Chapter Text
Shen Qingqiu had never expected to marry, and a marriage to the Demon Emperor and (formerly?) fictional character Luo Binghe was a definite surprise. Sometimes, in the months-long interval between their sweet, private moment–their sort-of ceremony and engagement at home–and this imperial spectacle, Shen Qingqiu would wake in a cold sweat thinking it had all been a dream. Was he really marrying the unstoppable, unbelievably fucky protagonist of a terrible webnovel he obsessively hate-read?
He was, though. And he was… actually really happy about it. At first, he’d wanted to go along with Luo Binghe’s impromptu private run-through of the various marriage etiquettes and ceremonies. But he’d then realized… this was the demon emperor! Luo Binghe had not, and given all that had happened and Shen Qingqiu’s place in the world, likely would not crush the demon realm with an iron fist. He’d smashed it up a bit, yes, but there had been no decimation, no bloody wars and endless rounds of single combat. Hell, there had been no merging of the realms! Luo Binghe needed all the clout and respect he could get to hold on to power. Slowly, haltingly, he’d convinced Luo Binghe that they probably should have a… a public wedding, a state wedding. It wasn’t that Shen Qingqiu wanted one! It’s just, it was what was best for Luo Binghe.
There needed to be a great deal of pomp and circumstance. There were uncomfortable outfits. There had been a great deal of gnashing of teeth and rending of garments in the planning–Luo Binghe was, once he’d been convinced of the necessity of a state wedding, a bit of a bridezilla. There was a banquet menu for thousands, and hadn’t THAT been a tribulation! Luo Binghe’s opinions about food and cooking were numerous and particular. Everything had to be just so. Once he’d bought in, he’d bought in fully, and then expanded the ambit of the plan. He wanted his Peak Lord husband respected by his demonic subjects, and he wanted to BE respected by the righteous cultivators who were understandably skeptical of the whole shebang. He didn’t just want the demons he ruled cowed and awed, he wanted everyone to find him consequential. A fine line to walk, except the line had to traverse multiple dimensions! Oof, it had been a long time since Shen Qingqiu had taken multivariable calculus, and this endeavor had felt much harder.
Shen Qingqiu had helped; of course he’d helped. Helping Luo Binghe was, perhaps, the meaning of his second life, now that he had control over it. He’d collared Shang Qinghua and between the two of them they were able to stuff the ceremony and banquet with every symbol and ritual and display that would predispose the various and disparate cultures in attendance to respect their union and their power. He knew his labors in the fandom wiki would come in handy someday!!
And now, the ceremony was complete. They were married, in the eyes of the cultivation sects and the demon realms. No one had tripped or farted; neither he nor Luo Binghe had spilled anything, neither tea nor blood; no fights had broken out that weren’t pre-scripted and part of the spectacle. Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu, dressed sumptuously and intimidatingly and sitting at the head of the banquet, had even been able to enjoy a little of Luo Binghe’s frankly spectacular menu-planning and recipe testing. The toasts had been bearable-to-enjoyable, and the evening was winding down. They were nearing the part of the evening with their planned and orchestrated exit, withdrawing to an exactingly-prepared marital bed full of prosperity, good fortune, and fertility totems. That last had given Shen Qingqiu pause, but Luo Binghe had sworn up and down it was just for tradition’s sake, and wouldn’t actually get either of them up the duff. They merely had to endure a few more approaches and well-wishers, and it would all be over. Shen Qingqiu congratulated himself on a job well done.
The slime demon in front of them finally finished sucking up to Luo Binghe, and Shen Qingqiu automatically dipped his head slightly, in unison with his husband, to acknowledge its bows. As it slithered away, he saw that it was Madame Meiyin next in line.
The famous succubus was resplendent in her many-layered jewel-toned robes, her beautiful face framed with a complicated hairstyle dripping with gold ornaments. Truly, she was a powerful love interest. Never a wife, but often a lover; a unique position for a woman in PIDW. She was skilled and powerful and a leader in her own right. Liu Mingyan would always be Shen Qingqiu’s favorite PIDW wife, but Madame Meiyin demanded respect.
She bowed deeply and elegantly before them. “Junshang; Peak Lord Shen. Congratulations on your marriage.”
“Thank you, Madame,” Shen Qingqiu returned.
“Do you remember, Peak Lord Shen, when I told your fortune?” the succubus asked, a slight smile on her lips.
Despite himself, Shen Qingqiu huffed a brief laugh. “I do! And of course, you were right about all of it; my eyes were blind to the truth then, but I’ve learned better now.”
