’s always followed them in marriage—

You honor your shixiong.

The honor is mine.

Shen Qingqiu leans in, and thinks about how that honor should have never been his.

Shen Qingqiu keeps a list of the women who send matchmaking pamphlets to Liu Qingge. Some seem like they’d irritate his beloved shidi, so he makes a note and sets them aside. But others… Others seem like they’d maybe get along with his husband.

It tears him apart to make the list. His heart is warring with itself, desperately clawing at him and trying to convince him to shred the parchment into little pieces, throw it into the fire and watch it burn. But the logical part, cool and collected, cuts his tender heart down with a sharp efficiency— if you love him, let him go.  

And he does. Shen Qingqiu truly loves Liu Qingge.

He loves Liu Qingge so much. Those tender, sweet feelings of love and devotion are something he could never forget, never lose. But he already knows that love alone is not enough. It would be best for him to use his knowledge and arrange a marriage for his beloved, before quietly slipping away. A fruitful one, where Liu Qingge can love another and raise his children with their mother. And as for him… Well. He has to give credit to the original harem of women. They were strong enough to see their husband give his love and affection to others. Shen Qingqiu’s nowhere near that strong.

In truth, Shen Qingqiu had naïvely dreamed of retiring with Liu Qingge. Once they relinquished the role of peak lords, they could move to a charming little cottage together and begin a slow, domestic life.

But now? Perhaps he could move to the beachside, to a mountain. Go far, far away from Cang Qiong and live a quiet life. He would never run into Liu Qingge and his wife, their children there.

If you love him, let him go, Shen Qingqiu’s mind whispers again, insistent.

I know, Shen Qingqiu responds.

Tonight, they should be staying at Bai Zhan. But instead, Shen Qingqiu is still on Qing Jing— there’s still work to do. He needs to grade his student’s papers, needs to write out the progress reports for them, he needs to translate the tome given to Qing Jing, needs to set up the banquet that Cang Qiong is hosting and arrange the political meeting that comes after. And even then, he’s barely done the work that he needs to do. 

He still needs to compile the list of Liu Qingge’s marriage candidates, set up correspondence, arrange interviews and parties so Liu Qingge can meet his new wife… 

He feels tears gather in the corners of his eyes, white-hot pin pricks that just won’t leave him. He’s stressed from his work and from Liu Qingge’s imminent marriage to someone so much more suited to him— but Shen Qingqiu is the Qing Jing Peak Lord. He cannot be incompetent, he has to be better. He is above struggle, and is flawless in all that he does. He is Shen Qingqiu, and Shen Qingqiu must fulfill the mantle of Qing Jing Peak Lord with a graceful flick of his fan and a well-worn smile. 

If being the Qing Jing Peak Lord means that he cannot sleep, cannot stop to rest or eat, then that is what he will do. After all, he is an immortal capable of inedia. An immortal above all earthly ties and desires, just as his reputation demands.

If he works more, he can continue to guide his students down the righteous path. He can affirm Cang Qiong’s political power, and he can secure a beautiful future for the one that he loves most. There’s no time to wallow or to cry. Shen Qingqiu wipes away the half-formed tears, and picks up his brush again.

He diligently tears through the most pressing work, and when that is done, he starts on the matchmaking pamphlets with a vengeance. His heart stutters briefly when he thinks about their wedding night and that blissful time where they simply reveled in each other, whispers of love and devotion traded in hushed tones, tender and painfully naïve. But he can’t let his own feelings distract him. What he’s doing is for Liu Qingge. He painstakingly checks the booklets, and ignores the wrench in his heart when he adds a name to the approved list.

But at some point, Shen Qingqiu’s brush pauses. There is someone that could help him, someone who knows Liu Qingge the most out of anyone in Cang Qiong. She would understand Shen Qingqiu’s concerns, and understand that Shen Qingqiu is doing this out of the sheer amount of love that he has for Liu Qingge. And if there was anyone who could help Shen Qingqiu curate a list of marriage candidates worthy of a beloved shidi and brother…

Liu Mingyan,

This master calls upon you not as a shizhi, but as family. This one would like to speak with you confidentially and consult your opinion as a sister. Please come to Qing Jing as soon as possible.

Shen Qingqiu

“This master thanks you for coming so early.”

“En.” Liu Mingyan looks at him intensely, though she still stays quiet. “This shizhi wonders what could be so important that Shen-shibo could not rely on my brother.”

As always, Liu Mingyan is sharp, maybe too sharp. Her love for literature had brought her closer to Shen Qingqiu, and then his marriage to her brother had truly solidified that bond. How sad, Shen Qingqiu thinks. His marriage to Liu Qingge had made them family— but that familial tie won't last.

There’s no point in delaying the conversation.

Shen Qingqiu takes out four silencing talismans, and imbues qi to them. They stick on the walls and glow a bright gold before dimming, signaling their activation. Four is excessive, Shen Qingqiu knows, but he wants to keep this completely secret. This is a matter only meant for them.

“Liu-shizhi… No, Mingyan.” Shen Qingqiu corrects himself, and he sees Liu Mingyan stiffen in surprise. He doesn’t call her that. Though they are technically family, Shen Qingqiu tries to at least keep up appearances within the sect. Even in private, Shen Qingqiu has always addressed her as shizhi. Never just Mingyan. Shen Qingqiu takes the pot of tea, and pours them both a cup. His hands tremble slightly, but it’s easily hidden with the slip of a silken sleeve. “This master loves your brother very, very much. I love him enough that I’m willing to do anything. Which is why…”

Shen Qingqiu pulls out the list of approved marriage candidates and slides it across for Liu Mingyan. She had stopped wearing her veil in front of him long ago, so Shen Qingqiu can only watch with a lump in his throat as her stoic demeanor cracks into something far too vulnerable, confusion flitting across delicate features.

“Shen-shibo, what—? No.” Liu Mingyan actually stammers, before she looks at him with disbelief. “Marriage candidates, for my brother? But he… I thought you loved him?”

“I do,” Shen Qingqiu replies, his voice painfully raw. “I do.”

Shen Qingqiu falls quiet as he tries to find the words to explain. Liu Mingyan is silent too, like she’s been shocked into it. The only noise is the awkward rustle of the paper as Liu Mingyan reads the list.

