and if you get to transmigrate, I'll be here waiting, baby

The last chapter of Proud Immortal Demon Way left Shen Yuan so nauseous that he’d been clinging to the cool ceramic of his toilet for the last hour of his life. Once he’d realized that the churning in his stomach was physical, and not just an emotional reaction to a truly shitty finale, he’d gotten out the sanitizer, and wiped the entire thing down until it was utterly pristine. Then he’d hung on for dear life.

Ok, it probably wasn’t the terrible writing’s fault. Maybe he’d eaten something off? 

He heard someone calling his name while he was sick. At one point, his vision had gone almost black at the edges, and he thought he heard an irritatingly mechanical voice, like google translate, saying something to him. But it was talking about Proud Immortal Demon Way , so even his hallucinations were upset about the book.

Once he was feeling better, he logged onto his laptop to leave an excoriating review. He was deep into the fourth paragraph of his five paragraph essay on why the ending was everything wrong with the stallion genre, web novels, and Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky in general, when he was interrupted by a pop up window flickering darkly in the upper corner of his screen. He closed it—he had a thesis statement to get to—but it opened again.

Shen Yuan scowled. You visited one porn site—not for wretched, badly written porn novels—just one porn site with live actors and videos, bouncing tits, cocks, and choreographed moaning, and the pop ups never truly went away, did they? He could have sworn his antivirus program had caught the last traces of them. The title of the pop up just read ‘SYSTEM,’ bland and unhelpful for identifying its origin. When he leaned in closer to look at the pop up window, a man so incredibly handsome he looked unreal stared back at him. He was in traditional robes, open in a deep V in the front, revealing ample pecs and a glistening six pack. So clearly this was a porn pop up. One of those ones that tracked your most shameful internet searches, apparently, because he even had glittering red eyes, the color so intense they had to be contacts, and a demon mark like Luo-Fucking-Binghe. 

Cosplay porn. His laptop was infected with cosplay porn. 

“I’m not so obsessed that I will watch this,” he said, trying to convince himself. A slow heat began to replace the lingering nausea in his gut. His hand hovered over the mouse. To click or not to click? But before he could click on the window to close it, the man moved, almost flickering in the window, the movement was so fast. 

Or probably the camera was just bad? Or the feed was delayed? That was more likely, wasn’t it?

“Peerless Cucumber?” the man asked in Chinese, his voice a deep rumble, the sound coming from a place that seemed farther away than his computer speakers.

“Is that the username I was using?” Shen Yuan muttered. Usually he kept his novel review ID separate from his, hm, other IDs, but…

“It is the name I was given by the System. I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”

“Uh. Did I miss your livestream or something, man? Sorry, I was sick.” Shen Yuan had never actually watched a cam show, or been tempted to, but damn.

There wasn’t even a donation button, so why did this guy even care if he missed his—whatever?

“If you come with me, cultivate with me, I can give you immortality.”

“Does this line usually work for you?” Shen Yuan replied, lips twitching. Dual cultivation, really? He had to admire the commitment to the bit, but he was taking the entire shtick a little too far, wasn’t he?

“It is not a ‘line,’” the man said, his eyes sparkling like stars, the light in them evident even in the pixelated display, “and it is working.” He slipped his robe off one shoulder, baring high collarbones, and a broad, perfectly sculpted expanse of golden skin.

“You're running out of time. If you sign up with the System, we can be together,” he said, voice low and alluring.

Shen Yuan scoffed, “Oh so you're not free? Why am I not surprised? Look I don't care about whatever promotion you're running, I'm not interested.” Inadvertently his voice stumbled over the last word because he kind of was interested. Cosplay Binghe's hair was falling over his shoulder in a riot of soft looking curls and he could just make out the brown shadow of his nipple behind the waves of it. Shen Yuan was typically high libido, low attraction, but this was doing it for him. 

Shen Yuan twitched, and his finger, already poised over the mouse, clicked. The window closed.

His burgeoning arousal was quickly snuffed out, and the roiling feeling of nausea returned. His bed was only feet away from his computer, and he pushed his chair back to the edge of the mattress and rolled onto it, slumping down into his pillows without bothering to pull up the blankets.

Probably it was for the best that he’d closed the window before he could give the camboy his credit card number, right?

He dragged his glasses off, throwing them—hopefully—onto the nightstand, and forced himself to close his eyes.

He dreamed of the camboy, but didn't remember much of it when he woke, just an indistinct impression of the man beckoning to him. 

The sound of the T—Boston's above ground train—rattling away on its tracks woke him up before he could bridge the distance between them. 

He skipped breakfast and just drank two mugs of ginger tea, using fresh packets from the dusty box at the back of his pantry. He shouldn't order takeout on an upset stomach, but he'd waited too long to eat and was starting to feel weak and lightheaded by the afternoon. Ordering in groceries would take too long, and he didn’t trust himself to go down the three flights of steps leading down to the street and the corner store without falling down right now.

He could get plain rice to eat first, and something that would keep ok for later, even if the thought of leftovers made him nervous after last night.

He tapped out an order, resolved to push through the last few user tests he was running on the newest website. 

He should ask one of the developers how to check computers for hidden pop up generators. Lian would help, probably. The others were going to get cranky about the amount of bugs and minor issues he was finding. Lian didn't take it personally even if Shen Yuan was terse, nitpicky, or critical. But how was he going to ask without making it obvious why he might have a porn virus?

He switched to screen reader testing, which required more focus and would keep his mind off of the hot cosplay pop up guy.

Opening the software, he winced at the harsh, mechanical voice. Some programs invested in sounding pleasant and human, but the free version he was using for his tests was completely cold and robotic. He took off his glasses, and then closed his eyes for good measure, relying on the screen reader to navigate.

Tabbing through the menus, he made sure he could navigate through all the main pages of the site without looking, and then started to listen to the website copy. It was dry and boring with unoriginal marketing jargon and over-hyped product descriptions. He felt his mind drifting, and let the mechanical words wash over him.

“Bulleted list with three items,” the screen reader intoned, “First item. Your time is up.”

That was… weird. Was it a marketing gimmick? He hadn’t seen it when he’d been reviewing the text for typos.

“Second item. You should have gone before your sister.”

“What the—,” the voice sounded harsher now, the mechanical tone almost threatening. He still didn’t open his eyes, it felt as though he couldn’t. As if when he opened them, he would see something other than the computer, and his empty apartment. He could hear the sound of the T barreling down the avenue faintly from beyond his window, a normal city sound.

“Third item. And now there’s no one left to take but you, Shen Yuan.”

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. The screen reader could never quite pronounce his name right—he’d checked—but this time it was flawless, and the words… how did it know about his sister?

The sound of someone banging on the door made him jump in his seat, heart now in his throat.

“It’s Door Hub,” the distinctly bored voice of a man cut through the tension. 

Oh, it was just his food. Shen Yuan fumbled for his glasses, opening his eyes for the first time in minutes. Just before he put them on, he thought he saw a shadow to his left. But when he whirled to face it, blinking hard as his vision focused, it resolved itself into an indistinct shape on the far wall, probably cast by the setting sun. 

“Hello?”

Shen Yuan would normally call out to tell the delivery guy to just leave the food, but he was suddenly eager to see another human’s face. He yanked the door open, and drank the guy in. He looked entirely normal and slightly irritated. Shen Yuan wanted to hug him.

He resisted.

“Thank you so much,” Shen Yuan said, cradling the warm bag, redolent with the fragrance of rice, against his chest, “I really appreciate it, you have no idea.”

“Uh, yeah,” the guy said, backing away, “Have a nice day, I guess?” He took one more step backward, and Shen Yuan watched his foot slip an inch too far over the edge of the stairs. Shen Yuan dropped the food and lunged forward, grabbing the guy’s outstretched arm just as he lost his balance and began to fall. 

The guy was heavy—not unusually so, but enough to nearly take Shen Yuan with him. Instead, Shen Yuan tried to brace himself against the railing post, and took it like a blow to the ribs instead, as he was yanked hard into it.

After a lot of pinwheeled flailing, the guy finally caught his balance.

“Shit,” he said.

“Yeah,” Shen Yuan agreed, panting, and clutching his ribs.

“Shit, I’m not supposed to swear in front of customers.”

“Fuck that. You almost died, you get to swear at least 3 more times.”

“Shit. Shit. Fuck,” the delivery guy  breathed out.

“I’m sorry I was acting intense and scared you.”

“You? Nah. Tell your roommate he needs another hobby though.”

“What? I don’t have a roommate?”

The guy gave him a dirty look, “Uh huh. So you’re in on it? Fuck you. If I find this on YouTube later, your deliveries will never be safe from spit again.”

“Hey, that was two more swears, buddy, and I don’t have a roommate!” Shen Yuan yelled down the stairs as the guy nearly tripped again running away from him. 

There was sauce dripping from the bag when he turned around and saw it, thick and red as blood.

No. He blinked and looked closer. It was cherry red, the sauce from the sweet and sour pork, the typical, inauthentic American kind, syrupy and bright. He hoped it hadn't gotten on the rice, he thought, watching it drip viscously from the corners as he picked the bag up gingerly. Something about it seemed distasteful now, even though it had seemed appetizing an hour ago.

Still, with the adrenaline receding, he was even weaker and shakier than he had been to start, so he brought the bag in and placed it in the sink, lifting out what he could salvage from the gooey sauce.

"What happened?" a voice asked behind him. 

Shen Yuan whirled, flinging cheap sauce-stained chopsticks at the voice. And watched them clatter harmlessly against the screen of his laptop. 

So it wasn't that someone had broken in to murder him and/or random delivery guys. It was just the damn pop up again.

Shen Yuan's apartment was a very elegant, very expensive, very small studio in one of the nicer parts of Boston. Which was to say that the kitchenette had marble floors, granite countertops, and was all of maybe five feet from his desk. So he could plainly see the smirk on the camboy's face when he said "nice aim," and licked a cherry-red smudge from the corner of his mouth. 

Shen Yuan blinked the image away, convincing himself, with limited success, that he was hallucinating from hunger. Should he be creeped out, or was that actually hot? Why not both, he thought hysterically.

“Why are you popping up on my screen again?” He asked, and then continued laying out the containers. He wrinkled his nose at the red sauce, which had an almost coppery smell to it, and frowned when he realized it had soaked into the container of plain rice.

“It’s all spoiled now,” the cosplayer said. His voice was clear even across the apartment, even though Shen Yuan was sure he hadn’t had the volume up that high. Although, that was how pop ups worked, they were always annoyingly loud.

“I’ll just scrape it off.”

The man’s voice grew darker, scolding, “Don’t pretend that you don’t realize there’s something wrong here.”

Shen Yuan dropped the container of rice. If he really did look at it, he could see the vague impression of shadows around it, a clinging, viscous film of smoke. But when he adjusted his glasses, it was gone again.

Still. 

Shen Yuan did not want to be a protagonist in a horror story. He didn’t watch them, and despite his appreciation for monsters, did not enjoy the idea of them creeping around the darkened corners of his ordinary life. 

But he was genre-aware enough to dump the takeout in the trash. He collapsed on the bed, only a few feet from the kitchenette, and pressed his face into his hands, reaching under his glasses to rub his eyes.

“Just make something else.”

“Are you still here?”

“Yes,” the camboy said, with a tone Shen Yuan couldn’t place.

“I’m not in the mood to watch your—whatever. Unless it’s a cooking show.”

“Hmm. I could do something like that. What ingredients do you have?”

“You’re not serious,” Shen Yuan said, finally looking up again.

The man looked determined, the painted demon sigil on his forehead almost seeming to glow in the light—probably just a reflection glinting off the screen. But the main issue was that it almost hurt to look at this man, with how unfairly beautiful he was. And he was—what? Helping Shen Yuan with whatever fuckery was going on? Looking after him? 

But surely not for free, right? 

Well. Shen Yuan had money, and he was at the point where he’d spend quite a bit of it to feel just a little bit of normalcy.

“Fine, what are your rates?”

“Rates?” the man chuckled.

“What will it cost me?”

“Your body and soul,” the man purred.

Well, fuck normalcy, apparently. Shen Yuan rolled his eyes, “Sure, all yours, as soon as I feel better.” 

He forced himself to get up and, trying not to stare at the sliver of skin revealed by the parted xianxia-style robes, unplugged the laptop and moved it to the kitchen counter. Then he pulled out the entirety of his food supply, which consisted of the box of ginger tea, packets of salt, soy sauce, and ketchup from previous takeout runs, and a bag of short grain rice that he hadn’t touched since his rice cooker broke a month ago. 

Cosplay Binghe looked at the ingredients, and then at Shen Yuan expectantly.

“I mean, I know it’s not much, but that’s it.”

“That’s it?”

“Look, I got takeout for a reason!”

“What about eggs?”

“No.”

“Vegetables? Of any kind?”

“Nah.”

He sighed, “Congee then. It will be good for your stomach, at least.”

“With ketchup?”

“Not with… ketchup.”

Shen Yuan nodded, and pulled out a pot that seemed about the right size. And then he had to wash it because it was dusty.

And then began the surreal experience of being walked through the preparation of congee by a seemingly expert, extremely niche camboy.

“You don’t just look like Luo Binghe, you have his cooking skills too,” Shen Yuan said, reluctantly impressed on tasting the results. They'd lightly flavored the water with the ginger tea before cooking the rice. Even with just salt added, it left the simple flavor of the rice with some nuance to it.

“You recognize me,” the man said, preening slightly.

“Isn’t that how the targeted ads work?"

The warmth of the congee, and the glow of the laptop screen seemed to drive away the shadows in the room. 

The man tilted his head, seeming nonplussed by the question before simply ignoring it, "you need to be more careful."

Shen Yuan put down his empty bowl and looked at the pop up, "do you know what's happening?" His heart beat hard in his chest at the idea that there was something happening, beyond his ability to deny it.

The man’s starry black eyes seemed to glint red as he looked up at Shen Yuan from the screen, “The shadows—” he began. 

And then the screen went black.

“No, no, no,” Shen Yuan tapped on the enter key as his back stiffened, the hairs on the nape of his neck rising in fear. But the laptop remained inert. After a heartstopping moment, he realized that it wasn’t plugged in and the battery must have simply run out.

“Get it together,” Shen Yuan scolded himself. 

The last rays of the sun were fading, and Shen Yuan turned on every single light until the single room was practically incandescent. Feeling the need to restore some sense of normalcy, once his laptop was charged again, he finished submitting his error reports for work, clocked out, and navigated to the web novel site. 

And nearly choked on his own spit when he saw that Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky had a new novel out already, called, ominously, The Black Powder Fan and the White Lotus Demon . He skimmed the summary, unsure if he should read it. He was already having a hard enough time letting go of his admitted obsession with Proud Immortal Demon Way , to the point where he was getting solicited by explicit pop ups, and the shitty ending had nearly made him lose his will to live. 

Did he trust Airplane to write a new book that wasn’t going to be a waste of his time, money, and/or sanity?

