open post: in a carefully staged pavilion

[peaklordshen]

Shen Qingqiu is luxuriating in having his cultivation restored. He's also steeling himself for his next conversation with Luo Binghe, trying to engineer everything about it so he doesn't fucking die. The combination means he is being... maybe a little bit extra.

The Mansion's closets have a strange way of giving him the clothing he's used to; apparently both as Shen Qingqiu and—before that. He ignores the array of jeans and Naruto t-shirts and selects a set of fine silk robes in greens of deepening hue, so that the crossed layers at his throat imitate the sequential layers of a bamboo shoot: from forest green passing through spring green and jade to near-white as they reach his skin. He also takes great care with his hair and his guan—he can't look like a slob in front of the Emperor.

There are several beautiful Chinese-style pavilions on the Mansion grounds¹, and he chooses one in the shadow of a blossoming cherry tree. The sun is high, painting dappled shadows across the floor of the pavilion as the blossoms sway in the breeze. He fetches a small writing table and sets it up on one side of the pavilion. Under it he tucks the congee, rescued from the rice cooker, which is...well, it can charitably be said to smell like it might be edible. As long as Binghe doesn't think he's being intentionally poisoned, maybe it'll be okay?

He takes great care with the invitation. He considers writing it with the very expensive pen Crowley had conjured for him, but it feels wrong, not to grind his own ink for it; disrespectful, somehow. Thankfully he keeps an extra brush and ink stone in the qiankun pouch in his sleeve. He crumples up several drafts before he's happy with his calligraphy,² and decorates the edges of the page with bamboo leaves and elegant black lotuses.

If he were really doing this properly, he'd have taken the time to boil some cherry blossom petals, distill their steam into perfume, and then add it to the ink—but he'd felt like he was risking his life just going back into the kitchens for the congee. It's the most likely place for Luo Binghe to be, after all, since there's no throne room or audience hall here, and the whole point of the invitation in the first place is for them to meet on Shen Qingqiu's respectful and very much non-confrontational terms.

He folds the invitation and marks it with Luo Binghe's name and a small talisman that both seeks his former disciple and makes sure he's the only one who can open it. With a wave of his hand he sends it wafting away on the breeze, and then settles back. To wait. He has a small stack of parchment at his elbow, so when Luo Binghe arrives—or if anyone else should happen upon him—he can pretend he had something occupying him rather than just sitting here, paralyzed with anticipation.

¹ As established by Temeraire.
² This is definitely just him being obsessive and a perfectionist. As Peak Lord of the scholar's peak at Cang Qiong, Shen Qingqiu's calligraphy is impeccable. He's won contests.

Comments

[sagramore]

Sagramore actually has been thinking of Shen Qingqiu -- he remembers the way the young man was so talkative and sharp-eyed, observing everything, until the moment he was overcome with poison and had to be helped to bed. Also, there was an offer of flying on a sword, which he's not entirely sure wasn't an elaborate joke at his expense, but if it wasn't, is very intriguing.

So when he sees Shen Qingqiu in the pavilion, he immediately stops, leaning against one of the wooden support pillars. "Shen Qingqiu!" He sounds absolutely delighted to see him. "How are you?"

[peaklordshen]

Shen Qingqiu looks up, a pleased smile of his own spreading across his face that he doesn't bother to hide. "Sir Sagramore! I am well—thanks to the kindness of my fellow cultivators here. Fully restored to my strength, for the time being." To demonstrate, he lifts a cherry blossom from his writing desk and imbues it with spiritual energy, sending it floating over to Sagramore.

[sagramore]

Sagramore catches it out of the air with his deft fingers. "Wait a moment, does that mean you aren't poisoned any more?"

[peaklordshen]

Shen Qingqiu shakes his head. "Unfortunately not—it's chronic." He waves his fan as if dismissing an annoying fly. "Don't concern yourself, though—my own cultivation is high enough to keep it from killing me, most of the time. I've lived with it for—" he thinks about it for a moment. Binghe had been fifteen when Sha Hualing attacked the peak, and he was seventeen at the Immortal Alliance conference..."Three years or so, I'm quite used to it."

[sagramore]

"Are you sure?" clearly disappointed. "It's one thing to be used to something. If there's anything you need help with, I'm always here and there."