“Your brother… My husband. He deserves the best.” Shen Qingqiu watches the tea leaves in his cup swirl around, and he thinks of fortune-tellers that could read them— if they could see it now, what would they say? “But there are things that I cannot give him.”

He holds up a hand before Liu Mingyan can interrupt him.

“The Liu family is famous. Qingge must provide an heir for your family to continue holding power. It is simply part of his familial duties. But I know that Qingge refuses to pressure you into having children, and I cannot give him a child either…” Shen Qingqiu closes his eyes, and feels the stabbing pain in his chest. He’s known it to be true, and yet it hurts to admit to others that he is lacking. He takes a deep breath, before looking down at his cup. Perhaps it is his imagination, but the leaves seem to speak of separation within the swirl of amber liquid.

“If this one had been less selfish… If I had been less selfish, perhaps Qingge could have known the joys of raising a family earlier. He deserves to have that future that I can never give him.”

That’s why he needs Liu Mingyan by his side, to help him. He needs Mingyan to help comb through this list, and help him find a woman that could make his husband happy. This woman needs to be the best for Liu Qingge, someone that could be a loving parent to his children. The very picture of a harmonious family, living in domestic bliss. The Bai Zhan War God, softened by the loving touch of the mother of his children and the starry eyes of his offspring.

“What about you?” Liu Mingyan asks after a long pause, her tone carefully put together.. “If he finds this woman, then what happens to you?”

“It doesn’t matter how this master feels,” Shen Qingqiu replies. It really doesn’t, because this is about Liu Qingge’s happiness, not his. Even if his heart feels hollow as he speaks, if Liu Qingge can be happy, then it will all be worth it. “As long as he’s happy, then I can ask for nothing more. But once he marries this woman… Then I suppose I’ll leave. A quiet life, away from the cultivation sects.”

“Then…” Liu Mingyan trails off. “Why can’t he be happy with you?”

“He can,” Shen Qingqiu says carefully. Liu Qingge is happy now. For now, Liu Qingge still looks at him with that sweet adoration in his eyes, still spoils him rotten like they're still courting, just because he can. Liu Qingge still braids his hair and curls into Shen Qingqiu when he needs comfort. And Shen Qingqiu has given himself completely to Liu Qingge too, every single shred of himself offered willingly, and then more. Everything that is Shen Qingqiu’s— his adoration, his life, his love— is Liu Qingge’s. 

But Qingge could have more.

He could have a much more fulfilling life and know joys that Shen Qingqiu can never grant him. Shen Qingqiu has given everything to Liu Qingge, but he knows deep down that Liu Qingge has always deserved more. What could Liu Qingge, esteemed cultivator and renowned Bai Zhan War God, ever have from the shameless man who is only peak lord in name— a temporary bed warmer?

A woman could give more than what Shen Qingqiu could ever give. So when Shen Qingqiu thinks about it… It’s obvious that the benefits far outweigh the current situation.

“But he deserves more.” Shen Qingqiu puts down his teacup with a definitive clink of porcelain. “He deserves to have so much more than what I could ever offer him… So this master is asking you not as your shibo, or even…” Shen Qingqiu nearly chokes on the swell of emotion that rises in him, but he persists. “Not even as Qingge’s husband. I ask of you, as someone who truly loves him, to help me find someone that he will love and cherish. Someone that could give him everything that I could and more.”

Liu Mingyan stays far too silent. It’s uncomfortable— normally, she at least responds to him. But instead, she looks at him with a rawness, a vulnerable and lost look. It looks uncomfortably like what Shen Qingqiu thinks his heart looks like too.

“Shen-shibo…” Liu Mingyan trails off. “I— I can’t. Gege loves you too much. This would hurt him!” There’s a spark in her eyes now, and Shen Qingqiu recognizes it as the same spark of stubbornness that sometimes crosses Liu Qingge’s eyes. “Are you saying you would hurt him?”

Shen Qingqiu refuses to rise to her provocation. They’ve had enough conversations for Shen Qingqiu to recognize this little trap. She may be smart, but Shen Qingqiu is still the Qing Jing Peak Lord. Trying to get him to say that he could never do so, then trying to shift the conversation in a way to tip the balance of the conversation in her favor. Like a game of chess, but Shen Qingqiu’s already seen the pieces and the traps she intends to play.

“Liu-shizhi. The path to happiness is rarely linear. There is the beauty of those fleeting heights, and the depths that seem unshakeable. But in time, he will heal. Qingge will forget me, will learn and love anew. I never wanted to hurt him, but if it means that he can find true happiness…” Shen Qingqiu trails off. “You are young. It is never as easy as the idealized stories we read. Please, Mingyan. This master hopes you understand that it is for Qingge’s sake.”

Liu Mingyan stands, her face stiff. In her shaking hands, she crumples the list before throwing it back on the table.

“You— you— how dare you?” She spits it out with vitriol. Her shoulders shake with emotion, and Shen Qingqiu can only watch with a growing sense of sadness as Mingyan begins to retreat back. The distance between them only grows and grows and Liu Mingyan fastens her veil. Shen Qingqiu knows at that moment that they are back to strangers, no longer bonded like family. The tie that bound them has been snapped. “Gege… How could you do that to him?”

“I love him,” Shen Qingqiu says once more, his voice soft and vulnerable. “Isn’t it obvious?”

The only answer he receives is the slam of the door echoing in his empty house.

Liu Mingyan had come over early in the morning, so Shen Qingqiu decides that now is the time to simply gather himself. The rest of the day is cleared for him. There is nothing pressing at this moment.

As he looks around the bamboo house, there are only the cruel reminders of what Shen Qingqiu must sacrifice. Liu Qingge’s martial arts manuals and his personal effects are scattered on the table. The sword oil that he uses to polish Cheng Luan still sits out, his half-finished teacup. A portrait that Shen Qingqiu insisted on hangs in the living room.

Shen Qingqiu looks up at it, and feels tears threaten to spill. In the portrait, he leans against Liu Qingge, a pleased blush painted in a peachy flush of watercolor. Next to him, Liu Qingge has that precious smile on his face, sharp coldness giving way to warmth and gentility. Their robes, in gentle blues and greens, swirl together in a pleasing wash that makes the whole portrait feel like home. Shen Qingqiu reaches out, and brushes his fingers against the brushstrokes that create Liu Qingge’s face.