Reluctantly, he checked out the summary. It looked like a typical isekai xianxia novel. He clicked through a link to the hosting site, System Novels—probably a tongue in cheek transmigration reference—accepted the user agreements impatiently without even skimming it, and began to read. 

Only, infuriatingly, the more he read about the transmigrating character, the angrier he became. A Black Powder Fan was the type of person who relentlessly attacked their idol with a combination of genuine criticism and trolling in order to express their twisted kind of admiration and stoke the rest of the fandom to rise up in defense of their target. Shen Yuan had encountered this kind of phenomenon before but he thought it was kind of pathetic. And even though it was a behavior he absolutely didn’t sympathize with, somehow… this character seemed based on him.

More than just ‘seemed like.’ Reading the first chapter, he realized that the comments the Black Powder Fan wrote in criticism of his author/idol were lifted from Peerless Cucumber’s reviews of Proud Immortal Demon Way. 

The palm of his hand itched to hit something. But instead he clicked the mouse for the next chapter. 

The Black Powder Fan transmigrated after falling down the stairs, and met the protagonist that he’d just lambasted all over the forums. And then—

—and then...

Shen Yuan was out of chapters, and mechanically navigated back to the series page to check the genre. 

And there it was. Danmei. BL.

Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky was writing a novel based on him (or a version of Peerless Cucumber that actually liked the worthless dreck Airplane wrote) falling for an alternate universe replacement for Luo Binghe. 

He closed the browser. And then he immediately opened it back up, ready to write the most impassioned screed he’d ever produced, a flame to end all flames, a comment so vile that it would cause Airplane Shooting Toward the Sky to shrivel up on the spot. 

But somehow he couldn’t find the series page again, or the System Novels website. The site name was too generic for the search engine, probably, but it should have showed up in his history. Strange. He had the Proud Immortal Demon Way forums bookmarked and went there instead. Surely someone would be talking about the new series. Only the new topic was something completely different.

It felt like a cold hand clenched in his guts. He felt honestly like he might be sick. Again. Because the topic everyone was posting about was the sudden and recent death of Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky in a freak noodle accident. Only an hour after he’d posted the last chapter of Proud Immortal Demon Way. And before he’d had a chance to start, let alone post, a new series. 

Shen Yuan shoved himself away from his desk, fisting his hands in his hair. What had he just read? Had he hallucinated an entire novel? Or the first chapters of it? He must have—it didn’t exist anywhere on the internet anymore, and the premise had been completely ridiculous. Like Airplane would write a BL novel about him and… and Binghe, of all people! His mind crept, traitorously, to how attractive the real Binghe—no, the cosplay Binghe—was, and how peaceful he’d felt making congee by his directions. 

But how did he even know that was real? He’d already hallucinated earlier, hadn’t he? Mishearing things on the screen reader, seeing shadows and blood. Ever since he’d gotten sick, nothing had really felt right. Shen Yuan tried to think rationally. Weren’t there substances that caused food poisoning and an altered mental state? But he couldn’t research it, he couldn't trust anything he found online, not after he’d somehow imagined an entire new novel. 

He needed to talk to someone. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the tears prickle behind his eyelids. He wanted Shen Jiu.

Shen Yuan’s parents had always been a bit distant, primarily focused on raising his oldest brother, making sure he had everything he needed to inherit the business.

So Shen Yuan and his little sister were raised first by nannies, and then by Shen Jiu—his second oldest brother—who dealt with his intense middle-child syndrome by being resentful and doting at the same time. And then both of them spoiled his little sister. The years after their births had been marked by booming growth periods for the company, which meant they’d never lacked for anything, really, other than their parents’ attention.

They had been a family of three, in all the ways that mattered. 

So when Shen Jiu and their sister died in a crash while Shen Yuan was away at college in Boston, he’d nearly shut down. He rarely left his apartment or socialized.

And he never did go back to China. His parents hadn’t fought him on it, just signed the checks for a graduate program. He doubted they even knew what he was studying, or that he had a part-time job.

They definitely wouldn’t care that he was hallucinating things, except to figure out which expensive facility to send him to. But his brother, Shen Jiu would have listened. 

Thinking about Shen Jiu, he remembered an incident just before he’d left for college when Shen Jiu had been convinced he could hear Yue Qi talking to him, and telling him to wait. Shen Jiu had confessed it, eyes round with fear and some other yearning expression, when Shen Yuan had caught him trying to grab shadows in his rooms. But Yue Qi, the son of their previous housekeeper, had been dead for years by then.

So was this food poisoning, or something genetic?

He bit his lip, and clicked on a contact in his phone before he could think better of it.

His eldest brother gave him a clipped greeting, sounding distracted, and Shen Yuan was fairly sure he was going to get brushed off if he didn’t get right to the point.

“Did Shen Jiu ever say anything to you about hearing things?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then a sigh. “Why are you asking about this? What happened to Shen Jiu was an accident. And it was a long time ago.”

“I never said it wasn’t an accident. And a year is hardly ancient history, I just thought maybe—”

“Are you saying that you thought Shen Jiu was seeing or hearing things, or are you the one having problems?” his brother asked bluntly.

Taken aback, Shen Yuan didn’t respond. Anyone with basic intuition could probably tell that he wasn’t only concerned about Shen Jiu, but he frankly hadn’t thought his eldest brother cared enough or was paying attention to even notice.

Shen Yuan heard a huff of frustration. “So it followed you overseas? I’d hoped maybe it wouldn’t. But there’s nothing I can do about it now.”

The line went dead. 

That. That sounded more ominous than some kind of genetic predisposition to hallucinations. Unless he'd also hallucinated the phone call?

He needed to get out of the apartment. Whatever ghost or curse or hallucination he had going on, he’d feel better about it if he was around people. Even though he generally hated being around too many people. 

Conflicted, he still grabbed his laptop, packing the accessories in the smaller messenger bag he carried. He didn't bother to reorganize his bag enough to fit the laptop, it would take longer than he could handle.

He gripped the bannister tightly, white knuckling his way down the three flights of stairs, braced for disaster with every step.

So relieved was he to step outside into chill night air, he didn't understand what he was seeing at first. 

There was a small, crumpled shape on the tracks of the T. 

He thought at first it must just be trash, or some debris. Then he registered that it was moving, jerking in sharp, thwarted movements, panting heavily in panic. Because the train was only blocks away. 

Shen Yuan dropped his things to the side of the track, the laptop lid sprang open with a crack that promised he'd need a new screen if he got out of this. But he didn't have time to look, because it was just a kid—a preteen, maybe—and his boot was wedged under the track so tightly that his foot wouldn't come out of it.

He had more leverage than the kid, who was still desperately trying to pull free, and they made some progress, but Shen Yuan grew reckless when the train showed no sign of stopping. 

What the fuck was wrong with the driver, he cursed, typical Boston bullshit—except when he looked up, he could see only a shadow in the cab and knew with a sinking feeling that nothing about his situation was typical.

He gave one last desperate tug, and shoved the kid away with the last of the momentum and had time to see his small, horrified face clearly for the first time as the heavy, curling black hair fell away from eyes with stars in them. They were the same eyes as the man visible in a pop up on the cracked laptop screen he'd landed next to, his mouth stretched in a scream Shen Yuan couldn't hear.

There was a second where he could have moved, rolled out of the way. But his hands were now gripped as tight as the boy's boot had been, bands of writhing, unreal shadow holding him in place for that last crucial moment.

Instead of crushing him, the train passed through him like rushing wind, and when Shen Yuan opened his eyes, the clanging, clattering sound of it passing gave way to the soft shushing clamor of leaves. He was in a grove of bamboo, flat on his back in the tall grass, and looking up at a nearly cloudless blue sky through a screen of leaves.

"There, got him!" a young woman cried, accompanied by incongruous bleep/bloop noises. As he turned to look, he saw her tapping at a glowing, blue translucent screen like something out of an Iron Man movie. Behind her was his cosplay camboy, Luo Binghe, whose hands were white knuckled on her shoulders as he peered at the screen.

When she caught sight of him, she dismissed the screen with a swipe of her hand.

Her skin was as flawless as a flower petal, and her figure had taken on fantasy pin up proportions, but it was undeniably—impossibly—his little sister.

"Tang'er?" he asked.

"Shen Yuan? Yuan Ge?" she replied, looking startled.

And then he heard a voice like Google translate and another blue screen popped up, this time in front of him.

[Welcome User <Peerless Cucumber>. Original Character Mode Initiated. Backstory Generation in Progress. Existing History and Character Ties Integrated. Backstory Generation Complete.] 

[Spiritual root selection initiated. Please select up to three spiritual root types!]

Options for metal, earth, wood, fire, and water appeared. Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky hadn’t elaborated much on the cultivation rules of his novel, but it was common genre convention that having one root type was better than having two or three, and accordingly he settled on wood. 

[True spiritual root type WOOD selected. Plant-type special abilities unlocked. Golden core advancement in progress. Please do not move.]

A piercing, burning sensation began under his skin, embarrassingly centered behind his pubes. Like some kind of awful magic STD. But then a warm feeling began swirling through his veins, originating from that place and Shen Yuan realized that he now had an actual golden core. 

It was like getting to cheat all the way up to level 50 in a video game, but even if it was a cheap, freebie golden core, he still had to marvel at how it felt. It was like all the color in the world was suddenly dialed up to 11, all of his senses sharper, yet not overwhelmingly so.

In front of him, text began populating the screen as the google translate voice droned on:

[Stat Points Unlocked. Please select stats and starting abilities.]

This was taking too long. He wanted to see his sister, make sure it was really her, and find out how she was connected to the Luo Binghe lookalike. But glancing around, the world seemed frozen. Bamboo leaves were suspended in mid-air, caught in the process of falling, and even his sister’s hair was lifted on a now rigid breeze.

His sense of reality had already taken enough of a beating, so he quickly evaluated the options, and made his choices.

[Healing Lotus Palm - level 1 support ability]

[Vine Snare - level 1 control ability]

[Plucked Leaves and Flying Flowers - level 1 offensive ability]

And since that was the main combat ability, he selected the upgrade for it.

[Thousand Leaves and Blossoms - level 2 offensive ability]

The System confirmed his selections and another line appeared.

[Abilities selected. Starting equipment: Spiritual fan weapon]

A fan with subtle metal blades and an attractive bamboo pattern appeared in his arms. His clothing also swirled away like dust—he was really glad time was frozen, suddenly—and a white, green-trimmed set of robes appeared in their place. They matched his sister’s, he noticed. Looking at the drape of fabric against the back of his hands, his complexion looked clearer as well. He looked, for the first time in his life, like someone who hydrated properly. 

Cultivation: easier than remembering to drink eight glasses of water a day!

But looking over at his sister and her companion, it hadn’t made him taller. So that was unfair.

[Original character generation complete. The System welcomes user <Peerless Cucumber> to Proud Immortal Demon Way! Because the ending has been completed by other users, <Peerless Cucumber> may enjoy open-world sandbox mode! Congratulations!]

And then the screen blipped out with a cheerful noise.

Shen Yuan wanted that brief, magical moment where he thought he was in heaven back. Or that he’d transmigrated into any random cultivation universe. 

But no, he’d died and gone to Proud Immortal Demon Way, and the camboy haunting his laptop wasn’t a cosplayer after all, it was actually Luo Binghe. Ruthless, black-hearted demon lord, insatiable harem master, and phenomenal cook, Luo Fucking Binghe.

He felt like he’d been hit by a train. Twice.

Or three times. As soon as the screen faded away, his sister slammed into him so hard they tumbled to the grass.

“You fucker, what took you so long?”

He looked at Luo Binghe over her shoulder, helplessly. Luo Binghe's face was inscrutable, maybe almost… disappointed?

"You brought me here?" he asked.

"You saved my life," Luo Binghe said, "For me it was years ago, but for you it just happened."

Tang'er helped him up and brushed off his clothes, tsking at the grass and debris that flew off as though it was his own fault she knocked him down. 

"Binghe shidi asked me to help you transmigrate as a favor—I didn't know it was you, of course, so now he doesn't owe me anything."

"You can do that? And, wait, should he know about transmigration?"

She shrugged, "He sort of guessed about it on his own? So yes, he knows."

"And I had to die first, in order to…" he trailed off.

"From everything we know, yes," Luo Binghe said, folding his arms over his impressive and half-bared chest. "That and you needed to agree to the terms in order to come here, or that would have been the end of things."

"Oh. You weren't flirting with me, you were trying to get me to agree to transmigrate?" He thought of how quickly he'd clicked through the System Novel user agreements without reading them, and more embarrassingly, he thought of promising his body and soul to Luo Binghe. He felt himself flush.

Luo Binghe cocked his head and smirked slightly, "Who is to say I wasn't flirting with you? You'd be welcome to come back and stay with me, you know."

"Thank you," Tang'er interjected, "but he should stay with his family."

"And is your family to be trusted?"

She stiffened slightly, her mouth thinned in the narrow line that meant she was trying not to curse at someone, "do you need me to swear it?"

Shen Yuan interrupted, hoping he could keep either of them from losing their tempers, “Thank you, Luo Binghe, but you don’t owe me anything anymore. You've already saved me."

He lost his words for a moment, thinking about it. Because it was true, his favorite character had somehow reached through space and time to save him.

How a young Luo Binghe had ended up in Boston to start with, he couldn't guess, but even so. Luo Binghe was real, and he seemed to even sort of like him. 

Really, this man lived up to his reputation of repaying favors, but Shen Yuan didn’t want to risk getting on his bad side. What if he accidentally flirted with a wife? He’d be done for.

He shook his head, "I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm going to do from now on though. And I feel like less of a bother if I impose on my sister while I figure out what to do next."

Luo Binghe stared down at him, over a head taller and nearly twice as wide in the shoulders, he practically loomed over him. But Shen Yuan didn't feel threatened, even as Luo Binghe's expression soured. And then the next moment, it cleared and he was giving Shen Yuan a smile so radiant that all he could think was  'oh no' and 'I might be in trouble.’

"I'll see you again, Shen Yuan."

Tang'er watched him leave, her posture relaxing as soon as he was out of sight.

"Come on, I'll take you to brother."

Shen Yuan was carefully not thinking about who his sister meant when she said brother, too fragile to bear any kind of disappointment. And so he wasn’t prepared to see Shen Jiu step out of a small bamboo house in front of them. He looked startled, his eyes narrowed in wary assessment before he started towards them, his elegant robes billowing dramatically behind him.

When he reached them, he turned to Tang’er, and said, “Explain,” in a flat voice also too reserved for hope.

“It’s me,” he said, interjecting, “I got hit by a train, so.”

“ You’re the one that Luo Binghe wanted to rescue?” Shen Jiu said, snapping his fan shut. 

“Luo Binghe told us both what happened originally,” Tang’er whispered to him.

Shen Jiu closed his eyes, and breathed through his nose, visibly counting to ten, “please do me a favor, and never jump into danger for that man again. He’s nearly indestructible, so it isn’t necessary. I know you can be kind-hearted—”

Shen Yuan scoffed, “I’m not!”