“Oh, indeed?” Madame Meiyin inquired, a laugh in her voice. “Have you learned better? To my eye, despite your mutual staggering devotion, you still have much to learn,” and with this–she–she leered at them! Very clearly, with the elevator eyes, and the raised eyebrow and—everything!
Shen Qingqiu sputtered, behind his very special, custom-made, scarlet wedding fan. “What!”
Luo Binghe, given his husband’s clear disgruntlement, could not let that comment stand unrebuked. He leaned forward, and with a red gleam in his eye, cautioned his powerful subject. “Whatever you think you know about us, Madame, this Emperor asks you to remember the respect due him and his husband.”
Madame Meiyin swept into a low, apologetic curtsy. “Of course, Junshang. This lowly succubus only wants to customize her well-wishes on the occasion of your nuptials.”
Rising again, she looked at them speculatively; she tapped a long, lacquered fingernail against her painted lips. “I do think that’s it,” she murmured, almost to herself. “It’s what you know, and what you only think you know.”
This baffling commentary complete, she reached out to a passing servant demon, and snatched from their tray a winecup; then, with a loud and powerful voice for all to hear, she declaimed:
“I wish for the happy couple to know each others’ pleasure as their own; to reach the summit of delight in the other’s body, as in their own. To a long and harmonious marriage, my lords.”
Then she–-winked! And downed her cup.
A chorus of agreement followed her toast, and cups were raised all over the hall. Luo Binghe shot Shen Qingqiu a cautious glance, but Shen Qingqiu shrugged, and drank himself. He supposed that she was a succubus, after all; saying something so shameless was just in her nature. And it was a nice wish, too–if presumptuous!--but there again, the sensual arts were her speciality.
The remainder of the official well-wishes were not nearly as interesting. When the time came, and the two of them stood to retire, they did so to raucous cheers and toasts. However, there were no ribald suggestions, and no one got up to trail after in a salubrious crowd to harass them. Clearly Luo Binghe had scared the dickens out of the guests in advance; usually it was impossible to deter people from being disgusting at newlyweds. But they were able to walk unmolested through the dark, with cheerful lanterns lit along every roof’s edge, to the marital chamber.
Luo Binghe led him in, though neither of them were veiled. The room was elegant, but the fittings were lush and sumptuous. And, chief among the loveliness, Luo Binghe looked–perfect. The warm lamplight caressed his glossy hair, and gleamed off the burgundy tint to his shining eyes. He usually wore red accents on his black robes, but dressed top to toe in wedding scarlet, he was radiant. The vibrant colors made him seem almost hyperreal, a vision from a dream. His body was impossible, even more so than usual; how could anyone living have such shoulders, and also have such a waist? How could legs look so long and strong despite being completely covered in layers of skirts?
How dare you! Shen Qingqiu thought to himself, hysterical, thrilled. The protagonist is simply too beautiful. And his face–gorgeous, of course; symmetrical and lyrical and everything it should be, but also…
Luo Binghe’s face shone with joy; he burned like a lighthouse with it. Shen Qingqiu nearly had to squint to look at him. He was so happy, after so many trials and disappointments–it was truly a miracle. How–how did this old man get to see any of this?! Let alone be part of it… maybe even the cause of it. It was astronomically unlikely. It was perfect.
After they’d stood staring gooey-eyed at each other for, uh, some amount of time, Luo Binghe finally laughed and reached out his hand. Shen Qingqiu took it, and let himself be drawn to the bed, where a tray of the required snacks and two cups of wine awaited them. Shen Qingqiu indulgently let Luo Binghe pop a dried longan into his mouth. Then–Luo Binghe handed him his cup, and just as they had in their little bamboo house, they linked arms to drink.
He closed his eyes to swallow the wine, but when he opened them, he swayed a little, confused. How was he now looking into a mirror? However it had happened, he was glad he had cleaned up as well as he evidently did; his red-clad body looked its willowy best, and the demoness who had painted his face had done so with a subtle hand. Quite respectable, he nodded to himself. Not to the demon emperor’s standard, sure, but by now everyone (Shen Qingqiu included) was mostly used to Luo Binghe’s irrational and boundless regard for him.
Only… his reflection didn’t nod back. In fact, it merely blinked at him.
“Shizun?” his reflection asked him, its brows drawing together with concern.
FUCK! Shen Qingqiu thought. Fuck, we’ve been bodyswapped! Goddamnit, airplane, your fucking wifeplots are driving me crazy! I don’t need to be wifeplotted right now! I AM THE WIFE, WE JUST GOT MARRIED! FUUUUUUUCK!