Once, he had believed that the portrait was complete, finished.

But now, it is all too easy to see that there is something missing in the portrait.

There is an empty space in the portrait where a beloved son or daughter could be standing. There is room to paint another figure standing with them, sitting on a lap. As he looks, the painting morphs into something that feels right. Shen Qingqiu’s face dissolves into someone gentler, kinder. She looks like a true peerless beauty, captivating and enchanting. In her hand, she holds not a fan, but the hand of a young girl, smiling brightly. There is another child, a boy seated in her lap. The family looks harmonious. The family looks happy. Shen Qingqiu reaches out, his hands shaking. It’s there, he can see it, he can touch it. That future is within Liu Qingge’s grasp, and Shen Qingqiu just needs to get closer, he can make sure it happens now—!

He’s taken out of his thoughts by three knocks on his door. He can tell just by that knock who it is, short and polite.

“Come in, Ming Fan.” Shen Qingqiu withdraws his hand and steps away from the portrait, frowning. There are no meetings today, no lessons that he needs to oversee. What could possibly be the matter?

“Shizun.” Ming Fan bows politely, before getting straight to the point. “There is a woman here to see shizun. This one was told that it concerns Liu-shishu.”

“I see. Lead her here, then.” Shen Qingqiu dismisses Ming Fan, though his heart races in his chest. He straightens his robes, before seating himself at the table with a flourish. He pours out a cup of tea for himself, and waits with a sinking hole in his heart for the mysterious woman to arrive.

It must be one of the women looking to marry Liu Qingge— who else could it possibly be? Shen Qingqiu mentally reviews the list of women who have sent their profile as he waits. He could reject her, regardless of whether or not she’s actually on the approved list. He could throw her off Qing Jing and use his position as peak lord to refuse all of the women who want Liu Qingge. He could, and yet… His selfishness cannot win. Shen Qingqiu has taken so much, and then taken more and more. He has never given back. 

It is only fair to repay the debts that he’s accumulated. For the happiness of his husband, Shen Qingqiu must stand tall and accept the humiliation with grace. Shen Qingqiu is more than familiar with all of the candidates, so it’s not a surprise to see one of them walk in.

The woman is dressed luxuriously, though not gaudy. Layers and layers of lavender silks trimmed with green accents, bird motifs plastered everywhere. A slight jingling sound from her accessories seems to follow her as she walks. There is a refined grace to her posture and step, a sweet look attached to her face. Without being invited, she sits across from Shen Qingqiu and looks him in the eyes. She says nothing of the lack of tea set out for her— a clear sign of displeasure by Shen Qingqiu.

“This one’s name is Zhou Meiqi.” She doesn't bat an eye, though her pride is obvious. Her back stays as straight as ever and she makes no move to humble herself. Shen Qingqiu snaps open his fan and frowns behind the painted lake scenery. He nearly gets distracted— after all, this fan was gifted to him by Liu Qingge once upon a time (though now that he thinks of it, nearly every fan he has was a gift from Liu Qingge). “This one will be frank, shameless even. Allow this one to marry Peak Lord Liu.”

She stares him down without a flinch. Hah. Brave— even with all of the 40 IQ characters, none would be so bold as to propose marrying Shen Qingqiu’s husband in front of his face. Originally, this Zhou Meiqi had not been on his approved list. He ignores the clench in his heart. He cannot be selfish. He cannot allow foolish emotion to blind his actions. Cautiously, he makes a move.

“You come to Qing Jing Peak, only to insult me and propose marriage to my husband?” Shen Qingqiu speaks coldly, though he feels distant and untethered from the situation. “Shameless. Why should this master allow you to stay? Wasting my time with nonsense!”

“It is obvious that Peak Lord Liu needs an heir. This one is more than willing to help Peak Lord Liu fulfill his filial duties. Unless Peak Lord Shen believes that he could fulfill them?” The woman speaks politely enough, but her petty remark stands out for its rudeness. Shen Qingqiu flutters his fan, jaw locking.

“And why my husband? Of all the men, why choose him?”

The obvious answer is, of course—

“He saved this one. A long time ago, he saved me from a pack of wolves that would have killed me. At the time, this one had yearned for him to stay, to make him look at me. But now, this one can help him with his needs.”

Shen Qingqiu internally screams. This stupid wife plot, again! He can’t fault his beloved for rescuing others— after all, it is their duty as cultivators and immortal masters to do so— but the amount of fawning women that it results in is horrendous. If Liu Qingge had not done so… No. He can’t fault his husband for this. He had done his job, and in all honesty, most likely did not realize that the woman was there.

“So you’ve come to propose your marriage to him through his spouse?” Shen Qingqiu sets his fan down, and takes a sip of his tea. “Lusting after a married man… How improper.”

“This one knows that Peak Lord Liu will take in a wife. After all, Peak Lord Shen is… incapable of certain tasks. This one is only offering a solution to an inevitable problem.”

Shen Qingqiu begins to respond, but he’s rudely interrupted by the sound of his poor door being broken down, no doubt by his husband’s unfortunate habit of destroying their doors. This must be the third he’s broken this month?

Shen Qingqiu automatically turns with the shape of a harsh scolding on his lips— Liu-shidi should know better by this point— but then freezes as he looks at Liu Qingge. The setting sun illuminates Liu Qingge’s noble figure in the doorway, and for a moment, Shen Qingqiu is blinded. But then, he looks closer. 

Liu Qingge is shaking, Cheng Luan gripped so tight that his hand looks completely white. His robes are in a complete state of disarray, dirt and grass stains that mar the disheveled fabric. His hair looks equally as messy, fine strands escaping the high ponytail and sticking to his cheeks. Liu Qingge looks like he flew at light speed to get here. And despite the shadow across his face, Shen Qingqiu can still see it.

Liu Qingge’s face is cold. Cold and bitter, an expression that hasn’t been seen since Liu Qingge finally softened around him. It is harsher than the most bitter winds of winter, colder than the freezing lakes of the north. But his eyes— those steel-grey eyes have always been the most expressive part of his beloved. Shen Qingqiu has seen them soft with adoration, lit with the flame of adrenaline and excitement. But now, they betray something vulnerable. It’s a foreign expression, a hurt that causes an unending ache to pointedly light in Shen Qingqiu. 