“Tell that to someone who doesn’t remember the hoard of admirers you picked up by rescuing strays and kids from bullies all through school,” Tang’er said.

“That was for justice,” Shen Yuan protested, “Anyway, they weren’t my admirers, they were just friends.”

“It’s already started, hasn’t it?” Shen Jiu asked the sky despairingly.

Tang’er nodded, “BingBing already wanted to keep him.” 

“Don’t be dramatic,” Shen Yuan muttered.

Shen Jiu looked down at him, his expression softening, and said, “Regardless of how it happened… I’m glad you’re here.”

Shen Yuan made an undignified noise that he’d be embarrassed about later and closed the distance between them, burying his face in his brother’s chest. Shen Jiu’s arms folded around him, and a beat later, Tang’er joined in the embrace too, sniffling audibly. 

Transmigrating should have felt surreal, like living in a dream, but this moment felt more like waking up from a nightmare. Everyone he’d loved and lost was here waiting for him. And they didn’t even mind when he sobbed all over them.

Later, he had to remind them about dinner, and they blinked at him in surprise.

“We both practice inedia most of the time,” Tang’er explained, “but of course you wouldn’t be used to that yet. I’ll see if I can bring over some dishes from the kitchen.”

Shen Jiu began showing Shen Yuan how to prepare his favorite loose-leaf tea on a small wood-burning stove, but Tang’er was back after only a moment, a fragrant bamboo basket in her arms.

“This was outside,” she said. 

“Ah, did Ming Fan bring it by? That’s unusually thoughtful of him.”

“No,” she said, mouth twitching, “It appears to be from Luo Binghe.” She passed Shen Yuan a folded paper note from the basket.

It read simply:

Because I couldn’t cook for you before when you needed it. 

And because I know your brother has even fewer ingredients on hand than you did. 

I hope you enjoy this humble offering. 

There are eggs this time, and vegetables, yet no 'ketchup.'

Yours, 

Luo Binghe.

Even though the note wasn’t effusive, he felt his cheeks heating, and hurriedly placed it in his sleeve before his siblings could look at it.

Shen Jiu was scowling, but the delicious fragrance won him over, and he and Tang’er abandoned their fasts to join him in possibly the best meal he’d ever eaten.

Over dinner, they told him of their own transmigration, in which they’d both been reborn as siblings in a rich household, though several years apart. 

“Jiu Ge was already lost by the time I was born though—” Tang’er began.

“Abandoned,” Shen Jiu corrected succinctly, “I don’t think we need to bore Shen Yuan with the sordid details.”

“Shouldn’t I know? If you need to explain my presence to anyone, shouldn’t I know our history?”

Tang’er and Shen Jiu traded glances, and then Tang’er explained, “Our history, as most in the sect know it, is somewhat… fictionalized. We weren’t even born with the surname Shen, we adopted the name after the estate was destroyed in a fire. And then we came to Cang Qiong, because it was the only place we remembered from that book.

“You were always a bigger fan than we were,” Shen Jiu said, sipping his tea, his nose wrinkled faintly in distaste that had nothing to do with the beverage, “And we didn’t live to read the ending, of course. We often wished you were here to recall some plot point or another.”

“But we made it through alright,” Tang’er said brightly, her cheer a little forced.

"Won't you need to get permission for me to stay?" He asked.

Shen Jiu's lips quirked slightly, "I'm the Peak Lord of Qing Jing. There's no one I need to ask for anything."

Oh. Oh no.

Shen Jiu was… Shen Qingqiu. Absently, Shen Yuan thought he should have realized that, but he was too busy panicking at the thought of his brother being a scum villain who lost his limbs in a terrifying display of revenge. But then his brother was not scum like the original goods, and clearly was still alive after the ‘ending,’ so maybe everything would be fine?

“Is everything fine?” He asked, still concerned, “Do we need to worry about the vengeance plotline with Qiu Hai—”

He stopped himself, looking at his sister. Tang’er. Shen Haitang.

“Oh,” he said.

Tang’er laughed at him, “Obviously, I did not publicly accuse Jiu-ge of murder. And also,” she patted Shen Jiu warmly on the shoulder, “this guy managed to be a pretty decent teacher. Strict but fair, with a zero tolerance policy for bullshit.”

Shen Jiu gave a pained sigh, “Teenagers,” he said, “cause so much bullshit.”

“And Luo Binghe was a little… intense.”

“He always looked at me like he was expecting a beating or something worse,” Shen Jiu said, “so I just assigned him laps, and copying exercises, because his calligraphy was awful.”

Shen Yuan recalled that the calligraphy on his note looked elegant—pristine, flowing lines of script. “That must have been a lot of copying,” he said.

Shen Jiu smiled dryly, “I told him if he didn’t jump into the Abyss, I’d make him copy the entire library.”

“I don’t want to judge,” Shen Yuan said, “But I don’t think I would have made him do the Abyss plotline.”

Tang’er poured Shen Jiu more tea and patted him again, “The System had some… non-optional quests. At least this way, when he came back, he didn’t burn the sect down.”

“I’m not sure that what he did do isn’t worse.”

And that’s how Shen Yuan found out about the thirteenth peak. 

Apparently, instead of directly merging the demon and human realms, Binghe, going ‘full emo’ as Tang’er described it, actually moved an inverted Maigu Ridge until it was part of the Tian Gong Mountain range. Right next to Qing Jing Peak, in fact. And then, as if that hadn’t been bad enough (and it was bad according to Shen Jiu), he had used an array to create a permanent portal between his home in the demon realm and the new Peak. 

“So now Maigu Ridge is the Demonic Cultivation Peak. Personally, I think it’s kind of cool—”

“ Tang’er ,” Shen Jiu protested.

She shrugged, “I do. They’re not evil, they’re just demons, or half demons. A few humans who have to follow unconventional cultivation paths study there too. And they occasionally throw really good parties, and can be incredibly helpful on night hunts.”

“Obviously, not everyone agrees,” Shen Jiu said, “and we had to go to war with Huan Hua Palace over it.”

“But that’s how we found out the Palace Master had murdered his last head disciple—who, spoiler, turned out to be Luo Binghe’s mother! He said she was consorting with demons. Which she was… on his orders. And then he killed her for falling in love because he was a crazy pervert. And he needed to be put down. So, I call it a net win,” Tang’er argued.

Shen Jiu rolled his eyes, “Half of the Huan Hua sect fell in love with Luo Binghe mid-battle and defected.”

Shen Yuan sipped his tea, stifling an uncomfortably knowing feeling, half sympathy, half jealousy. He hoped it didn’t show on his face, but he felt himself flush and knew that it was.

Shen Jiu pointedly raised his own fan, and shielded his face with it.

Hesitantly, Shen Yuan copied him, neither of them spoke. 

Tang’er eyed them both, and then covered a yawn with her own fan.

“Is that enough exposition? It’s getting late.”

Without a clock, Shen Yuan had no idea what time it was, but he felt drowsy, and more than that, drained. 

There was a small sleeping pallet in the side room of the bamboo house that Shen Jiu made up quickly.

Shen Yuan laid in it for a while before falling asleep, the night time noises of a bamboo forest on a mountain peak untouched by technology were alien compared to the bustling sound of a city, and the late night noises of the last few runs of the trains. 

He was glad he could no longer hear the trains, he reflected, with a small shudder.

When he closed his eyes, he fell into his dreams like a diver plunging into water. The images and feelings surged up around him suffocatingly, as he dreamed of shadows reaching for him. 

He was in his bed in his old apartment, shivering with cold, pulling his blankets over him in vain, as they were somehow dragged out of reach. Finally, he had nothing left in his hands, laying cold and uncovered on the bare mattress. And then long tendrils of shadow spilled out from under the bed, arching over him, until...

He had a moment of lucidity, an awareness that he was dreaming. Reminding himself that he was safe, that he'd escaped from whatever it was that had haunted him. 

He closed his eyes against the sight of the descending shadows and willed the scene to change.

He was in the bamboo grove on Qing Jing Peak, exactly where he’d appeared after his transmigration, only now it was night. He was in a new world again, and there was no way his tormentor could find him here. 

The bright light of the moon limned the bamboo leaves in silver, and he ran his fingers along them, feeling the phantom traces of spiritual energy that he could harness for a cutting leaf attack… if he chose. 

And then a dark cloud passed over the moon, casting the bamboo grove into murky shades of gray. His fingers trailed against something wet. A few leaves had come loose in his hand, and dark sap pooled in his palm. 

Strange, sap shouldn’t be such a dark color, not almost black? Without light it was impossible to tell. And then suddenly the cloud was gone, and the grove was clearly lit once again. Only now it was in ruin. Half of it had fallen, hacked to pieces. The other half was burned, a black charred wreck, still smoldering in the night air. And there was just enough light to see that the sticky liquid coating the bamboo leaves was bright red.

He hurled the leaves from his hand, and began to run. 

It was only a dream, he reminded himself, but the instinctual urge to leave that scene behind was too strong. 

And he couldn’t look back to see if something was chasing him. 

He didn’t know Qing Jing Peak at all yet, so he could only run blindly, crashing heedlessly through devastated groves of trees, and once-artful hedges. 

But he’d forgotten he was on a mountain, and his foot was stumbling with nothing beneath it before he realized he was looking out into empty air. He teetered on the edge of the cliff, reaching back desperately for some brush or tree limb to catch.

Instead, his fingers curled around a strong hand. He was pulled up sharply, and reeled into a firm embrace.

“Come away,” Luo Binghe said, and brought him back to the peak—another dream version of it, daylit, and unburnt—to sit by a quiet pool in the afternoon sun.

Luo Binghe’s fingers drew elegant patterns on the water, creating glowing trails that remained trembling on the surface by some knack of dream logic.

“See this?” Binghe said, “Watch carefully, and I will show you how to guard your dreams against nightmares.”

Shen Yuan watched avidly, and learned.

The rest of his dreams were peaceful after that. 

The gifts started arriving the next day. 

“Should I send something back? He's the one who saved my life, this should be the other way around, right?” 

Shen Jiu looked pained, taking in the lacquered box of scrolls—cultivation advice, recipes for high level pills, and bestiaries that Shen Yuan was impatient to dive into—and suggested he throw it off the mountain.

“Xiao Jiu,” Yue Qingyuan said, gently chiding.

“It’ll send a message.”

Shen Yuan picked up the box and brought it into his side room, and left them to it.

Yue Qingyuan had been another surprise. Gossip traveled fast around the peaks, so of course the sect leader would show up eventually. But Shen Yuan hadn’t expected, firstly, that the powerful Yue Qingyuan would look so much like Shen Jiu’s childhood friend, Yue Qi. Secondly that Shen Jiu had, after transmigrating, somehow mustered up enough game to successfully woo him. His brother had never had game before! And Yue Qingyuan honestly just looked fond at Shen Jiu’s most sarcastic comments, which Shen Yuan had never suspected that anyone outside their family of three would be able to do. So, not that they were waiting on his approval, but they had it nonetheless.

And the side-benefit, of course, was that Yue Qingyuan hadn’t even questioned the long-lost brother story, even though he’d apparently known Shen Jiu from an early age in this universe as well.

So began his life as an unofficial disciple of Qing Jing Peak.

Ming Fan was still running around as Head Disciple, having survived in this brave new reality his siblings created, and he was in charge of teaching Shen Yuan sword forms. Something he was picking up only gradually, despite the cheats he’d started out with. He hadn’t earned the right to draw his own spiritual sword yet, and so practiced with a borrowed blade. 

More surprising was that Ning Yingying was the one assisting him with his calligraphy—not that she was bad at it. With careful questioning, he learned that here, as well as in the original canon, she’d taught Luo Binghe. But the surprise was that she hadn’t subsequently married him. In fact, apparently no one had.

"But. You don't think he's attractive?" Shen Yuan asked Ning Yingying.

"Well of course he is," Ning Yingying said, "but what does that have to do with it? You shouldn't marry someone just because they're attractive. What if they're awful? Not that A'Luo is awful, but…" she tapped her lip thinking, getting a spot of ink on it from the brush, "he's always held himself a bit aloof from us, you know?"

Shen Yuan didn't know. Luo Binghe had been like an invasion of warmth into his cold apartment. Charming, sure. Smoking hot? Absolutely. But he was also open and even solicitous. And the gifts since he’d transmigrated were really thoughtful too! He thought he could take it as a sign that Luo Binghe really did want to be friends. He'd even included special talismanic papers in the packages that teleported back to the demonic peak once they were signed, allowing Shen Yuan to write missives back to him. 

At first, he wasn't sure what to say, so he started with how challenging he found writing with a brush, given it would be self evident in his messy calligraphy.

Binghe wrote back with advice, one remedial student of Ning Yingying to another. Charmed by the admitted imperfection of the now peerless demon Lord, Shen Yuan felt even freer to unburden himself in their correspondence.

But he still hadn't really given Binghe anything back, or done anything to make their friendship official.

Emboldened by the thought, he told his older brother that he was going to visit the Demonic Cultivation Peak.

Shen Jiu groped blindly for the tea, poured it, and downed it like a shot of alcohol. Then he frowned and got up to find the actual alcohol. Shen Yuan sighed, and fanned himself as Shen Jiu finished his dramatics.

"You!" He finally said, pointing at Tang'er, who had come over for lunch. Their lunches were now usually prepared by Binghe, and teleported to the door to the bamboo house in a talismanic basket, so Tang’er now showed up for lunches more frequently than she’d apparently used to. Shen Yuan also liked to think his presence had something to do with it, but he’d had the lunches, and he frankly did not compare.

"Me?" she asked around a mouthful of rice.

"You take him."

"I can go by myself," Shen Yuan protested. Maigu Ridge loomed against the sky in all its inverted glory and was rather hard to miss. The cheerful colors of the rainbow bridge leading up to it stood out even more in contrast, "I know where it is."

"You don't even have a sword yet," Shen Jiu said, "you'll get eaten. That's disgusting," he told Tang'er, who had just spit out her rice.

"Luo Binghe won't eat me!"

Tang'er banged the table with her fist, shaking with laughter.

"Quit that," Shen Jiu told her, and then turned to Shen Yuan, "the peak is full of demons and other barely tamed beasts."

"Cool," Shen Yuan breathed, thinking of some of the more creatively designed demons Airplane had written about. 

"It is not cool."

"It's a little cool," Tang'er said, once she'd regained her composure, "and sure, we'll go after lunch. But then I need to get back to Xian Shu and help my wife with classes."

Tang'er was married to Qi Qingqi, who, on meeting him, had looked him up and down and offered him a veil for his face and self defense classes when he refused it. Other than that, he liked her. But it did mean he saw Tang'er less than Shen Jiu, since she lived on another peak.

"Is everyone in this family gay?" He wondered aloud, because it was either that or his family was just attracted to peak lords.

"Be gay," Tang'er said, "do crimes."

"No crimes," Shen Jiu scowled.

"We already did crimes," Tang'er pointed out.