[peaklordshen]

"Ah, don't look so downcast, brave sir," Shen Qingqiu jokes, standing up. "I've learned to take advantage of my powers while I have them." It's an exaggeration—he really doesn't do much of anything, even with Liu-shidi constantly on hand, especially since the Abyss, preferring to wander gloomily around the bamboo house and wait for his inevitable doom—but Sir Sagramore doesn't know that, and Shen Qingqiu doesn't like how disappointed he seems. Things are great! He's back to baseline! He's going to be waiting a long time if he's hoping for Shen Qingqiu to be actually cured.¹

He crosses the pavilion to Sir Sagramore. "If you do wish to fly on a sword, this may be our chance," he offers, coming to stand next to him and look out at the beautiful blustery day.

¹ Unless—but of course that's never going to happen.

[sagramore]

He's still let-down on Shen Qingqiu's behalf (it's hard not to think, even for a moment, of how profoundly different his life would be if he no longer had to worry about spells of sickness), but Shen Qingqiu seems philosophical enough about it. More than that, Shen Qingqiu seems happy right now, and he doesn't want to be the one to spoil that by dwelling on things that can't be changed.

So he grins again, and knocks his shoulder lightly against Shen Qingqiu's. "I don't like to leave chances untaken."

[protagonisthalo]

The letter finds Luo Binghe in the library, once again perusing the novels. He has a fondness for them—like any child who grew up wishing he were elsewhere, he supposes—and those in the mansion, being from other worlds, contain unimaginable marvels. He has just selected one to read when he senses spiritual qi at his elbow, a moment before the letter sticks itself to his arm. He peels it off and flicks it open.

Is this... an invitation from Shen Qingqiu? For Luo Binghe, who has spent over ten years making a study of this man, his new unpredictability is alarming. As though he woke to find the ground a step lower than where he left it.

And the formality of the note—as if directed at one of his fellow Peak Lords, not the disciple he cast out. Luo Binghe doesn't understand the significance that Shen Qingqiu intends by the lotuses, but the time and care put into them guts him. How is he meant to react to this? Who could tolerate being treated so reverently? It makes him almost sick, how quickly he's gone from hating this man to craving his notice. Does Shen Qingqiu mean to make a fool of him for his weakness?

He did tell the man to make things up to him. Luo Binghe will give him the chance. He makes his way to the pavilion, Nina's words about different paths echoing in his head.

Luo Binghe sees Shen Qingqiu from afar as he approaches, just as he did when Shen Qingqiu first arrived. Back then, he felt nothing but fear and revulsion, but this picture, Shen Qingqiu in such fine robes, thoughtfully studying under the cherry blossoms... He could be any beauty waiting for Luo Binghe in a garden. Luo Binghe cannot calm his heart. Unsettled, he stands at the edge of the pavilion and clears his throat.

"You requested my presence." Already he's said the wrong thing—it makes it sound as though he's at Shen Qingqiu's disposal. "Well? I hope you've come up with some way to impress me."

[peaklordshen]

The talisman Shen Qingqiu set up to inform him when Luo Binghe opened his invitation changes color what feels like hours before the man himself arrives, though it can't be more than the few minutes it took to walk from wherever he'd been in the Mansion. Shen Qingqiu pretends not to watch him approach, though he's watching so intently from the corner of his eyes that they ache. He'd seen Binghe here before, of course, but seeing him here, in this setting—the Protagonist approaching the beautiful garden pavilion, light and shadow shifting over his face—oh, he's fucking stupid, he should have done this in the ugliest basement storeroom he could find so he'd actually be able to think of what to say. How could anyone be faced with such a sight and not be struck dumb?

"Thank you," he says, finally, nonsensically, and then, with a little self-deprecating laugh that he's too nervous to stop, "I have made—an attempt. It's not—obviously it's not enough, and I doubt you will actually be impressed, but maybe it's a start, maybe I can—impress upon you my sincerity, at least." He takes the bowl of congee from under the table, setting it down on the opposite side, and the spoon next to it. He can't even stand to look at it, so he raises his eyes again to Luo Binghe instead, overture made, waiting to see if it is accepted.

[protagonisthalo]

He is unbearably charming. Luo Binghe doesn't want to think it, but he can't help himself—the way Shen Qingqiu stumbles over his words makes his heart judder painfully in his chest. His vulnerability, his shy, almost coy demeanor... It's the complete antithesis of Shen Qingqiu, and the walls that Shen Qingqiu himself built around Luo Binghe's easily-bruised core are crumbling to dust. He resolves to reject the attempt, whatever it is. He can't allow himself to be won over so easily; it would destroy him.