Shen Qingqiu sits up straight, too focused on comforting his husband, but Liu Qingge points Cheng Luan’s deadly edge straight towards his nearly-forgotten guest. 

“Get out,” Liu Qingge growls, his eyes darkening. Shen Qingqiu stands in alarm, already preparing himself to convince Liu Qingge to put Cheng Luan down and let her stay. But it never comes to fruition; the words die before they even reach his tongue. At once, he feels an oppressive and murderous aura weigh down on him. He slumps back into his seat, overwhelmed by the full force of Liu Qingge’s angered intent pushing down on him. His chest, his body feel like they’re being weighed down by a mountain of solid iron and steel, unable to get back up. Zhou Meiqi fares no better— the plea on her lips die and she turns pale. She tries to reach out, but stumbles and hits the floor, unable to even look up. Shen Qingqiu struggles to breathe as Liu Qingge looms over her threateningly, before he grabs her by her collar. “You have no right to talk to my husband like that. Whatever you’re trying is useless. Get out!”

Shen Qingqiu hears the rush of pounding footsteps across the floor, and the explosive bang of what must be Liu Qingge slamming the door, splintering wood.

The pressure is too much, he can’t— Shen Qingqiu weakly gasps for air, his desperate lungs unable to take the strain. Liu Qingge must hear him though, because the heavy footsteps come closer and closer, Liu Qingge’s murderous aura lifting. Shen Qingqiu coughs and takes in deep lungfuls of cool air, his lungs demanding the replenishment. Liu Qingge takes his arm, and hurriedly passes a stream of golden qi to him. The flow is much stronger than normal, Liu Qingge’s panic translating to a flash flood that surges in him rather than the steady stream that he used to pass to him long before they realized their feelings.

“Shen Qingqiu!” Liu Qingge carries him, placing him upright in his chair, and Shen Qingqiu waves him off as a sign that he’s fine. But with Zhou Meiqi now gone, the mood suddenly becomes awkward again. Liu Qingge kneels in front of him, and Shen Qingqiu gasps in alarm. Like this, he can see just how ragged his poor beloved looks— dark smears underneath his eyes, the faint track of tears down his face. The only other time he had seen Liu Qingge cry was the day after their wedding. He can’t help but look and look. Liu Qingge repeats again, “Shen Qingqiu.”

“Shidi, what’s the matter?” Shen Qingqiu asks softly, reaching out a gentled hand. Whatever it is that’s making his husband stressed, whatever it is that’s made his husband cry is something that needs to be fixed immediately.

“Shen Qingqiu,” Liu Qingge repeats again, sounding far too lost. He grabs Shen Qingqiu’s hand, his unsteady hands clasping around it, fingers winding through. Shen Qingqiu holds his other hand out, and his stomach twists in unease as Liu Qingge makes a hurt little noise and presses into it, still not letting go. He cradles the side of his beloved’s face in that lone hand, trying to provide some comfort.

Liu Qingge’s ragged breaths are harsh in the quiet of the room, a shaky cadence. Shen Qingqiu’s heart keeps jumping, his thoughts pounding and the blood rushing in his ears because Liu Qingge won’t say anything.

“Who has hurt my shidi? This shixiong—”

“Husband. My husband, my love…” Liu Qingge cuts him off, his whisper fierce. “Darling. Wife.”

“Yes?” Shen Qingqiu responds, somewhat puzzled. Liu Qingge seems nearly desperate to hear it, and he sags against Shen Qingqiu with a hurt noise. His fingers tremble as they clasp onto Shen Qingqiu’s robes, uncertain and unknowing.

“Have I hurt you?” Liu Qingge presses a kiss to Shen Qingqiu’s hand, and Shen Qingqiu just feels lost. Liu Qingge could never hurt him— what is he even talking about? “What have I done? I— I love you, my love, I love you, please don’t… Please.”

“I love you too,” Shen Qingqiu says gently. Liu Qingge's hands tighten, nearly tearing through delicate fabric, and Shen Qingqiu can’t help but feel that this is wrong. “I love you, you know I do.”

“You— How can you say that?” Liu Qingge refuses to move his face away, hiding it away in swathes of greens and blues. His voice breaks and he swallows roughly, before continuing. “You’re leaving. You’re leaving me.”

Ah. That certainly explains a lot. Mingyan must have told Liu Qingge about his request. 

“Qingge. Look at me.” Shen Qingqiu moves from his chair to kneeling on the floor in front of his beloved, leaning in for a soft kiss. Liu Qingge surges in, nearly desperate as he makes soft sounds against Shen Qingqiu. Shen Qingqiu leans away, caressing the side of Liu Qingge’s face. “I love you so much. But you deserve more than me.”

Liu Qingge’s face twists in disbelief, and Shen Qingqiu continues before Liu Qingge can argue back.

“That woman was right. You’ll need to provide an heir, and I can’t give that to you. I’ve never been able to give you what you deserve. You’ll be so much happier that way…” Liu Qingge cups the side of his face and Shen Qingqiu realizes to his horror that tears are beginning to slide down his cheeks, hot against the shivering cold of his ice-like skin. “Don’t you see, my love? It’s the only thing I can do for you.”

“Is that the only reason?” Liu Qingge asks urgently. Shen Qingqiu stays silent with shame coursing through him— he doesn’t want to leave, he wants to stay. But if he speaks the truth, Liu Qingge will stubbornly refuse. Shen Qingqiu knows that he must give up this selfish facade. He can’t possibly make Liu Qingge give up that distant, blissful future. “Shen Qingqiu, my love. Look at me. It doesn’t matter.”

“But—”

“No. Listen to me,” Liu Qingge cuts in. He gently kisses the tears away, before pulling Shen Qingqiu in for a sweet kiss. Shen Qingqiu wants it, gods, he wants. Liu Qingge presses closer to him, as if trying to stop him from leaving. “Qingqiu, darling. It doesn’t matter. We’re immortal. As long as we’re alive, we have no need to have children.”