"Do I get a turn to do crimes?" Shen Yuan asked.

"No more crimes!" they said in unison, as if this was a common refrain.

Part way to the rainbow bridge, they ran into Liu Mingyan, who was also on her way over to the Demonic Cultivation Peak. Tang'er traded escort duties with her, claiming it was her right as Mingyan's 'shizun-in-law,' and left after giving Shen Yuan a baffling command to "be safe and just say no if you're uncomfortable."

Technically she was older than him by now because of cheating time-travel/transmigration bullshit, but she was enjoying it far more than was healthy.

Shen Yuan peered at Liu Mingyan hoping to see a hint of her legendarily beautiful features below the veil, idly wondering, uncomfortably, if she was visiting Binghe as a prelude to something more permanent.

Ning Yingying had said Binghe wasn't married, but maybe he just wasn't married yet . He felt like his little Bingyan shipper heart should be more excited about this prospect, but somehow he just felt cold.

He blamed his preoccupation for tripping.

The rainbow bridge was smooth, formed from pure and radiant energy, but Shen Yuan felt his ankle catch on something, and he stumbled. There was no railing, because of course there were no safety regulations in a cultivation sect. 

So when he fell and a small, ill-timed gust of wind pushed him aside, the only thing he saw below him was the long rocky chasm between the peaks.

Green vines shot from his hand as he triggered his spiritual ability in the hope of saving himself.

He'd been... Maybe paranoid wasn't the right word, but on edge since he'd dreamed of falling, and had practiced this ability until it was locked in his muscle memory.

But there wasn't anything for the vines to catch on.

Instead, Liu Mingyan caught them, reeling him up efficiently and with no sign of effort, as though he were simply a very embarrassing fish she'd caught.

He could hear the faint sound of cruel, teasing laughter in the distance and flushed with embarrassment as the adrenaline died away.

"Are you alright?" Liu Mingyan asked.

"Yeah, I'm alive. I just wish no one else had seen," he confessed, "I don't appreciate the laughter."

Liu Mingyan's eyes were solemn over her mask when she said, "I do not hear anyone laughing."

The hairs on the back of his neck rose, but he reminded himself fiercely that he wasn't being haunted any longer. Still, he was even more eager to see Luo Binghe and the reassuringly physical dangers of his peak. Ahead of them he could see a demon with the face and claws of a lion, who looked like he could easily take off Shen Yuan's head with one swipe. He perked up at the sight. 

He could still feel Liu Mingyan's wary eyes on him for the rest of their trip.

However, when they entered the main pagoda, she immediately gravitated towards a demoness barely clad in red shawls and clinking golden jewelry. He realized that unless Binghe was really cool about his harem sharing their affections, she was unlikely to marry him any time soon. Or ever, he thought, looking away as Sha Hualing's tongue disappeared down Liu Mingyan's throat.

A man who might have been handsome if he wasn't so harried looking hurried over, "Yes, what? Do you have a delivery from Qing Jing?" He said, taking in his white and green disciple robes.

Shen Yuan bowed and introduced himself as Shen Qingqiu's brother, politely asking to see Luo Binghe.

The man looked even more stressed, "I didn't write this, I know I didn't," he muttered to himself.

Write what? Did he keep a record of appointments? Shen Yuan was wondering if that meant he should have said something in advance, but then Binghe swept in, and the other man slipped his mind completely.

"Shen Yuan!" He greeted, intercepting Shen Yuan's bow, hands grasping Shen Yuan's cupped fists, and raising him back up.

"How do you like my peak?" Binghe asked, curling a large hand around his elbow and gently guiding him forward into a well-appointed study. 

Shen Yuan had seen a gigantic snake, curled around a rocky outcropping and basking in the sun. A man with flowing dark hair had played a haunting melody from a flute that emitted black smoke. He'd paused to watch a group of pale, young, round-cheeked demons hurl icicles from their fists at straw targets, as a tall ice demon looked on in approval.

The entire peak was bustling with the monstrous and uncanny. Shen Yuan loved it. And nothing had tried to eat him. 

"It's amazing," Shen  Yuan replied truthfully, excitedly expanding on his impressions to an amused Luo Binghe until he saw the study, and stopped in his tracks. Whatever he had been saying was forgotten and his eyes widened at all the books lining the walls of the study.

“May I?” he asked breathlessly.

“Of course,” Luo Binghe said, but then he sighed dramatically, and pouted in a way that was unfairly attractive, “although I’d hoped I’d be the one making you breathless like that.”

Shen Yuan snatched his hand back from the spine of the book he was reaching for and stared at him. “Wha—what?”

Binghe practically prowled forward, pinning him against the bookshelf, arms bracketing Shen Yuan’s body.

Was this—was this a kabedon? Was there such a thing as a platonic kabedon?!

Binghe leaned forward, until his face was so close to Shen Yuan’s he could feel his exhales against his lips.

Shen Yuan was being a ridiculous person. This couldn’t be what it looked like, because he was a grouchy internet troll and Luo Binghe was the closest thing this world had to a god.

He needed to say something before he moved two inches forward and ruined everything by kissing him. 

“Um, I... I had a dream about you, the night I came here. Was that you?” 

Oh no. That was an awkward question, he thought, internally panicking.

“What would you do if I said it was me?” Luo Binghe leaned back, giving Shen Yuan a few precious inches of personal space if only so that he could stare down at him intently.

“I would thank you?” Shen Yuan said, feeling lost, “What else?”

“You would not revile me for invading your mind?”

Binghe’s face was inscrutable, as though he really didn’t know what to expect.

Shen Yuan, who had read countless scenes of Binghe using his dream walking to gain the upper hand, ferret out weaknesses, or woo a recalcitrant beauty had not actually considered that Binghe would ever feel remotely ashamed about doing so. Or that Binghe would consider any moral implications about doing so.

Used a different way, reading Shen Yuan’s dreams could have been a violation of his trust and privacy. Binghe could have scoured his mind for secrets—not that Shen Yuan really had any. 

But instead he'd used it to rescue Shen Yuan from his nightmares, to comfort him, and train him.

“I would never revile Lord Luo for doing something to help me,” Shen Yuan said, “Lord Luo has been very good to me.”

“Don’t call me ‘lord,’” he said, “and if you truly think that I am good, you are the first one in this world to do so.”

His voice was haughty, but his eyes seemed unsure. 

Had the Luo Binghe of this timeline committed any monstrous sins? Shen Jiu hadn’t mentioned any. But even while reading the blackest parts of Proud Immortal Demon Way, Shen Yuan’s sympathies had so thoroughly been with Luo Binghe that he forgave him every crime and misdeed. Maybe it was messed up to carry that mentality into a universe where Binghe was real and alive in front of him, but… he wouldn’t let that fictional past prejudice him either.

“I can only judge you on what I’ve seen. The Luo Binghe I know is kind, caring, thoughtful, and very, very good,” he said with a helpless smile, “you’re really kind of amazing.”

Binghe’s pupils were blown wide, and a hectic blush spread over his cheeks, staining the tips of his ears a brilliant scarlet. Then Binghe groaned, an unmistakably pleased sound, and buried his head in Shen Yuan’s shoulder.

What? Were his compliments that powerful? He wasn’t even good at compliments! He specialized in harsh and biting criticism!

But… Binghe was very easy to praise.

Meanwhile, what was he supposed to do with his hands?

“Binghe is so good,” Shen Yuan said, and gently pet Binghe’s soft, curling hair.

Binghe let out a noise that—ok, he was a powerful, blackened demon lord, so it was not a squeak , but it was maybe squeak adjacent .

When he lifted his head, he was biting his lip, and looking at Shen Yuan searchingly. Shen Yuan lifted his hands out of Binghe’s hair, once more unsure of where to put them.

“Don’t speak anymore. This lord cannot endure it,” Binghe said.

Shen Yuan was maybe slow on the uptake, but not so slow that he couldn’t realize what was now pressing insistently against his hip. That was Binghe’s… Binghe was aroused. He was aroused because of Shen Yuan, of all people, and his clumsy, insufficient praise.

And this was not a platonic kabedon.

Shen Yuan threw caution to the wind, gave into temptation, and finally put his hands on Binghe’s generously rounded pecs.

Binghe leaned down to breathe in his ear, “Keep going,” he purred. 

Shen Yuan, now trembling with nerves and his own arousal, ran his hands down the firm, prominent muscles of Binghe's chest, parting the deep V of his robes to reach more skin. His pinky brushed one dusky, brown nipple. 

Binghe groaned in satisfaction, and crushed Shen Yuan's mouth beneath his own. 

Luo Binghe’s knee pressed forward, bumping between Shen Yuan’s legs, parting them, then rising higher to tease against Shen Yuan’s growing hardness. Binghe’s hands clasped down on Shen Yuan’s biceps and he used his strong grip to hitch Shen Yuan into the air, his feet kicking fruitlessly against the shelves until he was riding Luo Binghe’s thigh. The angle pressed their cocks together, the daunting size and heft of Binghe’s cock evident even through the fabric of their clothing.

Hesitatingly, Shen Yuan rubbed against it. He felt borne away to a place beyond shame, but he was also a virgin who had only instinct to guide his own pursuit of pleasure. 

Binghe was more aggressive, pressing back and showing him the rhythm of it until they were both desperately straining together. 

“Binghe is so good at this,” Shen Yuan moaned. His fingers were tangled in Binghe’s thick hair now, and he unconsciously tugged at the curling locks of it, trying to hold on, and not collapse.

Binghe gasped as he pulled a little too hard, and Shen Yuan tried to let go, petting Binghe’s hair in apology, but Binghe just breathed against his ear, “say it again.”

“Binghe is so good,” Shen Yuan sighed as Binghe nipped his ear, and then trailed his mouth down Shen Yuan’s neck, quick stinging bites that felt unfairly good. Binghe deserved better words than just ‘good’ but he was too overwhelmed to think of them and he didn't think Binghe would let him call a timeout while he grabbed a thesaurus.

They didn’t last long after that, chasing the friction together until the outcome was inevitable. Binghe's cock felt huge against his stomach, bumping up nearly to his chest. Shen Yuan swallowed hard at the thought of taking it, of taking that monstrous cock in him. He came with a whimper, the warm rush of fluid painting the inside of his garments until it was drawn away; banished by the cleaning charms sewn into his robes.

“Did you like that?” Binghe said, panting, still straining against Shen Yuan’s hip, “Was it good?”

“It was very good,” Shen Yuan replied breathlessly, “Luo Binghe is very, very good.

Binghe groaned deeply in satisfaction, and came. Shen Yuan could feel the warmth and wetness of it pulsing even through their robes, before it too was gone. His last thrust against him was so powerful, the books rattled on the shelves. A few even toppled, harmlessly to the ground.

Or, at least, that's what Shen Yuan thought had happened, muddled from the afterglow, until a heavy scroll case came hurtling directly towards his face. Binghe caught it at the last second, barely needing to glance at it to intercept it. And then he set himself like a cage around Shen Yuan's smaller body as they were buffeted by books and scrolls from all directions, until the shelves were bare.

Then a strange, cold tendril of sensation crept up Shen Yuan's leg and wrenched him out from under Binghe's grip. He was dragged, sprawling on the floor as the opposite shelf teetered, and began to fall.

In a flash, Binghe was there, propping up the bookshelf. And Shen Yuan saw the shadow behind him, dark and gloating.

But Shen Yuan wasn't a cultivator now for nothing, and, channeling his spirit energy, sent a vine snare to bind the shadow.

It slipped free, as insubstantial as smoke, despite the fact that the vines were made of spirit as well as wood.

Anxiety gripped him. Since he’d transmigrated, he’d felt a little like nothing could touch him. He had what amounted to superpowers, boundless qi, and cool martial arts moves! He was ageless! He even had a clear complexion! And he knew, of course, that this was a world full of monsters, but under the protection of powerful Peak Lords and experienced martial siblings, that had mostly seemed really cool.

But now he was facing his first, his oldest monster… and his powers did nothing against it?

No, he wasn’t going to give up that easily.

A blast of qi from his fist severed the suggestion of an arm from its amorphous body, but it slithered back and knitted itself whole again, unhurt, and reached for him, wrapping around his neck in a choking grip.

Binghe slashed out at it with Xin Mo a moment later, sending it hissing back into a dark corner, where it dissipated, finally. Shen Yuan coughed, gaining his breath—he was fine, he was ok! But Binghe’s clothes were torn in places from the barrage of books, so he placed his hands on Binghe. Sliding through torn fabric to find naked skin, he activated his Healing Lotus Palm ability to banish the bruises and cuts marring Binghe’s body. 

Binghe hissed as he pressed down too hard on a bruise. 

“I’m sorry, does that hurt?” he asked, beginning to pull away, “Ah, you’ll probably heal quickly enough on your own, won’t you?”

Binghe grabbed his wrists and pressed Shen Yuan’s hands back on his body. “Don’t stop,” he said, “I like it.”

The warm look in his eyes said that he appreciated the care. Maybe, uh. Maybe a little too much? But it made Shen Yuan feel better too, to be able to do something. This time, his powers weren’t for nothing.

Binghe was dipping his head down close to Shen Yuan’s when the door banged in. Shang Qinghua stood framed in the doorway, surveying the wreckage with incredulity. 

Shen Yuan took it all in—the scattered books and toppled shelf—and was almost more upset about the mess than he was about the threat to his life.

Shang Qinghua stared at him. "What did you do?"

"It found me," he said faintly, sliding down amongst the mess, stroking debris away from an unblemished book cover. The Resentment of Chunshan . He'd never heard of it. He wished he had nothing better to do than to read it. To disappear into a novel that had nothing to do with his own life.

"It was a shadow form that can use both physical attacks and telekinesis," Binghe summarized, finally sheathing Xin Mo. "What do you know about it?"

“Me? I don’t know,” Shang Qinghua said defensively, raising his hands, “I really don’t know!”

“You always know things,” Binghe growled.

“I really don’t this time! Everything about this guy is outside of what I know, like he’s not even from this…” he trailed off, staring at Shen Yuan in surprise.

“If it’s about the transmigration,” Shen Yuan said, “Binghe already knows.”

“You mean—?”

“Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky,” Shen Yuan confirmed.

“You recognized me?” Shang Qinghua squeaked.

“I didn’t,” Shen Yuan said, glaring, “I just thought you'd recognize the name. But now that I know, I have some things to say—”

“This is going to be as bad as Peerless Cucumber,” Shang Qinghua said, blinking sadly, “I just know it.”

“Hah,” Shen Yuan said triumphantly, “I am Peerless Cucumber!”

“This is all very fascinating,” Binghe said dryly, “but it isn’t getting us anywhere. Let us focus on what is targeting Shen Yuan.”

Shen Yuan folded his arms around himself, “I don’t know what’s going on, but I think... Before I died, I called my eldest brother, and he said something. I didn’t understand it at the time, but I think he knew what it was. He said he’d hoped it wouldn’t find me in the States, but that there was nothing he could do. And,” Shen Yuan swallowed, “he more or less implied it was the cause of my brother and sister’s death too.”