But then he sits down at the chair Shen Qingqiu has indicated for him, and looks at what's in front of him. It's a dish of rice—it seems to be several different types of rice in one dish, some of it oddly dark?—topped with a large piece of salmon. Shen Qingqiu cooked for him? It's a strange-looking dish, but perhaps Shen Qingqiu knows some arcane cooking techniques unknown to Luo Binghe—and besides—

His Shen Qingqiu would forbid him from eating dinner with the rest of the disciples, and reprimand anyone who brought him food. And this man says it's obviously not enough. The bowl of rice hurts to look at; it blurs alarmingly in his vision before he blinks hard. "You... made this?"

[peaklordshen]

Shen Qingqiu can't quite parse the look on Luo Binghe's face. There's surprise in it, at first, which makes sense; certainly the original goods had never cooked for Luo Binghe, or for anyone else, for that matter. But then it shifts into something else, something dismayed and fragile and altogether like the shining disciple Luo Binghe Shen Qingqiu had cherished—and then betrayed.

His heart hurts. He makes himself nod, instead of reaching out to him, though his hands twitch to touch, to smooth his hair back from his forehead. "It's congee," he says, in case he can't tell. Because I know you like it, he doesn't say, because he's not supposed to know that. Like I saw you make for your mother, he doesn't say, in a dream we never shared.

[protagonisthalo]

The perfect serendipity of it makes Luo Binghe choke. A dish he associates with the one person who's ever truly loved him, served to him by the man who taught him never to expect that love from anyone ever again. Even as a child, in his frantic desperation for Shen Qingqiu's approval, he would never have been shameless enough to dream of it. Wildly, he thinks again that this must be a dream, this cannot be real—but he's looked and looked for signs of dream cultivation and found nothing. Every one of his senses is telling him that he's truly here, being served this innovative, unusual congee by Shen Qingqiu, or at least someone who looks like him. (But not entirely like him—the way this man uses that face, he almost looks like a different person.)

He glances up at that face now. Shen Qingqiu looks so nervous, his fingers twitching, mouth working like there's more he wishes to say but doesn't dare. Luo Binghe wants to hear it. After so many years of recrimination and abuse, he has a boundless thirst for any kind word Shen Qingqiu has for him. The depth of his need scares him; surely Shen Qingqiu can't possibly care enough for him to meet it.

He picks up the chopsticks and takes a bite.

... It's not good. Salt is the overwhelming flavor, and the texture does nothing to rescue it. Half the rice is overcooked, but the long brown pieces are still tough and chewy. Are they twigs? And underneath the salt, the whole thing tastes of plain boiled salmon. He swallows with some difficulty. He might think it's a practical joke, meant to make a fool of him after all, except that he saw Shen Qingqiu's hopeful, apprehensive face before he tried it. Luo Binghe often cooks for people he's trying to impress, because he is confident in his skills. But Shen Qingqiu clearly can't cook, and he still—he still wanted to—

"It's terrible," Luo Binghe whispers, and wipes furiously at the corner of his eye with his sleeve.

[peaklordshen]

Oh, god. Shen Qingqiu's congee is so bad it's making Luo Binghe cry. Luo Bingge! Blackened stallion and emperor of the three realms!! Shen Qingiu has read all six thousand, six hundred and sixty-six chapters of Proud Immortal Demon Way, and Luo Bingge hasn't cried since chapter fifteen, when he was still eleven years old.

He didn't think he'd put much spice in it, or onion—what the hell could he have done to make it so terrible??

He immediately bows his head. "My apology for the insult," he says, and it comes out a little stiffly—feels wrong, after the tenderness he'd just been smote with, but he can't forget that this isn't his Binghe, and he has no reason to forgive him even the smallest misstep. "I—misjudged; if you will give me another chance—" he starts to stand.

[wickedwit]

Claudius is in a sanguine humor once more, pun absolutely unintended. He has his health, his friends, an eager and open-minded lover, and no nagging sense of responsibility for the fate of the mansion. He's not one to trust in divine providence, even if he can never shake the habit of looking for signs, but it's easy to believe matters will work themselves out -- with or without God's hand in them. When he comes across Shen Qingqiu in the garden, his eyes light with playful interest, like a cat who's just spotted the flickering tail of a ribbon it could turn into its prey.

"Peak Lord Shen," he says, with deliberate emphasis. "You're looking well. I believe you have a story to tell me."

[peaklordshen]

Shen Qingqiu sighs, but sets aside his papers. The pain and worry lines in Claudius' face have eased. If he were to let Shen Qingqiu touch his wrist, he'd be able to tell for real, now, but guesswork has worked so far. "I see you're free of your affliction," he says. "I'm glad." And he is—for one thing, it means Luo Binghe probably won't show up to their meeting fresh from tearing him apart and still full of murderous intent.