Liu Qingge kisses his hair softly, and pulls him, rearranging them so Shen Qingqiu’s back is pressed to his solid front. Shen Qingqiu relaxes instinctively as Liu Qingge kisses his head, his strong hands squeezing his shoulders. But that momentary feeling of relaxation snaps, replaced by a sudden tension that locks his muscles when those hands move down, right over his stomach.

Shen Qingqiu knows— he knows that he can’t. But Liu Qingge has always been so much stronger than him, so he pitifully flails as he tries to break free. He tries to hit away his husband, smacking him ineffectively. The feeling of Liu Qingge’s warm hands over his stomach shouldn’t belong to him; it belongs to a woman with a rounded stomach, a woman capable of everything that Shen Qingqiu isn’t.

“Let me go,” he demands. He can feel tears falling again, his shoulders shake. “Let me go!”

Predictably, his stubborn husband refuses. 

“If you want one, we can have one,” Liu Qingge says, sliding his hands over Shen Qingqiu’s stomach again. Shen Qingqiu shudders at the feeling, his heart wildly slamming in his chest. “We can pick one up, or find one. We can ask Mu Qingfang for help, if you want us to carry one. There’s a way to do it, so if that’s the only reason you’re leaving… Do you trust me?”

“I…” Shen Qingqiu trails off. It doesn’t sound right. Surely, it can’t be acceptable to just pick up a stray child and call it their own— and the implication that men can have children doesn’t seem right, because surely, he would have seen more same sex male couples? It can’t be real. “You’re lying. It’s not possible.”

“For a cultivator, nothing is impossible. If we can attain immortality, then carrying a child is also possible. Shen Qingqiu, listen to me. I don’t want anyone but you. If I were to ever start a family, it would be with you. Not some woman that only wants my fame or looks.”

Liu Qingge repositions him so faces him, and tilts his head in. The ghost of his breath flits over Shen Qingqiu’s trembling lips, a shuddering warmth.

“My love— my wife. Loving you, knowing that it’s returned… the honor has always been mine.”

“I… Shixiong doesn’t know why you stay,” Shen Qingqiu admits shakily. For once, he doesn’t reply to Liu Qingge’s statement with what he knows by heart. The thought of that reply— “you honor this shixiong”— and the memories that follow hurt to think of, a sharp pain that causes a twist in his stomach. He just can’t understand. “Why?”

Liu Qingge kisses him gently, kisses him softly like Shen Qingqiu is something precious. He kisses Shen Qingqiu like there is something there that deserves a gentle touch and a gentler smile, instead of the scorn and disgust he truly deserves. He kisses him like…

“I love you,” Shen Qingqiu says, like a madman. He’s not supposed to say that truth now; he knows it’s true in his heart, but he won’t be able to convince Liu Qingge that there is more for him elsewhere, that another could give him so much more if he says those words out loud. And he must be a madman, for there is a disconnect between his mind and heart; he loses control for a devastating moment. Just in that singular moment, his limbs move on their own. His fingers curl and grasp the front of Liu Qingge’s soft robes, and he leans in. He doesn’t even recognize it at first, those chapped lips that move against him. For that moment, he is unseeing, blinded by the deep swell within his heart overtaking and rushing through his muscles. His heart roars and roars, its insistent demands deafening the logical thoughts in his mind.

He shouldn’t do this, Liu Qingge is not his to keep, his mind tries to shout out. Liu Qingge deserves more.

No! I want him, his heart roars back. I love him, he is my husband.

I love him, and that is enough.

Shen Qingqiu comes back to himself, and he feels the gentle press of lips against his, qi passing through his lips. He nearly gasps at the sensation. His meridians greedily revel in that shimmering pleasure, insistent on the feeling. The golden thread of Liu Qingge’s qi twines itself within his meridians, the feeling of Liu Qingge sinking deep into his bones. The blood in his body sings, just like it always has when Liu Qingge has shared qi like this.

“Shen Qingqiu, I…” Liu Qingge starts out of nowhere, before he promptly turns red. Shen Qingqiu laughs at the appearance of his darling husband— even though they’ve come so far, Liu Qingge still acts so shy, still fumbles for his words like a disciple. “This husband would like to do something.”

“Oh?” Shen Qingqiu puts down his book, and faces his husband. “What is making my beloved so embarrassed?”

Liu Qingge cups his cheek, and Shen Qingqiu leans into the sweet touch. 

“Does Qingqiu trust me?” Liu Qingge asks seriously. Shen Qingqiu nods fondly, and he smiles as Liu Qingge leans into him. “Then, let me try this.”

Liu Qingge slots his pretty lips against Shen Qingqiu, and Shen Qingqiu lets out a sigh of pleasure that transforms into a breathy, surprised gasp as Liu Qingge softly pulses qi through his lips and into Shen Qingqiu’s system. Shen Qingqiu’s lips tingle as Liu Qingge feeds him a steady stream of it, and he sags into Liu Qingge. They kiss for an embarrassing amount of time, cycling qi between them among little gasps and stolen breaths. Liu Qingge pulls away, and Shen Qingqiu feels like he’s floating, swept away by the sensation of Liu Qingge’s qi flowing through their lips, that golden pleasure.

“Did you like it?” Liu Qingge asks him, as if he hasn’t seen and heard Shen Qingqiu’s reaction. “I did some research for us, and I thought that you…”

“Husband,” Shen Qingqiu interrupts. He presses into Liu Qingge even more, climbing into his lap and settling there. “More.”

Liu Qingge smiles, but his teasing words never make it out— Shen Qingqiu leans in once more, and melts into the intimate feeling of qi passed between them.

Liu Qingge had learned how to pass qi like this for him. Liu Qingge had done it for him. At the reminder of it, a strange thing happens. The war suddenly goes quiet. Just for that one, blissful moment, it stops. And despite it being so short, it is more than enough. His mind quiets, his heart settles to a hush. He feels like he’s suspended in a rich and golden syrup, everything finally blanking. And in the dust of the conflict, between the ragged breaths and the raw bleeding edges, there is a single thought. It is quiet, but determined. It stands alone, tall and proud.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Shen Qingqiu breathes out, the thought slipping past his defenses. It feels raw, a truth that cuts into the rough of his voice. He curls into Liu Qingge’s comforting arms, tucking himself in the space that he wants to stay in. Liu Qingge closes around him, a blanketing warmth that wraps around him. “I love you so much, I… Darling. I don’t want to let you go.”