“Wait, are Shen Jiu and Shen Haitang really your brother and sister?”

Shen Yuan nodded.

“They never said they were transmigrators! I even dropped so many hints! I finally gave up and just assumed their weirdness was the butterfly effect or something.”

“They must not have noticed,” Shen Yuan said sympathetically. Privately he suspected that Shen Jiu would have been too annoyed by Airplane’s lack of subtlety and therefore deliberately ignored him.

“I did some research a long time ago,” Shang Qinghua began nervously, “about… family curses. I never ended up using it, I swear , I ended up going a more straightforward route, you know, and then I scrapped that too! It was creepy, and not my fault!”

Shen Yuan smacked his head with his fan to stop the flow of excuses, “Tell us about the curse.”

“Ah, ok, ok. So, I found some ancient books—real, authentic stuff—about old dynastic practices that would sort of… well, sacrifice a family’s children for the sake of a single heir. Mostly what I read was a philosophical debate about whether it counted as a blessing or a curse, because of course there could be a huge body count, but your direct family line would prosper, overall.”

Shen Yuan thought, sinkingly, of his family’s wealth, and the prosperity that had followed, seemingly by coincidence, the birth of each sibling. Of the way his father and mother had never seemed to look at him, or Shen Jiu, or Tang’er. They wouldn't sell their children for a few business wins, right? He knew his family, and they weren’t superstitious,  they didn’t practice strange magical arts. He couldn’t picture it.

But hadn’t his uncles died young? And before that, his great uncles?

“It fits,” he admitted reluctantly.

Shang Qinghua looked miserable.

Shen Yuan rolled his eyes, and fanned himself, in an unconscious impression of Shen Jiu, “It didn’t even happen in this world, so it’s not your fault.”

Shang Qinghua still looked haunted, “I’d always had this feeling. Like a hunch, I guess? That a curse like that would really fit your siblings' history in the Qiu family,” he whispered, "but…"

“But Qiu Jianluo was the one who died,” Shen Yuan continued for him.

“That would just switch the beneficiary to the next oldest,” Shang Qinghua explained, “and then the next eldest after that would be the target of the curse part of it. It doesn’t skip heirs, or target more than one at a time.”

“Then if Shen Jiu was the beneficiary, why didn’t anything ever happen to Tang’er?"

“It wouldn’t make sense, would it? Except you exist.”

“I’m not a Qiu,” Shen Yuan said, frowning, "and she's already died before me once."

“That may have been a genuine accident. And you’re a Shen, just like they are now. I think it counts, especially if the curse is part of your family line in two different worlds.”

“In every world I’ve seen but this one,” Luo Binghe said, “there is only one surviving member of the Qiu family. And they are, ultimately, prosperous.” He’d been watching them talk back and forth, narrow-eyed and contemplative.

“There are more worlds?” Shang Qinghua asked.

“How many worlds have you seen?” Shen Yuan asked.

Luo Binghe waved their questions aside, “that's not relevant."

“Wait, how are we defining prosperity?” Shang Qinghua asked.

“Married to me,” Luo Binghe said with an arrogance that was unfairly hot. Seriously, it shouldn’t be hot. Why was it turning him on? Again?

“Oh right,” Shang Qinghua said. Shen Yuan pulled his mind out of the gutter and knew he was thinking of the original Qiu Haitang.

Shen Yuan felt queasy. He’d known, but was trying to forget, that Luo Binghe had canonically married Qiu Haitang. It was easy to put it out of his mind when he pictured his rampantly sapphic sister, but… he didn’t realize it was something Binghe was aware of and might actually miss.

“What happens when there is only one heir left?” Luo Binghe asked, his fingers trailing along Xin Mo’s hilt.

“Uh, the curse should go dormant until the next generation,” Shang Qinghua said, “why?”

“Because I have a plan for where we can hide Shen Yuan until we break this curse.”

When Luo Binghe opened a portal to Qing Jing Peak, Shen Yuan didn’t think it was anything remarkable until a second Luo Binghe stepped out of the bamboo house.

Even though this Luo Binghe had wide, gentle-seeming eyes and an amiable expression on his flawless face, Shen Yuan took a step back on instinct, bumping into his Luo Binghe, his hand grabbing onto Luo Binghe’s larger one until he laced their fingers together.

“You!” The other Luo Binghe said, drawing his sword when he caught sight of them. Everything gentle had left his face.

The door of the bamboo house flew open again, and Shen Qingqiu stepped out. He looked first at Luo Binghe, and then at the other Luo Binghe, and then finally his gaze landed on Shen Yuan. He did a double-take. And then a triple-take. And then he dropped his fan.

Shen Yuan was like… 75% sure that meant he wasn’t the original Shen Qingqiu, right? 

“What the actual fuck ,” Shen Qingqiu said. 

This had to be another Shen Jiu—how many of them transmigrated? Didn’t it bend a person's suspension of disbelief, at some point?

And then Shen Qingqiu picked up his fan swiftly, but with effortless elegance, pointed it at Shen Yuan’s Luo Binghe like a gun and said, “Get away from him,” turning to the other Luo Binghe he said, “I thought destroying Xin Mo would keep him out.”

Behind Shen Yuan, Luo Binghe said, “You didn’t want to see me again? That hurts my feelings.” Despite his words, he mostly sounded amused.

“Gege,” Shen Yuan said, trying to calm him down, “It’s ok!”

“Who’s your ‘gege’?” Shen Qingqiu spat. 

“Shizun, doesn’t this man look a little bit like your plant body?”

“You had a plant that looked like your younger brother? That’s an... interesting choice,” Binghe drawled above him.

Shen Qingqiu flushed, and snapped. “He’s not my younger brother, he’s me .” And then he covered his face with his fan.

The sound of a small “oh shit” came from behind the fan and then Shen Qingqiu’s shoulders started shaking.

“Ah,” Binghe said, “that explains a lot.”

“It doesn’t explain shit,” Shen Yuan said.

The other Luo Binghe looked equally bewildered. 

And then time froze, and the System dialogue box appeared between Shen Qingqiu and Shen Yuan. 

[ERROR. Duplicate users <Peerless Cucumber> detected within the same operational universe. This is a notification that all System functions have been suspended while BUG is occurring.]

Shen Yuan took it in at a glance, but Shen Qingqiu read it slowly, and then again more slowly before looking at Shen Yuan with an inscrutable expression. 

“I can finally tell him,” he said to himself, wonderingly. 

“He doesn’t know?”

“The System wouldn’t let me tell him. Or maybe it’s just that I didn’t think to ask after… everything.” Then he frowned at Shen Yuan, “Do I really look like Shen Jiu to you?” 

“Yeah. You didn’t notice?”

“I—we both look like him a little to begin with, but I don’t think I let myself realize how much more Shen Qingqiu resembles him. I just enjoyed being taller,” he laughed a little self deprecatingly, indicating the foot height difference between him and Shen Yuan.

Shen Yuan huffed.

Shen Qingqiu shrugged apologetically, “we should finish this conversation with Bingmei and Bingge. Since we can, we should take advantage of it.”

“To be clear, you’re calling your Luo Binghe ‘Bingmei,’ right?”

“Yes. He can be a bit of a maiden sometimes,” Shen Qingqiu said placidly, “but he can also beat your Luo Binghe in a fight.”

“He’s not exactly mine .”

“Hmm, is that so?” Shen Qingqiu asked, sounding deeply uninterested. 

Then he closed the error message and time resumed.

“You, you, and you, get in the house before anyone comes along and asks awkward questions. Binghe, this Master is going to need wine for this conversation.”

Damn, Shen Yuan’s other self was bossy.

Bingmei simply replied, “Yes, Shizun,” and vanished into the house, though not before tossing a threatening look back at Bingge. 

Bingge and Shen Yuan were banished to the tiny side room while Shen Qingqiu had a ‘private discussion’ with Bingmei, presumably about the whole transmigration thing. He’d helpfully put up silencing talismans too, so when it became obvious that the private conversation was going to take a while, and Luo Binghe began to idly stroke Shen Yuan’s inner thigh, Shen Yuan gave in with a kind of “this may as well happen,” feeling.

For one thing, Luo Binghe very much knew what he was doing in a way that would have been obvious even if Shen Yuan hadn’t read about how he’d acquired his skills in overly explicit detail. But if it was just sexual prowess alone, Shen Yuan knew he would have felt too uneasy with his own lack of experience to reciprocate. What sex god wanted to coach a fumbling virgin, showing how to bend, and how to touch, when to press hard, and when to stroke gently?

Apparently, this sex god. Binghe’s attention was fixed on Shen Yuan, reading every nuance of his expression, and every shiver induced by each seemingly simple touch. 

Shen Yuan shied away when Binghe moved to strip his clothes.

Binghe just chuckled, “Whatever you’d prefer, though I’ll point out that if they do finish before us and come in—which I think is unlikely—they won’t see anything they haven’t seen, or done before.”

Shen Yuan felt a hectic blush rise on his cheeks, “Oh.”

Binghe had been kneeling over him, bracketing Shen Yuan’s hips and shoulders, but now he coaxed Shen Yuan to roll on his side. He didn’t push either. Instead of stripping him completely, he strategically adjusted their robes so that they looked as though they were simply spooning. All the while, Binghe’s hand, now slick with lotion, was stroking between Shen Yuan’s naked thighs.

Shen Yuan’s breathing became ragged as a large finger stroked around his rim before dipping tentatively in. 

“How is it?” Binghe whispered the question in his ear as though there were no silencing talismans, and they had to stay quiet to keep from being noticed.

It gave Shen Yuan a heady kind of excitement, and he pressed back almost unconsciously, deepening the press of Binghe’s finger. “It’s very good,” he said, his breath hitching, “Please, it’s. It’s so good.”

“When we have more time,” Binghe murmured, “I promise I’ll give you everything. But you’re not ready for it quite yet.”

The finger was removed, that hand now wrapping around Shen Yuan’s cock, stroking with a firm, slow rhythm. Binghe pulled Shen Yuan’s body closer, and Shen Yuan felt the long length of Binghe’s monstrous cock against the cleft of his ass. Then Binghe drew back, and it was sliding between Shen Yuan’s slick thighs, brushing the underside of his balls. The thickness of it forced Shen Yuan’s thighs wide, the strain of it a delicious ache.

Together they thoroughly abused the small single bed. Binghe rutted slowly between the pale juncture of Shen Yuan's thighs, the length of his cock slick with precome as well as lotion.

The head brushed tantalizingly against Shen Yuan's hole with each pass, until finally it spilled there. Insanely, Shen Yuan still wanted it inside him, even after he'd seen the enormous size of it, and knew that it would wreck him. The thought, and the large, coaxing hand on Shen Yuan’s cock had him spilling his release a moment later.

Binghe cleaned them up with a soft cloth that he’d gotten from who knew where, dropping kisses on the back of Shen Yuan’s neck until  he couldn’t take it anymore. 

Turning around, he pushed Luo Binghe back onto the bed. Well, Binghe probably let him, but he grinned up at Shen Yuan innocently, “Did you want to go again?”

“I think that would be pushing it,” Shen Yuan scolded. But he was a little reluctant. He’d been a virgin only yesterday, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up with Luo Binghe forever, he wanted him for as long as he could get him.

“There will be a next time,” Binghe said, and pulled him down to rest against his chest, snuggling with him more sweetly than Shen Yuan had ever suspected a stallion protagonist could.

“Really?” Shen Qingqiu said, wrinkling his nose when he eventually let them out of the side room.

Shen Yuan gave a pointed look towards Bingmei’s hair, which was in an obvious curling cloud of disarray, and raised his eyebrows. 

Shen Qingqiu subsided.

“So when you said that the Qiu curse survivors were married to you, you meant… these two?” He hissed at Bingge.

Bingge smirked, “I’m glad there’s not a version of me married to your brother. On the other hand, your sister was… hmm. Mostly interested in the other members of the harem.”

Well. That did sound like Tang’er. 

Bingge had told him a little about how he’d found this universe while they were spooned together on the small cot, and he picked up his story once they rejoined the other couple. 

“When I left here, I was angry. Why were you able to evoke kindness from a man I only knew as cruel and heartless? What was it about you that deserved better? I couldn't see it, and I didn’t think it was fair that you got to grow up under the care of a gentle and doting shizun, and ultimately gained the kind of unconditional love that I still couldn’t grasp after 300 marriages.”

“300?” Bingmei interrupted, his voice faint with shock.

“I will not tolerate a harem, Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu said icily.

Bingmei clasped his hand, “Of course, Shizun! This disciple does not want one, he was only thinking that he does not even know a single person as worthy as Shizun, let alone 300.”

Shen Qingqiu patted his head and then turned back to Bingge.

“You never came back here before now—” Shen Qingqiu started.

“We were hoping you could not,” interrupted Bingmei, with false sweetness.

“So where did you go?” Shen Qingqiu finished, without batting an eye at Bingmei’s remark.

Bingge gave the couple a bitter smile, and resumed his story. “Once I returned to my universe, and had Xin Mo in my hands again, I did think about returning. But you would not come with me, even so, would you?” He asked Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes shifted uneasily over his fan until they met the eyes of his husband. “No, I would not have,” he said firmly.

“Just so. And so I forced my will and power into my blade, wishing that it would carve a path for a new beginning where I could have everything denied me by my original fate.” 

Shen Yuan watched Bingge as he told his story, saw his dark eyes shining with pride, and his regal bearing. Still, there was something vulnerable about the tight set of his shoulders, in the way he restlessly turned his wine bowl. Even though his wish sounded entitled, Shen Yuan felt there was something of that lonely child he’d read about hiding there. After all, what had been denied him? It certainly wasn’t power, women, or status.

It was kindness. And love.

Bingge was still talking, and Shen Yuan forced himself to pay attention. This was a man who guarded his inner self fiercely. He likely wouldn’t repeat this kind of open disclosure again.  

“I sought my own version of this one’s shizun,” he said, indicating Shen Qingqiu, “I didn’t know if it would work. At first, I thought it must not have. I was suddenly thirteen again, and stranded in a strange world with tall buildings, and noisy streets. And then my boot became caught in the middle of the street, and a large carriage was bearing down on me.”

The silence stretched as Bingge looked down at him.

“So I pushed him out of the way of the train,” Shen Yuan took up the story, shrugging helplessly, “and I died.”

Shen Qingqiu’s fingers tightened on his fan, the white knuckles the only sign of a reaction. Bingmei, on the other hand, looked aghast.

“You killed Shizun?”

“Hey, watch it,” Shen Yuan snapped, “at most it would be an accident, but I knew what I was doing the entire time. Of course I wanted to live, but I wouldn’t regret trading my life for his. That’s not murder, no matter how you look at it.”

Bingmei was still glaring at Bingge, “You didn’t deserve it.”

“Binghe, peace,” Shen Qingqiu said, twining their free hands together until he subsided.