[wickedwit]

“Are you? Well, I’m glad to hear there’s no hard feelings after our little tiff. Very august and wise of you. It’s a role you play well, even when you’re making pointed, unsympathetic remarks about pride to a dying man.” Claudius laughs, leaning against a pillar of the pavilion and idly waving a hand. “No hard feelings here, either, of course.”

[peaklordshen]

Shen Qingqiu narrows his eyes at Claudius. "I don't know why there would be," he says, primly, "given that I told you the possible solutions to your problem, and clearly at least one of them worked." He props his chin on his hand. "I doubt it was the blood-drinking, so Luo Binghe must have more mercy in him than you were able to admit, in your terror of death."

[wickedwit]

Claudius rolls his eyes. "Oh, come off it. Do you really think Luo Binghe is a merciful man? And if you do, do you expect anyone else to see it? He likes to boast about the empire he rules through terror. He tortured me for a day on a whim. You either have a very good story about how all his faults are yours and he isn't responsible for any of his monstrous actions, or you're blindly in love with him." He throws the last words lightly, more to needle than to hit. Shen Qingqiu is straight as an arrow, after all.

[peaklordshen]

Shen Qingqiu is about to insist that he does have such a story, thank you very much, when he processes the second suggestion. "I—what?" he says, startled. "I'm not in love—I mean, obviously Bingge is—I mean, who wouldn't be—" he stops, affronted. "You're the one who kissed him!!"

[ravkanwitch]

Nina marvels at the beauty of the pavilion and the cherry blossom tree before noticing Shen Qingqiu there. She’s more curious than ever about him after her conversation with Luo Binghe.

At the moment, she’s too far away to sense anything he might be thinking but before she approaches, she steels her resolve to not use her abilities, to stay present in the beautiful sun-lit world and not reach into that dark stream of consciousness. She’s not certain if it will work - but it’s a courtesy she can attempt to offer.

“Hello again,” is all she says, giving him a friendly smile.

[peaklordshen]

Shen Qingqiu looks up from reading Blood at Dusk. "Nina," he says, smiling a little. "I suppose my thoughts were loud enough to summon you from across the grounds."

He does have a lot to think about—which is why he's reading trashy vampire fiction for his Bingge book club instead. If he's getting mad at the complete uselessness of Isabelle as a protagonist he doesn't have to rethink everything he'd said to Binghe himself, or everything he'd said to Binghe as a child, or everything he'd let slip to Sagramore, or before that Claudius, or any of the other myriad ways his boat is springing leaks. Apparently, if Shen Qingqiu had been on the Titanic, he would have spent the whole descent reading a somehow even worse knock-off of Twilight.

[ravkanwitch]

“What’s Twilight?” She asks, with a little smile. “I’m trying to not listen, if I’m going to be honest with you. I know it’s… rude and disconcerting. I promise that I’m not doing it on purpose.”

[peaklordshen]

"That's very kind of you," says Shen Qingqiu, drily. He means it, but in a kind of and probably useless, so what's the point sort of way. "And—Twilight is a book series from my world. A really terrible book series, full of contrived plots and flimsy romance and bad characterization. There's a vampire, or like a bunch of vampires, but they're all still going to high school for some reason, and then this girl—Anyway." He slips an extra scrap of talisman paper into Blood at Dusk, marking his place. "This is somehow worse. Maybe because they're in college, so you can't even chalk up the bad decision-making to being teens." He shrugs. "But B—Luo Binghe¹ wants to hear what I think, so."

¹ Just calling Binghe 'Binghe' is too intimate, and he's trying to stop doing it whenever he notices himself slipping up. Which is like, one eighth of the time he slips up.

[ravkanwitch]

“That sounds like the Princess and the Barbarian, one of the tales from Ravka,” Nina says. “It’s also a terrible romance series about a Ravkan princess who gets kidnapped by a Fjerdan barbarian. She gets taken to a cave where they eventually fall in love and— …Anyway, Luo Binghe gave you that book to read?”

[peaklordshen]

Shen Qingqiu snorts. "Oh, of course, a cave. Why is it always a cave? Like I get the appeal of the whole, like, primitive masculinity thing, someone shoves you down on furs or whatever because they're just so overcome with lust, but come on. Stone floor. Way uncomfortable!! That poor girl's back!!" He coughs, remembering himself. "And. Yes. We—" he hesitates. "Talked. He was... better disposed toward me than I expected.¹ Do I have you to thank for that?"

¹ This is both understatement and kind of just ?????-statement. He still has no idea what to make of Bingge's behavior towards him.