“Then don’t,” Liu Qingge responds. He sweeps up a lock of hair, gently holding it up to his lips before letting it slip through his fingers. “I want you to be selfish. You don’t have to give up anything you don’t want to.”

“I… It can’t be okay.”

“Why not?”

“I… I can’t give you anything.” Shen Qingqiu says, but the words feel hollow. They don’t feel nearly as convincing as it was earlier. He tries to think of the specifics… And he comes up short. “Right?”

“No,” Liu Qingge replies. “What could I possibly want, other than your love and devotion? You know how I am,” he teases lightly. “The Bai Zhan War God had wanted for nothing, until his wife.” The spark of humor leaves Liu Qingge’s eyes, and he leans in for another soft, sweet kiss. He breathes against his lips, “Shen Qingqiu. Shen Qingqiu, I love you.”

That’s right, Shen Qingqiu thinks, almost overwhelmed. The realization is shocking, somehow. Liu Qingge never bragged about his wealth, never thought twice about his reputation. He has never cared for his earthly possessions, save for Cheng Luan. So what if Shen Qingqiu isn’t as rich? So what if he’s not a peerless beauty with a sweet disposition and high reputation?

And if men can truly have children… Then why should Shen Qingqiu have to give up on his husband? None of it matters— those solid, unshakeable reasons seem so flimsy now, so illogical. It’s as if a fire has burned right through that wall, and the tissue-thin reasons have become nothing but ash scattering in the wind.

“I love you too. Qingge— I… I’m sorry.” Shen Qingqiu slides his arms to wrap around his husband’s middle and breathes in and out, a soothing rhythm. Comfort swirls in his body, and the stress leaves him in equal measure. Liu Qingge joins him, their cycles of breath aligning in the quiet. After a while, Shen Qingqiu slumps and softly admits, “I… I do not know if I am worthy of you. This wife has caused much pain.”

“...Mn. It hurt, my love.” Liu Qingge’s arms tighten around him, his breath harshens momentarily. And just as it comes, it goes. His arms slacken, his breath smooths once again. But Shen Qingqiu is struck by the oddity of the situation— his beloved has never said such vulnerable words. Who could believe that the War God of Bai Zhan could be hurt? And yet… he is the one that has caused it. Liu Qingge continues to speak, “If anything, I am unworthy of your love.” Shen Qingqiu almost barks out an incredulous laugh, but Liu Qingge persists, “There are many who have wanted you, who still want you. For you to choose me… This one still feels unworthy at times.”

“It can’t be.” Shen Qingqiu refutes it immediately. Liu Qingge is the Bai Zhan War God. The most handsome man to exist, a kind and gentle touch hidden by calloused skin and a demeanor of stone. There is none who could look at Liu Qingge, and not fall for his cold beauty, his peerless abilities. None could reject Liu Qingge. If anything, Shen Qingqiu is the one who should have been rejected. “Shidi is wrong. Shidi could have anything he wanted…”

Shen Qingqiu falters. That’s right— Liu Qingge could have anything. Anything he could want. Liu Qingge abruptly shatters his train of thought by tenderly touching his hair, brushing his cheek softly. “I only want you. I don’t know why you’re so convinced otherwise, but this husband will prove it to you. I have never thought of another person, woman, or man. I have never thought of having children either. But I don’t want it if it’s not with you.” 

Liu Qingge picks him up, and Shen Qingqiu reflexively tightens his hands, wrinkling the front of Liu Qingge’s robes. Liu Qingge simply steps outside— the golden sky greets them, the sun slowly sinking down. Liu Qingge presses a kiss to his tear-streaked cheek, and then they jet off to Bai Zhan. Shen Qingqiu looks back at the bamboo house, and then drops his head into Liu Qingge’s shoulder. Now that he thinks of it, he wouldn’t have been able to rest there. The reminder of Zhou Meiqi, her haughty demand to marry Liu Qingge, and his embarrassing breakdown in front of his husband would have haunted him.

When they arrive, Liu Qingge makes no sign of putting him down. Liu Qingge kicks the door open, and then kicks it shut behind him. Shen Qingqiu tugs on his sleeve, but Liu Qingge seems to ignore him. Instead, Liu Qingge takes him to the bathroom, and sets him down in a chair. Liu Qingge pulls him in for a sweet kiss— Shen Qingqiu melts into it— before he pulls away reluctantly and pours in water for the bath. Shen Qingqiu watches silently as Liu Qingge prepares a bath, pouring in the most luxurious oils they have before attaching a heating talisman to the tub with that concentrated look on his face. Finally, he returns to Shen Qingqiu, tugging him up and divesting him of his robes. They both stay quiet, the sound of Shen Qingqiu’s robes sliding to the ground and the splash of water the only sounds in the room. Liu Qingge guides Shen Qingqiu to the tub, and Shen Qingqiu sinks into the warm water in bliss.

“My love,” Liu Qingge whispers in his ear. “Let me show you.”

His hands land on Shen Qingqiu’s shoulders, and begin massaging the tension away. Shen Qingqiu relaxes even more into it, head lolling back. Liu Qingge presses a kiss to his shoulder, to his hair, his cheek, his lips. He presses a kiss and whispered words of devotion to all of the free spaces of skin, and Shen Qingqiu revels in the feeling. Liu Qingge is careful with him— tenderly massaging his skin, dipping his hair into the water, carefully working it in. Shen Qingqiu closes his eyes, overwhelmed by the tenderness.

It is not the first time that this has happened— Liu Qingge has always spoiled him rotten. But Shen Qingqiu would rather spoil Liu Qingge instead. He’s used to treating Liu Qingge like this, comforting his beloved and putting his own troubles away to tend to Liu Qingge. Despite how much Liu Qingge spoils him, it still feels odd to be in this position.

Shen Qingqiu allows himself to drift off, just for a moment. Held in his husband’s embrace, surrounded by comfort, there is nothing to worry about or fear. He drifts for just a moment, blissfully unaware. When he comes back, he sees his vulnerable husband looking back; his softened face illuminated by the moonlight and unbound hair richly spilling out on their bed leaves Shen Qingqiu speechless. Liu Qingge must have carried him here, Shen Qingqiu thinks. Perhaps he was more tired than he thought, because his thoughts are maddeningly slow, like the slow drip of honey off a silver spoon. There’s no way to explain how slowly everything moves around him, how the world seems to blur into smudges of color and nothing more. But despite the blur, Liu Qingge is stark, like the carefully-rendered subject of a portrait.