“Perhaps I did not deserve it. And I swore that one day, I’d find a way to repay him. But that would come later.” Bingge said. “When I finally gave up on searching through that strange world, I moved on to another world, and then another, fruitlessly. Finally, I returned to my own, by then perhaps 14 years of age, and found that the timeline had reset itself in my absence and that Xin Mo was no longer at my side. I began again, entering Qing Jing Peak. There were small changes, but they did not bring me what I sought, either. My shizun, for instance, was no longer cruel. But for all I tried to coax the affection from him that I had seen in this world, he remained indifferent. And he still pushed me into the Abyss, in the end.”

“It’s a fixed event,” Shen Qingqiu said uncomfortably, squeezing Bingmei’s hand, “it can’t be changed.”

Bingge laughed a little darkly, “That’s what he explained to me when I confronted him as soon as I got out. He told me about his transmigration, and the System. From there, I made the connection to the changes I’d seen in this world as well. Again, I was jealous that you’d found something in Shen Qingqiu that I had not. With Xin Mo once more in my hands, I continued my search of other worlds. Eventually, it felt time to try something different.

“Then I remembered the man who had died for me. The new world I’d helped to forge was good, but it was founded on the death of that person. So I asked my shizun and his sister if their System would allow for time travel, to use that moment to help that person transmigrate like they had.”

“And here I am,” Shen Yuan said, not wanting to go into the part where he thought Luo Bingge was a camboy.

“No, actually, why are you here?” Shen Qingqiu said, “this has all been fascinating, and it’s very nostalgic to see the version of me from ten years ago,” when I was an idiot , his tone implied, “but why did you come to this world?”

Shen Yuan scowled. Alternate universe him was a little bit rude. 

“Because of the Qiu family curse,” Bingge explained, taking Shen Qingqiu’s temper in stride.

“The what?” Shen Qingqiu said.

They explained what they knew about the curse. Luo Bingmei looked concerned but Shen Qingqiu just shook his head.  

"I didn't even know the original goods was related to the Qiu family, so I'm not sure if the curse is a part of this universe. Although Qiu Haitang seemed troubled before she died," he frowned, looking thoughtful, before once more shaking his head.

"But that curse definitely wasn't part of the world I was born in. I died before my older brothers. And my uncles were alive as well.”

Shen Yuan took a deep sip of the wine Bingmei had been pouring for them, disappointed that his alternate self didn’t have any answers.

Bingge seemed unfazed, “Even if the curse exists in your universe, it would be inactive here, since you’re the last surviving member of your family. Shen Yuan can stay here safely without it finding him while we figure out a way to defeat it.”

“Wait, you’re leaving me here?” Shen Yuan cried.

"I've watched you die twice now. I don't intend to do it again," Bingge said, lifting his chin with one finger and capturing his mouth in a deep kiss that left Shen Yuan too boneless to protest.

He cursed him mentally for being a smooth motherfucker. Why couldn't he have fallen for the sweet, awkward, maidenish version of Binghe?

No, it would never work. Neither of them were pushy enough. They'd be that couple caught in an endless loop of "What do you want to do? I don't know, what do you want to do?" 

Even if his Luo Binghe had liked this mature, bossy Shen Qingqiu version of himself first, he'd still bent time to find Shen Yuan. Even if Bingge eventually went out to collect more Shen Yuans, he could be content at home with his family of three, on a quiet peak, with the promise of adventure in the inverted mountain next door.

Internally, he was amused, thinking of what Bingge’s interactions with his brother must have been like. It was a classic transmigrator-meets-reincarnator set up gone awry. He was trying to picture a hormonal, teenaged, blackened demon lord trying to wheedle affection from his uptight and sarcastic brother, and honestly wasn't sure how they'd all made it out alive and in one piece. Although it did explain why Shen Jiu was so twitchy about Luo Binghe. 

Shen Yuan had never thought of himself as envious. He hadn't envied his eldest brother for his status, inheritance, or relationship with their parents, even when he found out that Shen Jianluo was the only one expected to survive into adulthood. He didn't think twice about his classmates who scored higher than him on tests or did better in sports, either, content with any placement that wasn't dead last.

And all things considered? It was easy not to be jealous of Shen Jiu, who must have been bewildered and completely uninterested in his charming and temperamental student. 

But this other version of himself? So settled, poised, and confident, and married to a devoted husband? Looking at the trajectory of his own life, he couldn't see it leading to that kind of happy ending.

Shen Yuan had transitioned pretty swiftly from his infatuation with the novel version of Luo Binghe to similar, more intense feelings for Luo Bingge. Whether Bingge's affections for this Shen Qingqiu would transition to Shen Yuan seemed... less certain.

Maybe he should cut his losses and try to seduce someone random, like Liu Qingge? That would be only slightly less impossible.

As if reading his mind, Bingge leaned down and whispered in his ear, "don't fall for anyone while I'm away."

Shen Yuan felt himself blush furiously. Ultimately, he wasn't too proud to accept Luo Bingge overtures of affection, wherever they might lead. He set the thought of Liu Qingge aside.

"Wait, who agreed we'd keep him here?" Shen Qingqiu protested.

"Of course we'll protect A'Yuan," Bingmei said, eyes sparkling.

Who's your A’Yuan?! Shen Yuan wanted to protest the moniker but Bingmei looked so adorably pleased he didn't have the heart. 

"I could trust no one less than myself with him," Bingge said, and then disappeared in a swirling portal. He was very good at dramatic exits, the smooth bastard.

Shen Qingqiu sighed, and Luo Bingmei solicitously filled his bowl with more wine. "My face is too thin for this," he muttered, before taking a deep draft of the wine.

"So I can sleep in the side room?" Shen Yuan asked.

"You better not cause trouble," Shen Qingqiu told him severely.

"Ok, boomer," Shen Yuan shot back, and then dodged as Shen Qingqiu threw his fan at his head.

"You're cleaning the sheets yourself!" He shouted, as Shen Yuan darted out of the room. 

Shen Yuan ultimately didn't do much while he waited. He tried to stay out of the way of his alternate self and his husband, mostly because their lovey dovey lifestyle was hard to watch and also because it made him feel things he wasn't ready for.

Plus Bingmei kept calling him A'Yuan and Shen Yuan couldn't even kick his ass for it because Shen Qingqiu found it funny.

Despite being married to another man, this world's Shen Qingqiu still had Yue Qingyuan wrapped around his finger, so he was able to join the rest of the Qing Jing disciples and continue his training. But he didn't socialize much since he'd just be leaving again.

Soon. 

Any day now.

He was listlessly stirring a flawlessly prepared dish as Bingmei looked on worriedly when Shen Qingqiu finally snapped.

“How long are you planning to sulk?” 

“I’m not sulking!”

“You’re wandering the peak like you’ve lost your soul! I’ve even had Liu Qingge ask me if you’re ok.”

Bingmei nodded, “And he usually doesn’t pay attention to anyone besides Shizun.”

“That’s an exaggeration,” Shen Qingqiu said, waving off the observation.

Bingmei’s expression implied it really wasn’t. 

“I didn’t think it would be this long,” Shen Yuan conceded, sounding petulant even to his own ears. 

“You could practice your calligraphy, if you need something to do,” Shen Qingqiu said, placing the morsel Bingmei had just added to his bowl to his lips, chewing serenely. His eyes were sharp on Shen Yuan.

“Just because you’re technically older—”

“—more experienced,” Shen Qingqiu corrected.

“—doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do!”

Bingmei dropped his chopsticks with a clatter, drawing their eyes. He had a hand clasped to his mouth, and his eyes were shining, tears gathering at the corners.

“Binghe, what’s wrong?” Shen Qingqiu asked, voice suddenly as soft and sweet as a kitten.

“Shizun, I was just thinking… is that what it will be like when we have children?”

Shen Qingqiu squawked, “Who said we’re having children?”

“Shizun is so good with A'Yuan, doesn’t Shizun want children with this husband?”

“Can I be excused to go to my room?” Shen Yuan interrupted.

“No, sit down! I meant it, I won’t tolerate you just moping around forever!”

“See? You don’t really think he’s going to come back either, do you?” Shen Yuan hadn’t let himself think about it before now, even as he watched the days blend into each other. Luo Binghe was the OP stallion protagonist, who paid back every favor, and avenged every slight. So of course he wouldn’t let Shen Yuan be killed. But why not just leave him somewhere safe? 

Shen Jiu and Tang’er might be upset, but they wouldn’t push too hard to bring Shen Yuan back to a place he was endangered either.

“Isn’t everyone safer this way?” he said, trying to appear coolly logical, though he suspected he couldn’t pull it off like Shen Qingqiu quite yet. “Anyway what’s the point in trying to find something that only comes out to kill me if he doesn’t have to?”

“Just because he’s an evil bastard doesn’t mean he’s not going to defeat your demon,” Shen Qingqiu said, coolly logical. 

Damn, seeing it, he definitely didn’t have the tone or the eyebrow lift down. Plus he had that immovable face thing. Ugh. 

Shen Yuan gave up trying to act cool, and frowned into his dish. It had looked really appetizing before he’d stirred it into oblivion, “What’s the point? I’m not in wife plot #69, I’m just a debt he already repaid.”

Bingmei lifted the dish from his unresisting hands and put down another one with fresh pastries, which he knew were Shen Yuan’s weakness, “If it were me, I would definitely come back for A’Yuan. And I don’t think we’re that different where it counts.”

Shen Yuan hummed noncommittally and shoved a pastry in his mouth. They were obviously extremely different. He wasn’t even attracted to Bingmei, but he wanted to climb Bingge like a tree, for a start.

“Are you doubting the protagonist?” Shen Qingqiu asked.

“You can’t actually live your life by genre convention,” Shen Yuan said around a mouthful of date filling, “it’s not healthy.”

“Don’t talk while eating!”

Truthfully, Shen Yuan didn’t doubt Bingge’s abilities. But Bingge had traveled to multiple dimensions on an epic romantic quest, and had probably met a thousand gorgeous people—and that was on top of all the beauties he’d married in his first life. Where did Shen Yuan compare against all that? Sure Bingge seemed interested in him when he was right in front of him, but now that they’d been separated for such a long time… and Binghe was so charming, flirting with an effortlessness that Shen Yuan envied. And shouldn’t he know better than to trust someone with that much raw charisma and… and pectoral definition?

Well, ok, he’d never really dated, but that’s how it seemed in all the books he’d read.

Ugh, who was living by genre conventions this time? Bingge had a whole life beyond the pages of Proud Immortal Demon Way . And Shen Yuan was the one just waiting here uselessly like a pining damsel.

“I don’t want to wait here, I want to do something! I want to fight this thing, I don’t want to just wait to be rescued!” he said, thumping the table.

“Ah,” Bingmei said, smiling, “That’s more like A'Yuan.”

Shen Qingqiu reached across the table and patted Shen Yuan’s head like he was a child. It felt nice though, so he guessed he didn’t really mind. 

“The library here has many texts on curses. I will find someone to help you in your research tomorrow,” he said approvingly.

"Shizun, about children…"

"Later, Binghe, not in front of the kid—dammit!"

The next morning, Shen Yuan rolled over and put on his glasses without thinking, only for the world to still look blurry when he opened his eyes. Oh right, magical vision-fixing transmigration bullshit. He didn't need his glasses anymore.

Actually. 

Hadn't they been damaged when he'd been hit by the train? They hadn't come through with him, had they? He definitely hadn’t brought them to this world either, he’d only had what was on him when he went to visit Binghe.

He took the glasses off and looked at them. They were his original pair, but now there was a spidering crack on one lens, a smear of dried, brown blood along the frame. He recoiled from them, and they clattered against the floor, rolling beneath the bed.

When he leaned down to look for them, they were gone. And the shadows along the floor seemed darker than they should be for morning. 

“Shen Yuan,” he heard Shen Qingqiu call him, and hurriedly ran out, not bothering to change, and practically crashed into Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky. Or no, in this universe, wouldn’t he be Shang Qinghua?

He hastily gathered himself, and made a formal bow to the Peak Lord.

Shen Qingqiu rolled his eyes, “It’s just Airplane Bro, you don’t have to bow to him.”

“Hurtful,” Airplane muttered, almost to himself.

“Shang Qinghua is Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky here too?”

Airplane turned to look at him, his cheeks puffed out in surprise, “Your cousin is a transmigrator, Cucumber bro?”

“He’s not my cousin, that’s just what I told Zhangmen Shixiong."

“Wow. Meeting Bingge is one thing, but another version of yourself? That’s weird, bro.”

Then Airplane reached out and squished Shen Yuan’s cheeks, “You’re so little!”

“Quit it!” Shen Yuan smacked him, "you're barely taller!"

“Same personality though,” Airplane said mournfully, pinching Shen Yuan's cheeks one last time.

“I’m still busy cleaning up your lizard demon plot,” Shen Qingqiu cut in, "so I don't have time to spend the day in the library."

“Oh, that one’s cool,” Shen Yuan said, “I remember reading it.”

“I barely remember writing it,” Shang Qinghua said.

“And that’s why I’m the one dealing with it,” Shen Qingqiu said, “so you can help Shen Yuan with one of your other plots.”

“Sure. Any Cucumber bro is a friend of mine,” he said. Then, “Wait, does it involve fighting?”

“Just books.”

“I can do books.”

“For now.”

Airplane bro deflated, but followed Shen Yuan to the library without protest. 

Shen Yuan told Airplane about the curse along the way, and although he looked very interested, there was no sign of recognition.

“It would have been an interesting plot point, especially with the reversal when the youngest family member is ultimately the survivor. But it never occurred to me.”

It was reassuring to hear after the glasses incident of the morning. He must have been half asleep and still dreaming—there was no curse here to come after him. But the incident reminded him of those frightening moments in his apartment when he kept hallucinating things.

“This might be a strange question,” he asked, “but did you ever write a story called The Black Powder Fan and the White Lotus Demon?”

Airplane immediately brightened, “You read it? I had to upload it to the System, I didn’t think anyone in this world would be able to follow the reader insert/transmigration angle. What did you think of it?”

“The black lotus character was interesting,” he said, judiciously.

Airplane put his hand on Shen Yuan’s shoulder, “Of course you like the Luo Binghe character. But c’mon. I’m talking to Peerless Cucumber. Tell me how you really feel!”

Well. That was unexpectedly sensible of Airplane, soliciting constructive criticism like that. Shen Yuan began to cheerfully telling him every place where he could have improved upon the characters, the setting, the pacing, the plot—”

“—ok, ok,” Airplane finally stopped him, “we’re at the library. And honestly, I can’t take it anymore. Mini Cucumber is just as ruthless as the original.”

“I actually did like it,” Shen Yuan admitted.

Airplane smiled at him, his round cheeks dimpling in pleasure.

“But I don’t think you should let that other me read it.”

Airplane shuddered, “Gods no. Can you imagine? I put a preemptive block on his account.”

They poured over scrolls all morning, casting a wide net in order to find some reference to the curse. Shen Yuan was tempted by the bestiaries, but consoled himself with the knowledge that they were waiting for him on his brother’s Qing Jing Peak too. Finally, as the sky was darkening, Shen Yuan found it.

“Here it is!”

“Mmf, hah?” Airplane said, lifting his head off his desk and surreptitiously wiping away the drool at the corner of his mouth. “Hooray,” he yawned.

“It’s just a name. The Demon of Calamitous Fortune.”

Shang Qinghua pulled over the scroll and skimmed the contents, “The demon makes blood contracts with a family line and redirects all the good fortune accrued by the family towards the direct heirs. Huh, this is interesting, because it implies that it targets the declared heir, rather than the eldest, that’s—not the point, right. I don’t see anything about how to break the contract.”

“Just that the cost of the contract is the lives of the… expendable family members, once their lifetime’s worth of fortune has been extracted,” Shen Yuan agreed, “but it’s a start. Now I know to look at demonic contracts.”

Airplane hummed thoughtfully, “I don’t know that you’ll find a lot of that here. My King has a comprehensive collection of demonic legal arrangements and contracts, I can bring you over tomorrow—uh, do you have a cloak or anything? It’s really cold.”

That night, Shen Yuan dreamed of shadows reaching for him, and Luo Binghe didn’t appear to dispel them. He woke up shivering, and the chill never really went away. Though that might have been because Airplane was right, Mobei Jun’s palace was literally freezing.

But they did find the information they needed. 

The heir had to willingly commit their own blood to renew the contract for each generation, which answered Shen Yuan’s lingering question as to how complicit his brother and father had been. Shen Yuan was tempted to go back to his own world and give them a harsh kick in the nuts.

There were two ways to sever the contract—the easiest was to fail to renew it. Now that it was locked in, there was no way that would work unless Shen Yuan was willing to kill all of his siblings before he died, and then prevent his own heir from signing the contract. 

Obviously, he wasn’t going to do that. But the other way seemed nearly as difficult.

“What does this mean, you’d have to willingly sacrifice ‘a blessing and curse of equal weight.’ Where are you going to find something else that’s a blessing and a curse?” Airplane asked, frustration clear in his voice.

“Love potions,” Mobei Jun said, surprising Shen Yuan, who hadn’t known the demon was paying attention. He just seemed to like lurking around Shang Qinghua, and kept bringing him noodles and warm blankets when Shang Qinghua ignored him for too long. Meanwhile Shen Yuan was freezing, and all he could do was sneak blankets out from under the top-most layer so neither Airplane or Mobei Jun noticed.

Shang Qinghua snapped his fingers, “the gift of love, but with the knowledge it isn’t real. A blessing, but also a curse.”

“Not to mention the consent issues or the victim’s suffering,” Shen Yuan added.

“Yeah, that too,” Shang Qinghua agreed, “but…”

“It’s not the same weight as a lifetime of good fortune.”

“Some would say love is more valuable,” Mobei murmured, reaching out for Shang Qinghua’s hand. 

Shang Qinghua patted him absently, “He’s right, though, false love wouldn’t be on par with a curse this powerful. It’s the right line of thinking, though.”

In the end, they didn’t come up with anything.

And the next day, the curse found Shen Yuan again. 

He was practicing his calligraphy alone when it happened. Or, half practicing, half writing a letter he couldn’t actually send to Luo Binghe, when the ink started to bleed, dripping down the page in oily streaks of ink. He bit his lip, checking the consistency of the ink, but it seemed fine, just as before. He’d taken his work outside, because the sound of Bingmei murmuring sweet words to Shen Qingqiu was getting to him, and perhaps it was just too humid?

And then the ink took on a life of its own, spelling out the characters “found you” on the now stark white page.

He jerked away, but the ink streamed off the page, turning into winding ropes of shadows that shot after him. 

Shen Yuan channeled his qi into his fan, slicing it through the air with a sharp, practiced gesture, but they only dissipated for a moment before spiraling into dark columns once again.

He retreated a step, only to crash into a large figure behind him. He relaxed instantly. Bingmei must have come to find him. 

But then strong hands with too long, inhuman fingers were wrapping around his wrists, pinning them behind him.

“You’ve led me on quite a chase. I don’t like coming out so obviously like this, but I hope now you realize there’s nowhere you can hide from me,” it whispered in his ear. 

The figure was pure white, and indistinct, dark shadows wreathed around it like it was nothing more than negative space. It looked unreal against the serene green landscape of Qing Jing peak, and more terrifying for it.

The shadows were twining around his legs now, as he tried futilely to wrench himself free.

“Do you know why you can’t fight my shadows? It’s because they were once just like you. Every soul paid to me for my services now bound to me forever, compelled to obey my whims for eternity. You can’t hurt your own ancestor spirits.”

From the corner of his eye, Shen Yuan could see the shadows nuzzling against the demon in a sickening display.

“You already killed me once,” Shen Yuan cursed, “can you just fuck off already?”

“Not until you are one of my shadows,” the figure said coolly, “and then I will take your sweet little sister. Thank you for leading me to her, by the way.”

Shen Yuan opened his mouth to shout, but a long twist of shadow thrust its way inside, choking him. It should have been too insubstantial to stop his cries, but it was thick in his throat, and clinging, and he couldn’t close his mouth or breathe.

He thrashed helplessly, trying to pull free as his vision blackened at the corners.

And then a bright light flashed over his head, and the hands pinning his wrists went suddenly limp, as a round, white object rolled on the ground in front of him. 

It was the demon’s head, Shen Yuan realized. Disgusted, he kicked at the body behind him, struggling to get away.

And then Bingge was there, his robes a midnight swirl of black darker than the shadows, using Xin Mo as delicately as a scalpel to cut Shen Yuan free. Shen Yuan collapsed, coughing, as it pulled away from his throat, and wrists.

“You cannot kill me,” the shadow demon’s head was hissing where it lay on the ground, and then it abruptly faded, reappearing on the stump of its neck, “And I do not answer to any demon lord.”

Binghe, face thunderous, stabbed it through the chest with Xin Mo, but even as it dissipated, it was laughing, the afterimage of its presence still burned into the air before them.

Shen Yuan shivered, knowing it would be back, now that it had found him in the only place they thought would be safe. And Luo Binghe could not fight it off forever.

“I—I’m sorry,” Bingge said, helplessly.

Shen Yuan didn’t say anything, just allowed himself to be scooped up and folded into Binghe’s arms, savoring the fleeting sense of safety he found there, with Binghe’s heart beating against his ear.

“We found the demon,” Bingge admits, “And we tried to fight it, but it’s not quite alive anymore. It exists because of the lives it’s consumed, it isn’t living in and of itself. It’s just…”

“Shadows,” Shen Yuan whispered.

“Shadows,” Bingge agreed, “Even Xin Mo cannot deal it a killing blow, only drive it away for a time. And if it hadn’t gloated to me that it had found you, I would have been too late.”

“The only thing that can dispel it is a willing sacrifice of something that is a blessing and a curse of equal weight,” Shen Yuan told him.

Bingge tugged Shen Yuan’s chin up and kissed his lips briefly. It was a reassuring gesture, not entirely sexual. He had a proud, pleased look on his face, “How did you discover this?”

“We found it in Mobei Jun’s library.”

“Clever,” Bingge praised, his grin bright, before worry clouded over it again. “Let’s bring you back to the bamboo house. At least we’ll have reinforcements there.”

On seeing the blood on Shen Yuan, Shen Qingqiu wordlessly brought out a first aid kit to patch up what wasn’t already healing by virtue of his cultivation.

Bingmei fetched clean cloths and boiled water for bandages and tea, looking frustrated and helpless.

“I take it the demon found you again,” Shen Qingqiu said eventually to Shen Yuan. “And that you were not successful in dealing with it?” to Bingge.

“Our attempts were too straightforward,” Bingge admitted, “But thanks to Shen Yuan’s research, I have an idea.”

“But?” Bingmei asked, reading his doppelganger’s hesitation.

“But there’s some risk, if it fails.”

“Can I help?” Bingmei asked, looking as though he already knew the answer.

“No, it must be done in my own world. And it would mean that we will not return here again.”

Bingmei’s eyes took on that particular shine again, “We’ll miss A'Yuan,” he said mournfully.

“Not me?” Bingge asked, leaning against the wall with a suggestive jut to his hips, his arms over his half-bared chest.

“While I appreciate that you aren’t actively trying to seduce me or tear my limbs off, no. I will not miss you,” Shen Qingqiu said, wryly. He stood up, and bowed briefly before leaving the room. 

Shen Yuan thought he must be savoring his well-delivered burn, but he returned with a polished wooden box. He was doing his wise teacher impression—maybe it was a side effect of being a peak lord, because Shen Jiu could do it too. With elegant solemnity, he gave the box to Shen Yuan, saying, “Do not open it now. Save it for when you are back in your own world, and alone. I cannot help you now, but perhaps this can be of some small aid in the future.” 

Mystified, Shen Yuan stowed it in his qiankun pouch. 

“Tell Airplane that I hope he continues writing,” Shen Yuan said.

Shen Qingqiu’s eyebrow twitched.

Liu Qingge was waiting on the other side of the portal, Cheng Luan unsheathed and his ponytail caught high like a banner unfurling in the wind.

Shen Yuan tensed, not knowing what the war god's relationship with Binghe was like, but the man just called out, "did you get to fight it?"

Like that was the only thing that mattered.

"Is that the only thing that matters to you?" Shen Jiu asked dryly, walking past him to fold Shen Yuan in his arms, "I've missed you. Let's never do that again."

"Yes, I fought it, but I could not defeat it. I don’t know how it travels between planes, but we should have some time before it can make its way back. And I now have a plan.”

At the word ‘plan,’ Liu Qingge looked significantly less enthusiastic, and sheathed Cheng Luan. Binghe cut him a glance and said dryly, “this plan will involve someone fighting the shadow demon and protecting Shen Yuan while I complete the ritual.”

An unmistakable glint entered Liu Qingge’s eyes.

“What do you need for the ritual?” Shen Jiu asked brusquely.

Luo Binghe reeled off a list of items for Shen Jiu to procure, and then quickly left to get more from his own peak. Shen Yuan was left sitting in the bamboo grove under Liu Qingge’s watchful guard. Shen Yuan picked leaves from the bamboo trees, creating a sleek green pile of them in his lap.

Eventually, Shen Yuan drew Liu Qingge into a conversation about monsters he’d fought, as the sun sank down from its apex, lengthening the shadows on the ground.

Liu Qingge was the first one to notice when one of them squirmed, splitting away from the ground, and groping towards Shen Yuan. He struck out with Cheng Luan as Shen Yuan jumped out of the way, his bamboo leaves flying in all directions. Focusing his qi, he channeled his level 2 ability, Thousand Leaves and Blossoms, to strike out at the tentacles of shadow now erupting around him.

He was fighting back to back with the famous war god of an infamous novel, and holding his own, despite the lesser effect his attacks had on the shadows. The fear pounding in his chest kept him from appreciating the surreality of the moment. And then Shen Yuan saw a message pop up in the System’s HUD display from Shen Qingqiu.

[Get to the ritual space, we’re ready.]

“Shadows incoming!” he sent back, and then he grabbed Liu Qingge’s wrist and led him to Qing Jing’s ritual hall.

The floor was covered in cinnabar markings, jade talismans and candles set at key points. And in the center of it all was Luo Binghe, eyes blazing red like the demon mark on his forehead, his black robes wind-blown from the force of the resentful aura he was exuding. It should have been frightening. 

Shen Yuan had never felt so reassured in his life.

Tang’er and Shen Jiu were standing guard by the door, and Tang’er grabbed Shen Yuan’s waist to throw him behind her, blocking shadows with her sword. It didn’t have the same effect of Xin Mo, only slicing them for a second, but it was enough for Shen Yuan to dodge out of the way. And then the shadows were pooling in the ritual circle, looming above and around Luo Binghe. The white figure of the demon stepped from the darkness they created, and set its hand around Binghe’s throat.

“You cannot protect him. The price for getting in my way is death.”

“That is not the price I will be paying today,” Luo Binghe said red eyes blazing up at it, his voice low and threatening, “I offer up this sacrifice, willingly. A blessing and a curse to grant generations power and suffering, wealth and death.”

He plunged Xin Mo into the center of the circle as the shadows tore at him, wrenching his robes into tatters until his entire torso was bare.

Was Binghe going to sacrifice himself? How could he? “Binghe, no, don’t!” he cried, but he couldn’t intervene with both of his siblings holding him back.

“I offer up Xin Mo,” Luo Binghe said. His voice was quiet, but it carried. A burst of red light seared Shen Yuan’s retinas, and when he opened his eyes, it was all gone. Xin Mo, the ritual circle, the demon, and the shadows had all vanished. All that was left were guttering candles and Binghe’s limp form, slumped where his sword had been.

“Binghe!” Shen Yuan cried, and leapt past his sister to his side, pouring spiritual energy into him through his palms, praying that whatever was wrong was something his Healing Lotus Palm ability could fix.

Binghe stirred under his hands finally, cupping them against his chest. Shen Yuan felt a small scratch and looked down to see that Binghe’s nails had lengthened into black claws, with small, onyx scales glittering around the nail beds. When he met Binghe’s eyes, they were fully red, and his ears were now subtly pointed. Shen Yuan saw the small demon mark on his forehead had expanded over his forehead, the scarlet lines now emblazoned across his cheekbones in a wild design. 

And where the demon mark swirled up near his hairline it now met a pair of fierce looking black horns, which arched back over Binghe’s curling mane of hair.

He looked like a full blooded demon. 

When he spoke, Shen Yuan noticed a sharp glint of white, Luo Binghe’s canines were long enough that they might now be considered fangs, “Do I look frightening? It’s just temporary while I regain the balance between my two natures. It seems,” he said darkly, “that I relied on Xin Mo too much.”

“It doesn’t scare me,” Shen Yuan replied. Honestly, it was really fucking hot, but Shen Yuan forced himself to prioritize. “Binghe, why would you sacrifice Xin Mo?”

Shen Yuan was dimly aware of Liu Qingge peacing out, and Shen Jiu dragging his sister away, a single nod of approval the only sign he made.

“What do I need it for anymore?” Binghe murmured, “There’s nothing else I need to look for, is there?” he asked, his eyes searching Shen Yuan’s for an answer.

Shen Yuan choked out a laugh, “Are you kidding? You could have found a whole harem of internet gremlins.”

“But I only want this one,” Binghe said, tucking a strand of hair behind Shen Yuan’s ears, his claws so deft and careful he only felt a soft brush of them against his skin.

Shen Yuan shivered, and then scolded him, “You are too fucking smooth. What am I going to do with you? How am I going to replace an all-powerful weapon like that?”

“Hmm,” Binghe agreed, his eyes dancing.

“I suppose it’s my turn to stay and protect you now,” Shen Yuan sighed in mock reluctance.

Binghe smiled widely, the flash of fangs unfairly adorable. And then he dragged Shen Yuan to the floor and kissed him amidst the paint and melting wax.