In the moonlight, Liu Qingge’s steel-grey eyes are sharper, otherworldly. Shen Qingqiu watches dumbly as Liu Qingge’s face breaks into that little smile— one that has never been seen by others. It is simply a shift of muscle, a small movement. Shen Qingqiu has known this smile, has felt it against him numerous times. And yet, he is still brought to silence when he is faced with it. Mindlessly, he reaches out to it, and traces that slight curve with a shaking hand.

Shaking? No, of course he shakes; it is only natural to do so when faced by the force that is his husband. Liu Qingge’s eyes slide shut as he presses into Shen Qingqiu’s hand, a pleased sigh escaped his lips. His arm tightens around Shen Qingqiu’s waist, and Shen Qingqiu is pulled even closer to his husband. There’s barely any room left between them, and Shen Qingqiu’s head nearly spins.

“Our daughter,” Liu Qingge says out of nowhere. His breath ghosts over exposed skin, vulnerable. His finger traces familiar strokes on Shen Qinqiu’s back— if there was ink on Liu Qingge’s fingertips, then his back would be covered in the character for love. “Our daughter will have your eyes. She will prefer the sword to the brush. You’ll spoil her rotten.”

Our daughter. Shen Qingqiu tries to think about it— a little girl, with peach blossom eyes and a toy sword held in a tiny fist. A little girl, with a pout cute enough to make his heart melt, her eyes crinkling and her lips drawing to a purse in the way that Liu Qingge’s does. 

They lapse into silence, and Shen Qingqiu is hit with an unending want. He wants to have it. He wants a daughter to raise, wants to start a family with the man he loves. If he can have it, no, even if he can’t have it, he wants it all the same. He wants, he wants. He wants it all. And despite the pain that he’s caused, Liu Qingge still wants to do it with him. Liu Qingge wants it too.

Like an overwhelming wave that threatens to wash away his foundation, the emotions (desire, want, relief) swells within. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t try to hold back the tears. It’s cathartic, freeing. His shoulders shake, his breath comes in labored gasps. Liu Qingge freezes around him, but Shen Qingqiu continues to cry onto him.

“Qingge,” Shen Qingqiu chokes out. He grips onto Liu Qingge, anchoring himself to that steadfast point. He’ll drown in the unyielding, chaotic wave if he doesn’t hold onto Liu Qingge. “I want it— I want it for us.”

“Alright,” Liu Qingge soothes. Liu Qingge presses a kiss to his head, before his arm leaves and pulls the quilt up around their shoulders. Shen Qingqiu melts, his body so close to Liu Qingge they’re nearly one. “Alright. Tomorrow, we can talk to Mu Qingfang.”

Liu Qingge’s fingers— gentle, always so gentle— continue to trace soothing characters, familiar brush strokes across his back. The heat of those precise movements, that trailing pressure lulls him into warmth, into the tempting presence of rest.

“I love you too,” Shen Qingqiu says quietly. “I love you so, so much.”

“En. Rest, my love.”

“... Not yet. I just want to hold you. I’ll sleep later.”

“Mn.” Liu Qingge begins to share a soft pulse of qi, and Shen Qingqiu shudders. The golden thread of qi begins to intertwine with his own, wrapping and weaving into his meridians. Shen Qingqiu sends his own thread back, and they continue to pass qi between them, slow but steady circuits. The feeling dominates his brain, and Shen Qingqiu loses himself in the steady push and pull until the light of dawn spills onto their bed.

When the dappled light finally reaches them, the flow of qi slows until it tapers off completely. Warmed by the qi inside him and his husband’s body around him, Shen Qingqiu’s eyelids begin to feel heavier and heavier. But before he can sleep, he waits with bated breath. Liu Qingge’s sharp features soften, and he gruffly rumbles, “Don’t go.”

Cang Qiong is beginning to wake. Shen Qingqiu has always been busy, stressing about the affairs of Qing Jing, his duty as Cang Qiong’s representative. Liu Qingge is busy too— he must train the disciples of Bai Zhan and keep the world safe from the hundreds and thousands of monsters out there. 

“I’ll stay. For as long as you want,” Shen Qingqiu replies. They both have given and given and given. For once, they will take. Shen Qingqiu allows himself to be selfish, just this once. The papers can be graded another day, the deals can be arranged another time. Cang Qiong will continue onwards, just as it has always done. 

The words cause that final bit of tension to leave Liu Qingge, and he finally falls asleep, his breath slowing into that soothing rhythm that Shen Qingqiu knows to be rest. He waits for just a second more, and a second more, his greedy eyes unable to leave the vision of his beloved resting.

After just one more glance, Shen Qingqiu finally lets his eyes slide shut. His breath slows, naturally matching the rhythm of Liu Qingge’s breath.

Sleep passes in one moment. It simply comes and passes in a blink. When Shen Qingqiu wakes once more, it is to the vision of a sun-haloed Liu Qingge, sleepy and soft. Liu Qingge grumbles out something, cranky. His strong arms tighten and his brow relaxes once more as he feels Shen Qingqiu in his grasp. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t try to slip out, doesn’t try to escape that hold.

It is a blissful morning on Bai Zhan.

Shen Qingqiu snaps his fan closed, and smiles at his daughter’s giggles. Next to him, Liu Qingge gently strokes her hair, and some strands fall loose. She nuzzles into Liu Qingge’s hand, and Shen Qingqiu watches in dismay as her adorable hairstyle quickly becomes a mess.

“Qingge, my love, look at what you’ve done.” Shen Qingqiu softly tuts, before gesturing to their daughter to come sit. She follows obediently, and Shen Qingqiu lets down her hair from the loops. “Ruolan’s hair is messy now. You know it has to look good.”

“A-die didn’t mean it. A-niang shouldn’t be mad,” Ruolan complains. She nearly leans into Shen Qingqiu’s hands as he combs through her hair and neatly sections it again. She falls quiet for a brief moment before she asks, “A-niang should do the pretty flowers in my hair next time.”