It was a while before Shen Jiu would stop fussing long enough to let Shen Yuan return to the Demonic Cultivation Peak, and by the time he crossed the rainbow bridge he was squirming with anticipation... and other things.

It had been a week since he’d opened Shen Qingqiu’s mysterious package, in the privacy of the small bedroom in the bamboo house. And when he did, he understood why Shen Qingqiu had stressed that he should be alone. 

It was a silk lined case that held flawless jade plugs of increasing sizes; and a vial of clear, faintly shimmering liquid. There was also a note:

Shen Yuan,

I am sorry if I did not seem more welcoming when you arrived in our world. It was terrifying in no small amount to see an echo of my own past in you. I'd left behind the identity of ‘Shen Yuan’ so long ago, but suddenly I could see that old version of myself in your expressive face, your raw expression of emotion. And my husband could see it too. It is… very mortifying to be known.

My husband learned my name for the first time that day. And I was forced to wonder if I’d adapted too much to the mask I’ve been wearing. 

I also feared that my Binghe might become more attached to you than was wise… but though he is fond of you, it has taken the shape of a rampant desire for children. There are, I suppose, worse outcomes.

I think it is safe to say that our paths have diverged so wholly at this point to make us entirely different individuals, with our own separate personalities and fates. But if our Luo Binghe’s have anything in common, you will need the contents of this box.

Good luck.

I am sorry I will not have the opportunity to know you in the future.

Shen Qingqiu

Speaking of mortifying, getting sexual aids from an alternate version of yourself had to be up there, right? 

But Shen Yuan had felt Luo Binghe’s massive size, and he wasn’t too proud to begin applying himself to the task at hand. 

Though first, he opened the System’s email menu, and typed out a quick reply:

T hanks for the buttplugs, old me! Feel free to send me a message anytime in the future (seriously, did you not know this function existed?) (^_~) ♥♥♥ 

SY

Airplane escorted him into the study, which was looking much better, and left him there, patting his arm with a “glad you’re not dead,” before he vanished off to wherever he was needed. Shen Yuan was debating whether or not to tell him about the other Airplane he’d met. He was sure they’d get along, but what if they decided to collaborate on novels? No world would be safe.

Binghe rose from his desk, his face, for the first time, holding some of the same gentleness as Bingmei’s. He was looking mostly human again too, which Shen Yuan was trying not to be disappointed about. Binghe strode over to Shen Yuan before he could approach, cupping his face in his large palm and looking down at him.

“Are you well?”

“Am I well? You’re the one who has to adjust to losing Xin Mo.”

“I wasn’t doing nearly enough dual cultivation to sustain it,” Binghe said shamelessly, “Something I had hoped to remedy soon.”

Shen Yuan smacked him lightly in the chest, “Be serious!”

“No, I would prefer not to be serious. But to your point, Xin Mo did grant me a substantial amount of power, however, I believe I’m already strong enough on my own.”

“The strongest,” Shen Yuan agreed, which made Binghe smile—just a small, shy thing, but Shen Yuan had seen it. 

Binghe coughed and continued dryly, “And the effect it had on my constitution and personality isn’t something I’ll miss,”

“It’s still a lot to have given up just for me,” Shen Yuan said, averting his gaze from Binghe’s eyes.

"When I first brought you here, I thought about leaving you to your family. You'd saved me, and I'd saved you. There was no debt between us."

“Why didn’t you?”

“It’s not in my nature. I’d never let go of something I want so easily,” Binghe said, voice teasing.

Despite his light tone, Shen Yuan thought he understood. Binghe hadn’t just sought him out for a debt, he had searched for someone who had already sacrificed everything for him, who had cared for him in a moment of panic and intense fear. For Luo Binghe, who wanted above all to be loved despite his heritage, his misdeeds, and failings, it would have been an irresistible lure. 

Although Shen Yuan hadn’t known who he was dying for, that instinct to protect a struggling child was the same impulse that made his heart clench when he’d read about Luo Binghe’s loveless adolescence. He didn’t have any barriers against that helpless feeling. He’d always loved Luo Binghe, even when he was just words on a screen. 

And now here was his favorite character, standing before him, radiating sex appeal and power, and Shen Yuan knew underneath it all, that he was lonely. Still a vulnerable soul reaching out for a connection.

Luo Binghe had searched through foreign universes for unconditional love, and the only thing he'd gotten for his troubles was Shen Yuan. But now he had given up that search, and his priceless golden finger, for a small, sarcastic internet gremlin.

“So the gifts weren’t in thanks? Or the gourmet lunches?” Shen Yuan asked innocently, cocking his head, “Were you wooing me, Luo Binghe?”

“Yes,” Luo Binghe said, his voice low.

“I suppose it’s time I give you a gift in return then,” Shen Yuan said, and leaned forward to give Binghe a small kiss on his full lips.

Look, it was supposed to be one of those deep, impassioned movie kisses, but Binghe was too tall for Shen Yuan to dip, and secondly, he sort of lost his nerve. 

“Was that it?” Binghe asked, his eyes sparkling as though he knew it wasn’t.

"Um, I was hoping to give you the rest somewhere more private," he said, unconsciously clenching down on the jade plug—the largest one—and feeling it shift inside him. 

Binghe's eyes snapped to his, his pupils dilating as he understood Shen Yuan's meaning.

Then he was lifting Shen Yuan up in an effortless princess carry, and striding through his Palace, past a stunned Shang Qinghua and a smirking Sha Hualing, until finally they reached Binghe's private chambers.

Shen Yuan barely had a chance to appreciate them before he was tossed to the giant bed, sprawling amidst cushions and silk sheets.

He leaned up to begin taking off his clothes, but Binghe was there first, gently drawing his robes down his shoulders, parting the cloth over his chest, “Allow me,” he purred. 

His kisses were drugging Shen Yuan into compliance, and he allowed himself to be lifted like a doll as Binghe stripped him, until he was nude against the sheets. He didn’t feel shy until Binghe stepped back to look at him, and reached to drag a sheet back over his flushing skin. But Binghe pinned his wrist to the bed, grinning wolfishly.

“You’re still dressed,” Shen Yuan rebuked him, and Binghe began taking off his clothes, slowly at first, until the black claws came curling out of his fingertips and slashing the rich fabric to pieces. 

It was kind of cool looking, if a waste of a robe that had really been doing it for Binghe’s… everything. But Binghe looked stunned and a little dismayed as his demonic characteristics appeared.

He stepped sharply back from the bed, and Shen Yuan rose up, meaning to follow him, but Binghe stretched out his clawed hand to prevent him.

“I apologize, I thought I had it under control but seeing you, I…” he trailed off, looking frustrated, and slightly pouty, “I will not trouble you.”

“Oh, hey, wow, no,” Shen Yuan said, practically tripping as he climbed over the edge of the bed to fling himself at Binghe. “Please trouble me! Unless you don’t want to! But I want to!”

“I’ve seen your world, and it does not have demons, or monstrous forms like mine,” Binghe said, “I cannot expect you to adjust to it so quickly.”

Shen Yuan was not going to explain monster fucking culture to Luo Binghe, or justify his search history—RIP laptop, good thing it didn’t transmigrate!

“It’s good,” he said firmly, “I, uh. I don’t need to adjust to anything. I really—do I have to say it?”

“Mm.”

“I really like this side of you! It’s actually, uh, really attractive,” he said, reaching up to stroke one of Binghe’s horns, and then reached up and grabbed the other one and used them to gently pull Binghe’s head down to his for what was meant to be a short kiss. 

It was not short. Shen Yuan was breathing heavily, but he forced himself to say, “And even if it wasn’t super hot, I think you should know. I don’t need you to be perfect, or perfectly in control for me to—ooof!”

Shen Yuan landed back on the bed and Binghe stalked back across the room, prowling over him and pushing him back against the sheet.

“There’s only one problem,” Binghe said, almost growling, “I can’t prepare you like this,” he held up his hand, displaying the long, wickedly sharp claws.

“Haha,” Shen Yuan said, “about that…” his face was too thin for him to actually say it, so he brought Luo Binghe’s hand down between his thighs, to the flared base of the plug. It was damp with the small amount of lube leaking out, and as Binghe tugged on it with the tip of his claws, it slipped back in, making Shen Yuan gasp.

“This,” Binghe said, “is an excellent gift. I accept.”

He pulled it out again partway, and then let go watching intently as it was sucked back in. Shen Yuan made a high, pleading sound. It had been tormenting him all day, every time he moved, he felt it inside him. 

“Don’t play with it,” he said, “just pull it out.”

“But you make such delightful sounds when I play with it,” Binghe said, tugging on it slightly until Shen Yuan whimpered.

“Could you come just from this, I wonder?” he asked.

“Ah, please,” Shen Yuan said, trying to writhe away up the bed so that the plug wouldn’t go back in, but of course it did. His breath hitched. “I want you closer, when—when…”

“When you come?” Binghe finished for him, “don’t worry, I’m right here,” he said.

And then he bent down and pulled the plug out with his teeth.

Shen Yuan could feel Binghe’s hot breath on his hole, his tongue flicking around the rim.

“Ah, wha—” Shen Yuan gasped.

“You’ve prepared yourself so well for me, but I need to make sure you’re ready everywhere,” Binghe said, continuing to lick a wet stripe up past Shen Yuan’s perineum and balls until his mouth closed around the tip of Shen Yuan’s cock.

He’d pressed Shen Yuan’s thighs up until he was practically bent in half. Shen Yuan tugged his hair, and then pulled on the black horns, trying to coax Binghe free before Shen Yuan came in his mouth.

Binghe just slid his mouth down farther around the base, the wet, clinging heat of his mouth overpowering Shen Yuan’s ability to think until he was pushing unconsciously, his grasp on Binghe’s horns steering Binghe further down on his cock until he came.

Binghe pet his quivering stomach, soothing him through his orgasm, his mouth still clamped around Shen Yuan’s cock, which never even softened, still primed from the overstimulation, which was beginning to hurt. Shen Yuan tugged him away sharply until Binghe pulled free, licking his lips in what Shen Yuan felt was overdramatic satisfaction.

“I like it when you take control like that,” Binghe practically purred, “make whatever demands of me you like.”

“I want you,” Shen Yuan said, practically snarling with frustration, “to put. It. In.”

Binghe grinned boyishly, “Oh, is that what you wanted?”

Shen Yuan pushed him until Binghe fell back on the bed, sitting half upright braced on his elbows. The picture he made, supine and laughing in the mess of the sheets was unfairly hot, and Shen Yuan flushed, forgetting what he’d intended to do.

Seeing this, Binghe sat up, and coaxed him into his arms.

“Here, I’ve got you,” he said, “raise up just a little for me? Ah, there we go, you did such a good job, I’m sliding right in.”

Straddling Binghe’s thickly muscled thighs, Shen Yuan sank down on Binghe’s cock, slowly, until it stroked a spot inside that made his nerves light up with sparks, and then he dropped abruptly all the way down with a whimper. He could feel Binghe’s cock stretching him deep inside, further than the plug could reach. 

Binghe gently pulled Shen Yuan’s arms around his neck so that his boneless form could rest against Binghe’s chest, and then he wrapped his hands around Shen Yuan’s hips, claws pressing into his skin with a sweet, subtle sting, and began rocking Shen Yuan up and down on his cock.

The feeling of Binghe’s huge cock driving up into him, splitting him in half, made Shen Yuan climax again, the white spurt of his release spattering against where his own cock rubbed along Binghe’s abs.

Without even pulling out, Binghe carefully settled Shen Yuan down on his back against the sheets, kissing his neck sweetly as Shen Yuan shuddered against him.

“Can you keep going?” Binghe asked.

His cock was still hard and hot inside Shen Yuan’s body, and he was so oversensitive, he felt like he would float out of his skin, but he nodded. He didn’t want Binghe to pull out, possibly forever. 

Binghe fucked him slowly as he came down from his orgasm, reading his gasps and moans  like road signs until obviously he felt like Shen Yuan could handle more. He wasn’t wrong. By the time he was thrusting roughly into Shen Yuan so hard that he could feel it in his throat, Shen Yuan was begging for it, his words incoherent, but clearly understood.

Shen Yuan came again when he felt Binghe release inside him, Binghe’s cock pulsing deep within the clutch of his body.

He felt utterly spent, every muscle loose and weak from pleasure. Binghe eyed him in satisfaction, petting his hair gently and kissing him sweetly on the lips until he pulled free. He wiped them clean with a soft cloth, whispering soft praise to Shen Yuan until he wriggled under the sheets and hid his face under the blanket, unable to take it.

Binghe just followed him, spooning up behind him, and kissing his neck.

Shen Yuan, still oversensitive, mustered every bit of energy he had to roll over to face him, but Binghe’s face was still flushed pink with pleasure, looking so innocently pleased that Shen Yuan couldn’t scold him. Now sated, his more overtly demonic traits had subsided, so there was no flash of fangs when he smiled, and no claws on the large hand that clasped Shen Yuan’s.

“Marry me,” Binghe said.

“Binghe,” Shen Yuan said severely, “You don’t need to marry everyone you have sex with, honestly!”

“I know,” Binghe laughed, a bright, uninhibited sound, “I didn’t even do that in my last life, you know. I only married the ones I liked.”

“There were still too many!  You should be more careful who you ask,” Shen Yuan said, smacking him in his stupidly perfect chest.

Binghe nudged his chin up with one finger until Shen Yuan had to look him in the eyes, “I am being careful of who I ask. This time, I only want to marry one person. And I told you I am done searching.”

“Oh,” Shen Yuan said, lamely. Wow, Shen Jiu was going to be so pissed. But he didn’t care, “I want to court first. Can we do that? I’m,” he closed his eyes, and finished in a rush, “I’m going to say yes, because I’m already in love with you, and I’ve been in love with you since you helped me make congee, but I want to date first. Court, I mean.” 

“Why wait when we don’t need to?” Binghe asked, cocking his head slightly in confusion. 

Shen Yuan officially hated that he could pull off cute expressions like that. It was an unfair advantage! 

“Because it’s fun. And it’ll give my brother time to get used to the idea. But mostly,” he said, “I want to be careful for you, too.”

Shen Yuan was a nerd, just recently a virgin, in love with the most beautiful man in several universes, and justly insecure about it. But he was also beginning to suspect that he had just as much power to break Binghe’s heart as Binghe had over him. He wasn’t going to be heedless with that power.

“Saving me again?” Luo Binghe said, “Slow doesn’t sound bad, when you say it like that.”

“Mm,” Shen Yuan confirmed. 

“But this way, you’ll have to meet my father first.”

“Alright—wait, what father?!”

Binghe laughed, and said, “you’re not the only one bringing terrifying in-laws to the table. But he’s only tried to destroy the world that one time.”

Shen Yuan stared at him. 

Binghe grinned back innocently, “don’t worry, I think he’ll like you. My cousin, on the other hand, might like you too much.”

“You know what? I’ve changed my mind, let’s elope.”

“No, it’s too late, I already have plans for courting you,” Binghe said, “I hope you’re ready.”

THE END