“Who said A-niang was mad? A-niang only wants you to look good for the painting,” Shen Qingqiu laughs as he finishes her hair again. He reties the ends, securing the loop with her pretty little ribbons. He smooths out the wrinkles on her robes, and shakes his head fondly before placing a kiss on her cheek. “If Ruolan would sit still, then A-niang will do the pretty flowers.”

“We could just tell the painter to paint it nicer,” Liu Qingge suggests. “It doesn’t matter if we look messy.”

“Of course it matters,” Shen Qingqiu replies sharply. “Don’t suggest something so foolish!”

“En. If my wife says so, then it must be true.” Liu Qingge presses a pacifying kiss to his cheek, before massaging his shoulders. “This husband is nothing but a fool.”

“A-niang, I can sit still! Look, look!” Ruolan interrupts them, and she sucks in a big breath, her little cheeks puffing up as she suddenly goes as still as she can possibly manage. Shen Qingqiu nearly coos at it, but holds back. “Please do the flowers!”

“Mn, alright. A-Ruo asked nicely, so A-niang will do the pretty flowers. Stay still then.” Shen Qingqiu lets down her hair, and Liu Qingge produces a comb out of nowhere. Shen Qingqiu takes it gratefully, and quickly begins brushing through her hair. As he carefully twists and braids her silky hair, Liu Qingge stands behind him and locks his arms around his waist, planting his chin on his shoulder. Shen Qingqiu nearly drops a lock of hair in surprise as Liu Qingge drops a gentle kiss, then two, then three onto the sensitive skin of his quickly flushing neck. Shen Qingqiu shoots him a dirty glare before returning back to the task at hand, muttering: “Shidi, behave. I’m trying to concentrate.”

“A-die is being bad?” Ruolan tries to crane her head back, but a gentle tap from Shen Qingqiu reminds her and she settles back down again. “... Does A-die not get dessert tonight?”

“That’s right,” Shen Qingqiu amusedly confirms, twisting the final braid into place. He takes a second to admire his handiwork— pretty little flowers run across his beloved daughter’s head, complicated braids accented by the green ribbons weaved in. He pulls little strands gently, teasing out pieces to fluff out roses and leaves. “A-die has been very bad. He doesn't get any dessert tonight.”

“Oh…” Ruolan turns around, and nuzzles into Shen Qingqiu’s stomach. Her little hands grab at his robes, and her muffled voice rings out: “A-niang, won’t A-die be sad?”

“A-die will be fine,” Liu Qingge says softly. Ruolan looks up at them— Shen Qingqiu nearly folds at the sad little expression she has on her face. Liu Qingge must be thinking the same too, because he reaches out to her and lightly pinches her cheek. “A-die was not good. Bad behavior should not be rewarded.”

“...En.” Ruolan reluctantly lets go of Shen Qingqiu’s robes, unsuccessfully smoothing them down with her fingers splayed out. “A-die, A-niang, I love you.”

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes feel so hot, a familiar burn that wells up. He pulls Ruolan up and holds her little body tight both to shield his face away and to ground himself in her. Her little arms come up to return the embrace, and she nuzzles into him. 

“A-niang and A-die love you so, so much. We will always love you,” Shen Qingqiu replies wetly. Behind him, he feels Liu Qingge wrap his arms around him, a familiar and soothing touch. “Our daughter. Ah, when did you grow up so much?”

It’s true— Ruolan has become a bright little girl in such a short amount of time. Shen Qingqiu wonders if his immortality has caused his sense of time to dull, because Ruolan was a baby just a moment ago. Her first word, her clumsy tongue finally producing a word out of her babbles. Her first steps, toddling towards them with determination in those eyes. All of those achievements weren’t so long ago, and yet, she has grown so much. It won’t be long before she becomes independent, no longer needing her A-die and A-niang to help her with her hair, her clothes.

“En. She’s grown up fast,” Liu Qingge says behind him. He presses a gentle kiss to Shen Qingqiu’s cheek, and suddenly lifts both him and Ruolan in his arms. Ruolan shrieks in delight, and Shen Qingqiu startles, surprised. Liu Qingge doesn’t even break a sweat, but he looks over to Shen Qingqiu and gives him a sweet look as he sets the both of them down. Ruolan lets go disappointedly. Shen Qingqiu’s about to pick her up when Liu Qingge spins him around and pulls him into a deep, loving kiss.

Even with how much they’ve done this, it still affects him just the same. Shen Qingqiu shudders, and then melts into it, his arms coming up to grip onto Liu Qingge. Shen Qingqiu makes a little noise into Liu Qingge and returns the kiss sweetly. They break apart, Liu Qingge’s handsome face already flushing. Liu Qingge’s about to lean back in when Ruolan interrupts them with a tug on their robes.

“A-Die, stop that! It’s, it’s… It’s shameless!” She pouts, looking up at them with a sulk. Her little face of indignation looks exactly like Liu Qingge’s own, down to the inflection and word choice. Shen Qingqiu can’t help it— he laughs so hard his shoulders shake, and Ruolan gets even more sulky. “A-niang shouldn’t laugh. It is shameless.”

“You are just like your A-die, A-Lan.” Shen Qingqiu herds his beloved family to the couch, settling them gently. “Come, come. The painter will come any moment now.”

In their little moment of play, his hair has become messy, falling out of his hair crown and straying. Ruolan fairs no better- the fine strands of her hair have already begun to slip out of intricate braids and now stick to her chubby face. Liu Qingge has wrinkled his robes yet again, the carefully tied knot of his belt already uneven. Shen Qingqiu sighs helplessly, his exasperation quickly drowned out by the pure love he feels for his family.

Shen Qingqiu reties Liu Qingge’s belt neatly, and then begins to fix Ruolan’s hair first with a tender touch. Ruolan leans into his hands quietly and besides him, Liu Qingge smooths the wrinkles on Ruolan’s robes, carefully reties a whisper of silk ties that had come undone from Shen Qingqiu’s own robes. 

As they wait for the painter to arrive, Liu Qingge leans over and decorates his cheek with a gentle kiss. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t bother to try and hide his expression— he lets the besotted smile run across his face, lets his lips curve upwards with the truth of it. Why hide at all?

Shen Qingqiu has never known bliss such as this.